Okay but we HAVE to hear about the chaos Loâak & Suli!Reader got up to! Breaking the ilu pen? Stealing Zangke? Tell us something!
Punishment Enough
Summary: You and Loâak are two peas in a pod, always causing some kind of chaos for your family, being in Awaâatlu doesnât change anything
You move with swift silence, the kind that should have been reserved for the tactical effort of burning great beasts. While the rest of the clan is preparing for the First Breath ceremony in which the Tulkun will return with their calves, you are trying not to be seen. The path you take has been calculated with great precision that is usually saved for the raids your father plans for the RDA.
This is a different kind of raid, instead of Sky People you will be infiltrating the stores of trades Zangke and the fermented fruit wine. The caskets of wine are stored in a hut on the edge of the village under the cover of mangrove trees, in a cool space that is usually heavily monitored because of Naâvi like you.
But today, it is lax. The Metkayina are too busy preparing for the ceremony, which leaves an opening for you and Loâak. The partner in crime that had corralled you into this plan is following your movements, crouched and silently talking toward the marui.
âDad will kill us if we get caught.â You whisper, your voice tense and taut as you speak to your brother behind you. âWeâll be grounded for months.â
âWe wonât get caught.â Loâak retaliates and leans in, pushing you forward with his hand. âYou asked about this didnât you? Scouted-â
â-itâs not a life or death raid, skxawng.â You stop short of the pathway that crosses from the maruiâs that house Naâvi, to the maruiâs that supplies are stored in, waiting for the pair of Metkayina to pass. âItâs zangke.â
âYouâre the skxawng.â Loâak hisses and curls his forefinger against his thumb, flicking the tip of your ear. âWhy didnât you ask your boyfriend Aoânung-â
â-shut your mouth!â You whip your head around, fiercely glaring at your brother with a look that could melt his face. âThat arrogant fish-lipped ass hole is not my boyfriend! As if he would ever-â
âClear!â Loâak shoves past you and darts across the pathway, moving swiftly while leaving you behind. You follow him with your gaze and brace your palms against the springy rattan walkway, ears flattened.
He is moving quickly, like there is a fire under his ass. Neither of you can afford to be caught, not by the Metkayina who are usually watching this storehouse and especially not by your dad. But this was the opportune moment for you to try, while most were busy and the Zangke would be left unattended.
âLoâak!â You hiss your brotherâs name as he darts down to the side of the marui that stores the wine. You are left to witness him peering over the edge, trying to peek inside through the woven openings in the walls. When he peers over and looks back at you, he waves his hand and motions for you to go over.
You follow him with the same quickness under your feet, ducking down behind your brother once you cross the pathway. As you rise to look through the window woven into the wall, you see the caskets of candle and fermented fruit, none are marked at least not to your ability to see. Rather they are all sitting together with seals and wrappings made of fibre that help keep their seals.
âWhatâs the Zangke?â Loâak turns his head, looking at you briefly before his attention falters. âWhat do we take?â
âJust grab something!â Like he had shoved you, you place your hand on his shoulder and shove him, pushing him toward the door. He crouches and creeps along the side of the marui until he can reach the sliding door that keeps others out.
âThey use shells as an alarm on the door, you have to move it quietly.â You remind Loâak, sliding your feet across the rattan path to keep yourself silent.
With your warning, Loâak begins to slide open the door, inch by inch, mindful of the shells that hang on both sides of the door. The are acting as a siren to notify whoever is close enough to hear them that someoneâs messing with the door.
âWe get in, take two caskets and leave.â Loâak pushes the sliding door open and slinks inside, the cool depths of the room is refreshing from the intensity of the sun that beats down on you. As you follow him in, your tail swishes behind you in a motion that mirrors the twitching of your ears, ready to react to any small sound.
âThereâŚâ you raise your hand tap Loâakâs shoulder, stirring him from the jars that seems to harbour more dust and sand, signifying theyâd been here longer. âTake those.â
He moves with ease, reaching his four fingers and thumb for one jar, hoisting it from the ground. He weighs it and turns it upside down to feel the liquid thatâs inside before he passes it back to you. You take the jug and balance its weight on your thigh as you crouch, waiting for him to grab another.
As he reaches for another jar, the blaring sound of a horn comes far too close to you, signalling the return of hunters nearby. Loâak, caught off guard, stumbles forward and his body crashes into one of the jars, sending it toppling to the rattan floor.
He falls onto the jar, the force of his sudden shifting weight causes one of the jars to crack. Under the pressure of fermenting, the Metkayina fruit wine begins to spray Loâak in the sweet and tangy liquid. He jolts back and scrambles to his feet just as you rise, balancing the jar in your arms.
You follow your brother out of the marui, slamming the sliding door shut with enough force that has the shells jingling with a vivaciousness that cannot be ignored. The Metkayina who was on watch, solely by themselves, begins to jog down the path toward you and Loâak, startled by someone messing with the store.
âRun, tsmuke!â Loâak yelps naturally, the sound bouncing off the different surfaces that line the pathwayâhousing maruiâs or storageâand drags you behind him as the two of you dart into the tree line to avoid being seen.
You run like you are being chased by a pack of nantnagâs, only stopping when you think you are in the clear. Only then does Loâak allow himself to breathe with a wide grin on his face that matches the ease of his laugh.
âYou really think dad will find out?â You ask as he takes the jug from you and tucks it under his arm.
âDonât worry, bro.â Loâak shrugs off the idea and flashes a prideful smile. âHow would he find out?â
You were on the shoreline with Tuk when the boy you hated most in the village starts to descend upon you like a dark cloud. The cocky swagger of his footsteps mocked you from the edge of the village all the way to the stopping point.
Everything about Aoânung te Tsika'u Tonowari'itan angered you, from the stupid arrogance of his attitude that exceeded a natural limit, to the manner of which he looked at you. That aggravating half-smirk that played on his lips, aided by the cock of his head while he eyes ran over youâŚ
You hated him.
âNga olo'eyktanur kin.â Aoânung stops short of you and Tuk and crosses his arms over his chest, his blue eyes zeroing in on you while you return his glance with a heated glare. âWhat did you do forest, girl?â
âNone of your damn business, fish-lips.â You hiss at him and turn away, crouching by your sister as she looks between you and Aoânung. âGo find mom, okay? Iâll help you decorate your loincloth when Iâm done.â
Tuk gathers her little basket of things she gathered from the beach and starts making her way toward the village, only to stop by Aoânung. When she looks up at him, he slips a hand into the bag he has resting on his hip and pulls out a piece of dried banana fruit. Tuk doesnât hesitates to take it from him and takes a big bite out of it, happily thanking Aoânung before moving along.
You are less than pleased with him, although his kindness to Tuk is appreciated.
âI donât need an escort, you can go back to praising your own reflection.â You sneer at Aoânung and as you pass by him, you whack him across the shoulder with your tail.
You move up the beach toward the village and follow the path that takes you to the council room. You know what this is about, you know that your dad found out about the Zangke and you are now trying to come up with some logical explanation.
âMa 'evenge, nga lu mĂŹ huwey!â Aoânung follows behind you, jogging to catch up to you as you navigate your way back to the forest. Heâs taunting you, telling you that you are going to be in trouble, which you already know.
âThanks, captain obvious.â You scoff and sneer at him and his stupid face. You turn away from him and hurry your pace, taking as many twists and turns as you can to lose him. Unfortunately he is right on your tail, following your every move.
âCap-tain obv-ious?â Aoânung repeats your statement, accentuating the words at odd intervals that could have been cuteâif it was anyone but Aoânung.
When you reach the council room, Aoânung reaches for you and snatches your wrist in his hand before you can step inside. You turn your head and take a slow glance at the hand he has on your wrist, and then raise your gaze inch by inch. You stop when you reach his face, your eyes forming a steely glare that is conducive of your feelings toward him touching you.
âYou are very pretty when you look like you want to rip my head off, suylang.â Aoânung, not afraid of your bite or your harsh hissing, uses his other hand to brush his fingers against your cheek. He pushes one of your braids back over your ear and you let himâthough you donât know why.
You donât know what you are thinking when you let him touch you, when you let him look at you with eyes that seemed to burn.
And then, when reason comes back to you, you rip your hand out of his wrist and grab his ear, twisting it until he hisses. âDo not touch me, skxawng.â
You let him go and flick his forehead before you continue on your path and step inside the council room. Once you are inside you see only see your dad and the Oloâeyktan.
âDad Iâm sorry-â you immediately started with an apology, attempting to start off on the right foot. Your dad raises his hand and cuts you off while giving you that look that you know means heâs pissed.
âSit down.â He orders you, three of his four fingers curled while one points to the rattan mat beneath you. Even before you can sit he starts chewing you out, which you expected. âWhat the hell is wrong with you two? Stealing Zangke?!â
âDad it was my fault-â â-it was a stupid prank-â
You and Loâak begin talking at the same time, speaking over one another as you both try to cover for the other. Your dad is clearly unimpressed and glances between you and your brother, and his jaw ticks with rising impatience. You know he wants to yell, you know he wants to call you two idiots and curse you out for causing problems when youâre supposed to be fitting in.
âYou two idiots broke a casket of fermented wine, you stained the fibre of the marui-â
â-how did we get caught?â Loâak, hearing your dadâs voice, shifts to another related subject. âWe were quiet-â
âWe were not quiet, skxawng! You set off those stupid alarms-â you speak over Loâak, negating his claim that you were quiet by raising your own recollection of what has gotten you caught.
âEnough!â Your dad raises his voice, ending the argument between you and Loâak before it can grow. âLoâak go home and help your mother, you are grounded to the edge of the village, no further.â
âYes sir.â Loâak bows his head and slinks back, passing by you as you remain under thin weight of the Oloâeyktan and your dad. With Loâak gone, your dad speaks up again and directs his attention on you, while you are perceiving the subtle shift of movement out of the corner of your eyes. Aoânung has joined you, standing by your side where Loâak once was.
âYouâre older, you should know better. We talked about this!â Your dad speaks with an air of a hiss at the edge of his words, although itâs what he doesnât say that delivers more of an impactful message.
âAoânung is taking responsibility for distracting the watchmen of the Zangke storage marui, he has told me that he spoke to Loâak about thisâ.â As you fall silent, Tonowari takes over speaking, delivering the final judgement and doling out of your punishment.
ââhe did not! It was my idea and Loâakâsâ!â
âYou promised to be on your best behaviour. What were you thinking?!â Your dad raises his voice, again, and asks you for a second time what you could have possibly been thinking.
You remain silent, because you have nothing to say, and when the back of Aoânungâs fingers brush against yours, you donât pull away.
âYou and Aoânung will be punished together. Taking care of the ilu and their calves for a month.â Tonowari looks toward his son, delivering the punishment that you will share, and waves you both off with his hand.
You retain your silence until you are out of the council room and into the open air again. Then, you turn toward Aoânung had shoot him a hardened glance, your jaw tensing and your eyebrows furrowed.
You are pissed and he knows it but instead of trying to ease the situation, he reaches for you and tips your chin back. âSee you bright and early tomorrow, she-devil.â
You jerk your head away and go to bite him, your teeth catching nothing but air. As you miss biting him, Aoânung flashes you another smirk and begins walking away, leaving you standing alone.
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â one morning, Lando decided to speak only in British slang and found it way too entertaining when you had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
feat. lando norris x fem!reader ⨞ established relationship, british slang, humor, teasing, fluff, 831 wc ă đđđđđĽđ¨đ đŽđ
It started on a completely normal morning.
You were half-awake, sitting at the kitchen table in one of Landoâs hoodies, hair a mess, still trying to wake up.
Lando walked in looking far too pleased for 8 a.m.âand he hated mornings.
âMorning,â you mumbled.
âAll right, love?â he replied casually.
You frowned slightly but didnât think much of it. âYeah⌠tired.â
He nodded like it was obvious. âYeah, you look a bit knackered.â
You blinked slowly. âI look a bit what?â
âKnackered,â he repeated, as if it was the most normal word in the world.
âI donât know what that means. Do I look sick?â
âNo, baby. Just tired. Fancy a cuppa?â
You stared at him, still half-asleep, his words feeling like a foreign language.
âGenuinely, what are you saying?â you asked, looking at him in confusion.
Lando had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too much.
âNothing complicated,â he said, leaning against the counter. âJust asking if you want tea.â
âThen say tea,â you muttered.
âI did.â
âNo, you said⌠cuppa.â
âThat is tea.â
You stared at him. Properly stared. âDid you hit your head?â
He tilted his head, still fighting his grin. âNah, Iâm sound.â
You squinted. âYouâre⌠sound?â
âYeah. Fine. All good.â
ââŚThatâs not a real sentence. You are not a musical instrument, Lando.â
That did it.
Lando broke.
A laugh slipped out before he could stop it, and he quickly turned his face away like the counter was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
âIâm not a musical instrument,â he repeated, still laughing under his breath. âYouâre killing me.â
âYouâre the one speaking in riddles,â you said, pointing at him accusingly. âFirst knackered, then cuppa, now⌠Iâm sound? Whatâs next, are you going to tell me youâre chuffed about the kettle?â
He turned back, eyebrows raised. âActually, yeah. The kettleâs class.â
You blinked. Slowly.
âIâm going back to bed.â
âNo, waitââ he said quickly, stepping closer, but the grin on his face ruined any seriousness. âIâm only joking.â
Your eyes narrowed. âSo you are making things up.â
âNot making them up,â he corrected. âJust⌠British-ing them up.â
âBritish-ing them up,â you repeated flatly.
He nodded proudly.
You sighed. âI hate you.â
âNo you donât.â
ââŚI strongly dislike you.â You said, mocking his accent.Â
âBit dramatic, that.â
You grabbed a pillow from the sofa and threw it at him. He caught it easily, laughing properly now, completely unbothered.
âYouâre enjoying this way too much,â you said.
âYeah,â he admitted, setting the pillow aside. âBit of fun, innit.â
You pointed at him again. âDonât.â
He leaned in slightly, voice softer but still teasing. âFancy a brew, then?â
You froze.
ââŚA brew is tea, isnât it?â You were guessing, or you heard it somewhere before, you werenât really sure.
He smiled like heâd just won something.
âFinally!â
âJust because I guessed one word doesnât mean youâll speak British. We speak English in this household, babe,â you warned him.
Lando pressed a hand to his chest like youâd deeply offended him.
âEnglish?â he repeated. âI am speaking English.â
âNo, youâre speaking British.â
âI remember how you told me my British accent is hot.â
âTwo years ago.â
He gasped. Properly dramatic.
âSo now itâs expired?â
âYes.â
âLike milk?â
You pointed at him. âExactly like milk.â
A few minutes later, you were in the kitchen making coffee for both of you. Not tea. You had trauma now.
You turned slightly toward the couch where Lando was sprawled, watching TV like he hadnât just mentally destabilised your entire morning.
âWant some biscuits, baby?â you called out.
Silence.
Thenâ
Lando slowly turned his head.
âBiscuits?â he repeated, a grin already spreading across his face.
You froze.
âI meant cookies,â you said quickly, rolling your eyes. âDonât think much of it.â
âIâd love to fancy a cuppa with biscuits, darlinâ,â Lando said with a smug little smile, clearly enjoying himself way too much.
You stared at him for a second.
Then you pointed a spoon in his direction.
âI hate you.â
Lando laughed, pushing himself off the couch and walking over, still grinning like heâd just won a race.
âNo you donât,â he said softly, taking the spoon from your hand before you could accidentally weaponise it further.
You tried to stay annoyed. You really did.
But then he bumped his shoulder lightly against yours, voice dropping into something gentler.
âYouâre just upset youâre losing the British language battle.â
âThere is no battle.â
âThere is now.â
You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you.
Lando noticed immediately.
âOh, look, sheâs smiling,â he whispered. âThat means I win.â
âYou are unbearable.â
âAnd you love me.â
A pause.
ââŚUnfortunately.â
He laughed, pulling you into him before you could protest, arms wrapping around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. In fact, it was.
âFancy that cuppa anyway?â he murmured against your hair.
You sighed into his hoodie.
ââŚYeah. But youâre making it.â
Š đđđđđđđđđ ďźđđŹđđđđĽđ˘đŹđĄđđ đđđđ. all works are my own. do not copy, translate, repost my works on any platform. requests are closed.
â lils speak 𪡠thank you so much for 100+ followers â¤ď¸â
!shedevil! Reader literally yelling at Aonung for riding in a hunt through a storm
Aonung: *intensely turnt on*
Right Where He Wants To Be
Summary: Aoânung knows he was a little foolish to continue on a hunt during a storm but he was already out. And seeing you standing on the shoreline waiting to yell at him is worth all the risk
He could still hear the cracks of thunder in his ears long after they had cleared the storm. The fizzling electricity that made his skin buzz was a sensation that had his heart pounding as steadily as the drums that marked the start of celebratory feasts.
The storm that had been projected to come for days, a cycle of weather that they were long since used to, had been a few days late. They thought they were safe to go beyond the territory of Awaâatluâs shoreline for bigger, fuller fish that would feed entire families. What they had run into was the arrival of the late storm, and a torrential beating from the rain, wind, thunder and lightning.
The storm, vast and immense, was entirely unexpected and far too visible from the shoreline of home. And Aoânung knew that returning back to the sandy beaches of his home would also bring him face to face with another stormâyou.
It was with eagerness that he pushed the hunting party to finish the last hour of the trip. To canoe faster, to return home to their families that were waiting and show them how successful the hunting party had been. Through the storm, through the weather that could have made them a party of lost hunters on the sea.
Aoânung pushes hard, and he is rewarded with the torrential hellstorm waiting for him at home. From the reef he can see you, his beautiful vrrept standing among other mates with your arms crossed over your chest and your thin tail flicking behind you.
He jumps out of the canoe and helps bring it to shore, pulling at the front to lift it partially onto the bank. As the dripping beads of the saltwater begins to dampen the sand, his eyes are fixated solely upon you. Your ears twitch in response to the gleefulness of other mates welcoming home their hunters, but you have a much more vivacious reaction.
His mate, his she-devil, stands on the shores with tangible and visible proof that you are pregnant. His mate, his woman, beautiful and pregnant.
âMa tsmukan skxĂĄwng! Nga tĂŹyawnilu tswaron!â Your pretty lips part and you begin the ambiguous verbal assault on Aoânung, calling him a stupid husband who has lost his mind.
Aoânung canât help but grin. A wide, boastful and bright smile that only builds when you throw your hands up in exasperation, something entirely too human. You are chewing him out, you are scolding him like he has done something blasphemous instead of foolish. The other hunters have come to expect that the daughter of Toruk Makto, a perfect blend of her father and mother, has no filter sometimes.
You will yell when it is deserved, you will speak with kindness and gentility to little ones who do not know better. You will be inescapably tender to Aoânung in the moments when you are at complete peace, or raise hell like you are now. You will raise your voice and curse him out like any good woman should when they are genuinely concerned about the foolish things their husbands do.
âMa oeyä yawntu, ngal oeti mawey ke kameie..â Aoânung tries, he really does try to school his expression and control the grin on his face. He tries to hide it as he accuses you of not greeting him peacefully, a fact that has you baring your teeth to hiss at him.
âYou could have died!â Your ears fall back to your head and you stomp toward him, tufts of sand rising with every heavy step you take until you are directly in front of him. âWiya-â
â-such language coming from such a pretty mouth.â Aoânung chuckles and drops his spear to the sand, as well as the bag filled with some things he personally has brought back for you and his family. When you are within reach, Aoânung slings his arms around your waist and lifts you from the sand, spinning you in a greeting that has your hisses shifting to squeaks.
âKeyn oe set!â You demand to be put down when he grabs you, although your tongue has shifted from angry to something softer. âMa Aoânung keyn oe set!â
âI missed you.â He does set you down like you demand but he quickly raises his hands and cups your cheeks to pull you forward. His lips crash against yours, the tips of your noses bumping against the others. He kisses you until you cannot protest and only pulls away when you smack his shoulder as a sign for air.
When he pulls away he rests his forehead against yours and breathes you in, the tension in his shoulders becoming eased and lax. Aoânungâs thumbs brush against your cheeks, tracing the lines of tahnĂŹâs that run along your darker skin. His blue eyes search your golden eyes and his lips naturally form a soft, tender smile that is reserved for you and you alone.
âDonât think you can kiss me and I will forget what you did.â Your eyes narrow, though much more playfully now, and your lips become pursed. âHunting through a storm. Skxawng!â
âIt is a beautiful time when my muntxate scolds me.â Aoânung drops his hands from your cheeks and steps back to grab the bag he discarded. He tugs on the strings to create a gap in the top of the bag and reaches inside to grab one of the things he had brought for you. His hands clasp around one of the finer woven bags and he pulls it out, to press it into your hand.
âPearls for you to finish the little oneâs tewng.â He smiles at you, flashing you a smile that has your annoyance faltering. âYou are welcome, suylang.â
Aoânung grabs your hand, raising your knuckles to his lips to kiss them gently. âLet us go home, then you can continue yelling at me in private.â
âYou like it.â You tug on his hand and begin to lead him behind you while he naturally allows his gaze to drop to the sway of your hips.
2024 : lando compares clubbing with you to a siren luring her sailor to the sea.
lando norris x f!reader ŕ¨ŕ§ word count : 1.5k ŕ¨ŕ§ warnings : language, drinking / clubbing, suggestive content ŕ¨ŕ§ note : if you enjoy don't forget to comment/reblog!
part of the lando's heart series.
out of the two of you, lando was always the party animal. he enjoyed going to clubs, drinking, dancing, but he especially liked doing it with you.
you in your pretty club dresses that he remembers a year ago you would always hesitate to leave the hotel in. you in your pretty club dresses that shined and sparkled as you moved under the club lights.
you in your pretty club dress that lando loved to see you in from across the club as you danced. eyes locking from across the room â like you were tempting him closer. like a siren tempting a sailor, and lando would easily find himself moving through the sea of people to get to you.
his hands finding your hips, his lips against your neck, and his front pressed flushed against your ass. lando always found himself entangled with you, so much it might one day drive him crazy. he's sure of it. the way your eyes glitter underneath even the awfullest of club lights, made his heart want to jump out of his chest.
and then when you turn to look at him, eyes fluttering with your glittery eyeshadow and it sends a warm rush all over his body. and yes, he's pretty sure it's not the alcohol running through him, but the need for you.
"lan! dance correctly," you shout over the music, turning to face him and your hands on his shoulders.
"i am dancing correctly, baby!" he laughs, your hands trailing down his arms until your intertwining your fingers together and throwing both yours hands up.
lando felt like heâs falling under some type of spell as he watched you enjoy yourself. your eyes closing, smile on your glossy lips â that he wanted to so badly kiss and ruin â and down to your hips that moved like waves in the ocean. god, he was completely entranced by you. watching you, letting you effortlessly draw him in closer in ways that you probably aren't even aware that you're doing.
when the bass in the music changes, lando immediately pulls you closer thanks to your still intertwined hands. you stumble a little into him, your face pressing into his chest as he wraps his arms around you. you can't help but giggle against his chest, and lando can tell just how tipsy you are from the wide grin you have when you look at him.
his hands move to rest low on your waist before moving to grab your ass over your mini dress. the two of you moving your bodies to the beat of music, your arms around him â eye locking onto his in a way that made lando not want to look anywhere else.
he then leans closer, lips against your ear so you can hear him over the overly loud house track playing. "you are... entirely too dangerous for me, you know that, princess?"
you don't even try to hide the grin that paints your glossy lips, "how so?" you ask innocently, but lando knows better than to trust that tone.
"you're like a siren," he breathes, his lips pressing against yours in an almost kiss. he can feel your lip gloss starting to smear against his lips. and he knows there's probably a hundred different cameras pointed at and recording the two of you, but lando doesn't care. he wants the whole world to know how utterly obsessed and devoted he is too.
especially if that means smearing and wearing your cherry-flavored lip gloss.
"luring me in with those eyes and hips," he continues, your hand coming to run through his damp curls. when you give a playful tug, he groans against your mouth before he's finally kissing you.
the kiss is messy and drunken, the two of you giggling and laughing the entire time as lando tries to pull you even closer to him. "lan..." you moan against his lips before he's trailing his lips down from yours to your jaw and neck. "lando! my lip gloss," you laugh, as your other hand comes to teasingly smack his shoulder that makes him laugh before he's kissing you again.
"it's fine~" he says, totally ignoring how smeared your lip gloss was. no longer on your lips, but on lando's instead â along with your jaw and neck. "do you want another drink?" his thumb coming up, trying to wipe away the gloss from your skin.
"oh my god, yes please~" you say with a smile, eyes wide and bright against the club lights. "margarita~"
"of course, come on," he says before he's leading you off the dancefloor and over to the bar.
when he gets you both new drinks, you are happily taking your margarita and immediately sipping from it. you always did have a weakness for a good, fruity drink.
"careful, baby," lando says, taking a sip of his own drink, "or your lightweightness will kick in sooner than you hope it will."
you can't help but pout as you drink from your straw, lando guiding the two of you away from the bar. his arm comfortably around your shoulders as he guides you over to a where the rest of the people you had partying with are.
"do you want a sip, baby?" you ask, holding your drink towards him and lando immediately leans over, his lips wrapping around the straw as he takes a big sip from it. "hey, hey, hey! not that much!" you whine, pulling the straw from him and cradling the glass close to your chest.
lando can't help but let his eyes wonder from your pouty lips to your breast that are becoming much more prominent in the moment thanks to the low-cut of your dress, and with how your arms are pressing them together. he takes a deep breath when he notices the condensation from the glass is suddenly rubbing against your skin, dripping and disappearing between your breast. when he licks his lips, he gets the taste of your cherry gloss and his own drink on his tongue, and it only makes him want to taste you even more.
and once again, he's realizing just how enamored lando is with. he's catching himself watching you â letting the sound and taste of you consume him. so here he is, feeling like a helpless sailor being dragged under by his beautiful siren. lando wraps an arm loosely around your waist, pressing his body against yours as he rests his head against yours â watching as you happily talk with one of your friends.
"lando, someone's waving at you," he can just barely hear you over the noise of the crowd and music, but your voice acts like a lighthouse â bringing him back to you.
"where?" he asks, even though he obviously didn't bother trying to look for whoever was trying to gain his attention.
he watches you lift your arm, his eyes following in the direction you're pointing to see â what lando assumes a fan â waving towards him. he cracks a quick smile before waving back before his attention is immediately dragging back to you.
so hours later in the early hours of the morning and probably too many margaritas later, lando is letting you giddily hang onto him as he walks the two of you out of the club. he's surprised he could even get into the car with how much you cling to him, but he happily lets you.
lando lets you pull him closer to you, lips pressing against his cheek as you press a drunken kiss there. "i told you that you were a lightweight. how many drinks did you have?"
"toooooooooo many," you giggle as lando nuzzles his face into your neck. your perfume is still clinging to your skin and he can't but groan as your scent fills his senses.
"i say you did," he laughs, kissing your neck, "racked up a pretty good tab, princess. that i had to pay no less."
"i'm sure your bank will be fine," you tease as your fingers start to run through his curls.
"hey now, i'm not just your bank account, you know. how you going to pay me back?"
lando lifts his head just enough to see you already look at him. those beautiful eyes that even after hours of partying, still has your make-up intact enough to draw him in deeper.
"i can... think of a few things~" you say, giving him that damn smile that makes his heart pound harder than it probably should.
"i'll keep you to it," he whispers against your lips, giving you a long, slow kiss. your lips moving together in sync as lando slips his tongue inside your mouth. you let out a small whine as he pulls away slightly. the dazed look in your eyes gives you a sultry look and the heat from the alcohol makes your breath short and whole body warm.
like you're luring him into you, making him want to mold his body into yours.
and as lando looks at you, he realizes that he might be the party animal between the two of you, but you were most definitely the siren that keeps dragging him back. always and forever like a sailor destined to die at sea by his siren lover.
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The last piece you wrote for Aoânung and bratty Sully reader (Hurt/homesick) was absolutely perfect. You made me cry đ
Can you give us more, please? Like a continuation of that chapter, with more angst â but this time with Aoânung being the one who feels it.
Iâd like to see reader breaking up with him before leaving. Hehe, more angst for us to cry over đ
But I donât think she would go back for good. Maybe she would spend a few weeks there, miss her family too much, and come back to live with them again. And Aoânung is completely miserable đ¤
Iâm sorry for making you cry but Iâm so grateful enjoyed it đ Things are not resolved with them yet!
Penitence
Summary: Ao'nung doesn't realize how big of an idiot he is until he comes face to face with reality. And now he fears that he is too late to fix the stupid things he has done
Word count: 5,009
Warnings: Angst, Aoânung realizing he is an idiot, swearing, pining,
Your grandmother was the first Omatikaya to greet you and Neteyam when you returned to the village, happy to see two of her grandchildren but as the tsahik she wanted to get to the reason why you had returned. It was a confession that had fallen from your lips, and the admission of your broken heart.
The confession that you had left Awaâatlu due to feeling like you hadnât belonged was the very basest explanation of your decision, but to unload it all upon your grandmother at once was not plausible.
Instead, you had waited until you were in the healerâs kelku with a cup of steeped leaf tea in your hands and your motherâs old shawl wrapped around your shoulders. Only then had you continued to speak to your grandmother about what had made you leave.
You confessed it all while sitting on the circular woven mats that are laid out before the fire, in the comforts of sweet-smelling burning plants and herbs to ease the mind.
It started with your doubts that Aoânung had actually wanted to court you, that he had found more faults in how you were protected and shielded than he had let on. That, because you were spoiled and the princess of your family, he had thought there would be greater burdens placed upon him when your courtship was over.
Self-doubts about your relationship had shifted toward the next factor that made you want to leave. The story had shifted focus from your doubts about Aoânung to the hunter who had insulted you, who called you young and soft, who implied and accused you of being no more skilled than a child.
And Aoânung had only barely defended you by telling his hunter friend that he had liked the softer things about you.
However, that defence felt like it was only spoken to save his reputation as the metkayina who was courting you, and less about how you had felt. You told her about how hurt and broken hearted you were when he teasingly called you a bratâsomeone who had demanded to spend time with him like it was something you were owed, instead of wanting to be around Aoânung because you were falling in love with him.
By the end of your explanation the wounds of your heart were ripped open wider, leaving you with fractured pieces that carried the sharp pain that disabled you. Words had become painful whines and whimpers, drawing out sounds that were no more verbal than they were comprehensible.
The night of your return to the Omatikaya, you had unloaded in your grandmotherâs arms until your throat felt like it was rubbed raw from crying, and your body physically felt weighed down by the events of your heartbreak.
It takes reality longer than you would like to sink in; to replace the world that is deep within your dreams. While your eyes are closed you are hovering above a place where the beauty of the forest conjoins with the beauty of the ocean.
It is a place where you can hear the sound of the waves hitting the shoreline; the screeching cry of the birds that soar above the water before diving to the surface to catch fish. When your eyes are closed you are surrounded by family.
Little Tuk who is dragging you along the shore to pick pretty shells for your mother, to decorate a necklace she wants to make for her. The jewelry is almost finished but Tuktirey needs one more shell; one more pearl.
Loâak is sitting with Tsireya, talking amongst each other like the lovers they are and long to be. His hand is on her cheek, thumb grazing the bottom edge of the tattoos she has earned while her smile brightens in his presence.
Neteyam is fishing, holding a spear gun in one hand while his other is shielding his eyes from the sun. Behind him are the Metkayina girls who think he is so pretty, so handsome and countable; they desire him more than their own hunters.
AoânungâŚhe is standing with his back to you, hair pulled up and out of his face, talking animatedly. The hunter is there, the one who said all you are, all you have, is beauty and that is where your skills lie. In making pretty things, in crafting dainty materialistic objects that do not matter.
Reality hits before you see Aoânung turn around, and you donât get to see his face. You donât get to see the expression he makes before the sting of the real world settles upon you.
When you open your eyes, you are greeted by the fibre covering of your familyâs old kelku. There are no ocean waves that lap at the sandy beach, no blazing sun that beats down upon the water, no chirping of iluâs.
It is the sound of your people, the Omatikaya that are busy with their mornings. Hunters preparing for the trip into the forest to provide meat for their families, mothers who are rising to take care of their little ones.
Somewhere in the village Tarsem will be kissing his mate goodbye and attempting to leave his children who cling to him. He will be donning the toa guard that is tradition for the Oloâeyktan to wear, and he will be finding your grandmother.
You lie in the hammock of your old family home and stare at the fibre-spun roof, listening to the sounds of the forest that you had thrived in. It is startingly jarring to be back in a place that you can navigate so easily, a biome on Pandora that you had been born to be in rather than feeling so out of place on the ocean.
Even lying here, you can listen to the sounds of life outside the kelku, and you know what lies beyond the walls of this home. The animals that scurry along the forest floor, birds that flutter their wings to rid themselves of the dew that settles upon them, and the nantangâs that will be out for a hunt to feed their freshly born pups that are too young to hunt for themselves. You know that there will a group of hunters who will be heading out into the forest to find the sturmbeasts that are migrating through the area, and they will return to the village with fresh kills.
You know that Neteyam will be among them; and so, will you.
It is with a determination not to wallow in your hurt, which has you rising from your bed. You need a distraction from the grief that is like nettles boring deeply into your flesh, and being out of the village feels as if it will be the best medicine you can have. Despite every instinct that screams at you to lie back down and to allow yourself to be grieved and to embrace the hurt, you cannot allow yourself to do that.
To lie here would do you no good, your mind would wander back to Aoânung, and you would only hyper fixate on his words, driving yourself to a place of hurt madness. You will renumerate on the hunter that had insulted you so, and his defence that you did not receive but should have.
Part of you knows that it is too early for you to be joining a hunt but there is also a recognizable need not to wallow, to not allow Aoânungâs image to ingratiate itself into your mind, furthering your sting. Even though it takes you combatting instincts that urge you to stay in bed, you pick yourself up from your hammock and you take slow and calculated steps. You move with the heaviness of weights that seem to be strapped to your feet but reach the wooden rack anyway, the place where your family had stored weapons.
There are a few that were left behind, because your family had always planned to come back. And there, at the top of the rack was your old bow that was carved from wood of the Hometree before it was destroyed. It lies there like an old friend that is just waiting to be picked up, to help ease the sting of rejection and anguish from Naâvi who had overlooked every good quality you have.
Your hand settles upon the bow, and you lift it from the rack to feel it upon your palm. Your fingers wrap around the wood, and you think that there is warmth that radiates from deep inside, a comforting embrace that you need.
You may have been skilled at weaving, capable of creating beautiful pieces of clothing that was highly sought after even in Awaâatlu, but you were part of the Omatikaya. You had passed your iknimaya, you had skills that allowed you to bond with an ikran and earn your place here.
You were raised under the protective shield of your brothers and your father, spoiled and a princess obvious, but you were not without skills to hunt. You were not raised without the ability to defend yourself or take down a smaller animal with quality precisionâyou just hadnât need to, because your brothers and your father had done it for you and Tuk.
Your hand tightens around the bow, and you lower it to your side as your golden eyes take a slow and speculative glance around the kelku of your old home. You find the emptiness of the home to be comforting and eeryâa contradiction of itself that makes little sense. But the silence and the quietude also feel freeing.
This is your chance; your opportunity to prove Aoânung and that hunter wrong. You are stronger than they think you are, and you are capable of more than they accuse you of.
You make the decision then and when you hear the sound of the hunters preparing to leave, you move before you have the opportunity to change your mind. You step outside into the familiar, beautiful forest and allow your feet to carry you toward the hunting party that is preparing to leave.
None of them look at you as if you are crazed for being here, they greet you respectfully as is tradition. Neteyam furthers your acceptance by slinging an arrow pack across your back and using the knuckles of two of his three fingers to nudge your jaw; accepting you here as if it is where you had always belonged.
He feels as if he ready to lose his mind or pull out his hair from the frustration of searching for you in every frequented place your visit and finding you nowhere. It is an increasingly aggravating feeling, to be looking for the pretty forest girl he is courting and not finding you anywhere you should be.
Aoânung has been working on this courting gift for almost three weeks, creating something in secret for you that he knows you would love. Made from the shimmering reeds that are only found near the cave of ancestors, the tewng and top he made for you will match the other dainty little things you made for yourself.
He had wanted to give it to you before the First Breath ceremony, so you could wear it when you meet his spirit brother, but you have become incredibly illusive. He has not been able to find you anywhere, and you are either incredibly adept at avoiding him or you are having your friends and family help you hide from Aoânung.
He knows he screwed up by not defending you like he should have when his hunter friend had insulted you and he was sorry for it; he wanted to apologize.
Aoânung didnât think you would be so offended by what she had said, it wasnât as if you had every wanted to be a hunter before. You had enjoyed your weaving and crafting; you loved being able to take something ordinary and turning it into something that seemed to have come from the hands of Eywa herself.
And when Aoânung had called you demanding, told you that you were a brat, he was teasing you with the truth. You were a brat and you were demanding but that is one of things that he had loved about you. The way that you demanded his attention, the spoiled little brattiness that had made you irrevocably kind and naĂŻve, were just one of the many things he had loved about you.
But the longer you had gone without speaking to him, without trying to find him, it had made him realize that you had not taken what he had said as jokes. Or teasing. And that maybe what his hunter friend had said to you was more offensive than it was meant to beâthat was the kind of humour that hunters like Aoânung and his friend had. They were used to taking shots at each other, that was part of what had made them more culpable as hunters and warriors.
He thought you would take it as a joke, which is what his hunter friend had meant when she had said that the daughter of Toruk Makto was soft. Aoânung was certain that his friend was trying to tease you like she had teased him and other hunters.
Aoânung had seen no fault in your softness or that femininity that you chose to lean into, opposed to the strength that was required of hunters. He had longed for someone who was soft and pretty, and by Eywa did Aoânung ever think you were beautiful. You were harboured the kind of beauty that made the sea and all itâs creatures seem greyscaled in comparison.
He loved you, his forest girl that he was courting. He loved you and your bratty attitude that he knew only he could embrace without being ramrodded by your princess behaviour. It was a match made in EywaâAoânung who was the strong and mighty hunter of Awaâatlu, and the beautiful daughter of Toruk Makto who had an innate gift of weaving.
He had missed seeing you these last two days, and his searches for you had all come up empty. He had initially thought that you needed space, that you needed or wanted time alone and he had given it to you.
But now he was getting worried, now every time he had looked for you and came up empty, it had filled Aoânung with increasing tangible worry. There had been very few days where he wouldnât be able to talk to you or at least see you somewhere in the village and now it seemed as if there was a gaping hole where your bright sunshine-light should have been.
And it made him concerned.
Concern that made him think to hunt down one of your family members, seeking out the first he could see. He had started at your familyâs marui and when he had seen that no one was home, Aoânung had made the decision to try finding someone in your family at the market. There was a flash of darker blue striped skin, a thinner tail that twitched in tune with those sharper ears, and a glint of teeth as his lips stretched into a smile whenever Tsireya was around.
Aoânung had seen it from the outskirts of the market, your brother Loâak was helping Tsireya carrying baskets.
âLoâak!â He calls your brotherâs name when he sees him in the centre of the trading market, and he sees your brotherâs ears twitching in acknowledgement of Aoânung calling for him, but he does not turn his head.
When he goes ignored, Aoânung calls his name again and is left to resort to pushing his way through the crowd of Metkayina, navigating his way toward your brother. When he comes in close proximity with him, Aoânung reaches for Loâakâs shoulder and sets his hand upon it to grab his attention.
Loâak turns sharply and casts a piercing glare back toward Aoânung, settling the hardened expression upon him with furrowed brows and a pursing of his lips.
âWhere is your sister? I have been looking for her for the past two days, and I havenât seen her.â Aoânung asked the question and he receives nothing but a silent and brooding stare that feels like the starting point of an escalation that will lead to a fight. However as quick as Loâakâs expression becomes that hardened glare, it is replaced by schooled neutrality and a look of indifference for Aoânung.
âTuk is with our motherââ Loâak knows what he is doing when he gives an answer that is both correct and debilitating for the cocky metkayina hunter that is looking for you.
ââskxawng! You know who I am asking about!â Aoânung bares his teeth and hisses at Loâak, stepping closer and presenting himself as a threatening presence; to which Loâak responds by putting his hands on Aoânungâs shoulders and shoving him away.
âPxasĂŹk!â Loâak curses Aoânung out in the middle of the market, the curse and the shove drawing eyes that speculate whether the two will fight. The tension between Loâak and Aoânung is heavy and both males are known for their tempers. Although they had only fought once in their youth, the tension that boils between them suggests they may be willing to fight again. âShe doesnât want to see you, not after what you did.â
After what you didâŚ
âLoâak, Rutxeââ
You brother turns away from Aoânung with a single motion thrown over his shoulder, the middle of four fingers risen while the rest are curled and tucked against his palm. A symbol that is human made and delivers a message of animosity and hate.
The pandoran shells are thick and heavy with food of Awaâatlu that he knows you love. Aoânung had been helping his saânok all afternoon as she prepared for the communal meal that his family would have with yours. He had been intentional when he had gone out that morning to find you flat snake fish, the thickest and biggest one he could find, and he had been careful to prepare it.
Aoânung had felt guilty for what had happened between you and his friend, and he had been rightly scolded and reprimanded by his family for it. The way he had been acting to someone he wanted to court was reprehensible, to allow his future mate to be treated so terribly by another in the village was admonishing.
This was his chance to apologize, not just to you but to your family as well. To show them that he was sorry for the way he had allowed you to be treated and to prove to them that he would do better. Eywa, he would do right by you if it killed him, he would have a better sense of respect for the gifts you hadâkindness, gentleness, the radiance that you seemed to exude naturally, everything that made Aoânung fall in love with you.
When your family had arrived to his familyâs marui, Aoânung was ready to grovel. He was prepared to ask for your forgiveness and lay out the promise to defend you vehemently in the future, and then he would give you that gift he had been working on for three weeks.
However, when your older brother and Tuk had entered the marui with your parents, and there was a distinct lack of your pretty face, Aoânung knew there was something wrong.
That sense was strong; it had become a pit in his stomach that was unsettling and poisonous. It is like one of the Sky-Peopleâs sirens that blare from the sea-dragons that do nothing but destroy, that is the same kind of sick twisting of his stomach that makes Aoânung feel as if he is going to vomit.
He stands in his familyâs marui holding onto that cursed bowl with your favourite flat-snake fish, waiting for someone who is not going to show up. Were you that angry with him? Were you never going to speak to him, the man that you were courting? Was this how it was going to be, you becoming a phantom somewhere on the island while he waits eagerly for you to return?
âWhere is your sister?â He doesnât recognize his own voice, and his hairless eyebrows furrow as his eyes narrow. He speaks with a voice that is taut and although he asked the question he isnât sure if he wants to know the answer.
Not when Loâakâs face contorts into a look of barely controlled anger, and his ears fall flat to his head. His tail swishes behind him in a manner that Aoânung had seen on you before, but your anger was enticing and adorable. Your brotherâs anger was the pre-emptive catalyst that would cause a fight.
âShe left with Neteyam, back to the Omatikaya.â Loâakâs jaw tenses and his eyes become fixed into a look that is rife with potential danger. He spits the answer to Aoânungâs question with a kind of poison that settles over the marui, sending not just Aoânung but his whole family into silence.
Silence that is heavy, that densely falls over the marui. No one moves, no one speaks, until there is the sound of cracking wood from beneath Aoânungâs palmâthe bowl he is holding of flat-snake fish, specially caught for you, cracks under the force of his hand.
âWhat do you mean she left?â The tone of Aoânungâs voice shifts from a state of shock to confusion before it becomes something closer to panic and fear. Fear that he lost you clashes with Loâakâs rising temper.
âSkxawng, you know why.â Loâak takes a step forward and your mother reaches for him, settling a hand upon his wrist to prevent him from acting violently.
âLoâak, stop.â Neytiri tries to ease the tension, attempts to calm Loâak down and prevent him from physically assaulting Aoânung like she knows he wants to.
â-my sister should have ended the courtship when it started. You donât deserve her; you could never deserve her.â Loâakâs temper rises and he moves with a forcefulness drives the animosity and the tension to a level that becomes dangerous for more than just Aoânung.
âWhen did your sister leave?â Aoânungâs hands, still holding that bowl, begin to shake but it is not from the stress of holding a position like when he was training for his iknimaya. Now they tremble due to the knowledge, the understanding, that he made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. âI wanted to apologizeââ
âYou can take your apology and shove it up your ass!â Loâak is grabbed before he can lunge; before he can tear into Aoânung like his body language suggests.
âLoâak!â Jake grabs onto his youngest son and uses as much force as necessary to toss him toward the entrance of the marui, to create distance between Loâak and Aoânung. âYour saânok told you to stop!â
âYou think this is okay? Your daughter, my SISTER, left because he is a bitch! Because he is a pussy who cannot defend his mate from his fuckingâ!â Loâak is not finished with the insults, he is not finished with the degradation he is throwing toward Aoânung, and he continues until his father has to physically drag him out of the marui. ââif Eywa has any mercy, she will make sure you never see her again! Bitch!â
There are beads of sweat that roll down the sides of his head as he focused his attention on throwing the spear toward the target, using enough force that it pierces the other side. The tension that he feels in his shoulders is radiating throughout his entire body until there is a metaphysical protest from his muscles that beg him to stop.
He had been at this all afternoon, throwing his spear against the targets, training endlessly until he had broken out in a sweat and his body was screaming at him.
But he could not stop, he would not stop. Aoânung was relentlessly trying to negate the self-inflicted anger that he had felt surging through his body as he reminisces about what an idiot, he had been. Every mistake, every error is flashing in his mind over and over, repeatedly mocking him and his damned ego for getting himself into this disaster.
As if he had been entirely isolated from the chaos that he had created by being a bitch, to quote your brother. Aoânung hadnât defended you like he should have and it was Aoânung who had allowed his friend to insult you instead of telling her to shut up and not speak of you that way.
It was Aoânung who had tried to push you further than you were ready to go, and it was his fault for trying to make you into a hunter when you were perfectly content being the soft Omatikaya woman that you were.
And it was his fault for screwing up the courtship that should have been celebrated and treated as valuable as it was, but noâhe was a skxawng who had inadvertently lost the woman he was in love with.
âMa eylanââ the spear leaves his hand and cuts through the air with a sharp hiss, a whistle that is sparsely caught by the hunter who speaks to him.
The hunter who had called Aoânungâs beautiful mate to be âsoftâ as if that was an insult instead of a compliment; something tender to be revered.
âYou are in a bad mood.â The hunter catches the spear and swings it around in her hand, measuring the weight and the craftmanship behind the well-made weapon. âIs this because your courtship with the soft one is over?â
"TĂŹfnu si ngeyä kxar.â Aoânung bares his teeth and hisses at the hunter who, he feels, is equivocally responsible for your departure. The hunter who had insulted his mate, his yawne, by calling her sift and suggesting that you could never be a hunter.
The words and the blame he places on her feel like acid, they feel as if they are going to consume him from the inside out. There is a shadow that is overcasting any residual warmth he feels from the things you had left behind for himâthings you did not want to take with you. It wasnât just courting gifts that you made for him that you had refused to take with you when you left, it was gifts for his family.
That is the kind of warmth your exuded, the kindness that you had wholly leaned into instead of focusing on becoming a warrior like him. Like your brothers.
Like the hunter who had insulted you.
âI am only coming to see how you are ma eylan, since your courtship is over. Should you not be happy that you can find someone else? Someone who you will not have to protectâŚprovide for?â She heralds no remorse, no guilt for what she has done. Rather she seems to hold a sense of pride over what she had said, thinking that she was helping free Aoânung.
âEywa ngahu ke zola'!â He turns and calls her out in a manner that is distinctly Naâvi instead of mimicking the Sky-Personâs manner of cursing. He knows that she would not understand the colloquiums of telling her to âgo to hellâ or to âget fuckedâ like Loâak tells Aoânung anytime he sees him.
Instead Aoânung tells her he hopes âEywa will not be with herâ, as good of a curse as he knows she will understand. And in cursing her the Naâvi way, he sees her face twisting into an expression of harshness, the curling of her lips and the pinching of her eyes. Her hand tightens around the spear, and like before, she spins it in her hands to weigh the quality of the weapon.
âYou think you would be happy with such a soft thin-tail?â the hunter and warrior that Aoânung had spent time describing as dependable and strong, as someone who did not have to worry about defending, had insulted you again.
The words were reminiscent of his own insults he would throw at your family when you first arrived, calling you and your brotherâs forest-boy and forest-girl.
âRä'ä krrpxĂŹ oeyä yawne.â His lips curl and he bares his teeth as a hiss follows the demand that she respects you, that she stops insulting Aoânungâs future mate.
âOeyä yawne?â The hunter scoffs and rolls her eyes with indignation as she crosses the distance between herself and Aoânung, for the sole purpose of handing his spear back to him. âThe soft daughter of Toruk Makto is not your âyawneâ, ma eylan. That courtship is over and I suggest that you spend your time and effort trying to court someone who bears the same value to the clan as you do.â
He grabs the spear from her with haste and a rising foul temperament, his fingers tightening around the spear. He glares at her, this hunter who he had once considered a friend and someone he could trust and grinds his teeth. The manner of which she is speaking is as prideful as he anticipated and Aoânung knows that she means to suggest herself as an alternate to you.
Or, at the very least, someone who is at least of the same clan.
Aoânung waits until she is gone and he is alone, and only then does he pivot and throw the spear back at the target. The force he uses is enough to send the entire blade through the target, while the firm polished and carved hilt gets stuck in the middle.
He is left alone; you are gone back to your clan. You had been driven from the shores of Awaâatlu by his inaction and lack of bold defensiveness. He knows that he should have done more to make you feel appreciated and understood; loved for everything you were and not what he wanted you to be.
Can you give us more of Aoânung and bratty Sully reader, please?
Iâd love to see Loâak telling Jake what he saw Aoânung doing with his sister in that cave. I feel like Jake would not be happy lol.
It would also be nice to see Ronal and Tonowari having a talk with Aoânung about his recent behavior.
I love this couple. I really want to see more of them. And Iâd looove to see her with the marks he left on her.
Things You Canât Unsee
Summary: After you and Aoânung were caught by Loâak, a conversation needs to take place about proper courting
Loâak felt his stomach tighten and churn, a threat of vomiting made his mouth feel dry with the natural reaction to bile that hadnât yet hit the back of his throat. The image would forever be burned in his mind, even though he had only just stumbled upon the bare bones of what was going on, it was enough.
Seeing Aoânung with his hands parting your legs was enough for Loâak to want to completely pluck his eyes out and throw them off the hallelujah mountains. There were certain things on this moon that Loâak would never want to see again, never want to stumble upon and that was at the top of his list.
He wasnât ignorant to the intimacies of mating couples, Eywa knows that Neteyam snuck around with Omatikaya girls late at night when he thought no one was watching. Loâak himself had spent time by himself in the woods away from prying eyes to deal with urgencies and needs.
But you were their baby sister, the little princess of the family. Loâak didnât need to have the image of you laid out upon miss while Aoânung was doing Eywa knows what between your legs.
Loâak didnât want to be plagued by the image any longer than he had to be, nor did he want to think that his sweet and spoiled little sister had lost the innocence of not being with a male.
Because you did have hunters who wanted you back when your family was with the Omatikaya. And you did have a long list of potential counters who would have taken you as a mate in a heartbeat. But you hadnât courted anyone at that time, you were fiercely protected by your father and brothers.
Clearly that protection hadnât extended well enough here.
And now Loâak felt scarred. And he had returned to his familyâs marui with an ashen face and ears that pinned to his head.
âLoâak ma âitan, what troubles you?â Neytiri turns to her son and lowers the few beads she was carving for you and Tuk, and knowing that they were for you had turned Loâakâs stomach.
You and Aoânung, in a caveâŚ
âI think Iâm going to be sick.â Loâak pushes his hands into his eyes and begins rubbing them with the heels, trying to erase the nauseating images in his mind.
âWhatâs on your mind, bro?â Neteyam drops from his hammock and closes the distance, following their saânokâs path toward you. âYou look sick-â
Loâak digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and shudders when the image flashes in his mind again, another disturbing glimmer of what he had witnessed. Of what else he would have witnessed if he was only a minute laterâŚ
âFish lips and our sisterââ thatâs all he has to say before there is deafening silence in the marui.
Their dad stops sharpening the blades of his spear and knives, lowering the stone to the table. His mom, whose hand was almost touching his shoulder, stops before she places her hand upon him. There is silence, stilled and awkward as Loâakâs brief yet poignant statement settles in the room.
Loâak doesnât need to go into details, he doesnât need to let on more than what he said because that is enough.
Jake and Neytiri know the passions that burn between two people who are promised to one another through courtship. They had started in a taboo relationship back when the RDA invaded the first time, a Naâvi and Avatar had been condemnable in the Omatikaya.
Neteyam knows what it is like to run around chasing tailâliterally and figuratively. He had been with a few Omatikaya girls back home, the habit of sneaking off late at night was not isolated to the forestâhere he had one or two Metkayina he was interested in.
And Loâak was hardly innocent in his courtship with Tsireya, they had almost been caught once or twice.
But youâŚyou were the princess of their family. the spoiled yet innocent one who should have saved that for after you and Aoânung had completed the mating ceremony.
âWhat.â The word falls from their dadâs lips with tension that begins to spark and echo in the room. âDid. You. See.â
Each word is spoken with rising force, with growing tension. And Loâak sees the way his dadâs shoulders become rigid, the clenching of his jaw is indicative of what kind of mood Toruk Makto is settling into.
âMa JakeâŚâ Their saânok turns away from Loâak and moves toward Jake, to rest her hand upon his chest and calm him. As she keeps her hand on his chest, she turns to address the rest of the children. âKiri take Tuk out to pick shells, she has been asking all morning. Loâak, you and Neteyam need to go fishing for the dinner we are having with the Oloâeyktan-â
Loâak knows what kind of distraction this is, these requests to get them out of the marui and he doesnât wait around to listen. He rises his feet and walks toward the speargun he has stashed away in a woven basket and lifts it from inside. Loâak doesnât wait for Neteyam, he is already halfway out the marui. He only pauses to let Kiri and Tuk dart past him, and then he catches the start of the conversation between his mom and dad.
ââŚma Jake, they are going to be mated. It is no differentâŚâ Loâak shudders and starts jogging down the springy pathway, leaving behind his parents and the marui to avoid the awkward conversation.
He doesnât know how he is going to be able to look at Aoânung tonight, not after he walked in on fish lips holding your legs apart.
Iâm still bitter that we didnât get minis of this helmet. Like genuinely Iâll forever be mad. Idc about the logistics, the worst thing Lando team has ever done is not finding a way to make a mini of this.
I would LOVE to see Aoânung flying with Suli!Reader on Nimun đ I feel like it would be such a huge full circle moment for him. When she first arrived at Awaâatlu, Nimun was proof that she belonged somewhere else, somewhere wild and untouchable that he could not reach. And now heâs behind his mate on her ikran with his arms around her waist realizing the girl who once wanted to leave became his home instead đ
The Freedom Of Flying
Summary: Aoânung thinks the sight of you flying could be one of the most captivating things he has ever seenâand then he gets a chance to fly with you, seeing Awaâatlu in a whole new way
He feels grounded on the sand; free in the ocean. He has grown used to the weight and the pressure of the waves, the water and the tides upon his body. The First Breath ceremony had marked the long standing love of the ocean and the life that thrives beneath the surface. There was an endearing sense of home, when he had the sting of saltwater clinging to his hair, his kuru and his tail.
But everything Aoânung has known about the beauty of the ocean was overshadowed by you; by this moment. The way you and Nimun carve out the sky with your movements, the tangible dance of Naâvi and Ikran is mesmerizing. Thereâs gracefulness that exudes from the manner of which Nimun dives and rises, as your hair blows behind you.
Even if he cannot hear the sound of your laughter from the shoreline, is ringing in Aoânungâs head with the melodic tone. And the ease of your smile, the one that only forms when you are unhindered by the noise of the village, flashes in the forefront of his mind.
He watches you as he sits on the beach, arms stretched behind him to prop himself up. While his eyes are casted upon the sky where he follows the path you and Nimun are taking, the sound of younger Metkayina rises from down the beach. Aoânung turns his head and looks at the younger members of the clan as they hang out around the shallowsâPril being one of them.
The corner of his lips rises into a smile, the sight of the young ones playing around the shallow water reminds him of youâas so much in his life does. Though he had not gotten the pleasure of seeing you when you were Prilâs age, you had told him enough about your childhood.
The time before the war that made you grow up too soon, when you and your siblings would run wild. Splashing and tackling each other into the ponds and rivers that ran through the forest, completely devoid of any of the strife between your people and the Omatikaya.
He only averts his eyes when the gust of wind coming off your ikranâs wings stirs the sand by his feet. You land with a laugh still playing on your lips, your whole face lights up with your smile and Aoânung feels the hitching of his breath thatâs caught in his throat.
âNimun!â You squeak and another laugh is pulled from your pretty lips when your ikran nudges her head into your shoulder, pushing you forward. âYou already got your treat!â
Ao'nung watches as your ikran nudges you again and as you stumble forward without falling, he sits up and draws his arms toward his knees to rest his wider forearms against his kneecaps. Seeing you with such glowing pride and ease after everything you had been through brings him elation. There is a twitching at the corner of his lips and the rise of his mouth as he forms a smile aimed at you and your mountain banshee.
"You are spoiled." You nudge your ikran back before you take a few steps away from her to move toward Ao'nung, your heels sinking into the sand with every step. He meets you halfway and a purr begins to rumble in his chest as your hands slide around his bare abdomen to settle upon his back.
"Did you have fun, ma yawne?" Ao'nung bends down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head while you lean into him, your ear pressed against his chest to hear the sound of his heart beating.
Your body heat meets his and your hands slide up his back to his shoulders where one palm rests against his bare skin and the other rests against the material of his toa guard. You remain there, ear pressed to his chest while basking under the heat of the sun until your ikran chirps behind you.
Ao'nung can see the visible half of your lips stretching into a smile at the sound of your banshee, ending the hug. However you do not remove yourself entirely from Ao'nung's strong embrace. You only back away far enough to be able to look up at him with eyes that are gleaming with a look that he knows well.
A look that means trouble. Like the kind of trouble you got into when you and Lo'ak broke the ilu pen when you were 16, and you had to track them down. Or the kind of trouble that had you and your brothers sneaking into the spiced fruit reserves and stealing a jar or two for a party.
Or even when you had stolen Ao'nung's loincloth from the drying rack outside the scout camp on the edge of the village because he had annoyed you.
"Whatever you are thinking-" He doesn't have the opportunity to finish his sentence before you have moved away from him again. But in this pursuit you had grabbed his hand and begin tugging him behind you while your pretty golden eyes gleam with the look of mischief.
"Ma paskalin do not even think about it." Ao'nung warns you playfully when you tug him on a path toward your ikran who watches the two of you with a slight tip of her head.
When you begin approaching Nimun your ikran, who Ao'nung knows is highly protective of you like most ikran's are, seems to understand that he is yours, She remains still as to not scare Ao'nung or startle him in the slightest while he trails behind you.
"You want me to fly, suylang?"
"Don't be such a chicken, Ao'nung!" Your laugh is as beautiful as your voice, even though you tease him by calling him a chicken.
"I do not know what a chicken is, oeyä muntxate." Ao'nung's quips while he reaches for Nimun and sets his hand upon her neck to feel the powerful muscles that twitch subtly beneath her thick skin.
"A chicken," your look is pointed and deliberate as you climb upon your ikran's back and reach behind your head for your kuru, "is a flightless bird that humans kill and eat. And I am calling you a chicken because they are known to not be very brave."
"Do you see these tattoos, she-devil?" Ao'nung raises his hand and draws attention to the ink that is on his skin, a physical display of feats and acts that he has accomplished. "I am no chicken."
"Bok, bok, bok..." You sit upon your ikran and begin making a sound that he has never heard before but he knows is mocking him and his inheritent decision not to fly.
"You will make me prove you wrong then?" Ao'nung moves toward the space behind you and copies your motion of getting on your ikran. He settles himself behind you and slips an arm around your waist, drawing your back to his chest, and rests his chin upon your shoulder. "You do not scare me, yawntu."
"Just wait, there's still time." You turn your head and flash him a grin, another wickedly troublesome expression that makes Ao'nung both slightly nervous about this flight you will take him on, and excited to see how your face lights up when you are in the sky.
And that gives him enough of a false sense of bravado to combat your smile with a smirk of his own, and say four words that he knows he will regret. "Do your worst, muntxate."
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