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Now, he stood in your chamber, the door closed behind him, turning the pages of your book with the same hands that had wielded Dark Sister for decades. His expression was unreadable.

"This is dangerous knowledge," he said at last. "Where did you find it?"

"Here," you said. "In the library. In the vaults below. Dragonstone is old, father." You swallowed hard. "Tyanna was not the only one who knew these rites. The Valyrians practiced blood magic for thousands of years. They used it to bind their dragons, to shape the very stone of their towers. This is just…another application."

Daemon looked at you, and for a moment you saw something flicker in his gaze. Pride, perhaps, or recognition. You were his daughter, after all, no matter which marriage had produced you. You had his blood in your veins, his fire, his refusal to accept the world as it was when you could bend it to your will instead.

"You want to do this for the boy," he said.

"He is my betrothed," you said, and your voice cracked on the word despite your best efforts. "He has been my betrothed since I was old enough to understand what the word meant. I was meant to marry him, father. I was meant to stand beside him when he took the throne. I was meant to…" You stopped, pressing your lips together, forcing the tears back. You would not weep. Not yet. Not while there was still something you could do.

Daemon was silent for a long moment. Then he closed the book and set it aside.

"The maesters believe he will die," he said. "They will not say it to Rhaenyra's face, they value their heads too much for that, but they have stopped trying to remove the arrow from his neck. They say it is too close to the artery. They say he has lost too much blood. They say even if he wakes, the wound will fester and poison him from within." His jaw tightened. "He is dying, daughter. Slowly but surely. If you do nothing, he will be dead anyway."

"Then I have to try," you said.

"Yes," Daemon agreed, and there was something almost gentle in his voice, something you had not heard from him in a very long time. "You do. And I will help you."

"Rhaenyra..."

"Rhaenyra must not know." Daemon's voice hardened. "She is already half-mad with grief. If she knew what we were attempting, she would forbid it. Or she would hope too much, and the disappointment would destroy her if you failed. No. This stays between us. I will stand guard outside the door. I will make certain no one disturbs you. Whatever you need, candles, herbs, a blade, I shall provide it. The rest is up to you."

You nodded, your heart beating so fast you could feel it in your throat. "Tonight," you said. "It has to be tonight. The maesters say the hour just before dawn is the most dangerous. If he survives until morning, it will be a miracle. I need to act before then."

Daemon reached out and put his firm hand on your shoulder. "You are my daughter," he said. "You have my blood. Whatever you need to do, do it without hesitation. Do it without doubt. The magic will know if your will wavers."

"I won't waver," you said.

He looked at you for a long moment, and then he nodded. "I know you won't."

The hour was late when you made your way to the chamber where Jacaerys lay. The castle was quiet, the servants and guards moving through the corridors like ghosts, their footsteps muffled by the weight of impending tragedy. Everyone knew. Everyone was waiting. The heir to the heir, the bright young prince who had flown to the Gullet with fire in his heart, was slipping away, and there was nothing anyone could do.

Except you. You could do something. You would do something.

Daemon walked beside you, a silent shadow in black and red. When you reached the door to Jace's chamber, he stopped and turned to face you.

"I will be here," he said quietly. "No one will enter until you open this door from the inside. Take as long as you need."

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

The room was dim, lit only by a single candle on the bedside table and the faint glow of the hearth fire. The windows were shuttered against the night air, and the scent of medicinal herbs hung thick in the air: poultices and tinctures and the smell of boiling wine used to cleanse wounds. But underneath it all was the smell of blood, old and new, and the sickly-sweet undertone of a body fighting a losing battle against death.

Jacaerys lay on the bed, and the sight of him made your heart clench like a fist.

He was so still. Jacaerys, who had always been in motion, always talking, always planning, always reaching for the next thing, lay utterly motionless beneath the furs. His face was ashen, his cheeks sunken, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. His lips were cracked and dry, parted slightly, and his breathing was so shallow you had to watch his chest for a long moment to be sure it was still moving. The arrow had been removed from his shoulder and the one from his side had been cut out, the wounds stitched and bandaged. But the third arrow, the one in his neck, was still there. The maesters had cut the shaft short, leaving only a few inches protruding from the swollen, angry flesh, but they had not dared to remove the head. It was lodged against something vital, and any attempt to pull it free would tear the vessel and kill him in moments.

You stood beside the bed for a long time, just looking at him. Remembering.

You remembered the first time you had met him, when you were both children, before you understood what betrothal meant. He had been solemn and serious even then, trying so hard to be worthy of the inheritance that had fallen to him. You had thought him stuffy at first, too concerned with duty and honor to be any fun. But then he had smiled at you, a quick, surprised smile, and you had seen the boy beneath the prince, and something had shifted in your heart.

You remembered the day your dragon died. The Battle of Rook's Rest. The sky had been full of fire and screaming, and you had been on your dragon's back, trying to stay alive, trying to fight, trying to do something, anything, to help. And then Rhaenys had fallen. Meleys had plunged from the sky in a tangle of scarlet wings, and Vhagar had turned. The ancient she-dragon had fixed her terrible eyes on you, and Aemond's voice had echoed across the battlefield, shouting something you could not hear over the roar of wind and flame. He had wanted to take you, you learned later. A prize. A hostage. A trophy to hang on his wall. But your dragon had fled, faster than Vhagar could follow, and had carried you all the way back to Dragonstone before succumbing to her wounds. She had died on the beach, her great head resting on sand, her eyes fixed on you with an apology you could not bear to receive. You had held her until the light went out of her, and then you had stood and walked up to the castle and begun to plan how you would make the Greens pay.

Jace had held you that night. He had not said anything, there was nothing to say, but he had held you, and let you weep into his shoulder, and when you were finished he had kissed your forehead and told you that you were the bravest person he had ever met.

Now he was dying, and you were going to save him, no matter what it cost.

You set down the small bag you had brought with you and began to prepare. From the bag you drew a candle of black wax, a small silver knife, a bowl of beaten copper, and a roll of parchment covered in the symbols and words you had copied from the old texts. You arranged them on the floor beside the bed, your hands steady despite the trembling in your heart. Then you drew back the furs and looked at Jace's wounds.

The bandages on his shoulder and side were fresh, changed that evening by the maesters. But the wound in his neck was the one that mattered. You leaned close, examining it in the dim light. The flesh around the arrow shaft was red and swollen, hot to the touch even from inches away. The skin had begun to take on a greyish tinge at the edges, and when you inhaled carefully, you caught the faint, foul scent of corruption beginning to take hold. The maesters were right. If the arrow was not removed, the infection would spread. It would poison his blood, and he would die in fever and delirium. But if they tried to remove it, the arrowhead would tear the great vessel in his neck, and he would drown in his own blood in moments.

Unless you changed the rules.

You had studied the accounts of the Valyrian blood mages for years. You had devoured every scrap of knowledge you could find about the old sorceries, the fire magic that had raised the Freehold to its terrible glory. And you had learned that blood was the key. Blood was always the key. Blood was life, and life was power, and power, properly channeled, could reshape the world.

The ritual Tyanna of Pentos had used, or something very like it, was described in fragments throughout the texts you had found. It was not healing in the traditional sense. It was something older, darker and more profound. It was the transference of life force, the binding of spirit to flesh, the rekindling of the inner fire that kept the soul tethered to the body. The subject would not simply recover. They would be remade, their body repaired not by natural processes but by the direct application of magical will. And the cost would be paid in blood. Not Jace's blood. Yours.

You knelt beside the bed and lit the black candle. The flame burned with a strange, bluish light, and the air in the room seemed to thicken, growing heavy and still. You picked up the silver knife and positioned the copper bowl on the floor before you.

"I don't know if you can hear me," you said quietly, looking at Jace's still face. "But if you can…hold on. Just a little longer. I'm going to bring you back."

Then you set the blade against the inside of your left forearm and cut.

The pain was immediate. Blood welled up from the wound, you held your arm over the copper bowl, letting it drip down into the metal basin. The candle flame flickered, then steadied, burning brighter than before. You closed your eyes and began to speak.

The words were High Valyrian. They were harsh, full of consonants that scraped against your throat and vowels that burned on your tongue. You had practiced them for hours, mouthing them silently in your chamber, but speaking them aloud was different. They had weight. They had presence. Each syllable seemed to hang in the air, resonating with something deep beneath the world.

We ask the Lord to shine his light, and the debt of blood to be paid.

With fire and blood, the debt shall be paid.

Your blood continued to flow, more than you had expected, more than seemed safe. The copper bowl was filling, the dark liquid swirling in the candlelight, and you felt a strange pulling sensation in your chest, as if something vital was being drawn out of you along with the blood. The candle flame rose higher, no longer blue but a deep, angry red, and the shadows in the room began to move.

You reached out with your bleeding arm and pressed your hand against the wound in Jace's neck, your fingers circling the broken arrow shaft. The moment your blood touched his skin, you felt it: a connection, a bridge, a channel opening between your life and his. You could feel his weak heartbeat, fluttering against your palm like a trapped bird. You could feel the poison spreading through his veins, the infection that was eating away at his flesh. And you could feel the arrowhead, a cold sliver of metal lodged against the pulsing wall of his artery, a hairsbreadth from the arms of the Stranger.

No, you thought, and poured yourself into him.

It was like falling. Like drowning. Like being unmade and remade in the space of a single heartbeat. Your vision went white, then red, then black, and you were somewhere else, somewhere vast and dark and full of fire. You could feel Jace there, a flickering ember in the darkness, barely holding on. And you could feel something else, something vast and hungry, watching you from the shadows. The magic. The old power. It wanted what you were offering. It wanted the blood, the life, the sacrifice. It wanted you.

Take it, you said, or thought, or screamed into the void. Take whatever you need. Just give him back to me.

The darkness surged forward, and you knew nothing more.

You woke in your own bed, with sunlight streaming through the windows and the sound of shouting echoing through the corridors.

For a long, disorienting moment, you had no idea where you were or how you had gotten there. Your body felt strange, heavy and hollow at the same time, as if someone had scooped out your insides and replaced them with lead. Your left arm throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, and when you lifted it to look, you saw that someone had bandaged it. The white linen was spotted with red, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

The shouting grew louder. Footsteps pounded past your door. Someone was calling for the maester, and someone else was weeping, and beneath it all was a rising tide of voices, excited and frightened and disbelieving.

And then you remembered.

You sat up so fast the room spun around you. You grabbed the bedpost, steadying yourself, and swung your legs over the side of the bed. Your head pounded, your vision blurring, but you forced yourself to stand, to walk, to open the door and step out into the corridor.

A serving girl was running past, her eyes wide and her face flushed. You caught her arm.

"What's happening?" you demanded, and your voice came out rough and strange, barely recognizable as your own.

"My lady!" The girl's words tumbled over each other in her haste. "It's the prince! Prince Jacaerys! He's awake! He's awake, and the maester says his wounds are healing, and the Queen is with him now..."

You let go of her arm. She kept talking, but you were already moving, pushing past her, walking as fast as your unsteady legs would carry you toward Jace's chamber.

The corridor outside his room was crowded with people, servants and guards and minor lords, all craning their necks and whispering among themselves. They parted when they saw you, their eyes wide with surprise or curiosity or something else you didn't have the presence of mind to identify. You didn't care. You didn't care about any of it. You only cared about the door at the end of the corridor and what lay beyond it.

Daemon was leaning by the door. He saw you coming, and his expression flickered, relief and what might have been pride or might have been concern. He stepped forward to meet you.

"It worked," his voice was pitched low so only you could hear. "The maester examined him this morning. The swelling in his neck has gone down. The corruption is receding. They were able to remove the arrowhead safely an hour ago. He is weak, but he is alive, and he is awake."

You closed your eyes for a moment, swaying on your feet. The relief that flooded through you was so intense it was almost painful. "I need to see him."

"Rhaenyra is with him now. She has been there since they told her. She is…" Daemon paused, searching for the right word. "Overjoyed. She thinks it's a miracle."

"It is a miracle," you said.

Daemon's eyes met yours. "Yes," he agreed. "It is. But not the kind she thinks." He put his hand on your shoulder, steadying you. "You did well, daughter. Better than I dared to hope. But be careful with him, he hasn't quite come back to himself yet."

He opened the door, and you stepped inside.

The first thing you saw was Rhaenyra. The Queen was sitting on the edge of the bed, her silver-gold hair unbound and disheveled, her face wet with tears. She was holding Jace's hand in both of hers, and she was speaking to him in a low, urgent voice, her words tumbling out too fast to follow. She looked exhausted, wrung out, the way a person looks when they have been holding themselves together for so long that the relief of letting go is almost as painful as the fear.

And then you saw Jace.

He was sitting up against the pillows, his dark hair brushed back from his face, his eyes open and alert. The bandage on his neck was fresh and white, and his color was better than it had been in days, still pale, but no longer grey, no longer the ashen hue of a corpse waiting to happen. He was thinner than before, the bones of his face more prominent, but he was alive. He was alive.

He looked up when you entered, your eyes met, and you felt as though your heart would burst.

"Jace," you breathed.

His expression shifted. For a moment, he looked almost confused, as if he didn't quite recognize you. Then his face cleared, and he smiled, a small, tired smile, but a real one, and held out his free hand to you.

"There you are," he said. His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse, but it was his voice. "I was wondering when you would come."

You crossed the room without thinking, barely aware of Rhaenyra moving aside to make space for you. You took his hand, his fingers closed around yours, and he was warm. He was warm. You had been so afraid that he would be cold, that the ritual would have taken something essential from him, that he would be a shell wearing Jace's face. But his hand was warm, and his pulse beat steady in his wrist.

Except.

Except there was something different in his eyes. A gleam. A light that hadn't been there before. When he looked at you, you felt the weight of his attention, focused and intense. There was none of the softness you remembered, none of the gentle uncertainty that had always lurked beneath his princely composure. This was a Jacaerys who had looked into the darkness and come back with something of it still burning behind his eyes.

"Your Grace," you said to Rhaenyra, remembering your courtesies even as your heart hammered against your ribs. "I came as soon as I heard."

"He's going to be all right," Rhaenyra said, and her voice broke on the words. "The maester says he's going to be all right. I don't understand it. None of them understand it. But I don't care. My son is alive." She pressed a hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks again. "I'm so relieved. I thought I'd lost you. I thought I'd lost both of you."

She meant Luke, you realized. Lucerys, who had died at Storm's End, whose death had started the cascade of violence that had led here. Rhaenyra had lost one son already. She could not bear to lose another.

Jace's expression softened. "I'm here," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. But if I could speak with my betrothed now. Alone, if you don't mind."

Rhaenyra hesitated, looking between the two of you. Then she nodded, pressing a kiss to Jace's forehead before rising from the bed. "I'll be just outside," she said. "I'll send for some broth. You need to eat. You need to regain your strength."

She left the room, and the door closed behind her with a soft click. You and Jace were alone.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were still holding his hand, and he was still looking at you with that strange, intense gaze, and you didn't know what to say. What did you say to someone you had pulled back from the edge of death? What did you say to someone who might owe their life to a ritual you barely understood and a power you had no right to wield?

"You did something," Jace said at last.

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. His eyes were too sharp, too knowing. He could see right through you.

"Yes," you said quietly. "I did."

"What did you do?"

You told him everything. You were too tired to lie and too frightened to hold it in, and because he deserved to know what had been done to him.

When you finished, he was silent for a long moment. Then he reached up with his free hand and touched the bandage on his neck, his fingers tracing the edge of it with a strange, detached curiosity.

"I died," he said. "Didn't I?"

"No," you denied quickly. "No, you were still alive. The maesters said..."

"The maesters said I was going to die. They said there was nothing they could do." His eyes met yours again. "I remember the water. The cold. I remember Vermax screaming. And then…nothing. Darkness. Just darkness, for a long time. And then something else. Something pulling me back. It felt like fire. Like dragonfire, but inside me. In my blood. In my bones." He paused. "Was that you?"

You swallowed hard. "I don't know. I don't know what I did. The texts said the ritual could transfer life force, could bind spirit to flesh, could rekindle the inner fire. But they didn't say how. They didn't say what the cost would be. I just…I couldn't let you die. I couldn't. Not when there was something I could try."

Jace looked at you for a long moment. Then he pulled you toward him, and before you knew what was happening, his arms were around you and your face was pressed against his shoulder and he was holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

"You foolish, brave, tricky woman," he murmured into your hair. "You could have died. You could have killed yourself. For me."

"There was no choice," you said, your voice muffled against his chest. "There was never a choice. Don't you understand? Without you, there's no point. There's no point to any of it."

You felt him exhale a shaky breath. His hand came up to stroke your hair, gentle despite the new strength you could feel in his grip. "I understand," he said. "I understand better than you know."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. Your eyes were wet, you realized. You had been crying without noticing it. He reached up and wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, his touch warm and achingly familiar.

"When I was pulled from the darkness," he whispered, "I dreamed. I dreamed of fire and blood and a throne made of swords. I dreamed of our enemies burning. I dreamed of Aemond Targaryen dying in the mud, with my hands around his throat. I dreamed of victory, absolute and total, with no mercy and no quarter and no hesitation. I dreamed of everything I was too weak to do before." His voice hardened, and that gleam in his eyes grew brighter, more dangerous. "I'm not weak anymore."

You stared at him. There was something new and terrible and fierce in his voice. The boy you had known was still there, but there was something else now, something that had been forged in the darkness and brought back with him into the light.

"The Greens took my brother," Jace said. "They took my dragon. They took my birthright. They tried to take my life. They tried to take you." His hands tightened on your arms. "They will fail. They will all fail. I am going to recover from this. I am going to get out of this bed, and I am going to be there when my mother takes King's Landing. And then I am going to find Aemond Targaryen, and I am going to make him pay for every drop of blood he has spilled."

"Jace," you said, and you didn't know if it was a warning or a plea or a prayer.

"When I woke up," he continued, as if you hadn't spoken, "I felt different. I feel…more. More alive, more aware. Better, altogether." He laughed without humour. "I feel like someone lit a fire inside me and it's never going to go out. Is that what you did to me? Is that what the magic made me?"

"I don't know," you whispered. "I didn't know what it would do. The texts said…"

"The texts said Maegor came back changed. Crueler. Stronger. Unstoppable." Jace's eyes met yours. "Maybe that's what I am now. Maybe that's what you made me."

"No. You're not Maegor. You're not cruel. You're not..."

"I'm not what I was before." He said it calmly, as if stating a simple fact. "I can feel it. The part of me that hesitated, that second-guessed, that worried about being good enough, worthy enough, it's gone. Burned away. All that's left is the fire." He cupped your face in his hands, his palms were warm against your cheeks. "But I'm still me. I'm still yours. That hasn't changed. That will never change."

He kissed you. It was not like the gentle, tentative kisses you had shared before. It was fierce, demanding, full of that new fire, and you found yourself responding to it despite your fear, despite your uncertainty. His lips were warm, his hands were strong, and he was alive. He was alive, and that was all that mattered.

When he pulled back, his eyes were still burning with that strange, fierce light. "You brought me back," he said. "You gave me a second chance. I'm not going to waste it. I'm going to win this war. I'm going to put my mother on the Iron Throne. I'm going to marry you, and we are going to build a dynasty that will last a thousand years." He smiled, and it was a crazed and beautiful thing. "I swear to you."

You looked at him. Your betrothed, your prince, the boy you had loved since before you understood what love was, and saw the man he had become. The fire in his eyes. The steel in his voice. The fury and the purpose and the unshakeable certainty. The old texts had warned that those brought back by blood magic were never quite the same. They came back changed. They came back wrong. But looking at him now, you couldn't bring yourself to believe it.

He wasn't wrong. He was more.

"Rest now," you said, pressing him back against the pillows. "Regain your strength. The war will still be there when you're healed."

He caught your wrist, his strong grip still surprised you. "Stay," he said. "Stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promised.

You stayed by his side as the days passed, watching as his strength returned with unnatural speed. The maesters marveled at his recovery, calling it a miracle, a blessing from the Seven, the indomitable will of the dragon blood. They didn't know. They couldn't know. Only you and Daemon knew the truth, and you kept it locked away in your hearts, a secret that bound you together in shared complicity.

a/n: Comment if you'd like to be added to this series' taglist.

Rn I'm tagging those who commented that they'd like me to post this fic: @ilovefoolishknights @mellowpeacequeen @disturbedturtle @pinkypurplez @oh-miniso @brlghtflame

They were.

Though now, he looks like nothing more than a neutered puppy. The man's whimpering certainly doesn’t help with the picture either. It almost makes Seokjin want to laugh.

Namjoon is crouched on the other side of the body– body because that is simply what this man is, if he doesn’t start to give them answers. He doesn’t have much of a face left now anyway, so he might as well be.

The pack alpha’s hand is fisted into the betas hair, the tendon in his arms twitching from the effort of forcing the man's head into the ground over, and over, and over again. Slamming his head into the cold hardwood floor of the office, other bodies scattered around their forms. 

The pool of red is still growing.

The pack alpha is huffing, there is a glorious fire in his eyes. Seokjin thinks he looks beautiful. 

“Should I ask you again?” Seokjin questions, head tilting to the side. A small, placid smile dotting the corner of his lips, condescension radiating from his entire being as Namjoon pulls the man's head up just high enough once more.

What an ugly thing he has become. Maybe he’s the unlucky one, the lucky ones are probably the corpses scattered across the floor. At least they didn’t have to undergo their combined fury. 

He should have just given Seokjin the answers he wanted already. 

Seokjin sighs once more, looking up at Namjoon, “It doesn’t seem like he wants to, does it?”

Seokjin registers the opening of the office door. Huh, he really did not think anyone else was in the house today. Not that it matters much, Seokjin will deal with them the exact same way. 

He sighs, closing his eyes as he stands. His arms feel tight in his suit, but he raises one anyway. Cresting it on the same side of his neck where Namjoon had left his bite, using its force to aid him in cracking his neck. 

Seokjin doesn’t have time to dilly dally. He’ll be sure to make this quick. 

The intruder relieves a sharp gasp from his lungs, the lazy drawl of Seokjin’s lids to draw upwards, taking him in for the very first time.

Soft, perfectly cut straight brown hair. Large doe eyes. Perfectly sculpted nose with little moles dotting around his face in constallations.

Seokjin’s recognition of him is instantaneous. 

Jeon Jeongguk. 23. Important. 

The Jeon pack alpha’s only child. The last progeny remaining in their all-alpha familial line. 

Well damn, Seokjin was sure he wasn’t here. From the information Seokjin gathered before setting out to the groups's territory, the kid was practically treated as royalty. Spoiled rotten, coddled. There were even rumours he had never gone outside before. 

Seokjin didn’t believe them, of course not, that would be a rather auspicious thing to do. But with how much he had heard about Jeongguk’s treatment, he didn't think they would just let the kid wander around on his own in a clan meeting house like this. He doubted Jeongguk would be involved in territorial conflicts at all. He was a member of the familial pack, not the territorial one like Seokjin… interogates… now. The distinction is clear as clear as day. 

Looks like his intel may have been wrong. 

Not only is he here and involved with them, he looks like a deer in headlights. His cheeks are turning a bright shade of red. It looks as though there are sparkles in his eyes. To be honest, Seokjin is taken aback. He isn’t sure what reaction he was expecting, but not something so… passionate. Something so devoted. 

Is…. is this kid staring at  Namjoon with… admiration…? While Namjoon has Jeongguk’s mom’s right hand is in a bloodied heap on the floor?

Huh. Well, this is certainly a surprising change of tune.

“S-Sir! Please leave! Don’t get yourself involved with this!” Huh, so the body still did have a voice. He was sure Namjoon had squeezed it out of him by now. Regardless, the words have Seokjin turning his head back towards the mess on the floor, back towards his alpha. 

Oh. Seokjin’s eyes go wide. 

Namjoon is staring right back at Jeongguk, that same star-crossed lovers expression on his face. Looking at him like the universe just changed for the better. 

Turning back towards the younger, Seokjin confirms it– they are simply enamoured with one another.

When he makes the motion, when all the attention in the room is directly only at Jeongguk, it is clear the kid notices. His posture straightens, his chest puffing out just slightly. The most determined look that Seokjin has ever seen is as obvious as ever written across his features. 

One of his arms raises up– certainly not the arms of someone who has had experience fighting– a single finger pointing towards both Seokjin and Namjoon. A cocksure smile on the pure alphas lips. 

The world spins. This is nothing like Seokjin had been expecting out of the day. 

“I want you.” He pauses, the determined smile blooming brighter. Seokjin doesn’t know how the kid could be so positive in such a thing– Seokjin needs time to fall, he guesses Jeongguk doesn’t. “Both of you.”

A sickening crack sounds throughout the room, the betas death as clear as day, though no one really pays attention. Instead, everything revolves around Namjoon rising to a stand right next to Seokjin, a similar smile on his own face.

“I feel like there are a few questions you should be asking instead of just saying something so bold.” All the rage Namjoon spoke with before the entry of Jeongguk is gone, a similar confident air in his tone. “Like who are we, why are we in your office. Why we just killed your clans beta.” 

“I don’t care.” Jeongguk, though Seokjin just met him, looks like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. “I didn’t like him anyway. He was shitty at taking care of me.” 

Spoiled. 

Namjoon hums, “Shouldn’t you be worried we’re going to kill you, too?”

Jeongguk thinks for a second, eyes looking up at the ceiling as he considers. “No. You want me.” 

Maybe not spoiled. Maybe just sheltered if he thinks that simply about such things.  

“You’ll have to deal with a few more than just us.” Namjoon leans forward a bit, the air around him bending to his will. Haughty. Attractive. “We have 4 other mates.” 

Oh. Jeongguk now looks as though he is simply vibrating with delight. His teeth– ones Seokjin notices look like a bunnies– make an appearance, biting his lower lip. 

“I want them, too.” 

Well, Seokjin’s dealings are certain to become a lot more smooth from this point onwards. 

NOW.

Jeongguk hasn’t slept. 

Well, okay, to be honest, he’s not sure he remembers the last time he actually had a full nights rest. 

Wait– no, that isn’t true either. The last night he did it was the night after he saw you for the first time, he remembers it clearly, actually. He would rather die than forget it. He would never in a million years forget dreaming of you. 

He was in the woods, you were there too, obviously. Scampering between trees, looking so cute and playful. God, you were so fucking adorable– calling out to him, asking him to chase you. 

Fuck, who was he to say no? He simply he complied. He would be an idiot to deny you of anything ever. 

When he caught you? It felt like the last of his dreams had finally come true. 

You were giggling underneath him, his body pinning you down by your shoulders. Your eyes in the prettiest little crests that he kissed over and over again. 

He remembers the end, where you made him promise to find you when he woke up, too. 

…Yeah.

He hasn’t had a full night's rest since then. But especially last night, last night he didn’t get a wink. Not even the half-hearted nap he usually gets by on. 

How was he supposed to sleep after Joon broke the news that they would be going to your house the very next day? The house that he knows belongs to you now, all thanks to Yoongi. The house where– where–

Jeongguk clenches his fist, lets his nails dig into the skin of his palms as a way to manage the putrid smell that was already beginning to leak from his pores. In the tight confines of the armoured truck, he knows everyone else will be able to smell it. 

Should he really care? Probably not. But he doesn’t want the second– first?--  time you smell him to be so… so unpleasant. He wants you to smell the real him. The alpha who your heart and soul belong to, the one you’ll build a future with. The one that can provide for you, that can take you out of whatever hell you’ve been keeping yourself in–

How long would it take before you let him give you a bite? How long will it take for you to give one to him?

Soon, hopefully. God, he can’t even count how many times he’s stroked his cock to the thought of your cute little fangs piercing the skin of his neck. How blown out your eyes would be with pretty red dotting your mouth. Do you even know that he saved the left side of his neck for you? Waited so many years just for his perfect omega to leave tangible evidence on his skin of your simple belonging to one another. 

… Well, he hasn’t thought about it in awhile, but the point still stands. He hasn’t been able to, not since your face began to retain the essence of a shadowless blob whenever you appear in his mind, when you appear in front of him. Just…just out of reach. 

Fucking had been in reach for over two weeks. 

His top lip curls at the thought. He reminds himself to stop thinking such shitty things. 

It doesn’t work.

He just needs to see you, and then everything will be right again. He’ll be able to protect you. His pack will be complete. The last piece of his soul, the part that felt like it has been missing will finally click into place. 

Everything will be perfect. 

You’ll be perfect.

Jeongguk forces his head back into reality as the wheels of the vehicle roll to a stop. His neck cocking to the side, deep eyes locking on Seokjin in the driver's seat. The clicking of metal registers in his ears, his hand clenching around the barrel of his semi-automatic a little tighter, the gun propped up against the floor, muzzle facing the sky.

“We're here.” Seokjin hums, completely carefree. Jeongguk isn’t sure how, to be honest. “We have a bit of a hike, if Jimin’s map is right.” 

Today determines the rest of his future… do they not get that? Of course they don’t. They don’t understand what you and him have, no matter how much they might try to. They don’t understand the levels at which his entirety calls out to you. 

He’s already reaching for the handle of the door, his entire body itching to leave, when another voice stops him– Joons’, “Gguk-ah, do a scan for us.”

His nose scrunches up while a little wrinkle finds itself between his brows, “Huh? Why me?” 

That isn’t his job. He’s not good at that sort of thing. 

At that, Joon only shrugs, handing the binoculars back behind him, “I trust you more to do it.” 

Heat washes over Jeongguk instantly. The simple words have an even simpler effect on his body– his ears and eyes perk up a bit more, right alone with his chest swelling. No matter how much he just wants to get moving, that line has Jeongguk already hauling his upper half through the sunroof of the armoured vehicle, eyes scanning the distance. 

From the top of the hill the pack has managed to find themself on, looking off into the distance is an easy task. Any subtle clearing is discovered, especially the very one they think contains your cabin. 

Jeongguk sees it easily, mentally comparing it to the map he had been studying the entire ride over– the piece of paper that Jimin and Taehyung marked your approximate location on. Seems like they were paying enough attention to get that right, at least. Even if they might have messed up your potential first meeting. 

No. As much as Jeongguk is angry at them, he’s even more upset with Yoongi. At least Jimin and Tae could plead ignorance. What they did was only a reaction to Yoongi.

What Yoongi did to him was straight malice. 

Hiding you. Keeping you after he found out you were an omega. Only confirming it after Jeongguk was on the verge of a breakdown because he couldn’t fucking remember–

He takes another deep breath, centering himself. He’s lucky he’s been practicing the breathing exercises Seokjin-hyung has been prescribing and that the thought of meeting you soon is somewhat settling.

“Yeah. House is where Jimin said.” Jeongguk states, plain as day. Giving one final sweep before getting ready to hop down. Nothing much falling along the dense forest tree line. 

Lucky that autumn was on their side– if it was any warmer out, the tree leafs may have kept you covered. 

“It looks–” Wait, what was that? 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of light in the distance. Too solid to be a solar flare, too obvious to be a trick of the mind. Twisting the lens to make it focus, something different comes into view.

A truck, hardly hidden at all against the trees. Standing out so loudly it might as well be a homing beacon to anyone who wanted to discover its presence. 

“Wait, hyung, I think–” Jeongguk scrunches his eyes, the hard plastic of the binoculars digging into his skin as he pushes his face into them deeper, like that will help him see better. “I think there's a truck over there?” 

“Mm.” He hears the shifting of guns, probably Joon following the direction of his pointed finger from where the first car had already unloaded onto the ground. “About the same distance away as the house?” 

Fuck if he knows, Jeongguk has always been shit with distances. It’s normally Yoongi’s job to take note of the perimeters like this– he still doesn’t know why he’s been put on the case instead. Why has he been given a job when all he wants to do is think about you. It's annoying. 

He doesn’t need to be managed. He doesn’t need to be distracted. 

“Yeah, looks like it.” Jeongguk pulls the binoculars from his face before taking a second to inhale, tasting the scent of the wind on his tongue. He won’t make the same mistake again. 

He pulls himself the rest of the way out of the sunroof, heavy gun clattering against his shoulder as he jumps to the ground with a practiced ease only gained from experience. His form landing with a thud, both feet on the ground as he squats, one balled hand taking the brunt of the force not received by his knees. 

He stands, eyes glued into the distance. 

“We didn’t see any cars out here before.” Jimin’s voice is in his ears, but he half ignores it. He’s not focused on the conversation of his mates right now, all he can think about is the alpha in his head. The one telling him that these are your woods. 

“Tracks.” Taehyung is supplying his mate, just like he always does. 

“Yeah, there were tire tracks, but they didn’t lead to a car or anything.” 

“Hm.” Joon is too analytical. Seokjin, too. 

“Does it really matter?” Hoseok groans out the words– Jeongguk hears him cracking his knuckles, “We don’t have all fucking day, and if these two don’t stop laying it on thick there won’t be hiding from the little doe.” 

Jeongguk knows Hoseok is referring to the pheromones he’s releasing, but he really doesn’t give a shit. At least the alpha is speeding the whole thing up– Jeongguk can feel his muscles burning. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves and just goes to get you himself. 

His patience is a tether that is not withstanding gale force winds. 

“We're triangled right between them.” Jeongguk’s eyes roll, unable to stop himself at the sound of Yoongi’s gruff voice chiming in. He guesses at some point he set up shop looking out of the top of the other car with his sniper. “About 750 meters that way is the car, 875 to the house. 1000 between ‘em, too.” 

Soon, Jeongguk hears the footfalls of Yoongi jumping, followed by the scribbling of a pen on a map. He’s starting to get frustrated with all these semantics. These alleged important parts of the job. 

He still doesn’t understand why they have to be so careful about this. 

You’re his soulmate, you’ll understand even if you are a little scared at first. 

“It would be worth it to check it out, at least.” Seokjin’s voice is there– one of Jeongguk’s only hyungs along with Joon that seems to care about how hungry Jeongguk is to have you already. “If Jimin and Taehyung wrecked her house, she could be staying there for cover.” 

What? Jeongguk’s alpha is howling in pain. How could he let his omega live inside of a car?! Even if it’s just for the night, that’s too much for you to go through. It’s just too much. 

You deserve to be in a nice big house, bundled up in his clothes– not anyone elses right now– relaxing in his big bed, the softest blankets surrounding you while he feeds you the meat he’s hunted.

Joon nods his head, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Jimin, Taehyung, Jeongguk, you go to the truck. Radio us with what you see.”

. . . Jeongguk blinks. 

He blinks again. 

He’s not half listening to the conversation anymore. 

“What?!” His head snaps before his brain can process the words, eyes finally leaving the distant trees you resided in for so long. So long, all alone. So long without him. 

…You missed him, right? Don’t worry, you won’t have to for much longer. 

They want him to go with them to the fucking car?! To the fucking car instead of your house?! They’re insane. Fucking insane. The growl is already in his tone before he can manage to stop it. “No.”

Hoseok’s expression is bored, Namjoon’s is blank, Seokjin’s is sympathetic. Jeongguk couldn’t give any less of a shit. 

“Gguk-ah…” Seokjin is using that tone of voice he always does when Jeongguk gets riled up like this, the one that means he’s treating him like a pup. Sometimes he likes it. Today is not one of those days. “We need Yoongi with us at the main house…”

Wrong thing to say. 

Jeongguk scoffs, “So he gets to see her before me? Are you joking?” 

His bonds pang– the internal urge of half of him wanting to soothe the others displeasure combating with his temperament still burning from the night before. The rest are lucky Hoseok managed to calm him down before he took off on his own last night. 

“No.” There could be something more to it, something they’re not telling him. They never tell him things. Or maybe they do– either way, it doesn’t matter. He’s pissed right now. All he can feel is that. “We just…” 

“They don’t want you to see what the others did and freak out.” Jeongguk has never been more thankful for Hoseok’s blunt tone– at least someone will tell it to him like it is, even when he is worked up like this. 

“Thats…” He would like to argue against their stance– that he totally would not blow up and pounce seeing what Jimin and Tae had done– but the words die on his tongue. He knows it's more than likely, so… he chooses a different route to argue his case. 

He stands a little taller, “I just want to see. I should get to know how my mates been living.” 

“You can see that after, can’t you?” Jimin grumbles, finally merging himself back into the main conversation from where Taehyung had him dragged away before. 

Oh, of course, it would be Jimin saying that very thing. The one who wants to avoid Jeongguk seeing whatever state they left his soulmate's den in. 

“Jimin, be quiet.” Seokjin sighs, trying once again to be the mediator. Jeongguk normally thinks it’s an incredible skill to have. He respects Seokjin a lot for him stepping up as second in command of the pack, but he’s having trouble retaining any of that sense now as he feels the biting breeze against his cheeks. As he feels the woods trying to speak to him. 

“We need you to take the lead here, okay? Manage these 2 and direct them if she’s at the truck instead of the house.” 

He feels like he’s going to scream. 

See, the issue here is that Gguk doesn’t give a shit about pack dynamics. 

He feels like a broken record due to how often he repeats it, but all he cares about is you. 

He doesn’t give a shit that more people are needed to case a house than a truck. He doesn’t care that Jimin and Yoongi can’t be in a group together out of fear of them fighting. Doesn’t care that he can’t be with Yoongi either due to the fact he will definitely be fighting him. 

Hell, it doesn’t bother him that Hoseok doesn’t see the point in getting you, or that Seokjin is only following along because of Joon’s lead. Sure, he’s frustrated by the way Yoongi’s eyes light up whenever you are discussed, and by the way that Tae shrinks away at the same mention. He didn’t even argue last night when he was excluded from Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin’s meeting last night while they were plotting today out.

He doesn’t care that the groups split makes the most logical sense– that the packs 3 highest in command should all be at the larger site. He doesn’t even care that the rest of them probably don’t even realise that he understands all of it– that he accounts for every minor detail, too.

He doesn’t give a shit about fucking anything other than getting to you and it feels like the others just aren’t listening to how his wolf howls for you. 

He feels like he’s going in circles. 

His head certainly is. 

He should just go. He should just start listening to his instincts just like everyone else does. He should– 

Namjoon’s solid hand comes down on his shoulder, his frame leaning down just slightly to look in Jeongguk’s eyes. “Gguk-ah. I’m counting on you. If you find her, you’ll catch her.” 

Fuck. Jeongguk does care about that. 

Cares about Joon. About the other pure-alphas approval. 

As his heart begins to beat a little faster, he takes a step back while tossing the strap of his gun over his shoulder. His boots crunch against the solid soil as he turns his back to the rest of the pack, making sure his face is hidden before any sort of blush tries to rise to his cheeks. 

Joon always makes fun of him for that.

“Whatever.” He grunts out, trying to keep it a secret how affected by his pack alpha he is. He’s not the pack’s pup anymore. He shouldn’t get so worked up over little things. “Let’s go.”

“If you see anything, radio.” Hoseok reminds, a slight strain in his voice from what Jeongguk can only imagine is another stretch. Another part of the generals routine. “Kill anything you see, infected people or alive ones. Doesn’t matter to me.” 

As if Jeongguk doesn’t know that already. 

He grunts, marching off down the unbeaten path with his two elder packmates in tow. His brain tuning out the words of the other four as his brain already moves onto the next thing. As the woods start to feel more and more familiar the deeper he finds himself going inside.

…He’s going to make sure the promise he made to the you in his dreams stays alive and well.

Yoongi's pace meanders a few behind the rest of the group, the heavy metal of his favourite gun thunking against his back with every step he takes. The smell of the damp forest floor invades his nostrils with every small pant he takes, the morning dew making the floor wet as mud decides to cling to his boots. 

He never thought he would be out in the woods again. 

His head tilts towards the sky as he thinks, lets his mind wander away from the sounds of birds while he has a moment to do so. His body instinctively following the guidance of the rest of his mates without having to put any conscious effort into doing so, something in him knowing they would keep him safe even if he got a little distracted. 

The last time Yoongi stepped foot into the forest… into any woods like these… it had to be at least 10 years ago.

He doesn’t know how you live in them. How you survive it.

He knows the crushing weight of the trees.  

He’s been trying to figure out how since last night, to be honest. Ever since Jimin mapped out roughly where you had been staying, he’s been wondering why you forced yourself out here. How long you’ve been managing.

The woods are so tall, how do you fight against them all on your own? 

Yoongi couldn’t. Still can’t, probably. 

Logically, he has to remind himself, something dense like this is probably safer from intruders– not safe enough, if Jimin and Taehyung were able to find you–  and zombies. There were far less out here than there were constantly battering against the walls of their compound. Hoseok had only managed to spot 2 on their hike so far, both are double-dead now. So comes safety from others in isolation, he guesses. Maybe that’s how you view it. He almost wishes he could, too. 

Still not safe enough. 

Yeah, for once Yoongi has to agree with his inner alpha. You’re not safe enough. Not if two of his pack mates were able to track you down. Not if what they say is true about you having been out here alone for who knows how long. 

As much as he hates the idea of taking that decision away from you, he hates the idea of you dying even more. He hates the idea of not being able to keep you safe from pain, from letting you rot out here.

That’s all forests do. They infest your brain with rot. 

Yoongi can’t stand the idea of stumbling upon you, fungus covering your skin. 

He can give you back other freedoms later. It’s what he’s promised himself. You’ll– okay, you probably won’t like his pack at first. He would be the first person to admit that, regardless of how much he cares for them. But… but eventually you might come around. You might like hi–

Yoongi shakes his head, forcing himself away from the train of thought his alpha keeps forcing him down. 

He’s coming to get you, to protect you as a friend. Someone he considers a friend, even if it was only one night spent together under fictional stars. Even if he did just plan to let it all blur away.

He’s not coming to you as an alpha with a prerogative. He just… he wants you to be okay. Especially after what Jimin and Taehyung did. He just wants to make sure that you're safe. That you’re not spiralling like he would be under the same circumstances. 

Yoongi hates the woods. 

…Yoongi wants Jeongguk to forgive him. 

He probably won’t. 

He should probably stop worrying himself over it. He has more pressing matters to deal with– ones that are only a few meters away, not in an entirely different group, heading to another location. 

The guilty part of him hopes Jeongguk will find you first, but the selfish part of him, the ever present one that seems intertwined with his wolf, hopes that he will get the honour.

It isn’t good for you to be alone. You shouldn’t have to suffer through it.

Yoongi is projecting, he knows it. He also can’t stop it, and honestly, doesn’t want to. He wants to feel connected to you. Maybe he’s being selfish again by allowing himself to do so.

…Well, he is the only one who’s actually met you. He’s the one you felt– feel safe with.

 His fingers twitch, he wants to just hurry up with it all, already. He wants to get you out of here, bring you to the house. Comfort you, if you’d let him.

…Would you let him? 

His heart starts beating a little bit faster. That can’t be good. 

“You’re thinking too much.” Hoseoks’s hushed voice makes its way into his muddled mind, a broad shoulder bumping into his unsteady frame. 

Yoongi’s eyes slowly draw back from the sky, instead finding their place upon Hoseoks’s handsome face instead. Too handsome. It looks like it was carved by one of the greats. It isn’t fair. 

“That’s rich coming from you.” Yoongi deadpans like he definitely wasn’t just admiring the pack's chief of combat. 

He totally wasn’t. “You never think when Namjoons’ ‘round.”

God, they’ve been together how many years and Yoongi still pretends to be coy. He knows Hoseok sees through it, though, so there’s really no harm. Not like when the Jeongguk first joined the pack and became acquainted with Yoongi’s sharp, unrelenting tongue. Yoongi will never forget the complete embarrassment of having to explain what Jimin dubbed his ‘cuteness aggression.’ 

Bleh.

It was the most embarrassing day of his life. 

Thankfully, Hoseok likes it when Yoongi gets mean. Says it ‘gets him going’. 

Hmph. 

“Yeah, well it’s their job. I’m not on the clock right now.” Hoseok smiles, both of his arms raising up to hold the back of his head up. “Let Seokjin deal with it. Looks like he has a stick up his ass, anyway.”

Yeah, Yoongi guesses that’s true. Hoseok isn’t leading the pack’s recruits on any kind of clearing mission, nor is he leading anyone into war. Still, he doesn’t know how he is just so relaxed about everything when Yoongi feels like he’s dying inside. 

Still, he doesn’t think he agrees with the idea of it being anyone else's job, especially not Seokjins’.

Yoongi hazards at the body next to the pack alphas. He still doesn’t understand why Seokjin acts like a saint. Their rooms are next to each other, he’s heard the elder’s rants. Yoongi’s one of the few other than the pack alpha that knows his position. 

Huh, maybe Seokjin never realised how thin the walls are. 

“Bullshit. You’re a control freak.” Yoongi grunts, “If Namjoon didn’t force you out of taking the lead, you’d be up there instead.” 

Hoseok simply hums, acknowledging Yoongi. Probably agreeing that it's true in his head.

“Jin!” Hoseok calls up ahead, pulling Seokjin back towards the tail end rather than the front. Yoongi watches as he turns, as he lets his footsteps slow to allow for Yoongi and Hoseok to catch up. 

Yoongi feels Hoseok’s hands on his shoulders, forcing him up in front, a big heart-shaped smile on his lips, “This one’s thinking too much. Calm him down.”  

“Yah. Stop it.” Yoongi tries to shrug off the younger, but fails miserably. Hoseok’s grip is tight, his fists massaging the flesh, “That’s not his job.”

The conversation feels easy. Too easy, for the current conditions. Zfor the way Yoongi is feeling. He doesn’t fully feel like he deserves their care.

“Aish! What are you talking about! It’s what I was recruited for!” Seokjin huffs, a fake glare directed at Namjoon’s back steady across his features.  

“Receuited?” Yoongi almost wants to laugh, “Not the story I heard.” 

As much as Yoongi likes to feign disinterest, he certainly does not miss the colouring of red rising to Seokjin’s ears. The corners of his hips curl, already completely aware the elder is going to go on one of his tirades. 

Cute. Seokjin is cute. 

“Yah!” The elders whisper raises a hair, his lips pouting out a bit more as his words increase in pace. “That brat wouldn’t leave me alone— what did you expect me to do?! He wasn’t even in my department—“

Yoongi shakes his head, eyes staring at the ground. Yoongi doesn’t even try to deny the expression is out of fondness. “You trying to let the whole forest know we’re here?”

“I—“ Seokjin pauses, eyes going wide as he realises just how loud he was getting. His ears get just a bit darker, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, the eldest in the pack just clears his throat, standing a bit straighter. “What were we discussing?” 

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth quirks, “How Namjoon pursued you for years before you gave into him.”

“Other than that.” 

He shrugs, not really remembering. He wasn’t paying much attention, more so looking for a distraction. 

“Ah,” The weight of Seokjin’s arm is dropped over Yoongi’s shoulder, his head shaking along with the addition. “That’s right. You were thinking too hard. Is it being out here?” There's a slight pause before Seokjin continues, “You don’t need to think about back then anymore.” 

He wishes it was that easy. 

Hoseok’s echo of the past blinks fresh in his mind— ‘Live in the moment with me.’ That’s what Hoseok had said back then. 

Seokjin’s smile feels warm when it’s directed just at Yoongi, “Just let hyung take care of it, okay? We’ll be home soon.” 

Now he is sure his heart is moving at a faster pace than before. 

Hyung.

Yoongi never used those sort of honorifics with Seokjin— it just wasn’t in the nature of their relationship. The elder never outwardly seemed to care, anyway, other than in half-assed jokes. It’s only in times like these that it felt like it mattered. 

Suddenly, Seokjin’s face loses all sense of peace, a cold mask of stone falling over it at the exact same time his body freezes in place, the hike coming to a close. Namjoon’s hand in the air being the direct cause. 

Well, it was nice while it lasted. It is time for action now. 

Namjoon's fingertips curl towards his palm in a silent instruction to lower their frames closer to the ground. The slow, controlled approach to the house already having been planned out since the night before.

Namjoon sends a glance towards the pack’s general, signalling the change of power between them, Hoseok taking over direction.

Yoongi follows it silently without question, waiting for Hoseok’s motion to continue the pursuit forward. He’s always been in awe of the way Hoseok is able to direct everything, to make the motions of a unit seem fluid and conjoined rather than just heaping bodies following orders.

It only takes a glance from Hoseok before Namjoon is moving– the pack alpha gliding through the underbrush as he makes his way around the back of the cabin where he is meant to be stationed in case you try to make a quick exit from the rear. 

Yoongi’s job is a lot more simple than the rest of theirs, he is only meant to be a lookout. Honestly, he’s thankful for it. He’s not sure he could manage much more upon seeing you again. Upon seeing the new conditions of your home.

A few seconds pass, a soft cooing whistle from Hoseok along with the tilt of his head telling Yoongi it’s his turn to move. He does as ordered, moving up from his squat, though certainly not returning to full height as he takes a light jog through the underbrush. Only settling himself down when he finds the angle he was looking for. 

Checking left, checking right– yeah, here will do just fine. He can see your front door, as well as both sides of your house. He’ll be able to spot you if you try to make it through a window. With fewer guys, it might be a little more difficult to catch you, but Yoongi knows Hoseok enjoys the chase.

… He hopes it doesn’t come down to that, but if he does, he’ll try his best to comfort you even if he isn’t the best at it. 

Carefully, Yoongi lowers himself down to the forest floor, pulling the gun off his shoulder right along with the action. He clicks the legs of it down, lowering himself to his stomach to check the view. 

Just as he suspected, it’s perfect. He can see everything. Will definitely be able to spot you if you try to move. 

Fucking hell. Those goddamn assholes broke most of your windows– he can only assume they weren’t like that before. 

It isn’t long before Hoseok and Seokjin come into view, their bodies doing similar low jogs to the ones Yoongi just performed himself. Though their angle was towards the door– if you were here, they were going to get to you first.

Yoongi shakes his head, forcing the jealousy out of his gut. It’s fucking stupid. There isn’t any guarantee you’re still here, anyway. Yoongi knows he would have cleared out first thing if it was hi–

His  breath stops in his throat, his head raising from his site. Pupils darting around the scene in front of him. 

Fuck. Fuck. No, no no. Why is this happening now? Why?

Everything should be fine. Everything is going smoothly. Namjoon should be positioned around the rear of the building by now, Hoseok and Seokjin are counting down in front of your door, ready to make their move. Yoongi is keeping an eye out as he lays against the forest as Hoseok’s hand raises, starting from 5. There are no zombies around, nor other people that Yoongi can smell.

So why why why why why is this happening right now?

Why is something wrong?

That same sensation that settled over him yesterday has returned at a ten-fold. 

Yoongi feels an overwhelming sense of dread in his gut. Worse than he’s felt in a decade. 

Panic starts to take over before he’s able to calm it down, his body rising to a stand. Something shakes against his thigh, but he can’t comprehend it. Not when he knows something is about to go wrong, but he doesn’t know what yet.

The universe had to curse him with the ability to know, but not with the ability to do anything about it before it’s too late.

His legs are moving before his mind can catch up, his body rushing towards the door to stop them. He can’t breathe, he can’t think. Words are willing themselves to leave him. They have to regroup, they would understand. They trust him. They trust his judgment. 

Just a little bit further. A little bit further.

He should have said something. 

The last of Hoseok’s fingers fall, Seokjin’s shoulder slams into the door, breaking it from its hinges. He thinks another figure swoops in, but he isn't really sure. 

The entire world has just become red. 

Yoongi, he can’t move. He can’t do anything. The world stops rotating on its axis, everything moves to a standstill right along with Yoongi’s form. He’s positive things are happening around him, but he can’t process a single one. He can’t.

One second, everything is red. The next, it’s white.

He can’t hear anything, he can only feel red hot pain blossoming in his gut as something hits him. As he is tossed backwards several feet. 

The trees quake due to the force.

Boom.

It doesn’t take Jeongguk long to get to the truck– or maybe it does. He doesn’t remember half of the journey. 

He remembers splitting off from the pack, Jimin and Taehyung trailing behind him. He remembers hearing something reminiscent to a giggle beyond that was similar to the ones in his dreams. Remembers deciding that they meant he was on the right track to find you, that his alpha would never steer him wrong.

He didn’t talk at all the entire journey there, staying focused on the prize. There isn’t time for  any distractions. He needs to see if you’re at the truck, then rush over to the cabin in case you’re there instead. He needs to hold you, tell you that you’re safe now, and bring you home.

Simple enough. There isn’t really much to do but actually do it. He can stop fantasizing about you once you’re actually in his arms. Maybe then the wolf inside of him will finally settle.

He just wants to breathe you in. For you to build a nest in his room.

He promises he won’t go in it! Not until you give him permission to. But just knowing you feel safe enough around him, safe enough around his scent, shit he wants it more than anything else. 

He even has the perfect corner picked out for you already, he’s cleared out space in his closet, too, if you’d rather go there. Sure, he did that forever ago when he still remembered your face, but he’s been keeping it open ever since. He’ll keep it open forever waiting for–

A large hand tugs at the back of his shirt, halting him in his advance forward. The heat of it is almost blinding, but Jeongguk doesn’t let himself get distracted. Of course not, he’s an alpha on a mission.

A haphazard glance over his shoulder is the only thing he offers, finding Taehyung standing there, Jimin still quite a ways away, keeping himself separated. Hm. He’s been like that since yesterday, keeping himself a bit more closed off. 

Good. He should feel bad, even if it was a mistake. Even if Jimin didn’t know you were his.  

Another tug and Jeongguk is brought back to the moment again, a grunt signalling from his throat as a question meant to ask Taehyung what he wants. 

Taehyung’s tongue comes out to lick at his bottom lip lazily, his eyes moving from their stare on Jeongguk to farther ahead on the path. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Taehyung wants him to look, too.

His head turns back to the main trail, vision narrowing. 

Fuck. He didn’t notice that.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Jeongguk’s heart swells, hope filling him to the very brim. Butterflies already dancing in his gut as his eyes go wide, as he feels a gentle heat curve into his cheeks. 

Footprints. There are footprints on the same path they’re following now. 

If Taehyung’s insistence is anything to go by, shit, it means your scent still dots the trees, too. Means that recently you followed the same path Jeongguk trails now. That you might just be living in the very truck Jeongguk is called towards now. 

You– are you really waiting at the truck for him? 

God, his entire being in inflating. His alpha is howling at him to go get you– that something as perfect as you shouldn’t be living out here. You shouldn’t be subjected to living in your truck because of what his idiot mates did. 

Jeongguk’s legs are moving faster than before– he doesn’t really know when his pace picked up, but he knows the others are close to follow. 3 pairs of heavy thuds are marking up the forest floor, along with the sound of clanging guns against shoulders. 

Within a few minutes he’s there. He’s standing in front of something you call your own. 

It takes his breath away. Of course his omega would drive something cute like this– it makes perfect sense for you. Even if he doesn’t know you well yet, he’s sure of it. Oh, or wait… maybe you only use this one cause it’s convenient? Maybe another vehicle style suits you better? He’ll get you a hundred cars, if you want. That way you can know what all of them feel like. It’ll feel so good to provide for you. 

He moves in without really thinking, stalking towards the car, his noise unable to stop itself from the constant sniffing, attempting to weed out your scent from the rest of the woods. It’s difficult for him to, if he’s being honest. He always gets overwhelmed when so many different odours surround him, but he tries for you anyways. 

He thinks he gets some of it, something that smells like beta– he knows better, he knows that even if you smell wrong, you’re still an omega– with hints of eucalyptus. Like some kind of herb used for healing, if he were to guess. 

He frowns. 

Now, standing only a few feet away from your truck, away from the source, he can tell it’s at least a day old. There isn’t anything that smells more fresh, there’s no sign of life within the cabin even with how forgetful he was at the volume of his approach.

It isn’t his fault though! He knows he was supposed to be quiet just in case but you distracted him. It doesn’t look like it matters anyway, you’re clearly nowhere to be found. 

Jeongguk’s shoulders drop– all that hope that had been welling up drifts out. A laboured sigh from Jimin behind him, along with a kick to something– when Jeongguk turns his head, he identifies it as a fishing net with brush interlaced with the rope– signals that the others are sure of the same thing. 

“She’s not here.” Even though Jeongguk is on better terms with Jimin than Yoongi, he still would rather not hear him talk right now. It’s not really any fault of his own, but stating the obvious when it’s clear Jeongguk is already irritated? When he can clearly see that you’re not here? It just makes Jeongguk’s teeth clench together a little tighter.

“I can see that.” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, one hand closing around the passenger cabin handle. The muscle in his arm straining in preparation for it to resist the movement, for the door to jerk back. 

It doesn’t. It’s unlocked. 

Jeongguk grunts as he stumbles just slightly, not enough to cause worry or for him to actually fall, but enough for his eyes to go wide. One hand reaching to steady himself on the top of the interior doorframe. His shoulders hunching just slightly while a small, growled ‘fuck’ slips from the back of his throat. 

Thank god you aren’t here. That would’ve looked totally uncool.

He grunts, forcing himself to stand straight and only give half checks to his right and left to re-confirm your absence. Even if he wants to see you, he doesn’t want to look so lame. “We’re still checking. Maybe she left something to say where she’s going.”

“Or maybe she’s at her house.” Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow, the back of his throat itching with a warning growl that wants to be let through. Didn’t Jimin hear Joon? Jeongguk is in charge, he shouldn’t be–

Jeongguk hears a sniffing sound right next to his ear, distracting him. It’s Taehyung taking the chance to scent the inside of the cabin, he guesses. Doesn’t really know what the other is looking for though. All he can smell is a slightly distressed undercurrent to your beta– it’s okay, he knows what you actually are, even if your scent is trying to lie to him– scent, most significantly clinging to the bag lying right across the passenger seat in a heap.

His frown deepens. Probably those two that made you smell like that. Made you scared with no one around to comfort you. There is a 0% chance Jeongguk is going to feel less bitter about it any time soon.

In the back of his head, Jeongguk realises the sniffing has stopped 

He doesn’t offer Jimin any kind of response, instead focusing on the bag. Maybe you had left a map in there? Some supplies? Maybe just anything that would make him feel closer to you?

He should take it, right? That way, when you come home, you won’t be missing whatever's inside. 

His lips purse just slightly, head nodding in agreement as his hand reaches out to grab it. 

Well, he was grabbing it. Now, he’s on the forest floor, his head banging against the surface. Taehyung on top of him, his head pressed into Jeongguk’s throat, not even thinking about letting him up. 

The growls begin to leave Jeongguk instantly, a second nature swelling up to the top. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Get off of me!” He still won’t let up. He’s keeping Jeongguk pinned with everything he has. Jeongguk can’t see Jimin either. Can only feel the pounding in his head and shoulders from being throttled to the ground. 

Is this a fucking coup or something? Were they just waiting to get Jeongguk alone so he wouldn’t be there to protect you anymore? 

Jeongguk’s growls increase in volume, his limbs thrashing to try and get out from underneath Taehyung. He can’t believe this. He can’t believe they would fucking try something like this.

“Bomb.” Taehyung’s panicked baritone sends a lightning bolt through Jeongguk’s spine. He’s not fighting anymore. “Bomb inside. Bomb in bag. Don’t touch. Don’t touch! Can smell it! Intentional! Bomb! Don’t touch! Don’t!”

There’s…? You left a…? 

Jeongguk looks back towards the car, his entire face morphing into that of complete disbelief.  

You were trying to protect yourself… did you…? They said they didn’t see your car yesterday.. The covering was pulled off to the side, making the truck noticeable. Your footprints were in a clear line in the mud when you could just have easily veered off the beaten path, covered up your trail.

This was on purpose. You were trying to protect yourself if Jimin and Taehyung came– 

What would have happened if Taehyung wasn’t there?

Jeongguk’s blood runs cold. 

Joon doesn’t have a Taehyung at the house. 

His mates can’t smell if the same trap has been laid just beyond the door.

Jeongguk shoves Taehyung off of him, adrenaline pumping through his veins. A newfound strength adorning his features as he manages to rattle the big puppy off. His frame rolling onto its stomach, reaching for the radio in his belt loop as he looks towards the direction of your cottage, his pupils shaky. 

“Joon– Joon! There was a bomb in the truck! Abort the pursuit! Abort it!” His voice is yelling, crackling as it bounces through the radio. 

Time feels like it’s extending itself, 30 seconds morphing into half an hour as he waits for a response. 

There is none.

Shit. Shit. Shit! Shit! SHIT! 

Jeongguk bolts upright, forgetting about the car, leaving it in the past while his mates are in danger in the present. “Fuck! Go! We have to go now!” 

His pheromones, the same ones Joon used last night are unintentionally leaking from his pores, his body already beginning to rush through the tense trees. His head is spinning– he doesn’t know if the others followed. Only that he has to get to the rest of his mates before, before–

The sound rattles the trees, a deep ball of red rising above them. 

Jeongguk freezes, his mind blank as he stares towards the distance in awe. 

If it wasn’t his mates you were targeting, he would think you’re incredible. But right now, you’re not a thought in his mind. He’ll be upset with himself later over that fact. The fact of the matter, he knows where his bonds lie. He knows how much they’re in pain.  

You didn’t know it was them. You don’t know it’s your soulmates. You’re just so scared, just so… everything hurts. His body is on fire. 4 spots across his form are radiating a pain he’s never felt before. 

It hurts so bad. 

So bad. 

He wants to crumple to the floor. He wants to sob. He doesn’t know what to do. 

“Get a fucking hold of yourself!!” Oh, Jimin’s screaming at him. He wonders when that started. When the shorter of the two grabbed his shoulders and began shaking him, when the look in his eyes became so deadly that they lost all of their spark.

The slap to his face stings, but he’s thankful for it. It finally brings him back to the moment, finally forces him to do what he needs to do. 

“Stupid purebred! Fucking move! You’re useless to them if you can’t even do that!” Jimin’s shouting should sting, but it doesn’t in the slightest. He knows the words are true. 

Jeongguk is running again, faster than he thinks he’s run in his entire life. He doesn’t really remember the rest of the interaction with Jimin, his memories feel jumbled. He knows at one point Jimin began dragging him towards the house, then he remembers overtaking Taehyung on his own while running. 

The sight he sees when he finally reaches the cabin is one he’ll never forget. 

He’s so lucky he’s never had the experience of his mates being in abject danger before. He doesn’t know if he could ever take feeling like this again.

The house, what's left of it, is up in flames. Wood panels have been blown off the side, half of the covered porch has caved in upon itself. 

His chest heaves as he finally spots his pack. His soulmates. The ones he loves the most in the world. Namjoon’s form is on top of Seokjin and Hoseok’s bodies, looking like he pushed them out of the way just in time. Wood scattered debris lays around them still burning bright, though none directly on top.

A whizz of air passes by Jeongguk, Jimin’s shorter form running past him in the direction of Yoongi.

Yoongi. 

Jimin is hauling a piece of burning wood off Yoongi’s stomach, his hands shaking his shoulders. His voice is yelling, but Jeongguk can’t really hear it. At some point he began to move, too. His body acting for him while his mind remains scattered. 

His arms haul Namjoon off of the others, it’s clear all of them are injured– they’ll need to get medical attention when they get home. Seokjin, as much as he wants to, likely won’t be in the state to provide it. Jeongguk will yell at him if he tries.

Taehyung frame finally joins Joengguk too, following his lead in grabbing Seokjin instead, propping his body up rather than continuing to let him lay against the forest floor. From Jeongguk’s extremely limited medical knowledge, he knows his knee looks bad. But so does Hoseok’s shoulder. And god, Jeongguk has never been more thankful for the fire-resistant lining of the gear they wore today. He can’t imagine what the state of Namjoon’s back would be without it. 

“Hyung! Hyung!” Jeongguk hears his voice, but he doesn’t remember willing it to sound. He finds himself in the same place as Jimin, his hands shaking the pack alpha's shoulders, trying to wake him from his passed out state.

Fuck. If only he was faster getting to the truck, if only Taehyung was able to tell him sooner none of this would have happened! He would have been able to tell them and, and, and– 

“”M fine.” Jeongguk feels air enter him for the first time at the sound of Joon’s voice, even if it does sound a little weak. When Joon wheezes, his heart still pangs, “‘M fine. No one died. Take care of the others, they need it more.” 

Jeongguk has never wanted to sob more in his life from relief. 

The relief is short-lived when his eyes shift towards Seokjin being coddled by Taehyung.

Hoseok has propped himself up, too. He’s looking off in the distance. 

He’s smiling. 

You know, when Hoseok said he wasn’t interested in having an omega, you didn’t have to go and be such a fucking brat about it. 

Yeah, yeah. Sure. Whatever. He was going to let his packmates have their new little toy until they got bored of it– he didn’t mind. Pretty pussy is pretty pussy, and alphas have their urges. Hoseok has never minded sharing a beta between a few of them for a night in the past, though that stopped when Jimin joined and started killing them. 

Hoseok still didn’t really care. 

He didn’t have any loyalties to them. Didn’t wanna bite them. They were just for fun.

If the youngest wanted a new pet, he wouldn’t deny him. He bets he would look cute staring at you like you were the world. Teetering after you while Hoseok had his.. Fun. 

He wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of playing with you, too. Again, pretty pussy. 

And sure, Hoseok never really cared much for the second gender that seems so– his upper lip wants to curl– mystifying, almost like mythical creatures with their decline. He remembers even back in school when he was learning about them, being bored out of his mind. 

Everything about them just seemed so boring.

Helpless. 

Culling. 

Too much work for what? Something that just likes to sit around the house all day pretty? God, sounds like his fucking nightmare.

Hoseok has always thrived on the exciting. On whatever could get his blood pumping the fastest. 

It’s what Namjoon promised him. The alpha never did disappoint. 

Months ago, when Namjoon first came to him about the idea of getting an omega, Hoseok thought that it might be the first time he would. He never expected a desire so… simple, baseline… traditional, from the pack alpha. He agreed, sure, but he didn’t expect anything from it. Thought that the alpha might finally be becoming boring. 

He should be admonishing his past self for ever doubting him, but his present self feels high as a kite. 

This is certainly a motherfucking treat.

Even with the pain radiating from his shoulder socket– it’s definitely popped out– he doesn’t deny it. His tongue, despite its pain from biting through the meaty flesh during the blast, runs over his teeth. Copper tang in every breath he breathes. 

Awwwww, and you planned it all yourself, huh? Laid out a little bomb to catch the wolves in a trap? What an adorable little doe, thinking you could be big. 

He raises himself up on his forearms, flinching a little at the weight put onto his shoulder. He should be screaming from it now, right? That’s what anyone else would do. His cock is hard.

“Hyung! Hyung!” Shit. He really can’t hear now. Most of it just rings. Call it love the way he was still able to hear Jeongguk through it. Whatever. It’ll come back soon. He’s got other things to focus on. 

His eyes continue to scan the tree line, looking for something. He’s not sure what. 

He’ll find out soon. 

Ha, you really did a number on all of them, huh? Did alllllllll of this just for them? Wow, you must really care. You must really want Hoseok to think you’re worth it, huh? That you’re better than all those other little omegas out there?

You want him? That's the message you were trying to send, huh? That you want a chase? 

You’re fucking lucky Hoseok loves them. You want him to love you, too? Are you ready for something like that? You really think so?

His lips crack open, a splash of red coating the inside edge. Another trail of blood running down his cheek from where he nosedived into the dirt. 

You wanted his attention? That’s why you pulled this bratty little stunt? Well now you have it. 

He sees a glint of light in the distance, way beyond the trees. Light reflecting off of glass. Binoculars, huh? Cute. 

His smile grows, blood on his teeth. The taste of copper still coming through on his punctured tongue. His canines have never been more excited to bite. 

Found you, baby. 

Let’s play red riding hood. 

“Boom.” 

Your voice is soft, cusping just on the edge of the wind. Certainly nowhere near as loud as the sound that just permeated the forest, but felt as though it was even greater than it. A beautiful, radiating fire lighting the trees in the distance, a new glow.

On your face rests a satisfied, self serving smile. 

You, and your predictions, had been right. They came back. 

Now, there was no way you could be certain it was the same alphas that came to destroy you yesterday, of course not. It would be silly to completely presume but… it was nice to think it was, anyway. Had your legs feeling lighter as they rest against the wooden edge of the fire escape, your body slumped against the high-back stool that you just so happened to find in the fire tower. 

Ha. Fire tower. Ironic. 

Either way, you knew they would be back, and now they knew the consequences of doing such a thing, even if it is a pity the second bomb hadn’t gone off alongside the first.

The corner of your lips quirk a little higher, hand finally reaching to grab the binoculars from their place hanging against the chair. The cool metal raising to your eyes, allowing you to see even more of the beauty you had just created. 

Mmm, the view isn’t too much better– you suppose you did walk pretty far– but still. The act of seeing everything is divine. Your house, the place you had crafted for years, may now be in shambles, but so are the alphas. Poor things. 

Well, you’ll build your life back better, anyway. Every new start has become more and more easy. Lessons have taught you the proper steps, especially the steps to properly disappear. That everyone should have the tools and the knowledge to make an out if need be. 

Your bottom lip perks out in a bit of a mocking pout, head tilting to the side as the fire begins to grow. It won’t make it far, you know that. The conditions aren’t great for it to actually spiral, but it feels prophetic almost. It feels perfect.

Leave no witnesses.

Mhm, and after they saw your nest, you knew you had to. Fixed up the house to make it look like you were planning on trying to stay, left your car uncovered as a second honeypot. Disabled your trip wires to make it seem like you didn’t know what you were doing. Packed all the suppressants you could. Made sure to leave a little trail to each. 

Agitated clucking sounds from your left, drawing you out of your thoughts. The binoculars leaving your eyes as your head twists down towards her, instead. 

Ah. Of course, there was Cheryl, too. 

To be honest, you tried to leave her. To let her go back to the woods and live with the wild flock but… she wouldn’t stop following you.

Pack has to stick together, you suppose.

“Shhhh, shhh shh…” Your fingers slowly stroke down Cheryl's back, her plumage puffed up from the noise that rang throughout the forest. “You gotta be quiet. They could be watching us back.” 

You stand from your spot, moving back towards the interior of the little fire tower. One hand scooping up Cheryl from her tummy, the other slinging your pack over your shoulder. A continued soft hushing leaving as you walk. 

You have no plans of unpacking, you’d be leaving this location soon enough. 

A small buzzing sensation runs through your entire being, the aftereffects of your successful plan still migrating through every one of your nerves, lighting each up like little stars in little galaxies. 

Your lips curl once again, little sharpened canines hanging from below your upper lip, the corner of your smile tweaking upwards. “Well, if they’re still alive, that is.”

chapter 4 <- index -> chapter 6

⌬ : notes:

"oh, these weren't homemade. they were made in a factory. a bomb factory."

🧍‍♀️

ha..haha.. right guys?

*a tomato is thrown at me*

DAMN! Fine! Lemme just pack my shit and--- lmaooooo I'm joking!! Seriously though, I am desperate to hear what you guys think about this chapter. What I have been teasing for awhile has finally kicked off!! Like i said, reader still had a few things up her sleeve. She's crafty, huh? Either way, it isn't too much longer before she meets the guys!! it should be happening next chapter, isn't that exciting? It is to me!!

I am desperate to hear all of your thoughts on this chapter-- it really is my favourite one that I've written so far. Especially now that we have 6/8 povs unlocked for the main cast... mwahahah, hoseok is certainly a treat, isn't he? I have full confidence you will either hate him, or think he is entirely too hot (i am of the later group lmao, I know what I am) (a freak, if that wasn't clear LMAO)

Jeongguk too, with how desperate he is to have you :'< poor guy. Plus a look into the way he joined thep pack ?! Either way!! As always, please let me know any and all of your thoughts, I absolutely love hearing them!! Everything coming together, and the objects set in motion are rolling super fast now, even if it doesn't totally seem like it yet.

Ahhh, anyway, this is entirely too long! As always, thank you for reading and falling into the story of summer rain just like I have!!! We have officially hit 100 pages in my google doc! See you guys when the next chapter finishes out!! MWAH!!!

His brother, Tsu’tey, had always been insistent of his personal relationships. Always ‘Brother, you have to choose a mate sooner’ or ‘The Olo’eyktan cannot be complete without a Tsahik’, never ‘Take your time.’ It’s been a custom for a clan to have an Olo’eyktan and Tsahik, whether they were mated or not. Neytiri, the daughter of an esteemed warrior and the previous Tsahik, had been proposed to him as soon-to-be-mate ever since they were running their little feet by the rivers. She was his childhood friend, a fierce and noble warrior who conquered the skies with her beauty and might.

“It has been many moons, tsmukan. The Elders have been asking me about you, about Neytiri. They seek the ceremony of your union.” Tsu’tey enters his kelku one time, holding out a basket of freshly harvested tìhawnuwl, his favorite. He settles beside Jake by the fire, observing his brother carving out spiky tips from a branch.

“I am aware, brother. However, my duties as Olo’eyktan do not permit me to settle a mate of my choosing yet. There is much to be done. Much plans to be made and clans to meet. The mating can wait.” Jake traces the fine tip of the branch, blowing the excess shavings off.

“Neytiri has been waiting, Tsyeyk. Her sa’sem are eager for the news. It is not time to just wait around when she is already a perfect choice as your mate.”

Yes, she was the perfect choice.

It should have been her. She is familiar, warm, and her beauty rivalled the sun. He should choose her, she was better and she was promising.

And yet, Jake’s heart said otherwise.

---

The remaining humans from Hell’s Gate who allied themselves with the Na’vi and fought as the Resistance against the RDA are living quite well inside the abandoned research bases located a few miles away from the Omatikaya Clan, which they converted into makeshift dwellings of their own. They kept the vines, plants, and flowers that have already worn its way through the cracks, it kept the walls colorful, and it kept them alive.

Among those who remained was you, a combat medic trained to treat injuries and provide humanitarian aid. You were used to sterile white walls, the mundanity of long night shifts, and your nose already burned out from the smell of antiseptic. It’s a good thing you came to Pandora the moment they offered the program. At first, you accepted the job. It paid better, gave good benefits, a decent workload and who wouldn’t be excited at the fact that you’ll be blasted off to space where you get to witness the vastness of the cosmos? A once-in-a-lifetime offer where you get to do your job and stare at the thriving variety of life on Pandora.

You were already getting accustomed to your Avatar. You’re studying the language and familiarizing yourself with their culture. One to three Na’vi warriors would drop by the Resistance camp to have their wounds treated with the approval of their Tsahik, using the native herbs that worked better than the synthesized medication at the lab. The relationship between the Na’vi and the allied humans were growing steady with the hopes that not all humans were selfish afterall.

Out of all the Na’vi you’ve acquainted yourself with, there was one you had a particular interest on.

Tsyeyk. Or in English, Jake. Toruk Makto, one of the most formidable warriors of the Omatikaya Clan. The one who led the clans to victory. The Olo’eyktan of his clan.

He was a friend you’ve come to cherish deeply ever since you dressed his injuries after the battle of the Hallelujah Mountains. Your meetings had initially been tense, he was wary of you. Always followed your steps to see if you would drop the pretend play and betray his people. But when you proved your sincerity and genuine appreciation for all lives and his people, he eventually began to trust you. That trust escalating when you saved his life during that battle, silently vowing to protect yours should the time come.

Now, he takes you out sometimes to explore, to stretch limbs and break away from the white walls as he says. He would come visit to bring you some fruits and nuts to enjoy, he would also hand out pretty stones and beads. On some days, he would stay to watch you work in the lab or when he had some wounds to get treated after his hunts.

“Your lips will bleed.” Tsyeyk’s voice cuts you off from your focus. You were both in the medbay inside the base, treating the small cuts on his arm. Your lips part, you always had this habit of biting your lip unconsciously. “Do you always do it?”

He leans in close, his thumb reaching for your lip to caress it.Your lips were soft just like he had imagined. His eyes were on you, that stare that was always gentle and piercing as if he was searching for something in you. Your breath stutters as you try not to lose yourself in the proximity.

“It keeps my focus. I barely realize it.” You reply, grinding some medicinal herbs in a bowl. “Have you been doing alright? You haven’t visited for almost two weeks.”

Tsyeyk was silent. He had been away for almost two weeks to immerse himself in his work, to hunt, hold meetings with his members, visiting other clans, and other tasks. His conversation with Tsu’tey weeks prior about the proposal stuck with his mind. Sooner or later, he was to be betrothed to Neytiri, they will be mated before Eywa and she will become the Tsahik of their Clan.

“I have been thinking lately.” He starts, eyes staring outside instead of yours.

“Of what?”

“In a few weeks, I will be mated. To Neytiri. She is to be Tsahik of the Clan.” The union had already been preordained since their birth. But Tsyeyk does not understand why those words seemed to prick his tongue, as if it was something forbidden to speak of. He fails to notice you pausing, a silent take of air.

“I see.” You reply, the grip on the pestle was tight. You ignore the lurching feeling that seemed to bristle in your stomach. Tsyeyk will become a husband to another. The warrior who will protect the people he loved and he will be beloved, he will be spending the rest of his life with someone who he deserves just as much as he deserves them. To your friend, Neytiri who was just as strong, beautiful, and fierce.

“You look good together.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “You better take care of each other, okay?”

You smile, mostly because you knew that Tsyeyk had always been destined for greater things. He had everything and could get everything he ever asked for. The people respected him, Eywa favored him, and he was loved for his heart and bravery. Even if he would always visit you from time to time, he will eventually move on to spend the rest of his life with his mate and his growing family soon. Perhaps you’d become a Godmother to their children or enjoy yourself as their future babysitter.

You claim to be happy for their engagement and yet, at the very core of your being, you are scared.

Why does it feel like your joy for him doesn’t reach anything?

That night, underneath the comforts of your bed, you sob in silence.

---

The days bleed still, you began to vacate a small distance between you and Tsyeyk. When he shows up, offering you to join him for a ride with his ikran, you politely decline stating that you will take extra work to help Norm and the others around the lab. The next, he asks for assistance in harvesting some seeds and nuts, you decline again to help a group of warriors who sustained minor injuries after an encounter with some creatures. Third, and fourth goes, Norm points out your untoward behavior towards Tsyeyk after he catches you declining the male’s offer of riding with him with the pa’li. By the fifth and sixth, Tsyeyk was beginning to grow impatient and annoyed at your constant refusal of his attempts. He only wished to spend more time with you, how could you refuse his attempts to do so?

You thought you were doing better if you avoided him. Making a sharp turn away from the entrance doors to avoid seeing him, when outside you would reach the opposing areas of the places you usually frequented with Tsyeyk when finding herbs and giving out excuses to your fellow colleagues that you need more long hour shifts to help more. You say it’s lending more hands to help, your colleagues think it’s a bullshit excuse to avoid confronting your own feelings. And they were right.

Norm calls you out one time after you denied Tsyeyk’s offer again for the nth time. Norm flicks the back of your head, not enough to hurt but just enough to sting. You look up from the microscope, sending your friend a glare.

“You’re avoiding him, (Name).” Norm drags a swivel chair from the other desk to face you. “What happened to being best friends, huh? Dude’s been asking around about you, keeps tabs on checking in with you. That poor guy wonders why his human isn’t talking to him anymore.”

“I’m not his human. And I’m not avoiding him.” You hissed, turning your attention back on the microscope. “I’m just giving him space because he’s getting married soon. He’ll need to focus on his personal life more. It wouldn’t be nice if I’d be taking away all his time.”

“You’re avoiding him not because you want to give him space. You want space because you’re hurt at the fact that he’ll have to love another.” He draws the mark, unraveling the layers you’ve tried so hard to keep. In retrospect, you should have just accepted the fact that you did feel something for Tsyeyk beyond friendship. It feels wrong to want someone who isn’t even similar to you in a sense, he was Na’vi and you were human.

“No,” You lie, just to soothe your heart that was already tearing away. “I don’t feel anything for him, Norm. He’s just a friend. It won’t work. And besides, why would I ever love him? He’s Na’vi while I’m human.”

It was harsher than intended, but you didn’t mean it. You could see Norm’s disappointed stare, hearing him inhale sharply. In truth, Norm just wants to slap some sense into you, he sees how you’ve been acting different ever since you had heard of Jake’s engagement. He recognizes the way how you began shutting yourself out by loading yourself with work just to deny your feelings instead of addressing them.

Unbeknownst to you, someone had been listening close. He was standing behind the lab doors, his keen hearing had sensed your voice and Norm’s as he remained hidden to wait until he could enter without intruding, on his hand was a basket of freshly harvested yovo fruits with the other holding a bracelet of beautiful glowing beads that he had been making in secret for weeks now. He wanted to offer it to you in hopes that you would talk to him again.

But when your words hit his ears, it stung.

Did the idea of becoming his mate repulse you that much? Did he overstep your boundaries? Had he misunderstood the signs all along? So to you, you never really appreciated his kind, his true being?

His ears flatten, tail curling down as he hung his head down. His heart churns at the rejection, it seems like he was deluding himself into thinking that you felt the same after all those moments you spent together, the months of how he would leave extras of food and trinkets for you, the nights where he would always patrol the base you were staying at ensuring that you were safe. How every night, he would lay down on the furs inside his kelku, dreaming of having you by his side completely, those unspoken feelings gathering at the tip of his tongue, waiting for it to spill.

Tsyeyk never properly addressed it himself but then it seemed that he never really mattered to you.

The basket lies down the grass askew, its contents spilled. The bracelet he had woven for you had been dropped, falling down the stream of water, never given and left forgotten.

Tsu’tey was right. Neytiri was the perfect choice.

A week had passed since that forbidden afternoon in the shared marui, the memory of Jake's strong hands kneading your tense muscles still lingering like a secret bruise on your skin. What started as an innocent massage had spiraled into something raw and reckless when his gaze darkened as he caught sight of your exposed folds, leading to him claiming you with a hunger that left you breathless and aching.

Despite the knot of guilt twisting in your gut, you couldn't shake the electric thrill of it all. The way an older mated warrior like him, bound to Neytiri, had looked at you with unbridled want, his body overpowering yours in a way that made your pussy clench even now.

You'd become hyper-aware of him since then, every glance in the village sending a forbidden spark through you. The danger of it, the dirtiness of craving your mate's father, only amplified the pull. But Neteyam was oblivious and you buried the secret deep.

Alone in the marui you shared with Neteyam, the woven walls felt too quiet without his familiar presence. He was out on a hunt with Neytiri and Lo'ak, leaving you to your thoughts. A soft knock echoed from the entrance, pulling you from your reverie.

You parted the flap to find Kiri standing there, a warm smile curving her lips.

"Hey." She said softly, her voice laced with sisterly affection she reserved for you and her siblings. "Dad said to invite you to eat dinner with us since you don't have Neteyam with you tonight."

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Jake, a flush creeping up your neck but you forced a steady breath, reining in the rush of memories. It was a one-time thing, you always told yourself firmly.

Never again.

You nodded, managing a small smile. "Sure, that sounds nice. Lead the way."

Their family marui was vast, befitting the Olo'eyktan's family. A sprawling structure divided into private alcoves by hanging tapestries of woven vines and glowing fibers. The air hummed with the scent of roasted hexapede and fresh herbs as you ducked inside. Tuk waved enthusiastically from her spot near the central fire pit, her wide eyes sparkling with excitement.

"(Y/N)! Come sit!" She chirped, patting the mat beside her.

You waved back, your gaze carefully skirting Jake's form across the space. He lounged against a support beam, his broad shoulders straining the straps of his woven vest, the scars on his blue skin telling tales of battles long won. Neytiri was absent just like Neteyam and Lo’ak, still on the hunt and the tension coiled in your chest like a vine ready to snap.

Dinner unfolded in a haze of casual chatter with Kiri sharing stories of the day's weaving and Tuk giggling over a spilled bit of fruit. You ate slowly, the savory meat warm on your tongue, but every so often you'd feel Jake's eyes on you, heavy and knowing like a predator sizing up prey. His presence filled the space, his deep laughter rumbling when Tuk teased Lo'ak's empty spot without him being present to defend himself. You played it cool laughing along but your skin prickled under the weight of unspoken heat between you.

As the meal wound down, you rose to thank them, eager to escape to the solitude of your own marui and away from this tension you have with Jake.

"That was wonderful, thank you." You said, voice even despite the flutter in your pulse.

Jake's voice cut through the air, low and commanding, stopping you in your tracks. "You should stay the night."

You bit your lip hard, the simple words igniting a traitorous warmth low in your belly.

Before you could respond Kiri chimed in, oblivious to the undercurrent. "Yeah, it's getting late, and Neteyam's not there. You can sleep in Lo'ak's section, he's away on the hunt too so it'll be all yours."

Relief washed over you like cool water. At least you'd have your own space, a buffer against the temptation you feel for your mate’s father.

You nodded gratefully as you smiled warmly. "Okay, thanks. That works."

Kiri and Tuk exchanged goodnights with hugs, their footsteps fading as they slipped behind the tapestry to their section.

You turned toward Lo'ak's alcove, the woven path underfoot soft when suddenly big hands encircled your waist from behind. Firm calloused palms that sent your heart into a wild flutter. You knew it was him without turning from the scent of earth and musk, as well as the sheer size of him that had enveloped you.

"Sleep with me?" Jake murmured, his breath hot against your ear, voice rough with barely restrained desire.

It was wrong, so wrong. Neteyam, Neytiri, the clan... but the pull was magnetic, your body already softening against his touch.

"Okay." You whispered, the word slipping out like a surrender.

He led you to his and Neytiri's section, the air thicker here with the intimacy of their shared lives. Furs piled high, woven baskets of herbs lining the walls.

Jake eased down onto the sleeping mat, his massive frame sinking into the softness and patted the space beside him with a gentle insistence. You followed shyly, your form curling up next to him. The closeness feeling dangerously domestic like slipping into a lover's embrace.

Without a word, he drew you into his arms, your back pressing against the solid wall of his chest. His skin was warm, textured with the faint ridges of old wounds, and you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat syncing with yours.

"I can't stop thinking about that day." He confessed, his voice a gravelly rumble laced with longing, lips brushing your shoulder.

You knew exactly which day. The massage that had unraveled into ecstasy, his fingers exploring far beyond your aches until he was buried deep inside you, stretching you in ways that still made your thighs quiver.

God, you missed it. The girth of his cock, veined and throbbing as it defiled your slick walls with relentless thrusts.

"It's a one-time thing." You protested weakly even as your body betrayed you, nipples pebbling against the thin weave of your top.

He hummed low in his throat, the vibration traveling through you.

"Sure." He drawled, skepticism thick in his tone, one hand trailing down your side. "I missed fucking your sweet pussy though. One taste and I can't stop thinking about doing it again. How tight you gripped me, milking every drop of my cum."

A shiver raced down your spine as heat pooled between your legs.

"This is wrong." You breathed, guilt warring with the ache building in your core.

"I know." He admitted, his words heavy with conflict, yet his body pressed closer. "But I can't help but be attracted to you, baby. The way you move, that fire in your eyes... it's got me hooked."

Fuck, that nickname hit like a spark to tinder. It was so intimate and possessive coming from his mouth making your breath hitch.

"Stop, Jake." You said, firmer this time, rolling over so your back faced him fully trying to create distance.

But he wasn't done.

With a low chuckle edged in frustration, he hooked his beefy arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest again. The hard length of his cock nestled between your thighs, thick and insistent even through the fabric, its heat branding your skin.

You bit back a gasp, acutely aware of how it twitched against you, promising the ruin you craved all week after tasting how he fucks.

His free hand slid up, cupping one of your breasts through your top, thumb circling the sensitive peak with deliberate slowness. The other groped your opposite mound, kneading the soft flesh with a possessiveness that made your pulse race. Your body arched instinctively, nipples hardening under his touch but you held still, torn between pushing him away and grinding back.

Sleep came fitfully after that, his arms a cage of temptation around you while your pussy throbbed, leaky with arousal that soaked through your loincloth. The slick evidence of your forbidden desire staining the furs beneath you as you fell asleep.

However, sleep evaded Jake like a skittish ikran, his body taut with the torment of your warmth pressed against him.

Your breasts, full and soft under his palms, rose and fell with each breath, their supple curves molding perfectly to his grip. He could feel the rigid peaks of your nipples straining against the delicate weave of your top, begging for attention that his thumbs now circled with agonizing restraint. His cock pulsed insistently, a heavy ache trapped in his loincloth. The scent of your arousal was a musky intoxicating nectar wafting up from between your thighs, driving him to the edge of madness.

He imagined easing the flimsy barrier of your covering aside, the slick invitation of your entrance yielding to his cock as he sank in deep, claiming what Neteyam's youthful hands had no right to touch so freely. A flicker of jealousy burned in his chest at the thought of his son, oblivious, rutting into you night after night while Jake simmered with this forbidden fire for you.

In the haze of your slumber, you stirred unconsciously, thighs parting just enough to cradle his clothed length right against the damp heat of your core. A sharp hiss escaped his lips, muscles locking as he fought the urge to thrust but then your hips rocked subtly in a dream-fueled rhythm that dragged your soaked folds along the rigid outline of him, the friction sending jolts of pleasure up his spine.

"Fuck." He growled under his breath, voice thick with raw need as his restraint frayed like a worn cord.

He didn't stop you. He couldn’t.

Your soft mewls filled the dim alcove, innocent sounds that twisted his gut with lust. His hand kneaded your breast more firmly now, fingers splaying wide to encompass the plush weight, rolling the taut bud between them until it throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

What if he just... adjusted things?

The temptation clawed at him. With a muffled curse, he shifted his hips, shoving his loincloth down to liberate his swollen member. It sprang free, azure skin flushed deep indigo at the tip, the veins bulging along its impressive length. Wrapping a calloused fist around the base, he guided it toward you, the heat radiating from your body drawing him like Eywa's call.

He aligned the underside against your covered slit, groaning at the wet kiss of your essence seeping through the thin fabric as your hips continued their lazy grind. The sensation teased him in a cruel whisper of what he craved but it wasn't enough.

No, not nearly.

Fingers trembling with urgency, he tugged your loincloth aside, exposing the glistening petals of your pussy to the cool air. His cock slotted perfectly between your creamy folds, the broad head of his cock nudging your swollen clit with each instinctive roll of your pelvis.

"Fuck, so good, baby." He rasped, eyes squeezing shut as your slickness bathed him, coating his shaft in a glossy sheen that made every slide obscene.

His other hand returned to your chest, palm cupping and jiggling the soft mounds, watching in the faint glow how they quivered under his touch. Emboldened, he angled his hips slightly, the flared mushroom tip catching at your entrance. His breath snagged when you shifted again in sleep, your body betraying you as your tight heat engulfed the tip with a wet plop, stretching around him like a velvet vise.

"Ah, shit." Jake exhaled sharply, a tremor running through his frame.

He missed this, the way your tight walls fluttered and clenched, hugging his thickness as if made for his cock alone.

He held still at first savoring the feeling of you cockwarming him, the intimate pulse of you around just the sensitive head. But restraint crumbled when he began to thrust in languid strokes, the lewd squelch of your combined arousal echoing softly in the marui. Hooking one hand under your thigh, he lifted your leg higher, granting himself a view that stole his breath.

His massive cock vanishing into your plush folds, only to reemerge slick and shining, your entrance gripping him obscenely as if reluctant to release even an inch of him.

"Oh shit, baby." He grunted, voice husky with awe and possession, hips snapping up to bury himself deeper. "Missed this pussy. You let Neteyam fuck you like this every day but can't spare some for me?"

Jealousy laced his words, fueling the roll of his thumb over your sensitive clit tracing firm deliberate circles that made your inner muscles spasm around him. Leaning in, his hot tongue flicked at your ear's delicate shell, tracing the curve before his teeth grazed the lobe in a sharp nip.

"Come on, baby." He whispered, breath ragged against your skin. "Wake up. Wake up to me fucking you with my cock."

Gently but insistently, he turned your face toward him, crashing his lips onto yours in a devouring kiss. Your tongues tangling wetly, all hunger and no finesse, his fangs nipping at your lower lip as he claimed your mouth. You jolted awake mid-kiss, eyes fluttering open to the reality of him splitting you open but instead of pulling away, you melted into it, mewling into his mouth as your body arched chasing the fullness.

"Ah, Jake." You gasped when he broke for air, voice breathy and dazed, your form undulating against his unyielding bulk.

"Hi, baby." He purred, a wicked grin splitting his face, eyes dark with triumph as he drove in slow and deep. "My cock feels good? Your greedy little body humping me in your sleep... you didn't think I wouldn't fuck you right?"

Pleasure fogged your mind, words tumbling out in a haze of bliss.

"So good... so big." You whimpered, nails digging into his forearm, the corded muscles flexing under your touch as your walls fluttered wildly around his invading girth.

"Yeah?" He taunted, voice dropping to a gravelly timbre laced with filthy pride, pounding harder now, the slap of skin on skin punctuating his rhythm. "Letting your mate's father fuck you like this? Letting me stretch this tight hole with my fat cock while he's out hunting? You love it, don't you? Love how I ruin you for him?"

"Yes, yes." You cried out, head lolling back, the spots on your skin glowing brighter with each surge of ecstasy.

Your free leg hooked around his hip, pulling him impossibly closer, your breasts bouncing with the force of his thrusts, nipples scraping deliciously against his chest. He growled in approval, one hand pinning your thigh wide while the other snaked between you, fingers delving into the mess of your union to smear your juices over your clit, rubbing in tight insistent loops.

"That's my girl." He murmured hotly against your neck, sucking a mark into the tender blue flesh. "Gonna fill this pretty cunt up, make it drip with me. Bet Neteyam doesn't knot you like I could, doesn't make you cream like this. Fuck, you're soaking me baby, clenching so hard... you want my seed? Want me to breed you right here in the bed I share with my wife?"

The words ignited something primal, your hips bucking wildly to meet his punishing pace, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably.

"Please, Jake. Harder, fill me." You begged, voice breaking on a sob of pleasure, your inner thighs quaking as waves built.

He obliged with a feral snarl, hips pistoning relentlessly, the veined underside of his cock dragging against your most sensitive spots.

"Gonna pump you full, baby." He rasped, breath hitching as your release crashed over you, walls milking him in rhythmic pulses. "Take it all, every drop for this naughty leaky pussy."

With a final shuddering thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, spilling hot and thick inside you, his massive frame shuddering as he held you impaled, ensuring not a bit escaped. You trembled in the aftershocks, boneless and sated, as he eased you down, his cock still sheathed deep plugging his cum within.

He fucked you through the haze until exhaustion claimed you, your eyelids drooping as he rocked gently, whispering praises into your hair. Sleep took you like a lover's caress, body limp and claimed.

Jake lingered awake, stroking your hip with a possessive touch, his mind wandering to the future.

In a few months, your belly might swell with new life, from him or Neteyam, who could say? But he'd step up as the doting grandfather, all the while stealing moments like this, sinking into your heat whenever the craving struck. The thought brought a satisfied rumble to his chest, this secret fire was far from extinguished.

Not a sound of pain or fear. A warning. Low and deep and resonating from the chest of the person beneath you with enough force that you felt it vibrate through your knees, up your thighs, into your very bones.

Alpha.

The sound hit your omega biology like a physical force. Your hand froze. Your body went rigid. Every instinct screamed contradictions—fight, submit, flee, obey.

The growl rumbled again, and this time you heard it. Not a threat. Not quite. Something else. Something that made your hindbrain pay attention in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

You finally looked—or tried to look—at who you had pinned. The light from earlier had shifted into darkness and save from some glowing lanterns in the tent, the room was covered in shadows.

Na'vi. Male. Warrior.

Even pinned beneath you, even with your blade at his throat, there was no mistaking what he was. This wasn't some scout or inexperienced fighter. This was a true warrior. The kind your clan elders used to speak of with reverence. The kind of warrior who had died in the first years of the war in your clan. 

He was big even in the dark you could tell that much. Broad shoulders that your knees just barely managed to pin. Muscled arms currently trapped under your legs, biceps seemingly thicker than your thighs. His chest rose and fell with steady, smooth breaths beneath your weight, and you could feel the coiled strength in him. Like a viper. Still, but only because he was choosing to be.

Scars decorated his body. Not the desperate, defensive scars of someone barely surviving; like the ones that littered your body. No. These were victory marks. Clean lines from blades. A puckered mark from a bullet on his chest that looked like it should have been fatal, but clearly hadn't killed him, only made him stronger.

You could just make out his war paint; purple and yellow in hick lines made their way across his chest and up his shoulders to his neck and face, covering some of his darker blue striped skin. The colors were smeared and faded on the tops of his cheeks and made the gold in his irises shimmer with life. 

And the scent. His scent. 

The same faded scent that had lulled you to sleep. Woodsy. Leather. High-altitude winds. Alpha. It was strong now. Almost burning your nose with every sharp inhale you make. 

You connect the dots too slowly for your liking. 

This was his tent. His bed. His territory.

And you'd just attacked him in it.

Your hand trembled slightly, the blade still pressed against his skin. You should move it. Should get off him. Should apologize or explain or—

But he hadn't moved.

That realization cut through the panic like ice water.

His arms stayed pinned beneath your legs. His body remained still. He could have thrown you off the moment you'd lunged for him—you could feel the strength in him, could see it in the way his muscles shifted subtly beneath blue skin. Could sense it in the way he held himself with the perfect stillness of a predator deciding whether to strike or not.

Your mind goes dark with possibilities.

He could have stopped you. Could have caught your wrist. Could have reversed your positions and pinned you instead, could have done whatever the fuck he wanted with the unmated omega who'd stumbled into his space.

And yet.

His arms stayed pinned. His body stayed still.

And a smug smile sat on his face.

Not fear. Not anger. Amusement.

Like this was funny.

Your eyes snapped to his face properly for the first time, and—

Fuck.

He was handsome and the shadows from the night only made his features stand out more. Stupidly, unfairly handsome. Strong jaw. High cheekbones. Amber eyes that tracked every micro-movement with an intelligence that made your skin prickle. His bioluminescent syuratan dot his face in a beautiful pattern, despite some being hidden by the paint on his face. Braids adorned with beads that caught the dim light coming from the seam of the tent flap. He was devastatingly attractive. The kind of face that probably had omegas tripping over themselves for his attention.

And he was smiling at you. Like you were entertaining. Like having a knife to his throat was the most interesting thing that had happened to him all day.

Your grip tightened on the bone blade. You pulled it back from his skin—not sheathing it, but pointed at him, still straddling his chest and keeping his arms pinned. A clear threat. A promise that you could strike again if needed.

"You think this is funny?" Your voice came out rougher than intended. Sleep-hoarse and sharp with adrenaline.

His smile widened. Showing his very sharp fangs and pearly white teeth. "Little bit, yeah."

His voice was deep. Smooth. Accented differently than yours but not unpleasant. And completely, infuriatingly calm.

Your jaw clenches as you grit out your next words. "I could kill you."

"Could have tried." Still smiling. Still watching you with those too-intelligent, golden eyes. "Would've been interesting to see, pup."

The arrogance of it made your blood boil. You shifted your weight, pressing your knees harder against his arms. Reasserting your position. Your dominance in this moment, even though everything about him screamed that he was allowing this.

"I am not a pup," you bite out. 

"Alright." He actually laughed. The sound rumbled up from his chest, rich and genuine. "What would you like me to use then? Syulang?"

"I am a warrior—" You leaned forward slightly, blade angling toward his throat again. "A Syulang?" You can’t help but scoff in his face. Nothing about yourself had been soft or flower-like in years. “Would you like me to show you how soft and petal like my blade is, hmm?”

Your words matched your actions as you bring the tip of the blade back down to kiss the spot on his neck where his artery sat throbbing and thumping. 

His eyes flickered—just for a moment—down your body. As if he just now cared to observe your position over him. Your weapons. Your armor. Possibly even the mourning paint still visible on your skin. The scars.

When his gaze returned to yours, something in his expression had shifted. Still amused, but... considering. 

The man beneath you takes a deep inhale and his eyes flutter shut. The edges of his nose twitch, so softly if you hadn’t been so close to his face, you might have missed the movement in the dark lit room. His eyes stay closed for a second longer, however when they open again you can’t help but notice how his pupils are blown wider. 

Confusion sets in as you watch the smile come back to his face, only this time it's more of a smirk. A smirk that suggests he knows more about you now, than before. Heat burns in your chest once you realise what he’s done. 

He just scented you. 

Your walls were down, so whatever he smelt– even micro emotions– were now his to use against you. Disgust pools in your stomach.

You hated how their clan still operated, like the trueborn pack creatures of the forest were designed to, using their smell to keep clan bonds tight –like Viperwolves– to sense each member's emotions and henceforth their next bodily reaction. You hated how your sense of smell was used for surviving and not a social norm you had ever experienced. You were out of your league in the Ometicaya; you were weak and stupid when it came to using your senses in that way and this man was exploiting that advantage. 

A growl rumbles from deep in your throat. So Weak. So useless. Your own biology was giving you away and you didn’t know how to stop it. 

The man below you doesn’t react to your growl. Doesn’t even flinch. He just watches you–eyes glued to your face–as he observes you processing your emotions. 

"You're the one who asked for Uturu," he states. Frustration bubbles up again in your chest, clearly he does know more about you, than you do about him. 

"What's it to you?" You dislike the insecurity in your voice when you answer. 

"This is my tent." He says it simply. Factually. Like it explained everything.

Your stomach drops. "They put me in an occupied tent?"

"Technically it's not occupied. I've been on a raid." That fucking smile never leaves his face. "But yeah. This is mine. Has been for years."

Horror and rage war in your chest. Mo'at had known. Kiri had known. They'd put you here deliberately. You had trusted them so easily, so stupidly, and they had betrayed you. An unmated omega in an alpha warrior's personal space was begging for trouble. And now—

Now here he was –trouble– and you were straddling him, and you could feel every inch of his toned body beneath yours, and your omega biology was screaming that this was an alpha, a strong alpha, a good alpha, and you needed to—

No.

No.

You refuse to let your mind be distracted by his pheromones; his body. You needed space to think. To focus. You started to pull back, to get off him, to put distance between your body and his, before your instincts could betray you further.

His hands move fast and smooth, confirming he's every bit the predator he looks like. 

You'd released his arms from beneath your knees when you'd pulled the knife back to distance yourself from the alpha warrior, and he used the freedom to catch your hips. Grabbing but not restraining. Just... steadying. Keeping you from scrambling off him in a graceless panic.

The touch sent electricity up your spine. His hands were strong and warm against the skin of your hips. You could feel the calluses from years of fighting and training as his grip slid down a fraction to find a better grip on you. To keep you close to him. You pray that from his viewpoint he can’t see the twitching, wag in your tail.

"Easy," he speaks softly. His voice dropping lower to be more soothing. The kind of tone that you’ve used on spooked animals. "I’m just as confused as you are… Came home from three days of fighting the RDA to find my tent smelling like—"

"What—" You hiss, body going unwillingly rigid on top of him at the mention of the RDA. 

From the looks of it, the man below you must think you're concerned about the obvious power exchange happening at the mention of this being his tent. But you’ve got bigger worries in mind than this being his tent. How close were the air breathers? If he had been gone for days–

The terror that overtakes your body is all consuming; like a rock sinking into the depths of the sea, never to be seen again. Breathing is suddenly harder, you have to focus on something… anything else.

His grip tightens on you and makes you focus back on the warrior beneath you. The warmth in his palms is like biting into fresh Yovo fruit on a hot day, cooling and relaxing. You fall into the distraction.

You finetune your body–your thoughts– to him. If he thinks you're worried about his tent then play into it, you think to yourself.

“Why,” you question. “Why place me there then?”

"Because," he responds gently to your question, "your one of my many grandmother's attempts at procuring a mate for her grandson. And putting a new omega in the future Olo'eyktan's bed sends a certain signal to the whole clan." 

Oh, well that’s not what you were expecting him to say–

Wait. Future Olo'eyktan? The words seep into you slowly. 

Future Olo'eyktan.

Oh, fuck.

Your eyes widened. Your brain scrambled to piece together information. Toruk Makto's clan. His sons were out fighting is what Mo’at has said. This tent—its luxuries, filled with trophies, positioned prominently in the camp. The way Kiri had reacted when Mo'at assigned it. The scent that had made your omega biology purr with safety.

"You're—"

"Neteyam," he offered, and the smugness is back in full force. "Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan. Eldest son of Toruk Makto."

He paused, and his smile turns absolutely wicked upon seeing the fear of recognition in your eyes.

"And you just pinned the heir to the Ometicaya to the floor and threatened to slit his throat with a knife."

His hands were heavy on your hips, now. Still steadying. Still touching you with a casualness that suggested he had no intention of moving them. And then his thumb started to brush up and down; up and over the ties of your tweng and the sensitive skin around it. Involuntary shivers crawl up your spine at the motion.

"So," he continued, eyes gleaming with mischief and something darker, something that made your pulse spike, "you gonna tell me your name? Or should I just keep calling you 'Syulang’?"

Your heart was hammering against your ribs. Too fast. Too hard. The kind of panic that came from being caught off-guard, from losing control of a situation, from being vulnerable.

And he knew it.

You watched his nostrils flare slightly. Scenting the air. Scenting you again. Your fear. Your anger. Your—

His thumbs shifted again. They were now doing small circles just above the top of your tweng. Gentle. Soothing. Except his touch shouldn’t be any of those things.

The tension in your shoulders eased fractionally before you could stop it.

What the fuck.

His expression shifted. Softened just slightly around the edges, though the amusement never quite left his eyes. "Breathe," he said quietly. Not a command. Not quite. But your lungs obeyed anyway, pulling in a deeper breath. "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you."

You mentally scoff at his words. There wasn’t much left in you to be hurt. Nevertheless, your body still obeys by taking in another breath. Deeper this time. And then three more, until your pulse slows enough for your brain to start working right.

You hated this. Hated that his touch was calming you. Hated that his voice was soothing something instinctive and pure animal in your omega hindbrain. Hated that you couldn't understand why it was working when you'd spent years learning to ignore your biology.

"Stop that," you snap, jerking back from his touch.

Except you were still straddling him. Still too close. Still drowning in his scent and the warmth of his body beneath yours.

His hands lifted from your hips immediately, palms up in a gesture of peace. But that knowing look never leaves his face. Like he understood exactly what was happening to you. Like he could read every shift in your scent, every micro-expression, every traitorous response your body was having before you could realise that your own body was betraying your thoughts, yet again. 

What was it with this man?

"Stop what?" The innocence in his tone was absolutely infuriating.

"Whatever—" You gestured sharply at him, at yourself, at the space between you. "—that is. Whatever you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything." Still that calm, reasonable tone. Still that slight smile. "You're just—"

"Don't." Your voice came out harder. Sharper. The blade in your hand angled toward him again. You couldn’t bear to hear him call you an omega. Not when you were so, so much more than that. "Don't treat me like some stupid girl who doesn't know when she's being manipulated."

Something flickered across his face. Respect, maybe. Or interest. "Fair enough."

You needed distance now. Needed to think. Needed to get off him and figure out what the fuck was happening and why Mo'at had put you in this specific tent. This needed to be handled fast, so you could focus on the reason you truly came. You had no time to be a toy this clan could play with.

You shifted your weight to stand, and he let you go. Didn't try to hold you. Didn't reach for you again. Just watched as you climbed off him and backed up several steps, knife still in hand.

He sat up slowly, deliberately. Non-threatening. His movements were fluid, controlled. Every inch the trained warrior he was seemingly bred to be. He stayed seated on the floor, making no move to stand. Keeping himself physically lower than you.

A calculated choice to appear less threatening.

Which somehow made you trust him less.

"Why?" The word came out harsh. Demanding. "Why did they put me here if this is your tent? If you live here?"

Neteyam's expression sobered slightly. He regarded you for a long moment, and you could practically see him choosing his words. Calculating how much to tell you.

"The Ometicaya have rules," he said finally. "Old rules. Traditions that have kept us strong."

"Your traditions mean shit to me. Answer the question honestly."

His jaw tightened fractionally. He didn’t seem to like the insinuation he was lying. The first sign of irritation you'd seen from him. Good. You preferred him annoyed over amused.

"Unmated omegas are fair game," he speaks bluntly. "Any alpha can attempt to claim them. Challenge for them. Take them."

The words hit you like a physical blow.

Take them.

Your fingers tightened on the bone knife, keeping it positioned in front of your body. "Willing or unwilling?"

"Historically?" His eyes never leave yours. "Both."

Ice flooded your veins. Horror and rage and a sick understanding crash over you in waves.

"The warriors I saw staring at me," you said slowly. "When I arrived. They weren't just curious."

"No. Most likely not."

"They were deciding—" You force your voice steady, but can’t help the crack in your tone. "They were deciding if I was worth the trouble of claiming."

"Some of them, yeah." He said it so calmly. Like it was normal. Like it was just another fact of life in the Ometicaya.

Your vision swims with red. "And you let this happen? You let your warriors just—just take omegas who don't—"

"I didn't say I agreed with it," Neteyam interrupted sharply. The first real edge in his voice. "I said it was tradition. The old way. My father has been working to change it, but change takes time. Especially with the elders."

"That's not good enough." You were shaking now. With a new rage. With a new fear. With the realization of just how much danger you'd willingly walked into. "I came here for sanctuary. For help. Not to be—"

"You're safe," he cut in, and his voice had dropped to that soothing tone again. But this time there was steel underneath. Certainty. "You're safe because you're here. In this tent."

You stared at him. "What does that mean?" The words come out coated in detestment.

"You asked why grandmother put you here." He gestured at the space around you. At his weapons. His trophies. His territory. "Traditionaly the most eligible alpha gets first claim to new ‘mega’s. Your here because of who and what I am to this clan. My rank. My title. My claim to..."

You could feel the words he was leaving unsaid. My official claim to you.

"I don't understand." And you truly didn’t. How could you asking for uturu possibly mean that you would have to willingly put up with this hierarchical bullshit. You wanted bloody, crimson revenge not to fall into rank with this clan. The Ometicaya were supposed to be your salvation and now it is starting to seem more like it’s own type of personal Hell to you. 

Neteyam shifted to a crouching position, his weight shifting to his toes. The new position did little to calm you. He looks even more massive in this new position, light casking onto his silhouette–highlighting his physique that now looked posed to strike–to chase.

"It means," he said carefully, "that by putting you here, grandmother made it very clear that you're under my protection. Any alpha who wants to challenge for you would have to go through me first."

The implication settled over you like a heavy cloak.

"And they won't," you said slowly. "Because you're the heir. Because you're—"

"Because I'm the most dangerous warrior in this clan after my father," he finished. Not bragging. Just stating a fact. His causal tone irked every bone in your body. "Because I've killed more sky-people than anyone except Toruk Makto himself. Because challenging me would be suicide, and everyone knows it."

He was protecting you. Mo'at had placed you in the one location where no other alpha would dare touch you.

But that meant—

"I slept in your bed," you said, and your voice sounded distant to your own ears. "I'm covered in your scent. The whole clan is going to think—"

"Yeah." He scratches the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. "That's... going to be a thing."

Horror and humiliation war in your chest. "They're going to think you're claiming me. That I'm yours."

"For the time being, yes."

"And you're just—okay with that?"

"I'm okay with you being alive," he said flatly. "I'm okay with you not being dragged off by some alpha twice your size who doesn't give a shit about consent. I'm okay with grandmother using my reputation to keep you safe." He pauses only for a second, as if the weight of his next words were just something else for him to carry. "I am the next Olo'eyktan, I care deeply about the protection of my people. That includes you now. So regardless if I have to kill the sky-people or protect you from egotistical alphas, then so be it. I’ll always get the job done."

You wanted to scream; wanted to rage. Wanted to reject all of this, the protection and the implications and the sheer arrogance of him deciding you needed saving.

"When you asked for Uturu," Neteyam continued, and his tone had gentled again but still cared an edge to it, "you agreed to follow our rules. Our laws. Grandmother took it upon herself to assign you to me, partly because of tradition, but also because she is insistent on me finding a mate. Until you find a mate you actually want, you're with me."

The words triggered something violent in your chest.

"I don't need a keeper," you snarled, and you were moving before you thought about it. Closing the distance between the two of you. Blade angled at his throat again. "I don't need you to protect me. I've been surviving just fine on my own."

He didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just looked up at you with those too-knowing golden eyes.

"I don't want a mate," you continued, and your voice was shaking with fury. "I don't want protection. I don't want any of this. I want revenge. I want the sky-people who killed my family to burn. I want to watch them bleed and scream and die, and I want to be the one holding the knife when it happens."

The silence in the tent was loud after you finished your rant. You could feel the weight in the room shift as Neteyam regarded you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.

Not the smug smile from before. Something sharper. More feral. Understanding.

"Finally," he said softly. "Something we agree on."

Your blade wavered. "What?"

"You want revenge?" He tilted his head slightly, baring his throat to your knife in a gesture that should have been submissive but somehow wasn't. "Good. So do I. So does every warrior in this clan. That's what we do. We hunt the sky-people. We make them pay for every inch of our land they've tried to steal. For every Na'vi they've killed."

He leaned forward slightly, finger tips gently resting on the ground, and his eyes were blazing now–something familiar. Golden and intense and full of the same rage that burned in your chest.

"You want to watch them burn? I'll hand you the torch. You want to make them scream? I'll teach you exactly where to cut to make it last. You want revenge?"

His smile widened, showing sharp teeth.

"Welcome to the Ometicaya, sevin. We specialize in it."

The words sent a thrill down your spine that had nothing to do with fear.

Everything to do with something else entirely.

Your breath caught. Heat flooded through your body—sharp and sudden and wrong because this wasn't the time, wasn't the place, wasn't—

But the image his words painted was intoxicating. The promise of revenge. Of justice. Of finally, finally making the sky-people pay for every loss, every death, every moment of suffering they'd inflicted.

The thought of it made something deep in your core throb with anticipation.

With need.

Not the heat-need your omega biology sometimes whispered to you in the dead of night. This was different. Darker. The need to see blood spilled. To hear screams. To watch the light leave the eyes of those who'd destroyed everything you loved. To claim victory over the oppression and horrors that had been casted onto you.

And he was offering it to you.

Neteyam's nostrils flared.

His pupils dilated.

The change in his expression was instantaneous—that once lazy amusement sharpening into something exclusively predatory. Something dangerous. His eyes tracked over you with new intensity, and you watched his jaw clench. Watched the muscles in his shoulders tense.

He'd scented it. Your excitement. Your attraction to his offer.

Fuck.

"You—" His voice came out rougher. Lower. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again there was something raw underneath the words. "You really mean it. The revenge. It's not just anger talking."

"I told you—"

"No, I know." He crawled forward on his hands and feet like an animal stocking its prey, and the movement brought him closer. Too close. Close enough that you could see the way his pupils had blown wide again. Could smell the shift in his scent—something sharper, muskier, alpha responding to omega interest. "I can smell it on you. How much you want it. How much you need it."

Your hand tightened on the bone knife as he leaned into its sharp edge. "Stop scenting me."

"Can't help it." His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. Something more intense. "You're broadcasting loud enough that half the camp probably knows you're—"

He stops abruptly and pulls back. Dragged his eyes away from you with visible effort.

But the damage was done. His pheromones had already hit your nose—thick and heady and screaming alpha, strong, dangerous, capable. Everything your omega hindbrain insisted you should want. Should need.

The urge to drop to your knees was overwhelming.

To straddle him again. To press close and take what your biology was screaming you needed. To—

No.

NO.

You needed to keep those thoughts far, far away. Needed to find something to talk about; to lighten the wave of desire that had suddenly taken over your body. 

You take a step away from him, back brushing up against the walls of his tent. You hadn’t realised just how far he had moved to follow after you; the bed was now across the room. But there he was just a breath away, crouched like he might be worshiping the ground you had just been standing on.

“A bargain.” Your voice is a shaky whisper now, but this time it has nothing to do with fear. 

“What?” Neteyam leans in ears tilting to hear you better. Eyes focusing in on your mouth.

“A deal,” you have to clear your throat to speak. Choking down the desire that is clawing up your throat in an effort to sound more certain. “We should make a deal.” 

The smirk appears back on his lips. His tail waves behind him in excitement or anticipation, at your suggestion. “What kinda deal?”

You force your shoulders to square and your spine to straighten. Based off the look on his face, you must choose your next words carefully. 

“The kind of deal that gets us what we both want.” 

His head tilts when he speaks, “And what’s that, Syulang? Blood?” He assumes and scuffs, “I don’t need anything from you to spill blood.”

“Right, but you seem annoyed by your grandmother about this mate situation.” The words fall from your lips so fast you can’t help yourself as the next words follow. You just hope he will believe them, because you don’t. “I’ll play house with you, to get her off your back.”

“Play house?” He laughs out. “What an offer from such a brave little omega. Is that what you think I want?”

“Look,” you bit out. “Clearly, I need more from you than you do from me.” The truth of the situation hangs in the air and leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You can’t believe the game you're about to play with the prince of the Ometicaya. You were going to have to admit to both Neteyam and yourself, how much you actually needed him. You were about to show him just how weak you were.

“I don’t want a mate. I want blood,” you restate the obviouse. “You can give me blood and keep the alp–” the words die on your tongue. “You can keep the others away. I don’t have much to offer you but…” You leave the sentence hanging in the air. “I can play mate and get your grandmother off your back so you can be free of her nagging.”

What else could you even offer an alpha warrior who can have whatever and whomever he wants. This deal might not even be sweet enough for the warrior prince of the Ometicaya.

The tent is silent for a long minute as the man before you observes every little thing about you. It takes genuine effort to keep you back straight and not fall to the floor in a ball and sob at the intensity of Neteyam’s gaze upon you.

“Alright,” he stands to his full height as he begins to speak. “I’ll make a deal with you. My needs are different from yours though. So don’t agree to this lightly.” 

He closes the last little bit of distance between you again and you have to look up to maintain eye contact with him. Your back fully touches the wall of the tent, and you feel like a caged animal. No, you are a caged animal and Neteyam was the one holding the key.

What little space that exists between the pair of you is now laced with the dense air of desire.

“What do you want?” The words are barely a whisper in the wind but they carry the suggestion of surrender.

His voice hits your ears like nectar to the tongue of a Direhorse .

“If you want to play house with me,” he pauses, voice full of want as his eyes fall down your body. “That means being my rut partner. I have no time to waste in this war. Handling my rut by myself isn’t proficient and hooking up with random omegas is tireless. It takes days if not a full week to get through alone but with a partner it's gone in a day or two. Would you agree to that, ‘mega?”

A gasp leaves your mouth and Neteyam breathes it in. His growl echoes in the tent. There is no doubt in your mind he already knows–smells– how you feel about that. Scared and excited. The conflicting emotions cloud your brain. 

You had never had a heat partner before; it had been so long ago that you had even experienced a heat that you were too young to even have a partner and no male had ever asked you to help them through their rut. The thought provokes something foreign in you, that you struggle to name until it becomes clear: lust. 

Between the tension in the air and the heat you can feel coming off Neteyam, the thought occurs to you at how easy it would be to fall into the trap he was setting for you. How easy it could be to let him have his way with you.  If you were any weaker you might have caved right then and there, but fear pushed the idea deep and far away into the back of your mind.

You had to focus on the bigger picture, not on the throbbing in between your thighs. If you could play your cards right–if you could manipulate Neteyam just enough to get what you wanted then leave the clan– what could be so bad about being his rut partner. 

“If I agree,” You can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. This man is a stranger. “I–

Your stomach growls.

Loud and long. Completely destroying whatever moment had been building between you.

Neteyam's head snaps down to look at the source of the sound. His expression shifts immediately from a predatory intensity to something else. His eyes narrow, and he is backing away from you, creating the largest distance from him you’ve had since tackling him to the ground earlier.

"When did you last eat?" It’s not a question but a demand.

You blinked at the sudden change in conversation; in his actions. "I—what?"

"Food. When?" He was already moving, grabbing something from a pile near his sleeping furs. A woven bag. "When the fuck did you last eat?"

The anger in his voice catches you off-guard. This wasn't the amused, smug warrior from moments ago. This was something else. Something almost... concerned.

"I don't—" You tried to remember. The morning before the attack? Before your sister died? "Two days, maybe? Three?"

The sound he made was somewhere between a growl and a curse.

"Come on." He strode toward the tent entrance, then paused. Looked back at you with an expression that brooked no argument. "And stay close. Don't wander off."

It wasn't a suggestion.

You should have argued. Should have told him you didn't take orders. Should have reminded him you weren't some helpless omega who needed supervision or protection for that matter.

But something in his tone made you obey. And the previous conversation was leaving you full of doubt and confusion. Your body sure did feel like some helpless omega.

Maybe it was the alpha command. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact that your stomach was currently trying to digest itself.

Yet you followed after him.

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“We are almost neck and neck by now! If the wind hadn't shifted and caught my ilu’s belly, I would have left you in my wake. You’re just lucky the Great Mother gave you a win for your pride.”

“In your dreams, forest boy!” Ao’nung barked back, his tail giving a sharp, arrogant flick against the wood, the tip of it nearly hitting Rotxo’s leg.

As the argument escalated, your focus narrowed. The world around you began to fade out—the sounds of Tsireya’s melodic giggle, Rotxo’s rebuttals, and Kiri’s occasional snarky comment all became background noise. Your eyes wandered, tracing the intricate patterns on Ao’nung’s skin before landing on his kuru.

The braid was a masterpiece of Metkayina tradition, thick and dark, adorned with small, bioluminescent shells— likely the work of his sister. Almost mindlessly, your hand wandered toward it. Your fingertips were cool against his warm skin as you began to lightly follow the spiraling patterns of the braid.

The moment you made contact, Ao’nung flinched. It wasn't a small movement; it was a full-body jolt, a silent shock that traveled from the base of his neck down to his heels.

His voice, which had been mid-boast, died in his throat for a split second. He gasped, a sharp intake of air that made his ribs expand. It was unfamiliar for him to feel anything just from his kuru, he was not a child or some pervert.

“And—and another thing!” he stammered, his voice jumping an octave as he recovered. He didn't pull the queue away. He stayed exactly where he was, though his ears were now swiveling wildly, trying to track your every move without him having to look back.

You were too tired to care about the whole thing over touching someone else’s kuru. You lifted the braid entirely from his back, cradling the weight of it in your palms. It was heavy and smooth, and as you ran your thumb over the weave, you could feel the faint, rhythmic pulse of his nervous system underneath.

Ao’nung couldn't maintain the facade for long. The sensation of your fingers—gentle, curious, and persistent—was driving him to distraction. He stopped mid-sentence, ignoring Lo’ak’s latest jab about his diving form, and swung his head around.

He had meant to look terrifying. He had intended to give you mean mug that usually sent the younger kids scurrying away. But as he turned, the words died in his throat.

He froze.

From his position, looking up at you from his seat on the floor, you looked like something out of a dream. The setting sun was behind you, creating a halo of gold around your head.

You were so focused, your brow slightly furrowed as you traced a specific shell in his braid. Your curls were falling forward, framing your face in a messy, beautiful tangle that caught the light.

And your eyes—they were still so wide even though they were half lidded, so focused, and so devastatingly pretty that he felt the air leave his lungs entirely. You had a small, unconscious pout on your lips, the kind of expression someone makes when they are deep in thought.

Ao’nung’s heart did a strange, violent thud against his ribs. A heat crawled up his neck, a deep violet blush that bypasses his cheeks and settled intensely at the very tips of his ears. He looked at you, and for a moment, he wasn't the arrogant son of the Chief; he was just a boy who had forgotten how to speak.

He forced his expression back into a scowl, though it lacked any real heat.

“Do not touch that, it is not a toy,” he spoke in a hushed, strained tone.

You didn't flinch. You didn't even look guilty. Instead, you noted the lack of aggression in his body language. His nose wasn't scrunched up in a real snarl, his tail wasn't stiff or rigid, and his ears weren't pinned back against his skull. He was attempting to appear mad, but he was failing miserably.

You shrugged at him, your voice sarcastically sweet as you tilted your head. “It is just dangling here in my face, Ao’nung.” You waved the end of the braid in his face, the bioluminescent shells clicking together. “What do you expect me to do?”

You watched as his ears twitched back, a visible sign of his internal struggle. He breathed harshly out of his nose, a sound that was supposed to be a huff of annoyance but came out more like a frustrated sigh, and he turned back around abruptly.

The conversation among the others had moved on, but the shift in the atmosphere was palpable. Neteyam was leaning back on his elbows now, his golden eyes flicking between the two of you with a look of extreme amusement. He knew his friend was struggling.

“So, the migration patterns of the ilu,” Tsireya said, her voice a bit too bright as she tried to bridge the awkward gap. She kept glancing at her brother, watching the way he was sitting—shoulders hunched, his tail lying perfectly still on the deck, almost as if he were holding his breath.

“I think they are moving further south this year,” Rotxo added, though his eyes were fixed on the way your hands were now idly petting the braid as if it were a domesticated animal.

Ao’nung tried his best to ignore you. He really did. But the feeling of his kuru being handled by you was overwhelming. Every time your skin brushed his, the tiny, pale pink tendrils within his queue reached out instinctively.

They were sensing your proximity, yearning to make a bond, to make tsahaeylu just from the warmth of your palms. It was an intimate, buzzing electricity that made his skin prickle.

He stopped dead in the middle of a sentence about the reef's tide. He stayed silent for a three-beat count before slowly, almost reluctantly, looking back at you again.

“Must you act like a child?” he quipped, his eyes narrowing as he tried to regain his cool.

Tsireya gasped softly. “Brother! Be kind!” she scolded, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She knew he wasn't actually angry.

You didn't back down. You leaned back, looking down your nose at him with a defiant glint. “Must you be so selfish?”

Ao’nung looked genuinely bamboozled. The look of utter confusion on his face was almost comical. “How is it selfish if it is MY kuru?”

“Because I am well content with playing with it,” you replied, your fingers curling around a particularly thick section of the braid near his neck. “Do not be selfish and take away my entertainment. I am tired, and this is helping.”

Lo’ak let out a loud, bark-like laugh. He saw the opening and he dived in, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He caught Neteyam’s eye and gave a quick, sharp wink.

“Yeah, bro,” Lo’ak chimed in, leaning forward and poking Ao’nung’s shoulder. “Don’t be selfish. If Y/N wants to play with your hair, let her. Why are you being so difficult? It’s not like it’s hurting you.”

Ao’nung’s head whipped toward Lo’ak, his fangs bared in a warning. “I am not being—it is a part of my body, skxawng!”

“And it’s a very nice part of your body,” Rotxo added, his voice dripping with mock-sincerity. He reached out as if he were going to grab the braid too, and Ao’nung reacted instantly. Leaning further back— onto you, to avoid roxto’s reach.

"Stay back, Rotxo! Your hands are covered in stinky fish scales," Ao'nung snapped, though his body was now settled comfortably against you.

"Oh, but Y/N's hands are fine?" Neteyam asked, his voice low and teasing. He watched the way Ao'nung's tail gave one singular, content thud against the wood.

You didn't hesitate. You were beyond the point of being shy; the exhaustion of the day had stripped away your filter, leaving only a sleepy, playful boldness. You lifted the thick, dark braid from your lap, holding the end of it between your thumb and forefinger like a pointer.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you pointed the end of the kuru back toward your own chest. You puffed your chest out proudly, a smug, triumphant grin spreading across your face as you looked Neteyam and the others right in the eye.

“In fact, they are,” you continued, your voice ringing out with mock authority over the sound of the waves. “Because Ao’nung loves

The reaction was like a physical shockwave hitting the circle. Lo’ak, who had been leaning back, lost his balance and nearly tumbled off the dock, his tail splashing into the water as he scrambled to right himself.

Rotxo’s jaw hit his chest, his eyes darting between you and Ao’nung as if he were watching a collision in slow motion. Kiri let out a sharp, surprised bark of laughter, her yellow eyes glowing with wicked delight.

But it was Ao’nung whose world seemed to tilt on its axis.

His face didn’t just drop; it fell into a state of pure, unadulterated horror. He didn't hiss, he didn't snap, and he didn't move away. Instead, he let out a strangled, muffled sound and slapped his large, teal hand over his face, dragging it down slowly until his fingers were digging into his cheeks.

He swung his head around to look at you, his eyes wide and shimmering, the pale blue of his irises almost swallowed by his blown-out pupils. The blush was a deep, bruised violet now, spreading from his neck to the very tips of his ears, which were twitching so fast they were practically a blur.

“You... are too unserious,” he finally managed to choke out. His voice was thick, lacking any of its usual sharp edge. He shook his head, his hand still partially covering his eyes as if he could hide from the truth of your words. “You are a menace. A literal plague upon my house.”

“A plague he’s currently using as a pillow,” Lo’ak wheezed, finally regaining his seat. He pointed a finger at the way Ao’nung was still braced firmly against your knees. “Bro, your face is the color of a berry. If you don’t love her, why are you still sitting there letting her use your kuru like a pointer?”

“I am paralyzed by her stupidity.” Ao’nung argued, though even he knew how weak it sounded.

“He is not paralyzed,” Neteyam added, his voice smooth and teasing. He leaned forward, catching the light of the bioluminescent shells you were still twirling. “Look at his tail. It’s practically trying to tie itself to her ankle. That’s not paralysis, Ao’nung. That’s utter devotion.”

“It is not!” Ao’nung shouted, though he made no move to pull the tail away. In fact, the tip of it gave an involuntary, happy curl right around your calf. “It is a reflex! Like a fish flopping when it is caught!”

“You’re the one who got caught, brother,” Tsireya giggled, her eyes bright with affection. She leaned over, whispering just loud enough for everyone to hear. “He didn't even deny it. Did you hear that? He didn't say he didn't love her. He just said she was unserious.”

You didn't let go of the braid. In fact, as they teased him, you leaned closer, your fingers mindlessly twirling the dark hair around your knuckles. You looked at him—really looked at him. Up close, his face was a map of beautiful contradictions.

He was trying so hard to look annoyed, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed together, but the way his eyes kept darting back to yours told a different story.

He was incredibly handsome in this state of total fluster. The bioluminescent dots on his skin were pulsing in a frantic rhythm, like tiny stars under water. You watched the way his throat moved as he swallowed hard, his sharp jawline tightening as he tried to find a comeback that wouldn't make things worse.

“Must you all gawk at me?” Ao’nung muttered, his gaze finally dropping to your hands. He watched your fingers work through the braid, and his expression softened for a split second before he caught himself.

“We’re not gawking,” Kiri said, picking up a small shell and tossing it at his shoulder. “We’re witnessing a historical event.’”

“whatever!” Ao’nung barked, but he immediately leaned back into your touch as if seeking comfort from the very person teasing him.

You gave the kuru a gentle, rhythmic squeeze, feeling the faint vibration of his nervous system. “It’s okay to admit it, Ao’nung,” you teased, your voice a soft, low murmur meant only for him, even though the others were leaning in. “The shells don’t lie. Your sister made this braid, and it’s telling me everything.”

Ao’nung let out a long, shuddering groan, his head falling back until it rested against your shoulder. He looked up at the darkening sky, his eyes full of a mixture of embarrassment and a strange, quiet peace. He’d given up.

“You are all insufferable,” he repeated, but this time his tail didn't just curl—it settled firmly over your feet, anchoring you both together. “Especially you, Y/N. You are the worst of them all.”

“The worst?” you asked, tilting your head so your curls brushed his cheek.

He didn't look back, but you saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The worst,” he whispered. “Now keep doing that. My head hurts from all this shouting.”

lo'ak knew he was fucked the moment he saw you.

the sully family had barely made it through the initial scrutiny of the metkayina, ronal's sharp eyes cataloging every difference, every weakness, tonowari's measured welcome feeling more like a test than a greeting, when you emerged from the crowd.

you moved with the fluid grace that all reef na'vi seemed to possess, your broader tail swaying behind you, the delicate membranes of your arms catching the light. but it wasn't just that. it was the way the sun hit your skin, making the subtle patterns there shimmer. the way your hair, adorned with shells and pearls, cascaded down your back. the soft curve of your lips as you smiled at tonowari, nodding at whatever instruction he gave you.

and then those eyes, those impossibly bright eyes, turned toward his family.

toward him.

lo'ak felt his stomach drop.

"this is one of our most promising young women," tonowari announced, gesturing you forward. "she will help your family learn our ways. teach you what you need to survive here."

you stepped closer, and lo'ak caught it, your scent. clean and salt-sweet, like sun-warmed ocean and something else, something distinctly you that made his head swim. his ears flattened instinctively, and he prayed to eywa that no one noticed the way his tail had gone rigid behind him.

"it is an honor," you said, your voice soft but clear. you pressed your fingers to your forehead, then extended them outward in greeting. "i am happy to help."

jake returned the gesture, ever the diplomat. neytiri followed suit, though her expression remained guarded. kiri smiled, genuinely warm. tuk bounced excitedly.

and lo'ak? lo'ak just stared like an idiot.

"bro," neteyam muttered under his breath, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. "stop looking at her like that."

lo'ak's face burned. he quickly mimicked the greeting gesture, his movements clumsy and too late.

smooth. real smooth.

your smile didn't falter, though. if anything, it seemed to brighten, and lo'ak felt his heart stutter in his chest. "we begin tomorrow, yes? i will show you the village, teach you to swim properly, to ride the ilu."

"we know how to swim," lo'ak said, the words coming out more defensive than he intended.

"forest swimming," you replied gently, no judgment in your tone. "the ocean is different. you will see."

and with that, you turned and walked away, your hips swaying naturally with each step, the woven band across your chest shifting slightly, the intricate loincloth that hung low on your hips, layers of woven fabric and shells, moving like water itself.

lo'ak watched you go, unable to tear his eyes away from the curve of your waist, the strong lines of your legs, the way your tail moved in perfect counterbalance to your stride.

"dude." neteyam's voice was sharp now. "seriously?"

"what?" lo'ak hissed back, finally breaking his gaze.

"you were practically drooling."

"was not."

"were too."

jake cleared his throat, giving both of them a look that promised a conversation later. lo'ak bit back a groan.

that night, lying in the unfamiliar marui assigned to their family, lo'ak couldn't sleep. his mind kept circling back to you. the way you'd looked at him, not with the disdain or pity he'd grown used to, but with simple kindness. the way you'd moved. that scent.

he shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the heat building in his body. this was ridiculous. he’d just met you. barely even spoken to you. and yet..

he couldn't stop thinking about the woven band across your breasts, the way it had clung to your skin. the layered loincloth that left your thighs bare. he wondered what it would feel like, that fabric. wondered if it would still be warm from your body if he-

stop it, he told himself firmly. stop being a creep.

but his body didn't listen. he was already half-hard, his cock pressing uncomfortably against his own loincloth. he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of anything else. tried to focus on the sound of the ocean, the unfamiliar sway of the marui on the water.

it didn't work.

all he could see behind his closed eyelids was you. all he could imagine was that scent, stronger, surrounding him. he wondered what you smelled like up close. wondered if that sweetness would be more intense at your neck, your wrists. between your—

"fuck," he breathed, barely audible.

across the marui, neteyam shifted in his sleep. lo'ak froze, holding his breath until he was sure his brother hadn't woken. then, carefully, quietly, he slipped his hand beneath his loincloth.

this was wrong. he knew it was wrong. you’d been nothing but kind, and here he was, touching his cock to the thought of you like some kind of pervert.

but he couldn't stop.

he bit his lip to keep silent as he stroked himself, his mind filling with images of you. your smile. your eyes. the curve of your body. that scent. he imagined getting closer to you during the lessons, imagined catching that scent again, stronger. imagined accidentally brushing against you, feeling the warmth of your skin.

imagined you noticing the effect you had on him. imagined those bright eyes dropping down, seeing how hard he was for you.

the thought sent him over the edge faster than he expected. he came with a strangled gasp, spilling into his hand, his whole body shuddering with the release.

shame crashed over him immediately after.

what the hell was wrong with you?

but even as he cleaned himself up as quietly as possible, even as he tried to convince himself this was just a one-time thing, just the stress of everything that had happened..

he knew he was lying to himself.

tomorrow, he'd see you again. tomorrow, he'd be close to you, learning from you, breathing the same air.

and lo'ak had no idea how he was going to survive it without completely losing his mind.

the next morning came too quickly yet not quickly enough.

lo'ak had barely slept, his dreams a confused tangle of water and skin and that scent that had already burned itself into his memory. when he finally dragged himself up, neteyam gave him a knowing look that made him want to sink through the woven floor of the marui.

"rough night?" his brother asked, too innocently.

"shut up."

but when they emerged into the early morning light and lo'ak saw you waiting on the beach, any embarrassment evaporated, replaced by that same dizzying rush of want.

you wore a different loincloth today, still layered and intricately woven, but the shells caught the light differently. the breast band was the same style, but this one had tiny blue beads worked into it. your hair was pulled back, revealing the elegant line of your neck.

lo'ak swallowed hard.

"good morning," you greeted them, that same warm smile in place. "are you ready to begin?"

no, lo'ak thought. i’m really, really not.

but he nodded anyway, following you toward the water, trying desperately not to stare at the way your body moved, trying not to think about what he'd done last night.

trying and failing spectacularly at both.

this was going to be a long day.

te water was warm, but it did nothing to cool the heat building under lo'ak's skin.

you waded in ahead of them, the ocean rising to your waist, then your ribs, the water streaming down your body in rivulets that caught the morning light. lo'ak watched, transfixed, as droplets traced the curve of your spine, disappearing beneath the woven band across your chest. the fabric darkened where the water touched it, clinging to your skin in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"the first thing you must learn," you said, turning to face them, "is how to breathe. the way of water is different from the way of the forest. you must slow your heartbeat, expand your lungs. let me show you."

you demonstrated, your chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. lo'ak's eyes tracked the movement helplessly. the beaded band shifted with each breath, and he could see the shape of you beneath it, the soft curves that the thin fabric did nothing to hide when wet.

stop staring, he commanded himself. she's trying to teach you something important and you're being a complete-

"lo'ak? are you watching?"

his eyes snapped up to your face, heat flooding his cheeks. "y-yeah. yes. breathing. i got it."

your smile was patient, knowing. "good. now, all of you, try with me."

he tried. he really did. but it was impossible to concentrate when you moved closer, when you reached out to place a hand on his chest to feel his breathing pattern. your palm was warm even through the water, your fingers splayed across his sternum, and lo'ak forgot how to breathe entirely.

"too fast," you murmured, and fuck, your voice was soft, almost intimate. "slow down. like this."

you pressed a little firmer, and lo'ak became acutely aware of how close you were, how your body was just inches from his in the water, how if he just leaned forward slightly he could-

"feel how I breathe," you continued, taking his hand and placing it on your own chest, just above the band.

lo’ak nearly choked. his palm rested against your skin, feeling the slow rise and fall, the steady beat of your heart beneath his fingers. your skin was so soft, so warm, and he could feel everything, every breath, every subtle shift of your body.

this is educational, he told himself desperately. this is just teaching. don’t make it weird. don’t make it-

but his body had other ideas. he felt himself starting to harden, his cock stirring in his loincloth, and panic seized him. the water. thank eywa for the water. it would hide it. it had to hide it.

"better," you said, pulling back, and lo'ak nearly whimpered at the loss of contact. "now, we practice diving. watch me."

you dove beneath the surface, your body cutting through the water with effortless grace. lo’ak watched your form disappear into the blue-green depths, watched the way your legs kicked, the way your tail moved, the way the layered loincloth floated around your hips before settling back against your body when you surfaced.

water streamed down your face, your neck, between your breasts. a droplet clung to your lower lip before falling, and lo'ak wanted to catch it with his tongue, wanted to taste the salt on your skin.

"your turn," you said brightly.

lo'ak dove, grateful for the excuse to hide his face, to put some distance between you and his increasingly obvious problem. the water was murky enough, wasn't it? surely you couldn't see.

but when he surfaced, you were right there, closer than before.

"good," you praised, reaching out to adjust his arm position. your fingers trailed down his bicep, correcting the angle. "but keep your arms tighter to your body. like this."

you demonstrated on yourself, pressing your arms close to your sides, and the motion pushed your breasts together, the beaded band straining. lo’ak stared, unable to help himself, imagining what it would be like to untie those strings, to peel the wet fabric away, to-

"lo'ak?"

"right! yes. arms. tight. got it."

neteyam shot him a look from a few feet away, something between amusement and exasperation. kiri rolled her eyes. tuk was oblivious, practicing her diving with enthusiasm.

the lesson continued, and lo'ak's torture along with it. every time you touched him to correct his form, every time you demonstrated a technique, every time you smiled at him with that patient, encouraging warmth, he felt himself getting harder, more desperate.

at one point, you swam beneath him to show the proper leg movement, your body gliding under his, and he caught a glimpse down the front of your breast band, saw the curve of soft flesh, and nearly lost his mind.

she's just teaching, he repeated like a mantra. she doesn't know what she's doing to you. she’s being nice and you're being a perverted skxawng who can't control himself.

but then you surfaced right in front of him, so close your chest nearly brushed his, water streaming down your body, your lips parted as you caught your breath, and lo’ak knew he was absolutely, completely fucked.

"you are doing well," you said, and your hand came to rest on his shoulder, a casual touch that sent electricity racing down his spine. "all of you. we will practice more tomorrow."

as you waded back toward shore, lo'ak hung back, waiting for his body to calm down, watching the way the water sluiced off your skin, the way your loincloth clung to the curve of your ass, the way you reached up to adjust your breast band, retying one of the strings that had come loose.

you went and picked your belongings on a flat rock near the shore, a woven pouch, a small carved comb, but draped over the edge, another loincloth, the same one you were wearing earlier.

you must of changed out of it some time whilst he was in the water, not paying any attention.

lo’ak froze, staring at it.

that caught his eyes, fixed on it, his mind already racing with thoughts he shouldn't be having, with possibilities he shouldn't be considering.

you must have forgotten it in your hurry to get to your next task.

just a piece of fabric, he told himself.

it was just a piece of woven fabric. intricate metkayinan craftsmanship, the kind all the reef people wore. nothing special.

but he was already imagining what it would smell like. what it would feel like in his hands.

what it would be like to have something of yours, something intimate, something that had touched your skin.

his feet were moving before his brain caught up.

don't. don’t do it. this is wrong. this is so fucking wrong.

but his hand was already reaching out, fingers brushing the still-damp fabric. it was warm from the sun, soft from wear. and it smelled like you. salt and something sweeter, something distinctly you.

his cock throbbed.

lo'ak's eyes darted around the beach. empty. everyone was occupied with evening tasks. no one was watching. no one would know.

his heart hammered as he snatched the loincloth, bunching it quickly in his fist and pressing it against his stomach, hidden. guilt twisted in his gut even as arousal pulsed hot through his veins.

i’ll return it tomorrow. i’ll just.. i’ll give it back. say i found it.

the lie was flimsy even to his own ears.

that night, lo'ak waited until his family was asleep.

the marui was quiet except for the gentle sounds of breathing.

lo'ak's hand trembled as he pulled the loincloth from where he'd hidden it beneath his sleeping mat.

even in the darkness, he could make out its shape. could smell it.

as messed up as it was, his cock was already hard, had been half-hard since he'd stolen it hours ago. the ache was unbearable.

slowly, carefully, lo'ak brought the fabric to his face.

the scent hit him like a wave, salt and skin and you. he inhaled deeply, his eyes rolling back, a soft groan catching in his throat. he bit his lip hard to keep quiet, his free hand already shoving his loincloth aside, wrapping around his aching cock.

fuck. fuck, you smell so good.

he imagined you wearing it. imagined the fabric pressed against your skin, between your legs, soaking up your scent throughout the day. imagined what you’d look like if he could peel it off you himself, if those hands that had touched him so innocently, today touched him with intent.

lo'ak stroked himself faster, the loincloth pressed against his nose and mouth, breathing you in. his hips thrusted up into his fist as he pictured you beneath him, those pretty eyes wide, your body yielding, those sweet moans slipping out of your mouth.

"lo'ak, you're doing so well," you’d say, breathy and wanting, not the patient teacher voice but something desperate-

his orgasm hit him hard and sudden, his whole body going rigid as he came across his stomach and hand, biting down on the fabric to muffle the sound threatening to escape. pleasure whited out his vision for a moment, intense and shameful as he tasted you on his tongue.

when he came back to himself, the guilt crashed over him immediately.

he lay there panting softly, cum cooling on his skin, your loincloth still clutched in his hand. what the fuck was wrong with him? this was, this was violating. creepy. if anyone ever found out-

if you ever found out..

his body buzzed with satisfaction.

he should return it. tomorrow. first thing. he’d leave it somewhere you’d find it, pretend he'd never seen it.

but even as he thought it, he was carefully folding the loincloth, tucking it back into its hiding place beneath his mat.

just one more time, maybe. just once more, and then he'd give it back.

lo’ak closed his eyes, shame and anticipation warring in his chest.

days went by.

lo'ak had discovered the spot a days into them settling here after exploring the island, a small cove tucked behind a formation of volcanic rocks, hidden from the main beach by dense tropical vegetation. the water here was calm, crystalline, pooling in a natural lagoon that caught the afternoon sun. more importantly, it was completely secluded. no one came here.

or so he thought.

it had become his refuge. his secret place where he could indulge the obsession that had taken over every waking thought.

he'd told his family he was going to practice diving alone, needed to work on his breathing without an audience. another lie to add to the growing collection. the stolen loincloth was tucked into his waistband, hidden beneath his own, a constant presence that made his cock half-hard just from knowing it was there.

now he sat on the smooth rocks at the lagoon's edge, completely alone, his own loincloth discarded beside him. the stolen fabric was clutched in his fist, pressed against his face as his other hand worked his rigid length with desperate, practiced strokes.

"fuck," he groaned into the fabric, inhaling deeply. your scent had only grown more intoxicating over the past few days, mixing with his own musk from repeated use. it was wrong, so fucking wrong, but he couldn't stop. didn’t want to stop.

he imagined you here with him, imagined pulling that woven band from your chest, peeling away your loincloth layer by layer. imagined the sounds you'd make, the way you'd smell when aroused, the taste of your skin. his hand moved faster, his hips thrusting up into his grip, his head tilted back as he breathed in your scent from the fabric pressed against his nose and mouth.

he was close, so close, his abs tensing as pleasure coiled tight in his belly. just a little more, just-

"lo'ak?"

his entire body went rigid, his eyes snapping open in pure terror.

you stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, maybe ten feet away, a woven basket clutched in your hands. your mouth was slightly open, your eyes wide with shock, locked directly on him. on his naked body sprawled across the rocks. on his hand wrapped around his cock, still hard and flushed dark. on the fabric pressed against his face.

on your fabric.

time seemed to stop. lo'ak's entire body went rigid, his heart lurching into his throat. for a split second, his lust-fogged brain couldn't process what was happening, couldn't understand why you were here, in his secret spot, staring at him while he-

oh fuck. oh fuck, fuck, fuck.

"oh my.." you breathed, and the sound of your voice shattered the frozen moment.

lo'ak jerked into motion, scrambling backward on the rocks, his hand releasing his cock as if it had burned him. the loincloth, your loincloth, fell from his grip, landing on the stone between you like damning evidence. his ears flattened completely against his skull, his tail whipping in agitation behind him as he grabbed desperately for his own discarded loincloth.

"i-this isn't-" his voice cracked embarrassingly. his hands shook as he tried to cover himself, but his cock was still painfully, obviously hard, tenting the fabric he'd barely managed to pull across his lap. "fuck, i didn't think anyone.. I'm sorry, i-"

his face burned with humiliation so intense he felt dizzy with it. his heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to escape his chest. this couldn't be happening. this couldn't be real. maybe he'd fallen asleep and this was a nightmare, maybe-

but no. you were still standing there, your basket now hanging loosely from one hand, your eyes moving from his face to the fallen loincloth and back again. your expression was unreadable, somewhere between shock and something else he couldn't identify.

"i was just.." lo'ak tried again, his voice rough and desperate. "i was foraging for.. no, that's stupid, i wasn't-" he squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body trembling. "eywa, please just.. just forget you saw this. please."

you didn't move. didn’t speak. the silence stretched out, excruciating, broken only by the gentle lap of water against the rocks and lo'ak's harsh breathing.

finally, you set your basket down slowly, carefully, your movements deliberate. you took one step closer, then another.

"is that..." your voice was quiet, almost tentative. "is that my loincloth?"

lo'ak's eyes snapped open. he looked at the fallen fabric, then back at you, and the expression on your face, recognition, realization dawning, made him want to dive into the lagoon and never surface.

"the one that went missing," you continued, taking another step closer. "after our lesson. a few days ago."

his mouth opened and closed uselessly. what could he possibly say? what explanation could there be that wouldn't make this worse?

"i.." his voice came out as barely a whisper. "yes."

"you took it." still not a question. you were close enough now that he could see your pupils dilating, could see the way your chest rose and fell with quickening breaths. "you've had it this whole time."

"i’m sorry," lo'ak managed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "i know it's fucked up, i know i'm a complete pervert, i just.. i saw it on the rocks after the lesson and i couldn't help myself. i took it and i.." he couldn't finish, couldn't say out loud what he'd been doing with it.

but you were looking at him with those impossibly bright eyes, and he could see you putting it together. could see the exact moment understanding clicked into place.

"you've been..." you trailed off, your gaze dropping to his lap, where his cock was still obviously hard beneath the thin fabric. "how many times?"

the question caught him off guard. he'd expected anger, disgust, for you to call him sick and run back to tell tonowari, to have him exiled for being a creep. but your voice wasn't angry. it was something else. something that made his cock throb despite his mortification.

"every day," he admitted, the words dragging out of him. "multiple times. i can't- i couldn't stop thinking about you. about your scent. i know it's wrong, i know i should have given it back, but i-"

"what were you thinking about?" you interrupted, and your voice had definitely changed now, gone lower, breathier. "just now. when i walked up. what were you imagining?"

lo'ak stared at you, his mind reeling. this wasn't how this was supposed to go. you were supposed to be horrified, not asking him questions in that tone of voice, not looking at him with eyes that had gone dark and hungry.

"i..." he swallowed hard, his tail still lashing behind him but for a different reason now. "i was thinking about you. about what you'd look like without your clothes. what you'd sound like. what you'd..." he trailed off, his face still burning but something else building beneath the embarrassment.

"what i’d what?" you pressed, taking another step closer. you were only a few feet away now, close enough that he could smell you, that same salt-sweet scent that had been driving him crazy, but stronger now, mixed with something else. something that made his nostrils flare.

"what you'd taste like," lo'ak finished, his voice rough. his eyes locked on yours, and he saw your breath hitch, saw your thighs press together slightly. "what you'd smell like when you're turned on."

the words hung in the air between you, charged with tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

"lo'ak," you breathed, and the way you said his name, breathy and wanting, sent a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

something shifted in him then. the embarrassment was still there, hot and uncomfortable, but underneath it was something stronger. want. need. the same desperate hunger that had driven him to steal your loincloth in the first place, that had consumed his thoughts for past few days straight.

and you weren't running. you weren't disgusted. you were standing there looking at him like.. like you wanted this too.

slowly, deliberately, lo’ak let the loincloth fall away from his lap, revealing himself fully again. his cock stood rigid against his stomach, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. he watched your eyes drop to it, watched your lips part, heard the soft intake of your breath.

"yes," he said, his voice steadier now, deeper. "every day. multiple times. i’ve been touching myself with your loincloth pressed against my face, breathing you in, imagining it was you. imagining i could bury my face between your thighs and taste you until i can't think straight."

you chest was heaving now, your hands clenched at your sides. "that’s-you can't just say things like that."

"why not?" lo'ak challenged, his confidence growing with every second you didn't leave, didn't tell him to stop. "it’s the truth. you want to know what else i’ve been thinking about?"

you nodded, almost imperceptibly, and lo'ak felt a surge of arousal rush through him.

"come here," he said, and it came out as a command rather than a request.

you hesitated for only a moment before moving closer, drawn by something in his voice, in his eyes. when you were within reach, lo'ak's hand shot out and caught your wrist, pulling you down to your knees in front of him on the smooth rocks.

"yo want to know what i was thinking about?" he asked, his voice rough with desire. his free hand reached for the discarded loincloth, bringing it up between you. "i was thinking about burying my face between your thighs and breathing you in until I can't think straight." he repeated. "about making you come on my tongue while i memorize every inch of you, your taste, your smell."

"eywa," you breathed, and he could see your thighs pressing together, seeking friction.

"tell me to stop," he said, his eyes locked on yours. "tell me you're not wanting this as much as me and i’ll give this back, apologise, and never bother you again."

you were silent, your breathing heavy, you did want this as much as him.

"that's what i thought," lo’ak said.

he pulled you closer by your wrist, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw.

you didn't tell him to stop. you leaned in.

lo'ak closed the distance between you, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that started hungry and only grew more desperate. your lips were soft, yielding, and when you gasped against his mouth, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. you tasted like salt and something sweet, and he groaned into your mouth, one hand tangling in your hair while the other slid down to grip your waist.

you kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands moving from his shoulders to his chest, fingers splaying across his skin. lo'ak could feel his heart hammering beneath your palm, could feel the way your body pressed closer to his, seeking more contact.

he broke the kiss only to trail his lips along your jaw, down to that spot just below your ear that he'd been fantasising about for days. when he pressed his nose there and inhaled deeply, your scent flooded his senses, stronger here, more concentrated, that clean salt-sweet smell mixed with the musk of arousal.

"fuck," he breathed against your skin, his voice rough. "you smell so good here. i've been thinking about this spot, wondering if it would be as intoxicating as I imagined." his tongue darted out, tasting your skin, and you shivered in his arms. "better. it's so much better."

"lo'ak," you whimpered, and the sound of his name on your lips like that made his cock throb.

his hands roamed your body, mapping every curve through the fabric of your breast band and loincloth. he traced the line of your spine, feeling you arch into his touch. his palms smoothed over your hips, gripping the soft flesh there, pulling you even closer until you were practically in his lap.

"i want to touch you everywhere," he murmured against your neck, his lips trailing lower, across your collarbone. "want to learn every inch of your body, figure out what makes you gasp, what makes you moan." his hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through the beaded band.

you were breathing hard now, your chest rising and falling rapidly. lo'ak could feel the heat of your body against his, could feel the way you trembled slightly under his touch. he brought his mouth back to yours, kissing you deeply while his hands continued their exploration, one sliding down to grip your ass, pulling your hips flush against his.

the friction made you both groan. lo'ak could feel the heat of you even through the layers of fabric between you, could feel how wet you must be. he rocked his hips up experimentally, grinding his hard cock against you, and your head fell back with a gasp.

"feel what you do to me?" he asked, his voice rough as he continued the slow grind of his hips. "i’ve been like this for days. hard and aching and desperate for you." he kissed down your throat, feeling your pulse racing beneath his lips. "every time you touched me during lessons, every time you smiled at me, i had to hide how badly i wanted you."

"i didn't know," you gasped, your hips moving with his now, seeking friction. "i thought- i thought you were just shy.."

"shy?" lo'ak laughed, the sound dark and wanting. "i was trying not to embarrass myself by getting hard every time you came near me." his hands slid up your back to the ties of your breast band. "i'm done being shy. i’m done pretending i don't want you so badly i can barely think straight."

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his fingers working at the knots of your breast band. "tell me i can take this off. tell me i can touch you properly."

"yes," you breathed. "yes, please.."

lo'ak made quick work of the ties, slowly peeling the damp fabric away from your skin. his breath caught as your breasts were revealed, perfect and soft, your nipples already hard. "eywa," he muttered, his hands coming up to cup them, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. "you're so beautiful. so fucking perfect."

he dipped his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, and you cried out, your hands flying to his hair. he sucked and licked, his tongue swirling around the hardened bud while his hand kneaded your other breast. the taste of your skin was addictive, salt and sweetness, and he could smell you even stronger now, your arousal perfuming the air.

"lo'ak," you moaned, and he switched to your other breast, giving it the same attention while his hands roamed lower, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips.

he pulled back, his eyes dark as he looked at you—flushed and panting, your lips swollen from his kisses, your breasts marked from his mouth. "stand up," he commanded, his voice rough. "i want to see all of you."

you obeyed on shaky legs, and lo'ak remained kneeling, his hands sliding up your thighs as he looked up at you. slowly, deliberately, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your loincloth. "can i?"

"yes," you whispered.

he untied the intricate knots one by one, taking his time, building the anticipation. each layer of fabric that fell away revealed more of your skin, and lo'ak pressed kisses to every new inch exposed, your hip bones, your lower stomach, the crease where your thigh met your body.

when the last layer finally fell away and you stood completely bare before him, lo'ak had to take a moment just to look. you were stunning, all smooth skin and soft curves, and the scent of your arousal was overwhelming now, making his mouth water and his cock ache.

"perfect," he breathed, his hands sliding up the backs of your thighs. "you’re absolutely perfect." he leaned in, pressing his nose against your hip bone and inhaling deeply.

his hands guided you down, helping you lie back on the smooth rocks. lo'ak moved over you, his erection straining against your stomach. he wanted to take his time, wanted to explore every inch of you before he buried himself inside you.

he started at your wrists, pressing kisses there, his tongue tracing the delicate skin. he moved to your inner elbow, then up to your shoulder, mapping your body with his mouth and nose.

when he reached your neck again, he spent long moments there, kissing and licking and breathing you in while his hands roamed your body. he palmed your breasts, rolled your nipples between his fingers, felt you arch and writhe beneath him.

"touch me," you gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. "please, lo'ak-"

"i am touching you," he said against your skin, but his hand slid lower anyway, over your stomach, down to your thigh. he could feel the heat radiating from your core, could feel how wet you were without even touching you there yet. "tell me what you want."

"you," you moaned. "i want you.."

his fingers finally slid between your thighs, and you were soaked, slick and hot against his hand. lo'ak groaned at the feeling, his cock throbbing. "fuck, you're so wet. is this all for me? because you caught me with your loincloth?"

"yes," you gasped as his fingers explored your folds, teasing but not quite giving you what you needed. "yes, seeing you like that.. it was so hot.."

"yeah?" lo'ak's fingers circled your clit, making you cry out. "you liked watching me stroke my cock while i breathed you in? liked knowing how desperate i am for you?"

"yes, yes.." you let out a mewl.

he slid one finger inside you, and your walls clenched around him immediately. "so tight," he groaned, working his finger in and out slowly. "can’t wait to feel you around my cock." he added a second finger, stretching you, his thumb finding your clit.

you were writhing beneath him now, your hips rocking against his hand, chasing your pleasure. lo'ak watched your face, memorising every expression, every sound you made. when he curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars, you cried out his name.

"that's it," he encouraged, his fingers moving faster now. "let me hear you. want to know i’m making you feel good."

but before you could get too close, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. the taste of you exploded across his tongue, and he groaned. "eywa, you taste incredible. but I want more than just my fingers." he trailed kisses down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, your hip bones. "i want to taste you properly."

his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide as he settled between them. he could see how wet you were, glistening in the dappled sunlight, and the scent of you was overwhelming this close, making him dizzy with want.

"spread your legs wider," he commanded, his voice rough. "let me see all of you."

you obeyed, your thighs falling open, and lo'ak groaned at the sight. you were glistening, swollen and flushed, your arousal evident in the way your pussy practically shone for him. the scent hit him like a physical force,concentrated, intoxicating, making his mouth water and his cock throb almost painfully.

"perfect," he breathed, his hands sliding up your inner thighs, thumbs spreading you open even more. "fuck, look at you. so wet for me already."

he leaned in, inhaling deeply right against your core, and the sound he made was almost animalistic. "you smell incredible. even better than your loincloth." his breath ghosted over your sensitive flesh, making you shiver. "i’m going to take my time with you. going to taste every inch."

lo'ak started slow, almost teasing, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, his nose dragging along your skin as he breathed you in. each kiss brought him closer to where you needed him most, but he deliberately avoided your center, building the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.

"lo'ak, please.."

"please what?" he nipped at the crease where your thigh met your body, soothing it with his tongue. "tell me what you want."

"your mouth," you gasped. "i need your mouth on me."

"where?" he was being deliberately obtuse now, enjoying the way you writhed. "here?" He kissed your hip bone. "or here?" his lips brushed just beside your folds, so close but not quite touching.

"you know where," you whined, your hips trying to shift toward his mouth.

lo’ak gripped your thighs harder, holding you in place. "say it. want to hear you say it."

"my pussy," you finally gasped out. "please, lo'ak, i need your mouth on my pussy."

"good girl," he praised, and then finally, finally, he dragged his tongue through your folds in one long, slow lick.

the taste exploded across his tongue. lo'ak moaned against your flesh, the vibrations making you gasp and arch. it was even better than he'd imagined during all those nights touching himself to thoughts of you, better than the stolen taste from his fingers moments ago.

"fuck," he groaned, pulling back just enough to look at you, his lips already glistening. "you taste so good. better than anything." then he dove back in, his tongue exploring every fold, every sensitive spot, mapping you with dedicated focus.

he licked and sucked, his tongue circling your entrance before dipping inside, fucking you with it while his nose pressed against your clit. he could get drunk on this, on you.

"oh fuck, lo'ak," you moaned, your hands finding his hair, fingers tangling in the braids. "that feels so good."

he pulled back slightly, his chin wet with your arousal. "yeah? you like my tongue inside you?" ye thrust it back in to emphasize his point, and you cried out. "imagine how good my cock's going to feel."

his hands slid under your ass, tilting your hips up, giving him better access. he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked, and the sound you made went straight to his cock. he could feel precum leaking from his tip, his own arousal almost painful, but he ignored it. this was about you, about finally getting to taste you properly, about making you fall apart on his tongue.

lo’ak alternated between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on your clit, learning what made you gasp, what made you moan, what made your thighs tremble around his head. When he found a rhythm that had you practically sobbing his name, he maintained it, relentless and focused.

"don't stop," you begged, your hips rocking against his face. "please don't stop, i’m so close.."

he doubled his efforts, one hand releasing your ass to bring two fingers to your entrance. he pushed them inside as his tongue worked your clit, and you clenched around them immediately. he could feel how close you were, your walls fluttering, your thighs shaking.

"that's it," he encouraged, pulling back just enough to speak before diving back in. "come for me. want to taste you coming on my tongue."

he curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars, and combined with the focused attention of his mouth on your clit, it pushed you over the edge. you came with a cry of his name, your body arching off the ground, your thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crashed through you.

lo'ak didn't let up, lapping up every drop of your release, groaning at the taste of you. your flavor intensified as you came, and he was addicted, wanting more, wanting to keep you in this state of pleasure forever. he worked you through it until you were pushing at his head, oversensitive, and only then did he pull back.

hid face was wet with your arousal, his lips swollen, and he looked absolutely wrecked in the best way. "eywa," he breathed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before licking it clean. "i could do that for hours. could live between your thighs, die between them."

you were still trembling, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, and the sight of you, flushed and satisfied and still wanting more, made lo'ak's cock throb almost painfully.

he moved up your body, positioning himself between your thighs, and you could feel his cock pressing against your entrance, hot and hard and ready. his face hovered over yours, and you could smell yourself on him, could see the hunger still burning in his eyes.

"I'm going to ruin you," he groaned, his voice rough with need.

"i want it," you gasped, your hands sliding up his arms to grip his shoulders. "please, lo'ak, i need-"

he captured your mouth in a bruising kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and then he was lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. he paused there, just barely inside, the anticipation making both of you shake.

"been dreaming about this," he confessed against your lips, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "every night since I met you. imagined how you'd feel wrapped around my cock."

"show me," you breathed. "show me what you've been dreaming about."

lo’ak thrust in with one smooth, powerful motion, burying himself to the hilt, and you both cried out at the sensation. you were so tight, so wet, so perfectly hot around him that lo'ak had to freeze or risk coming immediately. his arms shook with the effort of staying still, his face buried in your neck as he tried to regain control.

"fuck," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "you feel incredible. so tight, so perfect. better than anything i imagined."

he could feel every inch of you wrapped around him, your walls clenching and fluttering as you adjusted to his size. the scent of you was even stronger now, mixed with the musk of sex, and it made his head spin. he breathed you in deeply, letting it ground him, letting it fuel the fire burning through his veins.

"move," you finally gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "please, lo'ak, i need you to move." you whined.

he pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, and then thrust back in hard. the sound you made, half gasp, half moan, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. he did it again, establishing a rhythm, deep and powerful, each thrust making you cry out.

"this what you wanted?" he panted against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "wanted the freak pervert who stole your loincloth to fuck you?"

"yes," you gasped, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. "yes, fuck, don't stop.."

lo'ak shifted his angle slightly, and the next thrust had you seeing stars. he’d found that spongey spot inside you, and he focused on it, hitting it with every stroke. his hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he pounded into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your moans and his grunts.

"you're so wet," he groaned, looking down to where you were joined, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over. "so fucking wet for me. can you hear it?" he moaned out.

you could. the obscene sounds of your coupling filled the small cove, and it only made you wetter. lo’ak could feel it, could feel you dripping down his cock, coating his thighs, and it drove him wild.

he reached beside you, his hand finding the stolen loincloth, and he pressed it against his face as he continued to thrust. the concentrated scent of you from the fabric combined with your real scent surrounding him, the feel of you clenching around his cock, it was almost too much, overwhelming his senses in the best possible way.

"so good," he groaned into the fabric, his eyes rolling back. "you smell so fucking good, feel so good. can’t get enough of you."

his pace increased, becoming more frantic, more desperate. the hand not holding the loincloth slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. he wanted you to come again, needed to feel you fall apart around his cock.

"lo'ak," you moaned, your back arching. "oh fuck, i’m gonna-"

"do it," he commanded, his voice muffled by the fabric but no less authoritative. "come on my cock. want to feel you squeeze me."

he thrust harder, faster, his thumb working your clit relentlessly, and then you were coming, crying out his name as your orgasm crashed through you. your walls clenched around him rhythmically, pulsing, and the sensation combined with your scent overwhelming his senses pushed lo'ak over the edge.

he came with a guttural moan, his hips jerking erratically as he spilled inside you, filling you with his cum. the loincloth was still pressed against his face, and he breathed in your scent through the waves of pleasure, letting it prolong his orgasm until he was shaking with it.

his thrusts became slower, gentler, working you both through the aftershocks until finally he stilled, buried deep inside you, both of you trembling and gasping for breath.

after, lo'ak collapsed beside you, the stolen loincloth still clutched loosely in his hand before he finally let it drop. his breath came in ragged gasps, chest heaving, a thin sheen of sweat cooling on his skin. the post-orgasm haze settled over both of you, that delicious moment of complete satisfaction and exhaustion.

"so," he said finally, his voice rough, a hint of his earlier nervousness creeping back. "are you going to tell everyone i’m some kind of creepy pervert?"

you laughed, a soft sound that made him glance over. "hardly. that was.. definitely not something i’m going to complain about."

lo'ak's ears twitched, a mix of relief and lingering embarrassment. "you’re not mad? about the... you know.. loincloth?"

"next time," you said, your fingers trailing down his chest, "just ask."

"next time?" the word came out hopeful, vulnerable.

your smile was dangerous. "oh, definitely. i want to know exactly what goes on in that head of yours. all those fantasies you've been having."

lo’ak’s cock twitched, already showing interest. you noticed, of course. your hand dropped lower, fingers tracing him deliberately.

"already?" you teased.

"eywa help me," lo’ak muttered. "i’m definitely fucked.

༻༺

It first happened when you were kids. The first time that stupid skxawng beat you, and it never seemed to end. You knew you were just as talented, just as ferocious, just as determined, but he was always just larger and stronger. It probably also helped that he would be Olo'eyktan.

So year after year, after every fight, every hunt, every trial, you would always be second. Silver. Sure, you could smash down every other  warrior. Sure, you could outrun and outswim and even outrank any other person in the clan, but there would always be him. Aonung.

He was, in fact, a complete and utter idiot. He was all big and perfect and beloved by the clan, despite all his flaws. Because those flaws seemed perfectly obvious to you, his competition, but everyone else just fawned over his big muscles and pretty blue eyes and you were determined to never do so.

He was cocky. He was a player. He had more muscles in his arms than braincells in his head. He was condescending and entitled and just somehow managed to get away with everything.

So you were determined to be the person to call him out. If everyone was going to baby him and feed his practically obese ego, you would try to keep him in check.

You wouldn't fawn and fall at his feet. Every word you spoke to him was twice as harsh as to others. Every blow you delivered in training was harder than the last, and certainly harder than anyone else would dare to hit the precious little prince. Every look you sent him clearly showed your distaste that he, somehow, always was above you.

And he seemed to get it. As you got older, he became less dickish towards you. By the time you finished your iknimaya, he had congratulated you. By the time the Sully's came to the reef, if you called him out on his taunting, he'd pull his head back in.

You, of course, had no idea why. Everyone else did though. The way Aonung would only do as you say was perfectly obvious to everyone else. Ronal and Tonowari had figured it out early, that their son hardly listened to them, so they managed to sneak you into it when they wanted him to do something.

And Aonung tried to get over it. That's why he spent his days training hard, trying to beat away and sweat out all his ceaseless thoughts of you. Thoughts that mortify him, thoughts that you would murder him over.

That's why he spends his nights with a new girl every time, on the beach, in the water, on the woven floor of marui's, trying to fuck his desires for you out into another girl.

He can't help it- the way he imagines it's always you. You squirming as he lays with his head nestled between your shaking thighs, holding you down and drawing desperate moans out of your mouth so usually full of quips and snarls. 

You on your knees in front of him, the same eyes that glare when you look at him now filled with tears as you take him far into your throat, your soft lips brushing over his hard length.

Imagining you're the one under him, riding him, bent over in front of him, the curve of your ass and the softness of your tits on complete display for him.

Fuck.

It was bad. It was really fucking bad.

You were his second in command, you were his biggest competition. What used to be a childish crush was rapidly growing into a mature, dangerous obsession. 

What he wouldn't give to have you as his, to be yours... 

You, of course, on the other hand, are completely oblivious to his infatuation with you. For years, you've written off the way he treats you differently as simply part of the game, part of the competition the two of you have entertained for so long.

You have no idea of the blunt lust and deep affection he harbours for you, and you're certainly oblivious to his efforts to get closer to you. The first could have been anything, and it never would have occurred to you that it was courting.

In the years since your iknimaya, the rivalry between the two of you had fizzled slightly. You could accept his outranking you- he, at least, was worth the top position.

So you followed his orders with 60% obedience and managed to build a courteous, polite relationship with him. You were not quite friends, yet you both respected the other, and managed to share a good conversation every now and then.

Which is why it seemed so shocking that he was suddenly starting to compete with you again. He, of course, isn't doing anything of the sort, but you think he's falling back into the old rivalry.

It all started with the summer hunt. 

Really, it was your fault. You let yourself get overconfident, sure that the huge fish you had speared through the heart would be the largest catch of the clan, and you had been pleased with yourself and returned to the village.

There was much admiration and praise for your amazing catch, everyone congratulating you until suddenly it all stopped. You weren't an attention seeker at all, but you couldn't help feeling irritated that something was suddenly so important.

Which, of course, has to be Aonung. 

He's striding towards you, his large, muscular arms straining under the weight of the fish he's holding. It's fucking massive, completely putting your batch to shame, with shimmery scales and terrifying spikes all along it's back and fins and mouth and tail.

Almost instantly, everyone that had been congratulating you practically pounces onto him, gushing over their precious little prince and his unimaginable talents, his incredible strength, his impossible bravery yadayadayada.

You, on the other hand, just stay back, arms folded and a scowl fixed onto your face. You aren't bitter he did better than you (well maybe a little but that wasn't the point). After thinking you both got over this competition on at least surface level, here he was, bringing his haul over to you to completely undermine your efforts. To show, once again, he beat you.

But as everyone fawned all over him, he just continues to walk to you, returning a smile every now and then but staying in silence as he approaches. His bright blue eyes are fixed into yours the whole time.

He doesn't look cocky; there's a strange glint in those ocean eyes that you can't interpret. He's doing something, you can obviously tell at least that, trying to prove himself in some way. 

And of course, your competitive, fierce mind jumps straight into the past. You can't believe he's doing this now, making you look ridiculous and small and undermining you with his amazing catch.

He finally reaches your woven basket, in which your now seemingly tiny fish lies. You fold your arms and stare blankly up at him, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

"Hey," he smiles, shifting the fish in his arms so he can see you better.

"Hey," you reply slightly coldly, raising your brows slightly and watching him.

He was attractive, you can admit that. Not just in a pretty way, he was so pretty it had every girl falling at his feet, and he was always happy to offer his time to them. It was something in that white shiny smile and bright blue eyes, maybe something to do with that air of slight mischief and danger that lingered around him.

It also could be his body. That was good too. All muscular and giant and taller than anyone else in the clan, even Tonowari. He moved with confidence and slight cockiness, the curve of his broad shoulders rolling gracefully when he moved. It was something to do with the sharpness of his collarbones and jawline, or the way his lashes curled so gently. Or just his body, the slight X shape to his ribcage, his stomach toned and muscly just like the rest of him, tapering into a slim waist.

“Good catch,” Aonung says, nodding down at your basket that looks ridiculous beside his.

You squint at him, is he making fun of you? But he looks genuinely sincere, and also nervous. Aonung, the prince of the clan, the most confident even cocky person you know, is standing slightly awkwardly in front of you, looking nervous.

You aren’t sure if it’s your face- your glare does tend to have a terrifying effect on people, but you decide you’ve glared at him and he’s never looked this nervous around you before. In fact, you’ve never even seen him be nervous ever. Not at any fight or hunt or even at his iknimaya.

That only makes you more annoyed.

“Yours is better,” you reply bluntly. It’s an obvious fact, and Aonung smiles slightly.

“Thank you,” he grins. “I went outside the reef to three brothers rock-”

“Isn’t that a bit far,” you ask sceptically. “And a little dangerous?”

You go to hunt at three brothers rock every few days, but what was this skxawng playing at, going to such extreme lengths to beat you.

“I wanted to bring something good back,” he shrugs.

You scowl a little deeper. The other clan members that had been offering their congratulations were now dispersing. Sure, your arguments with Aonung were known to be a great source of entertainment for the clan, almost as much as the actual warrior fights, but they also knew better than to overstay their welcome when it came to the two highest ranking warriors in the clan. And this is where this is heading, an argument

Really, you had slackened in your insults and keeping Aonung in line over the last few years, the competition between the two of you dying out slowly let you let him off the hook. He had used his new freedom to fuck around with his friends and girls and you had put your efforts into training and proving yourself.

“What are you trying to do Aonung,” you sigh, sharpening your knife to carve the fish.

“What do you mean?” He asks, sounding confused.

“You’ve never gone hunting beyond the reef except when you’re trying to prove a point,” you say bluntly, not looking up from sharpening your knife. “Like when you nearly got Lo’ak killed when we were kids. So what point are you trying to prove?”

When he doesn’t say anything, just staring down at you, you put your knife down with a small snarl and glare up at him.

But before you can say anything, the next wave of villagers walks past, and they bustle around Aonung to marvel at his incredible hunting skills and unbelievable daring and oh my god you’re just strong! And Aonung just doesn’t seem to care. He usually is aloof and cocky, but he enjoys praise and ass kissing. The new crowd blocks you from his view, and you shift slightly to keep it that way, while you can take another look at him. He looks like he’s trying to find you, craning his neck and ignoring all the praises and flirtings thrown at his fucking feet. His brows are furrowed, and he looks torn between confusion and slight upset that you’ve suddenly disappeared.

Stupid skxawng.

You sigh, gaze flicking to the basket of your smaller fish lying ignored and abandoned beside the group clamouring over Aonung’s massive, incredible one, and sigh.

You leave it there and slip back through the crowd and into your marui.

Tsireya’s waiting there for you, your best friend lying in your bed, admiring something. Her ears flick up when you enter, quickly noticing your annoyance in your huffy silence and agitatedly flicking tail.

“Hey beautiful,” Tsireya grins. “What’s got your tail in a knot?"

“I’ll tell you who,” you say hotly, stripping off your gear from hunting and tossing it angrily into the corner. “Some stupid, infuriating, competitive-”

“Right,” Tsireya rolls her eyes. “What has Aonung done now? I thought you guys were fine now.”

“I thought so too,” you growl, setting your knife down aggressively. “But noooo, apparently now he has to one up me and hunt the biggest fish in my fishing territory. You know, I don’t know why he’s being so competitive.”

“It’s a bit hypocritical of you to be calling anyone competitive,” your best friend comments, raising her brows at you. When you glare at her, she holds her hands up. “I was just saying, don’t get mad at me.”

You just huff a sigh and flop down onto your woven bed, laying your head in her lap.

“You really don’t know what’s going on, do you?” Tsireya says, sounding amused.

“What do you mean, what’s going on?” you snap. “I just know that your brother is trying to beat me, or prove something-”

Tsireya laughs incredulously, and when you lift your head to frown at her, she stifles her giggle and puts on a straight face.

“This is beautiful,” she gestures to what she’d been studying before.

You have half a mind to object to her subject change. But then again, Tsireya had heard you rant about her brother so many times, she’d probably memorised it by now. And you weren’t bothered to spend any more time thinking about him, otherwise you’d get pissed and unproductive.

“Yes,” you smile fondly, taking the top from her. It was beautifully woven, a piece that you had been working on for a while for the hunt festival, beading intricately with gems and shells and seaglass you had collected yourself. It was something you adored, something beautiful and yours, that you could admire as your hard work.

“Well, come and see what I have prepared,” Tsireya grins.

“I don’t want to run into Aonung at your marui,” you sigh.

“Oh, you won’t,” Tsireya rolls her eyes. “My brother’s out preparing for you- um, for something?”

“Probably the festival,” you grumble under your breath. “Where he’ll steal my last respect and status.”

But you follow your best friend out along the village to her marui. The sun was nearly set now, a deep, rich periwinkle colour over the sparkling, still ocean. You wished you could go for a swim, maybe even a hunt right now, but you need to help prepare for the festival tomorrow night. That was who you were, reliable and determined to do anything to prove yourself, helping wherever you can.

Tonowari, Ronal, Tsireya and Aonung lived in the largest marui in the village, obviously. They had the one in the centre, a huge, beautifully woven marui with partings for rooms. You had your own marui now, with a single room, a sleeping mat, a small kitchen, and a shelf for your memories and keepsakes. It wasn’t exactly tiny, given your high status, but as you lived alone you weren’t assigned a larger, nicer marui, and you had no need for one either.

But sometimes you felt a little bitter as you looked across the village to your favourite marui. It had just been recently woven, in the perfect spot at the edge of the beach and over the shallows of the water, the perfect place to fish right off the walkway. It had plenty of room for weapons and collectibles, and a curtain for privacy woven of palm leaves and strung with beautiful shells hung in the entrance, shielding the interior for you.

Oh, how you longed to have that marui. Problem was, there was a reason why it was so beautiful. It was for the next clan leader- Aonung and his future mate.

You sneak a glance at it before you follow Tsireya into her family’s marui. You greet Ronal and Tonowari who greet you happily, exchanging some conversation about the festival and the hunt. As you finish your chat and go towards Tsireya’s room, something catches your eye from another doorway.

You aren’t a snooper. You aren’t a lurker or someone who wallows in other people’s business. You certainly never cared about Aonung’s business. But you can’t help your curiosity, and after noticing Aonung isn’t in his room and hearing Tsireya rustle about in her room to get her top, you quickly slip your head in to see.

Eywa. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Sitting neatly on his bed, amidst several loose beads and string, is the more intricate, gorgeous top you’ve ever seen. Just like the hunt, it puts your top to complete shame.

Each bead sparkles in the light, colourful and happy and beautiful just like the stars shining bright above you. You can’t help feeling impressed, though you’re still frowning. Tentatively, you reach out and lightly trace the top.

It’s so smooth and cool beneath your fingers, and you can already see that it would settle perfectly when worn, showing the perfect amount of skin and delicately covering you at the same time.

Everyone weaves new tops for the festivals, and men often do too to gift to others. Aonung was going to beat you, once again. There was no doubt about it, this top was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

And then you’re suddenly upset, and it’s hitting you that once fucking again he’s won and you’ve lost and it’s all just shit and you’re backing out of Aonung’s room. You’re backing out of the marui, and you’re headed straight for your own home. Flopping into your bed, you just lie in still silence, staring blankly up and scowling.

That night is filled with annoying restlessness. You don’t attend the preparations for the festival held the night after the hunt, resigning yourself that you’ll just figure it all out at the festivities tomorrow. You had, once again, been proved completely inferior to Aonung, and when you woke up the next day and prepared for training, you were determined to not let it happen again.

You made your way over to the training grounds early, figuring maybe you could get in some practise before everyone else arrived and you were once again Aonung’s second in command, but as you gathered some spears and walked over, there was a familiar figure standing there.

“Hey,” Aonung calls when he sees you arriving. “Where did you go yesterday; I didn’t see you after the hunt?”

“I was tired,” you say coolly, tying your hair back.

“Right,” Aonung says, brow furrowing slightly. “And you weren’t helping to prepare last night, either.”

At that, you straighten up and frown at him.

“Since when did you go to the preparations?” you ask sceptically. “I thought you were too cool to help out.”

“I was looking for you,” Aonung says unexpectedly. “You disappeared before.”

“Well,” you huff, lifting a spear, “I wasn’t in the mood for worshipping you like everyone else.”

Aonung chuckles slightly, shaking his head and leaning back to stare at you.

“You’ve never worshipped me.”

“You need someone to keep you humble,” you sigh, bringing your arm back and tossing the spear as hard as you can. It flies far and lands sticking straight up into the sand. You turn back to see Aonung looking impressed. “Unfortunately, being humble isn’t your strong suit.”

“Hey,” he protests. “I’m great at being humble. I’m practically the best at humbleness.”

“Right,” you roll your eyes, picking up another spear. “Be a dear and grab my spear, will you?”

You half expect Aonung to argue, to point out he is your superior, but to your surprise he obediently walks out and picks it from the sand. So he’s still doing as you ask, so what was that sudden resurgence of competition?

“Are you going to try and kill me?” Aonung asks amusedly, watching as you level another spear and throw it again whilst he’s still picking up your first.

“No,” you say stiffly. “I wouldn’t need to try- if I wanted you dead, this spear would already be through your head.”

“You really are strange,” he says, making his way back. There’s a strange fondness in his voice that you don’t understand.

Unbeknownst to you of course, Aonung was not so sneaky at hiding his feelings from everyone else. Or maybe the rest of the clan just wasn’t as oblivious as you. Either way, neither of you noticed your warriors gathering around, watching you and Aonung.

You had always been careful to maintain a courteous, respectful relationship with Aonung in the eyes of your warriors since you passed your iknimaya, but really, you weren’t fooling anyone.

Everyone remembers the two of you when you were younger, in constant competition, your distaste and need to keep him in line balancing his cockiness. And just as infamous (except to you) is just how much Aonung likes his second in command.

Really, it’s obvious to all your warriors- they’re the ones that have to watch Aonung watch you, watch your movements and instructions and teachings and scolding. It’s not secret to them that he likes you, yet their knowledge is a secret to Aonung, and everything is a secret to you.

You start the usual training, instructing all your warriors into warmups and then positions, preparing for them to practise sparring. But, unbeknownst to you, your warriors had a plan, sick of all the pretences and rivalry and oblivious and secrets.

The next stage of training was something of a tournament, all the warriors pairing up and fighting. Winner moves on, loser’s out. You should have known it would end up like this.

You were the best warriors after all, and too soon you found yourself facing Aonung, your warriors watching with interest from the sidelines after being absolutely annihilated by the pair of you. Really, your showdowns with Aonung were almost legendary, but there hadn’t been one since you both completed your iknimaya. But now here you are, about to fight him.

You and Aonung stand at opposite ends, studying each other and moving into battle positions.

You start to circle, before Aonung moves first. He stabs his spear towards you, which you parry easily and we whirl. It's a dance really, charged with tension as you slash and spiral, ducking and stabbing. But after a few moments, Aonung manages to twist the spear from your grip, and it clatters to the ground, rolling out of the circle. You hear groans from the crowd, and the thought that they think you might lose is infuriating.

Not this fucking time. You haven’t come second at every turn for years, your rivalry to die and and then suddenly just return for you to lose again.

You leap at Aonung, leaping over his spear jab and twisting in the air to grab his queue and use your momentum to fling him across the circle. His spear, too, goes rolling away, and he gets slowly to his feet, exhaling and narrowing his eyes slightly.

You exchange a few punches and attacks, enough for you to realise that he must be holding back. There is no way that someone that muscular throws a punch that weak.

"Why are you holding back?" you hiss.

"I'm not," Aonung says, yet the next punch he delivers to your side hardly winds you at all.

"Stop holding back," you growl, and leaping at him, knocking him to the floor and straddling him easily.

And finally, you see his eyes narrow and his breath catch with annoyance, and he moves with his full power. It was an anticipatable offence, and you step quickly aside, ducking under his swing. You move around behind him and kick his leg, bending it and sending him to his knees. You quickly toss him aside onto the ground while he is still confused, and he slides along the sand, digging his fingers in at the last moment.

He clambers to his feet and you crouch a little lower. You trail the circle, eyes fixed on one another. You wait, unhurried and unworried, so he gives in and makes the first move again. This time he goes for your legs, and you leap over him, pushing his shoulders down so he stumbles and you roll to the ground and spring up again.

You exchange punches and kicks, and he doesn't hold back. He tackles to the ground and you groan as his elbow jabs at your gut. Aonung is admittedly stronger, so it takes you some time to wiggle free from his hold, but you move your knee up to smack him in the groin. Then he rolls you over easily and pins me down, his other hand closing around your throat.

You jab your elbow into his side and roll you over again, pinning his hands up and straddling his chest.

“Go on,” you breathe, faces inches from Aonung, pressing your arm up against his throat, ready to cut off his breath if needed.

But he doesn’t say anything. His large, muscular body is warm and still beneath you, his eyes just roving over your face with wide pupils, breath heaving. In fact, his breathing is so strong you’re practically getting lifted up and down on his chest.

Everyone’s watching expectantly, and you press your arm down harder on his throat. You raise your brows expectantly at him.

“I give up,” he breathes, inches away from your face, eyes boring brightly into your own.

“Louder,” you snap, lightly slamming him against the ground.

“I give up!” he shouts.

You let him go, arm moving off his throat, and just resting, breathing heavily. He gave up. You won. You beat him, finally, after years of coming second, and everyone saw you do it.

And the staring eyes suddenly make you realise you’re still straddling Aonung, legs tight on either side and whole body resting on his infuriatingly very prominent abs.

You aren’t one to blush, but you’d be lying if you didn’t scramble quickly off him, readjusting your top and tewng as you look at your warriors. They look satisfied. Not in the way you feel, not like they’re happy you finally beat him. No, they look like something was just confirmed, something you just have no idea about.

“Dismissed,” Aonung calls, waving off his warriors.

You frown, but at the end of the day, it isn’t your call. So you greet your warriors goodbye, exchanging words and waving them off. You don’t miss their knowing smiles, and the way none of them wait for you to follow too. As though they know exactly what’s about to happen, as you pick up your spears and make to follow-

“Wait.”

The word hangs lazily in the air. And, since it was spoken out of his mouth, you had to obey. So, trying to fight off the scowl fixed on your face, you slowly turn to stare at him.

“Yes, Aonung?”

“You are mad with me,” Aonung says, a slight frown on his face. You squint slightly. Eywa, this skxawng really is thick, that it’s taken him so long to realise, and for him to not even be sure about it.

“Is that all you had to ask me?” you reply, with raised brows. “Can I go now-”

“No,” Aonung says bluntly. It’s the first time he’s ever flat out refused you, and you have to take a moment to realise that you actually have to stay and have this conversation now, instead of hiding your annoyance with him behind rolled eyes like usual.

“Fine.” You cross your arms and stand impatiently. It couldn’t be clearer that you wanted to leave, and Aonung shifts a little.

This isn’t at all how he pictured you to be acting. He had tried so hard- hunting the largest fish, trying his best to impress you at every turn with fighting and spear throwing. And you finally beat him. You won, so why are you so upset with him?

Maybe you noticed him staring, maybe you noticed how flustered he got when you had him pinned down and were straddling him?

In no way was Aonung someone that submitted easily. He listened to no one, except you. Really, you’re the only person that could ever get away with having him like that. If only you knew what more you could get away with, that he’d let you do anything, that he’d do anything you let him.

“Why do you dislike me so much?” Aonung asks. Your eyes narrow further.

“I don’t dislike you,” you say delicately, and he scoffs.

“We’ve been stuck in this competition since we were kids,” Aonung points out. “Why did it start.”

“You’re asking me?” you say with raised brows. “Aren’t you the one that’s been determined to beat me at every turn?”

“That’s what you think I’ve been doing?” Aonung asks incredulously. “You think all these years, I just wanted to win?”

“Don’t you?” you ask. “I mean, what have you been beating me and belittling me for years for then, if not to win?”

Aonung blinks rapidly. Oh eywa, this is fucked. He never would have guessed this; that you genuinely thought he dislikes you, that all he wanted was to triumph over you this whole time.

“You just won,” Aonung points out instead.

“Once,” you snap. “I won once, after busting my ass off my whole life. I can handle being second in command. I can handle you being a better hunter and a better fighter and a better leader and beader and whatever, but why are you suddenly rubbing all your victories in my face again?”

“I’m not,” Aonung says, flushing furiously. “I wasn’t trying to gloat or anything, I wanted you to see me do well… because…”

Your eyes narrow further, and your brows raise higher. It couldn’t be plainer you weren’t believing a word he said, and he could guess you’d take some convincing even if he did decide to confess everything right here and now. When he stands in awkward silence, trying to think of what to say, you scoff.

“What about the hunt. What about the spears. What about the top, and the marui and-”

“The top? The marui?”

“Yes,” you hiss. “I spent so long weaving the most beautiful top and you had to make an even prettier one. I mean- how did your massive fumbly fingers even manage to make it? And the marui- building the most beautiful home right in front of mine, blocking my view of the ocean-“

“Stop!” Aonung finally cuts you off, as your tone grows louder and more impatient. “It was for you.”

You scowl. Then you frown. Then you raise your brows, and part your lips in confusion. Then you scowl again.

“What?”

“It’s all for you,” Aonung explodes, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “I tried hard to impress you all those years. I hunted that fish to impress you. I wove that top to impress you. Everything I’ve ever done has been for you.”

And now he’s done it. Spoken the words that break everything, the ones that make fucking sure that nothing’s ever going to be the same. He risks a peek between his fingers at you.

You look like you’ve been broken. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks flushed, mouth parted in confusion, brows raised and head cocked slightly. You’re trying to tell what the fuck is going on. This is a joke, this has to be a joke. He’s taking the fucking piss.

There’s no way Aonung is telling the truth right now- no way anything has been for you. Not the fish, not the hunt, not the fights or the spears or the tops or any thing.

“And the marui?” you whisper. Aonung sighs, covering his face with a large hand. He looks absolutely mortified, as though he wasn’t meant to say any of this.

“Well, I was hoping this would go differently- better. That maybe you would see I liked you without needing me to shout it at you- that maybe you might think that perhaps I never disliked you and that I just wanted you to see me?”

You just continue to stare blankly at him, so he continues in a rush.

“It was perfect,” he mumbles. “Perfect for fishing. You could see the perfect sunsets. The prettiest shells wash up on the beaches underneath the walkway, and I know you love the little ones with the dark spirals. Early morning huts, places to store your weapons, a little cove for the ilu right underneath.”

You blink even more rapidly. Is this skxawng actually making sense? Is he telling the truth?

“So…” you say slowly, swallowing hotly. “You aren’t like… my rival or something.”

“I hope not,” Aonung mutters. “I mean, am I?”

The silence you keep is going to kill him. He just knows it; his heart is thumping so hard he knows it’s about to explode and he’s going to die. His hands and fidgeting sightly. Eywa, he’s never been this nervous in his life. Really, you’re the only person who’s ever managed to make him feel nervous.

And fuck. You had never thought of Aonung like this- never let yourself think of him like this. Because he was always Aonung, prince of the clan, your best friend’s brother, your commander, your rival. But now apparently not. When you think about it, you never hated Aonung. Your distaste for him was purely on a physical level, for his cockiness and taunting, yet noe it was never actually true.

Plus, there were good things about him- that he was a good hunter and fisher and fighter and weaver. And he was sort of sweet, even though you always mistook his crush for dislike.

Plus Eywa, he’s hot.

And maybe it has something to do with the terrified, guilty, nervous, heart-broken, hopeful look in those bright blue eyes, but you find your heart pounding slightly faster. No. Fuck.

The silence is growing longer, and you’re feeling… something. Something in the air between you. Something that had always been there, a tension that makes everything all sharp and strong and dangerous, but you’d always written it off as the stupid rivalry.

Aonung’s just staring, looking large and muscly and nervous in front of you, but also expectant. He expects you to say no. He thinks he’s messed up, pushed things too far, changed everything, fucked it all up. And, as ever, you prove him wrong.

“Aonung,” you say quietly. “What are you saying?”

“I- fuck- I like you,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I like everything about you, even when you hate me. I like that you speak your mind, and you treat me like anyone and not like some king or something. I like that you aren’t ever afraid or nervous, and that everything you do is just… it’s just always right.”

You scrunch your face. A small flush is creeping across your cheeks. Who would have ever thought that Aonung would be the one to be giving you these stupid fucking butterflies, just by speaking and staring at you with those bright blue eyes. And that when it strikes you. All the usual customs of courting. Bringing gifts. Hunting for them. Beading them clothing. And the marui. Everything he thought you’d like- that you do like, and it was for you.

“So, you’re trying to court me?” you ask incredulously, heart thumping loudly in your chest.

“Is it not obvious already?” Aonung asks with a smile. “Do you need me to get down and propose, tawtute style?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you grin wickedly. “I didn’t spend years being second to you to let you off too easily now, did I?”

“Fine,” Aonung sighs. To your surprise, he kneels down instantly and rolls his eyes up at you. “Do you have an answer now?”

“So impatient,” you squint at him.

“Still your commander,” he points out. “But you don’t need to respond right now. I’m happy for you to take your time. I’ve already waited-”

Surprising even yourself, you reach out and pull him up. It’s not something you consciously do- you have no idea what you meant to do- but then all of a sudden you’re inches apart, eyes meeting dangerously, and you’re reaching up and he’s leaning down and your lips meet.

Fuck. It’s all warm and gentle and comfortable, his arms instantly reaching to encircle you, hold you, hands resting in your hair and carefully on your hips. He smells gently of amber and sea-breeze, but you’re most focused on his lips. They’re impossibly soft against yours, gentle, then exploratory, then hungry.

And then all of a sudden, you can see. It’s almost like your eyes aren’t closed; they’re open and you can see everything Aonung said in truth. You can feel the years he spent liking you in secret, the passion with which he wanted to hold you, to kiss you for so long. Too long. You can feel it in the heat of the kiss, the heaviness of his breath, the closeness of his body against yours, as though he wants to hold you as near as possible and never let you go.

But he does, hands sliding off your waist, withdrawing from your hair, stepping back and gazing down at you. And for the first time- you feel nervous. You feel bare, and messy, and scared. Not of Aonung, god no, but of what just happened. Of what you just felt.

And when he opens his mouth, no doubt to tell you there’s no pressure, he isn’t expecting anything from you, you’re free to do blah blah blah, you find there’s already an answer on your lips. It’s that you want his again.

“You’re to be Olo’eyktan,” you whisper. You immediately see his ears lower and face fall, and you quickly shake your head. "Aonung, look at me."

He does, ashamedly and heartbroken, and you swallow before thinking. You try to think what you need to say, bury what you want to say, biting your lip to stop yourself from hurting him. Or yourself. But his hand slides up to gently caress your face. With his fingers so gently touching your cheeks and under his intoxicating gaze, it's so hard to say it, but you know you must.

"Aonung, you have your people and your future to think-"

“I am thinking,” Aonung says firmly. “I’ve thought about this every day since we were kids. My parents knew I thought about this- the whole clan knew. And think about it- you are literally the best fighter, best hunter, best weaver in the whole clan.”

“You are,” you correct, but he just shakes his head.

“Don’t think about any duties or anything,” Aonung says firmly. “This is what I’ve wanted forever, more than being a warrior, more than being Olo’eyktan. Because what is important is you- and I won’t want to do any of those things without you by my side. Not some village girl, not some other shy healer, you.”

You can’t think of anything to say. You stand there for a moment, blinking at him, heart beating fast in your chest, head spinning nervously. So instead of saying anything, because you have no idea what to say, you step forward to close the gap he just made, lean onto your tip toes and crash your lips onto his.

And he catches you in a way no one else could. Really, only Aonung could be like this. He certainly hadn’t been wasting all that time staring at you in training- he knew exactly what to do- where to slide his hands over your waist, how to tilt your head, to graze his fangs lightly over your lips. This obviously isn’t his first rodeo (you know that, you’d heard enough stories about him with other girls),  but Eywa, you feel like it’s your first time with the way each of his careful, smooth movements have your heart twisting.

You’re growing closer, his hand traveling lower, your own moving over the muscles in his arms and back and shoulder and holy shit this man is just seemingly impossibly fit. The kisses are growing hungrier, messier, closer, all pressing of tongues and heavy breaths and grazing fangs.

Your insides are twisting nervously, tiny flutters of surprised delight flaring inside you, and also something else. You’re growing hungrier for his touches, greedy for him, and you can tell that he, too, is also growing needier. His hand brushes over the string of your tewng and you shiver in his touch.

But then he’s pulling away again. You frown at him, eyes narrowed, legs slightly rubbing together, lips feeling cold without the press of his against them. Aonung’s breathing heavily, pupils blown wide to ebony moons ringed in clear blue, chest heaving slightly and gaze roving over your face.

When you return to your marui, your heart is thumping fast, and you notice something gleaming on your bed. The top. Aonnug’s top- the one he made. For you. You instantly run a finger along the intricate beading, just as you had when you first saw it, but still just as nervous, as gentle, as tentative. It can’t be yours- it doesn’t feel real- that he likes you, that he made this, that he did everything. For you.

“Where have you been?” an amused voice asks from the entrance. You turn to see Tsireya walking in towards you, a small knowing smile of her sweet face.

“I was training,” you say quietly. “And- um- Aonung…”

“You found out,” Tsireya says plainly, looking delighted. She walks over and leans a head on your shoulder, admiring the top with you. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? You should wear it tonight.”

You frown slightly. In all the haze of the fighting and annoyance and finally the truth, you’d forgotten about the festival. But as you gaze down at the beautiful top, you smile slightly. You nod at your best friend, who grins back and leans closer into you.

Aonung’s sitting at the side of the party. You’ve yet to arrive, and he’s determinedly avoiding the gazes sent his way from other girls. That’s how these sort of festivals always ended, how most of his nights ended, with a new girl. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel the slightest bit of interest, not when he remembered you.

The furious gleam in your eyes as you kissed him, the softness of your skin rubbing against his own, your slim waist held in his hand. The sweet, coconut smell of your soft dark curls, the warmth of your lips against his, the feeling of your teeth lightly grazing his lips. And the sounds you made- all breathy and almost as hungry as he was, eywa, he can’t wait to hear it again.

It was better than he’d ever imagined, and he’d imagined kissing you a million times over the years. Soft and gentle and rough and hungry and desperate and sweet and everything you’d ever want. Because he’d do it. He’d do whatever you wanted.

“Hey,” Rotxo says, nudging Aonung. “Isn’t that the love of your life?”

Aonung turns, faster than he’s ever turned before, and sees you walking besides Tsireya and standing with the Sullys. A small shiver goes through him at the sight of you in that top. He had never pictured it would look like that, but he wasn’t about to complain.

The beadings shone against your teal skin in the pale moonlight and flickering firelight, the intricate strands of the top threading over your chest and leaving little to imagination. He’s barely aware he’s moved over and left an amused Rotxo behind, all he knows is suddenly you’ve stopped looking around the party to find him, and he’s right there in front of you.

Everything seems to fall silent- not only in Aonung’s mind. Girls all over the party are glaring, guys are frowning, your warriors are grinning in a fucking finally sort of way, and Tsireya, Rotxo, and the Sullys are just watching with delighted amusement. Across the fire, you can feel Ronal and Tonowari watching. But when you look over, Tonowari is smiling, and Ronal gives you an appreciative nod and a swift grin.

The festival seems to last a lifetime. It seems completely pointless to Aonung, just a bunch of congratulations to the hunters and a few songs and dances around the fire. Until you get out on the sand. The sway of your hips is hypnotising, as is the way your curls move in unison with your slim body. And of course, he doesn’t miss the way the top shifts as you dance, caressing over your skin like ripples in still water. He’s never been more jealous of an inanimate object in his life.

And then it’s over, and you’re right beside him. He’s not sure what exactly was going through his mind, what either of you were thinking, but suddenly you’re leaving the party together, hurried and hungry and it couldn’t be more fucking obvious what’s going to happen.

You’re alone now once you leave the beaches and walk along the woven pathways of the village; the whole clan is out at the festival. You look up at him, and he pauses to look down at you. Neither of you say anything, but then it’s happening and you’re kissing him again.

Really, none of it feels real. It all stopped being real when he told you he liked you- but now the way he’s leaning down so far to kiss you, to hold you closer just sends you over the edge of unreality. Then he’s getting impatient, and he’s simply picking you up like you weight nothing, hands automatically holding you in place by your back and one steadily holding your thigh.

You’re expecting to go to your marui, or maybe his, but instead, you don’t. You go into the perfect marui, the one you’ve stared at every day, as casually as though it’s your own home. You open your mouth to say something, but the privacy curtain of woven shells closes behind you, and it strikes you that you’re alone with Aonung.

The marui’s dimly lit in the silvery moonlight filtering through the weavings, and really, your attention is going straight to the very comfortable bed. His kisses are getting hungrier as he walks you backwards towards the bed, hands holding tight to your hips until both of you fall back onto the bed, his large, muscular body warm over yours. His hand reaches up to the beading of your top, and in his haste to get closer, he just rips it right off. You gasp, watching the beautiful beads scatter everywhere, but he pays no mind.

“I’ll make you more,” he promises. And who are you to complain- particularly with the way he’s staring at you.

Held in his warm lap, one of his hands big enough to hold both your breasts, both large enough to wrap around your whole neck. The thought of that makes you moan unconsciously, and Aonung blinks at you in surprise. You don't bother to play anything cool; with his hands where they are, he can feel how hot and nervous and hungry you are.

And when he meets your eyes again, you can see he feels the same. He’s trailing kisses down your jaw now, hands reaching up to lightly brush over your skin before he licking over your tit gently, grinning a little at your whine, the stark contrast of your smooth supple skin against his rough tongue just driving you fucking crazy.

He wraps his lips around your nipple and suckles at it, before he nips lightly at the underside of your tit. You gasp, hands gripping his arms tighter, unexpectant and surprised. Each of his moves is calculated, clever, as though he’s planned this a million times in his head.

You blame all the years of training together- he’s the only one that would have such an intimate knowledge of your body without having done anything like this with you before. He knows to be gentle and rough and where to kiss and lick and nip. His hands are trailing down, and they’re sliding along the string of your tewng.

“Is this alright?” he asks gently, pausing to look up at you.

“Yes,” you breathe hastily, desperate for anything. How the tables have fucking turned; now all you want is his touch, his words, him, when just a day ago you were grumbling to Tsireya about what a competitive, infuriating skxawng he is.

“Shit,” he breathes, as his finger slides through your slit. “You’re so wet.”

But despite wanting this so bad, your face is flushing and you can’t help your legs closing slightly when he slides your tewng away, and you’re left bare in front of him. Aonung frowns with impatience, easily pushing them apart and muscling his face between your thighs with such obvious enthusiasm you practically squeal.

When his nose nudges again your clit and he licks a long stripe up your cunt, you jerk away in surprise and he grips your thighs to keep you still. You’ve never gotten eaten out before, and you weren’t at all expecting the sudden twist in you, or the way you clenched around nothing in arousal. You had forgotten to process the roughness of a na’vi tongue, and it feels all large and hot and wet and so unbelievably perfect.

You're squirming from the moment he gets onto you, sucking lightly at your clit, a delighted, puppy-playful glint in his large blue eyes, tossing your legs over his shoulders so his face is pressed even closer to you. He suckles at you so eagerly, tongue stroking over your hole, over and over and over. You can't help it, the way you're simultaneously squirming away from the overwhelming pleasure of it all and the way you're rutting your hips into his face.

It's all messy, you're so wet, his face is shining with your slick and his spit, and he slides a finger back and dips it in. Instantly you gasp, jolting upwards and arching your back high to the ceiling. Aonung's about to grumble at your squirming when you tug at his hair and he groans.

“Go on,” he says carelessly, before he’s dove back down.

The man’s determined, you’ve got to give at least that to him. As you start to relax more and more, your grip on his hair gets tighter, and he’s moaning along with you. You aren’t entirely sure why, but he seems to be enjoying this as much as you do by the way his tail is thumping happily behind him, or how you can tell he’s very obviously grinning.

Aonung continues to lave his tongue against you, the warm roughness creating a perfect friction that has you arching up despite your hips being caged down by his large hands. He’s listening, watching everything you do, his ears pricking at every sound you make, his movements calculated to what you react to.

When he lightly sinks his fangs into your leg, you cry out and accidentally grind against his face, and he does it several more times.

“Fuck,” you groan, fingers threading deeper through his hair. And then he buries his tongue deep into you, nose nudging against your clit, and your orgasm is washing over you with fierce purpose. It takes you by complete surprise, and you writhe and moan and buck against his face until it’s all too much. Even then he doesn’t stop, and you have to tug his head away.

He looks disgruntled you’re making him stop, but his pride and dopey smile is bright on his face face shining like the fucking ocean, but he just wipes it carelessly and moves back up your body to shower your chest and neck with more kisses and light nips.

“That was fast,” he comments, grinning at you.

“Yeah, well,” you huff. “I- it’s never happened before.”

Aonung frowns, shifting closer.

“You’ve never been eaten out?”

“I- um... I’ve never come.”

“But…” Aonung says, frown deepening further. “You’ve been with a guy before. Right?”

He looks uncertainly at you, and you shift nervously. This is humiliating to admit, especially to the guy who’s known to be the most pleasurable man ever- the one who spends every second night with a new girl.

“Just one,” you mutter. “Once.”

“Who?” Aonung demands, and you smile, leaning forward to kiss him again, but he pulls back. “We don’t have to do anything. Just-”

“No!” you say quickly, reaching towards him. “I want to do this, Aonung.”

He opens his mouth, no doubt to speak more comfort, to tell you there’s no pressure yada yada yada, you reach out and cup the bulge of his tewng. He hisses softly, words dying in his throat and his gaze leaping to rake over your face. He waits patiently, but you can see his jaw clenched in the effort it’s taking him not to rock against your hand.

He feels big. To be fair, you’ve only seen one cock in your life, and if you’re being honest, you’d hope most people were bigger than that, but just the clothed bulge under your hand is enough to have your head spinning. You just hope to Eywa you can take it- but you’ve never been a quitter.

When you press your hand against him, his hips rock and you reach to untie his loincloth. He doesn’t rush you, he doesn’t stop you. Aonung just watches with eyes blown to black moons ringed in turquoise, face following your movements, as though he wants to stay as close to you as possible.

When you finally pull away his loincloth, you have to bite back a gasp. You aren’t intimidated, per se, but the sheer size of him is slightly breathtaking. Never once, in all your filthy imaginations, had you truly dared to factor in the sheer size of him. Just by looking at his massive muscular body, one could guess, but they'd still have their fucking minds blown. He's big. So fucking big it has your eyes bulging and heart thumping and mouth almost watering. His cock is just as beautiful as him, just as smooth pale blue with the delicate darker stripes and glowing tahnì.

When you reach out and touch it, his hips jerk slightly and his pupils widen as your smaller hand closes gently around it. Aonung’s looking at you with worship in those beautiful eyes, lips parted and breath heavy as you shift your hand slowly up and down. All the while, you can imagine the size of it pressing into you, stretching you, ruining you. Aonung seems to be thinking the same thing, because all too soon he’s lifting you up and tugging you closer as though you weigh nothing. He places you over his lap.

“Here,” he says gently, guiding your hips to rock lightly against him. The length of his cock slides along the seam of your cunt, both of you breathing heavily at the warm smear of slick you leave across him, grinding against his lap. He props himself up so he can capture you in a deep kiss, swallowing each others lewd moans at the friction. Heat is growing fast, too fast, everywhere in your body- in your face and heart and thighs and you tremble slightly at the drag of your hips over his.

Impatience for the teasing growing in both of you, Aonung gently flips you over so you’re lying beneath him, back carefully resting against the bed, and lining himself up at his entrance. At the slightest movement, your legs stretching further around his body as he presses slightly onto his cock, you know it's going to be a stretch.

“Fuck yawne,” he groans, as he pushes past the first ring of resistance and slowly starts to slide in. “You’re tighter than I ever imagined. Are you okay?”

You nod breathlessly, clutching hard to his shoulders as he slides even deeper, biting your lip. You don’t care that it turns out you weren’t rivals, you weren’t about to let Aonung see how tense you are. But he can probably feel it, given that you’re clenching around him already, and he hasn’t even bottomed out yet.

He just goes in and in and in. When you think he’s all in, he rocks another inch into you and whispers how well you’re doing. He’s careful to be gentle, stroking your hair and muttering praise to you- but you’re still impatient.

You hardly care how much you get hurt, just wanting him inside you, stretching you, marking you, ruining you, and you drop further down so the head of his cock starts to press into you. You try to lift, to fuck yourself further onto his cock, and he holds you down to adjust.

It’s not like you want the pause when he finally bottoms out, but you sit and breathe and whimper, trying to get used to the burning stretch of it all. Aonung’s breathing heavily too, trembling with the effort it’s obviously taking him not to just move and rut and demolish you. When he shakily looks up, his eyes meet yours, all dark with lust and wide with ecstacy, and he finally pulls out just an inch before snapping it back into you.

You gasp, and Aonung hisses. When he’s sure you’re alright, he pulls out, pushes back in, and you annihilate the last pretences of rivalry. It seems impossible now, that you once disliked him. Hated those blue eyes raking over you, despised the large hands holding you so gently while he thrusts into you, detested that smile with those lips that now make you melt.

You’re gasping and moaning and cursing with every thrust, breath getting knocked the fuck out of you again and again and again until you’re living off the tiny moments in which he’s pulled out, where you feel cold and empty and longing to be stuffed and stretched around him again.

It doesn’t take long for that familiar heat to grow again, and by the way Aonung is hissing and groaning and burying his face in your neck, you can tell he’s close too. His hands are gripping the bed so tightly you wouldn’t be surprised if it broke. When you arch up, tits pressing against his chest in a way that makes him moan shamelessly, you can see every muscle in his back rippling, each muscle in his arm taut as he thrusts into you. It has you clenching tight around him.

“Fuck,” he’s muttering, again and again, large and muscular and heavy above you.

You aren’t sure what makes you do it, maybe your natural, primal urge to beat him like you’ve always longed to is taking over, but you’re suddenly rolling over and pushing him back against the bed. His eyes are wide and worshipful as you steady yourself with hands on his chest, hands jumping to your hips pressed against his own, him sheathed deep inside you.

You rock on him, thighs burning as you lift yourself up and down in a welcome pain, that familiar coil building up and up and up. Aonung stares up at you, eyes wide and dark and curious and worshipful and hungry. And then it suddenly crests, in a welcome, overwhelming flood of pleasure.

You aren’t even aware of it- too busy ascending into fucking heaven, stuck in a place where you cant see or hear or do anything- you just know wave upon wave of overwhelming pleasure crashing into and over you. When you slowly come down, vision returning in bright bursts, you have a split second to note the awe and reverence in Aonung’s eyes before something seems to take over him, and his gaze is darkening and he’s lost control.

It never occurred to you, just how gentle he’d been, until he’s completely let go, allowed the crushing desire to overcome him. He's half thrusting up into you, half picking up and slamming down your body onto him, and you're unravelling into a moaning, trembling mess on top of him, teeth sunk into his shoulder to try and quiet your sounds, because you sure as fuck can't hold them in.

You yelp as he speeds up now, brutal and animalistic as the last tenterhooks of his final restraint snaps and he buries himself deep inside you. He's hissing a million unintelligible words against your skin as he spills himself inside you, rocking his hips the whole time until he finally comes to a shaky stop.

You can’t breathe. You don’t know if you want to- you’re perfectly content as you just collapse against Aonung, lying warmly against his solid chest, his muscular arms automatically reaching out to wrap around you and roll you over so he can cuddle you properly. He presses a gentle kiss to your collar, before speaking softly.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

You can’t think of anything to say, you just exhale shakily and give a small, trembly laugh, holding his hand in yours and leaning against him.

“Change your mind about me?” Aonung asks lightly. “Still think I’m a skxawng?”

“Absolutely,” you huff, grinning up at him. “I should get home-”

“Stay,” Aonung says, hugging you closer. “This will be your home, might as well get used to it.”

You smile against his chest. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this, not when a day ago, he was your rival. But you’re more than happy to try, so you lean your head into the crook of his shoulder, his arm trailing down to cloak the curve of your waist.

“We have training in the morning,” you point out. “The warriors will be-”

“Our warriors won’t be anything I say they shouldn’t be,” Aonung shrugs. “You’re forgetting who you’re lying with.”

You roll your eyes.

To be fair, the reef was different. 

At least in the Omatikaya village, the na'vi knew you weren't RDA, that you were only fascinated with their culture and wanting to help. The trouble was, what could one small human do to aid the massive, muscular na'vi who, at every turn, always seemed to be the ones to help you out. Which is why when Norm received a help call from Jake Sully, you automatically offered yourself up for the job.

You had grown up alongside the Sully kids, always growing smaller and smaller in their eyes. Now in adulthood, you were still trying to overcome their teasing that you were still barely above their hips in their more muscular, lithe bodies,

And since the absence of the Sullys and Spider, you hardly had a reason to come around the Omatikaya village anymore. Although the science compound was tedious and cagey at times, you had traded your beautifully beaded na'vi style tops and tewngs for more "appropriate clothing". It was probably more suitable too; the older you got, the less the na'vi clothes fit your stubbornly human body. At least you were larger than na'vi in one particular place.

But as you watched the science labs fade away through the perilously open side of the helicopter, the forest too replaced by a vast stretch of ever-deepening glistening ocean, you felt a small pang inside you. It's not like you were leaving any family or friend, they were not so quite waiting for you at the reef.

Which is when it happened. You saw him.

You were always much more interested in na'vi than humans, how could you not be when they were so much more muscular, smoother, and well, bigger. But you had never seen a reef na'vi before, and on the very off chance you had carelessly thought of the Metkayina, you had forgotten to factor in their physique.

He was taller than any other na'vi you'd ever seen, his whole body broad and muscular and massive, his very toned stomach tapering into a sluttily slim waist for such a broad man and a slight x shape to where his very prominent abs met his ribcage.

As the helicopter settled on the sand, surrounded by a crowd of extremely confused and intrigued Metkayina, he was helping Neteyam keep them back. You shook your head- this was hardly the time to be drooling over handsome new boys when Kiri needed help.

Jake was running over, shouting at Norm and pulling him into a quick hug before he spotted you. He looked tired and strained and stressed, yet still managed to smile and pull you into a hug, clearly forgetting that you're a human and half-crushing you to death.

"Good to see you kid," he grins. "Well, you're hardly a kid anymore."

You had tried to help carry some of the boxes in, yet they were sized for Jake and Norm, and you were quickly left aone by the helicopter, surrounded by curious na'vi. You could tell no one saw you as a threat by the way they stared, as though you were something exotic and adorable and even amusing.

Moreover, you could feel his eyes on you, more weary and suspicious and almost taunting than his people, and you swallowed heavily before nervously making your way through the crowd and following the shapes of Jake and Norm ahead.

So maybe you hadn't had a great start with the mystery guy from the way he was staring, but you soon met him again when Ronal pulled you aside and into a marui.

There he was, standing between who was clearly Tonowari and a sweet-looking shorter girl.

"Oel ngati kameie," you said nervously, apprehensively gesturing and praying to Eywa that your voice didn't actually sound as timid and squeaky as it seemed to yourself.

The Olo'eyktan and the girl looked pleased, but he just continued to blankly and shamelessly stare at you, until your throat felt dry and the silence was starting to make you want to cry. But you refused to play into either of the roles na'vi assume of humans; the evil, power-hungry, trigger-happy demons, or the tiny timid pushovers.

"Jake Sully has requested you stay with us," Ronal finally said. "He believes you could be useful to the Metkayina."

"Well," you say, throat dry and desperately trying to keep your voice steady under the eyes of the four Metkayina. "I'm good at healing- I learnt much from the Omatikaya Tsahìk."

"This is my daughter Tsireya," Tonowari said, looking pleased with you. "She will help accustom you to our village, as well as my son, Aonung."

Instantly Aonung's eyes narrowed, and you feel your heart thud a little at the annoyance on his face at the instruction of him spending time with you.

"Father, first the Sullys and now a tawtute-"

"It is decided," Tonowari cut his son off. "The Sullys may assist you as well, and Toruk Makto tells me you are to have a human home on the edge of the village."

And that was that, apparently. No one asked you if you wanted to suddenly live in the reef, yet you had the Sullys and that was all that mattered. The small human area was hidden in the small forest beside a river and behind the Metkayina village, which was fair given the aesthetic monstrocity of it.

It was another horribly shiny metal demountable shared between you and Spider, each of you owning your own small room with a tiny cupboard, rickety bed and nothing more, and sharing a small space between.

Soon after you moved in, you could hardly get Lo'ak to move out, him and Spider always playing stupid video games and eating the shitty food you had hoarded, yet you took every chance to get outside.

It's not like you ever did much, you even managed to go the first few months without swimming or being in swimmers in front of all these beautiful na'vi, but you were determined to prove yourself.

So day after day, you worked endlessly on anything you could find to be helpful. You quickly learnt the new herbs for healing and how to navigate the bouncy village suspended over the water. You also found out the na'vi women loved your weavings and beadings, your "tiny hands" able to create very intricate works in proportion to their larger bodies.

And you found that Metkayina men were extremely intrigued by you.

You wondered if maybe Spider had blabbed to someone about you, about your greater attraction to na'vi than humans, because you suddenly found the healing marui that you often worked in when Ronal couldn't strangely often occupied by men with injuries that could have easily been healed at home or better treated by Ronal herself.

You also didn't miss their comments about the coverage of your clothing, about how small you were and the softness of your tawtute skin.

Okay so yes, maybe you were secretly crushing hard on Aonung, but the Olo'eyktans son treated you with amusement and cockiness when you happened to interact with him every now and then. So of course you were flattered by the attention of the broad strong Metkayina, and a woman has needs.

All the sexual interactions you share with the Metkayina range from adequate to somewhat satisfying, but the longer you stay in Awa'atlu and the more female friends you make, the more you hear.

All the village girls seem to talk about is Aonung, the prince of the clan. He's not exactly selective about the women he spends his time with, but his precious company is so apparently mind-blowing and pleasurable that it seems to be the most valued thing on the island.

Which is fine.

He obviously doesn't like you that much, and you'd probably have to fight off fifty village girls for that attention from him anyway. He never bothered to accustom you to the village, rather staring and glaring from the back or side as Tsireya befriended you. 

And you definitely didn't make an effort to get him to look at you. No, your increasingly smaller outfits are a reflection of your growing comfort in the village and the hot temperatures of the reef. The other villagers liked your outfits though, even if they did find it strange, often asking why you wore such large clothing. So you started to phase out the cargos and massive jumpers with flowy skirts and tighter tops.

Besides, you have options, even if all your admirers are only seeking the thrill and adventure and tightness of being with a tawtute.

A shout of laughter from outside brings you back to attention, and you set down the paste you had been mixing on a small table before quietly moving over to peek out. Just as you stick your small head out, you find yourself suddenly bumped backwards as several figures walk into the healing marui.

Folding your arms and frowning at the rowdy boys, you watch them as they comfortably space out around the marui. You recognise them instantly- the three skxawngs that Aonung always seemed to hang out with.

"Can I help you?" you ask, trying not to raise your brows when Koro laughs and shoves Nashvi forward to speak to you.

"Yeah," Nashvi grins stupidly. "Us and Aonung were out by the reef when an akula attacked, and we got a few injuries."

You can't help raising your brows at this. There are only several small scratches across the boys bodies, the worst only looking five inches long on Ongu's leg. But you have a job, and you aren't about to refuse to help Aonung's friends.

"Alright, sit down," you say tiredly, reaching up to lightly lead Nashvi to the woven mat you heal on.

As you turn to gather some more ointment, you can hear the three boys chuckling stupidly behind you, but when you turn, their smiles are quickly hidden and they don't make eye contact with each other. Shrugging off your discomfort and annoyance, you lift up Nashvi's hair to apply the ointment to the scratches on his back.

They are not easy patients. They're whiny when you touch their miniscule, pointless little scratches, and they chuckle and grin shiftily at each other every time you move. It's an awkward interaction with each, and finally you can't take the silence anymore.

"What were you doing out by the reef?" you ask, in a desperate attempt to make conversation.

"Aonung wanted to hunt," Koro shrugs.

"Where is Aonung?"

They all grin again at your question, and you straighten up and frown.

"Missing your boyfriend are you?" Ongu leers.

You straighten up instantly, a frown fixed on your small face and your fist clenched slightly around the bowl.

"What are you talking about?" you say coolly, turning away from the boys under the pretence of collecting more herbs to add to the ointment.

"You're pining after him," Koro grins. "It's so obvious, all the little looks you shoot him, batting your eyelashes whenever he's around. You're so cool and all with other guys, but as soon as Aonung's around you're acting like a little lovestruck prolemuris."

"I do not," you say hotly, forgetting to act cool and hide the deep flush across your cheeks.

"Please," Nashvi scoffs. "You couldn't be more obvious if you tried."

Your face is growing hotter and hotter, and when you turn around, you find that the three boys have crept slightly closer, so now you're stuck between them.

"I don't have a crush on Aonung," you lie, knowing full well that you aren't convincing anyone. "I don't even like him."

"These little outfits say otherwise," Koro grins, reaching out to pinch your hip.

You jerk away from the contact, the bare skin of your hip between your top and low skirt burning slightly from his touch and the accusation of his words.

"Fuck off," you grumble, pushing at his hands as he reaches towards you again.

"What happened to the sweet little girl whenever he's around?"

"She's about to do worse than those little scratches if you don't stop touching me," you growl, hoping you sound braver than you feel. Hot mortification is spreading through your body. Had you really been that obvious? Koro, Ongu and Nashvi are just laughing stupidly, watching you grow more and more flustered as you try to figure out what to say, or at least how to get away.

"You are rude skxawngs," you snap. "I helped you out, now leave me alone."

"Why?" Nashvi grins. "We're just having a little fun with you, tawtute."

"Why do you wear such big clothes anyway?" Ongu leers. "I know they're getting smaller for Aonung, but if you want his attention you should just take it all off."

You growl as they reach for your clothes again.

"Tell Aonung that-"

"Tell me what?" a deep voice says from the entrance.

Immediately, all four of your gazes flick to see Aonung leaning against the entrance, a small frown pinching between his brows as he stares at his friends.

"That you need to find better friends," you huff, reaching to flatten your hair and pull your skirt down.

"She's just being grumpy," Koro laughs. "We were having a fun conversation with her."

"Yeah, it was real fun," you snap, flushing crimson as Aonung's gaze flicks back to you. "Especially when you kept touching me."

Aonung's frown deepens when you feel his gaze pass over the redness their pinches left over your hip, and you brush your hair out of your face.

"Okay, I fixed up your little scratches," you scowl to Koro, Ongu and Nashvi, as Aonung just stares dully at you. "You can fuck off now."

"Careful with your mouth," Nashvi grins. "You aren't as attractive when you aren't smiling, tawtute."

"Get out," you growl, straightening to your full height, but still shorter than their crouched figures.

They just laugh stupidly, and you're growing more and more flustered and annoyed. You are torn between wanting to shout and curl up in a ball and cry until they get uncomfortable and leave, when Koro pulls the last straw.

"It's a shame that such a pretty little thing has no humour," he grins to his friends. "You know I'd-"

"Out," you shout.

They don't look at all as though they're going to leave, but then Aonung shoots them a certain sort of look you miss, because your heart is pounding fast and angry tears are stinging your eyes.

You're mortified, that they knew about your crush, that they managed to get so far under your skin, that everyone had so little respect for you that they only listen when Aonung tells them to do something.

As they file out, you can hear them snickering to each other, and their gazes blazing on your bowed head as they walk away. 

"You can leave too," you say off-handedly, turning away so your back is to Aonung.

"Oh?" Aonung asks, his voice deep and amused. "You're going to kick me out of my own mum's marui?"

"Yes," you grumble, sitting down and glaring at him. "You're a grown man Aonung, you can fuck off out of your mummies hut."

"Also your Olo'eyktan," he points out.

"Not yet," you seethe.

Aonung just laughs, his massive body still leaning against the entrance as he stares down at you, blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Are you alright?" he asks, once he stops laughing. You frown at the slight concern in his voice before glaring up at him.

"Yes I'm fine," you snap. "Now are you done?"

Aonung just stares for a few more seconds before he pushes off the wall and walks over to you. 

Oh Eywa's just playing a fucking game with you right now. Aonung reaches out, lightly taking your small head in his hand and gently tilting your face up towards him with a soft hand.

"Is what they said true?" he asks quietly. 

"Aren't you the one that finds my crush obvious as fuck?" you snap.

But you don't pull away, and you both know it. Instead, you just stay put little a stupid good girl and stare up at him, waiting for what he's about to do.

"I'm fucking pathetic, I know," you whisper. "I have to work my ass off just to get the tiniest bit of recognition, and this is the longest we've ever spoken. All you do is glare at me from other sides of the village, and I still liked you."

"You're not," Aonung says. "Pathetic, I mean. They're just skxawngs."

"They're your friends," you point out. "They're the ones that knew I liked you, that just come and fucking taunt me and touch me and-"

"Let me see," Aonung cuts you off.

You scowl at him and try to push him away, but he just easily grabs your wrist and peers around you to see your hips, where the mark is still red against your skin.

"It's not a big deal," you growl. "I just don't need shit for having a stupid crush. No one ever needed to know and it wasn't hurting anyone. If I knew what skxawngs you and your friends are, I'd never like you."

"This skirt is thin," is all Aonung says. "And short. Tawtute clothing is strange, but this one is small compared-"

"It was for you!" you snap. "All the stupid dressing up and acting nice and being sweet and trying to be pretty just so you would stop glaring and look at me for ONCE!"

Aonung's frown deepens slightly, like he's confused, like you aren't making any sense. Stupid alien boys, so oblivious to everything around them.

"I am looking at you," he says quietly.

"No," you hiss. "You're looking down on me like always, just because I'm a human-"

Your voice dies in your throat when Aonung instantly sits beside you, his hands picking you up as though you weigh nothing and placing you gently in his massive lap.

Your faces are a foot apart, your hands immediately falling to his shoulder to steady yourself, an unnecessary action given that he's easily holding you by your waist. 

"Better?" he asks sincerely, as though he genuinely thought this would help.

You can hardly breathe over the pounding of your heart. You are nervous and pissed and terrified and also fucking horny.

Oh Eywa, how is he doing this- just instantly making you forget everything that happened by placing you on his lap and staring at you with those large blue eyes.

"What are you doing here Aonung?" you say tiredly.

His ears prick up at the sound of his name, the first time he's heard you speak it. You can hardly miss the sway of his tail behind you.

"Injury," he shrugs.

You scoff, and he turns to frown at you.

"I am injured," he frowns. "I went to my mother and she told me to come to you."

"She did?" you ask, confused. "If you're hurt, why would she tell you to come to me?"

"So I could hear your great love confession?" Aonung shrugs, eyes sparkling with amusement.

You growl and make to stand up, but his hands keep you firmly planted in his lap.

"Trying to leave now?" he asks. "Don't you want to help me paksalin?"

"Don't call me that," you hiss. 

"You don't like it?" Aonung asks, looking confused.

"You're being mean," you say finally. "Everyone was right about you- you're a skxawng playboy."

"Playboy?" Aonung asks, sounding out the human word with confusion.

"Yeah," you say. "Like a slut."

Aonung laughs in surprise, brows raising at your annoyance with him.

"I thought you were all meek and sweet," he says finally.

"Not anymore," you grumble. "Cat's out of the bag sweetie, so I can go back to being a bitch again. Now let me go so I can help you out."

To your surprise, he instantly obeys, letting his arms drop to his sides so you can clamber out of his lap and collect your paste again. When you turn back, you notice the injury.

"You're hurt."

It's a blunt statement, and you're pointing out the obvious. Aonung has a no shit sort of look on his face, before he notices your concern.

"It's alright," he says gently. "I just got a little scraped by the akula."

"Aonung, there's an akula tooth stuck in your arm," you say, instantly kneeling beside him.

"There is?" he says, sounding interested. "Huh."

"Huh?" you hiss incredulously. "There is a three inch tooth stuck in your arm and you say HUH?"

Aonung just shrugs, and you crouch down to study it, before gently cleaning it up. He hisses a little when you first wipe over the wound, but he just grits his teeth and sits still with patience his skxawng friends could never possess.

"I should probably take this out," you say, once you've wiped all the blood that you can manage to, and placing a comforting, steady hand on the strong muscles of his shoulder.

"Fine," he grumbles.

"I'll be gentle," you promise. "It'll come nice and easy."

"That's what I want to hear," he says, smirking.

Your mouth parts in amused incredulity, and you lightly smack his shoulder as he turns his head to grin cheekily at you.

"Stay still," you instruct. "Straighten up like this, and try not to move too much. Now, just breathe."

Trying to ignore the very persistent flow of blood as you gently grab the top of the tooth, you start to very slowly pull it out.

"Ow," he hisses, his hand instantly jumping to take yours.

"Sorry," you say, giving his own hand a reassuring squeeze, and he quickly shakes his head and swallows.

"I'm all good, just pull it out fast."

"That's what I want to hear," you ask teasingly, and he laughs a little.

His laugh quickly turns into a groan of pain as you use his amusement as a distraction and yank the tooth out.

"Fuck," he hisses under his breath.

"Good job," you say, as though you're treating a child and patting his head like a good boy. "Here, you can keep the tooth as a souvenir."

"Tawtute," he says gently, before you can leave. 

"Yeah?"

"You aren't pathetic, liking me-"

"Yeah, you're very handsome and cool and hot, I get it," you say, rolling your eyes. "Listen Aonung."

And he does, looking up at you like a little puppy sitting on the woven floor, waiting patiently for you to speak.

"I never thought anything would come out of my crush, and I don't expect anything to come out of it. I'll get over it, just please, forget about it."

Aonung's slowly frowning.

"Tawtute, then what about the others?"

"What others?" you sigh, eager to get away and just disappear into your bed forever.

"I hear stuff too," Aonung shrugs. "From other guys."

"Like who?" you snap, growing more and more impatient.

It's like he's a little child sometimes, trying to figure out what he wants to say and then actually speaking the words, as though every sentence is taking every fibre of his being to utter.

"Ta'ru, Moy'ka, Khalo," Aonung shrugs. At that, your eyes widen and your face flushes. Those names are extremely familiar, ones that may be found at the bottom of my little black book.

"Oh my god," you groan, covering your face so he won't see your desperate flush.

"They seemed to really like you as well," Aonung grins. "Heard that you can be a feisty little-"

You glower at him and he cuts himself off with a shameless shrug, as though he knows you can't be mad at him.

"Fuck off Aonung," you snarl. "Just because I had a crush on you doesn't mean I'm gonna take shit from you."

"I'm just saying," the Metkayina shrugs. "You have excellent taste in men, but why are you messing around with the likes of Ta'ru and Moy'ka?"

"Well I don't have too many options, do I?" you growl. "How do you think it feels to be someone who's only options are only seeking the thrill and adventure and tightness of being with a tawtute?"

Aonung pauses, like he hadn't thought about it like that. You know he didn't mean to offend, just tease and taunt you just as he had with Lo'ak and Kiri when they first arrived in Awa'atlu, but his words stung deep.

You couldn't just mess around with anyone you liked, because really you only liked him and he knew that, and that pissed you off more than anything else.

"Just pull your massive head out of your skxawng ass for two seconds and see that not everyone has admirers falling out of the sky and at their fucking feet all the time, that I have to work tirelessly to prove myself and that the only release I can scrounge up is with the likes of Ta'ru and Moy'ka!"

You sigh heavily, not exactly regretting raising your voice at Aonung, yet it didn't bode well that you just insulted and shouted at the future Olo'eyktan.

Aonung is just watching you, his large blue eyes flicking over your agitated face, flushed deep pink and your smaller, duller eyes stinging with furious, mortifying tears.

You can't bear the pity in his eyes, can't bring yourself to listen to whatever he's about to say when he opens his mouth.

"I have worked enough today," you say stiffly, careful to act with appropriate respect, "tell your mother I went home and I'll need more pearls and shells for the beadings."

"Tawtute-"

You quickly turn, hating yourself for your timid, cowardly retreat from the hut with his ocean eyes fixed directly onto you, and slip off through the village.

For a moment, you think he might have tried to follow you by the creaking of the woven village pathway behind you, but you quickly manage to slip between maruis and bustling Metkayina and leave the village.

You can feel your heart pounding loudly, everything so awkwardly silent as you run towards your monstrocity of a home that you feel completely alone in the forest.

Spider isn't there when you fling open your door and bury your face in your pillow. 

You just sit in silence, face-down and not bothering to take off your expopack yet. 

Fuck, you messed up.

You confessed your crush, then flirted with him, then shouted at him, then ran away like the tiny coward the na'vi assume of humans.

Fuck Aonung.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

So maybe you actually were a tiny coward. Yes, you were a fiesty, flaming bitch at heart, but when it came down to the mortification you had faced in that marui with Aonung, not even your sheer stubbornness and determination to shout down anyone in your path could make you leave your home.

So, shamefully, the next days passed with you cooped up in your tiny home, back to wearing your massive ass jumpers over your lazy loungewear. Spider and Lo'ak didn't question your state - you suspect they know exactly what happened - they just moved over on the worn, already cramped sofa and passed you another remote.

The days were considerably shorter than normal when you're self isolating in what is basically a small tin shack, eating shitty food and binging hours of trashy television in the discomfort of your rickety bed.

Which is why, on the fourth morning away from the Metkayina village, you weren't at all surprised to hear the shouts of Spider and Lo'ak's familiar laugh from outside.

You had lazily woken up late in your bra and comfy, heart-patterned boy-short pyjamas that barely covered half your ass and thrown on your massive jumper, which hung a third of the way to your knees, grumbling to yourself that there were the boys outside and you couldn't just spend the rest of the day in your underwear.

When you finally left your room and stomped out to make a coffee in the tiny, tinny kitchen, you were too tired and uninterested to notice the suspiciously gleeful looks shot in your direction.

"Morning," Spider finally chirps.

"Is it?" you grumble, not looking up at your roommate as you slump into the creaky chair by the bench and dully watch the coffee drip monotonously into your chipped, yellowed mug.

Lo'ak snickers at your slumped back as you don't bother turn around to look in their direction.

"Someone's here for you," Spider grins, and you can hear the barely concealed amusement in his voice as you roll your eyes.

"I don't feel being squashed between your and Lo'ak's fat asses and playing video games right now," you sigh. "I can't be fucked for another day spent moping on that old, shitty sofa."

"Aw, is the little tawtute still upset about her little crush on the Metkayina prince?"

"Hardly," you scoff.

You snatch your chipped mug from the machine and just resigning yourself as the coffee continues to drip down onto the tinny bench, no longer having the patience for the infuriatingly slow drip of your greatest necessity before continuing.

"I should have realised what a cocky, brainless, dull, oblivious, pestering, rude, taunting, tiny-dick skxawng-"

"Hey," a deep voice protests from the sofa. 

A very familiar voice.

With a surge of horror and a deep desire to strangle and castrate Lo'ak and Spider, you see Aonung grinning at you.

Fuck, how can he manage to look good here, cramped in this ridiculously small shack that barely even fits you, in the horribly white light that flickered every five damn minutes and sprawled casually on that worn old couch?

His large blue eyes are glittering with amusement, looking large and more muscular than ever in the tiny living room.

"What are you doing here?" you breathe, torn between annoyance with the three skxawngs grinning at you, a desire to storm back into your room with your coffee and slam the door in their faces, and a conflicted delight and slight surge of desire at Aonung here in your house.

"Lo'ak asked me if I wanted to play video games," Aonung shrugs.

Lo'ak just rolls his eyes and says, "No, I said you'd been in your room for the last few days playing video games with us when he asked me why you hadn't been coming around the village. Then he said he'd never played video games, and I said I was coming here again, and then the skxawng just decided to come along."

"Right," Aonung concludes, shooting Lo'ak a scathing look.

"Right," you say too, unimpressed and unconvinced. "Well it's a bit cramped in here. Maybe you should leave."

"No, we'll go," Spider grins, nudging Lo'ak, who also smirks. "You guys have fun, and make good choices!"

"Spider!" you hiss, but your two ridiculously infuriating friends had already extricated themselces from the demountable and disappeared between the sparse forest that hid your human home. You can hear their snickers as they move towards the village and away from the situation they left you in.

Some friends.

You huff an annoyed sigh before lifting your coffee to your lips and taking a small sip. You are staring directly at Aonung, who's shifting slightly on the couch, but you're determing to not back down this time.

Mostly because there's nowhere left your you to run away and hide, now that Aonung has invaded your home.

There's a few moments of tense silence where you continue to sip your coffee and coldly study him.

"I brought you shells pearls," Aonung blurts, nose scrunching slightly.

You raise your brows at him, surprised that he caved to your silent coldness so fast. When you don't reply, he continues.

"Like you asked. Before you left. You told me that you needed more pearls and shells for your beading... so I thought... maybe..."

At your continued cool silence, Aonung trails off. You're surprised to see a faint purple tinge to his handsome face. 

Is he blushing? Is he nervous?

At this realisation, that the cocky prince of the clan in front of you was nervous because of you, an idea clunks into place.

A risky idea for sure, but it was hardly like you could get any more mortified, and an opportunity like this, to have Aonung like this, didn't come every day.

"Why are you here?" you ask dully, finally setting your coffee down with a decisive chink and pinning him under the full attention of your gaze.

"I - um - brought you the shells and pearls-" he starts to say.

"Not because of the shells and pearls."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. An obvious statement, at that.

"Or the video games," you add, eyes narrowing slightly. "Why are you here, Aonung?"

"You haven't been coming around the village," he swallows. 

"I've been busy,"you shrug.

You're horribly aware that your hair is a mess, that you are wearing nothing but a bra and practically underwear under your massive jumper.

Aonung also seems to notice your sloppy and careless appearance, or at least your hair (you pray to Eywa he doesn't notice your clothing, or lack thereof) but he doesn't point your laziness out, which is wise of him.

He reaches for the mask Lo'ak often uses and takes a deep inhale. 

"My mother wishes you come back soon," Aonung mutters.

"And you?" you ask coolly. "Ronal would have told me herself- she has no qualms with coming to visit me here by the river. So what do you want?"

A heartbeat of silence. Aonung blinks. You raise your brows.

"I'm sorry."

The words hang in the air for a moment, trapped, no doubt, between the stifling walls of the ridiculously small room, between you seated at the rickety table and Aonung's much larger, stronger body seated at the peeling sofa.

"It's probably good you weren't around the village lately," Aonung says offhandedly, his voice growing somewhat stronger as you don't yell at him again. "Koro, Ongu and Nashvi were in need of some healing."

"From what?" you roll your eyes. "A prolemuris bite? A stubbed toe?"

"Well," Aonung says, looking more encouraged now, "someone may have beat them up a little for teasing and taunting and being skxawngs."

You look up at that, and find an adorably self-pleased expression on Aonung's face.

"And why would someone do that?" you ask.

"Maybe they wanted to show they were sorry?" Aonung grins. "And they knew it would take more than shells and pearls for forgiveness."

"Why do you want forgiveness?" you sigh, leaning forward on the table to stare better at him.

Aonung sits up and shifts on the sofa, clearly making room for you.

You aren't sure you want to, unsure what will happen if you're that close to him, but you can't help it.

Despite your pretences of confidence and annoyance with him that veneered your facade of sweetness and kindness you had hoped would gain his attention and even affection, you were just a people pleaser. 

And all you really wanted was to please Aonung.

So you picked yourself off, leaving your coffee to grow cold and doubtless forgotten about on the creaky table.

You settled into the sofa besides Aonung, trying to ignore how annoyingly, incredibly, deliciously massive he is as he blinks down at you.

"You are small," he says. "And meek yet furious at the same time. I can't figure you out at all, and you intrigue me, tawtute."

"How flattering," you say dully, and Aonung frowns, as though that was not the reaction he was expecting. "If you fought Ongu and Nashvi and Koro then why aren't you injured?"

"I'm a good fighter?" Aonung shrugs, looking pleased with himself.

You know that well- the Metkayina training grounds for warriors were across from the village, and the closest marui to it was the healing one you often occupied, given that most injuries came from the warriors.

So when you could get away with it, you would peek out the entrance of the healing marui to watch the warriors train. All large muscular men and lithe beautiful women. But no matter who you distracted yourself with, your eyes would always drift back to Aonung.

The way his jokey demeanour vanished the instant he had an opponent, the swiftness of each of his calculated movements, the way you knew, even though you could never hear, that he was taunting and glaring and ridiculing his opponent between powerful blows.

It attracted you more than you'd like to admit, the way he was effortlessly than the others, the ease with which he could toss his opponents around. And when he won, his muscles gleaming with laborious perspiration and a grin fixed on his handsome face...

It was all very attractive.

"Yes yes," you say instead, biting your cheek to stop from rolling your eyes. "You're very strong and incredible."

"You don't sound convinced," Aonung narrows his eyes at you.

You squint back. He really is brainless, just a pretty hunk.

You said what you said and you meant it - and now you don't need him acting all confused when you don't fawn all over him, batting you eyelashes and twirling your hair and practically sucking his dick.

It really is a cocky, brainless, dull, oblivious, pestering, rude, taunting, tiny-dick skxawng thing for him to do - finally speaking to you, looking at you, even trying to flirt with you just as you decide to let it go, set your sights away from him.

So you straighten up to your full height, still several feel smaller even sitting down, and wait as he opens his mouth.

"You confuse me tawtute," Aonung admits.

"No shit, given that you have as many braincells as men I can pull," you mutter, raising your brows at him.

Aonung huffs in annoyance, and you fold your arms further.

"Bold of you," you scowl. "To act like you're the annoyed one after the other day."

"Well," Aonung huffs, blinking furiously, looking torn between confusion and continued, unjust annoyance.

"Well what?" you snap. "Whenever I'm around the village I'm just the tawtute, and now you come into my house, the only place I can just relax-"

"This is my village," Aonung says stiffly.

You blink.

"Oh," you seethe. "So that's what this is about."

"What?"

"That the entitled Olo'eyktan's son is shocked to have someone tell him how it is, to not be beloved and cherished all the fucking time, to not have someone sucking his dick every-"

"I wouldn't protest," Aonung shrugs, smirking down at you before taking another breath from the mask.

You blink again. Just as you think you've called him out, that maybe a word you say will manage to penetrate through that perfect hair and gorgeous head of his- he manages to prove you wrong.

You just growl in irritation and stand back up, storming back towards your room and not bothering to turn back to him.

As you predicted, your coffee lies cold and dreary and lonesome, forgotten on that creaky table in your irritation with him and his stupid damn confusion with you.

"You can let yourself out."

But he doesn't, he just follows you into your room as you flop down onto your bed.

You glare at him, shocked that he has that much nerve to follow you into your room when you clearly don't want to see him.

Spider definitely wouldn't be brave enough to bother you right now, and Lo'ak or Neteyam probably would also be apprehensive.

But cocky, stubborn Aonung just ducks his massive frame through the doorway - a tight squeeze but he somehow manages - and peers hazily around your room.

Of course, the demountable you and Spider call home was built with Jake and Norm in mind, yet Aonung's head was taller than both other men, his braided bun inches away from scraping the ceiling. 

From the bed you continue to glare at him, silent and glowering as he raises his eyebrows at the underwhelming room.

"So this is your room?" he asks, eyes darting back to you. "I always imagined it more..."

There's apparently no words his five brain cells can find, and you roll your eyes again.

"Not everyone can live in the nicest marui in the village," you point out. "Not everyone can live in the village at all.

Aonung sighs again, before his eyes light up and he spots something.

"Don't touch my stuff," you grumble, but he's already stooping his massive body to something.

"What is this?" he asks earnestly.

"What is what-" you snap, before your eyes widen in horror and your mouth parts in silent mortification.

Looking comically small in his ridiculously large hands is your underwear. And to your absolute fucking horror, it just has to be your smallest thong, black and delicate and a little lacy.

"Give that here," you huff, instantly leaping up and trying to snatch it back. Aonung's grin only widens when he realises what it is, and you think you could die of mortification right then and there on your bedroom floor in front of the metkayina prince.

"How come you never wore this around the village?" Aonung chuckles, easily holding it up from your limited reach. "I can promise you, this would grab much more attention than your other tawtute clothing."

You attempt to snatch it back again, face flushed to a deep red now, and he just laughs again.

He looks down at you and frowns at the massive jumper hanging halfway to your knees. 

"And why are you back to wearing those cloaks and blankets?"

"It's a jumper," you say hotly, feeling your face flush that the realising that Aonung had noticed you, or at least the difference between short skirts and tanks and your oversized "blankets".

"And it's comfy, much more so then all the little stuff I tried before."

Aonung just huffs slightly, eyes trailing shamelessly over you again.

"Spider wears a tewng," Aonung reasons. "Besides, these things are much smaller than out clothing anyway."

You gape and shove at him. Predicably, his massive body doesn't move in the slightest. Aonung frowns, and you can guess what he's thinking.

Na'vi are completely comfortable in their bodies- which is easy when they're all slim and muscular and tall and perfect.

You on the other hand, are not. You aren't big by human standards by any means, yet the love and affection you harboured for your body when with the humans had slightly dissipated when surrounded by gorgeous na'vi all the time.

So even though you have put in the efforts to dress for attention, you were always careful not to show too much, which is what stirred the attention of the other male na'vi.

What lay below the strange tawtute clothing- what is so much softer and curvier than na'vi women that you keep teasing them with, yet keep tantalisingly hidden.

But then a thought occurs to you, and it makes you... more interested, or so to speak.

Aonung is curious about you- and you know what you want. It's not like you're expecting anything beyond sex- even that is a stretch -with the handsome, desirable na'vi man.

It's not every day you have this opportunity, to have Aonung like this, all curious about you for the first time since you arrived in the reef, despite months of hoping desperately he'd at least look at you.

So the idea forms in your head, the way you can finally get the Metkayina princes attention.

He is intrigued by you, and you have no hesitation to assume that means in the same lustful, experimentative way other na'vi men have been.

"Why?" you grin. "Do you want to see me in it?"

Aonung freezes. His eyes gaze from the tiny thong to you and back to the skimpy, lacy black material.

"I- if you'd like," he says off-handedly, and you smile to yourself.

He's right where you'd like him. Tantalised by the offer you pose, intrigued by what you've hinted but hidden since you've arrived in the reef.

So slowly, he sinks onto your bed and you slide away the little boy-short pyjamas you had been wearing under the jumper.

"Do you-"

You cut Aonung off with a sly grin, slowly lifting your the sides of your large jumper.

"No need sweetheart," you grin. "I'm already wearing some."

Aonung's ears flatten instantly at the word sweetheart, one you know he doesn't understand judging from his expression trying to interpret if that's a good or bad thing.

But then his eyes fall onto you, and you automatically find his hands on your hips and tugging you closer.

And you know you didn't make a mistake.

He lets out a small hiss, as though he didn't even notice he did, at the sight of your body from underneath your massive jumper.

None of the na'vi - besides your casual partners - had ever seen you in something this small before.

None had seen the squidge of your ass and thighs, the smooth supple skin cloaking your curves.

The men had said it all before- how soft you are, how small you are, just how much give you have.

Na'vi women are all lean muscle, yet the pure humanity of your body lies in the squishiness of it, in your ass and thighs and chest and stomach in ways na'vi would never have.

And then Aonung's hands are on you, kneading your ass, eyes staring down at the way your body moves and jiggles with his slightest touch, pupils blown wide as they are when na'vi make tsaheylu.

It's something that never ceases to send a shiver through you - the awe and delight and worship with which na'vi seem to find in your strange squishy body, 

Then he's looking at you, and his usually baby blue eyes are dark and rough like the deep oceans. It's exactly what you were hoping for, the hunger and desire in his handsome face as he stares, seated but still slightly taller on your bed. 

"Take this off."

It isn't a question or a request, it's a fucking order. For the first time, it strikes you that he really is going to be Olo'eyktan, just by the forceful defiance in his deep voice fuelled by his sudden interest.

Hook, line, and sinker.

You push away slightly and he's frowning like drawing away from him is a goddamn dereliction.

Aonung's impatient, no sooner have you lifted up your jumper over your waist when he's tearing it up and over your shoulders and tossing it into the corner of the room.

"Pxasìk," he mutters, staring straight at you.

It's in no means meant to be a sexy outfit, just a simple thong and bra, but the way Aonung just stares at you is like he's seeing something completely new.

He's not foreign to females- you'd heard quite enough tales about his various exploits, but he looks like a teenage boy seeing his first pair as his gaze flicks up to your face, then he reaches out.

His hands are just this side of too rough, and you can almost feel yourself melting away in his hands that are larger than your head.

You let out a small whimper as he squeezes, and you feel the last strings of his restraint snaps.

Aonung finally picks you up, one hand holding you up by the waist. His casual display of strength is fucking dizzying, and you feel yourself getting wet before he crashes his lips onto yours and drops you in the nest of his lap.

Kissing is not something you are accustomed to when you need to wear your expopack all the fucking time, and you're half terrified about how the last time you kissed someone was a human scientist at least a year ago.

But it's hard to think, so you just lean into him.

The kiss is messy and airless and hardly graceful, but you wouldn't have it any other fucking way. You're all greedy and breathless, desperate for anything, his soft lips against your own, his amber and sea-salt scent, his warm that you nearly forget about everything else and get lost in the kiss.

You've never kissed like this, been kissed like this.

He's just as hungry as you are, but kissing a na'vi is different.

He's just so fucking... big. 

His hands are holding you everywhere- your waist, your ass, your tits, your thighs. He's tilting you this way and that and opening you up to deepen the kiss. His face is so large, the force and hunger and ferocity with which he's kissing you practically about to send you bending backwards if it wasn't for him clutching you tight to him.

It's hot and hungry, almost animalistic as his fangs lightly sink into your lip. You moan like a fucking whore into his mouth, and his textured, massive tongue lightly licks the blood away as he shifts.

It's just a warm, horny mess between the two of you, full of teeth and tongue and your tiny whimpers at each movement of his hands over your skin.

And suddenly it's all getting to much, the sudden emptiness in you that only he can fill, and you're gasping for breath and pulling away to stare at him.

Aonung too is breathless, head automatically following yours but you place a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Aonung breathe."

He grunts his objection to your words.

"I can hold my breath underwater for-"

"I can't have the future Olo'eyktan dying on my bed," you say, smiling at his indignation to stop kissing you. 

"I'm fine," he grumbles.

"Well I won't be able to drag your massive body out if you do pass out," you point out.

"Aw, are you going to try and rescue me?"

"No, I need to hide the evidence," you quip.

Aonung wrinkles his nose at you, but you just thrust the mask at him. With a childish eye-roll, he takes a deep inhale before disregarding his very vital possession and crashing his lips back onto yours.

You find yourself growing more comfortable. Aonung is hungry for anything, his muscles tensing when you make certain movements, and you find yourself doing them again.

Tugging him closer by his necklace. Lightly brushing your nails up his back. Threading your fingers into his braided bun.

When you lightly tug on his soft braided hair, he growls a little and shifts you closer. When you trace your tongue gently across his fangs, his grip tightens suddenly around your ass.

"You're so soft syulang," he whispers.

The sound of his voice all deep and gravelly, his breath all hot and heavy on your neck, his hands roving over every single inch of your skin, it's all just so.... much.

You miss his mouth on yours, but soon enough it's kissing its way down your neck. Each shaky breath of yours is met with him on your neck and collar, lips pressing, tongue lightly licking at your skin, sucking and kissing.

You were familiar enough with this- na'vi men were territorial creatures. But you had never seen any girls from Aonung's little black book walking around with hickeys, and at the rate he was going, your whole neck would just be one fat love bite.

And you'd be fine with that.

You feel his nose nudging lightly against you, breathing you in as his lips brush over your collar. Scenting you.

 His sudden gentleness with you doesn't quite create the friction you so desperately need right now, but his hands trailing and squeezing and exploring your smaller body satiate you. For now.

Then the ferocity is suddenly back, and he's nipping at your body again. A moment later, you realise that he must have only been satisfied because now you smell faintly like him, like amber and sea-salt, yet you know to another na'vi, his mark on you would be almost overwhelming.

When he finally reaches your bra - you could tell he'd been savouring this moment, kissing his way down to it - you can see the hungry gleam in his glittering blue eyes, his tail flicking excitedly behind him and an insatiable smile on his handsome face, fangs poking lightly through his soft lips. 

And like you'd thought, he's impatient and greedy and ravenous. He doesn't bother with the delicate clasp, no doubt guessing the struggles na'vi endured with their massive fingers against the small clinch, simply ripping it straight off your body.

"You ass," you gasp, looking helplessly at the pieces of what was once your bra tossed carelessly from the bed. "We live on a fucking island, where am I meant to get another br-"

"I'll make you more," Aonung promises. "I'll make you ten tops."

You highly doubt that- Aonung doesn't seem, or at least what you'd heard about his playboy experiences, like the sort for after care let alone gift giving.

But your half-hearted annoyance and indignance dies in your damn throat when his hands enclose your tits.

"You're - fuck- you're so small, syulang," he grunts, staring wide-eyed down at you.

Indeed, you'd never felt smaller against a na'vi then right now. Held in his warm lap, one of his hands big enough to hold both your breasts, both large enough to wrap around your whole body.

The thought of that makes you moan unconsciously, and Aonung blinks at you in surprise. You don't bother to play anything cool; with his hands where they are, he can feel how hot and nervous and hungry you are.

And when he meets your eyes again, you can see he feels the same.

Suddenly you're being laid back against your bed and Aonung's comfortingly heavy figure is over you, hands holding you tightly as his lips brush against your breasts.

It's an unexpected movement, one that has you arching in surprise, pushing your chest up and opening it all up to him

He goes on without hesitation, licking over your tit gently, grinning a little at your whine, the stark contrast of your smooth supple skin against his rough tongue just driving you fucking crazy.

He wraps his lips around your nipple and suckles at it, before he nips lightly at the underside of your tit.

And then you're arching and whining and tangling your fingers in his hair, and then he's kissing down your stomach and sliding away your thong before you even know what's fucking happening.

"Wait!" you gasp, cupping his face away from your cunt to get him to look at you. 

"Yes, syulang?"

"This is your first time," you say, trying to swallow heavily. "With a human."

Aonung just blinks, looking confused and slightly offended that you're stopping him from doing as he was going to.

"Don't... um... I should be making this good for you," you breathe shakily. "I want to make you feel good- to... um..."

Aonung just laughs as though you're being hilarious, and reaches up to pat your hair with one massive, warm hand.

"Mawey tawtute," he grins. "I want to make you feel good too."

"But-" you say, face twisted with worry, but once fucking again, he manages to kill your words.

He kisses the soft, squishiness of your thigh, inches away from your bare pussy, and you gasp lightly as he sucks a sweet purple bruise into the soft skin. 

Then, eyes looking carefully up at you to see your reaction, he lightly sinks his fangs into your leg. You gasp so loudly you think they might hear you in the village, hands instantly leaping to find balance in his braided hair. 

The sting is a welcome, warm pain, especially when he lightly licks away the droplet of blood and brushes your clit with a large turquoise finger.

You can't speak, just scrunch your nose tightly, grip onto his braids for dear life as he muscles his way in between your thighs and goes to fucking town.

His mouth is fucking massive- his hands are massive, pinning your hips down. 

You're squirming from the moment he gets onto you, sucking lightly at your clit, a delighted, puppy-playful glint in his large blue eyes, tossing your legs over his shoulders so his face is pressed even closer to you.

He suckles at you so eagerly, tongue stroking over your hole, over and over and over. You can't help it, the way you're simultaneously squirming away from the overwhelming pleasure of it all and the way you're rutting your hips into his face.

"Fu- fuck, Aonung."

It's all messy, you're so wet, his face is shining with your slick and his spit, and he slides a finger back and dips it in.

Instantly you gasp, jolting upwards and arching your back high to the ceiling. Aonung's about to grumble at your squirming when you tug at his hair and he groans.

"Sorry, sorry," you whisper, flushed with mortification.

Aonung just looks up at you and grins, kissing your hip lightly and mumbling against your lips,

"Go ahead syulang."

He slides a second finger in beside the first one, easing them together, fuelled by your breathless moans and groaning into your clit as you tug at his braids with each helpless squirm, his deep rumbles vibrating warmly against you.

He has a look on his face that tells you plainly- he's enjoying this as much as you do. It's in the glint of his eyes and his wide smile.

And the way his tail is thumping happily behind him, unrestrained and untethered, telling you one thing.

He's fucking hard.

You notice it by the way his hips are tilted, rutting slightly against the mattress, but he seems unwilling to take his hands away from you, from the curve of your ass and your slick.

And you want to help, so you squirm a little more to slide down to reach him.

"Aonung, don't you want to just-"

"Just one," he pleads, looking up at you.

It's crazy, how someone that's twice your size and has no fucking idea what it is can look as an adorable as a puppy when he wants to.

And who are you to deny the Metkayina Prince?

So you just accept your fate and hope to eywa you don't black out too fast, clinging to his braids and trying to muffle your moans into your hand.

Your legs begin to shake around his head, eyes rolling all the way back as you moan louder and claw at your rickety brass bed head.

Then, when you accidentally jerk and squeeze your legs around his face, he moans shamelessly against you and that's all it takes.

With a hand clasped tight over your mouth to muffle your moans of pleasure, coming undone on his tongue, clamping down on his fingers and leaping head first off the edge you'd been teetering on.

You have no idea what to do, just know you're rocking aimlessly against his face, crying out and holding onto him for dear life.

He continues through it all, licking and kissing and nipping and sucking with such fervour that you think he might just pull your soul out of your pussy, eyes watching you with desperate lust yet also with sweet curiousity.

Whether you're conscious or unconscious you don't know, all you can sense is the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing again and again over you. 

"Holy shit," you breathe, finally coming down and lightly tugging at his braids. "Aonung come on, let's find something for you."

Aonung frowns, clearly wanting to keep going, but he obliges when you grin and brush your fingers over his face.

He's all dopey and messy and gorgeous, face shining like the fucking ocean, but he just wipes it carelessly and moves back up your body to shower your chest and neck with more kisses and light nips.

"Aonung," you say gently, squirming slightly underneath him.

He just grunts to show he's listening, flicking your nipple lightly with his large, rough tongue. You fight back your broken moans so you can speak.

"I want to fuck you," you whisper.

That gets his attention fast. You nearly laugh at the way his head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise, and he tilts his head.

"Syulang, we have time, we don't have to-"

"No," you growl, frowning and trying to get him to understand. "You can kiss any girl anytime, see any tits any time, but this is the only time I'm ever going to have you and I want to do everything."

Aonung blinks, looking surprised, before bursting into deep, rumbly laughter that makes you scowl.

"What?" you grumble, annoyed and reaching to cover your tits.

That makes him grumpy, and he easily just pushes your arms away so he can pillow his chin between the cleavage and rest his face to look up your body at you.

His massive body, double the proportions of everything you have, is a comfortable weight over your smaller body, his hands absentmindedly stroking your soft skin.

"I'm not going to see any tits any time," Aonung says simply. "These are my favourites."

"You-" you wrinkle your nose at him to hide your annoyed smile as he licks lightly over your breast, then sucks a little hickey into the underside of the soft cleavage.

"Tawtute, you're all soft and smooth and squishy."

You let out a breathless little laugh, amused by the childish simplicity with which he expresses himself, stroking his large face fondly.

"But I don't want to waste our time when this is the only-"

"It doesn't have to be the only time," Aonung shrugs, blinking at you. "You can come to me whenever you like."

That's a layered statement. Whilst that has you reeling with delight and satisfaction, you can't help wishing that maybe he would come to you, that maybe he'd ever want this more than you do. Want you more than you want him.

"Or I'll come to you," Aonung amends. "But if I come to you whenever I'd like, you'd be getting sick and tired of having me around."

"Why don't you find out," you whisper. "Just how tired you can make me."

And with that, you're in agreement.

Placing you in control, he rolls over onto his back, careful not to crush you, and lifts you lightly to rest on his chest.

You reach out to tug at the band of his loincloth, your fingers quick and desperate and practically scrabbling at the knot, and Aonung watches with amusement and curiousity.

Finally, it's untied and you draw it away. And fuck. He's naked. 

The prince of the clan is naked in the bed, straddled under you, staring up at you like he's never seen something so... precious.

So yes, maybe you've imagined this a million times. Thought about him naked, here, in the reef, in the river, in the marui, in every possible place.

For a human, you can be a horny little thing sometimes, and the thing that fuelled that most was your little crush.

But now he's here, and you're eager to see him.

All na'vi are big compared to you, every na'vi cock you've ever seen and felt and took is just large and beautiful and big, but Aonung just seems obsene.

Never once, in all your filthy imaginations, had you truly dared to factor in the sheer size of him. Just by looking at his massive muscular body, one could guess, but they'd still have their fucking minds blown.

He’s big. So fucking big it has your eyes bulging and heart thumping and mouth almost watering. His cock is just as beautiful as him, just as smooth pale blue with the delicate darker stripes and glowing tahnì.

When you reach out and touch it, his hips jerk slightly and his pupils widen as your smaller hand closes gently around it.

Fuck, you need two hands to hold it. It's heavy and hot and obscene in your small, smooth hands, and you look up at him with amazement.

He's just staring back, waiting for you to do what you want with him. Whatever you want.

You shift your hand down, too small to hold all of him but he groans anyway, feeling warm and sticky precome gushing from the tip to coat your fingers.

"Fuck, syulang, so good," he grunts, seemingly mindlessly rocking his hips up into your hand.

You just want to be good for him. To make him feel good, in any way near the way he made you feel, to repay him. 

But at the same time, the heavy weight of his cock, let alone the sheer damn size of it, has your head spinning and mouth watering. You want it stretching everything inside you, bullying its way into you, fucking its mark deep into you until you're ruined for anyone else.

You just want everything.

It's greedy of you, you know that, to be lusting after what might quite literally be the most unattainable man in the clan, but you can't help it. From the moment you set eyes on him, that's all you wanted, him as yours.

But since you can't have that, you'll just have to make this time worth it, get him to fuck you enough to last a lifetime without him.

"Come on," you grin. "All this for me?"

Aonung grunts as you tighten your hand slightly around his painfully hard cock, eyes studying the way the tahnì's light flickers and shimmers with each of your movements, the way he pulses in your hand.

"You have me now syulang," he mutters. "You don't need all those big, stupid guys."

"You are literally the stupidest guy ever," you point out. "But also the biggest."

At the last word, you lick a stripe up his length, and his hand jumps into your hair and he chokes out a groan.

"Even your tongue is smooth tawtute," he mutters, almost to himself.

"I'll try my best," you say, pulling back a few inches to study his dick. "I've never done this with a na'vi before-"

"It's alright," he whispers, trying to pull you closer, and you frown.

"I want to do this," you pout. "Please- it just might not be very tidy."

Aonung tries to pull you away, tries to hide the way his cock is pulsing, but you can feel each heartbeat through the heavy weight in your hand.

"Come syulang, we have time later," he pleads. "You wished to fuck."

"I don't want this to be over too soo-"

"I will come every day if that's what you'd like," Aonung huffs. "Just let me make you feel good."

So you oblige, pushing hard at his shoulders, and he lies back onto the pillows as you lift yourself up and straddle him.

"Are you sure?" Aonung asks, furrowing his brows at you. "You are small and-"

This time you're the one to cut him off, rolling your hips fluidly over his much larger ones, feeling your whole body tighten at the new friction of your slick and throbbing clit sliding up along his hardened length.

He doesn't protest again. He just lets his hands fall to rest on your hips, sliding your smaller body on his before bringing you down to grind harder.

You moan and he lets out a small noise in his chest, and it takes you a moment to realise he's purring.

Surprisingly, he doesn't seem abashed by the sounds he makes, instead he just rests his head back against the pillows to watch your movements with eyes darkened with lust.

You can feel that familiar heat growing rapidly, too rapidly, between your legs straddled either side of him, so you quickly lift off his hips. Thankfully, Aonung seems to understand, or maybe the teasing is just too much for him too, because he helps you line him up with your entrance.

At the slightest movement, your legs stretching further to lower yourself onto his cock, you know it's going to be a stretch. More than any fingers, any cock, anything you've ever taken, and you think he knows it too, by the way he's staring so avidly at you.

But you're impatient, hardly caring how much you get hurt, just wanting him inside you, stretching you, marking you, ruining you, and you drop further down so the head of his cock starts to press into you.

And then you're dropping further, hair cascading messily all over you, lips bit tight to hide your pain before the massive hardness of him slides past the ring of resistance and starts to smoothly sink into you.

You cry out and Aonung hisses.

"You're- fuck, you're so tight syulang," he groans. "The others did not lie."

You can't answer, sinking further down, head lolling back at the overwhelming stretch of it all, hands resting firmly on his chest to anchor yourself.

Aonung's breathing heavily, his eyes blown wide to black moons ringed in a thin line of pale blue, and you can see he's trying to control yourself as you grit your teeth and sink further onto him.

You're whining and whimpering and he half-looks like he wants to stop out of concern for you, but you shake your head at him. Instead, he sits up, cradling your small figure against his massive chest and takes control, sliding in.

And in. And in.

Just when you think there's no more left for him to go, he keeps going. He lets you sink your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your sharp cries, gently smoothing your hair and whispering comforts and praise to you while his other hand reaches down to rub circles on your throbbing clit.

The stretch in you feels so tight that you doubt you can move, and Aonung hisses again as you clench around him.

"Just a little more, paskalin," he whispers, biting back a groan as he rocks another inch into you, your silent tears streaking his chest, your whimpers and whines practically injected into him through your mouth on his shoulder.

"You're so big," you choke out, gritting your teeth as he pushes in another inch, which seems literally fucking impossible.

And fuck, he's still got a few inches left and there's just simply no more space. You frown with frustration, but then he's dropping your remaining weight onto him and buries himself deep inside you.

You cry out, face twisted in the delicious mix of blunt pain and sharp pleasure, and Aonung just remains there, holding you close and sheathed within you, letting you adjust and clench and breathe heavily.

"Holy shit," you groan. "You're right here."

The bulge of his dick is evident in your body, and you lay a breathless hand over it. A sick part of you wishes it'll remain there forever, his mark fucked into you long after you can't fuck him anymore.

He too takes a breath, lazily and careless from his mask, before laying it back down and finally starting to move.

The stretch is a delicious burn as Aonung rocks his hips deeper, until he's as far in as he's going to get, before he pulls out an inch and makes his first, experimental thrust. To his delight, it has your eyes rolling back and you arching your tits right into him.

His lips find his way on your neck, your nails digging into his broad back as he rolls his hips and thrusts deep into you. You can't hold it back anymore, moaning shamelessly like a whore into his ear all the while scratching your mark into his back.

He, in turn, is moaning and cursing against your neck, his mouth all messy, nipping and kissing along your neck and collar and chest.

It's all just a test, really. Sensing out each others bodies, learning what you like; there's nothing about this you dislike.

You love the squeeze of his hands on your curves, knowing he loves your curves just as much- judging the way he's pinching your ass, kneading your tits and tracing the little squidge of your belly.

"So good syulang," he whispers when you clench around him again. "You're doing so well."

He's whispering nearly unintelligible things against your neck, words of worship, mutters of how tight you are, little praise of how well you're doing.

You just cling onto him, moaning shamelessly into his ear, arching further and further with every deep, forceful thrust, feeling as though he's fucking your soul straight out of your body.

If he hadn't been holding you up, you think you may have just turned to jelly and flopped backwards, yet his hands are warm and present on your back.

You shift slightly, up and down, trying your best to meet each of his thrusts, and there it is. The start of the knot, the one you begin to pull, to unravel.

And then he knows it, because all of a sudden he's speeding up and thrusting deeper and rubbing circles on your clit, and you're a moaning mess, hands raking through his hair and over his back, gently caressing his face and digging sharply into his waist.

All it finally takes is the nip at your neck, the soft whispered shower of desperately spoken words you can't even hear, and then you've tipped over the edge.

Aonung just fucks you through it all, cradling you body and still muttering those words you can't make out. You're making a fucking mess, your sharp cries and moans and whines tearing through the home so loudly you'd thank Eywa forever that Spider's far away in the village.

And then when you still, the change that goes through Aonung is surprising. He had been rough by human standards, but it never seemed to strike you just how gentle he had been until he just loses all vestages of control.

He's moving at animalistic paces, and you're unravelling into a moaning, trembling mess under him, teeth sunk into his shoulder to try and quiet your sounds, because you sure as fuck can't hold them in.

You yelp as he speeds up now, brutal and animalistic as the last tenterhooks of his strained restraint snaps and he buries himself deep inside you. He's hissing a million unintelligible words against your skin as he spills himself inside you, rocking his hips the whole time until he finally comes to a shaky stop.

It's all just quiet. And still. 

No words are spoken, just your faint moans every now and then in the aftershock of your earth-shattering orgasm.

After a moment, when you finally start to return to yourself somewhat, you realise he's layed back against the bed, you curled lightly on his chest. His arm is tented protectively over you, your own wrapped tight around his own chest, your hair spilling over your shoulders onto both your spent, slightly sweaty bodies. 

Then he finally moves, a small shift to pull you even closer, gently slide you up his body you you're in his view, when he can nuzzle lightly into your neck.

You whimper at the sudden cold emptiness inside you as he lifts you off him and closer to his face, but he lightly kisses all over your flushed face, once, twice, again and again, soft, gentle brushes of his lips over your shining skin.

"Are you alright, syulang?"

You can't answer. Aonung, the prince of the clan, the guy you've been crushing on since you came to the reef, the one that was the most unattainable man in the reef, had just fucked every morsel of animation out of your body, and is now cuddling you close.

"Why are you doing this," you manage to say weakly.

"You do not like having me here?" Aonung asks, brows furrowing in confusion, looking slightly hurt.

"No," you say quickly. "But you don't have to stay here with me- you're free to go if you wish. Don't feel like you have to take care of me."

Aonung's frown deepens, but he just nuzzles closer, his face pillowed with your soft, raw breasts.

"I will stay," he says decisively. 

"But you don't," you say quietly. "I've- I've heard things, that you are just... well... slutty. We both wanted sex Aonung, you don't have to feel obligated to help me, especially when you never did with others before me."

"I will stay," he says again. "I want to stay with you, syulang."

It's strange. You don't feel uneasy, but you're not used to cuddling after intimacy, not with men only being with you for the experience of fucking a tawtute, not when you're wearing your expopack.

But now, for the first time, you're just spent the fuck out, collapsed on top of the future Olo'eyktan, being praised and kissed and cared for by the elusive, unattainable Aonung.

And then there's the problem. The fact that Aonung has lit a flame no others will be able to fuel, the fact that he's made you come harder than any other ever will, the fact he's stretched you to the point no other will ever be able to fill.

"I think you've fucking ruined me," you mumble sleepily into his neck. 

"Have I?" he asks, sounding slightly pleased with himself.

"For anyone and everyone."

So there's just the question left, the one that's been ringing in your brain since he kissed you, since he touched you, since you came so hard your vision went fuzzy.

And you know there's never going to be another chance to ask it. So here fucking goes. But then he answers it before it even leaves your raw lips.

"You will not need others syulang," he growls. "I will take care of you."

And you think you could melt away. All you wanted.

It seems impossible that this is happening- maybe he fucked you so well you simply passed away, and your heaven was just him caring for you. Maybe you're still fucking dreaming, and you haven't woken up, and Lo'ak and Spider will be playing video games outside on that shitty old sofa.

But then you reach out to tentatively touch his face, and you know it's real.

He's still breathing raggedly, and you pass him the mask.

"Breathe, Aonung."

"I-"

"I don't want you passing out before you can finish what you were trying to say," you reprimand him.

Aonung laughs slightly and obliges, before setting his mask back down.

"I liked you too, tawtute," he whispers. 

"Fucking hypocrite," you hiss, your supposed annoyance at complete odds with your uncontrollable, delighted grin.

"I liked your sweetness," he grins, kissing your nose. "And kindness and determination. You asked why I did not speak to you- I was ashamed."

You blink in surprise, and pull back a few inches.

"Not of liking you," Aonung continues. "Ashamed that for the first time in my life, I was nervous. You made me nervous, with all your perseverance and tawtute clothing and cuteness."

You shut him up, crashing your lips onto his and snake your hands around his neck.You kissed him.

You can feel his heartbeat picking up against your chest as he shifts, one of his hands on your waist and holding you up so your faces are closer, the other tangling in your long hair.

He smells good, like amber and sea-salt, and his lips are so soft and warm that you nearly forget about everything else and get lost in the kiss.

And it means everything that you don't need to speak. Who needs tsaheylu to read each other when you can kiss him like this?

"I will make you those tops I promised," Aonung says, pulling away. "And I can order a new hut. If you prefer your tawtute clothing, teach me to make you more."

Fuck. 

This is better than anything you could have dreamed of, imagined in those long afternoons in the healing hut staring lustfully at Aonung from afar.

And now he's here, cuddling you, offering to make you gifts and asking what you like.

"My little tunutu," he whispers.

The words send a shiver through you.

The same way you'd felt this whole time, wanting all of him with everything you have, desperately willing to give whatever you have to offer.

And now he feels the same.

Tunutu.

Your composure is a facade. 

He knows it. He knows it because he sees it. In the way your scowl falters just a fraction as you swirl colorful insults through velvet words and he finally bites back. In the way you push against him when he attempts to offer his help, because the basket you’re lugging is absurdly full, and yet you still let him walk you the rest of the way to the village. 

You snarl at him when he even attempts to correct your bow arm, and it used to make him flush with something sharp and ugly – envy, maybe? – because you didn’t have a problem with authority, he knows because you seem to take his fathers criticism’s just fine. When anyone else rectified you, you adjusted.

It was only ever a him problem, because when he corrected you, you hissed at him like his correcting hand was tipped with arrowheads and poisonous herbs. 

You had a problem with Nateyam.

As a teenager, it used to irk him to no end. As the first born son to the Olo'eyktan he was supposed to be a leader too, an authority that the clan respected and did not question because they trusted him enough to follow. But most importantly, he was supposed to get along with you. 

You– the daughter to the clan's most formidable warrior, his fathers right hand man. 

You– who did not listen. Who did not trust him. Who always–always–questioned him. 

It may as well have been written in the stars by Eywa herself that the two of you were fated to fold neatly into the same position as your father’s. And yet you resisted at every moment possible. You rebelled, and scowled, and cursed at the mere mention of his name. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with the Olo'eyktan's first born despite your role and that made it so exceedingly hard to get along with you. It left his skin flushing that embarrassingly dark purple colour which made his mother chuckle whenever he spoke of you. 

He tried to make sense of it. Of the way you rolled your eyes at his advice, or scowled every time the two of you were paired in training. He couldn’t recall doing anything wrong. Not really. You fought as normal children had, argued and competed as two eldest children to high ranking parents would, but it was nothing sharp enough to leave a lasting wound. Nothing that should have haunted him like this.

However, he wasn’t a young boy anymore and time had an ironic way of sanding things down. He noticed what once felt like a raw hatred you wore like a book written in some foreign sky-language, suddenly became much more legible as his years grew to start with a two, almost as if he learned how to annotate his memories of you with the clarity he lacked as a teen. 

He specifically remembers one time during communal dinner when you asked for the basket of fruit that sat just beyond your reach by the central fire, the one he sat closest to, and of course he picked it up and attempted to pass it, because why would he not? He also remembers the way you had slapped his hand away with a guttural scoff, almost as if he was ridiculous for even offering. The act had his brows furrowing, that familiar anger – the kind only you ever managed to draw out, boiling beneath his skin once again.

But it was only through the snickers of both your mother and his who had been watching the interaction intensely, that he noticed. You still took the basket. 

“Hey!” Your fathers voice rumbled from just to the left, “Play nice.” 

He’d imagine your father was probably less than impressed at his daughters rude mannerisms towards the Olo'eyktan's son – once again – but the reprimand softened almost immediately, soon chased by a low chuckle that started only after Neteyams own father attempted to hide a snicker of his own just beside your father.

They were leaning into one another, shoulders touching, Jake’s head tipped low as one hand, holding a piece of half bitten meat hung limply by his mouth, trying and failing to hide his laughs.

The nudges of your sister's elbow into your side was the last thing he remembered noticing, sharp and mocking but quickly followed by the way you finally shot her a look, warning her in that weird silent language he used to not understand, but one he was now starting to. Because you ate your fruit without ceremony, and your eyes trained forward in an attempt to not glance his way, yet the basket sat firmly within your hands, despite it.

That was when Neteyam stopped letting it irk him. When he realised why everyone else around him seemed to find that mean spirit you reserved only for him so humorous despite his distress. You were composed, yes, but he finally understood why. Your composure was a lie. 

And once it stopped irking him, once it settled into something he thought he understood, all the memories of you persistently adorning the scowl that seemed to exist only for him suddenly lost their bite. 

Which was why, standing across from you now, he didn’t brace for your signature, fang baring scowl. It was expected in a way that made him sigh with knowing fatigue, and yet a little bit of smugness all the same.

“Why must you always be so difficult?” The words surfaced in that defeated tone he reserved only for you and your impertinence for him. 

Your body shifted back as you leaned against your heels to glance over your shoulder to where he stood behind you. You were still kneeling over the stump of braided vines you had been meticulously shredding into winding fibres with your knife just moments ago. 

“I am not.” And there it was – that scowl he expected. “You just insist on hovering.”’

“We were sent out here to collect fibre together. You ‘insist’ on making it a one man job.”

You didn’t look at him again. You turned back to the vines instead, blade resuming its steady work as if his presence were nothing more than a distraction you’d already accounted for.

“I do not need a partner to cut fibre,” you said, voice flat, and then you sighed. “So ridiculous.” A harsh scoff hidden under your breath.

Neteyam raised a brow at what he thought he heard, the corner of his mouth tipping low in confusion. “What is?” 

At his words, you quickly shot up with a whirl, tail whipping to the side in a way which Neteyam had to step back to avoid, but now you were facing him completely. “That our fathers insist on sending us out here together like we are still little children. I do not need a partner and I certainly don’t need any partner of mine to be you.”

The words landed harsher than the scowl ever could and for a moment, he only stared at you, really observing your twisted features and what he could only describe as an almost pouty lip. He took in the way your stance squared and the way your grip curled around the knife as if it were an extension of your arm rather than a honed tool. You looked like a child.

“Right, you are not a child,” he said at last, voice level. “Maybe our fathers wouldn’t feel the need to treat you like one if you stopped acting as if.”

“Excuse me?” The grip on your knife tightened, wood creaking under the pressure of your grasp which almost splintered the wood. The corner of your mouth twitched up in that scowl that bared the top of your right fang to his watchful eyes and your tone was so even it almost made him falter.  

Neteyam held his ground, though. He replied carefully, in an attempt to diffuse just a little, “You speak against me in every task, as if we haven’t been paired together since we were old enough to hold a blade. If you wish to be met as an adult, you cannot bare your teeth at every word spoken to you, fang.”

The age old nickname rolled smooth off his tongue but approached your ears like venom. You despised when he called you that. 

A humourless breath left you. “Perfect Olo'eyktan's son,” you murmured, “always so composed and responsible. Maybe I would enjoy my time with you more if Eywa hadn’t shaped you so stiff in the tail you forgot how to bend, Tawtute.”

For a heartbeat, the words hung between you. Then Neteyam’s jaw tightened, always hating when you commented on the human in him, as if they made him less Navi, less than you.

A Tawtute, as if it were an insult. He chose to ignore your bait, however. Low hanging fruit as his father would say.

“You forget how many times that stiffness kept you from getting hurt.”

You scoffed, turning back toward the vines, knife biting down harder than before. Fibres split unevenly, curling away beneath your hands. “I do not need to be helped by someone who can barely hold their bow arm high enough to knock an arrow. I do not listen to you.”

“Yeah,” He scoffed a humorless laugh, “You never do.”

He sank down into a squat then, finally turning his attention to the pile of finished fibres you’d shoved aside. His hands were quick to gather a few filaments in between his pointer and thumb, testing the strands between his fingers as he twisted two together before giving them a short, sharp tug. They held for a second, held for another as he stretched them further, then finally faltered with a snap as he pulled them taught enough.

His mouth twitched down. 

“You cut angry,” he observed with a growl. “Uneven. Wasteful.”

You spun once more, this time in your squatted position to meet him at eye level, the knife still gripped between your four fingers. “You waste them with your stupidity! Of course they break when you only weave two fibres together!”

“They need to be thick enough for bowstrings, to hold knocked arrows in new bows.” He countered. 

You sneered with a slight hiss, leaning further into him. “Then don’t use them.”

“Oh no, I will.” He smirked, as he began his job, looping the fibres together once again, securing them with practiced ease. “Someone has to make sure we don’t come back empty-handed.”

You shot him a glare. “I said I do not need your-”

“You do not need my help,” he finished for you, amused now. “I know. You’ve said it at least five times since we left the clearing.” 

He leant closer as he spoke, not directly into your space, but just enough that you had to shift your stance to keep working without him intruding. His shadow fell over the stump, over your hands and the blade that suddenly seemed to falter under a different kind of pressure.

“And yet,” he continued, eyes never leaving the strands as he calmly coiled the fibres, “you keep cutting while I bind. Funny how that works.”

You stopped your movements, sending him a glare out the side of your eye that had your lashes feeling heavy and jaw slightly agape. “Get out of my way.” You spat, but it was as if you couldn’t convey the weight of anger you meant to land. Your tone was weak and almost a little desperate.

“You always rush when you’re angry,” he ignored your demand, if it could even be called that, and his tone almost conversational. “Your tail gives you away.”

Your eyes flashed with the realisation that he even been looking long enough to notice, and you're cheeks flared with something warm and hot that turned you a darker shade of blue. “Stop watching me, Tawtute.” This time your voice really did sound more desperate.

“I can’t." He smirked, as if it were so obvious. “You make it difficult.” 

You were close enough to see the faint curve of that infuriating smile he loved to wear, and to feel the heat of him that radiated the smug confidence you knew he wore like a headpiece.

Years of successful attempts at keeping him as far away as one could be from someone they worked with on a near daily basis, you felt had suddenly dwindled into an endless array of interactions in which he always manages to dominate the conversation. Reduced to this. To the way he always stood too close now, and spoke too smugly, as if he’d decided he finally had you figured out.

“You know,” despite your lack of response, he broke the silence, voice dipping just enough to grate, “for someone who insists she doesn’t listen to me, you react an awful lot when I speak.”

“Because you are provoking me,” you snapped. 

“You glare like you’re about to strike me,” he said, entirely too amused.

“Lucky I'm working because you would deserve it if I did.” You spat, suddenly all too deficient of every insult you had ever learned.

“Oh are you? Wouldn’t have guessed with you looking at me like a Yerik in firelight.” 

Eywa, if you didn’t look angry before. “Neteyam!” This time, you hissed it like a venomous mantra, fangs bared and legs snapping up to your full height as you leaned into his space, close enough to let the words bite. Your ears pinned sharp against your braids, and his jaw set as he met your glare without yielding, tension pulling tight between you like a drawn bowstring–

“Oh good, you’re fighting again.”

A sudden unexpected third voice had both your heads spinning towards the break in the clearing just a few yards East, where a very unimpressed Lo’ak tread down the path with a barely-contained giggling Kiri besides him. Kiri moved with a balled fist pressed against her pursed mouth, supported by an arm crossed along her chest in an attempt to hide her amusement. 

“It’s more like flirting again.” The words Kiri muttered were small and meek but Eywa, if they didn’t hit large. At this rate, Kiri could barely contain the falter in her voice as she struggled to huff the words through stifled breathy laughs.

Both you and Neteyam froze at the intrusion, then stilled at the implication, a beat passing before you each stepped back in the same beat of time. He rose to his feet far too quickly besides you, your own eyes blown wide in something too closely resembling horror, while Neteyam merely rolled his eyes, tired and resigned, straightening back into the perfect son like a it was second nature once more. 

“Stop being a skxawng, Lo’ak–.”

“–We are not flirting, Kiri.” 

The words collided in the air, your words to Kiri a hiss and his to Lo’ak a sigh, overlapping with a defensive tilt that had the other two chuckling harder.

Lo’ak’s mouth twitched. “Wow,” he stated. “Touched a nerve.”

Neteyam, the all mighty responsible son he is, didn’t reach for the bait Lo'ak hung so low for him, and instead crossed his arms with a sigh at his presence. “What are you doing here?”

The answer came before either of them could speak, and a sudden fifth voice came echoing from the brush of leaves, their cracking rattle taut through the thick air. A small, blurred figure came dashing out of the treeline, making a dash straight towards the centre of the clearing in a full stumbling sprint, heading directly towards where you stood in a pout next to Neteyam. 

“Dad said to come get you two because you’re taking too long!”

“Tuk!” Kiri and Lo’ak barked at the same time. 

Lo’ak lunged forward, catching her by the arm just before she could skid to a stop at your feet. The glare he sent her was sharp and immediate, enough to make her shrink in on herself, ears drooping as she braced for the scolding she knew was soon to come.

“Dad told us to come get them,” he corrected, gesturing between himself and Kiri. “That wasn’t an invitation to follow.”

Tuk's round eyes glint up with that innocent reasoning you just couldn't deny, her pupils glossing over as she pouted heavy in protest.

“But dad said they’ve been out here alone long enough!” She protested, wriggling free of Lo’ak’s grip to continue her dart straight to you. The moment she was within range, she grabbed your hand with both of hers, tugging urgently as she looked up with those wide, worried eyes. “He told mom that if you and Neyetam keep bickering today, you’d probably end up at the tree of souls tonight! But you can’t go on a trip tonight, you promised you’d help me braid my beads in!”

For a heartbeat, the clearing went unnervingly still. You stared still as stone down at Tuk, mortification burning hot beneath your skin at the implication that flew right over her head but knocked you right up yours instead. And besides you, Neteyam looked like the world had briefly knocked him off balance too, eyes widening just enough to betray him before he could pull himself back together. 

In stark contrast just a ways away, Lo’ak let out a sharp bark of laughter, doubling over with his grip on Kiri's arm, just as Kiri finally outright lost the battle she’d been silently fighting, turning away from the set of two dazed and angered eyes with a hand clamped over her mouth. Her shoulders shook as quiet, uncontrollable cackles spilled freely between her fingers. Whatever restraint they had before was entirely fleeting, fed instead by the shared, undeniable shock written across both your faces. The two of you looked ridiculous.

And Tuk, sweet innocent Tuk, oblivious to the chaos the words had detonated in the once silent clearing, glared up at Neteyam's shell-shocked face with furrowed brows and that pouty sneer. “Stupid Neteyam. You can’t take Y/n anywhere today. Eywa heard it, she’s with me today!”

She punctuated the proclamation with a scrunched nose and a quick, defiant flick of her tongue in his direction.

For a split second, Neteyam only stared at her, still caught somewhere between the weight of what had just been said and the very real presence of his little sister. Then he blinked, jaw tightening as the annoyingly-older brother instinct finally won out over shock. With a sharp, almost automatic motion, he reached out and pinched her tongue between his fingers. An act that had Tuk squealing and flailing in protest.

“Oi!”  Tuk yelped, recoiling instantly, clutching her tongue with a gasp.

Neteyam let the sound settle before he spoke. He shot you a brief, weary glance, as if checking whether you’d react at all, then turned back to his sister, composure sliding firmly back into place. His voice level and measured with a delicate care he reserved specifically for her. “That is entirely enough out of you. Someone needs to give you a lesson about eavesdropping. Time to take you home before we all get scolded.”

Tuk’s ears drooped immediately, shoulders curling inward as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers still hovering protectively near her mouth. She opened her lips as if to argue, then thought better of it, gaze flicking between Neteyam and the ground with exaggerated remorse.

That was when Lo’ak scoffed, the tension finally cracking as he straightened and scoffed, still grinning as he shouted. “He's right, you’ve caused enough trouble. Come on, teylupil.”

He didn’t wait for her to comply, instead walking to grab her, planting two steady hand on each of her shoulder blades, then began steering her away with decisive finality, already turning her toward the path before she could wriggle free.

“But I didn’t do anything!” Tuk protested, craning her neck back toward you as Lo’ak dragged her away, voice pitching higher with urgency. “Y/n, don’t forget--!”

“I know,” you cut in quickly, not turning, the words tossed over your shoulder like a promise already made.

Kiri lingered a heartbeat longer. Her gaze flicked between you and Neteyam, something quiet and knowing glinting behind her eyes as her mouth twitched with barely restrained amusement. You caught it quickly, and shut it down even quicker, face smoothing into neutrality as you turned away, dropping back into a crouch before the stump as if nothing had been disturbed at all.

The knife was in your hand again before the clearing could settle.

“We will collect the threads and follow.” Your voice came out flat and ungiving, deliberately so, spoken without fault or the slightest fracture they were clearly waiting to see. Whatever reaction they’d hoped to draw from you never came, your expression smoothed into something unreadable as if nothing at all had touched you in the interaction.

When he didn't get it from you, Lo’ak shot his attention to Neteyam with a long, assessing look, like he was waiting for the reaction you refused to give. When he found nothing but the faint quirk at the corner of Neteyam’s mouth, he huffed a quiet laugh and finally grabbed Kiri by the arm, tugging her along with him toward the start of the winding path back to the village . “Dad’s pissed,” he called over his shoulder. “Try not to be too long.”

The brush swallowed them soon after, laughter and murmured whispers dissolving into the low hum of the forest. And then the clearing fell still again.

You let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, shoulders rolling as the tension finally bled off. Remembering yourself, you turned back to the stump, your hands moved quickly now, rough and efficient, gruffly snatching clumps full of fibre from the scattered pile and stuffing them into the woven basket Neteyam had brought, as if keeping busy might quiet everything still coiled tight beneath your skin.

For a moment, Netayem watched. It almost seemed like that armored composure of yours was taut as rigidly upright as usual, as if nothing in the last five minutes had made you falter for even a moment. To anyone else, maybe, it did appear as so, but he knew you well enough to see the way your jaw clenched so tight he’d envisioned you cracking a molar, and the harsher than necessary grip in your fingers as you haphazardly tossed the fibre around. Not to mention the stutter in your tail’s path, the tell he’d learned long ago as the one that always surfaced when you were lying.

It left him releasing a chuckle he couldn't contain, a deep, rumbling sound which made your ears twitch sideways in annoyance. You paused in your frantic movements, head snapping to the side in a motion which left your glowing amber eyes glaring daggers at his towering form. 

“What?” You spat, tired, irritated and painfully obvious to him – embarrassed.

“Still upset about what Kiri said?"

Your jaw clenched, fangs peeking as you whipped fully around to face him, rising to your full height at the implication. The basket thumped forgotten at your feet as the tension tipped to a peak beyond your capacity, and you stalked towards him with an almost predatory sway. 

"I am not angry about that ridiculous–” You cut yourself off, taking a moment to collected a breath of humid air, allowing it to sit in your lungs before releasing in a desperate attempt to somewhat self-regulate. “Do not flatter yourself, Tawtute. Flirting? With you? I'd sooner make Tsaheylu with a thanator."

His eyes gleamed with mischief, but it wasn’t the boyish, careless kind he usually wore. This one was the kind he wore like a blade, thin and bright and purposeful, slipping neatly beneath the cracks in your composure because he knew where to press. 

The careful, responsible mask he wore all the time loosened just enough to reveal the tease underneath, a glimpse of something warmer and far more dangerous than his jabs at you ever were. He didn’t crowd you with his body so much as he crowded you with his unyielding certainty, leaning in just the smallest amount, voice dropping into something that felt like it belonged in the a dark room rather than under open light of tree canopy.

“Funny,” He murmured, and Eywa, the way he said it made your spine want to curl. “Your tail is flicking like it does when you’re lying. And you react so much when I get close, almost as if.. you enjoy it.”

Heat hit you so fast it was humiliating, up your neck, across your cheeks, down your chest, anger and something you refused to name twisting together until you couldn’t tell which was which. Your hand shoved into his chest on instinct, a firm press meant to reassert space, meant to remind him you were not something to be read and teased apart like vines beneath a knife.

But his skin under your palm was solid and warm, his breath even, his posture maddeningly steady. You hated that he didn’t move. You hated that the push didn’t become a shove, that your body betrayed you with restraint and a split-second hesitation that had nothing to do with strength. Your pulse seemed to jump when he watched you like this.

“Back off,” you snapped, aiming for venom and getting something too tight, too strained. You lifted your chin as if height alone could restore your pride. “I don’t enjoy anything about you hovering like a skxawng who thinks he’s Eywa’s gift to the clan.”

Neteyam didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, the gold in them catching the filtered light until they looked almost feral. The smirk was gone and in its place was something colder as he took one slow step forward, crowding you until the basket handle dug into your hip and the scent of him, warm skin, crushed leaves, the faint sweat from the summer heat, filled every breath.

“Gift?” he repeated, voice quiet and flat, the kind of quiet that made your spine prickle. “I am the one stuck dragging your half-finished work back to the village every time you storm off. That sound like a gift to you?”

Something in his words snapped the tension in a way that almost had a stifled laugh escaping you. The image of perfect Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan, the ever-responsible son, trudging behind you with a basket full of your messy fibers and a everpresent moping frown to match struck you as absurdly funny considering he was the one who always offered to do it anyways. That short, sharp laugh escaped before you could stop it, low and mocking, cutting through the thick air between you.

“Poor you,” you said, voice dripping with false sympathy as the anger flipped into something crueler and entirely more enjoyable. “All that dragging must be so hard on important shoulders.”

His eyes narrowed, the feral glint sharpening into irritation, but you were already moving. You snatched the basket from where it pressed against your hip and shoved it hard into his front, the woven edge leaving him doubling slightly from the sudden jab to his ribs, a smack that landed with a satisfying thud. A few loose fibers fluttered to the ground as he stumbled back a few steps and caught the basket on reflex, fingers curling tight around the rim.

“There,” you said, stepping back with a grin that showed too many teeth. “Problem solved. You can carry it all the way home like the dutiful son you are. Try not to strain yourself complaining about it later.”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, his ears pinning back flat against his skull. The feral edge in his eyes flared hotter, and for a second you thought he might actually snap, toss the basket aside and give you the fight you both pretended you didn’t want.

Instead, he gripped the handle tighter, knuckles paling and barked, ““Fnawe’tu skxawng!”

The insult landed far too humorously for you to care, and you instead tilted your head back with an overly amused smirk that widened at his irate slurs towards you as his facade cracked. “You call me the stubborn idiot? And yet you carry the basket anyway. Funny how that works?”

He exhaled through his nose, a sound that was almost a growl, and took one deliberate step onto the path after you. “Keep walking, fang. The sooner we get back, the sooner I am rid of you for the day.”

“Perfect. Twelve whole hours before you find another excuse to follow me tomorrow.”  You barely looked back to see if he was following before you took off towards the village because you knew he already was.

The clearing was loud with voices and laughter, bodies packed close as food and weapons were passed around in uneven circles, and it felt like the whole village had decided to breathe in the same place at once. Someone had dragged a fresh kill in not long ago and the smell still hung in the air, mingling with roasted meat, crushed leaves, and the faint sting of smoke from the fire that kept getting fed as if it might swallow the night. Nets of fruit were being unknotted and handed off, cups passed between hands, blades checked and re-sheathed in the same idle rhythm people used when they were safe enough to relax but still too wound up to sit still.

You were wedged between two of your friends near the edge of one of the many circles, packed close enough that their shoulders kept bumping yours when someone laughed too hard or shifted their stance. Ki’tiri had been retelling an exaggerated recall of her day on patrol, her eyes gleaming with irate exasperation as she spoke of the moment Lo’ak started throwing stones out of boredom and nearly nailed Mo’at from the hanging.

Tuk had found you the moment you sat, something that had become so common during communal mealtimes that your friends had come to expect the young Sully girl attaching herself to your side like a tail. It was as if the decision had been made somewhere in her head and the rest of the world simply had to accept it, and now she perched happily at your side like she belonged there. Her small hand gripped your wrist with the possessive certainty only children had, and she fidgeted with the jewels on your fingers, twisting them carefully as if she were inspecting treasure. The beads you’d braided fresh not even a few weeks before clinked softly each time she moved, and every now and then she would lean her head against your arm and sigh, pleased with herself like she’d won something.

“Will you make these for me too?” she asked – more like stated – for what had to be the third time, thumb brushing the tiny knotwork with awe.

“When you stop trying to steal mine,” you murmured back, and she grinned, utterly unbothered by the threat.

You let yourself settle into it for a moment, letting the noise wash over you because it was easier than thinking after long days training, because nights like this were meant to feel simple and unwinding. You were halfway through listening to your friend complain about yet another act of stupidity Lo’ak had attempted on their patrol together when Tuk’s fingers suddenly paused on your ring, halting and tightening hard enough that the movement forced you to glance down at the girl with a concerned furrow of your brow.

“What?” you muttered, eyeing her of an answer before she spoke it.

Tuk’s eyes flicked past you toward the centre of the clearing, eyeing something in the distance that left you searching the vicinity in hopes of catching the focus of her gaze. Her mouth fell slightly, an almost angered look settling across her face before she scoffed, turning back to you in a huff that had her drawing closer. 

“Neteyam is with that noisy woman again. An’aya.” 

The way she spat her name was almost mocking in tone and you didn’t react at first. Not outwardly. But something in your chest tightened all the same, small and sadistic, as if it even mattered at all.

You followed Tuk’s gaze without meaning to, your eyes slipping past the firelight and moving bodies until they found him almost instinctively. Neteyam sat just beyond the centre of the clearing, leaned back against a stack of supply crates, relaxed in the way you only ever saw when he was amongst people he trusted, his shoulders were loose and his attention tilted toward the woman beside him.

An’aya was speaking animatedly, hands moving as she spoke and laughed so easily, and Neteyam had angled himself toward her without thinking, one knee bent beside his chest, head dipped slightly so he could hear her better over the noise.

It irked you. And it irked you more that it even irked you in the first place. Because you hated him. You told yourself it irked you because you hated that he was enjoying himself. Right. Of course. 

But the irritation still sat heavy and ugly in your chest, coiling tighter the longer you watched, and you hated that too, hated that your attention wouldn’t let it go, and that your mood had soured so fast despite being so fine just a moment ago. There was no reason for it. None that made sense. You hated that stuck up tawtute more than anyone. You argued with him so much you made a sport out of it.

Tuk noticed the shift in your mood right away. Her nose wrinkled as her grip tightened again and she leaned in closer, glaring openly now. “I don’t like her,” she muttered, voice fierce and final. “She talks too much. And she sits too close to Neteyam. And she laughs at his jokes when they’re not funny.”

You attempted for even a minuscule moment to draw yourself back, to brush it away and forget it ever made you feel anything by resorting to your usual self regulation habits – insulting the boy. “Nothing Neteyam says is funny.” But not even that seemed to work because that irrationally confusing feeling still clawed at your chest.

“That’s not true,” Tuk called out immediately, scowling up at you. “You laugh at him all the time! Just not when he’s looking.” She leaned in closer, voice dropping into something hurt and almost bordering a whine. “He’s supposed to sit with us.”

“That is not how this works,” you snapped, too quick. Tuk’s eyes rolled at the response she should have predicted. She never understood why you acted so weird about it, when it was obvious to her that you liked her brother because that was just what people did when they liked someone, they got weird and sharp and pretended they didn’t.

Your friends had gone quiet at the sudden stir occurring just beside them. Ki’tiri tilted her head, studying you with open curiosity now. “Why are you angry?” she asked plainly. “Did he do something again?”

“No,” you said starkly, and then more sharply, “How could he? He is all the way over there.”

Ki’tiri exchanged a look with the other friend at your side, the slightest of smiles lifting the corner of her lips as she pressed. “You’re getting upset,” she stated simply and not unkindly. “You do that only where Neteyam is involved.”

“I am not upset.” you snapped, already too far gone for that to be convincing. “And he is not involved. I have been sat here this entire time.”

The lie hung there, thin and brittle, and it would have passed like all the others if your voice hadn’t carried just a little too far, cutting through the hum of the clearing at the wrong moment. A few heads turned and the rhythm of your small group faltered sharply as across the clearing, Neteyam suddenly looked up.

“What is going on?”

Neteyam hadn’t stood, he hadn’t even moved from his spot. But he had leaned forward with a watchful, almost concerned eye, braids swinging low and hand hanging off his elevated thigh as he observed. The way he intervened like he was preparing for the role of Olo'eyktan burned you, as if he thought he could snuff any simmering flame with his big, proud words because his blood said so. 

And that wasn’t even the problem. The problem was that An’aya followed his gaze immediately, curiosity sparking as she turned to see what had drawn his attention.

That alone was enough to make your teeth grind. Because what was your relationship with that skxawng any of her business.

“We’re fine,” you called back, sharper than necessary, your eyes not even bothering to glance his way once. “Try having your own conversations instead of monitoring everyone else, tawtute.”

Neteyam’s mouth tightened just slightly at the insult, a breath leaving him slow and measured as if he were counting to three in his head. He didn’t rise. Not yet, only tipped his chin and let a quick “Eywa help me,” fall to the air before pushing himself to his feet at last.

He crossed the space between you in a way that had your fist tightening in anticipation for yet another argument, only fueled by the image of An’aya hot on his heels like a second tail of his own, close enough to the boy that it felt intentional whether it was or not. Tuk sat up, planting herself more firmly at your side like a guard animal half her size.

“I said we’re fine,” you warned as he stopped in front of you, too close now as your friends ogled at the scene, ready for yet another brawl between the two of you.

“I said I was just asking,” he replied, voice calm but firm, eyes searching your face like he could read something there if he looked hard enough. “You are upset.”

“Right,” you went on before he could answer, sputtering a short sudden laugh but your tone held no humour. “I forgot I’m only allowed to feel something once you’ve scented them first. I forgot I need my lenensip wolf to tail me through the village and make sure I’m behaving. Shall you go report my mood back to our fathers now?”

A few people nearby stilled outright at the sudden outburst, the weight of the scene landing harder than a simple insult. Neteyam’s jaw flexed, his calm finally straining at the edges.

“That’s not what I’m doing.” He said, lower now and tone measured like he was choosing every word with treading precision. “You know I do not–”

“You do! I sneeze too sharply and it is enough to call a meeting with our fathers. Well, you can tell them to relax, I’m not about to start a war over dinner.”

Neteyam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was bracing himself. “Well, you don’t have to turn everything into a fight.”

“And you don’t have to turn everything into a problem to solve,” you replied, glancing pointedly at An’aya hovering just behind him, before landing right back on him. “The mantle still sits on your fathers head, you can have a personality until then.”

An overdramatically long groan suddenly sounded to the left of you, and both your eyes snapped over to Tuks exaggeratingly agitated from, as she sighed in that childish way she did. “Stop fighting! You argue because he’s not around,” she announced confidently. “You always argue when he wanders off like that. And then Neteyam comes back and everyone stops yelling.”

“Tuk!” Both you and Neteyam barked simultaneously, horror gleaming in both of your eyes because that was so obviously not true!

“That is what happens,” she insisted stubbornly. “You just don’t like it when I say it.”

An’aya, from the shadow of Neteyam’s shoulder, suddenly appeared forward, finally establishing her presence with a smile that was not wide nor warm, but enough to show she was not very fond of the girl her friend had been talking to. “Maybe if you were not so unpredictable and rash, Neteyam wouldn’t have to keep stepping in.”

Your head turned slowly toward her, blood finally boiling to that point only Neteyam’s presence could push it to.

“Oh,” you said, quiet and razor-edged. “Is that your professional opinion, or are you just filling in while the golden son is busy?” Your gaze snapped to Neteyam, fury bright and uncontained now that she’d felt comfortable enough to insult you in front of everyone.

“Maybe our fathers should stick her as your new training partner since she’s already so good at handling me. My guard dog has a guard dog.”

Neteyam stiffened. “Enough.”

“Is this what you tell people about me?” Your attention flickered to him then, as if you’d only just remembered he was standing there at all. Neteyam opened his mouth to speak, visibly caught off guard by the sudden accusation.

“That is not–” he started but you didn’t let him finish.

“I would think you respected me even a little,” you said coolly, voice steady now, sharpened by control rather than heat, “enough considering all my father has done for you and your family. And still, you let your women speak to me like I am beneath you.” You scoffed softly, the sound carrying just far enough to be heard.

“A leader, they say you will be.” The words were anything but soft, they were mocking and harsh. “Tell me again how this is keeping the peace. Seems your peace is built on my silence, both you and our fathers.”

You rose smoothly, without haste, the motion deliberate enough that the space around you seemed to shift with it. The ground felt steady beneath your feet, solid in a way your chest had not been for the last several breaths, and for the first time that night you welcomed the clarity that came with deciding to leave rather than be dismissed.

“Y/n, no– please don’t be mad,” Tuk whined, the plea tumbling out of her in a rush as she reached for you, fingers brushing the edge of your wrist but failing to catch hold. Her face pinched with genuine worry, like she’d broken something precious without meaning to.

But you stood and left without a word, the sudden absence of your presence cutting through the clearing sharper than any insult you had ever sent him, and for the first time Neteyam did not know whether you were angry or actually hurt by what had happened. It was confusing because you never let any interaction between the two of you get to you like this, yet now that you had chosen distance in place of where you would usually just choose name calling, he couldn’t help the feeling like he’d missed something far too important while it was happening.

The noise resumed all too quickly behind you, laughter reclaiming the air as if nothing had shifted at all, but he stayed where he was, unease settling low in his chest with the quiet, unwelcome understanding that this time, you hadn’t walked away to cool off – you had walked away because he had apparently crossed a line he didn’t even realise he was dancing.

One delicate, purposeful step after the other. Neteyam watched your sultry hips as they worked against the motion of your legs, swaying against the gracefully deliberate rhythm of your strut. Every step was intentional, not a single wasted motion and certainly no hesitation, each one drawing a slow, tightening circle around him. You eyed him like prey and circled him like a predator. 

He, too, circled your figure. Less graceful in his approach, his steps heavier and more grounded, but just as analytical with his eyes all the same. He told himself he tracked your figure because he had to, that he noticed how dangerously alluring you looked in your stride because he was being tactical, certainly not because he found it mesmerising.

Partnered again. You almost rolled your eyes had it not been for the undivided attention you had on his solid figure. You had your suspicions that they were doing it on purpose now, because whenever given the opportunities, your fathers paired the two of you like it was something written into the roots of the forest itself. As if Eywa refused to separate you.

Jake’s voice cut through the air before either of you could make a move.

“Enough posturing,” he barked from the edge of the ring, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unimpressed. “This isn’t a mating dance. Someone's going to have to make a move soon enough. Engage.”

The command barely left Jake’s mouth before you moved.

You didn’t rush him all at once because that was never your style. You shifted your weight and pivoted to your right instead, just as your tail came down with a sharp snap to the left, a deliberate ploy to feint him around you with sound. Neteyam stuttered for a moment, nearly diving left and falling for the bait, but caught himself immediately, because of course he did. His jaw tightened as he corrected, blocking you by widening his stance, shoulders settling into a space much larger than you had accounted for.

You collided with his chest anyway, steadying yourself with a tight hand clamped around his forearm. It was successful, but your proximity to Neteyam left you vulnerable to an open hand palm against your shoulder, knocking you a step back. It was a warning shot, not meant to land hard, but it angered you all the same.

“Good feint, Y/n. Nice recovery, Neteyam.” Jake called out. 

Your eyes never pivoted from Neteyam, but Jake's words riled you further, knowing he got praise for the first hit. 

"Is that all you've got?" You taunted, circling again, your breath steady despite the fire igniting in your veins. "Afraid to hit me for real, golden boy?"

Neteyam’s ears flicked at your taunt, but his expression stayed infuriatingly calm. He rolled the shoulder you’d nearly landed on earlier, circling with you, mirroring your steps like he’d memorized every rhythm you’d ever moved to.

“Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face.”

You bared your teeth in a hiss ts his words, fangs bared and all, as the implication of them did not evade you. The idea that you were to feminine to fight, bullshit. It was bait, you knew it deep within, and yet you lunged for it all the same.

You dropped low, striking dirty with a sweeping leg that made contact with his ankles while your hands aimed for his torso. He leaped back, but you were faster, twisted in the air and raking your manicured claws down his ribs just to watch him hiss. You landed in a crouch behind him, tail lashing with triumph at the hit but he countered instantly, arm hooking yours, using your momentum to flip you over his hip but you held tightly, and this time you both went down. You snapped right to the ground, landing with a splat and a breathy groan, caged beneath him as his braids fell around your face like a curtain.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes dropping to your mouth, “keep rubbing up on me like that and people may talk.” 

Damn his Sully tongue and their dirty human minds. Only they – only he, were rash enough to say such vulgar words.

Heat flared in your face, nothing else but pure rage, and you answered with a growl, driving your knee up sharp between his legs. Not hard enough to hurt, you think, but just enough to make him block instinctively and give you room to twist. You both rolled again, a tangle of limbs and snarls across the dirt, kicking up dust around you until you came out to a stop, this time you were on top, straddling his waist, thighs clamped tight, hands slamming his wrists into the dirt beside his head.

“I will kill you!”

Neteyam’s eyes blazed up at you, all traces of amusement gone. His ears pinned flat against his skull, jaw clenched so tight you saw the muscle jump. He bucked hard beneath you, trying to throw your weight, muscles straining as he fought your hold.

“Get. the hell. off me.” He snarled, voice low and dangerous through his squirms against you, wrists twisting against your grip. “Why must you always turn it into this?”

You dug your nails in deeper, refusing to budge, chest heaving with anger. “You started it with your filthy mouth. Think you can say whatever you want and I will just take it?”

He arched again, harder this time, nearly unseating you from his lap and you slid to settle on his chest. His breath came in harsh pants now, struggling under the weight of you on his lungs, but his eyes still burned up at you with pure defiance.

The shift gave him a perfect view of you, sweaty and furious as you loomed above him, your braids wild, chest heaving and skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. A deep flush crept up his neck and face at the sight, dark purple blooming across his cheeks and he prayed to Eywa it looked like it was from a lack of air to everyone watching.

“I’m trying to win a damn spar, not deal with your tantrum. Yield!” He said through short breaths.

“Force me, tawtute,” you hissed, grinding your knees harder into his sides. “Or keep dancing for your sempul like the skxawng you are.”

His face darkened at that, a fresh wave of fury rolling off him. He surged up with a grunt, flipping you both violently, dust flying as you grappled, elbows and knees jabbing, fangs baring and hisses sounding like a tussle of five years olds. He landed a sharp elbow to your ribs and you answered with by snatching at his long swinging kuru braid and tugging at it, pinning him for a split second before you broke free with a snarl.

The spar had turned ugly so fast, no one had time to register what it was until it already had become it. There was no technique left, just primitive fighting and petty aggression mixed with ragged breaths and dirt covered bodies, every strike fueled by years of built-up resentment.

And Jake’s was done watching it.

"That's enough!" Jake barked again, rubbing a tired hand down his face before turning to you both with an outstretched arm that sliced downward in a sharp, commanding swing. "Eywa ngahu, it was funny at first, cute even, when you two were teens and it didn't matter. But by Eywa, you're adults now. You have responsibilities and the clan is going to depend on you." His voice was so demanding and final, it had you cowering in your skin. 

The authority in his voice pinned you both in place. Only two men in this world could make you feel small like this, your father, and Jake Sully.

"I'm sorry, sir," Neteyam spoke with a breathy compliance, eyes trained downwards in a way that almost left you scoffing at how pathetic he looked, at how quickly he folded under the pressure of his father despite talking so big against you moments ago, and it took everything in you not to roll your eyes while being lectured by his father about acting mature.

So, you muttered through gritted teeth, "Yes, sir," forcing the words out while fighting every instinct that screamed at you to glare at Neteyam instead of Jake.

Jake’s gaze flicked between you. “You two are going to be the leaders of this clan some day.” 

As he spoke the words, there was a pause as he immediately noticed the sudden way the two of you began shifting apart, blue faces crawling into flushed purple ones. It only took him another moment to realise the implication of his words, and he saw it. Of course he saw it. Eywa, the two of you couldn’t even look at each other at an implication he didn’t even mean!

Realization dawned on his face, and he let out a long, exasperated sigh. "And this – this right here – is exactly what I mean. Every little thing between you turns into a problem. You don’t know how to keep things contained when it’s the two of you.”

He jabbed a finger toward Neteyam. "You will be Olo'eyktan one day." Then the finger swung to you. "And you will be the clan's head warrior. His right hand. His most trusted." Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sooner or later, you have got to get along. The People need to see unity, not... whatever the hell this is." 

He said the line so defeatedly, as if his two greatest proteges had become his two biggest failures in that moment, and it left you deflating in embarrassment at the notion that your rivalry with his son had turned into something beyond comprehensive words. Instead, reduced to “hell”, to some weird sky people word, that's what you were deduced to. 

Shameful. 

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. You stared at the ground, heat crawling up your neck, wishing the woven walkway would just open and swallow you whole because it was almost like your own father had just admitted that you were acting a fool. 

Jake Sully, the man who appeared in nearly every childhood memory, who raised you almost as his own in the proximity of your father and their strict training regimes, was sighing down at you and his idiot son with the same weary frustration. And you knew he didn’t mean it cruelly. This was that strange sky-people thing he did when he slipped into what he described as his “military” tone, meant to correct rather than offend, but it didn’t make the cut hurt less deep.

Then you heard it, the tiniest huff of breath from Neteyam’s direction. Not quite a laugh, but close enough, and it had you glancing up at him with the scowl you reserved only for him.

Neteyam wasn’t looking at his father anymore. He was looking right at you, glaring through the corner of his limp braids, head still hung low as one side of his mouth twitched upward in that infuriating half-smirk he saved just for you too. His amber eyes glinted with something resembling a shocked amusement, almost like he couldn’t quite believe you were actually compliant. Like your mortification was the funniest thing he’d seen all day. And in that moment it was like something inside you finally snapped for the first time in a long time.

Your ears flicked back, pinned taught to your hair like an animal on its prey only moments away from pouncing. Tail lashing once almost like a whip.

“What?” you hissed, so low it was almost swallowed by the breeze, meant only for him, but almost so quiet that Neteyam nearly missed the fact that you had spoken entirely. “Something funny, Tawtute?”

He caught your words all the same, the perfect, golden son act completely slipping away, traded for a smirk that widened a fraction larger at your beyond irked facial expression. “A child, Fang.” He taunted, hitting right where he knew you hurt most. “You look like a child scolded by her elder. It’s pretty damn funny.”

That was all it took.

You stepped forward, voice rising despite yourself, despite the voice telling you that only awful consequences would come from acting out right now. The worst part of you could not have cared less that his father wasn’t even through with lecturing the two of you yet, the bigger part of you so enraged, so encompassed by Neteyam and his stupidity, his audacity, that you just-

Did. Not. Care. 

Your figure snapped upright, tall and menacing, body twisting to face him fully as your large blearing eyes glossed over, unblinking and fear-provockingly wide. 

“Open your mouth again, Tawtute, and I swear to Eywa and everything she deems sacred, I’ll slam you down and make you swallow every sorry sound you choke in front of the whole clan.”

Neteyam’s smirk froze, then vanished almost as quickly as it came. His ears were the ones to flick forward now, sharp at the ends and persistently alert. His golden eyes that had been mocking you a heartbeat ago had darkened into molten amber pits, pupils narrowing to slits. The perfect son was gone entirely. 

His tail lashed once, hard enough to slap the air as he twisted his body entirely to tower over yours. It was the first time in all your years of knowing him where he had ever intimidated you, because it was the first time in all the years you’d known him that his size truly registered. Tall, and broad, and built like the future leader he was meant to be. 

Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, tracing the sharp lines of his frame all the way down until they stopped to linger on the bold stripes that curved low around his hipbones and disappeared beneath the edge of his loincloth. They had always stood out more than anyone else’s, as darker, thicker, more prominent than the others. The Tawtute genes, you told yourself, that’s why they were like that, no other reason, certainly. A flush crawled up your neck, hot and confusing, and what would have been disguised as pure rage to any onlooker.

It pressed in on you though, close enough that the heat of him brushed your skin. Because, it didn’t feel like pure rage alone. Your mind could try to convince you, but your body would do otherwise, betraying your thoughts with that persistent betraying flicker of your tail.

And Neteyam noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Keep staring like that, Fang,” he said, leaning in until his breath stirred the loose strands of hair at your temple, “and I’ll give you something real to choke on.”

The words hit low and vicious, a promise wrapped in threat and before you even processed which arm had lifted first, your hand, with pre-curled fingers was already moving toward his chest to shove him back as hard as you possibly could. A hiss so guttural and sharp tearing from your gaping mouth, decorated by the furiously purple hue that painted your face like a white canvas. 

His own shot up just as yours had, catching your wrist mid-air in a grip like the metal on the ships the sky people flew. Not painful, but almost entirely unbreakable.

For one suspended heartbeat you were locked there, with his fingers around your wrist and bodies inches apart, both of you breathing hard, tails thrashing in mirrored fury. The space between you felt suddenly too small, the air too thick.

Then Jake’s voice cracked through it like a whip.

“I said enough!”

He was on you in two strides, one massive hand clamping the back of Neteyam’s neck, the other seizing your upper arm and hauling you both apart with force that made your feet skid on the woven mat.

Jake’s eyes were wild, ears pinned flat, chest heaving.

“You two are done,” he growled, voice shaking with barely-leashed anger. “Done acting like feral animals that can’t control their emotions. Grown adults and I’m still treating you two like I did when you were twelve.”

He exhaled sharply, making the decision at that moment.

"You're going out to the eastern watchpost. Tonight. Just the two of you." He held up a hand when you both opened your mouths to protest. "No arguments, not a goddamn word. It's an hour ride so that's plenty of time to cool off and you'll spend the entire night there.” 

Jake was not having it. “I want the supplies inventoried, the platforms repaired, and I want every corner of every ridge scouted for any signs of human activity, and you're going to do every moment of it together. You'll eat together, sleep in the same goddamn hammock if you have to, and you'll come back tomorrow morning acting like the future leaders you're supposed to be."

He released you with a shove toward the rookery.

“Go saddle your Ikran’s.” 

When the two of you hesitated, Jake snarled “Now! And if I hear one more word out of either of you before you’re out of my sight, I swear to Eywa I’ll tie you both to the same tree instead.” 

Jake's voice sounded so tired and the clearing had gone deathly quiet. Neteyam’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing and he was the first to turn without even so much as a glance in your direction, stalking toward the rookery with rigid shoulders, his braids swaying with each step, and every taut line of him vibrating with a restraint he almost lacked.

You stood frozen for half a breath longer, heart hammering against your ribs, wrist still burning where his grip had been. Then you turned too, spine straight with the kind of discipline that fooled everyone but the Sullys, because Neteyam and Jake could both see the bruise that adorned your ego, they just both knew better than to comment on it this far in.

The young warriors scattered around the training grounds let their conversations die and bows lower as you both strode past. Your ikran sensed the rage rolling off you and answered your call with shrieks and flared wings, and an agitation that mimicked your own. And you mounted without glancing at Neteyam once, attaching your queues to the end of your Ikrans with what was probably a little more force than necessary. He did the same and Jake watched it all with a tired stare as Neteyam banked east first, cutting through the darkness like a blade, before you followed silently behind him without a glance back.

Jake finally let out the breath he’d been holding, dragging a tired hand down his face. The forest answered him with the soft rustle of leaves and distant night calls of your fleeting Ikrans, nature utterly unconcerned with the problem he’d just sent walking into it. He had broken up enough sparring matches to know the difference between anger and whatever that had been.

Eywa help them, he thought. Because I am officially out of patience.

Behind him, the rustle leaves and heavy approaching footsteps had his ears perking up, expecting the presence before the sound of a low chuckle could startle him. The sound of a man who had already arrived at the same conclusion and was simply waiting to see if Jake would catch up.

Jake turned to find your father standing there, arms crossed, tail swaying lazily behind him as his eyes tracked the two figures disappearing into the trees. There was concern there, yes, but there was also something else that Jake had seen displayed on his face every time your families met and you and his son fought. Something almost… entertained.

Your father watched the treeline a moment longer before he spoke, his expression thoughtful rather than amused, though the hint of it lingered all the same.

“You finally snapped.” He said, eyes not glancing at Jake, but to the sway of trees that shielded your retreating forms in the distance. “Only took till the moment they stopped trying to fight clean.”

Jake let out a slow breath and rubbed at the back of his neck, because that had been the exact moment his stomach had dropped, when the spar had stopped looking like training and started looking like something feral. “I told myself it was just their temper getting the best of them,” he admitted. “That they’d settle once one of them landed a solid hit, but I’ve never seen them go at it like that.”

Your father hummed softly in agreement. “Even anger has rules.” He said. “What I just saw forgot them. No form. No distance. Just hands… wherever they could reach.” Your fathers eyes finally glanced over to Jake, a knowing smirk leaving him chuckling at the revelation.

Jake snorted quietly, humour slipping through despite himself and soon they were laughing low in unison. “My son knows better than that.”

“As does my daughter,” He replied, and there it was, that note of worried pride that always crept in when he spoke of her. “Which is how I know they have reached a point where the body starts answering questions the mind refuses to ask.”

“You’re worried.” Jake observed. 

“I am a father,” he simply replied, and then after a beat added, “And I have eyes. I know Neteyam is fond of her.”

“He wont–,” Jake moved to start comforting his friend, shifting to place a hand on his shoulder when your father let a short snort leave him.

“I do not worry about Neteyam, I worry about her,” he said, with no effort to soften the curve of his mouth. “Neteyam has always known where the line is even when he pretends not to, and I have watched him choose restraint around her provoking comments time and time again. When it would have been easier not to.” A pause, then quieter, “That matters to me. It is her who has no restraint.” He ended with a chuckle.

Jake’s smirk lingered, but it softened at the edges, tempered by something more careful in tone. “Yeah, well, they have both been very good at lying to themselves.” He let a beat pass before he chuckled. “Well, maybe not your daughter, she can’t lie to save her life.”

“It really is her we should worry about.” Your father laughed. “If I were foolish enough to wager,” he suddenly turned, clapping a hand to Jake’s shoulder, “I would bet they return insisting the night was torture, then flinch every time their queues touch because they finally know what they’re used for.”

This time, the laugh Jake let out was almost too loud for his liking, glancing around in hopes that no one had heard the less than tasteful wording. 

“I’m not taking that bet,” he said, then hesitated, the amusement fading just enough to let the doubt through. “I expected you to be angrier with me for sending them off together.”

Your father snorted. “You did the same with Neytiri,” he replied. “And you didn’t exactly handle it with grace.”

Jake grimaced. “That was different.”

“No, It was not,” he said lightly, his gaze flicking back toward the trees, “and Neteyam’s trying too hard not to cross the same line. My daughter has never been good at pretending there isn’t one.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, rubbing yet another exhaustedly stressed hand down his face at the implication of his words. “I’m not gonna sleep tonight.”

“Good,” Your father said quietly. “Someone should keep watch. In case they burn the forest down. Let us just hope we do not share the name Grandfather and time soon either.”

Your feet hit the platform before his did, heavy with a careless thump that transitioned quickly into long strides against the creaking wood, riddled with the intention of getting as far away from Neteyam as possible, who was landing close behind you. There wasn’t anywhere far to run off too, especially in the dark of night on a foreign base you had visited not even twice before, so you settled towards the end of the platform on a pile of large crates that rattled against your weight.

Neteyam dismounted much slower than you had, gently detaching his queue, before petting his Ikran three times, signalling its dismissal to perch elsewhere. It left with a shriek, chasing your own which had scattered the moment you landed. 

Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, adorning everything in a bleary silver and deep shadows illuminated by bioluminescent blues. The base was rickety and barely large enough to accommodate a few people with all the supplies stolen and housed from the sky-people around. The wooden branches sagged and the leather tarp frayed, neglected and unkept for what seemed to be decades. But it was going to have to work considering you were banished here for the night. 

Neteyam didn’t look at you right away. He took the first few moments to busy himself checking over the boxes, silently counting the stock in the typical Neteyam way that forced him to be a stickler for the rules, to listen to every authoritative voice, to be the most stuck up Na’vi to ever grace Pandora's blue planet.

It took him a second of a forced and uncomfortable silence before he finally broke the tension, his voice low and failing to hide the tinge of irritation behind it despite his attempts to at least try and get something done. “We should start with inventory. Get it over with.”

You didn’t move from your position on the crate farthest south. And you almost laughed at how pathetically authoritative he attempted to sound, because you knew his blood still seared hot with boiling anger at being scolded not even an hour ago. Instead, you tugged at the string of the bow you had picked up from beside you, slowly swaying the one foot you left dangling as you fidgeted with the fraying thread. 

“Do it yourself.” 

Your voice – so dismissive and blunt in tone – had Neteyam’s pointy ears pinning back and deep amber eyes snapping at you in a quick, sharp warning. 

“Do not start.”

You took the first moment since he entered to direct your attention away from the flimsy bow, finally looking up at him with an all too unimpressed glare. “Too late.” You sneered, your typical fang glaring snare on full display. “You started it the second you opened your skxawng mouth back at the training camp. Even children know to be silent when Toruk Makto speaks, yet somehow you can not manage to get that through your thick skull?”

“My thick skull?” Neteyam’s big eyes bore straight through your own, blown wide and non-blinking almost as if trying to read you for an answer he wasn’t going to find. He looked absolutely exasperated and a breathy laugh that held no humor escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Thats rich coming from the one who is sat on a crate of knives, doing absolutely nothing.”

“We are only here because perfect son could not bite his golden tongue long enough to remember his father was still speaking. You listen to him when we're here but not when it counts back home. I thought you were supposed to be the smart and disciplined one.”

“Kind of difficult to concentrate on a lecture when the woman threatening to make me choke is attempting to swing her claws into my chest.”

“I only reacted because you–!” 

The words stuttered in your throat, dying in your mouth as heat flooded your face in a violent wave, remembering what led to your outburst in the first place. Remembering the explicit words he let slip from soft yet smug lips like he had any right saying it in the first place. 

–Because you speak lewd words that should only be muttered between the most established of mates. 

“–Because I what?” Neteyam’s voice was softer now, but the smirk that followed was anything but gentle. It spread slow and lethally arrogant across his face, eyes glinting with a new light that felt almost predatory, as if he’d just found the one loose thread that would unravel you completely.

“Because–” Your face was so flushed, you could hardly bring the words to the surface. “–Because you- you have a vulgar mouth! Y-You speak filth just to provoke me.”

 “Vulgar?” Neteyam's eyes glinted with something completely different from the irate exasperation from earlier, it was like his entire demeanor had calmed, replaced completely by that arrogant smirk, like he was the only one able to translate the book the two of you had been trying to read your whole lives. “Me? I think I recall you mentioning something about slamming me down on my back.” 

A sharp gasp tore from your throat. The words hit like a physical blow, twisting your earlier threat into something raw and unmistakable. Your face burned hotter, if that was even possible, violet spreading across your cheeks as you instinctively looked him up and down.

“That is not what I speak!” you snapped, the words tumbling out too fast and breathless to be convincing. You almost kicked yourself for the delivery. “Why must you keep bringing up those words?”

“Because you are the one who said them,” he replied evenly as he began stepping closer. His strides were so deliberate, as if planned in advance, and unhurried, as if you were not another moment away from clawing out his eyes. “You just don’t like what they mean.”

“They meant nothing,” you shot back, chin lifting in defiance. “You twist everything.” 

The sound of Neteyam’s footsteps drew your eyes to lock on his figure, tall and looming as he strutted one slow step at a time closer, and you found your eyes doing that traitorous thing they did a lot now, wander. Wander down. And down. 

It started with his face, as you watched the sway of his braids while he strode with that infuriating arrogance, brushing the sharp lines of his jaw with a clatter of his beads. Then it was his impossibly round eyes fixed right on you – which they always seemed to be when you were around – unblinking and heated through a downwards gaze. They were eyes that masked what you knew to be such a conceited personality as so deceivingly innocent. 

Soon your gaze fell to the wide frame of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, and it dawned on you that you’d only just noticed how much broader they had become over the years spent together, carved from tireless hours of drawing bowstrings and traversing the harsh landscape of Omatikiya forest, lean with muscle that shifted under blue skin with every stride he took closer.

Your eyes wandered again until they finally fell right to where they seemed to stop at a lot now; his lower body, narrow hips marked by the most vibrant stripe pattern you’d ever seen on any man – on any Na’vi you’d laid eyes on. They were darker and thicker, more pronounced and unlike any others, they trailed off and disappeared so low into his loin cloth it almost felt purposeful in the way they pulled your eyes. Like they were specifically made to draw your eyes and your eyes only, and hold them there by design.

Those lines were unnatural in their perfection and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they made your face so hot and your heartbeat feel as if it could move to places it should not be, and it especially wasn’t fair that it wasn’t a you thing, it was a him thing. You only liked it on him.

You told yourself for the hundredth time – that it was the Tawtute genes making everything about him just a little too defined, a little larger. Not that you were staring, of course, just studying. Because he was different and you were always curious, you told yourself. But your tail flicked once, another betrayal that told you that was a lie, and you prayed the shadows hid it..

The shadows did not hide it. And of course he noticed.

Neteyam slowed, stopping just close enough that the space between you felt inconsequential. He wasn’t touching you, at least not yet and somehow it still felt as if he had pressed his entire body against yours. As if you were suffocating beneath him. 

His gaze dipped and it wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t subtle either, following the same path yours had just taken; down the line of his chest, over the sharp cut of his hips, to the stripes adorning his body next to the band of his loincloth before lifting again, eyes glinting with the most unbearably smug sense of amusement you’d imagine possible from a single man at the realisation he had just made. 

It was silent for a beat, air heavy with tension before Neteyam spoke. 

“You must really like my loincloth.”

Your ears shot straight up and outwards, standing tall and perky as if alerted by a lingering predator, eyes blowing wide as you shot your head up to meet his gaze head on. 

“Shut up–!”

“–You know, my mother makes them–”

“ –I don’t care–!”

“ –Shall I ask her to make another? She does adore you–” 

“–You do not know anything–!”

“–I know exactly when you lie.”

The words were being sputtered so fast, they crashed into each other in an overlapping, frantic mess. To any onlooker, it would have almost sounded as if you were talking in unison. 

Your tone was desperately sharp, doused in mortification and hidden in anger. And his was flooded with pure, unadulterated tease, knowing very well how every word he spoke rolled down your ears and crawled beneath your skin. You blushed so often around him he could almost mistake you as a purple Na’vi now. 

The overlap fell apart as abruptly as it had started. You glared at him, chest tight, ears still rigid with embarrassment and fury, daring him to say one more thing. He didn’t… 

At least, not right away.

His gaze dipped instead, unashamed and bashfully amused, tracking back down to where yours had been just moments ago. His mouth curved like he’d found something amusing he was excited to explain. But you knew he was only rubbing the fact that he caught you staring in. 

“My mother uses five beads on each knot,” he said smugly, and you followed his fingers as they brushed against the small carved beads on the loincloth’s cords. “She says it is the number of balance. Five for the senses and all.” 

Then he suddenly looked up at you, those overly round, innocent eyes portraying that innocence all too well. “Seems it isn’t working, you don’t look very balanced right now.”

If you were in half a mind with any common sense, you would have scolded him once again and shoved him as far back as your arms would allow in hopes for a little space and clarity. Unfortunately for you, however, that sense was ripped directly out of your already fumbling grasp the moment your eyes followed his hands to where he gripped that damned loincloth you really couldn’t escape.

They were larger and longer than others, scarred from weaponry and cliff climbing, and calloused in places where the overuse was notable. His fingers grasped the thread of the cloth, and as his grip tightened, the purple veins littering the surface of his skin protruded along with it. 

Watching the way his fingers curled, and the way his veins pulsed, it sent heat crawling up your throat and pooling behind your ears. Every flex of a tendon, every faint flicker of those tiny freckled lights, felt like a private taunt aimed straight at whatever composure you had left.

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady even as it came out breathier than you wanted. “Five is a greedy number anyway.” You muttered, eyes still traitorously fixed on his hands.  

His gaze followed yours until it landed on his hands  – on the way your eyes lingered there too long, and the way your breath had betrayed you before your mouth ever could. A slow smile curved across his lips, smug and knowing.

“Greedy?” He echoed softly. Without haste, he lifted those hands, the ones you couldn’t stop staring at, toward your face. “Is that what you think this is?” 

His long fingers spread deliberately to parade all five fingers to your wide, helpless eyes, and began wriggling them in slow, teasing beats as if he, too, were suddenly fascinated by the anatomy you’d just mocked. 

“Tawtute.” He uttered, his voice dipped low with smug delight. “That is what you call me.”

He let his hands hover close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his palms, close enough that if you stuck your tongue out just slightly, you’d be able to taste the skin. Close enough, that the fact you had even entertained that thought made you sick to your stomach with dizzying confusion.

“Txampay tawtute.” He purred, eyes half-lidded and glinting as he drank in the flush climbing your neck.

Then, unhurried and impossibly sure of himself, he leaned in. His body now crowding every inch of air yours occupied, chest nearly brushing yours, until he reached past your shoulder and caught your wrist in one smooth motion. He brought your hand up between you to display the four fingers you always had, and his golden eyes gleamed as if it was the first time he had seen it. Slowly, he lifted his own hand to mirror yours, five fingers spread to contrast the four of your own just across from his, hovering directly opposite it.

“Demon blood.” He muttered, though he wasn’t offended. It was more a statement, or amused even, awaiting a reaction.

You watched, breath caught, as he hesitated for a single heartbeat, watched in your peripheral as his eyes bore into your face, searching for any flicker of protest or resistance. A sign that never came.

And once he realized that, he dipped one long finger down between the gaps of yours. Then another, and another until he slid each one of his fingers between your own, interlocking your hands like he was claiming every unoccupied space he could find. 

“Do you call me tawtute so often because you think about how my hands would feel on you?”

Then he guided your joined hands, fully intertwined, up and back, lifting them slowly until your knuckles brushed the rough-woven wall behind you. He pressed them there and the motion brought him so much closer, it was as if he had taken up all the air, because why were you suddenly finding it so much more difficult to draw a breath?

“Neteyam.” The name came out like an unsure whine, nothing like the sharp hiss you’d wielded against him a thousand times before. Because the last place you had ever imagined yourself being was here, pinned beneath the steady weight of his gaze, his body, his five greedy fingers laced so perfectly through your four and it confused you that no fiber of your being was begging to reject it. 

You watched with greedy eyes as his face twisted from out of your view, head shifting down towards the crook of your neck and the frantic rate of your breath betrayed every last pretense of calm. His mouth stopped just on the cusp of your left ear, and you felt the warm, velvet skin of his lips brushing the sensitive shell of it, tied with the cherry on top by the soft sway of his braid against your cheek and the smell of him. That intoxicating scent which smelt of eclipse leaves and sweet hearth vines.

They had been your favourite scents for as long as you could remember, and it was only just dawning why that is now.

He took a beat, his breath warm on your skin before he spoke. “I know you hate me.”

You did. You hated him, the Olo'eyktan perfect first born. The boy that followed you like a shadow through the winding roots of Hometree. The child you had been measured against since the first time a blade had been pressed into your palms.

“Neteyam learns quicker,”

“Neteyam already wields a bow,”

“Neteyam never loses his temper.”

You had heard it from your father your entire life and you hated him for being the excellence you couldn’t be. You hated that he wore it so smug. And more than anything, you hated that he actually tried to soften it and make space for you beside him instead of behind. He was so good to you, and you hated that he never got mad when it counted.

And now – now – you couldn’t reconcile that boy with the man standing close enough to steal your breath, hands steady where your resolve should have been. You couldn’t fathom how you were letting him do this. How the same Neteyam you’d spent years resisting, spitting at, and training like Eywa herself had told you to do so in order to best him, had slipped past your defenses without even raising his voice. All it took was him invading your space closer than he ever tried before and your resolve dwindled. 

“I know you think you hate me.” He repeated, but this time you could hear the smirk that crept up his irritatingly gorgeous face. “But you never look at me like this when you say it. And this–” his free hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting along the tense line of your hip until they found the base of your tail, “--this is the most still your tail has been all night.”

The gentle, knowing stroke along the sensitive underside made your spine arch involuntarily before you could stop it, so far into him you could feel the press of everything below his loincloth against your lower belly and it made you whine. A guttural, involuntary sound you didn’t mean to make, nor had you realised escaped you until Neteyam’s glowing amber eyes widened alongside his smile. 

You struggled to find your voice, with the overwhelming feeling of Neteyam all around you, touching every inch of your skin, all consuming and intoxicating but when you did, it was breathy and weak. 

“Do not–” you stuttered, pausing your words to find breath.

Then your voice came again, interrupting his thoughts in a moment where his grip faltered slightly around your fingers and tail. You sounded so primitive and defeated, it was like the entire forest in a ten-mile radius had stilled.

“–stop.”

Neteyam stilled, mind reeling and eyes searching every inch of your face in desperate search of an answer to an unspoken question you sparked within him. Do not? Stop? 

Do not stop?

He gawked at you, ogling at every inch of your face in hopes of an answer. Your eyes, droopy and half-shut, turned sideways as if too ashamed to look him in the eyes. Mouth just a touch open, drawing long and heavy breaths, and your beautiful blue skin, flushed that purple colour he was becoming so fond of seeing, gleaming with a layer of warm, sleek sweat. 

You looked absolutely ruined. And he absolutely detested the idea that you might have been telling him to stop – truly stop – his advances because now that he had a glimpse of such a sight, he cursed the idea that he may never see it again knowing exactly what you looked like underneath him. So he waited with baited breaths, a wait you did not make him stand long for, and then you delivered.

“Do.. not.. stop.” You spoke between heavy breaths. “Neteyam, please.”

And then he saw it. The way you had been pressing up against his right thigh, locked between both your own thighs and rubbing against your core, just close enough to create friction. The sight and the plea shattered whatever thin thread of control he’d been clinging to as he finally realised what you meant. 

A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep in his chest, a half growl, half reverent thanks to Eywa herself, as he surged forward, releasing your tail momentarily, only for the hand to sweep through the air, landing right on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him with a roughness he rarely displayed. 

And that's when it finally happened. His mouth crashed against yours, hungry and possessive, swallowing the next broken gasp that spilled from your lips. His fingers curled into the sensitive skin just below your hairline in a way that made your knees weaken, and had you not still been sitting on this crate, you were sure you would have faltered and folded to the ground. 

His tongue pushed at the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart with a devastating hunger, as if he had been waiting far too long to claim this moment, only clarified with the roll his body made to press into your own. The muscles of his abdomen elongated and protruded against the skin, screaming at you to touch them, to feel them, as he pushed your intertwined hands further back into the wall. 

That was when his hand around your neck finally began its descent downwards. It started at your shoulders, brushing against your collarbone and lingering just a moment around your breasts. He swirled against the curve underneath the soft fat and the trail left hot tingles in its wake, sending blood rushing to every nerve the pinpoint of his fingertips lined. 

It continued on, searing down the arc of your waist, against the curve of your hips and drew a curl to stop just a few paces below your belly button, and yet not even a breath above from the band of your loincloth.   

Your breath hitched as those fingers paused there, so achingly close, tracing lazy, maddening patterns just above the thin strip of woven fabric – the only thing left between you and completely surrendering to the man who haunted your every waking moment. Neteyam pulled back from the kiss, only far enough to watch your contorting face, the molten amber of his eyes now nearly non-existent, replaced almost entirely by his pupils, blown wide with lust and a restraint that was seconds from snapping.

He could feel the heat radiating from you, and could tell you were trying to resist whatever thoughts were happening in your head, unsuccessfully so. He could see it in the way your thighs tremored ever so subtly, and in the way your hips shifted restlessly against him, as if seeking friction but hating who the friction you seeked came from. A low, approving, yet humoured growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged.

“You're always so responsive.” He murmured, voice gravelly, lips brushing yours as he spoke and fingers still working their patterns at the lowest part of your belly. “Every touch… you light up for me.”

“You always think you know what I feel.” The words spat harsh but breathless, trying desperately to deny him the satisfaction of winning.

But Neteyam just laughed, stating flatly. “Your freckles glow, fang.”

And your flush deepened knowing your body was betraying your mind. 

“Stop talking. I still despise you.”

Neteyam took the opportunity to lean back, making enough room to have a full view of your body without disconnecting your lower bodies. Finally his hand strayed from your belly, sliding to the left of it before stopping right at the rope that knotted your loincloth into place. He glanced down at it expectantly, then up to meet your eyes, his own glinting with mischief.  

“Funny way of showing it.” He commented.

Then his fingers pulled at the string, and all you did was let your head fall back against the wall in response. 

The knot gave with a soft tug, the woven cord loosening until the loincloth sagged against your hips, and you felt the cool air kissing at your newly exposed skin. It left your sighing, and Neteyam actually laughed at the sight of you. 

His next move was to grab at your right leg, lifting it high until it settled on top of his right shoulder. The motion had you shifting forward slightly, nearly hanging off the edge of the crate now. Once it was placed, he leaned down, meeting the slant of your body against the crate until his face met just above yours.  

“No fangs now, huh?” He taunted, voice dripping with smug triumph, his breath hot against your lips as his free hand slid up the thigh draped over him with the most reverently possessive grip.

Your eyes narrowed, a spark of fury cutting through the haze of pleasure. “I’ll silence you.”

Before he could fire back another cocky word, you flexed the leg hooked over his shoulder and shoved hard. Your heel dug into the muscle of his back as you pushed, using every bit of leverage to force him downward and surprise flashed across his face for a split second before he dropped to his knees in front of you, left hand disconnecting from yours and instinctively reaching to grip your hips as a means to steady himself.

There he was – all mighty Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto, future Olo’eyktan – kneeling between your thighs, directly in front of your exposed core, with amber eyes flicking a mix of shock, defeat and drooling hunger.

You let your head rest back against the wall again, eyeing him through the brush of your lower lashes and fingers threading roughly into his braids to hold him exactly where you wanted him. 

“I told you I’d make you swallow your sorry sounds.” And with a sharp tug forward, the control had been shifted to your hands. “Now swallow.”

The low, involuntary groan that vibrated through his chest and into your core was the only answer he managed before his mouth obeyed. His head moved first then his tongue dragged slow and deliberate, tasting you like he’d been starving for years and refused to rush the meal. But the grip you kept in his braids, tight and unforgiving, told him exactly who set the pace. 

Heat slammed through you, ugly and mixed with the pure rage of having him under you. You hated him for making your body clench like this, hated the way your thighs shook because his tongue felt so damn good, but hated it more that you questioned if the reason he felt so good was because he had done this before. Hated that the idea made you jealous. 

You were a mix of pleasure and shame – that Neteyam was on his knees, eating you out like he had no choice and that he was disgustingly good at it. And when you rolled your hips forward, demanding more, he gave it without hesitation, lips sealing around you, tongue curling deep and relentless, then it dawned on you that he was worshipping your clit like he was singing a prayer.

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, the leg still hooked there locked tighter, heel pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him exactly where you wanted him  – on his knees, serving the woman who’d sworn to hate him forever. And he did it so well you had been reduced to a moaning, whining and squirming mess beneath his hands that were holding you down.

“Eywa, shit– Y/n– ” The name slipped out raw and whiny, and the vibration of his voice had you absolutely feral, snapping in an instant. But not to your end. No.

Because the only thing you could think about was why he felt so good. Why he was so talented at everything. The idea of him having experience with this, of him doing this to someone else, made something vicious twist in your chest.

So your hand in his hair tugged hard, snapping his head back and away from your core to glance up at you with daze in his eyes and your slick dripping down his chin.

He blinked up at you, lips swollen and shining, breath coming in rough pants. For once, the smugness was gone, replaced by raw, hazy want and a flicker of confusion at the sudden stop.

You stared down at him, chest heaving, jealousy burning hotter than the aftershocks still pulsing between your legs, and the words came sharp, cutting through the air like an arrow.

“Who else?” You spat, voice accusatory and ugly with envy, fingers tightening in his braids in a visceral way you couldn’t help.

“What?” He sounded so breathless, and so confused, eyes still foggy from being buried between your thighs.

“You move like this isn’t new for you.” You snapped, the words spilling out jagged. “People don’t learn that by accident.”

“Fang, what are you–”

Then your mouth spat the words like the answer was so obvious, like you had been just waiting for the name to be mentioned. “ –It is An’aya, isn’t it?”

“An’aya!?” He said it like the name didn’t belong here at all. Because it didn’t. Because twenty seconds ago he was face-deep drowning in what he deemed to be his new favourite flavour, and now he’s thinking of a girl he’s barely spent more than 10 minutes alone with.

“You lie with her too!” The accusation came out sharp enough to feel final, as if it wasn’t something to be debated and you had already made up the answer. 

Neteyam stared up at you for a beat, eyes wide, mouth still wet and open like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or groan. Then the laugh won, short and completely disbelieving as the weight of your words settled into him. He searched your eyes, stern and glazed, angry with something he knew you barely understood and it dawned on him. Holy shit.

“You are jealous.” He said it so incredulously, like it was the best revelation he made all week. A rough laugh tore out of him, head tipping back in your grip, the sound raw and disbelieving. And it was like you couldn’t even deny it, all you could do was sneer your usual fang baring scowl and snap your head away with a tsk of your tongue.

“An’aya?” he rasped, grin sharp and crooked, chin still dripping with you. “Eywa fang, you think I’ve ever touched her? Ever wanted to?”

He shifted forward on his knees, hands sliding up your thighs as he finally raised to his feet off his knees to meet you at eye level. His face was inches from yours, grip firm but not pushing and you watched as that aggravating amusement melted into the softest look you think he had ever sent you. His smugness fell, the cocky edge dulling into something so honest.

“I don’t lie with An’aya. Just you, fang.” he spoke so slowly, voice low and steady, and almost gentle despite the filth of the moment. “I only ever think about you.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Heat flooded your face, your chest, mixing between the jealousy and the flattery until you couldn’t tell which burned more. You didn’t know if you believed him – or more so didn’t know if you wanted to believe him. So you picked your arm up to pinch the side of his ear, using it to drag his face impossibly closer. Your gaze flickered between both his eyes, searching for something, an answer to a question you weren’t even sure you knew what.

For a split second, something in your grip faltered. The idea that he might be telling the truth was somehow worse than the lie. So you tightened your fingers on his ear for a beat before yanking his head back with a force meant to hurt.

“Prove it,” you snarled.

Neteyam’s breath hissed through his teeth at the sting, but the look he gave you was pure lust, not a single trace of softness left. In one brutal motion he tucked one hand under your ass, and the other around the curve of your waist, before spinning you around so fast the world tilted for a fraction of a second. Your chest slammed against the crate, palms scraping metal as he kicked your legs wider and pressed his full weight into your back.

You heard him before you felt him, the quick tug and rustle as he worked the knot of his loincloth free behind you. Something involuntary dragged your head back, forcing you to peek over your shoulder. The fabric fell, and it was like every silent inkling you’d ever felt bite at you, every reflexive moment that told you to study his stripes despite never knowing why, finally dawned on you why it had always been so urging.

Those large, vibrant stripes were only a preview into what the loincloth hid. They tapered lower and thicker up the base of his cock, before finally crawling into a thinning stretch that ended just beyond the tip of his head, which was slick with precum and the most angry, swollen shade of red. Red. Like a Tawtute.

And it was in that moment you realised that all those little characteristics that made him slightly different – the broader shoulders, the extra finger, the sheer size of him below the cloth and the way his tip skin flushed pinker than any Na’vi you’d ever seen – weren’t the flaws or accidents you convinced yourself was the reason you fixated on them. They were proof that he had Toruk Makto’s blood running through him, the son of a leader, born to be a leader. And right now that blood had him hard and leaking for you, the girl who’d spent years calling him sky-demon scum.

The realisation twisted hot and ugly in your gut, hate and want braided so tight you couldn’t pull them apart but that was so swiftly disrupted by the feeling of him pushing forward, the tip of his achingly large cock making contact with your swelteringly wet entrance, and it had you absolutely unraveling at the mere contact of it.

You couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of you at both the stretch he gave with just the top of him, barely even a quarter full, and at the sight of him ogling down at the space between you, at the way the tip of his cock looked barely swallowed inside of your warm hole, his fist gripping at the base.

Neteyam caught the sound, eyes snapping up just in time to see you bury your face in your arm and he laughed that irritatingly smug laugh that vibrated through his chest and into your back. 

“Already moaning for me, Fang?” He murmured, voice thick with satisfaction and lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You can’t even pretend to hate me anymore.”

“Do not…,” you hissed with a breathy sigh, the words cracking despite your best effort to sound venomous, “…dare assume you know what I feel.”

He hummed, amused, like your denial was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

“I do not think I'll have too.” 

Goosebumps rose in its wake, your hips stuttering back despite yourself before you could correct it. His hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady, while the other slid up your spine in a slow, deliberate path until his fingers closed gently but firmly around the thick base of your kuru, the long, sacred braid that cascaded down your back.

The feeling of his hand around your kuru had your entire body jolting, a sharp, electrifying shock racing through every nerve in its wake. You spun in his grip with a surprise he’d never seen on you before, eyes blown wide, breath caught, and all that sharp defiance from before suddenly fractured by something he had never seen painted so vulnerably on you.

You looked so unsure, so confused, so conflicted, staring at his hand like it was both a threat and a gateway to something new.

At your face, Neteyam’s expression softened too, the smugness fading completely as he brought the end of your braid up between the two of you, turning it so the the wispy ends of your braid went limp to expose the pink tendrils beneath. They snaked in the air, searching the air as if awaiting what was yet to come.

His own kuru hung over his shoulder, and he used his other hand to grab at it, settling it so close to yours that the tendrils already began reaching for each other, drawn like magnets, but far enough that they did not touch.

“I will not force this, and I will not continue with this if you say no. I honestly don’t think I can.” he said, voice low, rough with restraint but steady. “Tsaheylu with me… or we stop right here. Your choice, Fang. Always your choice.”

The words hung heavy. You hated him for giving you the out. Hated him for making it feel safe to say yes even though you really thought you would have said no. Hated how much you wanted him, and wanted to know what it felt like to be bound to the one person you’d spent your whole life trying to push away.

Your chest rose and fell fast. The tendrils of your kuru twitched, brushing the air toward his and you didn’t speak as you watched them try to connect. Slowly, deliberately, you reached your hand up to wrap around his forearm, watched as the hand that held his kuru faltered at the intrusion and met his eyes as he searched yours for answer.

It didn’t come as a verbal one, but your mind had been made the moment you tugged his arm forward to allow his kuru to connect to yours. And in an instant the tendrils met, wrapping and fusing, snapping the bond into place.

A gasp tore from both of you at once, backs arching, eyes fluttering as raw sensation flooded through. The pleasure was intense and overwhelming, but more than that: every buried feeling, every unspoken want, every flash of anger and longing and need crashed together in a single, shared current that left you both moaning messes.

He groaned your name like it hurt and you whined his so helplessly, fingers digging into his shoulders and the world narrowed to just the two of you.

Neteyam moved first, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he spun you both around and sank to his knees. He laid you gently on the cool floor beneath him, settling between your legs, face-to-face now with his forehead pressed to yours, kuru still joined, the bond pulsing with every heartbeat.

He slid back into you slowly, eyes never leaving yours, letting you feel everything – his awe, his hunger, the years of wanting you he’d hidden behind every smirk and fight. And you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and for the first time with there being no crate, no wall, no anger between you, nothing but the bond, neither of you could deny the truth that lingered between you for years anymore.

The bond made it unbearable in the best way because you could feel everything. 

You could feel every slow drag of him inside you echoed back through the link. You felt his pleasure at how tight and wet you were, your helpless clench around him, and the ache that flared harder with every inch he gave. You felt the way your body gripped him like it never wanted to let go, and he felt it too, a low, broken groan rumbling from his chest as his hips finally seated flush against yours.

“Fuck–” he breathed, voice ragged, forehead still pressed to yours. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, the golden amber almost gone. “You feel… I can feel you everywhere.”

You couldn’t answer with words. The bond carried it for you: the rush of heat, the ache, the impossible fullness of him stretching you open while his emotions poured into you

He started to move, slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that dragged the thick length of him along every sensitive spot inside you. Each thrust sent a wave through the bond, pleasure looping between you until it built on itself, amplifying, stealing your breath. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines over his stripes; he hissed and answered by snapping his hips harder, driving a sharp cry from your throat.

Through the link you felt how much he loved that sound, how it made him throb inside you, how close he already was to losing control and you responded by sticking your mouth to his neck, and sucking hard in an attempt to quiet yourself.

“Tell me,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, keeping your faces close, noses brushing, “tell me you feel it too.”

You did. Eywa, you did. The anger was still there, flickering at the edges, but it only made the pleasure sharper, almost as if the bond was burning it clean and turning years of hate into something so much more overwhelming.

“I feel you,” you finally gasped as your mouth left his neck with a slimy pop, and you noticed the angry purple mark that sat in its wake. Your voice cracked, legs tightening around his waist to pull him impossibly deeper. “All of you. Don’t stop–!”

The next thrust ended with another broken sound from you, a half-moan, half-word that slurred through your tongue almost incomprehensibly.

“Mmm– ’tayem–”

Neteyam’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, then picked up again, faster now with a cocky triumph you felt flooding the bond like heat. A low, smug chuckle vibrated against your neck as he nipped the skin, sucking and pinching at it with pride.

“I got you that good, huh?” He murmured, voice rough but dripping with satisfaction, hips rolling deep and deliberate. “Got the stubborn Fang stuttering my name?”

You tried again, desperate, the pleasure coiling so tight you could barely think.

“Ma– tayem–”

He laughed again, breathlessly arrogant and loving every moment of this – loving that you, always so sharp-tongued and composed, always throwing insults at him and trying to embarrass him in front of your families, was reduced to this, such a moaning, whiny mess you couldn’t even get his name correct.

“Can’t even get your words right,” he teased, smirking against your lips, eyes gleaming down at you with such amusement. “If only everyone could see you now.”

“Ma ‘teyam.” You managed it this time, much clearer and insistent of every syllable that trembled out of you on the next thrust. And he froze.

Not completely, his hips still rocked shallow and instinctively, but the rhythm stuttered hard, like someone had yanked his hips backwards and held them still. His eyes widened, searching yours through the haze, the cocky smirk smacked off his face in an instant as the meaning finally slammed into him.

Ma ‘teyam. 

Your Neteyam

The bond flared hot with it, your claim, raw and unfiltered, pouring straight into him. A ragged groan tore out of his chest, half between shock and something much, much deeper, like a stirring pot of pleasure and disbelief and possession all tangled together into two bodies merged as one. His forehead dropped to yours again, losing every trace of that smug control because the words were echoing through the link like a vow, and it broke him.

A low, guttural groan ripped from his throat, deep and wrecked and his whole body shuddered as the realization hit him harder than any phrase ever uttered to him. His hips jerked forward once, hard and uncontrolled, completely unlike his usual poise, as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, and that was it. He came with a broken cry of your name, voice cracking on the syllables as he spilled hot and deep, pulse after thick pulse flooding you.

The bond amplified everything and you felt every throb of his release as if it were your own and that made yours follow soon after, the overwhelming rush of his pleasure crashing into yours, the way his heart slammed against his ribs, the dizzying mix of disbelief and euphoria that Neteyam was now claimed by you in the most intimate way possible, solidified by the way your attached kuru still hung besides you, your deep purple marks decorated his neck, and your bodies lay against each other, sleek and fucked out.

His forehead pressed hard to yours, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in harsh, uneven pants against your lips. His arms trembled as he held himself above you, hips still twitching with aftershocks, grinding slow and shallow as if he couldn’t bear to pull out.

“Fuck… fuck–” he gasped, voice hoarse and trembling, nothing left of the smug warrior who’d been teasing you since you got to this forsaken watchpost. “You… you said…”

“That I despise you?” You murmured, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in, beyond exhausted, tail finally curling loose and lazy behind you. “I do.”

A broken laugh tore out of him, warm and disbelieving, his nose brushing yours as his breathing slowly began to steady. “I don’t even need to see your tail to know you lie.” 

And as if to prove his point, he brought his hand around to the place where your kurus joined, stroking the exposed, sensitive nerves gently with his thumb. The bond hummed softly at the touch, sending a lazy ripple of warmth through you both and your tail flicked once, then curled deliberately around his thigh, holding him close.

He felt it, of course and a quiet, satisfied hum left his chest.

“See?” He whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “Even your tail is done fighting me.”

You opened one eye, glaring weakly up at him. “Don not get used to it, skxawng. The second we are back with the clan, I’m telling everyone you cried after your father yelled at you.”

Neteyam snorted, shifting his weight so he could prop himself on an elbow and look down at you properly. His braids fell forward, framing his face, and the bond carried the soft glow of affection he was trying, and miserably failing to hide behind his usual smirk.

“Then I’d have to tell them how the almighty daughter of our clan head warrior begged for me to–”

You slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing. “Finish that sentence and I’ll bite you again.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, laughter muffled against your palm and you narrowed your eyes as you spoke once more. “I could still push you off this ledge. No one would find the body till morning.”

“Maybe so.” He conceded easily. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing the base of your kuru in a way that made your spine shiver despite your best effort to stay at least a little defiant. “But then who would keep you company on patrol anymore? You’d miss arguing with me.”

You huffed, shoving at his chest. “I would finally earn peace.”

“Peace is boring.” He countered, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside of it, soft and infuriatingly gentle. “And you’d miss my family interrupting us every five minutes, thinking they’ll catch you slipping in the act. My dad likes messing with us too much to let you go.”

You snorted, but the sound lacked real venom. “Your father likes me because I’m not afraid to yell at you when you are being an arrogant teylupil. That is not the same as liking me.”

Neteyam’s grin turned softer, eyes crinkling at the corners. “He likes you because you are strong. And because you force me to be better. Even when you are threatening to skin me alive.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but your tail betrayed you again, curling tighter around his leg like it had decided it wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

“Flattery will not save you,” you muttered, dropping your head back to his chest so you didn’t have to look at that stupid, fond expression on his face. “When we get back at dawn, we say nothing. We walked the perimeter. Inventoried the stock. End of story.”

Neteyam arched a brow, amusement flickering through the bond. “You think they’ll believe that? Nothing has been done here. And you look…” He brushed a thumb over your neck, tracing where his mouth had been earlier. “…thoroughly ruined.”

You swatted his hand away, but there was no real heat in it, not like before. “You look worse. Like you lost a fight with an Ikran.”

He laughed, full and unguarded this time “Then let them think what they want, I already won.” he whispered when you parted. 

You rolled your eyes, but your tail tightened around his leg again, betraying you.

“I still despise you,” you muttered into his neck.

“I am aware.”