- cw: lower case intended, aged up!neteyam, smut, p in v, humans can breathe the air, virgin!reader, mention of masturbation, neteyam keeps talking about his imagination, fingering, oral (fem receiving), cum eating, dirty talk, size difference (not explicitly mentioned but reader is human soo), neteyam’s kinda possessive, slight belly bulging. let me know if i missed anything!
- an: apologies if this seems rushed. also, so sad we only got glimpses of neteyam in the third movie, i miss my mannn.
- wc: 4.5k
- summary: you and neteyam were inseparable as children. like spider, you were a human left behind, raised among the omatikaya, growing up with pandora as the only home you ever truly knew. when quaritch and the recoms forced jake sully and his family to flee, neteyam disappeared with them, leaving you behind for years of silence and unanswered feelings.
that is, until he returns.
༻༺
you don’t remember a time before pandora.
the forest has always been there in your memories. the hum of insects at dusk, the way the leaves glowed beneath your bare feet, the smell of rain clinging to everything. you learned the paths before you learned to read, learned which branches could hold your weight, which plants to avoid, which ones neteyam swore were “harmless” right before you proved him wrong.
neteyam had always been there too, along with kiri, lo’ak, tuk and spider of course.
you grew up at his side, trailing after him and his siblings like it was the most natural thing in the world. he taught you how to climb when your human hands slipped, how to keep quiet when the forest went still, how to laugh when you fell instead of crying. sometimes he carried you on his back when you got tired, grumbling the whole time but never once leaving you behind.
you were different, you always knew that, smaller, softer, human. but with him, it never felt like something that mattered. you belonged because he said you did. because the sullys said you did.
those days feel impossibly distant now.
you remember the tension creeping in before everything changed. the way the adults spoke in hushed voices, the way neteyam stopped laughing so easily. you didn’t understand gravity of it then, only that something was wrong. that the forest felt heavier. that goodbye came too fast.
one day, they were there.
the next, they were gone.
the forest felt wrong after that. too big. too quiet. you still walked the same paths, still slept beneath the same stars, but everything felt tilted, like pandora itself had shifted without him in it. you told yourself you were fine. you had to be.
norm and max stayed.
they became your anchors in a way you hadn’t expected. the lab, once overwhelming, all blinking lights and foreign sounds, slowly turned into something familiar. safe. you still visited the clan occasionally, although no way near as much as you once had. you learned how to calibrate equipment, how to catalogue samples, how to keep your hands steady even when your chest felt tight with missing someone you weren’t sure you were allowed to miss this much.
you grew up between microscopes and memory.
years passed like that. quietly. you traded scraped knees and borrowed na’vi clothes for data pads and human fabric that felt strange against skin used to vines and leaves. you still visited the forest, pandora was home, always would be, but you were changing, just as much as everything else.
and then one day..
“they’re back!”
the words didn’t register at first.
your hands stilled over the lab bench. the hum of machinery faded into a dull roar in your ears. they’re back. which meant..
no. you didn’t let yourself think it. not yet.
when they arrived, it was chaos. voices overlapping, na’vi gathering, the air thick with emotion and relief and something heavier underneath. you hung back near the edge, heart pounding so hard you were sure everyone could hear it.
and then you saw him.
neteyam stood just behind his father, taller than you remembered, broader, scarred in ways that made your chest ache. the boy who you remembered to be, was gone. in his place stood a warrior, quiet, alert, eyes sharper than before.
his gaze swept the crowd.
and then it landed on you.
for a split second, something cracked in his composure. not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did. you always had. his eyes widened, just barely, like he was seeing a ghost.
you weren’t the same either.
you saw it in the way his gaze lingered, uncertain, like he was trying to reconcile who you were now with the memory of the human kid who used to sit beside him, legs swinging, asking too many questions.
too much time had passed. too many things left unsaid.
but he was here.
he was here and it felt surreal.
you couldn’t move, feet rooted to the ground and you observed the surroundings. around you, people moved, embraces, voices, relief spilling out in bursts but all of it blurred at the edges. all you could see was him.
however, you broke eye contact first.
it wasn’t dramatic, no rush, no stumble, just a quiet decision made. this wasn’t your moment. it shouldn’t be. he’d just returned from years of hiding, fighting, surviving. his family was there, his clan, people who had mourned him as much as they’d waited. whatever this tight, aching thing was in your chest didn’t get to come before that.
so you stepped back.
you slipped through the edge of the crowd, boots soft against the forest floor, the sounds of reunion fading behind you. laughter, choked voices, someone crying openly. it felt wrong to intrude on it with everything you didn’t know how to say. you told yourself you were being sensible. kind, even. he deserved time. space.
you didn’t want to be selfish. and even more, maybe those feelings you felt years ago were one sided. maybe neteyam didn’t feel the same way you did.
the lab welcomed you back with sterile light and familiar hums. too quiet compared to the forest, but steady. you busied yourself with anything you could reach, data logs, recalibrations, a half-finished report you’d already rewritten twice. your hands worked on muscle memory alone, because your mind kept drifting back to the way his eyes had widened when he saw you.
hours passed.
max and norm both questioned why you hadn’t gone to greet them all yet, but you didn’t have a proper answer.
you were bent over a console, pretending very hard to read numbers that refused to make sense, when a shadow crossed the doorway.
you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
the air shifted, subtle, instinctive, the way it always had around him.
“you didn’t come say hi,” neteyam said.
his voice was deeper now. rougher. it sent a warm feeling through your body.
you turned slowly, schooling your expression into something neutral, professional. safe. “you just got back,” you said, like it explained everything. “i figured you’d want to be with your family… your clan.”
for a moment, he just watched you. really watched you. not like before.
“i looked for you,” he said quietly.
“you had a lot of people looking for you,” you reply casually. “i thought… you’d want time with them first.”
neteyam exhales through his nose, something between a huff and a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. he steps closer, careful, like he’s not sure if you’ll bolt if he moves too fast.
neteyam eyes flicker over you, slow, deliberate, taking in the way you’ve changed. his tail twitches behind him, restless.
"you’re taller," he blurts out, voice rough. his gaze lingering on your legs, your waist, the curve of your lips.
you swallow hard.
“taller.” that’s all he says? after years? your fingers tighten around the edge of the console, grounding yourself. "and you’re… broader." the words slip out before you can stop them, your traitorous eyes skimming over his chest, the new scars mapping his skin like stories he never got to tell you.
a beat of silence.
his lips quirk. just barely. "you noticed."
your face burns. “damn him”
neteyam steps closer, the scent of him curling around you. too close. your pulse stutters when his tail sways, brushing your thigh. accidentally? you doubt it.
"you left," you blurt, hating how small your voice sounds.
his amusement fades. "i didn’t have a choice."
"You could’ve sent something, tried to communicate with me.” you muttered.
“it was hard when you all left, the only family i felt like i had.”
"i tried." his jaw tenses. "messages got intercepted. people got hurt."
you bit your lip.
neteyam exhales, running a hand through his braids. "you cut your hair." he changes the subject.
you resist the urge to reach for the shorter strands. "it got in the way."
he hummed, his gaze drops to your neck, exposed now. "i liked it long."
“it’s not that much shorter.” you replied.
the air between you thickens, is it awkwardness or just tension? you really can’t tell.
just then, lo’ak swings through the door unceremoniously, his carefree attitude cutting through the thick tension in the air. he takes a moment to take in the scene. neteyam and you are standing close, conversation halted in its tracks. lo’ak lifts an eyebrow, noticing something is off, but his usual smirk remains intact. "you two look serious." he quips, leaning against the console with ease.
neteyam takes a subtle step back, his expression guarded. "we’re just talking." his voice is casual, but there's a hint of irritation.
lo'ak chuckles, his gaze flickering between them. "just talking? looks like it was getting a little heated in here."
“not really.” you butted in, “he was just mentioning my hair.”
lo’ak’s smirk widens at your response, clearly not buying what you said. "right," he drawls, crossing his arms.
neteyam shoots him a glare, tail flicking in annoyance.
lo'ak just shrugs, unfazed. "anyway, dad wants you. something about perimeter checks." he glances at you again, then back at neteyam. "unless you're busy…?”
neteyam exhales sharply through his nose. "i'm coming."
as he moves to follow lo'ak, his fingers brush against yours deliberately, before he pulls away completely. the brief contact sends a wave of heat to your cheeks.
it was innocent enough, but being human on pandora, you never really received any sort of attention from boys, let alone contact.
lo'ak, oblivious to the silent exchange, claps neteyam on the back. "great! because dad’s in one of his moods..”
the door slides shut behind them, leaving you alone in the lab.
later that night, you couldn’t sleep.
your bedroom felt suffocating, so you slipped outside, letting pandora’s night air cool your skin. the glowing flora pulses softly underfoot as you wander deeper into the trees, trying and failing not to think about neteyam.
you felt like you were a kid again, before the events unravelled.
just you and the forest.
the only difference being you in your human pyjamas, rather than the loincloth and top you used to wear.
a twig snaps behind you, pulling you out of your thoughts.
you turn, pulse jumping. only to find neteyam standing there, his silhouette haloed by bioluminescence.
“you followed me," you accuse.
he steps closer, his gaze dark. "yeah." no excuses. no pretenses.
it caught you off guard.
“i was heading over to see you, then saw you leaving so i followed behind.” he replied.
you simply observed.
it made sense.
he made his way over to you, ducking through branches and other greenery.
his fingers trace the edge of your jaw, his touch feather-light, maddening. “i thought about you, you know?” “every damn night under those same stars. wondering if you still looked up at them. if you… missed me."
you gulp as you watch him.
his thumb presses against your bottom lip, dragging it down just slightly. his pupils are blown wide, dark with something raw.
"and when missing you got too much?" he leans in, his next words whispered against your skin, “ i touched myself imagining it was your hands on me."
your stomach clenches, heat pooling low.
neteyam’s words hung thickly in the air, the intensity of his gaze making you shiver. you were short for words, shocked at his sudden confession.
your heart hammered in your chest, a mixture of desire and uncertainty swirling inside you. you swallowed hard, trying to collect yourself before responding. "neteyam, i..." your voice trailed off, uncertain of what to say, but he took another step closer, his tail wrapping around your waist almost possessively.
his hand slid up to cradle your face, his touch sending sparks across your skin.
"sometimes..." his thumb traced the shape of your bottom lip, his voice low and raspy. "sometimes i’d close my eyes, pretend you were with me."
His eyes moved over you, the intensity of his gaze making your heart skip a beat.
"and i’d think about you in those moments... how I would touch you, if you were there."
his breath warmed your neck as he leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “i’d imagine you here… like this… under the stars we both looked up at.”
a shiver raced down your spine as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“remember that hollow in the cliffs? where we used to hide from lo’ak during games?” his voice was rough, low. “i’d imagine me lying there at night and picture you beside me.. under me.”
your breath hitched.
“i’d imagine pushing your shirt up slow,” he murmured, one hand sliding along your waist, fingers teasing beneath the fabric, “feeling how soft your skin is, how warm. i used to wonder if you'd arch into my touch like this…” he pressed his palm flat against the small of your back and pushed, just enough to make you gasp.
“and i always imagined,” he whispered against your jaw, “that when I finally kissed you here, really kissed you.. you’d taste even sweeter than i imagined.”
his hips shifted forward, the slightest grind, and a low sound escaped him.
“that’s when i would of slipped my hand down,” his thumb hooked into the waistband of your pyjamas, “you wouldn’t stop me.”
you let out a small whimper.
“i dreamt about feeling how wet you get for me,” he admitted hoarsely. “wondered if those quiet little noises would be enough to drive me wild after years of waiting.” he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.
"you kept me up late," he murmured, teeth grazing your skin.
his mouth moved lower, along your collarbone, nipping at it teasingly.
“teyam..” you whined quietly.
"shhh," he hushed, voice thick with want. his hips pressed firmer against yours, letting you feel every hard inch of him. "my little scientist... finally letting me taste what's been mine all along?"
his hand slid lower, past your hips, down to the back of your thigh and hooked it up around his waist. you gasped as he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the tree.
"i imagined this too," he growled into your ear. "you wrapped around me, just like that night by the waterfall when we were younger.”
you bit your lip as the memory came flooding back in, you forgot about that.
"i dreamed about making you cum under these stars," he whispered raggedly, tail curling tighter around your waist like a promise. "with my mouth on you.. my name on your lips..”
he finally dipped his hand beneath the hem of your pyjamas, soft fabric sliding aside and brushed one fingertip over damp heat.
he groaned low in his chest.
“shit.. no panties?”
“i.. i don’t wear any to bed.” you replied sheepishly.
he let out a rough, pleased noise. half-growl, half-laugh.
“good,” he breathed. “means I don’t have to tear anything off you.”
his finger dragged through your folds slowly, once, twice, making you whimper and arch against him. “you’re already so wet…”
“you made me wait years,” you gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “of course I’m..” you let out a mewl, “ready for you..”
he smirked, adding pressure just where you needed it. “i used to dream about how tight you’d feel around my fingers… my cock.” he slid one deep inside with no warning, slow, deep, and your head fell back against the tree as a moan tore from your throat.
“like that?” he purred.
you nodded ferociously as his thumb found your clit, circling with torturous precision. "tell me," he murmured, voice thick, "how many nights did you lie awake thinking of me?"
you cried out, hips jerking forward. "n-neteyam!”
"answer me." he added pressure, relentless. "did you touch yourself? imagine it was my hand? my mouth?"
a broken sob escaped you. "yes!..” you whined. “almost nightly!..” you followed up.
he continued pumping his fingers in, out, in, out, for a good few minutes.
his fingers curled inside you just right and suddenly, the world shattered. a sharp cry ripped from your throat as heat exploded low in your belly, waves of pleasure crashing through you as you came hard around his fingers, wet and trembling, your knees nearly giving out.
neteyam didn’t pull away. didn’t stop.
he held you through it, thumb still circling the bud gently as the tremors faded, watching your face with fascination.
he slowly slid his soaked fingers free, and without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his lips and sucked them clean.
your breath caught at the sight, the raw hunger in his eyes, as dropped to his knees in front of you.
his glowing eyes locked onto yours as he hooked your pyjama shorts around his fingers and yanked them down over trembling hips.
his nose brushed your inner thigh.
his hands slid up the underside of you knees, spreading your legs wider.
“look at her.. perfect.” he mumbled under his breath as he looked almost star-struck.
you watched, breath heaving, as he pressed light, worshiping kisses up the inside of your thigh, his eyes locked onto yours.
he looked wrecked, just from watching you cum.
his breath was hot against your skin. "you’re so beautiful," he murmured.
then he exhaled low, like a prayer, and lowered his mouth to your cunt, still pulsing from your release. he lapped up at your cunt with slow, deep strokes of his tongue.
"you taste even better than I dreamed," he groaned against you.
your fingers fisted into his hair as he circled your clit with his tongue, before he moved further down and began teasing your entrance.
he didn't let up. just held you steady with strong hands on your hips and drank from you like a starved man.
he groaned against your heat, the sound vibrating through you. “so sweet… mine.”
every flick of his tongue was deliberate. slow at first, savoring, like he had years to make up for. then deeper, hungrier. his nose brushing your clit as he devoured you with quiet desperation.
you gasped, back arching off the tree as his thumbs spread you wider and ‘yes..’ “there!” that wicked swirl right over your most sensitive spot.
“you gonna come again?” he murmured between licks, voice rough with need. “right on my face?”
You could only whimper in return, but it was enough.
because neteyam growled low in his chest and dove back in like a man possessed, licking deep into your folds, circling your clit with maddening precision before sucking it gently into his mouth.
stars blurred above you. the forest pulsed beneath. and all that existed was this, him between your legs, the way his name broke from your lips like a prayer..
“neteyam… i’m.. i’m gonna..”
his ears twitched at the sound, and he redoubled his efforts, tongue swirling faster, sucking gently as one hand slipped beneath to cup your ass, pulling you even closer.
"again," he growled against you. "let me feel it baby..”
and when you came, shuddering violently against his mouth with a choked cry, he didn't stop.
he just moaned like it was him being rewarded.
the vibrations sent another shockwave through your oversensitive nerves, making your legs tremble.
finally, slowly, he pulled back, but only enough to press one soft kiss to your inner thigh.
then looked up at you, eyes glossy, swollen lips glistening with you..
"still not enough," he whispered, voice raw.
he rose in one fluid motion, closing the space between you again, your back to the tree, his body against yours.
you could feel him now. hard, thick, straining against his loincloth, pressed right where your body still pulsed from his mouth.
his lips found your neck, biting gently. "wanna be inside when you come again."
your breath hitched. "neteyam..."
"i know," he murmured, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. "too much? too fast?"
you shook your head desperately.
“no..”
he exhaled sharply through his nose, the closest thing to losing control you'd ever seen from him.
"good." his hand slid down to cup you possessively between your legs, one finger teasing at your entrance again.
he swiftly took off your top
your bare skin prickled as the cool night air caressed your chest.
he leaned in, lips skimming the shell of your ear. "you ever been with anyone else?"
your stomach fluttered nervously. "no..”
he smiled against your skin, satisfaction and relief pouring off him.
"good…" he whispered, his hand skimming up the front of your bare torso, creeping upwards towards your breasts.
"no one else got to touch you like this... did they? only me."
"only you…" you confirmed.
he groaned low, his mouth moving along your jaw, claiming more territory. "that’s right. you’re mine. only mine."
his hand found your thigh again. "put your leg around me."
you wrapped your leg around his hip, drawing him closer.
your heart stuttered as you felt just how hard your touch made him. neteyam inhaled sharply, his fingers digging into your thigh.
"that's it," he murmured, voice rough. "hold onto me."
you obeyed, grasping onto his shoulders, holding him tight. your body hummed with anticipation.
he pulled you even closer, grinding his hips against yours almost involuntarily with a shaky exhale. you could feel just how much you had affected him.
"missed you…" he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing along your neck. "all these years, i… imagined this. over and over again."
"i did too..." you whispered back.
he kissed you, slow and deep, it made your chest ache. not just desire, something more.
when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours under the soft glow of pandoran night.
his hands moved to the ties of his loincloth and in one smooth motion, freed himself.
you gasped at the sight. thick, proud, already glistening at the tip.
he guided himself to your entrance slowly.. teasingly.. letting just the head slide in as his thumb found your clit again.
"look at me," he demanded softly.
you obeyed as you held his gaze.
with a low groan that vibrated through both of you, he pushed forward inch by inch.. filling you completely until there was no space left between you.
you cried out, part pain, part overwhelming fullness as he stretched you for the first time, your body clenching around his girth.
he froze instantly. "hey… hey, look at me," he murmured, voice thick with concern and restraint. his thumb brushed your cheek as he stayed buried deep inside you, motionless, letting you adjust.
tears pricked your eyes.
"you're okay," he whispered against your lips. "i’ve got you. just breathe… for me."
you nodded shakily and took a breath in and then another, feeling yourself slowly relax around him.
“that’s it," he praised softly, kissing away a tear that slipped free. "take all of me."
and when you rolled your hips slightly, a quiet signal, he exhaled like it was agony and began to move.
slow at first, one deep thrust that made stars burst behind your eyelids, then another just as deliberate.
each one sent waves of pleasure spiraling through you until the line between pain and ecstasy blurred.
"neteyam…" your voice called out
he kissed you hard as his rhythm picked up, one hand gripping your hip to pull you onto him deeper with each stroke, the other tangled in yours above your head.
"i’m here," he muttered against your skin. "feel me?" he said as he pushed his much bigger hand against the bulge, disappearing and reappearing in your stomach with each thrust.
"i feel you... all of you," you gasped, nails raking down his back as he rolled his hips harder.
each thrust drove a moan from your throat, deeper, fuller than before. he was so deep inside you it felt like he was touching your soul.
"yeah? you take me so damn well," he growled, shifting slightly, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every powerful stroke. "mine.. only mine.."
you sobbed out his name as the pressure built again, tighter this time, hotter.
"that’s it," he whispered against your neck, his lips on your pulse point. "come for me, baby. i want to feel you.” he pulled back, looking down at you both, watching his cock slip in and out of your cunt.
“look at us,” he rasped, voice thick with awe and hunger. “you’re taking every inch..”
his thrusts turned shallow, rhythmic, just enough to grind against your clit with each roll of his hips. you whimpered, back arching as the pleasure coiled tighter, unbearable now.
“neteyam.. i’m.. i’m..”
one hand slid between you, rubbing firm circles over your swollen bud. “come on my cock. let me feel it.”
and when you shattered, your body clamped down around him in pulsing waves. he groaned like it was salvation.
“yes.. yes.. that’s it..” he panted against your neck as you trembled through the release.
but he didn’t stop moving.
just kept thrusting, deeper now, as if your pleasure had only fueled his need.
"i’m not gonna last..” he groaned, his mouth finding yours again. "not gonna last..”
you could feel his control slipping, his rhythm turning erratic, his breath coming rougher now as he chased his own release.
“then don’t,” you whispered against his lips, nails digging into his back. “i want you to cum inside me.. want to feel it..”
his hips stuttered at your words, like you'd stripped the last of his restraint away.
"shit..” he choked out, burying his face in your neck as his body tensed. "you're gonna make me..”
with a deep, guttural groan, he thrusts into you hard, once, twice and then stilled completely.
you felt it, he came inside you, each wave shuddering through his body and into yours.
he collapsed against you slightly, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breathing ragged and raw.
for long moments, there was only the sound of the forest breathing around you and your hearts beating in sync.
finally, he lifted his head just enough to look at you, eyes soft now.
he cupped your face, thumb brushing your sweaty forehead. "you okay?" he whispered, still out of breath.
you managed a nod, too spent to form words just yet.
he huffed a small laugh, lips finding your temple.
he pulled out slowly, gently and immediately wrapped his arms around you as your legs finally gave way. his warmth didn't leave you, not even for a second, as he lowered himself to the soft moss beneath, pulling you on top of him with care.
he sat with your back pressed to his chest, legs cradling yours, tail curling snugly around your waist.
one hand smoothed damp strands of hair from your face, the other rested low on your stomach, possessive and tender all at once.
"you're incredible," he murmured into your ear, pressing a kiss just behind it.
you leaned into him completely.
his voice dropped lower. "i should've done this years ago."
༻༺
hiii! i hope you guys enjoy this one of neteyam! as always, reblogs, likes and comments are very helpful and i appreciate all of you guys who choose to support my work!
summary aonung has been courting you, but you’re a little oblivious to the fact.
Pairing aonung x Metkayina!reader
wc 7.2k
a/n hi guys, if I haven’t done your request by now I’m probably just really not able to write it. I get writers block so bad. But feel free to send in different ones! I love your ideas and inspiration
The sky had deepened into a bruised plum color, the vast expanse above bleeding from the burning orange of an eclipse sunset into the cool, velvety indigo of true night. Around your thighs, the bioluminescence of the shore was beginning to wake up, greeting the darkness in tiny, flickering pulses of neon blue beneath the surface. The tide was low, revealing the skeleton of the reef—a labyrinth of coral and sandbars that usually lay hidden beneath the turquoise waves.
You shifted the weight of your woven basket, resting it firmly against the curve of your hip as you waded through the knee-deep water. The woven palm fronds dug slightly into your skin, damp and rough, but the weight was satisfying. It was a physical promise of the hours of creation ahead; a heavy basket meant a busy night at the loom, crushing shells for pigment and threading beads for the clan’s ceremonial sashes.
A few yards away, the soft splashing of water broke the rhythmic lapping of the tide. Lo’ak and Tsireya were lost in their own world, a bubble of laughter and shy touches that seemed impenetrable to the outside world. Lo’ak was submerged to his waist, his tail splashing playfully behind him as he ducked down, his movements unrefined but enthusiastic, to scoop up a handful of polished stones.
"For you," he mumbled, his ears flushing a dark violet as he offered them to her.
Tsireya giggled, the sound like the wind chimes her mother once strung around awa’atlu, and their heads leaned close together as he showed her his finds. It was a common sight now; since they’d started courting, Lo’ak had become a permanent fixture at Tsireya’s side. By extension, Aonung had stopped trying to drown him, or at the very least, had ceased his active antagonism. In fact, they moved with a comfortable, brotherly ease now—a mix of teasing and begrudging respect that made the evenings in Awa’atlu feel peaceful.
"Found another one!" you chirped, spotting a flash of cream-colored calcium beneath a sharp ledge of brain coral.
You bent over, your focus narrowing on the prize. It was distinct against the darker sand, a spiral of pure white that would grind down into a perfect, snowy paste for dye. As you leaned down, the water rippling around your waist, your thick curls tumbled forward. Gravity pulled the heavy, damp ringlets over your shoulders, obscuring your vision and sticking to your cheeks.
With a practiced, absent-minded flick of your wrist, you tossed the damp mass back over your shoulder. The beads braided into your hair—tiny pieces of shell and wood—clacked softly against one another, a musical accompaniment to your labor.
You didn't notice Aonung standing just a few feet away, his movements going perfectly still.
He had been pacing the perimeter of the sandbar, ostensibly keeping watch for akula or merely patrolling his territory, but in truth, he had been circling you. Now, he froze. He was watching the way the seawater droplets clung to your skin, shimmering like liquid crystals against your patterned teal skin. He watched the concentrated line of your brow, the tip of your tongue just barely poking out between your teeth in focus, and the way your eyes—wide and bright with genuine wonder—lit up as you pulled the small, fluted shell from the sand.
To the rest of the clan, you were a diligent worker, a kind soul. To him, in this quiet moment between day and night, you looked perfectly in your element—a pretty girl collecting pretty things, entirely unaware of how the starlight caught the curve of your collarbone.
Your head turned toward the figure looming a little ways away. Your eyes unexpectedly landed on Aonung, and a confused expression took over your features. He usually spent this time of day sharpening his spear or boasting with his friends by the fire. You wondered what he was doing here, standing so silently in the shallows, but deciding not to press, you simply waved at him.
Your inviting demeanor was one of his favorite things about you, though he would sooner die than admit it out loud. You never let anyone in the clan feel left out or less than. You were loyal to your people, a healer of spirits if not of bodies, always trying your hardest to make sure everyone was doing well.
"Look at the ridges on this, Aonung," you said, breaking the silence as you lifted the shell up toward him.
You took a step closer, water swirling around your thighs. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with that infectious excitement you only got when you found a new treasure for your art. "The symmetry is perfect. Eywa really was showing off when she made this one."
Aonung stared at the shell, forcing his eyes to focus on the calcium spiral rather than the water dripping from your curls, and gliding over your ceremonial tattoo. Then, against his will, his gaze drifted up to your face. He felt that familiar tight pull in his chest—a mixture of suffocating pride and a desperate, surging need to be the reason that look stayed on your face. He wanted to be the source of that wonder, not a dead piece of calcium.
"It is... adequate," he managed to say, his voice a bit deeper than usual, rough like gravel rolling in the surf.
He felt foolish the moment the words left his lips. Adequate? It was a beautiful find. But his defenses were high, a wall built of teenage bravado and the terrifying vulnerability of a first love. He didn't wait for you to respond. He turned abruptly and effortlessly dove, his powerful tail kicking up a spray of glowing foam that misted the air between you.
You simply hummed with a small tilt of your head, unbothered by his stoicism. You dropped the shell into your basket, the clack of it joining the others, and watched his figure disappear into the darkening water.
Unbeknownst to you, underneath the surface, Aonung was on a mission.
The water was cooler here, silent save for the rush of the current. His bioluminescent spots glowed brightly in the dim depths, marking his path like a constellation. He swam past the easy finds—the common cowries and the drift-wood that Lo’ak was content finding in the shallows for his little sister. That was child's play. That was easy.
Aonung wanted the deeper parts of the reef. He wanted the places where the current was often unpredictable, where the pressure built against his ears, but where the rewards were unparalleled. He kicked harder, propelling himself toward a jagged drop-off where the coral grew thick and ancient. He scanned the crevices, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, hunting. He needed something that spoke of effort. Something that said, I went where others could not, just for you.
When he surfaced minutes later, he didn't just walk over and drop his finds into your basket. He waited. He treaded water, watching you scan the shoreline, waiting until you were standing still with that contemplative look on your face. He watched the way you bit your lower lip as you decided where to step next, your tail swaying in the water behind you for balance.
Only then did he move. He walked right into your space, dripping wet, the rising heat of his body radiating through the cool evening air. He stopped mere inches from you, close enough that you had to crane your neck slightly to look him in the eye.
"The shallows only give you what the ocean is tired of holding," he said softly, his voice low and intimate.
He reached out, his large hand hovering over your basket. He placed a cluster of small shells onto the pile of your woven treasures. They were heavy, distinct—a deep, blood-red color, their surfaces smooth as glass but thick and sturdy. They looked like they could withstand a storm, or a thousand years of tides.
You gasped, your fingers immediately abandoning your own basket rim to ghost over them.
"Aonung... these are beautiful," you whispered, the breath leaving your lungs. You looked up at him through your lashes, eyes wide. "The color... I’ve never seen this shade before. I can use the pigment from the broken ones to dye my thread the color of the eclipse sun. How did you find so many?"
You smiled, your ears swiveling back in delight as you felt your heart thump at the gesture. The realization hit you suddenly—he was so close. His broad frame towered over you, blocking out the view of the distant village fires, encompassing your entire world in that moment. You could practically trace every line of his tattoo that streamed from where his brow met his nose, to the right side of his face.
Aonung felt a swell of triumph so potent it nearly made him dizzy. He noticed the way you looked at the shells—with reverence and joy—and he silently vowed to empty the entire ocean floor, to fight an akula with his bare hands, if it meant you’d keep looking at him with those wide, appreciative eyes.
"I know where the hidden pockets are," he said, clearing his throat and trying to sound nonchalant.
He crossed his arms over his chest, though his own heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. A smirk grew on his lips, that familiar teasing glint appearing in his eyes as he narrowed them. He did a dramatic look away toward the other couple, shrugging his shoulders. "Lo’ak and Tsireya are happy with the scraps. I thought you might want something... more."
You gasped, your ears swiveling back, and you slapped his bicep playfully. The muscle under your hand was hard as rock, and wet skin slick against your palm. A small giggle of shock fell past your lips.
"Do not be mean, Aonung," you chided, though there was no heat in it. "But... thank you. Thank you for being so helpful today."
You gave him a bright, blinding smile, one that crinkled the corners of your eyes, before happily going back to your searching. You adjusted the basket, treating his contribution like gold, and bent down again to inspect the sand closely.
Predictably, your curls fell forward again.
Aonung stood rooted to the spot. Once more, you huffed softly and flipped them back with that graceful, unconscious toss of your head. Aonung watched the movement, his hands twitching at his sides. His fingers curled into fists. He wanted so badly to reach out. He wanted to be the one to tuck those wayward curls behind your ear. He wanted to be the one to carry the basket that was clearly getting too heavy to rest on your hip. He wanted to do everything for you, and the intensity of the desire was terrifying.
"Hey! Y/N! Aonung! Check this out!"
The shout broke the spell. Lo’ak was waving his arms frantically from a tidal pool a twenty meters away. He was holding up a bright orange sea star, visibly dry— either a shed or it simply died before it could make it back to the water. "It’s huge!"
Aonung looked at Lo’ak, his jaw tightening. Then he looked back at you.
He saw you laugh at Lo’ak’s find, your attention shifting entirely to the forest boy. "That’s amazing, Lo’ak! It will make a great center for a chest piece!" you called, your voice light and affectionate.
A sudden, sharp spark of jealousy—not of Lo’ak as a rival, but of the attention you were giving the sea star—flared in Aonung’s chest. It burned hot and fast. A starfish? Anyone could find a starfish. A starfish was nothing.
He didn't say a word. He didn't acknowledge Lo'ak's shout. He just turned and dove again, slashing into the water with more force than necessary. He went deeper this time, past the red shells, past the coral ridge. He was determined to find something so magnificent, so rare, that you wouldn't be able to look at Lo'ak, or the stars, or anything else for the rest of the night.
You laughed softly at his sudden departure, shaking your head. "He is so competitive," you murmured to yourself, amused by his antics. To you, it was just boys being boys, trying to outdo one another in speed and skill.
As the time passed, the moon rose higher, casting a silver sheen over the water. Your basket grew heavier, forcing you to switch hips frequently. You shifted the weight of Aonung's growing pile of treasures—he had returned three more times, each time with something more impressive: a piece of obsidian glass, a pearl still inside the oyster, and a branch of coral that looked like frozen lightning.
Finally, Tsireya waded over to you, Lo'ak trailing behind her like a happy puppy.
"Your brother is in such a good mood today, isn't he?" you said, wiping the sand from your hands as you turned to Tsireya. You gestured to the waterline where Aonung was currently surfacing, holding something that glowed faintly purple in his hands. "It's so nice of him to help me collect materials. Usually, he says weaving is boring work."
Tsireya froze. She looked at the rare, aesthetic hoard in your basket—materials that would have taken days to find in the shallows. She looked at the blood-red shells that required a dangerous dive into the trench.
Then, she looked out at the water. She saw her brother, the future Olo'eyktan, usually so proud and aloof, practically vibrating with the hope that you would like his latest offering. He was looking at you with an expression so open, so full of longing, that it was almost painful to witness.
Finally, she looked back at your sweet, oblivious face. You were smiling, genuinely believing Aonung was just being a dutiful clan member.
Tsireya let out a long, slow sigh, shaking her head.
"Yes, Ma tsmuke," Tsireya murmured, a pitying smile on her lips as she patted your arm. "Extremely... 'nice.'"
The following week dissolved into a blur of turquoise water and sun-bleached moments, defined less by your daily chores and more by the sudden, omnipresent gravity of the chief’s son. It was as if he had developed a sixth sense for your whereabouts, appearing whenever you were just starting to feel relaxed.
He appeared at random, unpredictable hours, disrupting the rhythm of your day with the chaotic energy of a storm tide. If you were mending nets by the docks, his shadow would suddenly fall over your work, his hands "accidentally" brushing yours as he offered to help with a knot you perfectly understood how to tie. If you were having a quiet meal, he would drift by, dropping a fresh fruit onto your woven mat without a word, only a smirk that lingered long after he had walked away.
But it was the afternoons beneath the water that became his favorite hunting ground.
You were deep underwater, the sunlight filtering down in shimmering "god-rays" that danced across the sandy floor, riding ilus with the Sully children and Tsireya. Down here, the world was silent save for the muffled clicks of the sea life and the rhythmic beat of your own heart.
You were all gliding through a forest of giant sea fans, the Sullys struggling a bit with their breathing rhythms while Tsireya moved with the effortless grace of a creature born of the current. You were focused on your own mount, adjusting your grip on the neural bond, when a large, dark shadow swept over you.
Aonung appeared right beside you, his ilu banking sharply to match your speed. In the turquoise gloom, his bioluminescent dots glowed like a map of the stars. He caught your eye and flashed a wide, shit-eating grin that sent a jolt through your chest. He didn't say a word—he didn't have to. He simply raised a hand, signing one sharp, challenging word:
“Race?”
You didn't even wait to signal the others. You leaned flat against the ilu’s neck, and the two of you went full throttle.
The pressure of the water increased as you accelerated, the reef becoming a blur of neon streaks. You pushed through the resistance, your tail acting as a secondary rudder, feeling the raw power of the ocean rushing past your skin. You and Aonung were neck-and-neck, weaving through coral arches and tight rock formations, completely dusting your friends. By the time you looped around the massive sea-wall and tore back toward the shore, the rest of the group was nothing but distant, tiny specks in the blue.
As the water turned from deep indigo to the pale, sun-drenched teal of the shallows, you both breached the surface simultaneously.
You gasped for air, the transition from the silent depths to the crashing sound of the waves making your head spin for a moment. Aonung popped up just inches away. He was desperately trying to play it cool, smoothing his hair back with both hands, but he couldn't hide the heavy, ragged heave of his chest. The race had pushed him just as hard as it had pushed you.
In the heat of the moment, your eyes betrayed you.
Instead of looking at the horizon or checking on the others, your gaze drifted. It started at his soaked hair, which was plastered to his forehead, then traced the dark, intricate tattoos that marked his face as a future leader. Your eyes lingered on his broadening shoulders and the powerful swell of his chest, following the lines of his body down to his core. His abs were defined and tense from the exertion, partially obscured by a beautifully woven chest piece that slung around his shoulders—a piece you knew he’d spent time choosing.
Aonung went still. He caught you staring, the exhaustion in his eyes instantly replaced by a predatory, playful spark. His ears flickered once, twice, and then that arrogant, knowing grin returned.
“My eyes are up here, ma txe’lan,” he teased.
His voice was a low, honeyed rumble that cut through the sound of the surf. You felt the blood rush to your face instantly, your ears flattening in pure mortification as your eyes shot back up to meet his. He watched your panic with absolute delight, his smile growing wider as he realized exactly how much of an effect he was having on you.
You quickly regained your composure, holding your head high as you huffed at him, trying to summon every ounce of dignity you had left while your face still burned a vivid shade of violet.
“I was simply observing the weaving!” you shot back, splashing a handful of water toward him to distract from your blush. “I helped make that piece, y’know? I was checking to see if you’d managed to fray the edges already with your... recklessness.”
Aonung didn’t flinch at the water; he leaned into it, his grin only sharpening. He looked down at the woven leather and shell-work crossing his chest, then back at you, his eyes hooded and dark with mischief.
"Ah, so it was a professional inspection then?" he asked, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. He began to paddle his ilu closer, the creature’s wet skin squeaking against yours as he closed the gap. "Tell me, weaver, did the 'work' meet your standards? Or do you need to get closer to check the... structural integrity?"
He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin, a stark contrast to the cool ocean mist clinging to your shoulders. The playful arrogance in his posture was infuriating, mostly because it was working.
"The work is fine," you managed to say, though your voice lacked its usual bite. "The wearer, however, is being a nuisance."
"A nuisance?" Aonung laughed, the sound deep and genuine. He reached up, his large hand lingering near the strap of the chest piece, right over the fastening thrum of his heart. "And here I thought I was being helpful, giving you a chance to admire your handiwork in action. Most artists would be grateful for such a... fine canvas."
He flexed his shoulder slightly, making the shells on the strap clack together—the very shells he had dived into the deep reef to find for you just a week prior. It was a silent reminder of the effort he was putting in, a hidden thread of vulnerability beneath his teasing— and unbeknownst to you, he’d chosen that piece because he recognized your work.
Before you could think of a witty retort, the sound of chattering ilus and splashing water announced the arrival of the others.
"Finally!" Lo’ak’s voice boomed as he surfaced a few yards away, his expression a mix of annoyance and awe. "What was that? You guys took off like you had an akula on your tails!"
Tsireya pulled up beside him, her eyes darting between your flushed face and Aonung’s smug expression. She didn't miss the way her brother was lingering in your personal space, or the way your tail was twitching nervously beneath the surface. A knowing, slightly weary smile touched her lips.
"Aonung, stop pestering her," Tsireya chided gently, though there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "She came out here to enjoy the water, not to be run ragged by your ego."
"I was merely testing her speed, sister," Aonung said, finally pulling his mount back a few inches, though he kept his gaze locked on yours. "And it seems she is almost as fast as I am. Almost."
He winked at you—a quick, daring movement that felt like a secret shared in front of everyone—before turning his ilu to join the group.
The afternoon that followed was shared between the both of you.
The sun, a bloated orb of fire, dipped toward the horizon, bleeding amber and gold into the turquoise waters of the reef. In the weavers' pavilion, the air was thick with the scent of dried sea grass, crushed minerals, and the faint, sweet aroma of the incense the elders burned to honor the Great Mother.
You sat nestled in your usual spot, your legs tucked beneath you. This was your sanctuary. While the others were out hunting or practicing with their spears, you found a different kind of power in the loom. There was a rhythm to it—a heartbeat in the clack-clack of the wood and the sliding of the shuttle.
You were surrounded by the elders of the clan, women whose hands were stained with dye and whose skin was etched with the deep, storied lines of many seasons. You loved their company; they didn't care about the petty dramas of the teenagers or the posturing of the hunters. They spoke of the ancestors, of the flow of Eywa, and today, they were particularly interested in your recent progress.
"Your thread is becoming stronger, little one," Ti’miria, the eldest among them, remarked as she peered over her spectacles made of polished translucent shell. "And your eye for color is improving."
You beamed, dipping a bundle of fibers into a bowl of fixative. "Thank you, Ti’miria. I’ve been trying a new technique for the binding." you watched a her eyes wandered to your material basket.
"You have been blessed by the tides, little one," Saeyla remarked, her voice like crinkling parchment. She gestured with a gnarled, dye-stained finger toward the cluster of deep, blood-red shells resting atop your fibers. "Those are not found by mere luck. They cling to the undersides of the jagged rocks where the currents are strong enough to rip a weak swimmer from the reef."
You flushed, reaching down to pick one up. It felt heavy and cool, its surface polished by the violence of the ocean. "I didn't find them," you said, your voice softening. "Aonung went to get them for me. He said the shallows were only for things the ocean was tired of holding."
A hush fell over the circle. It wasn't a cold silence, but one pregnant with meaning. Ti’miria exchanged a look with the woman beside her—a look that held the weight of a thousand seasons. They knew the pride of the Olo'eyktan’s son; they knew he didn't risk his life for "weaving supplies" unless his heart was already caught in the thread.
"Is that so?" She whispered, a secretive, knowing smile stretching her lips. "How very... helpful of him."
Before you could defend his honor or insist it was just a display of his typical arrogance, a shadow lengthened across the pavilion floor. The heavy, rhythmic footfalls were unmistakable.
Aonung strode in, looking entirely too large and too vibrantly alive for the quiet space. He wasn't carrying a spear or a net. Instead, he held a small, sturdy basket of his own. Without a word of greeting to the elders—though he gave them a respectful dip of his head—he dropped onto the mat directly beside you.
"Aonung!" you hissed, your eyes wide as you leaned toward him. "What are you doing here? This is a quiet space."
He didn't look at you. Instead, he began pulling out strips of dark, cured leather and a handful of small, iridescent shells that shimmered like oil on water. "My father says a leader must know the craft of his people," he grumbled, though his ears were twitching in a way that suggested he was lying through his teeth. "I have... things to make. I am joining you."
You stared at his basket. It wasn't filled with broken gear to mend. It was filled with beautiful, hand-picked treasures—small, delicate white shells, obsidian beads, and a strange, glowing blue seaglass.
"Since when do you weave, Aonung?" you whispered, your voice hushed so the elders wouldn't hear your teasing.
"Since I decided I wanted to," he snapped back, though there was no heat in it. He fumbled with the leather strips, his large, calloused fingers looking comically oversized as he tried to start a basic four-strand braid.
You watched him for a moment, your heart doing a strange little skip. He was being so deliberate, his brow furrowed in that same intense concentration you had seen when he was hunting. You assumed he was making a new grip for his knife or perhaps a decorative band for his ilu. You had no idea that every shell in his basket had been chosen because it reminded him of the way the light caught your eyes, or that the length of the kelp leather he was braiding was exactly the circumference of your neck.
The hour stretched on. The elders eventually stopped staring and went back to their own work, their low hum of gossip returning like the evening tide.
Aonung was struggling. A low, frustrated growl vibrated in his chest as the leather strips slipped from his grip for the third time.
"You're pulling much too hard," you murmured, reaching over without thinking.
Your fingers brushed his, and he went perfectly still. The heat of his skin was startling against yours. You gently took the leather from his hands, showing him how to keep the tension even. "If you pull too hard on the left, the whole braid will twist. You have to be patient, Aonung. You have to follow to the material."
You guided his hands with yours, your smaller fingers resting over his knuckles. For a moment, the world narrowed down to the sensation of his skin, the smell of salt and sun that followed him everywhere, and the rhythmic sound of his breathing.
He didn't look at the braid. He was looking at you. His gaze was heavy, focused on the way your hair fell over your shoulder, on the small patch of bioluminescence near your collarbone where this necklace would soon rest, on the way your lips moved as you explained the craft.
"Like this?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that made your stomach flip.
"Yes," you whispered, finally meeting his eyes. "Exactly like that."
You spent the rest of the evening in a state of quiet bliss. You discovered that Aonung was actually quite funny when he wasn't trying to be the toughest warrior in the village. He told you about the time he tried to ride a skimwing before he was ready and ended up face-first in a patch of stinging coral. He told you about the hidden caves behind the northern cliffs where the water turned a color so bright it looked like the sky.
And all the while, he worked. He meticulously wove the shells into the leather, his movements becoming more fluid under your guidance. He was creating a necklace—a piece of jewelry so intricate and beautiful it would have taken an expert weeks—but he was doing it in a single night, fueled by a desperate, silent need to give you something of his own making.
By the time the moon was high and the fireflies of the reef began their nightly dance, you were both finished. The pavilion was empty, the elders having slipped away long ago with knowing smiles.
"I should get back," you said, feeling a sudden, shy heaviness in your limbs. "My family will be wondering where I am."
"I will walk you," he said. It wasn't a suggestion.
He picked up your heavy basket, slinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, while he tucked his own finished work into a hidden pouch at his waist.
The walk to your marui was slow. The village was quiet, the only sound the soft slap-slapof the water against the pilings and the distant call of a night-bird. Aonung walked close to you—so close your shoulders occasionally brushed.
When you reached the entrance to your home, he handed you your basket. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, softening the arrogance into something much more vulnerable.
"I enjoyed the weaving," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Even if the elders are nosy."
You let out a soft giggle, your tail swaying behind you. "They just like to see you doing something that doesn't involve throwing a spear, Aonung."
You looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. You wanted to say more. You wanted to ask him why he had really come, why he had looked at you like that over the leather strips, but the words felt too big for your throat.
"Thank you for walking me," you said instead, giving him a shy, radiant smile. "And for the help today."
"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered.
You turned to go inside, your mind racing, but just as you reached the curtain, you looked back. He was still standing there, a dark silhouette against the silver water, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You waved a small, hesitant hand, and he nodded once before turning to melt into the shadows of the village.
As you stepped inside your marui and set your basket down, you felt a strange sense of completion. You didn't know yet that tomorrow, he would find you by the shore and press a cold, woven necklace into your hand—a gift of blue teardrop pearls, starlight and the talon of a reef bird to match his own, woven by the hands of a warrior who had finally found something worth holding onto more than his pride.
The golden hour in Awa’atlu was more than just a time of day; it was a transformation of the world. The Great Mother seemed to hold her breath as the sun, a bloated and magnificent orb of molten fire, dipped toward the horizon. It bled a palette of impossible colors—burning amber, bruised plum, and a liquid gold that turned the surface of the ocean into a shimmering mirror of fire.
The air was heavy and warm, carrying the sweet, intoxicating scent of the night-blooming flora from the shoreline and the sharp, clean tang of salt spray. It was the kind of evening that felt permanent, as if the universe had paused just to witness the transition from the frantic energy of the day to the bioluminescent peace of the night.
You were wading in the waist-deep water near the village docks, the cool, rhythmic lap of the tide a soothing balm against your skin. Today, you had finally unraveled your hair from its tight, intricate ceremonial braids. Without the weight of the beads and the structure of the weave, your hair felt immense—a thick, wild sea of curls that cascaded over your shoulders and floated atop the water like dark, silken kelp. You felt free, untethered, and entirely at peace.
Beside you, Tsireya was a picture of effortless grace. She was humming a soft, melodic tune—a song the Metkayina used to call the spirit of the water—as she moved through the shallows. In her hands, she held a woven basket of small, silvery fish. With practiced ease, she tossed them one by one to a group of young ilus that had gathered around you both.
The creatures were in a playful mood, their chattering clicks and whistles vibrating through the water. One particularly bold calf nudged its snout against your hip, nearly knocking you off balance. You laughed, the sound bright and clear in the evening air, as you reached down to stroke its smooth, rubbery skin.
"They are hungry tonight," you remarked, your fingers tracing the glowing patterns on the ilu's flank. "And very demanding."
Tsireya smiled, her eyes crinkling with warmth. "They know who has the best spirit, ma tsmuke. They can feel that you are at rest today."
But as the words left her lips, her gaze drifted past you, toward the pale curve of the shoreline. Her expression shifted—a mischievous, knowing glint entering her eyes that made your heart do a sudden, unprompted hop. "It seems we are not the only ones drawn to the water tonight," she murmured, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone.
You followed her gaze, squinting against the blinding gold of the setting sun. There, standing at the edge of the tide where the sand met the surf, was Aonung.
He looked different than he had in the weavers' pavilion or during the frantic races on the reef. Gone was the loud-mouthed warrior, replaced by someone who looked uncharacteristically hesitant. He was standing perfectly still, his hands tucked behind his back, his tail giving a sharp, rhythmic flick that betrayed his internal nerves. He was watching you—not with his usual smirk, but with an intensity that felt heavy, even from a distance.
He seemed to be contemplating his next move, caught in a moment of rare indecision. From where you stood, you couldn't see the sweat on his palms or the way his heart was hammering against his ribs, but you could see the way he looked at you. To Aonung, you were the center of the world. The golden light caught the curve of your neck, the wild tumble of your hair, and the way your woven top rested perfectly against your skin. You were a vision of everything he had been working toward for weeks.
Tsireya, never one to let her brother suffer in silence, cupped her hands around her mouth. "Aonung! Are you waiting for the tide to go out, or are you going to join us?"
The shout broke his trance. You saw him jump slightly, his ears pinning back in a flash of visible panic. He looked around as if hoping a rogue akula might appear to give him an excuse to leave, but when he realized he was trapped, he squared his shoulders. With a deep breath that expanded his broad chest, he began to wade out into the water.
His movements were slow, deliberate. As he drew closer, the water rippling around his strong legs, the playful chattering of the ilus seemed to fade into the background. There was a gravity to his approach that made the air feel thick.
"Tsireya," he said stiffly as he reached the two of you, offering his sister a curt nod. Then, his eyes locked onto yours, and the rest of the world simply ceased to exist for him. "Y/N."
Tsireya didn't miss the way his gaze lingered on your hair, or the way your own tail was twitching beneath the surface. She let out a soft, knowing giggle. "I believe the ilus by the marui’s are feeling neglected," she announced, already turning to swim away. "Do not be a bore, Aonung. Try to use your words."
She disappeared into the golden glare, leaving the two of you in a pocket of profound, charged silence. The water swirled between you, the rising heat of his body radiating through the cooling evening air.
"You look..." Aonung started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, deepening it to regain his composure. "Your hair. It is different."
"I took the braids out," you said, feeling a sudden, shy heat rise in your cheeks. You reached up to brush a damp curl from your face. "Do you like it?"
"I... yes. very much," he breathed, his eyes traveling over every feature of your face.
The moment felt fragile, like a piece of spun glass. Aonung took a half-step closer, his large frame towering over you, blocking out the sun and surrounding you in his shadow. He reached into the small pouch at his waist, his movements slow and reverent.
"I have been thinking," he began, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in your chest. "I have been courting you for a while now. It has been... a process. But I think I am finally ready to present you with this."
He held out his hand. Lying across his broad, calloused palm was the necklace he had labored over in the pavilion.
In the dying light of the sun, it was breathtaking. The green woven kelp-leather was vibrant and rich, a testament to the patience you had taught him. At the center hung the reef bird talon, polished until it gleamed like a piece of dark glass, a perfect mirror to the one he wore himself. But it was the additions that made your breath catch—trailing along the weave were small, blue teardrop pearls. They were the exact shade of the pearls you wore in your hair, shimmering with an iridescent light that spoke of the deep ocean.
"Aonung," you whispered, your fingers ghosting over the talon. "It’s beautiful. It’s perfect."
"I wanted it to be right," he said, his ears perking up at your praise. "I wanted it to match you. To show that I see you."
You were staring at the intricate knots, moved beyond words, but then his earlier phrasing finally clicked in your mind. You looked up at him, your brow furrowing in genuine, sweet confusion. "Wait... what did you just say?"
Aonung blinked, his confident posture wavering. "I said I wanted it to match you?"
"No, before that," you said, your head tilting to the side. "The part about... courting?"
Aonung’s ears did a slow, dramatic droop. His mouth fell open, and for a moment, he looked entirely lost. "Yes. Courting. The gifts? The rare shells from the trench? The racing every afternoon? The fact that I have sat through three weaver's circles just to be near you?"
You blinked back at him, your mind racing through the memories of the past weeks. To you, it had been a series of fun, increasingly close moments with a friend who was finally softening. "I thought you were just... being helpful? I thought we were becoming very, very good friends, Aonung."
Aonung looked like he wanted to throw himself into the surf. He groaned, a long, dramatic sound of exasperation, and threw his hands up in the air. "Very good friends? Y/N, that was courting. My presence at your side every waking hour for the past fourteen sun-cycles just to be very good friends?"
He paced a small, frustrated circle in the waist-deep water, his tail splashing the surface. "Did you think I was doing that for Lo'ak? You truly didn't know? After everything?"
The heat in your face was now a full, violet flush. Looking back at the intensity in his eyes, the way he always stood a little too close, the way he had essentially become your shadow—it was so blindingly obvious that you felt like a fool.
"Well... now that I think about it," you murmured, a sheepish, radiant smile spreading across your lips. "I guess it was a bit more than 'friendly' behavior."
Aonung stopped his pacing and looked at you, his frustration melting into a look of pure, helpless affection. ""I am courting a girl who is as blind as a cave-fish," he muttered to himself, though the corner of his mouth was twitching.
"I'm sorry!" you giggled, stepping into his space until your chests were nearly touching. "But I accept. The gift... and the suitor."
Aonung’s breath hitched. "I see you, Y/N"
"I see you, Aonung"
You took the necklace from his hand, the weight of it a physical promise. You moved closer, stepping up onto your tippy-toes in the swirling water to reach him. You wrapped your arms around his thick neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. Aonung didn't hesitate this time; his large arms surged around you, pulling you flush against his warm, damp skin. He held you with a strength that made you feel entirely safe, his heart hammering a frantic, joyous rhythm against your own.
In the distance, Tsireya watched from the sully Marui with lo’ak, her heart full as she saw the two of you silhouetted against the last sliver of the sun. It was done.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. "Will you help me put it on?"
Aonung’s hands were trembling as he took the leather cord. You turned around, lifting the heavy, curly mass of your hair to expose the nape of your neck. You felt the cool touch of the pearls against your skin, and then the feather-light, reverent brush of his fingers as he secured the clasp.
When you turned back to face him, the necklace sat perfectly against your collarbone, the blue pearls glowing in the twilight. Aonung reached out, his thumb grazing your jawline, his gaze darkening with a sudden, heavy intensity.
"Y/N," he breathed, his hand sliding into the curls at the back of your head to pull you closer.
You didn't wait for him to ask. You leaned in, closing the distance, and then his lips were on yours.
The kiss was everything the last few weeks had been—intense, sweet, and deep like the ocean. It tasted of salt and the warmth of the sun. Aonung groaned low in his throat, his other hand splaying across your back to hold you as if he’d never let go. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, the world around you dissolving into nothing but the feel of him and the pulse of the tide.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead stayed against yours. He was breathless, a triumphant, vulnerable smile on his face. "Now," he whispered. "Do you still think we are just 'very good friends'?"
You laughed, pulling him back down for another kiss. "No, maybe best friends."
Oke, So, I have no excuse, I fell in love again lol❤️🩹❤️🩹😫 they're both so cute together, right now I'm a gluttony demon devouring everything that has to do with them, I made a playlist and everything and I want to draw more but djxjflxijxkxidndo help 🥺💖💖
WARNINGS: p in v / infidelity / reader has female body / porn with plot / reader is metkayina / dirty talk / public sex / cunnilingus / multiple positions / size kink / belly imprint mentions / hair pulling / multiple orgasms / backshots
AN: so sorry for leaving you guys for so long, i needed to take a writing break because i have a really bad habit of writing a bunch then getting super burnt out so i need to remind myself to take a week or two to recharge and get back into it!! anyways i hope u guys enjoy this!! as much as i love neytiri i rlly wanted to do like a guilty kinda dark smut also for everyone who voted on the poll DWWW because neteyam is next!
WC: 2.9k
꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ
The Na'vi from the forest came with a different beat. They were awkward and strange, their bodies too lean, their tails too stiff, their feet unsuited for the sand and coral. You observed from your perch above the village as the great Olo'eyktan, Jake Sully, stood before your leaders. His kin stood with him, a look of defiance and terror in their eyes.
You were chosen, along with a few others, to assist in their acclimation. To teach them the ways of the water. It was one of the ways you came to know him. Up close, he was even more menacing. A warrior forged from the darkness of a mighty tree, his aura spilling over the area surrounding you. And his eyes. There was a heaviness in them that you couldn't understand, this depth of sorrow tempered with the steel of a survivor.
You instructed him on how to hold his breath for longer periods of time, on how to swim with the currents instead of against them. His imperfect spear thrusts would be corrected by your gentle hands, your bodies brushing together for an instant too long. You also instructed him in the song of the reef, the names of the various corals and fishes. During these classes, you would notice him looking at you. Not the way a student looks at his instructor, but the way a starving man looks at a woman.
He would look at your mouth, your hips, the way your own thick tail swished back and forth in the water. Then, suddenly remembering himself, he would swallow, his voice harsh and loud in the quiet lagoon, and distance himself from you. You could see the flicker of guilt passing over his face, followed by his own gaze drifting away, preoccupied with the horizon and the burdens of his own conscience, which weighed heavier than the weight of any prying eyes. The struggle between them was almost alive, the third entity to join them in the water.
Now, today's lesson was finished. You were swimming back to the main part of the reef, your heart full of joy. Your tsurak moved easily across the water's surface, and with you swam your tulkun brother, Ro’no. He was singing his deep, throaty song. The day was a perfect one. The sun warmed your scale-covered skin, and the air was thick with the salt of the reef.
Then came the shadow.
A monstrous metal shape, a wound on the surface of the ocean, began to rise. A sky people submarine. You could barely register the danger, a dreadful, metallic thwump booming through the water. The song died away into a pained, gurpling scream. You looked down to see a terrible metal spear protruding from his side, a cloudy red streamer of brilliant crimson blood seeping into the water.
Panic gripped you now, cold and clear. You called out his name in futile shouting that was lost in the vastness of water. You urged your tsurak forward, your heels dug into its flanks in blind terror. But your pursuer was faster. A harpoon lanced out of the water to impale your mount behind its head. Your tsurak collapsed in death seconds before you tumbled into the foamy water below.
You swam.
You swam with every last bit of energy in you, gasping for air, muscles screaming in torment. The shadow of the submarine hung above you, a hunter playing with its victim. The vibrations of the engine thrummed in the water around you. Any hope was long lost. It was now or never. Your eyes clenched shut, and in an act of final desperate prayer, you held up your queue to your chest and prayed to Eywa.
Then a missile was launched from the submarine; the trail of bubbles was coming straight for you.
You gritted your teeth, bracing for impact, but there was none. Rather, an intoxicating Arm dragged you back out of the water, forcing you so violently you almost screamed. You found yourself weightless, plummeting onto a slick, blue back. Your eyes snapped open. It was Jake. He sat on his tsurak, his muscles thrown up in a rigid barricade in front of you, one arm clenched like an iron vise across your waist. He kept his gaze fixed fixedly straight ahead, forcing you backward and away from the metal behemoth killing your brother.
"You should really be more careful, sweetheart." He warned, though you could sense the underlying teasing tone to his words.
He didn’t stop until the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, steering his tsurak towards a small, isolated reef isle. He helped you down, his fingers grazing your side in a way that was just a fraction of a second too long before he stepped back. He disconnected his queue from his mount, then patted it hard. ”Go. Go tell the Metkayina what’s happened. Tell them where we are.” The tsurak let out a protesting cry before leaping back into the water.
The silence was oppressive, apart from the occasional splash of the waves against the shore. Jake moved with a bruteness that verged on brutality, gathering driftwood to build a fire. You sat on the sand, your knees tucked into your chest, the memory of blood in the water etched behind your eyes. The adrenaline was ebbing, leaving you with a hollow, shaking void.
He sat down beside you, not touching but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his skin. The space between you was heavy with all of the things that you'd been meaning to say. The sideways looks, his fingers drifting against yours and then jerking back as if he’d been burned.
“Thank you,” You finally managed to whisper hoarsely. You moved closer, despite your fear, your need for comfort taking over. He coughed, his eyes fixed intently upon the fire. His tail-twitch was aggressive, jerky movements in the sand beneath him. He simply nodded, his body tense with every muscle strained.
You reached out and touched his bicep, feeling the rock-solid muscle underneath his skin. "Jake. I don't even know how to thank you. You just saved my life."
That was it. The breaking point.
Slowly, he turned his head to turn to you. The flames of the fire danced in his eyes, making them gleam with gold before shifting to molten amber. You saw the struggle in his eyes, of duty, guilt, and loyalty, but something else too, something primal and hungry, something reflected in your own hungers. His eyes rested upon your lips, then returned to your eyes. Between you, the distance had vanished.
He could take it no longer.
His lips crashed down on yours. It wasn't an gentle kiss. It was an aggressive, needy kiss. There was salt and pain and an illicit passion that had been simmering for what felt like weeks. His hands were in your hair, grasping it, holding you to him as if he were starving for this kiss. You kissed him back just as roughly, your hands grasping for his chest, for the fabric of his loincloth.
He pulled you into his embrace, his hardness pressed against your body, his thickness bulging against the thin leather of his trousers. He ended the kiss, his breathing heavy in his chest as he looked at you with an expression of both lust and torment.
"I shouldn't," he growled, but his movements contradicted him. His hands wandered all over your body, learning your contours, his thumbs rubbing against the peaks of your nipples through your top. "But I have to. I have to taste all of you," he was mumbling.
He laid you back down on the sandy bed, his husky body covering your entire length. He pulled at the ties of your chest wrap, peeling it back to expose your breasts. He groaned, burying his head between your breasts as his mouth accepted a peaked nipple. His biting and sucking sparked an electric sensation that went straight to your loins, wetting you for him.
His hand trailed down your belly, slipping between your legs. No hesitation, his fingers locating your dampness, caressing you expertly. "You're so wet for me," he whispered against your skin. "So fucking ready." He thrust two fingers deep, then a third, pumping in and out while his thumb danced around your clit. You arched your hips into his touch, milked him for every sensation he could provide, and sighs left your lips.
But he was far from finished teasing you. He shifted, his lips trailing down your body until he was nestled between your legs. He gazed up at you, his eyes dark and feral. Before you could process what he was about to do, his lips lowered and his tongue was on you. He ravaged you with an intensity that teetered on the edge of brutal savagery, his lips and tongue devouring your most sensitive spot until you’re thrashing and pleading for respite. When your climax finally detonated in your system, you screamed his name out loud.
Even before the ripples of pleasure dissipated, he began the next movements. He began the process of undoing his own loincloth. The fabric dropped away. His cock erupted from the loosened cloth, large, hard, and bending upward. He reached out a quick stroke before fixing his gaze on yours.
“I'mma fuck you,” he said, his voice a low command, barely audible as his lips trace all over your skin. “I'm going to fuck you until you forget everything but my name.”
He hooked his hands under your knees, separating your legs far apart. He placed himself at your entrance and thrust inside, slowly and deeply, extending you to your limit. You gasped at the overwhelming feel of being so thoroughly stretched by him. He paused to let you adjust, and then he started moving.
His strokes were powerful and deep, a punishing rhythm that echoed his own pent-up emotions. Every slam of his body against yours left you winded.
He shifted his weight, pressing deeper, and his eyes drifted down to where your bodies were joined. A low, guttural groan rumbled in his chest as he saw it: the thick, rigid outline of his cock pressing against your stomach, a clear, undeniable imprint of his size inside you. He slowly withdrew, almost all the way out, and you watched, transfixed, as the bulge vanished.
Then he thrust back in, hard and deep, and the shape reappeared, more pronounced than before. "Look at that," he growled, his voice a rough, possessive whisper. He placed a large hand flat on your belly, his thumb pressing down right over the head of his cock through your skin.
"Fuck, look at you. So small, taking all of me." A hot blush crept up your neck and flooded your cheeks, a wave of embarrassment washing over you at his raw words. But it was immediately followed by a jolt of dark, shameful pleasure.
You loved it. You loved how he filled you so completely, how his size was a claim written on your very body. He saw your blush and smirked, his eyes darkening with lust. "Yeah, baby. Take it. Take it all."
He grasped a wad of your hair, forcing your head back to bare your neck to him. He bit down on the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder joined, just enough to leave a mark, to claim you.
"You feel that?" he growled in your ear. "You feel how hard you make me? I've wanted this since I saw you," he said.
He maneuvered, drawing out and turning you onto your stomach. He penetrated you from behind, this new positioning allowing him to push even deeper. He reached for your hips, drawing them back to meet his thrusts. The slapping of skin against skin, combined with your cries and his growls, filled the night air.
Then, you felt it. The sensation of a caress against your own queue. You stiffened. He was reaching for the ultimate contact a Na'vi could give.
“Jake.” you breathed, a warning and a plea.
"Shhh," he comforted, his movements slowing. "Let me in. Let me feel you," he pleaded.
He carefully picked the tip of your queue in his hand and extended it to connect with his own. As soon as they met, a world of pleasure erupted inside your head. In an instant, you knew what he was feeling: the grief in his heart, the guilt for Neytiri, the urgent need for you, the bliss of being inside you. And he knew what you were feeling: your fear, your grief for your tulkun, the mind-blowing pleasure he was giving you.
It was too much. The combination of physical pleasure and emotional ecstasy pushed you toward another orgasm. His body was experiencing it too, and his movements became erratic, desperate.
"Come for me," he ordered, the voice in your head as well as in your ears. "Come with me."
Your release shattered you, a silent scream ripping from your throat as your internal walls snapped shut around him. The rush of your orgasm resonating through his mind launched him over the edge. With a brutal thrust, he drove himself deep within you and spilled his seed, a roar of pure, painful pleasure erupting from his chest. You felt his warm seed flood your channel, and within your link, his soul shattered and rebuilt in one blinding instant.
He collapsed upon you, and the weight was a comforting, settling pressure. You simply lay there for a long time, the fire snapping, the waves lapping against the shore. The connection you shared dissipated, but the imprint of his thoughts within your mind was left. He retreated, and you felt a twinge of sadness from the void.
He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so that you were facing him. He reached out and gently pushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch was shockingly tender now. He focused his attention on the mark he had put on your shoulder.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, his voice heavy with a feeling you couldn't quite place. “For everything.”
You understood he wasn’t just talking about the bite. He was talking about Ro’no, about the submarine, about his wife, about this whole, perfect, terrible moment. You didn’t say anything. You merely leaned in and kissed him softly, a gentle pressing of lips, worlds away from the desperation in the kiss just moments before.
He hugged you back, his arms enfolding you as he held you tightly to his chest as though he feared you'd vanish. And in this forgotten, minute island, under the observation of Eywa, you and he discovered this dark, beautiful refuge in each other’s embrace.
But the solace was not to last.
Faint at first, then growing clearer, voices carried across the water. They were calling your names. Tonowari's deep, steady boom. Ronal's sharp, concerned trill. And then, a voice that made Jake's entire body go rigid against yours: Neytiri.
"Jake!"
Panic, sharp and sudden, sliced through the after-sex haze. Both of you scrambled up from the sand, a clumsy, frenetic waltz of reclaiming rejected cloth. You smoothed your loincloth, quickly rebinding your chest cloth, your hands shaking. Jake latched his own loincloth, his movements swift and sure. He ruffled his long hair, trying to erase all signs of your frenzied sex.
You noticed him, and a slow, menacing grin crept across his features. There was no remorse in his eyes only the excitement of evasion.
"Close call," he silently mouthed, his eyes aglow with the intensity of an animal.
The calls were getting closer. You could make out the forms of their ilus swimming through the water towards the island. Neytiri was the first one who reached the shore. She leapt off her ilu before it came to a complete stop. She rushed towards Jake, embracing him in a hug as he navigated off his own mount.
“Jake!” she exclaimed again, burrowing her face into him. “We were so worried. The tsurak said you were attacked.” He hugged her in return, his arms wrapping around her waist, but his gaze was locked on you from over her shoulder. "We're okay," he said calmly and steadily. "It's okay. We're okay."
Ronal and Tonowari soon followed. And the Tsahík's acute eyes had already settled upon you, her face reflecting both fierce maternal protectiveness and relief. She flung herself toward you, cupping your face with gentle hands as if searching it over for wounds. "My child," she whispered, pressing her thumbs against your cheek. "Are you hurt? What happened?"
“I'm okay, Tsahík,” you managed to say, your voice raw from screaming. “They… they killed Ro'no A wave of sadness passed over Ronal's face, but her attention never wavered from you. She searched you thoroughly, her hands resting on your arms and sides to see if you were wounded anywhere. But you felt none of it.
Your entire soul had been attuned to the man with his woman mere feet away from you. Jake was caressing Neytiri's hair, whispering soothing nothings, but he never looked away from you. The pull was magnetic and irrevocable. In those eyes, you saw the echo of your ecstasy, the whisper of desperate moans, the sensation of hands upon your skin.
He was with her, but he is with you, with you in the firelight, with you on the sand, lost in a passion that never should have been. While his mate hugged him tight and the Tsahik attended to you, the two of you simply sat there, the mystery of the island poised between you
Synopsis, Spider wasn’t the first human born on Pandora, but he was the first to grow up on it. You had Neytiri’s heart long before Jake came along, and you’d have both of theirs long after. The problem is, humans weren’t meant for Pandora. Even so, Eywa saw you, and it seems like she accepted you. Maybe that's why, even after being without you for so long, they saw you again.
WC: 10.5k (oh wow)
inspired by @jsooly taken in by the sullys series!
A/N: I wrote this quite literally at 5 am, and it's drastically different from my usual writing style, but I like it! Very bittersweet! and written with the assumption that whoever is reading this knows about Sylwanin and her lore.
You were born to a soldier on Pandora, a Seargant who seemed unbothered by her pregnancy during her term. The RDA wasn’t progressive, not at all, but they weren’t so cruel (at least to their own race) that they’d force a pregnant woman into work. Your mother simply made the decision to keep working, no matter how unsafe it was.
After she gave birth to you, she seemed… inattentive at best. She took maternity leave for the required period of time and got back into the action once she was cleared, leaving you essentially alone. It wasn’t long after her redeployment that she was killed in action along with the rest of her squad. An unfortunate accident in the dangerous wilds of Pandora
So, motherless and unclaimed by a father, you were orphaned. Too young for Cryo, they let you stay. Your mother's room became yours and yours alone.
Of course, the RDA base was no place for a child. Ill-equipped and non-accommodative. The higher-ups reasoned that you’d best be left to the scientists and doctors. They’d know how to take care of a kid best, right?
Of course, no one really paid much attention to you. Giving the minimum attention necessary to keep you alive, lest they carry the guilt of neglecting an infant to death.
Grace wasn’t sure what to think of you when you were put in her care. She was a scientist, not a babysitter. Her focus was on the Na’vi, their way of life, and the organisms living on Pandora. She didn’t have time to look after a kid.
You were shucked off onto some lower-level scientists and assistants. She didn’t hear much from you other than your crying, which was always met with swift confinement to your room with your current caretaker.
Eventually, though, you became autonomous. You were quick, slippery, and curious. The ones in charge of you didn’t pay much attention, which led to you sneaking around. Once, finding your way into Grace's lab.
She found you at her desk, standing on her chair in only an ill-fitting t-shirt and diapers, leaning over and staring at the projection of various pictures she had up.
Grace wasn’t cruel; she may not have wanted to be responsible for you, but she held the same fondness for kids that most did.
Carefully, she picked you up, sitting you in her lap, and asked you what you were doing.
“Pic!” Is all you blurted out, head turned around, and staring at her with your wide and curious eyes. Grace chuckled, nodding as she hummed and affirmed your babbles.
You spent the rest of that day in her hold, watching as she scrolled through the pictures and videos she had in the database, explaining, in the most child-friendly way, the ones you were interested in.
Being just over a year old, you weren’t still in her lap. Wriggling around, grabbing at her and objects, even standing up in her lap and jumping up and down, which she swiftly stopped. Despite all this, Grace was patient with you. Perhaps it was your curiosity for Pandora that softened her, the fact that you were interested in something she’d devoted her life to researching.
A new brain to fill, maybe.
So, you made frequent trips to the lab after that. Slipped past your caretakers and crawling into Grace or Max’s laps, whoever was available, and babbling on and on. You weren’t the center of attention or a priority, but you became somewhat of a soft spot for Grace and her fellow scientists. Not as much of a burden, anymore.
It wasn’t long before you started picking up on the Na’vi phrases being used, especially once you discovered the parts of the lab dedicated more towards the avatars and culture of the Na’vi. Grace, ever the enabler of your interest in Pandora, started speaking to you in almost strictly Na’vi.
Being so young, you picked up on it incredibly quickly, nearly at the same speed as English, which you’d only really started learning a month or two prior.
It was cute to them, having a little human baby babbling in Na’vi and focusing so intently on the fauna and flora you saw in catalogs. Some even joked that your bedtime book should be the one Grace wrote.
They called you the LabRat around the base. A term of endearment, of course. Many knew about you, the loose kid on base who scurried around and spent almost as much time in the lab as the scientists. You were cute. But really, that’s all you were to them, a cute kid.
But to Grace? Somewhere along the way, she grew more fond of you than she’d expected. She ate with you at breakfast, watching you messily eat out of the corner of her eye as she held conversations with the other scientists. You stuck to her side, only ever really leaving it when you wanted to be with Max or go to sleep. Even then, she often had to carry you to your room multiple times throughout the day when you fell asleep in her lap.
You spent a lot of time with Max, too. Whenever Grace was in her Avatar, which was often, you found yourself with him. He was always a little softer with you, having been more fond and sympathetic with you earlier on.
He treated you more like a kid than most others. He didn’t really try to feed your curiosity with Pandora, instead focusing on the fact that you were a deprived orphan child. He was the most suited to take care of you, probably.
At some point, you found your way into the Avatar lab, watching through the windows. No one really saw it coming, but you escaped. With your little mask that was slightly too big for your face, you ran out the door, gunning right for Grace’s Avatar.
They didn’t really think you’d recognize her, but you did, and you wanted to see her. Of course, you were a little intimidated by her drastic change in appearance and height, but at this point, you knew about the Na’vi and Avatars, so you didn’t have much of a problem.
Grace, in her Avatar form, was perhaps even more loving towards you. Maybe it was the youth of the body, or the fact that she had her own internal favoritism for it, but she seemed happier. Something you picked up on quickly.
You loved being outside. No longer were you content being cooped up in the lab, you wanted to see the forest! Of course, they weren’t exactly ok with the idea, but your crying eventually convinced them.
Grace decided to take you to the school. She’d made excellent progress with the Omaticaya through the school, maybe it would be good to start introducing some direct human contact… through you. And she figured it could be good for your development, meeting beings that weren’t just inattentive scientists and soldiers.
With your mask on and sporting your cutest clothes, Grace took you to the school. The Na’vi kids were unsure about you at first, with their adverse feelings about Skypeople, but eventually they opened up.
You were small, so incredibly small. Even the young children had no problems holding and cradling you. You were cute in your own, human, way.
They were intrigued by the fact that your Na’vi was as good as your English. Granted, neither were particularly good, seeing as you were a toddler, but it's the fact that they were at the same level that they admired.
Sylwanin was especially interested in you, often taking you in her arms, cooing and coddling you.
“Sa’nok, she’s so small!” She’d exclaim to Grace, who’d laugh in response.
“Well, she’s human. You’re probably at least 2 feet taller than my human body, and I’m an adult.” She leaned over Sylwanin, smiling down at the scene. “She’s just a youngin’, not even 2 years old.”
From then on, you were a regular addition to Grace’s school and a personal favorite of Sylwanin and Neytiri. The two sisters absolutely adored you. Cooing over you and your babbles, sitting you in between them or on one of their laps during the lessons.
Often, they’d sit in the back with you, giggling at your tiny body and antics, brushing your hair, or watching as you fiddled with whatever toy or objects you could get your hands on.
Between your time in the lab and out at the school, you were the first human to be culturally raised Na’vi. It was fascinating to Grace.
Tsu’tey was cautious of you at first, unsure of how to handle how small and frail you were. But out of everything, you were also incredibly persistent and curious. Somehow, you found yourself worming your way into Tsu’tey’s arms, waddling up to him and demanding he pick you up through body language.
Sylwanin found this utterly adorable, how you’d stand there and “Hmf!” until he reached down and picked you up. He didn’t really know how to hold you, hands tucked under your armpits, torso and legs dangling in the air, but you crawled your way around him, finding yourself sitting on his shoulders. Well, shoulder, to be exact. You could comfortably sit on one, granted it was with one of his hands on your legs to keep your balance while you grabbed onto his braids.
“Tey-Tey” “Wanin” and “Tiri” you called them, not really able to pronounce their full names. They, of course, didn’t care, cooing at the babble of nicknames you gave them.
In turn, they started to call you “Syulì'ang”, a butterfly-like insect that was known for its characteristic claws that latched it onto whatever it landed on. A fitting nickname, they all thought.
Their sweet Syulì'ang. Tsu’tey was more or less simply amused by you once he was comfortable. He wasn't as doting as Sylwanin or Neytiri or some of the others; he liked you, but it was more or less than he was entertained by you.
Of course, that changed the more you stuck around. By the time you’d learned to walk well enough to walk to the school yourself, with Grace accompanying you, of course, he was always waiting by the doorway. He’d give a simple nod to Grace when the pair of you came into view, and he tried to remain stoic as you ran forward, your small body knocking into his tall legs and calling out his name, but Grace, and just about anyone else who really knew him, could see through it.
You spent your developmental years at the school, growing up so quickly that the Na’vi kids didn’t know what to do. When they first met you, you could barely walk, and all you could really do was babble and string together words, but years passed, and you began holding conversations and moving around fairly fluidly.
Of course, you were still small and babyish, still just a toddler, but toddlers grew and changed fast.
You were like their baby sister. Tsmuke, they called you. To them, you were really no different from another Na’vi kid. You spoke fluently, you were young and saw the world in a manner that seemed to reflect their own cultural point of view, perhaps from your exposure to it.
Grace couldn’t really place when she started to love you. Maybe it was when you first called her “Sa’nok”, copying the kids at the schoolhouse. Maybe it was when that transformed into “Sa’nu”, or when it became “mama” when back in the lab. Maybe it was that day you first caught her attention, having snuck into the lab and into her heart.
She never corrected you when you called her those things, even when she got odd stares from the others around when you did. They just didn’t get it. They were too wrapped up in their own world. And yeah, so was she, but at some point, you became a part of her world.
She didn’t really think of herself as your parent, but she didn’t mind if you thought of her as one. She wasn’t really the nicest; she was definitely more of a ‘tough love’ kind of parental figure, but that wasn’t really all that bad.
Pandora wasn’t suited for you. You weren’t supposed to be there, and it wasn’t a good place for you by any means. You weren’t given proper attention or affection, and when you were, it wasn't consistent. Grace and Max, and the Na’vi kids weren’t role model family figures, but they tried, and they loved you, no matter how… odd it was.
At some point, you’d met Mo’at and Eytukan. Likely, they’d heard of you from their daughters and Tsu’tey. It was hard to tell what they thought of you, after all, they had their own reservations about the humans, only allowing the school to function due to Sylwanin's request.
But they liked you enough. You were a kid, a toddler, innocent in what was being done to their planet. You didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of any prejudice they held towards the humans. You spoke the language and learned beside their children. You seemed to love the forest as if it were your own home.
Formally, you met Mo’at when you fell down and scraped yourself while running out of the school, being chased by Sylwanin. You cried, of course, but Sylwanin, as calm as ever, simply scooped you up and told Grace she was taking you to her mother to get fixed up, running off before she could object.
You watched the Tsahik in awe as she worked on you, rubbing a salve on your wounds, her jewelry and beadings clinking together as she did so. You watch her in silence, Sylwanin giggling at your entranced demeanor. At the end, climbing back into Sylwanin’s arms, you turned and told Mo’at she was magnificent. A big word for your age.
Mo’at had to admit, you were a charming little kid.
Neytiri was especially charmed by you, often taking you from anyone else's arms to hold you in hers. It became a running joke that she’d adopt and steal you away if she could. She never denied it.
You could always be found fiddling with her hair or necklaces, pulling at them or putting them in your mouth. Neytiri, despite not liking your actions, was patient with you, simply giggling as she pulled it from your grasp and pointed your attention elsewhere.
Some people on base started to voice complaints about you being out too much. Being gifted jewelry and pieces by Sylwanin and Neytiri, and one piece from Tsu’tey, you began dressing in them every day.
Of course, the complaints went nowhere, being no more than off-hand comments made by people who had no role or responsibility in your upbringing. As loved as you were, you were still overlooked more often than not, just an orphan kid who wandered in and out of the base. Outside of Grace, Max, and a few other scientists, no one really cared.
You had your routine. Getting up, spending time with Max before running out with Grace to the school. The school was your favorite place, you often told Neytiri and Tsu’tey in giddy whispers. You felt free and loved. It was your place.
When Sylwanin stopped showing up, you were sad. You missed her. Really, she was your favorite.
You didn’t understand why you stopped going to the school, why Grace started arguing with a bunch of the soldiers more often, and why you were no longer allowed outside of the base. You cried a lot, saying you wanted your Tsmuke’s and Tsmukan. You wanted to go to the school, you wanted to see Neytiri and Sylwanin and Tsu’tey and the others.
You cried when a scientist, tired of your whining, told you they probably didn’t want to see you.
Grace had a hard time comforting you. She didn’t know what to say, struggling with her own grief and guilt in the whole situation. All she could do was hold you and tell you that things were going to be okay.
It was a while before you stopped crying so much. You still whined about wanting to go outside, but you learned to stop when asked. You spent your nights fiddling with the gifts from Neytiri and Sylwanin, the jewelry they crafted for you, the toy Mo’at gifted you once, and the Ikran Tsu’tey carved for you out of wood. They were your most treasured pieces.
You worked on your own gifts for them, on and off, through the two years you spent without them.
You were six by the time Jake came around. You became attached to him very quickly.
He’d just made it to base and was getting filled in by Norm. His introduction to Grace wasn’t going well, bordered by her hostility towards him being there in place of his brother. Before he could say anything else, you bounded into the room.
“Sa'nu! sa'nu! 'ur 'upe oe run!” Mama! Mama! Look what I found! You yelled, stopping at her feet and shoving an insect you were cradling in your palm into her face.
She glanced at the bug and tilted her head, raising a brow at you. “ Y/n, nga kame nga're ke tung wrrpa, ‘itetsyip.” You know you’re not allowed outside, little one.
You pouted, stomping your foot. “Oe ke wrrkä! tsal pamähem ne oe.” I didn't go out! It came to me. You insisted. Grace merely rolled her eyes with a grin as she ruffled your hair.
Jake looked at Norm, confused, who translated a lazy “she’s showing her a bug.” for him.
As if you just noticed their presence, you awkwardly glanced at the two, shyly shuffling behind Grace. Jake glanced between you and Grace before leaning in.
“What’s that you got there?” He asked, smiling as he watched your facial expression change. Before he knew it, you were launched into a whole explanation about the bug. It's name, both scientific and Na’vi, and all the fun little characteristics you noticed and pointed out to him.
It was easy to tell who you’re favorite was going to be among the newest science recruits. You became quick friends with the ex-Marine, demanding his attention whenever he wasn’t busy.
You were an interesting little thing. Energetic as all could be, running around like you owned the place, switching between languages so casually as if they were one. Jake paid more attention to you in a week than most of the people on base had in your entire life.
He’d come by your room, peaking in as you played with your toys or read a book you definitely didn’t actually understand. As soon as you noticed his presence, you’d abandon whatever it was you were doing to run to him, hoisting yourself up into his lap.
“What's up, little bug?” He’d say, smiling down at you as you went on and on about whatever it is you wanted to talk about. Most of it went right over his head, but he listened nonetheless. He got the memo pretty early on that you were essentially left to your own devices, only helped with the bare minimum by people who didn’t want to be responsible for you
So, he started being more attentive towards you. Call it fatherly instincts, he calls it common empathy. You didn’t have any plans or expectations for him, you weren’t disappointed in his presence in place of his brothers, you simply looked up at him with those wide and love-filled eyes. That was all he needed to become hooked. His little bug, he liked to call you.
To Norm, Jake had adapted a fatherly role scarily quickly. Of course, Norm thought you were cute, but he wasn’t really sure what to do with you. It puzzled him how well Jake was with you, for only knowing you for a few days. How you crawled into his lab during one of the briefings, obviously tired but wanting to be involved.
The briefing was casual, so Jake wrapped his arms around you and cradled you, rocking you in his arms as he hummed a lullaby he’d grown up with on Earth.
It was the first time someone had sung you a lullaby, at least since you were a crying infant everyone was desperate to soothe. You fell asleep in his arms immediately. Grace only gave a passing glance and a chuckle, stating he was now on bedtime duty.
And that he was. You were a stubborn kid when it came to bedtime, fighting your own sleep and exhaustion because you wanted to be where the attention was. You didn’t want to miss out on any of Grace or Max’s briefings or discoveries, no matter how dull they were, or the fact that they didn’t really happen after hours. Nevertheless, you were difficult to put to sleep.
He was quickly called the Y/n Whisperer after he calmed you down from a tantrum and had you knocked out in bed within 10 minutes of you being told to go to sleep, an affair that often took at least half an hour and some strong bargaining.
Jake was still reeling from it all. For him, he was still dealing with the fact that his brother was dead and he’d taken his place on a scientific mission on Pandora, whisked away from his dystopic life on Earth and given a brand new chance. It was dizzying, and now he had a kid attached to his leg.
Call it what it was: whiplash. He doesn’t really understand why you liked him so much, why he was able to connect with you so well. Maybe it was because he was the first person to spare you a second glance in your entire life, a second glance you didn’t have to work and beg for.
If given the chance, Jake was sure you two would be absolutely inseparable.
It was during dinner that things shifted. You were there for Jake's recounting of the events that transpired after he got chansed off by a Thanator. Through it all, all you heard was that he’d met Neytiri.
Neytiri. Your Neytiri.
You missed her. You missed her so bad, and Jake got to see her. It had been two years, and you thought for sure there was no way you’d be able to see her again. But Jake saw her! He even went to the village, so he likely saw Tsu’tey, Mo’at, and Sylwanin!
Seeing them was possible. That was the conclusion you came to.
Tsu’tey was the one to find you the next day. You had snuck out, exopack secured on for the first time in nearly two years, and you set off. Your memory was hazy, and you hardly remembered your way through the forest.
Scratch that, you didn’t remember it at all. You got lost almost immediately, your excitement to see your friends slowly replaced with uncertainty and fear. You wandered through the woods, climbing across logs and rivers, becoming more and more sure that you weren’t going the right way…
Of course, you didn’t know what to do. No one could really blame you for how you started crying out, yelling for Neytiri, Tsu’tey, Sylwanin, Grace, whoever you thought could find you.
It wasn’t until you heard the growl that you regretted your decision to be so loud. Nantang. They surrounded you, stalking and getting ready to pounce. All you could do was scream.
Tsu’tey found you, following the distant yelling for familiar names and then the high-pitched screams. He shot the Nantang, scaring off the others as he rode in on his pa’li. He was ready to shoot you, the human who had trespassed onto their land, but he paused. Arrow resting between his fingers, and breath hitched.
It was you.
He was quick, dismounting his direhorse and scooping you up in his arms, doing his best to soothe you with soft words as you cried and writhed in his hold. Blood was everywhere. He was horrified.
He acted on pure impulse. Jake. Jake probably knew you. He was also human, and he was an avatar- so he probably knew Grace- he had to get you to Jake.
So he rode on his direhorse as fast as he could, holding you tightly in his arms as you bled and bled and cried. Oh, how you cried, clinging to him and whimpering, he felt so helpless. Exactly like how he’d felt that day Sylwanin died in his arms at the school house. He couldn’t have that happen again. Not with you. Not with the small girl he’d grown so fond of.
It was a blur, finding Jake and Neytiri, the morphing look of terror on their faces as they took in the sight of the girl in his arms and his disjointed explanation. It was a blur, and he was on his knees, Neytiri holding onto him as they both shook, taking in the situation as Jake ran off into the woods with you in his arms, pushing himself as fast as he could go.
Jake was scared. You were such a sweet girl, and in the days he’d known you, he was hooked. You were small, petulant, stubborn, smart; you were a good kid. You were funny and fun to be around, and he liked you. He saw why Grace had such a soft spot for you, who wouldn’t?
But now you’re in his arms, bleeding, and Grace is gonna be horrified.
He got you to the base, bursting through the doors, demanding a doctor, yelling you needed help because you were hurt and bleeding. You were small, hurt, bleeding, and it felt like you were at death's door.
You were swept out of his arms, and all you could do was whimper, reaching back out to the strong arms you felt safe in. They hooked you up to machines, tended to your wounds. They assured Jake and a just-arriving-frazzled Grace that you were gonna be fine.
But the base wasn’t a hospital. Yeah, it was a military base, and those often come with medical centers, but it wasn’t good, especially not for a child. With how advanced they were, they weren’t well equipped.
You suffered for days, writhing and screaming in pain, tears only stopping once you ran out of them.
Despite Grace and Max’s pleas and Jake's insistence towards Quaritch, you were essentially… ignored.
You were loved. But you were still just a bastard orphaned child; the RDA simply didn’t want to deal with you, especially with your seemingly growing allegiance to the Na’vi.
Of course, they did what they could to help you, but it was minimal.
You were going to die, Grace and Jake were sure of it.
So, desperate, he went to Mo’at. He pleaded for her to help you. She didn’t need much convincing.
The night before Grace planned to move the operation to the Hallelujah Mountains, they snuck you out, careful to remove all your hook-ups to the machines.
They took you to the village, breaking so many rules, desperate to help you.
You were frail, withering away in his hold. The best he could do was whisper comforts as he carried you.
Mo’at worked quickly, shooing them out of her tent as she worked on you. Salves, mixes, incense. She worked for hours. You were just a little kid; you had so much before you. She pleaded to the Great Mother to help you, even if you were a human she could barely reach.
You were getting better, but it wasn’t enough. Something was wrong, very wrong, and she didn’t know what it was or how to help.
She pulled away, examining you with a hitched breath. Just as she went to move to grab another tool, something caught her attention.
An Atokirina.
It floated in the air, pulsing until it wilted down to meet your skin.
Mo’at’s eyes widened.
“We must take her to the Tree of Souls.” She declared as she stepped out of her tent, the group that had gathered in front of it standing and moving in confusion.
They wanted to question it. Jake wanted to ask what was wrong, how you were doing, and if you’d live. All the words were on the tip of his tongue, but Grace grabbed his hand. She kept her gaze forward, at the tent, but she’d communicated enough.
Tsu’tey was the one to take you into his arms, lips pursed, and eyes gazing down at you in worry. For a moment, Jake wanted to be the one to hold you, but you curled into Tsu’teys arms so comfortably- so familiar, a moment of comfort and assurance when you were in so much pain.
Neytiri followed close behind, hand resting on your forehead as they walked, her eyes focused on your face scrunched in agony, your pinched brows and wavering lips. How she wanted to soothe you, to hold you, and kiss away the creases of pain in your face.
You’d grown so much since they’d last seen you. You were still so small, but so much more grown. They had missed you so much, their grief compelled by the loss of two sisters. They nearly begged Mo’at and Eytukan to call off the ban on humans on their land, if only to see you.
And now, you were back in their arms, but by the force of necessity and desperation. Out of the fear of death.
The clan, having roused at the commotion, made their way to the Tree of Souls with the group. They didn’t question their Tsahik’s care of the human child, many of them having heard the accounts of you and your kindred nature from the many children who’d attended the school.
Arriving at the Tree, Neytiri and Tsu’tey kept Grace and Jake at a distance, allowing Mo’at to prepare as the clan gathered around. They pulled Jake and Grace down to the ground with them, connecting their Kuru to the roots sticking up. They started to hum, moving as a group.
With everything in them, they begged Eywa to help you.
You were human, yes, but they loved you. You were their sister. You were Grace's daughter, by love if not biology. You were a sweet kid, and they wanted- needed you to stay.
“Allow this child to heal, Great Mother, allow her to heal and walk among us. To live, to feel your embrace.” Mo’at’s words echoed, her chants and pleas thrumming through the crowd.
Placed at the base of the spirit tree, you lay there, wrapped in luminescent tendrils. They wrapped around your small body, seemingly consuming you as they grew. The light of the tendrils pulsed with your every breath, echoing across the tree like a ripple in water.
You… you felt free. The tendrils were warm, encasing you in what felt like a mother's embrace. Your vision was blurred, but you saw. You saw so much, all you could do was smile. You saw Sylwanin, every time you’d seen her, every word, every movement. She wrapped around you. You saw the sea, you saw the forest and the land. It was breathtaking.
Mo’at faltered, her chants falling off the tip of her tongue as she glanced down at you. At this, the ones who’d brought you here opened their eyes.
They didn’t know what to do.
You were there, alive. More alive than you’d ever been, but they could feel that you were slipping away.
Neytiri crawled towards you, Grace scrambling up and finding herself at your side. She took your hand in hers as Neytiri caressed your hair.
They knew it was a desperate attempt, taking you here, unlikely to work, but it hurt. They weren’t ready to let go. The humans weren’t going to help you. What else were they to do?
Tears slid down Grace’s face as she watched you, your eyes glazed over as a smile crept onto your lips.
“Y/n- Syulì'ang please-” Neytiri whispered, her voice cracking. She leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Stay” she begged
“Syulì'ang,” Tsu’tey choked out, pleading, biting back his words, and tears with them. “Be strong, stay with us.”
You heard their words. You wanted to reach up, to comfort them. Grace was right in front of you, and all you wanted was to reach up and wipe the tears off her face.
Grace cried. Silent, of course. Tears slipping down her cheeks like arrows of fire burning their way through the air. They hurt like it. She wondered if they’d scar, if there would be a trail of scarred flesh down her cheeks when she was done.
You were her child, at least, the closest she had to one. You were the best thing she’d had in a long time. And now, you were slipping away. Like the school, like Sylwanin, like Neytiri and Tsu’tey and the children who’d called her Sa’nok. You called her Sa’nu.
The grief was endless. A fountain pouring from Neytiri as she wept, hands shaking as she tried to fight the urge to take you into her arms. She’d seen you grow up, your words develop from babbles to sentences, your mind expand. She wore the bracelet you’d made for her. It was ill-fitting and poorly crafted, but she weaved it into her armband, careful to preserve its shape and structure. She meant to always have you with her, even if she couldn't physically.
You were more than a child she saw as a sister; you could have been her child. A ridiculous notion, but she felt so strongly about you. She wanted to take you in, hold you close, and carry you as she did her chores and duties. She wanted to hunt and bring it home for you to eat till you were full. Perhaps, to her, you were an odd mixture of a sister and child, but that just meant she loved you all the more.
Her sweet Syulì'ang. She’d named you after the insect, a beautiful creature that fluttered around and gripped onto surfaces when it meant to. She wished and wished and wished that you'd stay, that you’d grip onto the ground and stay there with her. She did not like humans, but you? You, she loved.
So it hurt, watching as your eyes closed, feeling your pulse slow, have you die right in front of her, right in her reach.
Your eyes, heavy, rose up to the sky. “Sa’nu, Tsmuke, Tsmukan, Jake-” Your words were quiet, strained, and heavy. But you spoke anyway, a warmth passing through your body. “Eywa, she’s” It was hard to speak. “She’s like the waves-” your breath released from your lips, cutting off your words.
The tendrils around you pulsed before they dulled, the light dimming across the Tree of Souls.
Jake could only hold Neytiri as she cried, his own tears falling as he felt his entire demeanor freeze.
They left you by the tree, something Grace opposed. But Mo’at had insisted it was Eywa’s wish. Jake and Grace weren’t happy, nor were Tsu’tey and Neytiri; they wanted to give you a proper burial, but they complied with their Tsahik’s declaration.
It was mere days later that Neytiri visited again, only to be met with an empty landscape. You were nowhere in sight, only an abundance of tendrils in your place, pulsing with light as Eywa breathed below them.
Ronal, for weeks, dreamed of a face. A human one. She’d never seen the girl before, unfamiliar with the face and voice she kept meeting in her dreams. It bothered her, being met so forcefully with a demon's face, but behind it, she felt the Great Mother's words.
She couldn’t make sense of it; it drove her wild how she prayed and prayed, and all she was met with were new visions of the girl. With a newborn baby, she felt stretched thin. She confided in Tonowari about her dreams. He did what he could to comfort her, putting in effort to relieve her of as much stress as he could.
Ronal prayed, seeking answers and clarity. What did the Great Mother want?
One night, she dreamed of the spirit tree, along with the girl. She dreamt of whispers, of a new face, of a young Metkayina child she held in her arms.
She woke up in a cold sweat, right as dawn rose in the sky.
She made her way through the village, mounting her tsurak, and traveled to the cove of the ancestors. She felt a weight in her chest as she arrived. She dove under, swimming through the featherlike branches as she made her way to the center of the tree.
She reached forward, placing her palms on the branches wrapped tightly in on itself. Slowly, she unwrapped it, pulling it away from the other ‘leaves’ wrapped around. Once she got to the center, she pulled back.
An infant lay in the middle, wrapped in the leaves. Slowly, she pulled it out, taking it into her arms, she swam up. Breaching the surface, she looked down, watching as the baby breathed in the air.
The first breath.
Ronal gazed down at the baby, brows pinched together as she took her in. Confusion was the least she could describe it as.
A moment passed. Ronal mounted her tsurak, and she returned home.
Whispers surrounded her as she walked through the village, eyes following her and landing on the unknown infant in her embrace. In the mere minutes she’d had the baby, she felt an overwhelming sense of maternal instinct towards it. She reasoned she felt that way about most babies, but this was stronger.
She approached her Marui, Tonowari, meeting her at the entrance. He gazed down at her, then the baby, confusion panting his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, stuck in the flurry of words he was trying to put together.
“The Great Mother brought her to me,” Ronal spoke, calm and melodic. “To us.” Tonowari gazed up at her.
Words exchanged between them in complete silence.
He nodded, stepping aside, allowing Ronal to enter the Marui.
The two took to their daughter quickly, entranced by the baby given to them by Eywa. They were lost, confused by her appearance, but they didn’t question it. They simply placed her in the cradle with their other baby, Ao’nung, watching as they turned and curled to hold each other.
“You dreamt of her.” Tonowari’s voice broke the silence.
Ronal, attention on the baby's unwavering, nodded. “Last night, yes.”
He looked to his wife, tentative as he examined her facial expression. “And the others?” He questioned.
There was a moment of silence, Ronal’s hand coming to rest on the edge of the cradle.
“I do not care. She is my daughter. She is ours now.”
Tonowari stared at his wife before nodding, reaching down to cup his daughter's face in his hand. “And what is our daughter's name?” He spoke, already transfixed by the infant lying in the cradle he crafted by hand.
Ronal tilted her head, watching the girl. After a moment, she gazed to Tonowar, their eyes meeting as a soft smile graced her lips.
“Syuli”
After your death, Jake’s loyalty to the RDA wavered. Grace had accepted her fate as a trapped scientist long ago, but Jake refused. He bonded with Neytiri and Tsu’tey quicker, earning the faith of the clan before he finished his Iknimaya.
He saw it in black and white. The humans left you alone and to die, the Na’vi loved you as their own and wept at your death. His decision was clear-cut.
Still, his fast actions weren’t enough to prevent the events that led to Neytiri’s belief of his betrayal. Or the destruction of the home tree. Or the death of those he fought by.
By the end of the war, your death was followed by many others. Black stains on Jake’s heart. He mourned you, grieved for you. The devastation of the war was hard enough, but you? You weren’t even a casualty; you were a victim of the most unfortunate of circumstances. He replayed it in his head over and over again, each time wondering what he could have done to save you, to prevent your death.
It drove him to the worst of his depths. A side of himself he hadn’t even seen when his brother died.
The only thing keeping him afloat was Neytiri and the child that lay in her womb.
“She is with Grace now, my Jake, with the Great Mother.” Neytiri would say, burying her grief. Twice, she's lost you now. When Sylwanin died and her parents shut down their connections with the humans, she wept for not only her sister but for you. Would she never see you again? At least back then, she found comfort in the fact that you were safe and in Grace’s care.
Perhaps you still were, in her arms, just as you are in the Great Mothers. But you’re not in hers. That’s what hurt. How you’d never grow up, forever stuck as the small child she knew and loved.
Time passed, and she had Neteyam. Her sweet baby boy. She felt the cracks in her heart start to be stitched back together, only further healed when they took in Kiri.
She saw it in Jake, too, how he took to his fatherly role immediately, perhaps better prepared after his time with you. Slowly but surely, they came to be okay again.
Still, you burned in their hearts. As she wove her songcord, she pulled one of the beads from the bracelet you made her, as carefully as she could, and wove it in.
A‘eveng, Y/n, ohe oamum
Wamintxu fi oe, a syawn
a’atanur oe mameyam
meyam ohe ngenga, tsalsungay pehrr lom
A child, Y/n, i knew
showed to me, a blessing
a light I held in my arms
I hold you, even when gone
It was hard to speak about you to the kids. They didn’t want to introduce the idea of someone dying at such a young age. They also still grieved you, struggling to accept your death. It wasn’t fair. You should be with them, growing up alongside their children. You would have been such a good big sister.
This hit Jake especially hard, knowing how you’d been excited to have another kid on base; Spider. You raved to him about how you were going to bring him to the lab all the time, what toys you’d give him, and how you wanted to teach him Na’vi and have him as a little brother. At least, the closest you could have to one.
So it was hard watching Spider do all that, grow up and learn Na’vi, come into his family and be seen by his kids as a fellow sibling, knowing it was everything you wanted.
But years passed, and their family grew, and it grew strong. Their children knew of you in passing, in hushed breaths like how they spoke of Sylwanin and the others they’d loved that left them through such harsh tragedies.
Neytiri and Jake didn’t want the children to wonder what it would have been like to have you in the family. It was already too painful for them to wonder themselves.
Their children grew, their personalities developed, and they came into their own. It was hard not to see you in each of them. Tuk’s curiosity, Lo’ak’s mischief, the softness in Kiri’s eyes, and how Neteyam was so thoughtful with his words. For all its hurt, it also gave them comfort. They’d continue to see you, even when you weren’t with them.
Their grief became something mellow, something they could plant love and strength into.
But then the RDA came back. Like an old scar tearing apart, refusing to heal. Their lives turned upside down, and their healing came to a harsh halt, slowly stepping backwards against the blood and gunfire they stood in.
That eclipse, when the kids were in the hands of the recoms, Jake felt barbed wire wrapping around his throat.
He heard their whines, their yelps of pain, and he almost lost them. He refused to risk it. Not again.
“He had our children. Had them under his knife.” He was scared, begging Neytiri to leave, to find a better place for them. He hadn’t been able to find one for you. He wouldn’t let that happen again. “Look, I got nothing… I've got no plan. But I can protect this family. That I can do.”
Neytiri heard the unsaid, seeing what he saw when he spoke.
“But I do know one thing, wherever we go, this family is our fortress.” It was unintentional, his hands placed delicately on her shoulders, one slipping down, grazing the armband she’d woven with your bracelet in it.
They had to protect their children.
The Travel to the Metkayina was difficult, tiring, laborious, and met with storms that raged against them. But they pushed through. They’ve pushed through worse; they’d do this for their family.
They landed on the beach, drawing the attention of the clan, who gathered around them in confusion and awe. They were nervous, holding themselves close together as they were gawked at and picked on by oncoming clan members.
Jake felt a sense of relief when Tonowari, an honorable man and the clan's Olo’eyktan, arrived at the scene, greeting them warmly and with a smile. He felt confident, with Tonowari on their side, he believed he could get past the wall Ronal would inevitably put up.
As the crowd parted, he prepared himself, but he felt all the breath be taken out of his lungs.
Ronal stalked closer, her imposing demeanor, but that wasn’t what shocked him. Behind her, following at her heels, was a young girl. Teal skin with swirling stripes.
She resembled you.
He couldn’t place it; the girl was Metkayina, in every way. But something about her face, the way her expression was set in it, how she carried herself. The air around her, the look in her eyes. All of it set off bells in his chest, ringing and clanging against the grief that settled there. The grief for you.
She stood behind Ronal, tilting her head exactly the way you did when you were curious about something.
Neytiri had seen it hundreds of times, holding you in her lap at the schoolhouse. She let out a breath. Jake glanced at her, millions of words passing between them.
She saw it too.
Jake took a moment to collect himself, pulling back from the shock he’d experienced but couldn’t explain. He went on with his prepared speech. He was seeking Uturu; sanctuary, safety for his family.
His veins were buzzing. He didn’t want to be turned away, to force his children to retreat in defeat, praying they’d find another clan willing to listen and take them in. He felt helpless.
Ronal, skeptical, circled the family. She pulled at their tails, remarking how inefficient they’d be in the water, in their way of life.
She approached Kiri, taking her hands in hers. A scowl crossed her face. Four fingers. Kiri held her breath, self-conscious of her extra finger, a tell-tale sign of their human descent. Demon descent.
Ronal gazed down, tilting her head.
She looked up to her daughter, the one who’d arrived with her. She watched her for a moment, the dreams she saw all those years ago flooding her mind. Something she’d never speak aloud.
She dropped Kiri’s hands, walking past the children and Jake Sully. “You are ill fit to live here.”
“We can adapt. We can learn.” He pleaded, desperate to convince them to let his family stay. Desperate to appease the leaders of the clan.
“I’m done with war.” He spoke to Tonowari, quiet and between them. “I just want to keep my family safe.”
Ronal watched him, not convinced by his words. Behind her, her daughter stepped forward, placing her hand on her mother's shoulder.
“Sa’nu.” The words escaped her lips, and Jake breathed in. He saw you, sitting in Grace’s lap in the lab, running up to her excitedly, lying at the spirit tree, dying.
Ronal looked at her daughter, words exchanged between their gazes, she turned to her mate, being met with the same sentiment. A moment passed, and she nodded.
“Jake Sully and his family will stay with us.” Tonowari announced, explaining to the clan their duty to teach them their ways of life.
Jake sighed in relief, bringing forth a ‘thank you’ from his family.
“Our children, Syuli, Ao’nung, and Tsireya, will show your children what to do.”
Ao’nung stepped forth, displeased by his father's decision, but silenced.
“Come, we will show you our village!” Tsireya stepped forward, hand in hand with her sister.
You looked to the family that had arrived at your village. You took in their faces.
They felt familiar to you. You couldn’t place it.
Tsireya tugged you along through the village, humming as you made your way across the woven walkways. Neytiri and Jake, though focused on taking in their new home, couldn’t help but watch you. The bounce in your step all too familiar.
It was eerie, and they didn’t understand their attribution of you to the little girl they’d known all those years ago.
You became a constant in their life, always around their kids, peeking into their Marui to offer fruits you’d picked with your mother. You were a sweetheart, thoughtful, and kind to their children.
Your mother stayed skeptical of her allowance of the foreigners into their clan, fueled by your growing night problems.
It had been years since she last caught you sleepwalking. It was a problem when you were a child, roaming around the village in the midst of the night. Many concerned clan members came to her with stories of how you found yourself at the edge of the walkways, staring up into the open sky with a withered look on your face.
You sleep-talked, she discovered after staying up to follow you one night. You spoke garbled sentences, strung together words that didn’t make sense. You spoke in a mix of Na’vi and English.
How you even knew the language? She couldn’t understand.
She prayed nightly, seeking for guidance on how to help her sweet baby girl. Again, she was only met with visions of that human child.
It all came to a head one night when Tsireya woke her up, lip jutting out as she whispered that you’d fallen during your walks. Ronal soothed her daughter, telling her to go back to sleep before leaving to find you.
You were on your knees, hands clasped together as you spoke in broken prayers, eyes glazed over. You were somewhere she didn’t know.
She was tired of it, worried to death, and lost. So, she did the only thing she could think of. She pulled you into the water carefully, holding you as she rode to the Cove of the Ancestors. You came out of your trance, slowly but surely, but still drowsy and out of it.
She was able to coax you to enough consciousness to get you to dive under, connecting with the spirit tree.
She doesn’t know what you saw when you did. All she knows is that you hadn’t sleep-walked, or talked since. She knew you were special. A child she would never truly understand, but she loved and cherished you with everything she had.
She saw the way the animals around you seemed to move in sync with you, how the luminescence at night pulsed with your breath. She didn’t ask for answers. She loved you and she trusted the Great Mother.
But here you were again, standing at the entrance of their Marui, eyes glazed over, staring off into the stars. Ever since they’d let the Sullys stay, you’d been walking and talking in your sleep again.
It wasn’t as intense, thankfully, but it was enough to rouse her or her children from sleep every so often.
They worried for you. They took turns staying up, watching you, easing you back to sleep, careful not to startle you from your trance. During the day, they acted as if nothing was different. They knew you were different, but they loved you nonetheless. You were their daughter, their sister.
Ao’nung picked on you, teasing you and going out of his way to bother you. It was his way of showing his love, he joked. He had his moments. Picking you up in his arms and carrying you across the village to your mother for treatment when you hurt yourself on a spear, ignoring your complaints that it was your hand that was injured, not your legs, you could still walk! He ignored you, carefully setting you down in their Marui, lurking by the door until you were bandaged up and ready to leave.
Tsireya was easier. You got along with your younger sister without any problems, aside from the occasional spat that never went anywhere. You two were two peas in a pod. Inseparable. Hands clasped together, arms wrapped around each other. You were always together. It’s how you thrived.
Ronal and Tonowari, they never gave a second thought to the fact that you weren’t theirs, because you were. From the moment they’d set you down in that cradle, you’d become theirs. Their love for you was strong and unwavering. They called your name out with affection, they weaved you jewelry and clothes with love, they never let you doubt you were loved. They held you as you slept, as you dreamt.
And you dreamt. You dreamt every night. Of faces, of voices, of people you didn’t know, but knew.
By the time you woke up, your dreams were in blurry fragments, unable to be pieced together or made sense of.
Your family didn’t voice their worries to you. They saw how you flourished when interacting with their new clan members.
You were patient with them, guiding them through your way of life like it was the easiest thing to do. You blended in with them, conversing with the children so easily, it was as if you’d been doing it your entire life.
You and your siblings, Rotxo, and the Sully kids became somewhat of a friend group. Always together, at least in fragments. You felt as if your family had expanded.
The Sully kids adored you, especially Kiri. It was something about the way the two of you seemed to understand nature that connected you. And perhaps, your mysterious origins.
You confided in Kiri, and Kiri alone, about your peculiar birth. The whole clan knew, they’d witnessed it firsthand, but the story hadn’t made its way to the Sullys. Perhaps it was because it was accepted, no one thought twice about it, you were Ronal and Tonowari's daughter. No one thought to mention that, by biological means, you weren’t.
You told her how you didn’t know your biological parents. No one did. Abandoned at the Spirit tree, you were taken in by Ronal and Tonowari, raised alongside Tsireya, and essentially as Ao’nung’s twin.
She told you about her mother, a scientist who was beloved by their clan, who died during the first war against the humans. She was born from her Avatar.
Grace.
You spoke her name before Kiri told you.
An odd look passed her face. It wasn't until it dripped from your chin that you realised a tear had slipped down your cheek.
“I-i’m sorry, I'm just-” You strung together words, embarrassed and confused by your unconscious outburst. “It’s hard to speak about my birth.” You blamed it on that. Kiri accepted your words, wrapping her arms around you in an embrace that felt warmer than anything else you’d experienced.
You grew a lot closer to the Sully kids. It was their parents who were odd to be around.
Jake and Neytiri didn’t know what to think of you. You were Ronal and Tonowari’s daughter, Na’vi, born and raised in the reef. Yet when they looked at you, heard your voice, all they could see was that little girl they’d loved.
They were going crazy. That was the only explanation. Driven mad by the destruction of their home and subsequent forced abandonment of it.
They wanted to talk to you. They ached to. But it ached just as much to do so. It wasn’t fair to you, their projections of grief onto you.
You were kind, you spoke for them when they first arrived, and you went out of your way to welcome them. You taught their children and defended them, taking them in as if they were your blood.
But every time they saw you, they were swarmed by a whirlpool of grief and relief.
“She speaks like her.” Neytiri would whisper one night, when all the children were off in the village attending a celebration, Jake lying next to her.
“Yeah.” He’d say, eyes locked on Neytiri’s face, watching as she wandered through her mind. Watching as a tear slipped down her cheek.
For weeks, they watched you, watching every movement and quirk you exhibited. How you spoke, how you moved through the walkways, your sense of humor. The way you scrunched your nose in a certain way when faced with food you didn’t like. It all pointed back.
Back to her.
That girl.
She haunted them.
A ghost following them around. One they thought they’d put to rest over a decade ago.
They had moved on. They grieved her, yes, but they had learned to live without her. Just as they did with every person they lost.
But she was back.
They thought it was in their heads at first, but the more they saw, the more they became sure.
Her body had disappeared, Neytiri recounted to him, a whisper under her breath as they watched you talk to Neteyam and Tsireya from afar. They’d left her at the tree like Mo’at demanded, abiding by Eywa's wishes. Her body was gone far too quickly to have been natural decomposition, and no creature would dare feast on a body wrapped in Eywa’s arms like she was.
They didn’t question it, too wrapped up in their grief to try and breach the topic. They simply accepted it. Eywa wanted her. She was with Grace, they believed.
But she wasn’t.
She was in the reef, living amongst the people, living.
They saw you, and they saw her. One in the same.
They’d grieved you, and now you stood right in front of them, out of their reach.
It tore them apart. They must have been going insane because you were not that girl they knew, you were not the girl they loved and doted on. But you were.
You couldn’t be.
But they watched and they watched and they saw. They saw her.
“It’s not her.” Jake’s voice was steel. Laced with a hardened grief.
“I know what I saw, you know what you see.” Neytiri defended, unsure of how to explain it.
He shook his head, pacing back and forth in the Marui, sliding a hand down his face.
“She’s a Metkayina! She’s Ronal and Tonowai’s daughter! That's it.” He spoke so certainly, as if he were trying to convince himself.
The two breathed heavily, working through their mind and hearts to get their words. Logic wasn’t making sense, but they tried to cling to it, both of them in different ways.
“Ronal didn’t give birth to her, nor did Tonowair father her.” Neytiris' words were heavy, like steel and stone. “A gift from Eywa, Ronal calls her.”
Their eyes met.
At this point, they were haunted less by you and more by the fact that you were back. It wasn’t easy mourning someone, learning to accept their death after having grown to love them so fiercely, to learn how to live without them. All of that, only for them to appear again.
All those walls they’d built, all the strength they’d planted in their grief, it was crumbling, the base of it all blowing away like sand in the wind.
It almost hurt more than the grief itself.
They simmered in it for weeks, speaking through glances and hushed whispers.
It was quiet that day. Jake was making his rounds through the village when he heard it. The humming. Not just the humming but the tune.
Slowly, he rounded the corner, peaking around the Marui, eyes landing on you sitting on the edge of the walkway, legs dangling from an opening. You sat there, beading an arm piece as you hummed.
You hummed the lullaby Jake had used to sing that girl to sleep. The lullaby from Earth.
He felt his chest crack open. He wanted to say something, to reach out and speak to you-
“Sempu!” You called out, spotting Tonowari walk up from another direction. Wordlessly, you held up your work for him, a smile spreading across your face as he approached and knelt down.
“Ah, this is great work, my little ‘itetsyip.” He leaned in, hand reaching up to pull it closer to examine it. He grinned, nodding towards you. “You are an exceptional crafter.”
Jake watched the scene, brows furrowing, a weight resting in his chest.
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, bah! You and Mother praise me far too much.”
Tonowair simply chuckled, his hand moving to cradle your cheek as you grinned at him.
“No, we simply see how great you are.”
Jake started to notice more after that. He watched not just you, but your life. How you wandered freely through the village, greeting your clan members eagerly, your cheerfulness returned. You were surrounded by kids your age, all watching you with a mix of adoration and respect. You bonded with your siblings, giggling over inside jokes and banter.
Your parents were doting. They didn’t spoil you; they made sure you were responsible and self-aware, but they loved you, and they showed it. The more he watched, the more Neytiri did too; perhaps she’d been watching the full scene the whole time.
You weren’t alone.
You smiled so widely, and you never had to beg, you never had to work for attention or affection. You were accepted wholeheartedly.
You had everything you wanted here, Neytiri and Jake realized. You had everything they wanted to give you, and you didn’t have any barriers. You weren’t human or parentless. You moved about freely. You weren’t raised to expect to come second, third, or fourth place.
Neytiri and Jake had wanted to give you that life. But they couldn’t. They never could.
The Great Mother didn’t fulfill their desires to be the one to love you; she gave you what you needed. She gave you the opportunity to live.
It was bittersweet. You had the life you wanted. You were loved.
Just not by them.
And that was ok.
They’d lived their lives, they’d found happiness, a family, and they were good.
You’d found what you needed, even if it wasn’t with them.
─── ⋆ I'VE ALREADY CHOSEN . ao'nung x fem!metkayina!reader
ao'nung has to choose a mate, the metkayina has many fine women, but he's already chosen ; cw. fluff , childhood friends to lovers , reader is oblivious , inspired by the scene where jake sully goes “i don’t want ninat” ; words. 1,4k
author's note ⌇ currently working on a few drafts hehe but i'm not sure when i'll get the requests done soooo please bare with me lol. i'm having a long weekend so hopefully i'll have some up for u guys :) also this is so messy i hate it
the festival sang beautifully across the ocean. warm lighting sparked under the blue hues of the reef, people danced and celebrated harmoniously with one another— it was the coming-of-age ritual for the young na'vi of metkayina, symbolizing the passage and process of being accepted as an adult. it showed blessings from eywa and the bond with the ancestors, magically intertwining identity, culture, and spirit.
it was a sign of maturity. the ink was still fresh as you and ao'nung slipped away from the bustling noise of the festival, walking side by side to where the waters met the mangroves behind. it was a known spot amongst the youths, seen as a place to hide away from the faces of adults and expectations that went alongside growth. people held hangouts, loud conversations, and sweet gatherings there. it was funny that it was quiet now, and ironic that you and ao'nung sat no longer as teenagers, but as someone older.
ao'nung's smile lit up the dim area as he admired the tattoo that sat perfectly near your forehead, extending until it reached the side of your cheek. you did the same to his, it was similar but contained different meanings, different experiences, but kindred feelings. he is the future olo'eyktan, littered with new duties and heavy responsibility. ao'nung couldn't escape it now, there was no way out of the path eywa has chosen. he couldn't sneak out at night with his friends anymore, explore beyond the boundaries of the ocean, or run head first into fights.
you were a great artisan. you're great at creating hand-woven crafts, designing beautiful pieces for your people to wear, and excelled at fixing tools, mending broken gear, and recognizing natural materials for use. it was a tricky skill, sure— but it was also a required course for everyone to learn. you were nowhere close to being a tsakarem like ao'nung's sister, tsireya. mixing herbs and oils together to create medicine and therapeutics were far out your field of interest. so, as time passed you never dared to think of ao'nung choosing you as his mate.
however, you were snapped out of your thoughts as you heard ao'nung laugh, “i know i look gorgeous, especially with my new mark, but you do not have to stare at me like that.” he didn't even try to hide the smugness that came alongside his words. at this point, you were used to ao'nung's teasing. he was known to be rather friendly with the girls in the clan, he had an ego and you knew he wouldn't deny the attention he got from his peers. you scoffed, tearing your eyes away from him— ao'nung noticed it seemed like it took physical effort. you shook your head, you didn't realize you were staring right at him while zoned-out.
“don't flatter yourself, ao'nung. your confidence is large enough to sink a skimwing. eight of them, actually.” you looked away, blind to the fact ao'nung was staring back at you, his gaze calm and gentle— like the waves during a low tide. he laughed again, “that's not true, i'd say maybe around ten when i'm not trying,” the jokes became a routine between the two of you. you've grown comfortable around ao'nung. people respected how you've kept up with his attitude and personality, but truth be told he was different around you. it's not groundbreaking or anything, just subtle. but noticeable.
through the crowds, ao'nung's voice was loud so he could grab your attention. his touch became protective and gentle when it was towards you. he never hesitated to help and stay up past eclipse if it was regarding your matters— and he'd always be first to step up in front of you when you were teased by someone who wasn't him. people could sense how the atmosphere changed when ao'nung was with you, but you've told yourself that he was like this to everyone. to the point you've accepted it as a fact, not seeing how he sees you.
“it suits you well,” his voice echoed through the silence, his hand caressing the ink on your face softly, not wanting to damage the fresh ink or potentially cause discomfort. you hummed in acknowledgement, “so does yours.” ao'nung's ears perked up, you've complimented him on a daily basis and he gets flustered each time. you notice it sometimes, but not enough to truly accept there was some sort of tension growing between you and him.
his smile grows ever so widely, nudging your knee with his own. the contact was familiar— you had grown up together, raced with your ilus through shallow reefs, stolen extra food from communal dinners, shared secrets you never dared speak aloud. ao'nung had always been like this. he was touchy, effortlessly flirty, and you had always reminded yourself that was all it was. your shoulders relaxed on the mangrove root, “you think so?” ao'nung asked.
“yes. like it was always meant to be there. the future olo'eyktan of metkayina,” the words rolled off your tongue with practiced ease, “don't make me regret saying that though.” you added.
ao'nung's head rested by yours, the stars above peeking through the heavy leaves. the bioluminescence reflected faintly against his teal skin, you noticed how it made the tattoo glow slightly. ao'nung nodded, “you always say that,” he replied, his voice lighter than the weight that is settling in his chest.
the distant drums of the festival buzzed over the water, it was muted but persistent. neither of you spoke for a while, letting the new realizations of the future settle in for the first time. unlike ao'nung, you didn't know what life has in store for you, there was no path that was locked in for you to walk on. ao'nung shifted beside you, knees drawing closer, his tail flicking the shallow water below. he broke the silence with a sigh, it came out heavier than expected— “they'll start asking soon,”
you blinked, “about what?”
he turned his head to look at you, his expression was unreadable. “about who i will choose.”
oh.
oh.
your chest tightened involuntarily. you forced yourself to shrug whatever feeling you had off, keeping your tone casual under a trembling breath. there was no time for jealousy towards him, “well that makes sense. you're the future clan leader. they'll expect someone like you,” ao'nung's brows furrowed in confusion. you kept going, unaware— “there are plenty of women in the clan who would be perfect. zoi'le is a strong swimmer, she's the fastest from my group. and, at'ok is an excellent healer—”
that was when he fully turned towards you, “i don't want zoi'le. or at'ok.”
his voice was firm, it was a statement. the words landed heavy between you. you frowned but ao'nung was quick to respond, “i've already chosen.” you froze before laughing, rather awkwardly. trying to brush off the sudden heat you felt crawling up your neck. he reached out for your hand, it was warm and grounding. ao'nung tilted his head, “but this woman must also choose me.”
for the first time in your life you were no longer oblivious. you realized what he had meant, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement burst inside of you. everything became obvious— the endless amount of time you've spent together, the stolen glances, the prioritizing and worry, the subtle jealousy between friends. you swallowed a lump in your throat, but you were no tsahìk. you had zero experience or knowledge on the skills it takes to be one, you didn't fit in the image of the mate of an olo'eyktan, and you knew what this could mean for ao'nung.
“ao, i'm no healer, i'm no warrior—” your voice cracked despite yourself, “i don't know how to help lead a clan, or guide people, or carry the weight of being your mate,” you pulled your hand back slightly, fear settling in instead of the said excitement. ao'nung was quick to react, his hand tightened around yours, his expression was honest and sure. he asked quietly, “so? that does not matter to me. you think i chose you because you fit what they want? because you look good standing beside me?”
“you have always been there for me. when i was a child until now. you stood by me when i made mistakes, when i was reckless, when i was hurt, injured, or even mad. you're patient and you see more than just the future olo'eyktan. i've never had to prove anything when i am with you—” he took a breath before continuing, “you see me as just ao'nung. and that is who i want my mate to be. i want you because you already know my heart, because you already know me like home.”
your eyes burned, your chest blossomed with emotion.
“i choose you,” ao'nung finished softly, “because i see you.”
summary: Broken by the fall of the Hometree and Eywa's silence, you dream for a possibility of peace of mind, figuratively and literally. You come to the Metkayina's village looking for a temporary refuge in your search of said peace, and end up never leaving in favour of love.
pairing(s): tonowari x omatikaya!reader, platonic reader x neytiri
word count: 15k (i know...)
warnings: reader is neytiri's sister, grief and mourning, mention of dead bodies, eywa's constant meddling, probably suggestive, yearning, pining, "but i don't want ninat", added lore cuz i got carried away, kinda miscommunication, no ronal hate, space racism?, complex neytiri i fear...., mentioned pregnancy, mentioned childbirth, rotxo is adopted lmao, when the story starts reader is around 19 and both neytiri and tonowari are around 22, takes place after avatar (2009), proofread one time instead of the two usual times so pls let me know if there are any errors
author's note: can't believe this fine shyt is now a single dad
dividers from @uzmacchiato!
When the smoke clears and the ashes fall, nothing is left of the Hometree.
Nothing but the stump, the bulging roots and the cut-off part remain of your destroyed home. You’ve never seen one, but you think that the remains of the tree must look like a decapitated corpse — something that once was full of life, and now is just… there. A reminder of what was.
Many managed to evacuate the branches as it fell, but just as much ended up being buried by its massive limbs; you can’t find it in yourself to understand if it was a blessing — for them to have such a quick death, one that avoided them from feeling the endless grief you’re feeling now — or a tragedy. You keep asking Eywa the same question, but either she doesn’t know, or she won’t tell you.
She hasn’t been telling you much lately, anyway.
As the daughter of the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk, you grew up close to the bond you shared with Eywa. Mo’at always brought you and your sisters along with her to pray, and the three of you soon learnt how to perceive her in everything you did and everything that happened. The Great Mother is in all of us, your mom used to always say, before you fully grasped the concept. She gives, and we take. And when the time comes, we’ll be the ones to give back what we borrowed.
It looks like, to you, that the time has come. Only, Eywa won’t seem to take anything from you.
During the day, you’re back at the ruins of the Hometree, with a few other Omatikayas looking for the remains of their loved ones. When they are easy to remove, you do so, and then give them the burial they deserve as a part of the People; when the branches have buried them too deep in the terrain for you to remove them, you pray for them and their souls, hoping that they are, at last, at peace.
At night, you pray by the Tree of Souls until the first morning lights shine through the outline of the mountains, when your mother wakes and gently drags you to the marui you share with her and orders — more like begs — you to sleep. “You won’t be able to hear Eywa better if you tire yourself so, daughter,” she utters as she holds you tight in her arms, humming that same lullaby she used to when you were little. “I doubt she wants you to be exhausted.”
You sniffle brokenly, hiding in her shoulder like a child as she covers you with the blanket she had stitched with the help of Sylwanini and Neytiri when she first realised she was pregnant with you. It’s a miracle you managed to salvage it from the fall of the Hometree, as most of your belongings have been lost during it. “We still haven’t found Tsu’tey, sa’nok,” you whisper, muffling a sob.
Mo’at sighs softly, holding you tighter. “Oeyä yawne,” my beloved, she starts, “Tsu’tey died a great death. Even if you do not find what remains of him, I’m sure Eywa will hold him close nevertheless. He fell into the ocean, after all — she’s strong there, too. We might not think of it to be our home, but everywhere Eywa is, can be considered our home.”
Still, it’s hard to believe that Jakesully out of all people is helping rebuild your village.
He’s supposed to be one of the aliens that came from the sky — one of the four-fingered demons that have destroyed your home. And somehow, Eywa still chose him to lead the Omatikaya.
You don’t deny his bravery, nor his will to learn your ways, nor the fact that he is a great warrior — Turuk Makto, in fact. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t hard for you to look at him and not see the Hometree lying dead on the ground, burning, and the Tree of Voices reduced to shreds under the dozers.
You know it’s probably just your grief talking — you’ve never had anything against the man, not even when he first came here, blabbering about wanting to learn the way or whatever the RDA had put in his head — but you don’t know what else to do. When you’re not looking around for the corpses of the fallen, or praying for them, or begging Eywa to tell you the meaning of all of this, you’re either crying or trying to sleep — and when the latter comes, it’s never restful.
Neytiri is grieving, too, and you know it, but she takes it differently — because she has Jake, and she’s putting all she has into building a new, safe village, where maybe one day their kids will grow happily. But you feel stuck — like when it fell, the Hometree swallowed you, too, along with all the fallen comrades that you had known for your whole life.
Your answers finally come during another restless night spent under the Soul Tree.
Your mother has since stopped trying to coax you away from it — instead, she has taken to making salves and weaving shawls under the light of the branches as you weep silently for a sign, the terrain still against your body, unlike the usual steady beat you used to feel. Sometimes Mo’at braids your hair, other times recalls stories of your father and sister, but mostly lets you cry it out — even if her heart breaks every time a tear slips down your cheek. Neytiri sometimes comes along, chanting her songs and saying her prayers, but lately, she’s taken to spending her nights in the tent she calls home, with Jakesully.
(Not that you blame her. If you had a mate, you’d probably find comfort in them, too. If you had a mate, maybe you wouldn’t be so utterly hopeless.)
It’s when you find sleep while having these thoughts that finally, Eywa responds to your call in the best way she knows — a dream.
You feel like you’re floating, and finally, finally– you can feel her presence. She’s everywhere, surrounding you with her warmth, and it’s just when you look around to understand where you are that you notice that you are underwater. Life swarms you from every angle — the fishes twirling in a dance only they can understand, anemones and corals shimmering with bioluminescence on the rocks under your feet.
You don’t know for how long you swim, but what you know is that you haven’t felt this feeling in what seems like ages. You have missed the Great Mother’s presence, and if this dream tells you anything, it’s that maybe, she has missed you, too.
A large, warm hand engulfs yours. You can’t see the face of the man that has taken it, but by the color of his skin, he can’t be Omatikaya. Come with me, a voice says, and you aren’t able to really distinguish it — it does not sound like a real voice, rather like a spoken thought inside your mind. Our Spirit Tree is this way. You feel the same hand on the small of your back, guiding you in the water, in a way so gentle that you already dread the moment his touch will fade.
You wake up with your hand still feeling warm and dried tears staining your cheeks. The ground you’re lying on feels stiff and cold. Hoisting yourself up on your elbows, you notice the sky — it’s still night — and your mother, sleeping with her head leaning on the trunk of the tree. “Are you trying to tell me that I have to find my peace somewhere else?” you murmur quietly to the tree, impossibly tired in every way imaginable. And maybe it’s just an impression, or your lack of sleep, but you think the branches glow a little more than usual at that.
The hard part is not accepting to leave behind the Omatikaya — in your heart, you knew that a part of you died when the Hometree fell, and no new village would ever make up for what the sky people have taken away from you; every camp made after that would only look like a ghost of what was, where you grew up in.
No, no. The hard part is convincing both the Tsahìk and the Olo’eyktan to let you go.
By the time morning comes, your bags are already packed. Your ikran, Ry’ia, is waiting for you just outside of the village chirping softly with Neytiri’s mount, Sa’atra, as you pull on your traveling shawl and wait for the villagers to wake up before your departure. Needless to say, it doesn’t take long for chaos to erupt.
Neytiri drags you away from the astounded clan members as soon as she gets wind of what’s happening, Mo’at and Jakesully on tow when she sits you down in one of the newest tents, her face unreadable as she takes a seat in front of you. “Explain.”
You look at her mate and your mother, sitting respectively on her left and on her right, and suddenly your heart fills up with courage you weren’t even aware of having. “I had a dream last night,” you start, “Eywa has shown me where to find my peace again.”
As you recall your vision, you can tell that the only one fully understanding the meaning of it is your mother, because while Jakesully doesn’t look too troubled about it, Neytiri hasn’t had that betrayed look on her face towards you since you were seven, and you stole the last piece of fruit intended for her. “What?” she asks in pure disbelief, “Wha– why would you ever think of going away from here, sister? We have plenty of men who would be delighted to have you as their mate. We have the ocean. We have fishes. Do you really have to look for them from another clan to be happy?”
You shake your head, guilt seeping through your chest. “Sister, if I could be happy while being here, close to you, I would stay. But…” Your eyes drift up to Jake and immediately go back to her, not wanting to blame him for all the things humans have done to you. “I can’t find it in myself to build a new village that Tsu’tey, father– hell, Sylwanin won’t see. And even if I could…”
You scroll your shoulders, “Eywa has shown me the way,” you say firmly, “and I will follow it.”
Neytiri looks over to Mo’at, searching for support in the discussion. “Mother, please, tell her this is madness,”
She looks at her for a singular moment, then to you. Finally, she speaks. “When I was your age, I had a dream, too. It led me to your father.” The story isn’t new to you — everyone knows Mo’at was part of the Orangi clan before she married your father.
Neytiri stares at her, “Mother, you can’t be serious– she doesn’t even know where–”
“How can she know, if she does not try?” The Tsahìk interrupts her, “Eywa has shown her that she won’t find peace while living here. These things are rare, but they happened. That was my case, at least.”
Your sister gapes at her, flabbergasted, only to look back at you, getting back up on her feet. “If you leave,” she hisses, “I will never forgive you.” She storms out, her tail twitching after her, leaving the tent feeling even colder than before.
Finally, you manage to look at Jakesully straight into his eyes, trying to avoid the glare your mother is sending him, and you’re surprised to see an actual understanding of the situation there. “You do understand why I can’t stay here, do you?”
He blinks, sad. “I do.”
You nod, “Good. I would never ask you to leave — this is your home, too, after all. And it would mean sacrificing Neytiri’s happiness. I’d rather be happy here too, but… I can’t do that. Not while my loved ones lay under the Hometree, dead.” you shake your head, ashamed of what you’re about to say, “Not while you are here living the life they deserved. I am sorry, Jakesully.”
Tentatively, he places a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he mutters, sorrowful, “I know you would stay here if you could. Just… please, do not go today. Wait until the end of the week. Let me talk to your sister– I’ll try to change her mind.”
As he leaves to go look for Neytiri, you are left with your mother. Your eyes remain downwards, all the courage of before gone after your sister’s outburst, your heart feeling heavier than ever. Needless to say, when she moves to hug you, you’re left stunned — you were waiting for her to tell you you were mad, too. “I am sorry, daughter,” she says, her usually firm voice trembling, “I did not understand your pain was so great. I thought Eywa had in her plans to keep my daughters close to me, but if having you far from me is the price for your happiness, then I’ll gladly take everything that comes with it.”
You avoid mentioning her teary eyes when she pulls back, her hands holding your shoulders. She sniffles, trying to save face. “The Metkayina are the only sea clan your father’s ever had contact with,” she manages, "their Olo’eyktan may still remember him. You should start your search from there.”
In the following days, you are smothered with gifts.
Everyone makes something for you to take on your travels, or to give to the chiefs of the foreign clans you’ll visit. Your friends Ninat and Peyral stitch a beautiful shawl in record time, stitched beads and feathers in it. So that you may have something to remember us by, Peyral explains, emotional, as Ninat nearly bursts into tears.
Your mother makes a Tsahìk necklace typical of the Omatikaya and tells you to give it to the wife of the chief. Showing respect to your hosts is always important, remember. Do not forget your culture, but do not force it on them, either.
Even Jake turns up one night, giving you a funny-looking bone knife that he clearly has just learned how to carve. “As a… parting gift?” he tells you, even if it sounds more like a question. His ears bend down, “I’m sorry you feel like you have to leave to be happy. I wish things didn’t have to be this way.” I wish you could overcome our differences like your sister did.
You look at the knife — the jaggedy blade looking ugly but clearly heartfelt — and then back at him. “You’re a good man, Jakesully,” you tell him. “I am truly sorry that my opinion on you has to be stained by what your kind has done to us — but perhaps, it’s just because things are a little too fresh. Perhaps, I just need some time away from here.”
Neytiri doesn’t come looking for you until it is time for you to go. As you say your goodbyes to friends and everyone you grew up with, she shuffles quietly behind Jake, her hands behind her back. Still hugging Ka’ani, you look at her as she gets closer, suspiciously quiet, only to present you with a bead on her open palm.
You gasp at the sight of it — it’s a bright blue stone, one of the ones to be found only in the ikrans’ nest, with the Omatikaya clan symbol etched on it. “For your songcord,” she explains, not looking you in the eye. “To mark your… new start. Your travels.”
You look at the bead, taking it in your hands, then tug Neytiri close to hug her as tight as possible. “I’ll miss you, sister,” you murmur in her shoulder.
Even if she’s supposed to be mad at you, she reciprocates the hug immediately, and it doesn’t take long for the tough facade to crumble. “Please, come back when you’re finally happy again, okay?” her voice is trained, and you doubt anyone but you heard her whisper. “This will always be your home. You’ll always have a place to stay here — with me.”
Ry’ia is delighted in the change of scenery — you can tell by the way she reacts through the bond, but also the happy shrieks she lets out once you lower her near the surface of the ocean so that her wings may touch the water. You look behind you — to the mountains that you’ve called home ever since you came to the world — one last time before turning your gaze back to the sea, the directions your mother gave you etched into your mind.
Awa’atlu is almost three days of travel from your village, turned into four by the stops you make to allow Ry’ia and yourself some rest. And when you finally reach it, it’s night, and only a few lights are shimmering in the Metkayina village. Not wanting to disturb their sleep, you turn your ikran to the rocky side of the island — devoid of any maruis from what you can see — and land atop the coast, dismounting from Ry’ia and patting the side of her neck. “Good girl,” you murmur, “rest now, yes? I’ll take a dip and be back here with you in a moment.”
You remove your traveling shawl as she chirps quietly, remaining in your loincloth and chest piece as you dive into the waters.
You feel like crying in relief when you finally feel her. Eywa is everywhere here — she surrounds you with the water in bioluminescence, in the anemones that move in rhythm with the currents and the nocturnal fishes that swim around in a haze. It’s like waking up from a bad dream, being able to finally feel her again.
Even if brief, the peace it gives you swells your heart. The Great Mother wasn’t holding a grudge against you — you simply weren’t searching for her in the right place.
You resurface to catch some air, only to notice that you aren’t alone.
A turquoise zukzuk — an otterfin — stares at you with her big eyes, and if she weren’t an animal, you’d say she was smiling at you. She rubs her snout into your shoulders, chirping happily, and you chuckle, petting her back, “Aren’t you a cutie? Oh, yes you are, yes you are…”
She licks your cheek, and you fake a gag even as she basically throws herself in your arms. “Now, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to trust strangers? If I were a tad bit more selfish, I’d totally bring you home with me,” you’re not sure how you would manage an otterfin in the forest or while traveling, but you’re sure that if there’s a will, there’s a way.
“Hey, you shouldn’t swim here when it’s dark,”
The screech you let out is loud enough to wake up the whole village, you’re sure. The zukzuk — who looks more scared than you — jumps in your arms as you hug her, ready to defend her from any possible attacker. The latter — a man with turquoise skin and weird tattoos over his face — screams back, mostly startled by your yelling.
“Sorry, sorry!” he puts his hands in front of him as your screams die down, still hugging the otterfin, “I didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just that — we’re too close to the reef, and it’s mating season for the akulas. Their cubs will start hunting for preys any moment now. It’s dangerous to stay here for long.”
You share a look with the otterfin, who’s still cuddled to you, and it’s just then that the man seems to notice her. He frowns, “Nala, is that you?” It's the same tone you use for Ry’ia when she pulls some kind of stunt you told her not to do, and the zukzuk lets out a noise while looking at you with the biggest eyes as if to say, I’ve never met this man in my life.
The latter gasps, “It is you!”
The pup cuddles closer to you, hiding under your chin, her tongue slipping out of her mouth like she wants to mock him. You raise an eyebrow, “This is your zukzuk?”
The guy nods, “She knows she shouldn’t swim here at night, it’s dangerous–”
A rumble from below interrupts him, and you all freeze. “…What did you say about those akula cubs?” You don’t even know what an akula is, but judging from the fact that apparently their cubs make swimming at night dangerous, it can’t be anything good.
His hand wraps around your wrist as he starts to drag you away, back onto the shore, much faster than it took you to even get here. “Just where did you come from? Are you Ta’unui really so clueless?” Another rumble from behind you, and he swims even faster. You keep Nala under your arm, and she keeps moving her tail like she’s trying to help him move away.
It’s only when you’re out of trouble and onto the shore, where the water reaches your knees and you’re illuminated by the bioluminescence and the moons, that he notices that you don’t look like a Tau’nui at all. He stares at your slim tail and arms, leaning his head like he’s never seen a specimen like this, and even your clothes are weird. Quite dumbly, he pulls at the feathers stitched into your top, staring intently, “What are those?”
The fact is, you’re also just noticing that he doesn’t look like normal Na’vi men, too — at least, not to the ones you’re used to. He’s broader, taller, and apparently also dumber, because he doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s just grazed and uncovered part of your breast.
You deadpan. He blinks. Nala barks. He lets the feathers go as he turns purple, “Sorry, I didn’t notice.” He’s lucky that the Omatikaya are people raised with no shame about their bodies, because otherwise, the slap you would’ve given him wouldn’t have been too nice from a girl who’s supposed to look for uturu in his clan.
You squeeze the water out of your hair as he stares weirdly, Nala twirling around the two of you. “Why were you swimming if the waters are so dangerous at night?” You ask him, trying not to stare too much at his arms — you never thought that the Omatikaya men needed more muscles, but now you understand that if they did, it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. His tail — twitching uneasily behind him — is thicker and longer than yours, and his arms have strange prolongments on their sides — to help swimming, you suppose. While Omatikaya grow slender and thin to avoid any difficulty in swinging in the forest, maybe the Metkayina grow to swim more efficiently in the ocean.
“I was looking for her,” he points at Nala, “we spoiled her a little too much, and now she doesn’t know how to take a no.” He tries to smile at you, “You’re not from around here, are you? Your tail would be horrible for swimming.”
You nod, “I’m from the forest clans — the Omatikaya.” you tell him your name, and he nods. “I came here looking for uturu, but the village seemed to be asleep when I got here, so I figured I would talk to the chief in the morning.”
He looks troubled, “I’m Tonowari,” he introduces himself, “I’m from the village. Uturu? Has something happened to the Omatikaya?”
No matter how much you insist he doesn’t, he drags you to the village — in the literal sense, as you didn’t want to follow him and he has to take you by your wrist — and over to a secluded mauri, where he finally lets go. Ry’ia chirps tiredly beside you, huffing indignantly at him as you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders. “I’ll talk to Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to the mauri, “wait for me here, okay?” Nala quietly follows him, dragging her little belly over the sand.
You didn’t really explain the whole thing— you just told him that you’re here to find contact with Eywa again because you weren’t able to in your homeland. You don’t really know why he insisted so much in talking to the chiefs now, and you can’t help but wonder why he feels comfortable waking up the two most important people in his village for a stranger.
Soon enough, he comes back out from the marui, gesturing for you to come inside; you do, and you’re greeted by two very much awake chiefs, sitting with their backs straight as ever.
“Olo’eyktan Arvak and Tsahìk Tsika,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to them, “I’ll leave the three of you alone– keep an eye on that big bird of yours.”
“She’s not a big bird," you whisper, too tired to fully protest. He pats your shoulder, looking a bit guilty, letting the woven sheet atop the pod close back behind you, “Sure she isn’t,”
You remain alone with the chiefs — and Nala, who you realise just now hasn’t followed Tonowari. Looking at the couple, you figure that the Metkayina must all have his same features. “Sit,” Tsika gestures to the empty space in front of them, “and tell us everything.”
Recounting the fall of the Hometree is more difficult than you thought it would be — because even if it’s been almost a month now, the wound still feels fresh. They listen, not prodding for more information when you stop to take a deep breath to avoid bursting in tears, and the Tsahìk puts a hand over her mouth when you mention your father. “Eytukan,” she murmurs, looking over to her mate. “He came here when we called for the other Tsahìks.”
At your confused face, Arvak explains, “A little over twenty years ago, our son fell sick. Rashes all over his body, convulsions, other symptoms we’d never seen before.”
His wife takes a deep breath, “When nothing seemed to work and we lost all hope, Arvak chose to call the other clans’ Tsahìks and healers for help. The Ta’unui sent a healer, the Aranahe some healing plants, and everyone pretty much did the same. But your father,” she pokes you in the chest, not in a mean way — in a way that says, the man you’re half a part of. “Olo’eyktan Eytukan came here himself. Excused his wife’s absence, told us she had just given birth to their third daughter and wasn’t able to travel properly. He took a look at our son’s state, and said that it probably was txumpaywll poisoning — until then, we didn’t even know that its plants had started to grow on our islands. Made a salve for his rashes, concocted the antidote and left when he got better.”
They bow their heads at you, “It will be an honor to pay back Eytukan’s kindness. Tell us what you need, and we’ll do anything in our power to help you.”
You beg them to raise their heads, embarrassed. “I just want some time with your clan,” you tell them, “learn your ways with the creatures, how you move within the currents.” If Jakesully out of all people managed to learn the Omatikaya’s ways, you doubt it will be much harder for you. “I… I’ve lost contact with Eywa. I hope that learning your clan’s ways will help me in finding it again.”
Arvak has got a pensive look on his face. Then, he says, “Tonowari, I know you’re listening. You can come in.”
The man sheepishly enters the marui again, sitting beside you, a little embarrassed. You raise an eyebrow — did he really think either of you didn’t hear him? You might’ve not heard him approach when you were in the water, but back with your feet on steady ground, you would’ve known how to spot him before he was even in your line of sight.
Nala squeals and throws herself on his knees, purring. Arvak tries to ignore her to his best abilities. “Our son Tonowari will teach you everything he knows about the reef,” ah, so that’s why he didn’t have any problem waking them up. Nice to know that the Olo’eyktan’s successor has seen your boob. On his part, Tonowari makes no protest. “Her training starts tomorrow. Go show her one of the vacant maruis — she’ll stay here for a while.”
Ry’ia is already sleeping when you and Tonowari detach your bags from her saddle, and you try your best not to gape at his biceps as they flex while he takes the heaviest woven baskets out of your hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll take those– you must be really tired.”
He balances them on his side and shoulder as he walks you through the maruis — with the few still awake villagers peeking out of their tents to steal a curious look at you — only to stop in an empty one, carefully leaning the baskets down to the floor. You stare at the woven walls of your new home, at the mat on the floor and the little space reserved for the fireplace, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this can work.
You set down your bag as Tonowari stands back up from his knelt position, “Try to get some sleep,” he tells you quietly, “I’ll come to wake you up tomorrow a little before dawn — it’s when the ilus wake up. If you need anything, that–” he points to a nearby pod, “–is my marui.”
He stops for a moment and looks at you, sitting on the sleeping mat. “I’m sorry about your father and what happened to your people.”
You press your lips into a thin line. “Thanks.” You avert your eyes and wrap your shawl a little tighter around you. “Uh… goodnight, Tonowari.”
He nods, a sad smile on his lips as he moves outside of the tent, still holding open the curtain serving as door. “Goodnight.”
He closes the blind, and you’re left to your thoughts.
Tonowari laughs. “Your swimming form is funny.”
You pout. “If you're here to poke fun at my survival-level swimming form, I’m sure Nala would be happy to teach me how to instead.”
His laugh gets even louder, and he raises his hands up. “I said it was funny, not bad! It’s like… watching a child take their first dive out of their mother’s womb.”
“Are you really saying that a kid might swim better than me?”
The son of the Olo’eyktan has at least the decency to stifle his chuckles now. “No, no, I’m sure you’ll learn soon enough.”
This morning, the villagers were astonished to find out that the chiefs had basically sneaked you into the village overnight — but sure enough, their spirits changed when you started distributing the gifts you had brought for them. The Tsahìk seemed pleased with the necklace your mother had made her, claiming it to be of beautiful manufacture, as her people raided your baskets for the shawls and armbands your friends had stitched for them. Yovo fruits were gone in a matter of seconds, and Arvak had to set aside the dried meat you brought to assure that everyone got a piece for dinner.
(As for Arvak’s gift, you gave it to him once the crowd dissipated. You told him it was from Toruk Makto, who even after proper Omatikaya training, unfortunately still had to work on his carving abilities. He took the dagger nonetheless, pleased that Toruk Makto himself took time out of his day to make something for him.)
Despite your gifts quietening the protests of your arrival, the villagers still stared a little too hard sometimes — no wonder, they’ve never seen a forest Na’vi before. Most of them are nice or at least cordial to you, but a few doubtful stares still linger as Tonowari tries to do his best in teaching you the ways of the Metkayina.
You start spending your mornings — from before dawn up until lunch — with the Olo’eyktan son, learning how to juggle the currents and hold your breath, and your afternoons with the clan elders, weaving baskets and learning how to stitch seashells into body pieces.
(The first time you asked if you could help weaving the growing side of the marui pods, they gasped, scandalized. Apparently, it’s strictly the men’s job around here.)
After a few days and horrendous tries, you finally manage to finish your first armband — Priya, an old woman wearing the feather chest piece that one of your friends had made, insisted on it. It’s decorated with a few shells you managed to collect while diving with Tonowari, and as she inspects it closely, she hums, clearly pleased with your work. “I’m sure your mate will be delighted to wear this, one day.”
You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “My mate?”
The other elders nod convincingly, passing around your work. “In Awa’atlu, the first piece a girl makes is always a stitched armband," she explains, revealing why she had pressured you so much in starting off with one. “The mother makes sure to save it, and when the time comes, it will be given to her husband to wear. He, in return, will give her a carved comb, usually decorated with anything that pleases the woman.”
You think about it for a moment, “So, the first ever piece the men carve is a comb, too?”
The women laugh like the mere thought is hilarious. “Of course not!” Priya hollers, “The first piece a woman stitches is important because in her life, she will make numerous beautiful works. The men give them the most beautiful comb they make, because it’s already a miracle if they manage to make one singular, decent comb.”
At this, you laugh with them, thinking about that wobbly knife Jake made for their Olo’eyktan. Then, you snort, “This wasn’t my first armband, though,” yes, you had to learn how to properly position shells and have them not fall off the strings, but this isn't your first time stitching.
One of the other women shrugs, “So what?” She says, “It’s the first one you make here — as a future proper Metkayina — that counts as first.”
Later on that night, back in your marui, you observe the armband and store it inside one of your woven travel bags, hoping that one day, the man you dreamt about will be able to wear it.
Whenever you are free from both weaving lessons and Tonowari’s constant nagging, you delve deep into the forest that the island offers, collecting herbs and fruits. Apparently, the Metkayina have learnt to make the most out of what the sea has to offer, and subsequently rarely explore the forest except for harvesting fruits. The seaside forest is a bit different from what you were used to, but fortunately the plants do not differ that much.
The first time you show the Tsahìk how you used to make disinfectant salves in the forest, she stares at the concoction like it has just clicked something in her brain. She smells it, tries it on one of the hunter’s light scratches and notes how he doesn’t lament any stinging. “Why don’t you come with me and my tsakarems one of these days?” She asks finally. “I’m sure we could teach you something, as well as learn from your… peculiar ways.”
The next day, you ask about the tsakarems to Tonowari as he gently hoists you up to an ilu. “Here, when the Tsahìk doesn’t have a daughter, she takes various apprentices under her wing,” he explains, showing you how to place your feet to avoid falling off of the creature’s back. “And then, either the most talented or the one the future Olo’eyktan chooses becomes Tsahìk, while the others go on to become healers.”
You still fall off of the ilu’s back, but it doesn’t really matter — because Tonawari is there, ready to catch you, and immediately steadies you as you come crashing onto him. You’ll learn, he signs, still underwater. Do not worry, you’ll learn.
The two of you have grown significantly closer since your arrival, and you try not to notice the way his touch tentatively lingers over your hips as he brings the both of you back to the surface. The two of you stare at each other then, his hands still atop your waist, and just as he’s about to say something, the moment is broken by Nala — and either she’s obsessed with his biceps at least half as much as you are, or she’s really just a little, fat bugger. You both laugh as she slobbers all over your face, his hands leaving your body, and you have to convince yourself that you’re not missing his touch to continue the riding lesson.
Your weak spots are the signing lessons and the apnea training, mostly because your complete attention on him is needed to actually learn something.
The first time he pushes his hand into your belly to show you how to breathe with your stomach, you thought you would’ve been able to faint right here and there — or swoon, depending on how you see it. And whenever he shows you new signs and their meaning, unfortunately all you can think about is what exactly his fingers can do.
After lunch, you join the Tsahìk and the tsakarems in their dive for medical algae; a girl named Ronal shows you the best shells to pick to add to plants to make a paste, and the fishes that you have to follow to find a certain type of anemone with incredible healing properties. She’s a little ruffled by your presence at the lesson and you can tell, but you don’t find it in yourself to judge her; you’re pretty sure that when Jake was learning your ways, you were far more suspicious of him than she is of you.
Weirdly enough, the Tsahìk comes looking for you when you don’t show up to her lesson the day after. You come to find out that what you thought was a once-and-done offer was meant to be a more permanent position among the tsakarems, and now your evenings are filled with her lessons about spirituality and healing, too.
But the best thing about Awa’atlu is, by far, Eywa’s presence: she’s everywhere, in the waters you swim into the bonfire Avrak lights when it’s time for dinner, and for the first time in months, you feel safe. Even Ry’ia does, and it’s evident in the way she made herself a nest atop one of the highest trees in the forest.
You’ve made friends with the elders and two girls close to your age, Wali and Em’a, and the curious glances that the Metkayina sent you on that first day you spent here are nothing but memories now, as they have seemed to accept you as one of her own.
Ironically enough, you start noticing how close Ronal and Tonawari are just now that you know her.
Nothing much, but still noticeable, because most of the women in the clan are not close enough to him to be touching him — but she does. And for some reason, a lingering touch on his arm here and two grazing knees there are all it takes to ruin your night.
You know it’s stupid — a lot, actually. You’d already figured that one day, Tonowari will have to choose a beautiful and probably Metkayina woman to mate with to become the Tsahìk when his mother won’t be able to be anymore. Ronal is smart, definitely the prettiest tsakarem out of Tsika’s group, and above all, an established Metkayina in the clan. You, meanwhile, still have to properly mount an ilu, and Eywa forbids a skimwing.
When the fire dies out and it’s time for everyone to go to sleep, you sneak away from your friends to find refuge in that same rocky coast you landed on the night you arrived, and find yourself looking at the stars.
The next morning, after yet another slip down the back of your ilu, you’re ready to pack your bags and go back to wallowing in your pity in the remains of the Hometree, but Tonowari stops you by the tail and drags you back into the water, already hoisting you up the ilu’s back again. “Come on,” he encourages you, getting on the saddle right behind you. “Make the bond– I'll worry about not making you fall.”
Your eye twitches. Just how are you supposed to stay focused on the ilu when you can feel his chest pressing against your back, and his arms basically engulfing your own as he holds onto the saddle? He blinks at your staring, acting oblivious. “What?”
By some miracle, you manage to focus on your mount. The ilu’s speed causes you to completely lean on Tonowari for support, but he doesn’t seem to mind — the opposite, actually. One of his arms wrap around your midriff to keep you more stable, and while underwater you can feel his chin rest on your shoulder, when you rise back to the surface it’s his breath that you can feel on your cheek — and you know for a fact that he’s doing that on purpose, because he’s much taller than you, and he has to be crouching to be almost your height.
“See?” He whispers in your ear. “It’s not so hard.” Well, of course it isn’t with him assuring you don’t fall. Slowly, you lift your head up to look at him, a brow raised in amusement. “Not with you here, mister.”
Your sultry gaze makes him blush — an absolute hunk of a man who has surely had his fun playing with your closeness up until now, defeated by the batting of eyelashes. Unbelievable. His index finger traces a little pattern over your side, his eyes not leaving yours, “Then I’ll be here for as long as you’ll need me.”
Wali and Em’a tease you endlessly about your lessons with Tonowari, and although they are terrible at catching fishes with the nets, whenever the two of you are out in the water they’re suddenly the most interested in fishing, even if their eyes are directed to anything but their supposed catches. They insist on rebraiding your hair in the Metkayina way when your braids start growing out, picking the prettiest shells and beads they can find to intertwine them in your strands. Considering you ditched your feather tops for their net-and-shell ones a while ago, if it weren’t for the colour of your skin and your tail you could probably pass as a reef Na’vi without too much trouble.
But the main problem remains — you are not a Metkayina, not in the true sense of the word. And you are reminded of that as you see Ronal drag Tonowari away from the bonfire during dinner.
Your mood shifts visibly. You play around with the fruits on your bowl, completely bummed, and Em’a and Wali share a knowing look. “Maybe she just wants to talk to him,” the latter whispers, as her friend nods. “Yeah, they butted heads allll the time when we were kids. I’m sure he just did an ugly marui pod and she wants to point out every single mistake he made with the weaving.”
You huff a bitter laugh, “Yeah, because I’m sure that that kind of stuff requires an immediate discussion.”
You go back to watching the stars atop the rocky coast that night — it’s a habit by now, because even if you feel happy here, you still miss your mother and sister. The thought of the three of you watching the same sky always manages to comfort you. Alas, now it’s helping you overcome how stupid you’re feeling, because you know that Ronal is perfect for Tonowari.
She’s been a tsakarem for longer than you, has grown up with him, knows how to ride an ilu perfectly and knows the way of the water like the back of her hand. She doesn’t come from who-knows-where, where trees grow as tall as the stars and far away from their beloved ocean, doesn’t have a useless tail for swimming, and doesn’t need to resurface constantly for a breath of air as much as you do. Wanting to be with him is selfish, because you’re fully aware that there’s already someone perfect for him out there.
Still, that doesn’t mean it hurts less.
The next day you opt to avoid Tonowari’s lessons, staying close to Em’a and Wali to help them stitch a wedding gift for one of the village’s couples on one of the empty, woven platform just above the water surface. The chief’s son had looked confused when he’d found you with the women instead of in your marui, but his questioning glance was met with a shrug. “Well, they need this gift done before the end of this week. I won’t be able to ride an ilu properly any time soon, anyways.”
His shoulders sag a bit and he looks like a grounded ikran, but he still nods and goes his way, back to the beach. “What?” you ask Em’a when she stares at you, gaping. “He looked so sad! Why didn’t you go with him? Me and Wali could’ve finished this alone!”
You go back to your stitching, fiddling with the strings. Your mind takes you back to the other day — the way his finger traced your skin — and still, a little part of you can’t help but wonder how things would be if he didn’t like another girl already. “Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude between him and Ronal, you know.”
Your friends stare at each other, not knowing what to say — it’s not like they can rebuke without knowing what the two of them talked about — or did — last night.
You spend the day avoiding Tonowari like they pay you for it, running errands in the forest for the Tsahìk and finishing baskets with the elders, and by the time dinner time arrives, you can’t evade him anymore without half the clan wondering what happened between you two.
You’re sitting beside Em’a — who’s arguing with Priya about what shells are best for a chest piece — when someone tugs at your braids as gently as possible. “Hey,”
Of course, it’s him. He looks a bit sheepish, a weird leather pouch over his shoulder as he lets your hair go and sits beside you, brushing a fallen braid behind your ear. “I like the way you did your hair– it’s really pretty.”
Well, if Priya and Em’a weren’t listening before, now they definitely are. It’s a miracle Wali is on cooking duty tonight, because otherwise, you’d have three very nosey listeners instead of two. You blush, “Um– really?” Damn him and the effect he has on you. One day, he’ll be Ronal’s — but you decide that it surely won’t be a problem if you have his attention, just for tonight.
He nods, a smile gracing his features. “The prettiest,” for some reason, it doesn’t feel like he’s talking about the braids anymore, but you’re not brave enough to point it out aloud. “You know, I was thinking that we could try again with the ilus tomorrow. Don’t let a few falls discourage you — I’m sure I fell a lot when I had to learn, too.”
You scoff, swatting him on the arm. “Really? Big, bad Tonowari beaten by a skimpy ilu?”
He rubs the back of his neck, “Well, actually, I don’t really remember — I was little — but I’m pretty sure my bad memory is just because I probably hit my head really hard while falling.”
That manages a laugh out of you — and it’s like he can go back to breathing properly, because he had really thought he had done something that offended you in some way or the other. He was more stressed than he let out this morning, when you refused to come with him to see the ilus.
The night goes on and you laugh like you haven’t in months. He sure knows how to make great company when he wants to, and his arm — leaned on the sand behind your back — sometimes brushes against your spine, causing pleased goosebumps to etch over your skin. Eywa, you want him to be even closer so bad.
And it’s just when he leans down and scoots a little closer, his hand tentatively resting on your back, that you notice her.
Ronal is glaring at you from the other side of the bonfire, her arms crossed and her fingers tapping impatiently. The charm wears off — you remind yourself that you can’t exactly pretend she doesn’t exist for a night, because even if you don’t owe her anything, you don’t want to cause any rift between her and Tonowari. It’s not like he’ll ever mate with you, anyway.
So you gently pull away, trying to ignore his hurt stare as you get up from your previous sitting position. “I– did I do something? Are you–”
“Sorry, I just need a breather,” you disappear into the forest, but not before seeing Ronal stomping angrily towards Tonowari, surely ready to yell at him. Priya and Em’a cast worried glances at your back, but you’re too distraught to actually notice.
The rocky coast is quiet in contrast to the continuous chatter of the bonfire, as the sound of the waves is the only thing breaking the silence. You hug your knees close to your chest, staring at the stars, wondering what and how Neytiri is doing right now — cuddled up with Jake, no doubt. Well, if Ronal wasn’t so perfect for Tonowari, you think you’d like being cuddled up to him, too–
A hand on your shoulder nearly makes you jump out of your bones — were you really so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the same man you were just daydreaming about approaching? Embarrassing. If your father were alive, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.
Tonowari sits beside you again, and you hug your knees just a little closer. “I, um,” he stutters, and you can’t believe a man of his size is able to get embarrassed. “Today, when I went hunting outside the reef, I got you something.” He grabs the pouch slinged over his shoulders, opening it to reveal a beautiful conch shell.
You’ve never seen one so big — it’s probably the size of your head, if not bigger. The outer shell is iridescent, reacting to the bioluminescence of the waves that crash underneath you, while the inside is streaked in blue and purple. You’ve never seen anything like it, and you gape at the sight. “Tonowari, what…”
“I saw it and it just reminded me of you,” he explains, his cheeks a pleasant indigo. He holds it out for you to take, and if you weren’t sure your eyes were playing tricks on you, you’d say his hands were trembling slightly. “And so, as it is tradition, I thought I should’ve gotten it for you– if you will accept it, that is.”
You’re too dumbfounded by the seashell to really listen to him. You take it in your hands, tasting the weight of it, admiring its colors and wondering how something so beautiful could have reminded him of you. At last, you find yourself hugging it close to your chest, even if its spikes poke a little into your arm. “Thank you, Tonowari,” you say, feeling as full as anyone can be.
He perks up, his ears twitching like he’s in disbelief, his tail moving happily in the sand. “…Really? You accept it?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?” It's a gift, and you don’t plan on giving it back to him anytime soon. It’s too beautiful to even sit anywhere near his man-cave.
The grin he makes takes up his whole face. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. Fantastic, even.”
Gently, he touches your arm. “So, how about riding those ilus tomorrow?”
The next morning, you manage to mount an ilu properly — without Tonowari behind you for support, that is. It’s nothing much, but it’s still a step forward into life in the reef, and from the way your teacher claps and hollers, you’d think you’d tamed an akula.
Later that evening, you’re still helping Em’a and Wali with their wedding gift, as well as recounting last night’s events to their flabbergasted faces. “A conch shell?” Wali asks to confirm, her thread and beads long forgotten.
You nod, mimicking the size of the shell with your hands, “Yeah, a thing this big,”
Em’a squeals, “No way! I didn’t think he was so straight forward!”
Confused, you ask, “What do you mean? He was just being nice,”
They look at each other, gaping, then back at you, “What do you mean, he was just being–”
They’re interrupted by someone sitting down next to you without asking permission, and you blanch when you see Ronal. “Oh– oh, um, hi.”
She blinks at you like it’s no big deal, then picks up a spare thread and needle and begins helping you with the netting. “So, what did Tonowari tell you last night?”
You hesitate. “Oh, um, you know — lessons stuff. A few tips on how to balance my weight on the ilus better. Um… in a– friendly way?”
She perks up an eyebrow suspiciously, her ears twitching in annoyance. “Lessons stuff, huh?” she repeats, stitching a shell in the most aggressive way you’ve ever seen — even Neytiri bad-mouthing Jake never reached these levels of hostility. “In a friendly way? Is that so?”
You share a panicked glance with your friends, laughing awkwardly. “Yes?” It sounds more like a question than a reply, and that’s probably what tips her over the edge. Her eye twitches, and she doesn’t even bother to put the needle and thread where she found them as she rises back up to her feet while grumbling, “If you’ll excuse me,”
“She didn’t even try to be sneaky,” Em’a mutters as soon as she’s out of hearing range, “what’s up with her?”
Your stomach churns, “Well, it’s probably the fact that–”
A loud slap echoes from the village, making the three of you flinch. A second slap ensues. When you look up, you notice that Tonowari is standing on the shore, holding his jaw with his cheeks already turning an ugly purple, and Ronal is marching away, fuming.
…Yeah. You probably shouldn’t have accepted that shell thinking that it wouldn’t matter if he was going to marry her anyways.
You wonder what exactly is between them, but can’t find it in yourself to ask him — mostly because you aren’t brave enough to tell him that you like him. Em’a and Wali can keep telling you that there’s nothing between them, but recent events continue to prove them wrong.
That night, at dinner, you mostly keep to yourself, deep in your thoughts, and even if Priya tries to drag you out of your misery, it’s all futile. For one reason or another the fruit you’re munching on tastes bitter, and you’re not sure if Tonowari’s absence around the bonfire helps or worsens your mood. It’s only when Ronal herself pats your shoulder and gestures for the beach that you get out of your haze.
She tugs you by your arm down onto the shore, as silent as ever. “Listen, I’m really sorry–”
“Did you do anything you need to apologise for?” she asks, jumping off a rock. You stumble, “I– well, I know you and Tonowari probably–”
“Stupid forest girl,” she huffs, not even looking at you, “thinks I want him like he’s some kind of trophy when he’s stupid like a baby–”
“Hey! That’s not nice–”
She tugs you roughly one last time only to let your arm go as you reach where the ocean meets the sand, and you fall down in the water, wetting your — newly made, you must add — loincloth. You groan, rubbing your backside, “Ow– I get that you’re mad, but this seems a little too much to me–”
Ronal points to somewhere behind you, looking tired of you. “Go.”
You blink, confused — and then you turn, only to catch sight of Tonowari, only a few klicks behind, mounting an ilu. He raises a hand to greet you, the smile on his face nervous, and you notice that he’s got that pouch slung over his shoulder again.
Hesitant, you turn to Ronal — looking for what, you don’t know. She raises an eyebrow expectantly, “What are you waiting for? Go.”
You’re not sure you want to know what kind of game she’s playing, but something tugs at your tail. It’s Nala, you come to realize, and she’s trying to drag you off to Tonowari.
You relent, following the zukzuk and mostly letting yourself get carried by the current until you’re in front of him. He gestures his fingers to his forehead as a salute and then holds his hand out to you, “Care for a swim?”
Still hesitant, you look at the ilu, then back at him. “No baby akulas trying to eat me this time?”
He laughs, “No, not where we’re going.”
You allow him to hoist you atop the ilu — because even if you're capable of doing it yourself, he always does that — and then climbs up in front of you, holding one hand behind your thigh to keep you steady and the other on the reins. “Hold on tight.”
You have to admit that riding at night is beautiful. Other than the moons and stars above you, the only light comes from the bioluminescence, and you remove one hand from his waist to brush the surface of the water, in awe. Nala swims beside you, holding up with the pace with some effort, but still looking very happy to see you and her carer together.
Tonowari stops the ilu when floating rocks and boulders — like a miniature-size Hallelujah Mountains — start to appear in the sky. “Where are we?”
He turns to smile at you. “You came here for Eywa, didn't you?” he asks, “Well, you could say we're going to visit her.”
He dives and you follow him, still a bit reluctant. He stops to let you catch up to him when he notices that you’re a bit behind him, a hand coming up to hold your smaller one — and suddenly, all of this feels very familiar. The fishes twirling around the two of you, the rocks and algae shimmering, the life you can feel buzzing within the water–
Tonowari lets go of your hand as you stare all around you, but it’s just to sign something. Come with me, our Spirit Tree is this way. His hand comes up to the small of your back, and if you weren’t holding your breath, you’re sure you would’ve sputtered.
If he notices the way you’re staring at him — like you just discovered a whole new person — he doesn’t mention it. He just guides you through the swarms of nocturnal fishes until you see it — the Spirit Tree.
Never in your life you would’ve thought that something like that could’ve existed underwater. It looks like it’s made out of dreams, shining upon anything that comes close to it, and Tonowari’s hand slowly leaves your back as you approach it — he’s letting you have some space, you realise.
Meeting the ancestors is like going back home — maybe it’s because in the spirit realm the Hometree and all the people that came down with it are alive, or maybe it’s because you didn’t do it for a long time. Either way, once you come back from it — you have to, the air in your lungs is starting to feel less and less every second that passes — you come to find out that finally, you feel truly at peace.
You swim up to a rock covered in moss to catch your breath, taking a moment to admire your surroundings — you’ve swam up to an open cave, it seems, painted and engraved with stories from the start of the Metkayina clan to the new days. Tulkuns, ilus and Na’vi twirl across the stone, set for an endless dance across generations, and you hear the water crinkle beside you.
“Do you like it?”
You nod, “It’s beautiful. Our Spirit Tree, back in the forest, doesn’t really offer any space for carvings.”
Tonowari nods, looking at the artwork scattered across the walls. “This is the Cove of the Ancestors. It’s where we bring the dead to rest, where newborns have their first contact with Eywa and ceremonies are held.”
You hum, already imagining him in full Olo’eyktan attire, his father passing down his spear to him. The man clears his throat. “I… I also brought you here for another reason other than the Spirit Tree — Ronal suggested I might’ve wanted to… clear things up a bit between us.”
You feel your heart skip a beat. Ah, there it goes. “There’s nothing to clear up,” you assure him, even if your chest feels like it’s imploding. “It’s okay. I know you have responsibilities — and we both know that Ronal’s the best tsakarem out there.”
He blinks, confused. A beat passes, slowly. Then, “But I don’t want Ronal.”
Oh. Oh.
You stutter, wondering if he’s joking — and from the way he’s looking at you, he’s not. “But– I thought you two had a thing. She dragged you away from the bonfire the other night — she’s always so close — she slapped you this morning just because we talked last night.”
Tonowari’s laughter is sincere and without any malice behind it. “What? No!”
He removes his pouch from his shoulder, and opens it to reveal another conch shell– even bigger than the last one. It’s different, though: this one reminds you of him, all turquoise and light blue accents, and you wonder just how many hours he has spent looking for it. “Here in Awa’atlu, gifting a big conch shell symbolises the start of a courtship,” he explaines — embarrassed, perhaps? “I got so used to having you around that I forgot you weren’t born Metkayina, and probably didn’t know of the tradition. Honestly, I was too happy you had accepted it to ask myself if you knew about it — and for that, I owe you my apologies.”
You soften visibly, but still hold a little resistance. “But Ronal–”
“Ronal is a friend,” he empathizes the word, “if anything, she sees me as a brother she can’t get out of her hair. All this time, she’s pressured me to make my move on you — before the other skxawngs in the village noticed all your qualities. That day at the bonfire? We kept arguing over what compliments I should’ve used for your hair.”
You blush, “I kept telling her I should’ve just told you that you were beautiful — which was true — but she kept insisting for a subtler approach. And when we came back, you weren’t there.”
You fiddle with the shells of your chestpiece, “Well, I thought you went to have some alone time with her or something,” you mutter.
Another laugh. “So, you escaped to watch the stars every time we were a little too close? I’m flattered that you kept looking at me,”
You push at his arm, “Then why did she slap you this morning? Your cheeks are still swollen, by the way.”
He snorts, “Ouli — the ceremonial tattooer — gave her a conch shell a week ago, and she has accepted it. She can’t wait to be absolved from tsakarem’s duties, but they can’t step down until the Tsahìk — and the future chief — choose who, one day, will guide the people spiritually.” Two of his fingers come up to your chin, holding your head up to stare into your eyes softly, “She was waiting for me to choose you. I told her I’d propose the shell to you yesterday, and then she found out that apparently, you saw it as a friendly talk. Needless to say, she was pissed.”
“But– I’m not even fully trained yet. She’s better at–”
He shakes his head, “I don’t care what she’s better at — I know you’ll learn everything about our ways, eventually. You’ve already proven yourself worthy enough.” he raises the shell again, his hand moving up to your cheek. “So, what do you say if we try this once more? I found another shell just to ask you again.”
You take the shell in your hands, admiring it for a moment before throwing all your self-control out of the picture, jumping in his arms so abruptly that he falls down on his backside. The kiss is mind-shattering, his hug is everything you imagined it would be, and his body is just as warm as it was in the dream where you saw him for the first time.
The funniest thing is that once you pull away, you both are gasping for air — something you’ve never seen him do, even after diving sessions that seemed to be hours long. Tightening the hold of your arms around his neck, you press your chests even closer, your noses brushing. “Is this the answer you wanted?”
He huffs a chuckle, his eyes already looking down at your lips again, “I don’t know– seemed a bit too friendly to me. But maybe, if you do that again, say, three or four times more, I might grasp the concept fully…”
You’re pretty sure the two of you could’ve stayed there kissing all night — and maybe even more than that, with the way you could feel him pressing against your crotch — if it wasn’t for Nala, who, by the time you went back for seconds for the fourth time, already had enough and positively jumped over the two of you, breaking the sweet moment with barks and flaps of her tail.
That doesn’t stop you from sharing quick, frenzy kisses whenever she’s not looking, as by the time Tonowari accompanies you back to your marui, your lips still feel swollen and are surely flushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks you, pressing one last peck to your cheek. You nod, giving his hand one last squeeze, “‘Course,”
You decide to take things slowly — you still don’t know the Metkayina’s ways to their full extent, after all. The next few months are made of exhausting training, as now you’re the only tsakarem and still have to pass your iknimaya, and you don’t want to let anyone down. You know the expectations that everyone has about the Tsahìk, and you surely have no intention to make Tonowari look bad as Olo’eyktan when the time comes.
And about him, he surely makes the intensive training easier.
Everytime he notices that you’re a little too stressed he makes sure to bring you a trinket from his hunts — let it be a weird rock that looks like a heart or a basket full of shells you can make your chest coverings with. He finds flowers to put in your hair during meal times, and just swings you over his shoulder like a pouch full of water when he decides that you’re overworking yourself a tad bit too much, dragging you to his marui for a well-deserved nap.
The day of your iknimaya marks your formal entry in the clan — one who later on becomes even more real thanks to your mating ceremony.
It’s a quiet affair — quieter than it is usual for the son of the chief — but neither of you resent the lack of festivities or celebration, because the most important thing is that you are now mated for life. Per Metkayina tradition, you rebraid each other’s kuru braids, picking beads and shells perfect for each other just for the occasion, and when the time to exchange your wedding gifts comes, you think back to Priya’s words and wonder just who she married — because the comb Tonowari carved out of coral is nothing short of stunning.
“I’ve never been to your forest,” he tells you as you brush the swirls of the flowers and trees etched along the smooth side, “but I’ve tried imagining it so many times, I can only hope I brought it justice.” It may not be completely accurate to the forest, but the thought he put into it is more than appreciated nonetheless. In exchange, he wears your armband like it’s a badge of honor, even if it’s a little too tight on his bicep. (Not that you’re complaining — the sight is scrumptious, and you can’t believe you get to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.)
You quickly settle in the marui Tonowari built with his father in the months of courting, and after a few months of blissful marriage, you don’t even notice when your belly starts to grow.
You just assumed you were getting a little too comfortable in your new life with him and maybe put on a bit of weight — after all, the Metkayina are much softer than the Omatikaya, so maybe your body’s just adapting to the environment. You think so, until Tonowari points it out.
One morning, as he’s tying his braids back, he stops to look at you — still lying half-asleep on the mat you share, barely awake yet. He crouches to stare weirdly at your belly, then pokes at your bellybutton like he’s trying to study a new species of fish. “Oeyä Tanhì,” he starts — my star, a nickname he has taken a liking to calling you since your wedding.
You hum non-committedly. “Yes, Ma Wari?”
He keeps poking at your stomach, and keeps doing so even when you try to swat his hand away. “Stop it, Tonowari, it tickles.”
He kisses your cheek, and continues doing so all the way to your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face as he leans his cheek over the top of your head. His chuckle is full of disbelief as he whispers, “My love, I think you’re with child. Your belly is rounder and stiff.”
A moment passes. Then, “Are you calling me fat first thing in the morning, Tonowari?”
A terrifying silence and a visit to Tsika later, it’s confirmed — you are pregnant, already four months along. You’re confused, mostly because your people don’t show up until five months, but one look at your hunk of a husband is all it takes to explain your questions.
Your second tattoo is to celebrate the pregnancy. While the first was above your eyebrow and went down to your cheek, this one cups the upper part of your belly and continues to your sides, still leaving some space for eventual other tattoos on your lower belly and hips.
At night, you sit on the step going onto the ocean of your marui, letting your feet float in the water as Tonowari sits on a banked canoe below, rubbing ointment on your freshly-done tattoo. “The arch symbolises the first pregnancy,” he mumbles softly, “the sides, protection for the firstborn. If another pregnancy occurs, a piece will be added here,” he brushes against the empty, rounded sides of your belly, “for protection of the second born, and then one for the third, and so on.”
You laugh, playing with one of his braids. “I think you’re getting too full of yourself, mister– let me give birth to this one before talking about other children, will you?”
He rests his head in your lap, almost purring when you start tracing lines over his face and scalp, “And when the child is born,” he adds, a hand still over your stomach, “the father gets a tattoo over the heart, one that turns into a spiral as more children come.”
A hum, “Maybe we should start thinking about names first, Ma Wari.”
The agreement is, he chooses the name if it’s a boy, you choose if it’s a girl. He picks the name Aonung; you opt for Tsireya.
His father’s illness comes as a bitter surprise to all.
It starts with a cough, then he’s getting groggy when he moves a little too much, until no remedies the Tsahìk, you or the healers try to use work, as he lies bedridden in the marui him and his wife have shared for decades.
Tonowari is understandingly broken up about it — the man who he grew up idolizing, who offered you a refuge in your grief, who helped him build the marui where you’ll be raising your child and every other one that might come after them. He won’t be meeting his grandchild, and even if Arvak insists for you to sleep properly in your own pod for the wellness of the baby, you’re not going to leave him or your husband alone in this difficult time.
You and your mate spend every night by his side as Tsika prays and chants for Eywa, not getting a blink of sleep herself, until the inevitable comes, and Arvak’s hand finally goes limp in hers.
The period of mourning doesn’t seem like nearly enough for Tonowari to handle his grief — he spends every night curled up into you, resting his head on your lap, trying to find comfort in you and his unborn child. He’s so big that if the situation was a little different, you would’ve laughed; instead, you just hold him close and sing him to sleep.
But life doesn’t stop for grief, and you know that well. Soon, he’s named Olo’eyktan and you Tsahìk, Tsika stepping down from her position with tears in her eyes as she gives you her headpiece.
Time in the village goes fast — people to heal, ceremonies to make, salves to concoct and prayers to hear. Months pass and your belly starts feeling impossibly big, so much so that the kids of the clan start following you everywhere to help their increasingly more tired Tsahìk. Tonowari always laughs when he sees them, going on about how Nala now has competition for the place in your heart reserved for children and animals, and the otterfin herself brings you a gift everyday — let it be a polished rock she found while swimming or a type of seaweed she thinks to be delicious.
The contractions start at night. You toss and turn in pain but try to avoid waking up Tonowari, just in case it’s a false alarm like the ones you had in the last three days. It’s only when he nudges you with a gentle hand — hair still mussed a bit with sleep — and tells you that the mat is wet that you understand that your child is coming.
Tsika and Ronal — now one of the best healers in the village and happily mated to Ouli — don’t spare any minute after your husband calls for them, and immediately have him carry you — now almost delirious with pain — to the birthing pond, where the water is warm and Eywa’s presence strong. The sigh you let out when your husband gently positions you against the rocky wall of it is one of pure bliss, and your clammy skin now surely doesn’t give you any problem.
Aonung is born hours later at dawn, resurfacing out of the water by himself like tradition, crying out for his father to take him. Tonowari takes one good look at him, hears his strong wails and immediately passes him to your tired, waiting arms, “A boy,” he says breathlessly, brushing your braids out of your face, “a healthy, strong boy.” He presses his lips to your forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek, “Thank you, Oeyä Tanhì, thank you.”
“Aonung,” you call out sobbing, as the babe stops his crying and latches onto your breast. “Hi, my sweet, hi,” he’s a little bigger than Omatikaya babies, but you love him nonetheless. He nestles over your chest as soon as he’s done feeding, and chooses that that’s now his favourite place to be.
In the next few weeks, your son reveals himself to be a real mama’s boy. During the day, he stays curled up in your chest in the netted wrap that Em’a and Wali had made for you, and Eywa forbid Tonowari tries to help you by taking him — because he will cry until his ears beg for mercy, only to go back to being an angel as soon as he passes him back to you.
The children coo and poke at him when you bring him to meet them, and one of the older ones jokes about how he looks just like your husband, but can only stand you. You laugh at that, because it is true — Aonung is his father’s copy, and maybe that’s why he likes you so much.
It’s only when he reaches three months of age that you gather enough courage to ask Tonowari to visit the forest — not because you’re afraid he’ll say no, but because you’re not sure if you’re ready for it. It’s been almost two years since you left now, and while you aren’t exactly ready to see the remains of the fallen Hometree again, you want Aonung to meet his grandmother and aunt, and your husband to see where you grew up.
Of course, the latter could never deny you anything, and a week later you get on Ry’ia with him behind you and set sail for the forest of the Omatikaya. The village is left to Tsika’s hands, and Aonung babbles happily against your chest as he flies for the first time in his life.
The village is in the same place it was two years ago — it’s just grown a lot since then, marui pods where the branches once weren’t even steady enough — and you laugh when Ry’ia leaves you immediately to go back to the ikrans’ nest, ready to meet her old friends no doubt. You keep one hand over Aonung’s small back and the other in Tonowari’s palm, guiding him through the branches and groves as he stumbles many times.
You laugh, “How does the forest feel, reef boy?”
He pales as he stares down the branch you’re standing on, wondering just how many people die here from falling down into the void. “Dangerous, my love.”
Neytiri screams when she first sees you — alerting all the other villagers about your arrival. She runs to hug you tight, not even noticing your son nestled between you two or the reef Na’vi awkwardly standing behind you until you pull back, a soft smile on your lips. “Sister, it’s been so long–”
You laugh, nodding. “It has been, sister. I wanted to introduce you to Tonowari–” the man salutes her with his fingers going to his forehead and then gesturing towards her as you take Aonung out of his wrap and into your arms, “and little Aonung.”
You don’t notice the way her face falls instantly. Your boy coos at her, gesturing his fat little arms towards her, and the moment is interrupted by Mo’at, far more pleased than her elder daughter at the turn of events. When your sister takes her nephew in her arms and your mother hugs you, she stares at his turquoise skin, larger tail and wide forearms with worry, “He’ll never be able to move fully in the forest with these,”
You chuckle, still in your mother’s embrace, “A good thing we live in the reef then, no?”
Her eyes skim over your sturdier arms, the tattoos over your body and the seashells braided into your hair– and before you know it, she leaves Aonung in Jake’s arms and storms off.
Being back home is nice — because while Awa’atlu became your home in the last two years, here in the forest still live your friends and family, and it’s where you grew up. Your mother spoils Aonung rotten and watches him as you go hunting on your ikran with Ninat and Peyral, while Jakesully — upon Tonowari’s insistence — tries to show him the way of the forest. Your friends chuckle every time they catch sight of your husband, asking if every Na’vi in the reef is as big as him, and if you know any Metkayina men willing to marry in the Omatikaya.
Neytiri, who you found out to be pregnant the day you arrived, mostly stays by herself, pondering, and whenever you ask if she wants to do anything with you she refuses, lamenting nausea or other pains.
You talk to Mo’at about it, worried, but she just gives you a weird look. “She’s grieving, child.”
Your eyebrows rise up to your hairline, “What do you mean, grieving? Who died?”
“She thought you were still traveling,” she whispers, caressing Aonung’s curls while he munches on the beads of your braids, “and that once you were ready, you would’ve come back to living here. Seeing you with a mate and a son… it broke her heart, because now she knows you’re not coming back.”
You think back to all the times you two talked about how your children would grow up together, being best friends and close just like you did — and your heart breaks a little, too, because in all of this, you hadn’t considered how she would take the fact of you never fully returning to the forest.
That night, you leave Aonung with Tonowari — as your son has finally started to appreciate his father a little, too — and go looking for Neytiri at the Tree of Souls, knowing that at this hour, she usually prays and chants her songcord.
She stops when she hears you approach, her ears perking up. You smile softly, “I thought we could pray together– like the old days?” When your father was still alive, your sister still arranged to Tsu’tey, and the both of you were less complicated. When she could still become Tsahìk, and you had no reason to.
She scoffs a little, “Like the old days,” she mutters, “am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t turn your back on me?”
You grimace, taking a seat next to her, “Tiri…”
“Don’t ‘Tiri’ me,” she hisses, “you have no right– I was waiting for you. Waiting for you to come back–” her voice cracks — pregnancy emotions; you know them too well. “For you to come back here and marry one of our men like our ancestors did for centuries. Instead, you marry a reef Na’vi and– and move Eywa knows how far from here without saying anything–”
She breaks down, and you shush her gently, cradling her head on your shoulder. This feels familiar, because when you were kids, she was usually the one comforting you. “Why did it have to be the Olo’eyktan?” she cries, her tears wetting your skin, “Couldn’t you find someone less important — someone you could come here to live with?”
You shake your head, pressing your cheek on the crown of her hair for comfort, “I didn’t choose him, Tiri,” you say softly, “I fell in love. That’s not something one controls, and you, out of all people, should know that.”
Still in denial, she sobs harder, “What will it be of our kids?” she asks, pressing a hand over her slightly swollen belly, “Will they grow up as strangers, like they’ll be to our father and sister? Will they look at their aunt and wonder if she’s an outsider?”
“Never, sister, never,” you hush, “we’ll visit — you and Jake can visit, too.”
As her cries die down, she asks, “Does the thought of living here still scare you so much?”
And for that, to your horror, you don’t find an answer.
Tsireya comes a little over a year after her brother, and this time, she looks like you. She still has her father’s Metkayina features — the tail, her forearms — but one good look at her face, and it doesn’t take a Tsahìk to guess that she’s your daughter. Ironically enough, she prefers her father's chest over yours — unless we’re talking about feeding time, because, let’s be real, Tonowari will never be able to beat you at that for obvious reasons.
Aonung has started to waddle a while ago, and has been restless since. He goes from your marui to his grandmother’s, visiting Ronal and Em’a on the way, falling at least twelve times in the meantime. He loves swimming with you and his father, constantly bugs his sister when she’s stealing the milk that he’s convinced should be his, and plays with Nala on the shore when the zukzuk starts following him around.
He’s a sweet boy who brings you flowers and pieces of fruit when he notices the smallest frown on your face, and loves cuddles from mom and dad before and after going to sleep. And even if he’s a little mean to his sister sometimes, you know he loves her very much from the way he begs you to let her swim with him or wants to share his food with her.
You visit Neytiri a few more times, but the visits slowly come to an end when you realize that she has no intention of ever coming to the reef to see the life you’ve built here. While Mo’at visits frequently, bringing the children gifts and swarming them with affection, your older sister seems to have accepted the fact that in her eyes, you’ll never be truly close again.
You accept the notion with far more ease than you could have ever imagined — because you have a family now, and people that look up to you for guidance. If Neytiri doesn’t want to see that, it’s okay; you’ll never manage to love her any less for it.
The kids grow quicker than you realize, because soon, Tsireya is waddling behind Aonung too, and the excruciating process of weaning her off starts.
Her brother had been even more difficult, so you’re actually quite relieved to see that she at least does not cry herself to exhaustion every night like he did. But every time she lets out the smallest whimper, you find Tonowari’s big eyes boring into yours, with that look that says, we could resolve the problem by just having another baby. You always glare at him when he suggests that, because two kids under three already feel like more than enough now, and you have no intention of having another one so soon.
But as she often does, Eywa has a different plan for you.
Tonowari hurriedly wakes you up one night as you’re resting on the sleeping mat, nearly asleep as the kids quietly snore beside you. He’d been out all evening to help his mother with some herbs while you watched the children, so you’re worried to find him so distraught. “One of the Ta’unui’s women died in birth,” he whispers, careful not to wake up Aonung or Tsireya, “they need to feed him, but none of the women in their village is nursing. Could you…?”
He doesn’t even have to ask, really, because five minutes later you’re sitting in the Tsahìk’s tent, nursing little Rotxo while the Ta’unui Olo’eyktan shares worried whispers with Tonowari. The newborn is a little chunkier than Aonung and Tsireya were, but that just means that his mom, while she could, took good care of him.
“He’s an orphan,” you hear the chief say, “his dad died a little while ago on a hunt, and he’s only got his grandmother now — but frankly, she’s old, and I doubt she’ll be able to take care of him for long…”
The solution seems clear in your eyes, and after talking to Rotxo’s grandmother about her new place in the Metkayina village, you introduce Aonung and Tsireya to their new little brother. They don’t ask why you didn’t have a big belly like the other pregnant women in the village, or why his skin isn’t a little bluer like theirs, and instead take to him instantly, putting shared efforts to find nice shells and smooth little rocks to put in the woven crib where he naps.
Everyday, you bring him to his grandmother so that she can have a piece of her daughter back with her, and slowly, she takes a liking to your children as well. They start calling her grandma like they do to Tsika and Mo’at, and you don’t miss the way she seems to be rejuvenated by being around such lively children.
“No more kids, huh?” Tonowari teases you gently one evening, the sun fading into the horizon, as you breastfeed little Rotxo while watching Aonung and Tsireya play with ilu cubs in the water.
You swat his arm, so tired but so full of love. “Oh, shut up, Tonowari. The next kid we have, we’ll have in at least ten years.”
He raises an eyebrow, amused, “Oh? So, we will have another kid?”
You blush — incredible how after having two of his kids and being bare for him so many times, he still manages to get a reaction out of you. “Maybe.”
He hums, an arm wrapping around your shoulders as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Yeah? And what do you want to call them, if it’s a girl?”
You look down to little Rotxo, his hand opening and closing around the curve of your breast, his chunky belly pressing against your ribs. It’s ridiculous — the way Tonowari can get you to think about another baby while already having three small children.
Context: it has been months since the Sully Family has joined the Metkayina clan after seeking refuge from the RDA. Neteyam has been courting you and you finally accept his offer.
warnings: mostly fluff, becomes suggestive at the end!
notes: this is my first post! please be kind and just enjoy! any tips or correction in grammar structure/lore is very welcomed :D
word translations:
tewng - loincloth
zukzuk - otter
sevin - pretty
mawey - calm/be calm
tsahik - spirtual leader aka Ronal
Olo'eyktan - clan leader
It has been a week since Neteyam proposed his courtship to you. A week since he has placed the gorgeous shell necklace intertwined with pearl beads in front of you. Of course, you accepted the necklace. A woman of any clan would be crazy not to. This was Toruk Makto’s eldest son we were talking about! The next Olo’eyktan of the Omaticaya clan!
You have been avoiding him like you have caught some kind of illness. He leaves trinkets at the front of your murai, but you appear to never be there when he delivers them. You avert your eyes whenever he looks your way, or even being ‘busy’ in the healer's pod when words get around that he has been looking for you. Truly, you don’t understand why you avoid him. The moment you catch a glimpse of his face, your fight or flight instincts kick in, and every single damn time–
You. Flight.
“Hey, are you even listening to us?” Tsireya laughs while tugging at your braid. A hiss leaves your mouth as your tail flicks, “That was unnecessary.” You frown. Kiri joins in on the laughter while twisting the other side of your braid, “Keep daydreaming, and we might just yank out your hair!”
They’ve been braiding your hair for what has felt like an eternity, and you only groan when you remember why they’re doing your hair in the first place. “Come on- what are the chances he even shows up? Can’t we just-“
Kiri snickers, “No, Y/n! We have worked too hard on your braids just for nothing to come out of it! Neteyam will show up— that skxawng is a sucker for you. Trust me, he is like a sulking baby when he realizes you avoid him.” You take personal offense and turn your head to Kiri, “It’s not on purpose! At least.. I don’t think so? I just get nervous, that’s all..” A pout appears on your face, and Tsireya plasters a smile on hers. “Mawey, Y/n. Your braids will come undone if you keep moving.”
You give her an apologetic look and turn your head back, facing the ocean. “He’s just... too calm! I never know what’s going on in his mind- I wish he were a little more like Lo’ak, he is like an eager ZukZuk by the way his tail wags whenever he sees you.” You huff, resting your chin on your hand. Tsireya blushes once you mention Lo’ak. “Ah, he is one of a kind,” smiling fondly over her lover boy. “However, you should be glad. Neteyam is a strong warrior. Strong warriors must keep masks, my father tells me this.”
“Ugh, gross! Let’s stop talking about my brothers. It makes me sick knowing people can talk about those skxawngs so sweetly!” She pretends to gag, “But I’m glad if those two ever have mates, it would be you two.” She has both of you furiously blushing from her words. You? Being.. Neteyam’s mate? M. A. T. E? Now that’s something you haven’t gotten too far to think about.
You’re finally all dolled up with a matching shell top and a tewng that went well with Neteyam’s necklace. A few days ago, you asked Neteyam if he would meet you by the shoreside by the murai’s during sundown, and he agreed. He almost seemed eager in your opinion by the way his tail lurches.
Water brushes against your feet as you stand close to the ocean, admiring the glow of bioluminescence when waves crash. Your feet draw shapes into the wet sand before you feel a hand quickly wrapping around your waist. You almost let out a yelp until you hear them speak.
“Mawey. It is me, sevin.” he murmurs. You quickly turn around. “Neteyam.” Suddenly, you remember how handsome he is. You avoided him for a week, and you had already forgotten what a masterpiece he was. “Y/n,” he says back, thumbs smoothing over your hips.
Your lips are pressed thin, and you don’t dare to look up. Silence engulfs you two as he waits for you to speak, but you never do. A hand sneaks down to twiddle with the string of your tweng to stop the nerves in your system from rising higher, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. You're extremely nervous, and being this close to him doesn’t help– at all. Finally, you open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.
“I missed your scent sevin,” he says slowly, one hand now moving to your face. “You wound me- depriving me of your attention.” He hums, tilting your chin up so you look at him properly. Embarrassment floods your system. You whine quietly, and it only amuses him further. “I.. didn’t mean to.. I was just..”
“Nervous?” He finishes your sentence before you can. You nod, and he chuckles, “Oh, sevin. You are just the cutest. There is nothing for you to be nervous about.” A warmth blossoms in your chest until you realize he’s teasing you..! “Sxkawng!” you deflect, pinching his belly, and he stands straight, tail thrashing from the sudden pain.
Laughter bursts in his chest when he reaches for the place you pinched, soothing the small pain away. “I think sxkawngs are Na’vi who pinch other Na’vi before an intimate moment.” His hand snakes around your waist again, but this time he pulls you in and leans closer.
Eywa was torturing you. Truly, she was.
Blood pumps through your heart faster now, beating faster and faster. Surely, Neteyam is able to see your embarrassment. He is the one who likes seeing your reaction all the time, so there isn’t a single doubt that he is soaking up your reaction this time.
Neteyam moves the stray hairs away from your face and presses his forehead against yours. Your body tenses. This was way too intimate for your liking! Your eyes dart around for any chance of escape, and– There!
In the distance, Tsahìk is carrying herbs back to the healer's pod. Her belly is round, full of life, and glowing. Your hands become clammy as you try to gently back away. “Tsahìk is over there, I should really help her! You cannot let a pregnant lady move around so much–”
Ah. Realization sets into his body. You are trying to flee. That won’t do.
“You stay here.” He tuts, hands tightening around your waist, staring you directly into your eyes.
You gulp.
“You are mine tonight, sevin. I have not been courting you for nothing,” he murmurs, grabbing your hand and slowly trailing it down his chest. “I’m sure the Tsahìk has plenty of Na’vi to assist her side. Right now, I want you here. With me.” His lips ghost the corners of your lips, but not close enough to kiss. Your pupils expand as you squirm, and finally, you realize how real this situation was. “You wear my necklace. Are you trying to show others you are mine?” He smirks. God, he was infuriating! You wanted to just–
“Shut it, forest boy,” you huff. Your cheeks were burning! This is so embarrassing... You bite your lip, completely forgetting Neteyam was in front of you until you hear him hiss. His hands squeeze your waist, “Careful, Sevin. You seem eager.” He breathes heavily. You? Eager? What in the world was he–
Oh.
You look down to see that your hands have unconsciously moved lower righttt above his tewng while you were lost in thought. “Oh my! I’m so sorry..!” You pull your hand away, only for his hand to wrap around your wrist. “You are allowed to touch, I do not mind,” he practically purrs, moving your hand back to his ribcage.
“No more running, sevin.” His breath tickles your neck, pressing his nose against it, scenting you like you were his property. His lips trail up and kiss the column of your throat and make their way to your lips. It’s sweet, sensual, and dangerously addictive. You stand on the balls of your feet to indulge in more. Neteyam laughs and pulls away, glinting his fangs. “Greedy thing..”
You roll your eyes and press into the kiss once more. Your hands move to his hair, gripping tightly as his hands make their way, exploring your sides. After a while of messy kissing, you break away for air and Neteyam pants. “Gonna take everything I’ve been ready to give you, pretty girl?” And you nod, eagerly.
Everything that you’ve been running from is in front of you. There’s no more need for hiding and running anymore when he wants you this bad. Who are you to deny him anything?
