✮ Pairing: Aonung x fem!metkayina!reader x Neteyam?
✮ Trope: Friendsish/sistersbestfriend to voyeur lovers
✮ Tags: talk of sex, Aonung's pov (literally cooked, he's so in denial but he wants her so bad), jealously, oral (fem recieving), kissing, biting, munchiness, p in v, voyeurism (yay!)
✮ A/N: Siri, play "Forget Her" by Jeff Buckley, NSFW MDNI
Aonung wasn’t entirely sure when he first started seeing you. Sure, you were Tsireya’s little friend at some point, then you were Ronal’s little assistant at some point. And then some time after, you became his fixation.
Maybe it was that day by the fire, the one at the festival where you were dripping in pearls and the sway of your hips to the loud ceremonial music was nothing short of hypnotising. Maybe it was that day he was irritated that he hadn’t caught any fish, and you had laid a hand on his shoulder, knelt beside him and helped him repair that hole in his net he hadn’t noticed.
Or maybe it was when they arrived.
Oh, there was a reason Aonung had been so unwelcoming to the Sully’s, and it wasn’t because he wasn’t unfriendly. No, it had to do with the way that eldest Sully boy looked at you, and the way you looked back, holding his strange yellow gaze until Aonung’s eyes on your back had drawn you back to yourself.
That Neteyam was going to be big fucking trouble - Aonung just hadn’t figured out why yet.
And ever since, he felt you slipping away from him. You had never been that close, always hanging beside Tsireya and being perfectly polite to him, yet your sudden growing absense from his marui and the training grounds and even the bay was beginning to irk him.
You no longer tended the warriors in the case of an injury - instead your gaze was preoccupied with watching the darker, thinner form of Neteyam training. You no longer hung around the Metkayina on hunts - instead he found you gravitating towards Neteyam, who would smile lightly at you and ask for your assistance with navigating the reef.
It was getting seriously irritating.
You had never been anything to him, and now suddenly, Aonung felt irked every moment you weren’t in his line of sight, your dark curls bobbing beside him, the watery tinkle of your laugh trickling over his skin.
Until that day. The one by the fire - again - where he and everyone else within a 5 kilometre radius could see that something was happening. You spent all night by Neteyam’s side, barely an inch between you two.
He would whisper something in your ear and you would giggle and laugh and look away so he wouldn’t see the light flush dusting your cheeks. He would lean right in to speak, and you’d turn nervously till your faces were ghosting by each other.
And then you left, turning back to smile tentatively at Neteyam, and slipped into the tree line. Neteyam’s face split into a wide grin and he followed without a moments hesitation, taking a careless glance back at the party before ducking after you.
Well, Aonung wasn’t going to stand for it. Were you going to be alright? What were you thinking? What were you doing?
To be truthful, Aonung knew the answers to all his questions, but he tactfully decided to ignore them. Ahead, your giggles darted through the trees. His scowl deepened and his mind settled itself.
He was careful to be quiet, and the moment he saw you, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to breathe.
Neteyam had you laid out on the ground, head pillowed against leaves and body spread over the earth.
The coverings of your top were sparse to begin with, but in this position, the strings of beads were rolling over your supple skin in a way that was in no sort discreet. He could see everything, and the pretty little peaks of your nipples were something Aonung never could have pictured.
Nor could he have imagined the look on your face with Neteyam’s face kissing lower and lower down your stomach, until finally he reached your hips and grinned up at you.
Aonung can’t hear what Neteyam whispers, but you nod feverishly in response with a breathy, desperate yes.
Fuck. Your voice was doing something dangerous. It was just one word - not even spoken to him, not even aware he was watching - but the shiver that the sound of you all breathy and hoarse and wanting was unbearable.
Aonung felt both chilled and aflame, and he contented himself by melting into shadows and watching with ruthless fervour.
Neteyam’s head dipped between your thighs, and the sound that tore itself from your undeniably kissed lips was all but lecherous.
Aonung wondered faintly how much you knew about all this. The way you were gasping and rolling your hips against Neteyam’s face and grasping for his braids, his hand, his neck - anything to tether yourself to him - left little to imagination.
Oh, the things Aonung could teach you. But instead, he’d watch from the shadows as Neteyam enjoyed that paradise between your thighs.
From where Aonung’s standing, he can’t see nearly enough of what he needs. But he’s near enough to see the shine of slick against Neteyam’s face, his hand ghosting up and across your arched chest, the points of your fangs digging helplessly into the pillows of your lips.
Your breaths are growing louder, your moans hungrier, your mewls more pathetically desperate. Your grip is tighter and your thighs are closing tighter around Neteyam’s face, as though the thought of him pulling away was too much to bear.
Aonung doesn’t think he’s felt anything more erotic in his life. It’s so lewd and wrong and intimate, and that tent in his tewng is growing unbearably irritating. Still, he ignores it. He doesn’t deserve to get off from this, he’ll have to wait until he can taste you himself.
That’s fine. He’s happy to wait. Besides the fact that he is the most impatient man to ever live, and the fact that it’s taking every fibre of his being to not tear forward, discard Neteyam and take up his glorious mantle.
He’d cradle you close and whisper everything you’d want to hear. His hand would never leave your waist, your breasts, your hair. Your chest would never leave his, his lips would be resting on your skin for every moment till eternity.
Instead, he watches from the shadows as you cry out, and Neteyam grins in an infuriatingly self-satisfied way, before pushing himself up your body.
“Can I-” he’s barely asking before you’re nodding your feverish consent and reaching for his own tewng.
You look so desperate and eager and good, waiting for whatever Neteyam decides to give you.
Aonung would give you everything.
Instead, it’s Neteyam slotting himself between your thighs, dipping his head down to your chest as he pushes in, reaching up to brush his thumb over your lips as you let out a little whimper at the stretch.
Neteyam’s too fast with it. Not in any unreasonable way, just in a way that contrasts starkly with how Aonung would take you.
He wouldn’t look away from your face. He’d take his time, sinking into your velvety heat with agonizing, tortuous patience until his muscles were burning and you were mewling and whining beneath him. He’d make you feel every twitch and vein and inch of his length, and in return worship every clench and embrace you’d offer with dangerous enthusiasm.
Neteyam’s hips draw back, snap back in, and then he’s lost. Neteyam doesn’t particularly care - his groans low in your ears in a way that makes your eyes roll and hands tangle in his own. It takes everything in Aonung not to moan along with the two of you at the mere sight of your bare bodies embracing and tangling and melding into one another.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
You’re moaning unintelligible words, and Neteyam groans praise back to you, of how pretty you look, how good you feel, how well you’re doing.
Aonung would take it differently. He’d tell you how the moonlight glows over your slicked skin, how he wishes he could sink into you and stay there for days, weeks, years. How he wants to kiss you raw and bare, and carve himself into you so you can’t blink your pretty lashes without remembering how well your future Olo’eyktan loved you.
But instead, it’s Neteyam who speaks to you, guides you through your growing peak, until you’re arching against the earth, fangs sinking into your lip, knuckles turning white around Neteyam’s skin.
The sound you let out is animalistic - nothing Aonung ever would have expected from Tsireya’s pretty little friend. It chills every inch of his skin, etches itself deep into him, blazes straight through his control and tears him apart.
So Aonung retreats, stepping back quietly before tearing back through the forest. Back to the beach, back to the moonlight, away from you and Neteyam and everything he had just witnessed.
What had you done to him?
Aonung, the best warrior, the best hunter, the best lover, was utterly destroyed at your feet. And all he needed was for you to pick the pieces back up and kiss him better.
