Oh Deer Oh Deer

But you didn’t. Dazedly, you approached the slab of icy metal upon which Kyojuro now slept, a sheet half-pulled over his torso.

Like a magnet, your eyes were drawn to the cavernous, black mark notched perfectly between his pectorals.

Apart from his face, Kyojuro’s chest had been your favorite part of him. So warm and sturdy, the perfect place to rest your head after a particularly arduous mission. Warm. The skin beneath your cheek has always been so warm, the heart steadily beating against his sternum had been a lullaby meant only for you, its melody capable of chasing away any and all anxieties and doubts.

So why was there now a hole — dark, round, gaping — punched clean through the middle of your beloved’s chest? How had it managed to mark the precise spot where you’d lain your head only two sunrises ago — as you’d always done?

How was it that you were able to see straight through it, right down to the muted gray of the table upon which he’d been placed?

His heart, the thought echoed from some dark, numb corner of your mind, little more than a whisper. Where did his heart go?

Where was that sweet tune, the one that signaled all was well, that you were safe and sound and loved and warm?

Wrong. Wrong. None of it made sense and all of it was wrong.

Why was it so cold?

You needed your warmth; your sun, your grounding, radiant force of nature. With trembling hands you hauled yourself up atop the examination table and suppressed the shudder that wracked its way violently down your spine as the cold bite of metal stung your skin.

He was there; right there beside you, and soon all this confusion would be cleared, your anxiety dissipated, as long as you could touch him and he, touch you —

You laid out beside him, curling into his body as you’d so often done, your face pressed into the crook of his neck.

Too cold. Even for the Ice Hashira, Kyojuro’s body was far too cold, and his arms did not circle around you; he did not hold you back.

Your hand laid on his cheek, your thumb stroking over his skin. “Kyojuro,” your voice cracked. “Kyojuro, come back.”

Your other hand found his, frozen and stiff, but still manipulable. With some effort, you brought it against your abdomen, laying it flat. “We’re having a child, Kyojuro. You have to come back.“

The iciness of his hand against the warmth of your abdomen made you flinch and you pressed it harder, hoping, waiting, for your warmth to seep into him.

“You’re going to be a father,” you pled desperately. “We need you. Come back to us.”

You waited for the telltale twitch in his brow, the one that always signaled he was slowly — but surely — emerging from the thresh of sleep. Perhaps, there might have been a flutter of his eyelashes and for a moment, there was a swell of hope. But you blinked, and the tears that had welled in your eyes fell, dripping onto too-cold skin that would not, despite your best efforts, turn warm.

Kyojuro did not stir.

“Let’s go home,” you sobbed between wet, salty kisses against his icy cheek. “Let’s go home, Kyojuro. We need to go home.”

And then a voice — rich and male, but not the one you so desperately needed to hear — called your name.

You pressed your face harder against Kyojuro’s as your sobs grew more wracking and violent, your lips pressing frantic kiss after kiss against his cheek and jaw as you cradled him close.

You wouldn’t leave him.

Closer and closer the steps drew, a a death march which brought you nearer to the end of everything; the end of you.

You knew what was coming; you knew, that every resigned, heavy footfall behind you carried a finality that you could not escape. Never again would you hold him or kiss him or love him. Never again would you feel his skin against yours or run your hands through the coarse, fiery strands of his hair.

You wouldn’t leave him.

Just a little longer, you wished, begged, pleaded with some unspoken force even as Uzui’s foorsteps drew nearer. Let us lay together, just the three of us. Let us be whole for just a little longer.

“Y/L/N.” Uzui’s voice was gentle.

“No.”

“That’s not him, Y/L/N. He’s gone.”

But it was him, how could Uzui not see? This was your Kyojuro — his skin, his hair, his hand pressed to your burgeoning stomach, no matter how stiff his joints. He was yours, and he could not be gone, you’d not given him permission to leave. Not like this.

“No — please —,” your whimpers were so small, barely more than a collection of squeaks tucked into Kyojuro’s neck. “Don’t — Uzui — please, please -“

“I’m sorry,” Uzui’s voice was brittle even as the hands sliding under you remained firm and steady. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your fingers seized tight around the stiff, frozen hand of the one you loved most, clinging even as the Sound Hashira lifted you away from him; from your home.

You wouldn’t leave him. You wouldn’t leave him. You wouldn’t —

Uzui twisted away with you cradled against his chest and Kyojuro’s arm thudded heavily to the table.

Your bare back lays flat against the soft furs beneath you. The fire burns strong, contained by the ring of rocks surrounding it. A cold breeze blows through the tent from where Lo’ak pushed past the flap to the entrance when he left moments prior.

Goosebumps rise along your skin as you lay there. Your vision was spinning. Your stomach was churning. Conflicting emotions circle your mind. He said the arrangement was for pleasure and stability, so why didn’t he want you?

Did you misunderstand the meaning behind his words? The two of you had only just left the ceremony and everything had already taken a turn.

Was it because you told him you were a virgin? Was it pity? Was it disgust? Your thoughts race, but eventually the sounds of the ash people continuing the celebration brings you back to reality.

There was no reason to dwell on something that you had no control over. Maybe you should be thankful that he did not lay you down and take you. The slick that ran down your inner thigh from the touch of him was evidence that you wished he would have.

With a sigh, you push yourself up from the furs, steadying yourself as your fingers grip onto the fibers below you. Your cheeks were warm; your body shivered in contrast. After realizing your clothing sat by the entrance to the tent, you reluctantly stand.

A bucket of clean water sat on a low table on the far-left wall under the handcrafted shelves. Making your way over, you dip a cloth in and bring it down to your inner thigh to wash yourself of your desire.

The water felt cold against your skin. You watched as it melted away the ash leaving bright blue skin in its wake. A testament to yourself that underneath their disguise, you were the same woman you were before.

But you weren’t. The betrayal that runs through your body was stronger than any feeling you had experienced before. There was nothing that could fix it. Part of you hoped you never saw him again, but the other part begged for her father to save her from the situation he put her in.

It wasn’t fair, and it never would be. No matter how angry you became, no matter how much you tried to trick yourself, none of it would make it okay.

You physically shake your head to clear your mind, and you grab the small jar of ash that set on one of the higher shelves. Carefully, you cover the bright blue skin that does shine through, disguising yourself once more. As you walk towards where your clothes lay in a pile on the ground of the shelter, you wrap the wires of beads around your neck and tie the top in the back around your soft skin.

As you pick up your loincloth you notice the red crystal knives underneath that Lo’ak had gifted to you. You slip on your loincloth quickly and pick one up. Examining it, you think about how he gave you knives specifically with no metal.

Why would he do something like that for someone if he did not care?

You run your finger along the blade, letting yourself feel the sharp points that he carved himself. The care and effort he put into making this was something you hadn’t expected from him.

You slide the knife through the ties at the back of your loincloth before picking up the other and doing the same. While taking a deep breath, you push through the flap of the tent.

The ash people celebrated long into the night. You were curious as to how they continued their celebration even after you had already left. As you walk through the village, the music beats deep in your body. The vibrations light you on fire how they did once before.

You stand just far enough away that no one has recognized your presence. Children run around chasing each other with bone toys playing pretend. Women sharpened blades or breast-fed babies.

Ash fell from the sky, embers rose into the air. The drums were loud, deafening almost but you felt drawn to them. You enjoyed the way the ash people danced shamelessly so you decided to join them.

Warriors were sparring with knives near the first, speaking loudly to each other to compensate for the other noises. Lo’ak stood amongst the group, making conversation about raids, and training. Stuff that you didn’t care to hear about.

The music stops when the first ash person notices you, and they bow down at your feet. The rest notice and follow. Guilt fills your mind at the sight of these people worshipping you. You don’t think it will ever sit right with you.

“Tsahik,” they whisper.

Lo’ak’s attention lands on you. His eyes burn across your skin as he watches you walk closer to the fire while people bow down kissing the ground you walk on. A small smile pulls on his lips. He worshiped you all the same, but his would be in private. If only he didn’t deny himself of that.

“Please stand, play the music,” you say, waving your hands up and down to bring them up from their knees.

They do as you say and soon enough the music was pulling at your feet. Your body sways. The fire casts soft shadows against your skin sending a warm feeling throughout your body. Your feet find the rhythm of the drums, and you move with the ash people.

Lo’ak and his group stand close as they continue their conversations, but you overhear something one of the warriors said.

“You bring this believer of the Great Mother into the heart of the Mangkwan and give her power. Why? She is poisonous.” The words he speaks spit from his mouth. Anger and hatred spewing towards you.

“She belongs here as your tsahik. You will never talk like this about her again. She is your superior just as much as I am,” Lo’ak says, his tone was not kind.

The warrior backs down, apologizing to Lo’ak for what he had said. You watch him as you dance around the fire with the ash people. He brings his hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighs deeply.

Your gaze catches his for only a second before you look away. You wished that he would come to you like he had before the two of you went back to the tent. You wished that you could redo the night with him.

It wasn’t supposed to go the way it did. You wanted him, and he wanted you and now he didn’t.

You brush those thoughts away. It was hard to enjoy the warmth from the fire, and the sound of the music if you were in too deep.

As if he could read your mind, a pair of calloused rough hands slid around your waist, pulling you back towards the warm body that towered over you. You didn’t need to look to know it was him.

“Having fun,” he asks, leaning down to your ear. His breath sends shivers down your spine as you continue to dance in his arms.

“Why did you stop,” you ask. You weren’t going to let him pretend like nothing happened between the two of you. If it had meant nothing to him, you at least wanted to know the truth.

He sighs at your question, his fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, debating if he should even say anything or if he should leave.

“You said you had never done it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders as he answers your question in a way that made you feel like he thought you should’ve known the answer.

“But we were about to. I was only telling you, so you knew,” you say. You place your hands on top of his, guiding them along the length of your body but he stops your movements.

“I refuse to take something from you when you have never had the chance to experience it with someone else.”

His words sit deep with you. It wasn’t pity, or disgust. He would feel guilty for it if he hadn’t stopped himself.

“So, what? I am supposed to live here unmated because you choose not to have me?”

He was silent. Your words sat deep with him in return. Everything he said contradicted the last.

Hot and cold.

A few beats pass before you find the courage to speak again.

“Did you want to stop,” you ask, your curiosity was getting the best of you. You were pushing it, but you hoped he would answer your questions.

“You know the answer to that,” he groans. His grip on your hips becomes bruising, his body follows yours. He lets you guide the two of you as you dance to the music, but he pushes his body hard into yours.

There was nothing he wanted more than to pleasure you, to give you what you ask from him, but he couldn’t. The guilt would eat him alive. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing you never had the chance to create a real bond with someone.

The Mangkwan do not bond. He would never bond to you. That was not something the ash people believed in.

Deep down he didn’t know what feelings to bring to the surface. Either he wanted you here after he hunted you through the forest, or he wanted you to enjoy your life.

He wanted both but realistically it was impossible. You live your life as a child of Eywa, and his life was all screwed up. He never wanted you to know the truth about him.

A lie can never hide the truth for long.

The days after the ceremony stretched long and empty. Lo’ak avoided your gaze, his presence was always near but emotionally distant. You moved through the village as people continued to bow down to you, but everything felt muted without him. The music, the laughter, even the fire light seemed dimmer.

He was supposed to guide you, teach you the ways of the ash people, and yet he was nowhere to be found. You had learned the ways of tsahik, despite your father telling you that you did not deserve the title, so you were not completely clueless.

These people did not pray, they did not hope for the best, they used real medicines, and real techniques to heal the body. They did not quiet down as their tsahik spoke with Eywa, they paced around the tent anxiously until they heard of any signs, bad or good.

At night you think about the way his hands roamed your body before he chose to deny you of what you so badly wanted. He talked less, was away more, and always stayed out of your way when he was around.

It felt like whiplash. One second, he couldn’t pry his hands off you, and the next he was leaving you bare on the furs of the tent just for him to run his hands along your warm skin right after.

He couldn’t make up his mind. Did he want you? Or not? You did not want to play these games with him. You tried to bridge the gap between the two of you as the days passed but he shut down the conversation every time you built the courage to approach him.

Eventually you give up. You don’t know why you tried anyways. He built a stone wall around himself, caging himself in his mind to protect you from whatever he hid deep down. You gave him space after that. You steered clear of him, allowing him to sulk like he wanted to.

Once he began to slack on his duties, the ash people came around more often. They craved the guidance you gave them when they lacked it from Lo’ak.

On a quiet morning, you sat on the ground of the tent mixing herbs together that an ash woman had brought you when you heard the flap of the tent rustle. Looking over your shoulder, Lo’ak walks through. 

He looked worn down, exhausted, as he threw his stuff onto the ground before walking over to the clean bucket of water you had replaced this morning.

“Why have you not been doing your duties, Lo'ak,” you ask. You knew this wasn’t the time, but you barely caught him here alone.

“I don’t want to hear it right now.” His tone was dismissive, final, but you kept going anyway.

“When do you want to then? You’re never around. I can never find you. The people come here looking for you and all I can tell them is that I haven’t seen you,” you say. Irritation was clear in your voice.

You turn your body towards him, watching as he splashes water on his face. He rests his hands on either side of the bucket before sighing.

“I am fucking trying okay. I am trying my best,” he says, his voice raises a few octaves. His nails scrape against the wood of the bucket, his knuckles turn white from his grip.

“Are you? I have offered to help you multiple times. I have tried to speak with you and every time you turn me down.”

His body turns fully towards you. A glare sat on his face as he looked at you.

“I can’t stand being around you. I don’t need your damn help,” he yells. He walks towards you grabbing the jar of ash off the shelf above you and storms out of the tent.

His words echo through your mind over and over again.

I can’t stand being around you.

I can’t stand being around you?

His actions and words go against each other. Lo’ak hovers, never touches, never speaks but he is always somewhere close. Whether you see him or not, you know he is there, and yet he says he cannot stand to be around you.

You take a deep breath in through your nose, and breath out through your mouth. It didn’t help with the fact that your skin tingles, your palms grew clammy, and your body temperature rose from the frustrating conversation.

The herbs blew softly in the wind on the table, and you turned back towards the table to resume your tasks.

That was the last time you spoke to him. 

The moon sat high in the sky, hours had passed since the sun sank past the horizon. Stars light the path of the village in a soft dim white light as fires burned outside of the ash people’s tents for warmth. Wind whistled past your ears as you walked. The air was chilly; a shiver runs down your spine.

You plant your feet one in front of the other. The dry cracked ground was unforgiving, small, sharp rocks poked at the sensitive skin, but the pain grounds you. Warmth lingered beneath the surface from the scorching sun, not even the cold air of the moon could cool the dead lands.

It reminded you of the beach back home. Shells instead of rocks. Sand instead of sand colored hard, dry ground. The warmth never left, it only grew hotter once the sun returned.

The beads of your top wrap tight around your neck, tying around the delicate skin of your back. Your loincloth sat low on your hips, held up by the base of your tail. The two carved knives Lo’ak gifted you were slid through the thin ropes, digging against the dip in your back ever so slightly.

Patrols circle the sky as their ikrans call out to each other. The screeches fill your ears along with the sharp flaps of their wings. You wander through the village after everyone has fallen asleep, but your mind races with thoughts from a restless night.

Lo’ak didn’t come home, like usual.

It had been weeks since the night of the ceremony and he chose not to speak to you. He rarely came home, he never stayed long enough for you to wake up with him, and he absolutely refused to touch you.

You don’t know why it bothered you. You should hate him. You should be furious with him for everything he has done to you.

What had he done though? Your father gave you to him and yet he still gave you a chance to run. He gave you authority that matched the power of his in an unfamiliar place. He gave you people who worshipped the ground you walk on. He provided for you.

You desired none of that. You wanted him down to the deepest rawest part of himself.

You wanted to know everything about him. You wanted to know about his childhood, his family, and his friends. You wanted to know what made him, him.

Him laid bare in front of you, physically and mentally, were the only things you craved at night.

At first, you still tried to build the connection, but eventually you gave up when he ignored the topic every time you brought it up. When you lay down at night you wonder what you could have done to make him change the way he saw you.

You wander past the village. Shadows of burned trees fall to the ground. Ash coats the dead branches, filling the hollow space of the trunk. The air became dense and humid the further you walked. Sweat clung to your skin as ash landed in your hair.

There was no life out here. Nothing to fear. Nothing to avoid, other than your thoughts. Those were the things you feared the most.

At this point, your feet were guiding you where they wanted to, but the sight in front of you leaves your heart aching and steals the breath from your lungs.

A tree of voices.

The tree had been burned; the tendrils hang grey and dead. No connection to the Great Mother.

Tears well up in your eyes, your ears lay flat against your head. It felt as if someone had ripped your heart from your chest and stomped on it. You continue to gaze at the dead tree, never in your life would you think that you would see a burned down tree of voices.

You see something move in the distance.

A pull drags your feet closer to the tree before you can think otherwise.

You can hear the soft cries of the person sitting below the tree, but you have yet to make out who it is. Quiet whispers fill your ears in the form of begs and pleas.

Closing the distance between you and this ash person, you stop dead in your tracks. Your pupils dilate from the sight.

An ash person sat on their knees, the tendrils of their kuru glowing against the dark surroundings. Metal adorned his skin, piercing through the muscle of his arms. Bones were braided through his kuru; the sides of his head were shaved. Paint ran down his body in a familiar way.

Ash people painted their skin unique to themselves.

Lo’ak.

You physically shook your head, clearing that thought from your mind. There was no way this was Lo’ak, but then the ash person began to speak.

“Great Mother, I can’t do it anymore. I suffer every day. There is this woman I brought here wrongfully. I hear her pray to you; I listen every time. Her voice is beautiful, angelic. It sounds like music to my ears and yet I don’t speak to her. I can’t do it.”

Tears run down your cheeks as you quietly listen to him speak. Sniffling softly, you flinch from the sound you made. Your body tenses as you anticipate his reaction to your presence.

Lo’ak turns around sharply, finding you standing directly behind him. Embarrassment flashed across his face, his cheeks burned red and he dropped his queue instantly.

“What are you doing here? It is dangerous. Go back to the village now.”

“Why Lo’ak? What is out here that is dangerous? Your thoughts? Your prayers to Eywa? Tell me.” Your voice raised a few octaves, your irritation from his words got the best of you. This was the first time he had spoken to you, and yet his words were forged from shame.

He was a fraud the same as you. Is this what he does when he disappears? Is this where he comes? To repent his wrongdoings to the Great Mother that he should not believe in?

How many times has he told you that Eywa does not see the ash people and the ash people do not see her?

He pushes himself off the ground and makes his way over to you. You watch as his hands clench and unclench into fists. His teeth grit together from your truthful words.

“You do not speak to me that way. I am your Olo’eyktan, and I order that you go back to the village,” he growls. His face was inches from yours. The warm breath sends shivers down your spine as he speaks. Tears stained his face; his bright yellow eyes were tired.

You flinch from his words. He reminded you of your father giving you a false sense of authority that would only be taken away during a moment where it was convenient for them. You were foolish to think otherwise.

This was a deep-rooted kind of pain. One that he had no idea he hit, but you did not care to explain anything to him. If this was the way he viewed you, then he would have to be a man of his word.

Your gaze finds his. A flash of regret passes through his face. He didn’t say much but he knew his words held a different meaning deep down.

“I thought you were just Lo’ak. I apologize Olo’eyktan,” you whisper, moving to turn away from him. His hand wraps around your wrist pulling you back to face him, but you yank your arm away. You walk away quickly, wanting to avoid him seeing the tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

“Wait,” he yells.

You walk.

“Don’t go,” he says.

You walk faster.

“Please,” he begs.

You could barely hear him.

When you knew he couldn’t see you anymore, you ran. You run until you push through the flap of the tent and only then do you cry.

Every single feeling you have denied yourself of rises. You fall to your knees; your hands cover your face as tears drip from your face.

You hated your father for what he did. You hated Lo’ak for bringing you here. You hated the way he gave you false security. You seem to have forgotten that you were nothing to him.

Another body in the village. Another mouth to feed. A symbol of peace.

Your heart aches. Your mind races. Your breathing comes in short gasps.

Your father gave you up as a sacrifice without thinking twice. Your friends watched you be humiliated as you were dragged through the village. All of it led back to Lo’ak.

The ash people may have been evil for what they did, but they followed him and he was evil in another way.

How could you sit here and be the tsahik of these people when Lo’ak knows you continue to pray to Eywa?

How could Lo’ak do these things and then tell the Great Mother how he suffers?

Nothing made sense.

You cry until your eyes burn and your tears run dry. Your nails dig into the palm of your hands until blood leaks from your skin. You sit on your knees until your bones ache from the pressure.

Only when your body grows weak do you lay down right where you are, inches away from the entrance to the tent.

The sun was beginning to shine over the horizon. The sounds of the ash people waking up filled your eyes. A warm breeze blew over your cold body. The beads lining the wall clinked together. The embers burned low and the crackles lulled you to sleep.

The familiar feeling of a headache bloomed behind your eyes as you slowly began to wake up. You had been moved to the furs that lay by the fire. The fibers run through your fingers as you push yourself up to sit. Warmth spread across your skin, your face felt dry.

Lo’ak sat beside you sharpening your knives quietly as you slept. The fire casted shadows across his body, lining him with a glow that was soft.

Your movements brought his gaze to yours. Conflicted emotions run through you, but before you can make a decision on whether you should hate him, or care for him, he speaks.

“Listen…” he says, barely above a whisper.

“There is no need to explain yourself. You are my Olo’eyktan. Nothing more, nothing less,” you say, holding your hand up to stop his words.

The sting of your words screws his face into one of pain.

“You know that is not what I meant.”

“You said it yourself in the forest that night. Pleasure and stability in exchange for peace. I don’t know why I tried for anything different.”

The words fall from your lips before you can think twice. You move to stand up, signaling that you were done with this conversation, but he pulls you back down to him.

Tension rises in the air. Goosebumps line your skin from the soft touch of him.

“Let me speak, and then you can decide how you feel,” he sighs.

You wait. You wait for him to say anything. You wait to hear his sorry excuse. You wait to hear the words you cried for.

He brings his hand up to his forehead, scrunching the skin in frustration, smearing the red paint unintentionally. A beat passes before any words fall from his mouth.

“I have a brother, well had, the RDA killed him after they killed my father and my mother. He was very different compared to me. The complete opposite, but we shared this dream where we would connect with Eywa. We would feel her songs, and the ancestors spoke to us. They would tell us they forgave us for our parents’ ways, and that we still had a chance to bring the ash people back to Eywa.”

He takes a moment, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. Tears prick his eyes, but he keeps going.

“There is no one I miss more than my brother. His name was Neteyam. He was the only other person I had that shared this dream with me. We were surrounded by these ash people in this barren wasteland, and my parents owned them. There was nothing I could do for them until I became Olo’eyktan, but that came with the price of losing my brother.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you listen to him speak. You feel his hand reach for yours; his fingers circle your wrist. His thumb rubs circles along your arm, comforting you from his sorrowful words.

“I accepted your father’s proposition because you lit a part of me on fire. I heard the way you prayed to Eywa as I searched the forest for you. You’re not very good at hiding but I digress.”

You giggle at that. His eyes light up, his tear-stained cheeks matched yours. Lo’ak’s hand finds your face, cupping your cheek and brushing away a tear.

“I was drawn to you because you brought back the one part of me, I chose to forget when my brother died. I prayed to Eywa and I had never spoken to her out loud before then. It was only ever a dream shared between the two of us, but I begged her for him. I cried on my hands and knees begging for the Great Mother to do something. I begged for her to relieve my pain, but Eywa does not hear in the land of the dead.”

“Oh Lo’ak,” you whisper, bringing your hand up to his as you rub your thumb in circles on the back of his hand. It breaks your heart when he chokes back a sob, but he continues.

“Eywa does not hear the ash people, but I felt like she heard me when you prayed to her that night in the forest. It made me feel like she heard my prayers all those nights that I sat by the burned tree of voices. I failed the people for a long time. I sat under the tree for days on end. I begged her for something, anything and she gave me you. To keep me strong, to guide me, to give me peace, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ruin you. I couldn’t put up a front anymore. When I am with you, the weakest parts of me beg to come to the surface, so I stay away.”

“I don’t want you to Lo’ak. I want every part of you. Every single thing that you carry deep down, I want that,” you say, barely above a whisper. You push yourself up onto your knees and slide onto his lap.

The heat from the fire sits at your back, warming your skin from the chills his touch delivers to you as his hands run down the length of you. The dim glow casts his face in a new light. Bare. Vulnerable. Never weak. His pupils dilate as he watches you closely.

His hands find your hips, gripping into the soft plush skin. Resting your forehead against his, you reach behind your back to grab your queue.

The ash people do not use the kuru as a lifelong bond. He would be the one person you would be bonded with for the rest of your life. Even if he did not see it the same way, you did not care.

You and he were only two sides of the same coin.

“Bond with me Lo’ak,” you say breathlessly. Your lips were inches from his, brushing together softly from the movements.

“Don’t ask that of me,” he whispers. His fingers tense as they dig harder into your skin from the request.

“Please,” you beg, pressing your lips softly against his.

“I can’t.”

“I want to understand Lo’ak.”

“I don’t want you to feel the pain I carried,” he says in between kisses.

“Your pain is nothing I want you to keep from me.”

His arm tenses, like he was trying to restrain himself as he reaches behind his shoulder to grab his queue. Bringing it to the little space shared between the two of you, the tendrils dance in the air next to yours, anticipating the bond.

He was only a broken man who feared you seeing how he drowned in his sorrows.

You push your kuru towards him, watching carefully as the tendrils intertwine with his. He sighs when he feels you flood through the bond, but the feeling of him overwhelms you.

Your eyes shut tightly, images upon images flash through your mind. Your hand rushes towards Lo’ak’s shoulder, steadying yourself as you see every part of him.

You felt the grief of a thousand lifetimes.

Images of a small boy. Images of the small boy growing older. Soft laughter shared between the two brothers. Images of the burned down tree of voices.

The images flash quickly but each one is burned into your vision.

The sounds became worse. Fighting, shouting, many arguments pass by.

It was bearable until it wasn’t.

Blood curdling screams filled with pure agony ring through your ears. It doesn’t stop like the other small quiet sounds did. It continues as more images flash through your mind.

Your nails dig into Lo’ak’s skin. Your eyes roll to the back of your head from the piercing screeches. The emotions you felt from him were sent back down the bond. Tears prick his eyes from the sight of you enduring his pain.

This couldn’t even be described as pain. It was a relentless hollowing, a sorrow that dripped into every thought, leaving nothing untouched, like the world itself had been carved from the loss he had endured.

You fight the urge to disconnect your kuru from his. You asked for this, you wanted to see him and he warned you.

Eventually the screams die down as a memory plays through your eyes.

The night of the forest. Lo’ak walks slowly through the trees, as he follows the tracks you so stupidly left behind. His ears perk up at the sounds of quiet whispers.

It was you praying to Eywa behind the tree you used to hide. Relief, and comfort pass through his body. All the screaming that filled his head was gone when he heard your soft voice.

The memory flashes away bringing a new one.

The night of the ceremony.

His eyes scanned your face as he hovered above you, his cock nudging at your entrance. When he heard the words fall from your mouth, guilt washed over him.

Lo’ak saw you as something pure he couldn’t bring himself to ruin.

The memory flashes away but nothing comes to replace it. No sounds. No images.

The only thing you felt were his current emotions pulsing through the bond.

Lust, passion, relief, anxiety.

You open your eyes to find him watching you. Worry was plastered across his face. You bring your hand up to his cheek before pushing your lips towards his.

The kiss was passionate and rough. A new understanding bloomed between the two of you. You pull away from the kiss, resting your forehead against his, while you catch your breath.

“Oh Lo’ak,” you whisper softly.

His hands wrap around your body. One rested on the dip of your lower back, the other snaked up to cradle your head.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, pushing your body closer to his.

You didn’t know why he was apologizing for something you chose. Your heart aches for him. Your body burns under his touch.

“Make love to me Lo’ak,” you say breathlessly.

“I shouldn’t.” You can feel how it pains him to say that.

“Lay me down and take me. I am yours to have.”

His fingers tangle into your hair as he leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips. You feel his cock growing with need from where you sit on top of his lap. His tongue swipes against your lips, asking for permission.

You open for him, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. His hands move to the ties of your top that rest along the skin of your back. The beads fall against your skin, and he moves up to the ties around your neck.

Your top pools in your lap and he gently pulls it away and sets it to the side. His hand finds your jaw, cupping it with one thumb on the other side to expose your neck to him.

His lips press against the soft skin, sucking and biting gently. Quiet whines leave your throat, slick pools in your loincloth. You slowly grind your core against his aching cock earning a groan from deep within him.

His kisses move along your shoulder before landing on your chest. Lo’ak kisses in between your breasts before moving over to the left one. He kisses around the nipple, on the nipple, he sucks, bites, and pulls at the sensitive bud before it hardens within his mouth.

He gives the same pleasure to the right one.

Lo’ak’s hands return to your back as he lifts you off his lap. He gently lays you down on your back, careful not to break the bond that burned between the two of you.

He places rougher kisses down the length of your stomach. As his kisses near the waistband of your loincloth your abdomen tenses from his soft touches on the sensitive skin. His warm breath lights your body on fire the closer he gets to where you needed him the most.

His desire and passion pulse through the bond as he reaches his hands up to undo the ties of your loincloth. He slides it out from under your, setting it to the side along with your top. 

You bend your legs at the knee, placing your feet onto the ground. You drop your legs wide open for him. His breath catches in his throat from the sight of you bare below his face. 

Your entrance pulsed with need, slick leaks down and gathers on your inner thighs. Your swollen bundle of nerves aches for his touch. 

His cock pushes against his loincloth. Precum leaks from his tip as he twitches from the lust that runs through him. He brings himself down onto his elbows, placing his hands under your legs, and he sets your feet on his shoulders.

His tongue licks a small stripe up your core. A gasp leaves your lips from the soft touches, and you prop yourself on your elbows to watch him. 

The fire dowsed him in shadows. His skin glowed under the dim light. His back was muscular, forming a v down to his waist. You watch as his muscles contract with every movement. 

Lo’ak presses his tongue firmly against your clit as he slowly rubs small circles. When your legs try to close around his head from the pleasure, he pushes them back out.

Your head hangs back as quiet moans leave your lips, your eyes close tight. One hand shoots to the back of his head tangling in his hair while you push his face harder into your core. 

He groans, sending vibrations through your body from the pleasurable pain you give him. 

“Fuck Lo’ak,” you whimper. Your hips grind against his face to meet his touch faster. He brings his hand up to your core, picking one to circle around the entrance. 

Sliding one finger inside, your back arches. The new angle allows him to push his finger deep inside you and curl up towards your sweet spot. He presses against it again and again. 

Your entrance was full, but he added a second finger. He stretched you open, preparing you for his cock. His tip ached to be inside you as it leaked continuous streams of precum into his loincloth. 

You push his head harder against your core, and he lays his tongue flat to let you pleasure yourself on him. 

Your hips rub your clit against his tongue frantically. Your body begged for the release he could give you. He thrusts his fingers in and out, matching the pace of your hips for added pleasure. 

A familiar heat was building low in your stomach as your climax was approaching. Lo’ak can feel your entrance clenching around his fingers, and he speeds up his pace to push you over the edge. 

“Lo’ak oh Lo’ak I’m so close,” you moan out. Your legs grow weak and your grip on his hair tightens. 

He lifts his face from your core just enough to speak.

“Cum on my face sweet girl. Let me taste you.”

His tongue immediately finds your clit again to run faster firm circles around your bundle of nerves. His fingers dig deep into you repeatedly pressing against your sweet spot. You pull his hair hard earning a groan from him that sends vibrations through every nerve ending of your body, and it pushes you over the edge. 

Your body tenses, your legs wrap tight around his head, your grip becomes punishing as the pleasure of your climax rocks through you. 

Constant moans of his name leave your lips as he rides out your high. Your climax pulsed through the bond, multiplying the pleasure when it reached him. 

His cock was so needy for you that cum filled his loincloth just from the feeling of you leaking around his fingers. His cock twitched against the restraint, a wet spot formed on the front.

Lo’ak gently places your feet back to the floor before bringing himself up to hover above you. You watch as he licks his lips, making sure he doesn’t miss a single drop of your cum before bringing his fingers up to your mouth.

He rubs them along your lips, your own cum and slick smearing against them. Without him having to ask, you open your mouth and he groans from your actions. He slides the two fingers along your tongue, grinning when he knows you taste your own pleasure on him.

His gaze finds yours as you suck his fingers clean of you, passion and lust flood through your mind from his own. He pulls his fingers away and reaches for the ties of his loincloth. You watch as his cock slaps against his lower stomach, strings of cum pull from the cloth from where he came while pleasuring you.

You bite your bottom lip as he places the loincloth to the side before leaning down to place a rough needy kiss on your lips. His tongue leaves no part of you unexplored. You suck and bite gently at the curious muscle.

The tip of his cock nudges at your entrance. Lo’ak reaches down, sliding his cock through your slick before rubbing it along his shaft. Your body twitches as the tip drags past your sensitive clit and the moan you let out is one that he swallows completely.

You lay your back against the furs, ready for him to take you. His kisses roam down your neck, biting at your shoulder, and the tip slides through your soaking wet entrance.

The burn and stretch were overwhelming. Your hands shoot to his shoulders to halt his movements.

“I know sweet girl, I’ll make it feel good I promise,” he says, barely above a whisper as he feels your pain through the bond.

The more he pushes in, the more pleasure you receive. Once he sits pelvis to pelvis with you, his cock pushes against your cervix. The pressure was immense. You whine, and wiggle against his cock, eager to feel him slide in and out of your walls.

He slides his cock out, brushing past the same sweet spot he was pressing on with his fingers and your back arches into him. Your chest presses against his. The heat of his skin absorbs through your own, his heart pounds out of his skin, and his breathing was rapid.

“Fuck, you’re so tight around me,” he groans. He brings himself down onto one elbow, his other hand grips the skin of your hip for stability.

When he was sure your pain had turned into pleasure he began to drill deep inside of you. Your hand grips onto the muscle of his bicep, his arm tenses as he thrusts into you. The other grips onto the furs beneath you as your back arches.

The new position allows him to dig deeper inside. The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your warm wet walls. Your core grips him, pulling him in for more, reluctant to let him go.

His hips match the rhythm of your body. Lo’ak pushes his cock deep until he presses against your cervix and pulls out brushing past your sweet spot before leaving just the tip in and doing it all over again. His grip on your hip was bruising.

“Tell me you feel good,” he grunts. His voice grows husky and thick.

“Yes Lo’ak, more fuck,” you whimper. A primal growl leaves his lips from your needs.

The only sounds filling the air were grunts mixed with moans and the slapping of skin.

Lo’ak places a rough kiss to your lips before pushing himself up to his knees. He places your legs on his shoulder and wraps his arms around your thighs. The pace he set was punishing. Your slick ran down your core, dripping onto the furs below. Your heels dug into his shoulder from the overwhelming pleasure of his cock deep inside you.

“You take me so good and deep.”

Your hand reaches up to his lower stomach; your nails dig into his skin. His thrusts were relentless and he never faltered.

“Talk to me baby,” he says, not satisfied with how you said nothing. Constant moans leave your mouth and your words are choppy.

“You feel so good in me Lo’ak,” you whine. Your hips buck up to meet his thrusts, and his fingers dig deeper into the plush skin of your thighs.

“Say it again.”

No words could leave your mouth as it hung open from the pleasure that was shooting through your body. Your head dug into the furs, and your eyes shut tight.

“Look at me and say it again,” he begs.

He thrusts harder, faster, anything to hear you say it one more time.

“You’re so deep in me you feel so good,” you moan out. The words barely form on your tongue.

“That’s right baby take my cock.”

You can feel the familiar heat building in your stomach for a second time. Through the bond you can feel Lo’ak’s desire, and hunger for you.

“Lo’ak, I need to cum,” you say, barely above a whisper as your words are swallowed quickly by a needy moan.

“Wait for me sweet girl,” he groans. His thrusts speed up even faster to bring himself closer to his climax. You do your best to hold in your pleasure for him, but then he takes his hand off your hip and begins to rub circles into your clit again.

“Lo’ak I can’t,” you say, pushing against his hand.

“I know baby let it out. Look at me while you cum on my cock.”

Your gaze finds his. His pupils were dilated, his body was tense begging for release, his mouth hung open ever so light as groans left his lips repeatedly.

Your ankles lock around his neck, your legs tense up, his name leaves your mouth constantly as he slams into you. Your climax rocks through you. Your entrance clenches rhythmically around Lo’ak’s cock and you can feel him twitching inside of you. His finger circles your clit faster, harsher, anything to add to your pleasure.

You fight the urge to close your eyes. Your cum gushes out as his cock sinks inside you and it pushes him over the edge. His climax rushes down the bond multiplying your own by ten. Long, thick ropes of cum shoot from his tip coating your walls in everything he has to offer.

His thrusts slow down, riding out the high shared between the two of you. He falls to his hands, and your legs lazily drop to the floor. Sweat beaded along his skin, his hair stuck to his face, his skin was on fire from the feeling of you under him.

Lo’ak leans down, placing a small kiss on your lips before resting his forehead against yours. His cock never fully stops sliding in and out.

“You still feel so good,” he whispers, in between gentle kisses.

You felt so weak after your climax that no words could leave your mouth.

“You’re so wet for me and full of my cum,” his thrusts speed up slightly. Your body twitches from the overstimulation. His cock stays hard as he nestles it against your cervix before pushing himself up onto his knees.

Lo’ak reaches behind him to grab something before turning his body back to you.

In both hands he held either one of the red crystal knives that he was previously sharpening. You watch as he examines the jagged blades before bringing them close to the soft skin of your stomach.

How could you miss something you never had?

You were never allowed to have dolls, and the few times some RDA worker felt pity and gave you anything resembling a toy, it’d be thrown in the trash by any superior.

He had died before you were around 7. You barely remembered him, after all, he never really paid any attention to you other than making sure you were well behaved.

Not daddy, not papa, just father, or Quaritch.

There was no sentimental bond- you grew up practically alone, being taught how to hold a gun before you even knew how periods worked.

You were a soldier first, a kid later.

You had a brother, but you knew nothing about him. For all you knew he had died in the hands of blue savages.

You were chasing a ghost, it seemed. Literally. You had heard a few stories. Killed by Jake Sully’s mate, his corpse lost in action- you never really mourned or anything as you grew up.

You would have liked to meet your mother. In the pictures she seemed nice- the only picture you had was of her with baby Miles in her arms. You had no pictures of your father, except for a replica of his dog tags you had been given when it was confirmed he was dead. A small gift from an RDA worker.

The RDA didn’t send you to earth- as you were fully aware of the Recombinate Program a few years after he died. You began helping here and there, mostly learning so that once the project was finished you’d be able to ease the transition of being brought back to life for Quaritch.

You didn’t really care- here you had a room, a warm bed and three meals a day, good enough for you.

But things got harder once the program was successfully finished.

You saw as the Recombinates woke up one by one, and then it was Quaritch’s time. Would he recognize you? You were a full grown adult now, not that little girl that always silently waited for him.

You didn’t care, you just did this for the RDA. You told yourself that.

Everyone seemed excited about this, the scientists excitedly talking about how the first ones to wake up were a total success. There was only one left- you stood against the wall, the furthest away as humanly possible within the same room. You didn’t care, you repeated to yourself.

You no longer looked like him. You felt a weird pang in your chest, seeing the other Recombinates get ready for him, you could only recognize Lyle, as he was still bald- which was a little funny.

The small laugh that vibrated in your throat died as soon as you saw Lyle go towards Quaritch’s stretcher, making everyone shut up as the figure in it stirred awake.

You almost felt like you were about to puke, as if you were about to have a test.

You couldn’t do this. No.

You turned on your heel, and walked towards the exit- the unfamiliar feeling of tears accumulating in your eyes making you feel humiliated. You didn’t even turn back once you heard commotion behind, you needed to get out of there before anyone saw you crying like a baby.

The corridor outside the lab was cold, the air-conditioning softly buzzing. Your steps hurried, your eyesight turning blurry with tears and an unfamiliar pain in your chest.

Hate. You hated this feeling, the way your hands began shaking, how you almost felt scared he’d look down on you as if you were a kid again, how your hands once raised for a hug and he merely turned around and ignored you.

You hated him.

Why were you so affected? You managed to get this far alone, you didn’t need to go greet him. Why did you even go there?

“Get it together” You whispered to yourself as you arrived at your room, closing the door behind you and taking a deep breath.

You moved towards the small bathroom, and splashed cold water at your face.

There’s no space in the RDA for weakness.

–

Next morning, you had General Ardmore up your ass because yesterday you ditched your chores. So today you had to do extra work- just great.

Your first task was to go update the Recoms with what had been happening these 15 years that they had been… “Sleeping”... To put it lightly.

You walked the corridors of the facility, a folder full of papers in your arms, your military uniform suddenly feeling too uncomfortable, hot, itchy, tight- you were trying to make up some sort of excuse for some time. But you’d only delay what was meant to happen. See him.

You stopped in front of the panel door, hearing a few voices inside already.

You cleared your throat before opening it and entering, seeing the whole team there, your hands tightening around the folder as your eyes fixed on him.

It barely resembled your father. Blue, tall and uncanny- too young. You must have been a few seconds staring before his eyes met yours and he raised an eyebrow.

“Do I have something in my face, soldier?” He said with that stern tone of his, the one that showed how superior he was.

You felt a few of the other recoms snicker and your face heated up with embarrassment. 

“No sir.” You quickly answered before moving to the front of the room, hinting that you wanted to continue with your work. “I was assigned to provide a situational update regarding the elapsed fifteen years” You added, putting the folder in the podium in front of you, and getting a few papers out of it.

“Current operations prioritize security and finding and destroying The Resistance group, led by Jake Sully. Taking him down would be a big hit to the-” You began, but were interrupted by Quaritch.

“We already know that soldier. What’s your name?” He said as he stood up, making you awkwardly move your face up to see him.

You awkwardly spoke. “Corporal Y/N Quaritch, sir” You heard a no fucking way from the back of the room. Of course, the last time they had seen you was before that war… Just as they were about to head out, you had gone to give your father a small drawing you did. For good luck, you said in your squeaky child voice, you were only seven, and way different than how you looked now.

Your father didn’t react. Instead stared down at you- making you feel tiny. But it wasn’t like before- it was as if he was searching for something familiar in what he was seeing now.

He repeated your name, saying it slowly in a way it was as if the lack of saying it made him feel odd wording it. 

After a few uncomfortable seconds he stared at your eyes. “I take it it’s not a funny coincidence” He said. As much as you wanted to look at the side, you looked back at him.

“No sir” You repeated.

“You sayin’ you’re related to me, corporal?” He said, his tail moving behind him.

He must be fucking with you. It only made you feel more humiliated, had his memories been tampered with or something, and now he didn’t remember you? You felt your face heat up in embarrassment even worse than before. You felt again like that girl who was constantly ignored.

You nodded again, now fully incapable of staring at him. You looked down at your boots- you felt that pang once again. 

“... I don't recall that” He said. You had done a fool of yourself- you wanted nothing but the floor to open up and swallow you whole. You heard some mumbling from the back of the room.

After a few horrible, gut destroying seconds- you were lifted up into the air by two strong hands, your eyes widening.

Before you could even react you were pulled into an embrace, your body stiff as he hugged you, then put you down and ruffled your hair. Your face still in shock. You heard laughs come from the recoms behind.

“You should have seen your face, Squirt” He said low only for you to hear as he patted your shoulder. You cringed at the mention of the old nickname he had for you.

“Alright, corporal, we’re all ears now. Tell us what that bastard Sully has been up to” He said loud enough for all to hear as he moved back to sit down.

You cleared your throat as you fixed the papers on the podium, trying to clear your head. You were a soldier- and a small show of affection shouldn’t affect you.

But even then, your hands were lightly shaking.

–

You had a love-hate relationship with Pandora. You couldn’t lie.

It was breathtaking. You always moved within Bridgehead, never went outside. But ever since Quaritch and his squad got brought back to life, you began training outside- trying to catch up to the much advanced state of the Recoms.

You had no idea why you were there. I mean, having a human would only slow them down. But Quaritch insisted you had to go with them.

You didn’t remember much of before he died, but what little you remembered he never seemed too excited to have you near him, constantly getting some subordinate to take care of you through the day.

But by the way Ardmore had put it, he was your boss now- so you just stuck with it.

You began going out on days-long expeditions trying to track the Sully’s. You’d trip, run slower, get tired faster, Quaritch never slowed down for you. You could see the annoyed look on some of the Recoms faces whenever you were too slow. 

But that only made you want to get better.

You began.. Growing some kind of bond with your father. It was as if this second chance made him actually see you.

In one of these long expeditions you found a Viperwolf, all by itself- something unlikely to happen. Quaritch told you to kill it, for no real reason- just do it. You settled your rifle.

Your bullet went right through its eye.

You allowed yourself to smile as Quaritch patted your back.

“Through the damn eye” Said Lyle as he nudged the beast’s head with his boot after he gave it another shot to kill it.

“Good shot, squirt” He said before moving towards the dead beast.

You felt the ghost of his hand on your back, and a small warm feeling ran through your spine. The corners of your lips faintly moving into a smile.

You were finally feeling acknowledged. They all formed a circle to see where you should head next- but you stood staring at the dead Viperwolf.

Replaying it.

Good shot, squirt

Squirt.

The nickname he gave you when you were barely old enough to stand by yourself. He’d usually use it whenever you were misbehaving- when you’d try to follow him into important conferences, when he caught you once playing with his hand gun. It was always “Quit it squirt- move aside” Now it meant you had done something right. You had been seen, and congratulated.

A small pat on the back almost felt enough to forgive him for all these years of leaving you alone.

You felt something being shoved into your hands, making you snap back to reality. Quaritch was standing in front of you, a protein bar in your hands, Recom sized, which made it look ridiculously big in your human hands.

He didn’t say anything, merely nodded once you grabbed and turned back to the other recoms.

And from there, he slowly changed, you realized. It was barely noticeable- just including you. But it was more than enough for the little girl inside you, the one who never managed to see this side of Quaritch.

You began understanding him.

All those years ago you’d spend hours outside his conference rooms waiting for him to get out and finally notice you.

Now he’d pass you a map and would say “Point the fastest route, squirt” And you’d do it.

Back then you’d show him drawings done in crayons only for him to walk past you.

Now during training he’d go and help your posture with whatever gun you were using, giving you tips & tricks to get the best aim or to not get hit with recoil too hard.

It wasn’t affection- you knew better than to expect that from him. But it was better than the limbo you had felt trapped in all these years.

You weren’t waiting anymore to be noticed. Because he already saw you.

–

You moved through the forests of Pandora. Quiet, armed and alert.

You didn’t recognize this part. But the other recoms seemed to recognize it. Z-dog entered what seemed to be an old RDA ruin, while Quaritch approached a fallen Combat Exo, covered by vines and dust on the floor. You silently followed him, alert for any noises- you weren’t too fond of Na’vis, and you knew for a fact they weren’t too fond of humans either.

From afar, Spider and Lo’ak watched curiously.

“Bro… This is the place where your dad and mine fought” Spider said to Lo’ak- but then his eyes saw you. There was… Something curious, like a weird recognition he saw in your eyes, seeing you go next to the tallest guy there, your mouth saying something he didn’t get to hear.

Spider’s brows furrowed, the sensation feeling like a weird knot forming on his chest.

“That’s your dad’s actual suit” Lo’ak murmured, unaware of the tension in Spider’s shoulders.

Spider stared at the… Avatars? They weren’t Na’vi, judging by their perfect English and clothes, and the guns were a death-giveaway of their side here. 

You stepped closer to Quaritch, and saw his name in the metal, a chill running up your spine. The skeleton staring back at you said enough, and you decided you’d better stay quiet for now.

“Lyle, see if you can pull some data out that… dash cam” Your father said as he straightened his posture, and you began snooping around as well.

Deciding they had seen enough, Lo’ak told Spider that he’d contact Jake, and they retreated, quietly as to not be heard or seen.

But little did they know, they had already been too loud.

As they were escaping, one of the recoms popped out of nowhere, grabbing Tuk- the siblings quickly getting into position as they were surrounded by these strange Avatars.

Realizing they had no chance against the weapons held by these people, Lo’ak had to drop his bow, and command his siblings to also lower their weapons. They were quickly immobilized by the attackers.

You watched from a few feet of distance, slowly walking towards the captives, your eyes focused on the human within them.

 For all you knew he had died in the hands of blue savages.

Your own past thoughts came back to your head as you moved, your gun pointing down, your eyebrows furrowing.

He looked at you, and hissed. Just like a savage. But you saw the recognition in his eyes as well.

He looked… Different, so much different. From a small baby running around to a full grown man, his once short blonde hair now matted in dreads, and even though the mask reflected the sun, you could still make the shape of his face. The face of your brother.

Alive. Blue strips painting him from head to toe, marking him as a blue monkey. You almost felt offended.

You completely ignored Lyle and Quaritch talking about fingers or whatever- your mind still in shock of the discovery- which Quaritch was too busy checking hands to realize that his own damn son was there, playing pretend.

It wasn’t until he pulled out a knife that you snapped out of it, pointing your gun at the Na’vi with eyebrows as Quaritch threw him to the floor. He screamt out for his sister as Quaritch moved.

That’s funny, that’s why they were so focused on him, he was Jake Sully’s son. And staring at the other girl she seemed to be half human as well, human facial features and all, too uncanny for your liking.

The human screamt for Quaritch to not touch her- finally making him notice him.

“What’s your name kid?” He asked in a wary tone.

The human stared at him, then at you, still squirming under the grasp of the recom. “Spider… Socorro”

You had to force yourself to stay quiet and focused- to not show any of the surprise you felt on your face.

Quaritch motioned for the recom to let go of Miles, your face frowning at this confusing turn of events. He kneeled to be face to face with your… brother.

“Miles?” He said. You couldn’t see your father’s face, but you could hear it in his tone that there wasn’t any hostility like just a few seconds before.

Miles stared at Quaritch for a few seconds, his body tense. “Nobody calls me that anymore” He said, with clear disgust.

“Well, I'll be damned. You have grown a lot” 

–

Well, it could have gone worse, you thought.

You had been reached by one of Jake Sully’s mate arrows. Neytiri, her name was from the files you found. Your thigh had been the affected body part, the arrow going through it, leaving a bit of a nasty wound.

It seems that the rain had cleansed the poison from the arrows, as from what Quaritch told you she had a knack for poisoning them- otherwise you would have ended up just like him.

But not everything’s lost. You got Miles- err, Spider, as he liked to be called

As you got your injuries tended to, you limped towards the room they were keeping him in. Just as you arrived you saw Quaritch leave.

“Will he help?” You asked him, feeling odd at the… Messed family dynamics. In reality you wanted to ask him how he was- but you knew better than to be transparent with your feelings. It’d make you look weak.

The sterile environment did nothing to soothe your nerves. Spider stood out like a sore thumb in that questioning room, hissing and hiding under the table.

“He’ll talk. Eventually” Quaritch said before continuing walking. You slightly frowned. He had been back to that whole ignoring you thing- was it because you failed and got shot?

Whatever. You moved towards the glass and stared at Spider. Back at hiding under the table. You took a deep breath, and moved towards the glass door, stepping inside.

Neither of you spoke, shit, he didn’t even turn to look at you, eyes focused on the wall in front of him.

“You’re here.” He acknowledged, to which you nodded awkwardly.

“I thought you were dead” You admitted before you could stop yourself.

“Thought the same about you” He answered, frowning. You moved closer, sitting on the floor next to him cross legged, the bandages under your camo pants uncomfortably tight, the wound palpitating.

For a while neither of you spoke, the awkward and tense silence filling the room as you played with the loose hem in your pants.

“You look… Different” You said finally looking up at him. He looked not human, but neither was Na'vi- something in between. 

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you find a family that actually cares. You try to look like them” He answered, getting defensive.

“He cares about you, in his own way” You weren’t even sure why you were defending Quaritch. 

His head finally moved to look at you, his shoulders tensing. “Don’t”

“I was just saying that-” You tried explaining. “Don’t. He doesn’t care, he never did, at least never enough to properly look for me” He interrupted you.

“He couldn’t. Literally couldn’t- he was-” You tried once again, feeling him get on your nerves.

“Dead, and I wish it stayed that way” You simply stared at him in silence, brows furrowed. He wasn’t the only one that suffered. While he was playing pretend with the Na’vi you were being made into a soldier, and now he came and acted all defensive?

“You don’t get to say that” Quaritch had always been a sensitive theme. And he had re-opened the wound.

“You at least had a family. I didn’t get a forest, or a new family. All I got was training schedules and reports as soon as I was considered grown enough for it.” You said, face frowning as you stared at him.

“You still chose to stay with the RDA” He answered, but it didn’t sound as hostile as before.

You let out a sigh. “I chose to survive. Just like you.” Arguing wasn’t going to lead you anywhere.

The awkward silence once again stretched for a few minutes. You stretched your injured leg, biting back a hiss of pain.

“You got shot” He said, his eyes going to the very small red stain on your pants right over the bandaged wound. 

You looked down at the red spot. “Through the thigh. I’ll live.” You answered, the tense atmosphere slightly fading.

You softly smiled at the memory popping in your head.

“Besides. I’ve been through worse. When you were 3 you bit me so hard I still have the scar. This is nothing compared to that.” You said, watching closely for his reaction.

He blinked- clearly not expecting you to bring up past memories from before… Everything. He knit his eyebrows, not upset like before, more like lost in thought.

“…No I didn’t.” He said after a few seconds of thinking. The edges of your mouth softly moved up as you extended your arm towards him. And there, small teeth scars were on the soft part of your inner arm, so old the scars were white-ish.

“You locked on and wouldn’t let go” You added, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the smile trying to form on your face at the fond memory. 

The silence finally didn’t feel like a physical weight bringing you down.

“I don’t remember any of that.” He confessed, eyes still locked on the floor, but now it didn’t feel like they were avoiding you “I can remember enough for the both of us” You answered, finally allowing yourself to smile.

“…I don’t remember him much either.” The smile on your face faded, replaced by a thin line. Him. Quaritch.

You couldn't stop the frown forming on your face. For all you knew he could be outside the room hearing everything. So you reminded yourself to be careful of your words.

“Me neither… I mean, I did have to wait 15ish years for him to come back. And from back then… I… Don’t remember much either.” The words tasted like salt on your tongue, weird, unsavory. You couldn’t go yapping around about what you did remember- how you were always ignored, left behind. It was a white lie.

You took out a small protein bar from your pocket and handed it to Spider. You didn’t say anything, merely gave him a nod. As he took it, you stood up and walked towards the panel door.

Your hand hovered over the card to open it. Spider stared at the protein bar in his hands. “…You know you don’t have to stand at attention with me, right?” He said, and you stood there, giving him the back- because otherwise he’d be able to see your face, full of contained emotions.

“Get some rest… Spider” You said, finally exiting the room. Outside there was no one paying attention, no Quaritch, no scientists, only a few guards here and there. You had been paranoid for no reason- maybe you could have stayed for more time. 

As you arrived to your room, the AC was on, cold as always- You plopped down on the bed, your boots slightly staining the white sheets, Spider’s words resonated on your head. But was he saying the truth? He still was with the Na’vi, he still was an enemy against humanity.

You’re sounding like Quaritch. Maybe… You could go see him more. Just to make sure he doesn’t hide anything. Right.

—

Then it was time to head out to Pandora in search of Jake Sully. And Spider had agreed to at least teach the recoms how to survive and blend in.

It was awkward at first, walking side by side with your brother who you hadn’t seen in 15 years- you were staring at anywhere besides him.

Spider was still wary of Quaritch, so he would occasionally talk to you instead of him, and then you’d go towards Quaritch to pass on the information- or the times where you didn’t even realize you’d always move until you were walking next to each other. Whenever you had time to stop to rest or eat, you’d linger close to each other, but never bothered to acknowledge it.

The worst was when you’d had to swim. In Bridgehead there was no swimming practice for you- so you’d end up swallowing water that got inside your mask, your arms and legs quickly getting tired. But once Spider noticed this was your weak spot, he began… Helping you. Grabbing your wrist and pushing you towards the land, swimming for both of you.

You’d dry your mask quickly afterwards and avoid looking at him, because you knew he’d make you smile.

As a thank you, you’d hand him some of your eating rations whenever the recoms weren’t staring, and he’d leave you some fruit, even teaching you how to cut it.

As the days passed the silence stopped feeling uncomfortable- less like a requirement. You began growing comfortable next to him, having small talks that ended up in giggles as he taught you curse words in Na’vi.

When one of the recoms tried taming an Ikran and failed miserably, falling on their face, you couldn’t help the laugh bubbling in your throat, Spider joining in the laughter, you slapping his shoulder playfully.

Like that, quickly and steady you began bonding like siblings once again. Not exactly as close as you deeply wished you could be, but it was looking good so far.

After he noticed the bugs and beasts would always go after you instead of the others, he helped you.

You sat on a rock as the recoms planned where to head next. Spider sat in front of you, cutting your pants up to the knees, and next to him sat a wooden bowl with some blue paint he made out of different fruits and roots.

As the pants were done, you stared at him, giving him a nod as he held the blue paste in his fingers, and began painting your face.

“It 's cold. The blue thing” You said as you closed your eyes. Spider laughed, you always complained. “Keeps the bugs off. Mostly.” You opened an eye and raised an eyebrow. “Mostly” You repeated.

“If something bites you now, then it’s personal.” He said, and you laughed this time. “Reminds me of a certain someone” You added as your hands went to the scar in your arm, tapping it with your fingers.

He moved to paint your arms, your face done. He did some sort of Na’vi pattern, and you held a small chat as he did so, until someone interrupted.

“…Well ain’t this domestic?” Quaritch said standing over you two.

“It’s for the bugs, it works for him, so i thought it wouldn’t hurt to try” You answered, trying to make it sound as unattached as possible.

Quaritch stared for a few seconds before kneeling to your level, smearing one of his fingers with the paint on your skin. You furrowed your brows.

“You lettin’ him decorate you now?” He said. At your lack of answer he continued. “Couple weeks out here and you two act like you grew up in the same damn house.”

You visibly frowned. For the past few weeks he has been ignoring you, and when he finally speaks to you he’s a douchebag. Maybe it was the fact that ever since Spider arrived, you’ve been growing a stronger bond with him rather than being 24/7 Quaritch’s personal soldier.

You repeated- “It’s for the bugs”. Quaritch stared at both of you, ears slightly drawn back as his tail moved annoyed.

Then why is it shaped like Na’vi marks? He didn’t say it out loud, but you could assume he was thinking about it. Of course it wasn’t for the bugs, well, in part it was- but mostly to be more like him, to spend quality time with him… Spider. You had grown a soft spot for your brother, which after all these years you finally had the chance to have sitting next to you.

He stood up and straightened his posture, looking down at you. “You forget what you are out here, corporal?” He said with the same tone he used to command other people at the RDA. Like if you were just a lesser being, not a human with feelings.

You held back from letting out any emotion that would show how much he was upsetting you. The recoms were thankfully busy with the maps, so it wasn’t as humiliating.

“No sir” You finally answered, your shoulders tensing. Spider looked between you and Quaritch. “She’s just-” He tried to defend you, only to be interrupted by Quaritch.

“That wasn’t addressed to you.” He said, not even bothering to look at Spider, eyes fixed on you, daring you to look aside or complain.

You bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted copper, holding back the feelings with physical pain. Seeing your face slowly morph as you accepted the reality seemed to be enough for this time as he spoke again.

“There it is- I thought I lost my soldier.” He said, moving slightly down to pat your head, and whispering into your ear “Don’t make me regret trusting you, squirt- I’ll only be nice once, then i won’t”

–

Of course, you weren’t dumb. 

In the time it took you to arrive at the reefs, you had a lot of time to think.

Before Spider arrived, you were merely a means to an end, yes, he had some attachment, but he’d never go the extra mile for you. You were a tool, and tools don’t need intimidation if they cooperate willingly.

But Spider changed everything. Attachments are weaknesses, and that’s something you always knew. You became unpredictable, not out of line, but you began having small rebellions. Quaritch distances himself emotionally so he won’t hesitate later to do so.

But you were willing to finally fight for something other than direct orders. You had finally found your brother.

–

“I’ll be damned” Said Quaritch as he saw the Sully’s kids and some other Metkayina on the Tulkun. Spider stared worried- after all, it was his people who were there, Neteyam, Lo’ak, Kiri and Tuk- after so long, he finally got to see them again.

You felt uneasy. They were easy prey there, they held little to no fight against all the RDA machinery in the Seadragon.

“Let 's roll. Not you two” Your father said to you both. Of course, he knew how attached you were already to Spider. Taking either of you into the fight meant having… Issues, rather than more hands to fight.

You were forced to be inside by the men in the ship, and you couldn’t help but just anxiously stare at the bombs being thrown into the sea.

You had never met the Sully family. But… Whenever he could, Spider would talk to you about them, usually when everyone was asleep, and it was just you two finally being able to talk without the fear of someone hearing.

He always spoke first about Neteyam. He’d use the word “Responsible”. It made you curious- It almost reminded you of yourself, always listening to your father, being a soldier rather than a person. The kind of older sibling that always was in charge, that prioritized other people rather than themselves.

Then, he’d laugh about his stories with Lo’ak. He was the complete opposite of Neteyam from what you’d heard. Eye-rolls, human insults foreign to his own kind- the both of them always seemed to get into trouble, always acting first then thinking. It even made you laugh with how many dumb things they seemed to do together.

You weren’t dumb, everytime he spoke about Kiri he’d blush, making you raise an eyebrow. “If you’re lucky you might be the first human to have a full on hybrid kid” You said, making him playfully hit your shoulder as he told you to shut your mouth. You could tell how much he liked her- i mean, it seemed a little bit weird at first, but then you realized she made him happy.

And Tuk was the one he spoke the least of, as most stories consisted of him following along to play childish games with her. But she did sound like a great kid.

It made you feel… Bad.

You stared at Spider now, his hands clenched, like he was about to fight his way out, barely contained.

He saw his loved ones. To him you were still sort of a stranger, just an extension of Quaritch. And he had seen what Quaritch is capable of as they burnt those villages in the reef, did he think you were just like him? After witnessing that he did seem to become more distant from you.

You wanted to tell him you weren’t like Quaritch.

To you he was still a ghost of a man, he wasn’t your father, not anymore.

Did you… Look like him? Did he see the same violence in your eyes? You did do stuff you regretted while following orders, you knew better than to say no. But deep down you regretted them, did he know that? 

The thought made you feel bad. Empty

But the dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn’t. Your guilt will not purify you.

You had to act. 

You could see how they had been captured. The forest Na’vi Spider had told you about- your heart breaking as you saw that one of them was a little girl, being roughly pushed by the recom team. You looked around as Quaritch pointed his gun against the head of one of the Na’vi, trying to find a way to somehow distract the people so you could… Do something, anything.

You were too lost in thought to even realize Spider had gone running towards them, to no avail, as the soldiers quickly immobilized him along with the other Na’vi, and Quaritch ordered Spider to be brought back to the bridge.

Now, you had never experienced an earthquake, but you were pretty damn sure this was something very alike. As the giant Tulkun emerged from the water, you couldn’t help but to run towards the glass and stare as it came down, crushing down soldiers and resisting bullets as if they were nothing.

Panic erupted inside, everyone running, checking systems- now, this was your moment. You turned around and locked eyes with Spider, and then looked down at the RDA embroidered logo on your uniform.

You had to choose one. The logo on your tank top seemed heavier than any gun you’ve ever held in your life- The ground shook as the Tulkun hit anything it could reach, men screaming, bullets raining.

You felt… Fear. You looked back at Spider, and saw a hint of hope in his eyes, that you’d run the final mile for him, to finally cut the leash Quaritch had on you.

You looked down again at the logo, and realized something.

The RDA was all you knew, your survival, your structure, your purpose. But it never chose you back.

In front of you, you finally had someone who had chosen you, Spider. Your legs moved by themselves towards the fire extinguisher, and with a sharp scream you charged the man at the controls and brought it down hard against his head, knocking him out- the sick crunch of the moment the metal hit his head resonating in your brain as you then destroyed the controls, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

As some men ran towards you, grabbing your arms, Spider burst into action, hitting them and getting them off of you.

By the time they had overpowered you two, it was too late, the whole ship moving forward and crashing into the smaller ships below. It brought everyone to the floor, and alarms began blasting as the ship began flooding.

You hit your head against the edge of the central display table in the midst of all the chaos.

There was no sound, as if the alarms, the screams or even the Tulkun had gone quiet. Just a blinding flash of white behind your eyelids, as if someone had turned on a lightbulb inside your brain.

It probably lasted a second, probably more, probably less. But then it all came back with a high pitched ring.

As you opened your eyes you saw everyone running, screaming EVACUATE NOW! , but you simply stayed down on the floor, as every small movement made the whole world tilt, as if you were the gravity center, and everything moved with you.

You tried pushing yourself up but your arms felt like noodles, barely even reacting to your command.

Your vision wasn’t blurry, but double, as if your eyes were a camera that had been dropped to the floor. The flashes of red from the alarms blared, only making your headache worse each second.

Something- no, someone helped you up. Spider- well, it looked like two of him, looking worriedly back at you.

“Shit- hey, look, look at me” Spider said as he helped you sit up amidst the chaos. His hands touched behind your head and he cursed as his fingers returned wet and red.

His face swam in and out of focus- one second clear, the next split in two.

“You’re bleeding” He said, cursing under his breath. It was now his time to help you- as the people evacuated, he passed your arm over his shoulders and grabbed you by your side, lifting you up- your headache worsened x10 with the movement.

If it wasn’t for the smell of salt and burnt cables, you wouldn’t have realized you were already out of that room, apparently everyone was too busy running away to realize you two had snuck out.

“Stay with me, don’t you dare pass out” Spider said as he used all his strength to move you, as your feet barely moved, mostly dragging on the floor.

The alarms kept blaring, the cold sea water making your boots wet and heavier.

You could then see blue figures, and for a minute you thought you might have been hallucinating, if not for the moment they spoke.

“Spider!” One said, you couldn’t make much out of him, as it was a blurry shape in your eyes.

“She’s hurt, it’s bad” Spider said, his voice echoing in your head. You felt your stomach do a flip as one of the figures lifted you in their arms. Suddenly you felt like you were a bird perched on the tallest tree.

You could hear them talking, but their voices mixed.

Another explosion made the whole ship move, and you were all standing just a few feet from the deployment bay, where all the machinery was kept.

The bullets being shot resonated in your head, as if it was a box and there was a ping pong ball constantly hitting the walls. 

You looked back- you could recognize Lyle’s blue bald head, and another of the blue shapes with you was shooting back at him.

Lo’ak, you assumed, pushed you towards the deck, but Spider’s grasp failed him, making you fall to the floor as he was already falling to the water.

You rolled on your side, a strong hand grabbing your shoulder and lifting you up- Lyle.

The one that was previously shooting was running towards the deck as well- Neteyam, from what you could remember.

Lyle pointed his rifle towards him- it was a clear shot. But you… Had to act, somehow. The blade in Lyle’s belt was just next to your head, so ignoring all the red flags in your head as you grabbed the blade and stabbed it on his thigh, managing him to lose his steady aim and shoot to the air instead of Neteyam.

Neteyam didn’t lose any seconds as he jumped, falling to the water with his brother and Spider.

Lyle stepped back and pushed you away, cursing but you could barely make out his words now.

As your back hit the floor this time the world didn’t flash in lights and felt like it was constantly doubling- no, it dimmed, slowly fading to black.

The deck felt cold against your head, which felt on fire. The alarms slowly faded to a hum, the vibrations of people running and the motors failing lulling you to sleep, but you weren’t tired- but you felt like it was moment, the moment to finally give in and sleep.

Then, everything went black.

—

Neteyam landed on the cold water, the water around him turning red. From the chaos he wasn’t sure how bad the wound was, except for the burning pain on his shoulder.

“Bro!” Lo’ak shouted, moving Neteyam over his Ilu, Spider getting there as well. 

“I think I got shot” Neteyam said through gritted teeth, his hands moving to where the pain was worse, red staining his blue hands.

They swam, reaching a nearby stone- Jake soon enough reaching it as he saw them.

He lowered his bow as he got on the stone, dropping it as he saw Neteyam bleeding. “You got hit” He stated, moving Neteyam to see his back as well. The bullet had gone through his shoulder- not reaching bone, but it did grab meat and muscle.

Jake ordered Lo’ak to press his hands against the bleeding wound, quickly making sure neither Lo’ak or Spider had any more injuries.

As Jake searched for any other wounds, that’s when Spider realized.

One, Lo’ak.

Two, Neteyam.

Three, himself.

There was one missing. Spider’s head snapped towards the burning and sinking ship. “Where is she?” He said, feeling panic burn through his chest.

“Who?” Said Jake, clearly confused. Of course, he was quite lost on the whole family lore of Spider- 

“She didn’t jump- She… she was still up there!” Spider’s mask fogged as his breathing became more labored because of the distress.

“His sister- fuck. She hit her head I think, bad, she seemed out of it” Lo’ak said, furrowing his brows.

“Spider-” Jake began, his hand going to Spider’s arm. “I have to go back” Spider said, but Jake’s grasp didn’t let him.

“Let go! She’s still up there!” Spider said as he continued pushing, to no avail.

The ship groaned, fire mixing with smoke as it slowly sank.

Jake’s shoulders tensed. He couldn’t risk also getting Spider injured, with Neteyam already in this state. “Son, if she was still conscious, she would’ve jumped. If she was still breathing, she would’ve surfaced. That ship is going down!” Jake said harsher than what he wanted it to sound.

The implication was enough to make Spider stop struggling to pull free.

Spider looked at Lo’ak, who simply looked down at Neteyam. “And you don’t dishonor that by throwing your life away too.” Jake added, letting go of Spider.

“Can you hear me corporal?” Said the voice through the comms.

Kiri and Tuk. “Where are your sisters?” Jake said to Lo’ak, who was still pressing down on Neteyam’s wound.

“I-I don’t know” Said Lo’ak, his voice cracking.

Tsireya, who had recently arrived, spoke for him. “They’re on the boat” She said, her face etched with worry.

“Same deal as before, you for them” Quaritch continued. “They- They're at the moon pool, at the well deck, midships” Spider said as he grabbed Jake’s arm. This meant a chance of going back. “I can take you there” He said, already standing up.

—

Quaritch stared through the scope as Jake and Spider moved towards the sinking ship. “Hold fire” He ordered.

“Let’s get this guy, it’s what we came here for!” Quaritch said to the recoms, who quickly got into position.

However, Jake didn’t go straight to them. He didn’t trust Quaritch’s words of letting his girls go if he surrendered.

Quaritch stood there, waiting for Jake to arrive, his tail flicking annoyed.

“How’s she doing?” He asked Lyle, who had recently brought your unconscious self. Lyle crouched next to you, checking your pulse. Blood had dried on your neck and hair.

“Breathing.” Lyle said, standing back up, slightly faltering from the open wound in his thigh from your previous stabbing.

Quaritch stepped closer, raising an eyebrow. He had seen traumatic injuries before, of course, it never looked pretty. He crouched next to you, hearing your shallow breathing. “Corporal, open your eyes” He said.

At your lack of response, he opened your eyelids with his hands, looking at the different dilation in each eye. “Damn it” He said under his breath-

“Get me a medkit” He ordered. He had some spare minutes before Jake arrived.

A soldier handed him a medkit, and Quaritch quickly got to work, as if it was another soldier- trying to detach himself as much as possible from the truth. It was his very own daughter.

“C’mon squirt, you don’t get to check out on me- Not now” Quaritch mumbled.

You opened your eyes lightly, they were unfocused. Your mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

For a moment, it wasn’t the bloodied passed out woman he was seeing, but the little girl who’d chase him all day at the base.

He had to make a decision. At any second Jake could use the chance that he was distracted to attack. He was losing valuable time.

Quaritch let go of you, and stood up. “Stabilize her until we get Sully. She can get help back at the base” He said, a soldier going to keep your head up.

“He’s not walking off this time.” Quaritch said as he returned to stare through the scope, trying to see where Jake would be hiding on the ship.

The village was alive, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and the golden glow of a massive central bonfire. Dancers swayed in the center, their bodies painted in shimmering bioluminescence.

"That is Asïm," Or’du whispered, leaning into the circle of young warriors. "Ninat’s daughter. See how she moves? Like the river itself."

The young men leaned in, captivated. Neteyam, however, sat with his spine straight, his fingers tracing the rim of his wooden bowl. He glanced at the dancers—they were beautiful, certainly—but his eyes felt restless. They didn’t want "beautiful." They wanted home.

She would look better in those silks, Neteyam thought, his gaze drifting away from the performers. He could see it clearly: Y/n, with butterfly residue dusted across her cheekbones, her fierce eyes softened by the firelight, wearing the diadem of a lead dancer. The thought made his chest tighten with a sudden, sharp ache.

He found her in the shadows near the edge of the hall. She was laughing with Kiri and other younger girls, her head tilted back, exposing the graceful line of her throat. She looked so relaxed, so untouchable, that Neteyam felt a surge of possessive heat. He didn't just want to look at her; he wanted to be the reason she was smiling.

"Why are you staring at Y/n again?" Tsan’ti nudged him, a playful, knowing smirk on his face. "Focus, brother! There are five girls over there trying to catch the future Olo'eyktan’s eye, and you’re busy doing a head count of your sister’s friends."

"I am not staring," Neteyam lied, his voice like gravel. "I am... observing the perimeter."

"Right. And I’m a Leonopteryx," Tsan’ti laughed.

Neteyam stood to leave, needing to clear the fog of her from his brain, but he was immediately intercepted. Asïm and An’tem, two of the lead dancers, slid toward him like silk.

"Neteyam," Asïm purred, her hand sliding boldly onto his forearm, her fingers tracing the corded muscle there. "The night is young. Why leave the music behind?"

Neteyam froze. The touch felt invasive, wrong. His eyes instinctively darted across the clearing to see if Y/n was watching. She was. Her head was tilted, her expression unreadable—half-amused, half-observant.

Don’t look at me like I’m a prize they’ve won, he pleaded silently.

"Dance with us, my prince," the other girl whispered, leaning close enough that her breath fanned his neck.

Neteyam’s patience snapped. He pulled his arm back with a sharp, jarring motion. "It’s not happening," he said, his voice cold enough to cut through the humid night air. "I am not picking any of you. Find another partner."

One of the girls gasped, her lower lip trembling at the blunt rejection, but Neteyam didn't care. He turned on his heel, his eyes searching for Y/n, ready to walk over and reclaim his place by her side.

But the space beside her was no longer empty.

A young warrior named Hárim had slid into the spot Kiri had vacated. He was leaning in close—too close—whispering something into Y/n’s ear. And then, the sound that broke Neteyam’s composure: Y/n laughed. Not a polite, clan-gathering laugh, but a genuine, bright sound that belonged only to her.

Neteyam felt as though he had been struck in the solar plexus. The "brotherly" mask he wore cracked, revealing a raw, jagged jealousy that burned like acid.

"That’s Hárim," Kiri’s voice appeared at his shoulder, dripping with intentional mischief. "In case you were wondering who was making her enjoy the night."

"I wasn't wondering," Neteyam snapped, his tail lashing behind him, nearly knocking over a basket.

"And, oh, brother. He’s very romantic," Kiri continued, leaning against a post and watching her brother crumble. "He brought her a rare forest orchid earlier. I think she’s considering him. He’d be a strong mate, don't you think?"

Neteyam’s jaw tightened so hard it ached. He watched Hárim reach out and playfully nudge Y/n’s shoulder. Y/n didn’t pull away.

"She hardly knows him," Neteyam muttered, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

"Oh, I don't know," Kiri hummed, adding the final spark to the flame. "Sometimes a girl just wants someone who isn't afraid to show he wants her. Maybe she's tired of waiting for someone else to open his eyes."

Neteyam didn't respond. He couldn't. His heart was drumming a war beat against his ribs. He watched Y/n smile at Hárim again, and in that moment, the "genius" prince realized he had been a fool.

He didn't want to be her guardian. He didn't want to be her brother. He wanted to walk over there, drag her away from the firelight, and make sure she never laughed at another man’s jokes for the rest of her life.

"She is mine to guard," he whispered to the shadows, his eyes locked on her.

"Then go guard her, big brother," Kiri smirked. "Before someone else takes the post."

Neteyam didn’t just walk; he prowled.

The heat of the bonfire was nothing compared to the slow burn under his skin as he watched Hárim lean closer to Y/n, his hand hovering near hers as he spoke. Every laugh that left Y/n’s lips felt like a needle pricking at Neteyam’s pride. He had spent years being the one she turned to, the one who earned those smiles. Seeing them gifted to someone else felt like a betrayal he wasn't prepared for.

"I have never seen that flower in this part of the forest," Y/n was saying, her voice soft and full of genuine interest. She was looking at a small, glowing blossom Hárim held out to her. "It’s beautiful, Hárim. You really went all the way to the high cliffs for this?"

"For you? I would have gone further," Hárim replied, his voice dropping into a tone that made Neteyam’s ears twitch.

"Y/n."

Neteyam’s voice broke through their bubble like a crack of thunder. Both of them looked up, and for a fleeting second, Neteyam felt a pang of hurt when he saw the flicker of disappointment on Y/n’s face at the interruption. She didn't look at him with her usual warmth; she looked at him like he was a stray gust of wind ruining a calm day.

"Neteyam," she said, her tone polite but distant. "I thought you were busy."

"They are gone," he said shortly, stepping into the space between them, his presence looming. He looked at Hárim, his gaze sharp and unforgiving. "The evening meal is concluding. My father requires a word with the young warriors regarding tomorrow's patrol."

It was a lie—or at least, a very loose interpretation of a command—but it worked. Hárim looked between the two of them, sensing the sudden tension radiating off the prince.

"Of course," Hárim said, standing up. He turned back to Y/n, his expression softening. "I hope to finish our conversation later, Y/n. Perhaps we can walk to the river tomorrow?"

Y/n smiled—a real, lingering smile that made Neteyam’s heart sink. "I would like that, Hárim. Thank you for the gift."

As Hárim walked away, the silence between Neteyam and Y/n grew heavy. She didn't look at him. She flicked the petals of the flower Hárim had given her, a small, thoughtful hum vibrating in her throat.

"You're being quiet," she noted, finally glancing up at him. "And you look like you’ve been eating sour berries. What is it, Neteyam?"

"You like him," Neteyam said, the words tasting like ash. He couldn't hide the hurt in his voice anymore. The "perfect heir" was gone, replaced by a boy who felt like his world was tilting on its axis. "You actually like him."

Y/n stood up, brushing the dirt from her legs. "He is kind. Fine. He listens. And he doesn't treat me like someone he has to lecture or a soldier he has to train. It's... nice, Neteyam. To be looked at differently."

Neteyam flinched. The jealousy that had been roaring in him suddenly quieted into something much more painful: realization. He had spent so much time being her "guardian" that he had forgotten to be her heart.

"I don't look at you like a sister," he whispered, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her. The bravado was gone. His tail was low, and his eyes were wide, searching hers with a desperate sort of honesty. "I never have. I was just... too afraid of losing what we had to ask for what I actually wanted."

Y/n went still, her fingers pausing on the flower. "And what do you want, Neteyam?"

He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was feather-light, a silent plea.

"I want to be the one who brings you flowers," he murmured, dipping his head sideways ad his voice cracking with a sudden, overwhelming sweetness. "I want to be the one you laugh with. I want to... I want to court you, Y/n. Properly. If you’ll let me."

The air between them changed. The sounds of the feast faded into the background. Y/n looked down at the flower in her hand, then back up at him. A small, shy dimple appeared in her cheek—the one that only showed when she was truly happy.

"The high cliffs are a long walk, Neteyam," she whispered, her voice teasing but soft, her eyes shining with a hidden invitation. "And those orchids only bloom at dawn."

She didn't say yes directly, but she didn't walk away. Instead, she reached out and briefly, tentatively, let her fingers brush against his wrist—the same spot where the other girls had tried to grab him, but her touch felt like a blessing.

"I’ll be awake at dawn," she added, her voice a soft promise. "I suppose I could see what kind of gift a prince brings before I make up my mind about the river."

Neteyam felt the breath rush back into his lungs, his heart doing a frantic, happy dance. He watched her walk away toward her own tent, her steps light, leaving him standing there in the cooling embers of the fire, finally knowing exactly where he belonged.

This is super clichè lol. Tell me if you guys want a part 2!!

All na‘vi know their story. Of the time when the Omatikaya’s song was silenced.

When the fire came from the mountains and burned what was left of their forest, burned even their last tree of souls and left them with nothing but the ash of grief and the fire of hatred, the Omatikaya had chosen to leave the life they’ve known behind.

They say, the great mother did not hear their crying when the sky-people came to destroy their home. And she closed her eyes when rivers of fire poured through the valleys, burned down their last sanctuary and with it, all the hope that was left. And most importantly, their faith.

The Omatikaya were once proud people, respecting the balance of life and Eywas will. But that was many songs ago.

Now, all na‘vi know their story. They know of their suffering, their pain and their loss. And they know what this had made them become. That Toruk Makto had lead them through these difficult times, whilst their tsahìk spoke words no one had sung before.

She taught the people that Eywa had turned her back on them. That the Great Mother’s silence was not a trial, but a judgment. She would not come to help. She would not come to provide. Not anymore.

But the Omatikaya were not weak. Much like wood to an open flame, their hatred only made them grow stronger.

Soon, the old laws were reshaped, the balance bent until it cracked. They learned to live where nothing else grew. They took from the land of others, took from the people, took more than they could hold in their greedy hands and feed their never ending hunger. Hatred, once a warning emotion, quickly became a weapon. So the Omatikaya endured, but they were no longer what they had been.

They were feared where they had once been welcomed. Remembered where they had once been loved.

And what had once been a peaceful clan, had now become a warning to all.

You remember the stories as they were told to you, quietly, at the edge of the fire, always after the children had been sent away. These were stories meant to teach caution, to strengthen your own faith, like a reminder of what could happen if one were to disrupt the balance and violate eywas rules.

The air reeks of smoke, blood and old ash. The ground beneath you is hard and lifeless, as if even the earth has learned not to come here.

Your mother, the tsahìk, and your father, olo’eyktan of your clan, had been dragged away into Neytiris tent many hours ago and had not returned since then. Worry was gnawing at your very existence as you continue to tug and writhe against the rope binding your hands and feet together, pinning you to a charred down tree. But it’s useless. Aside from the horrible pain of your wrists and ankles being scrubbed raw by the rope, these knots did not budge.

Further away, the people of the Omatikaya moved in hectic, rhythmic circles around a towering fire. Its flames are fed too well, burning bright and hungry, casting warped shadows across their painted bodies. This is not a dance of thanks or mourning. It is a dance of ownership, of victory.

Neytiri, the tsahìk, stands closest to the fire, her silhouette sharp against the flames. Around her neck and wrists hang severed kurus, their tendrils dried and darkened, strung together like trophies.

Your throat tightens and you force yourself to look away. Among your people, to sever a kuru is unthinkable. It is worse than death. And yet they celebrate her, dance around the fire, around the blades she circles in the air. It’s hypnotizing.

Toruk Makto sits apart from the rest, close enough to the fire that its light glints off the metal weapon resting across his knees. You were taught never to touch such things, never to let their poison seep into your hands, your thoughts or your spirit. Metal was forbidden, it was one of Eywas rules. The first and most important one.

And yet, Jakesuli holds them as if they are part of him.

His posture is calm, assured. This is not a leader burdened by duty, but one who has long accepted what he has become. The great shadow of Toruk’s wings loom behind him, his skin scarred from battle.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you let your head fall forward until your chin rests against your chest and your braids slip forward to hide your face.

"Eywa ngahu, kìyevame srak nì’aw, slä oe tsun tivìran san oe lu… [Eywa be with me, even if you are silent, for my song still knows your name…]," Your voice trembles when you begin to sing, thin and hoarse from smoke and fear, but it does not break.

You sing on, letting the words trail into one another, softer now, the prayer dissolving into breath as tears swell behind your closed eyes. They spill anyway, tracking down your cheeks and dripping from your chin onto the hard ground below.

You’re so lost in your prayer, that you don’t even realize that you are not alone anymore, until a low, dark chuckle cuts through your voice, silencing you.

"Ah, look brother. A little birdy is singing a song for us."

Your breath catches sharply and you gasp and jerk your head up, braids falling back to reveal your face. Two figures stand before you, one of them tilts his head, studying you with open curiosity. The other smiles, slow and sharp.

"What is it?" the first asks, his voice smooth with amusement as he steps closer. "Are we not the ones you expected to answer your call?"

"Is your song not ours?" The other one continues, mockingly gentle as he crouches until his eyes are level with yours, tilting your head up with his thumb and finger pinching your chin. "You sang it so sweetly. We thought perhaps it was meant for us."

Anger boils hot beneath your skin at his touch. Before fear can stop you, you bare your teeth and snap at his fingers, jaws closing on empty air as he jerks his hand back just in time.

For a heartbeat, there is only the crackle of the fire and loud drums in the distance that sound so far away.

Then he blinks slowly, before he laughs loud enough to make you flinch.

"Oh, look at that!" He says, grinning sharply and his eyes bright with delight. "This one has fire." His laughter is genuine, almost pleased.

"Fire indeed," The other one behind him chuckles, low and approving.

Your heart hammers against your ribs. You draw back as far as the bindings allow, bark pressing painfully into your shoulders, and swallow hard.

"W-Who are you?" you demand, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat. "What do you want?"

The taller one straightens, folding his arms over his chest with an unsettling calm. In the firelight, you can see the markings of an Omatikaya warrior etched into his skin, newer scars layered over old ones, pieces of sharpened bone pieced through his skin, worn like decorations under red paint and black coal.

"Our mother has allowed us to look at our latest prisoners," he explains evenly, as if this was something casual to them. "Before they are sacrificed."

Your stomach drops.

"The others were…" He pauses, searching for the right word, then shrugs. "Less interesting. Nothing worth our attention."

The crouched warrior’s grin widens as his gaze drags over you, lingering far too long. "But you…," he says softly, voice lowering.

He’s purposefully not finishing that sentence, trying to make you uncomfortable, but to you it matters little anyways. You’re too occupied with thinking about what the other one had said earlier.

Mother? But that means…

Your eyes widened as you realized that these two weren’t just anyone. These were not just any warriors of the Omatikaya. They are the sons of Toruk Makto and their gruesome tsahìk. Feared warriors among their clan, brutal and cruel.

You’ve heard of them before.

The elder one is Neteyam. It’s been told, he is as skilled with the bow as his mother. He builds his arrows himself. The heads are carved to break bone and split muscle, dipped into poison to make survival impossible. He knows exactly where to place them so the most damage can be done with a single, precise release. And he could hit a target from any distance, moving through the forest without a sound. Neteyam does not waste shots, he does not miss and he does not need to watch the body fall. You are dead, the moment he aims at you.

The people say, the Sullys eldest hunts palulukan for fun, not for food or glory, but because he can. They say that the great apex predator of the forest, the one even seasoned hunters avoid, knows his scent and turns away from it.

Lo’ak, the younger brother, is another thing entirely.

You’ve heard that he dips his knife in poison too, not ultimately to kill, but to paralyze you. Everyone knew, that Lo’ak took enjoyment from playing with his prey.

But even from a distance, he was just as deadly as his brother. He had been trained by his father in wielding sky people’s weapons from a very young age, metal pressed into his hands as if it were just another toy for a child.

Apparently, he could name a gun without ever seeing it, just from the sound it made when it’s fired. They say he could take one apart blind, fingers moving from memory alone, and then put it back together again without ever opening his eyes.

It’s said, the brothers have learned to hunt side by side before they had even learned to speak.

Where Neteyam ended things with scary precision, Lo’ak made the pain last. One controls, the other destroys. And they don’t need to look at each other to know what the other is about to do.

Together, they were an unstoppable force. A dangerous duo.

And right now, their entire focus was on you.

"Look at her," Lo’ak calls to his brother. He grins, sharp and pleased, and reaches out again to cup your face and trail a thumb along your cheek. His touch is warm and possessive. "She’s so pretty, isn’t she?"

Your breath stutters at his words. Your entire body goes rigid, every instinct screaming at you to pull away, but there is nowhere to go.

"She is," Neteyam agrees softly.

That, somehow, is worse. His voice carries no hunger, no excitement, only quiet certainty, as though he is merely stating a fact.

"I want to play with her first." Lo‘ak whispers, licking his lips. He talks about you as if you aren’t even really here.

Play? Your eyes widen before you can stop them. Horror flashes across your face as you make up all possible scenarios of what his words could indicate in your head, which the brothers notice immediately.

They chuckle, low, amused sounds shared between them like a private joke. Lo’ak’s grin deepens, clearly delighted by your reaction, while Neteyam watches you with an unreadable expression, head tilted slightly, as if committing the moment to memory.

Then Neteyam steps forward. He places a hand on his brother’s shoulder and when Lo’ak glances up at him, he nods once toward the fire. No words. None needed.

Lo’ak clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes like a sulking child denied a toy, but there’s no real resistance in him. He pulls his hand back from your face at last and straightens to his full height.

Before turning away and following Neteyam, he looks at you one more time and winks.

Then, their silhouettes melt back into the firelight, swallowed by shadows, and you’re left staring at the empty space in front of you, heart still pounding hard enough to hurt.

For a brief, fragile moment, you let yourself believe that this was it. That they were just trying to scare you.

Later, when the fire outside has burned down to something lower and steadier, exhaustion finally begins to win.

Your head dips forward once, twice. But each time you jolt awake, forcing your eyes open again. You do not trust sleep here. Still, your body betrays you, muscles trembling from the long strain of fear. You are just slipping again, just for a breath, until you hear footsteps approach.

Immediately, you snap awake.

Two warriors stand in front of you, but not the same brothers from earlier. These ones are much older, their limbs thinner due to the lack of human genes in their blood, heads shaved bare and marked with thick scars that run over scalp and jaw alike. Their faces are hard and unreadable, eyes dull in a way that tells you they did not come to you on their own. Someone had send them.

Your pulse spikes.

Before you can speak, one of them reaches for the bindings at your wrists. Your breath comes fast and shallow as rough fingers work the knots loose. Hands roughly close around your upper arms and haul you to your feet.

You stumble, legs weak, barely able to keep pace as they pull you forward.

No one speaks and you do not dare ask what is happening.

They lead you through the camp, past dying fires and smaller tents. The night is silent, safe for the sound of feet on the dry ground. At the far edge of the clearing stands a tent larger than the rest, looming in the dark.

Your steps slow despite yourself.

Skulls hang from its entrance, some small, some far too large to belong to any Na’vi. Giant teeth are lashed together with sinew, forming crude arches above the doorway. Feathers, bones, bits of metal, decorations pulled straight from a nightmare sway softly in the night breeze, clicking faintly against one another.

The warriors at your side do not hesitate. They roughly shove you inside, past the animal hide that marks the entrance.

You stumble forward, barely catching yourself before falling, and then the flap drops shut behind you.

The first thing you notice is that the tent is warm. Outside, goosebumps had raised on your arms from the cold night air.

But inside, a small fire burns low at its center, casting a soft, flickering glow over furs spread thick across the ground. They’re dyed deep red and black, layered carefully. For a moment, the contrast is disorienting. It almost looks… cozy.

Then you notice the rest.

Skulls arranged along the walls, staring with empty eyes. Bones carved and painted, strung together in careful patterns. Metal chains hang from the high ceiling, catching the firelight when they sway, heavy and cold looking. There is no part of the space untouched by something taken from death.

Your stomach twists.

You take a hesitant step further inside, bare feet sinking into the furs. The tent is silent except for the crackle of the fire and you come to realize that you are alone.

Not for long, though.

The animal hides at the entrance rustle softly, then part, and two figures step inside.

Neteyam enters first.

Firelight rolls over him, catching on the broad plane of his chest, painted deep red. Streaks of grey ash follow the hard lines of his body. His loincloth hangs low on his hips, woven with painstaking precision, the patterns tight and symmetrical to match those of his cummerbund. Everything about him looks intentional and controlled.

His ears twitch and his tail flicks the moment he sees you.

Your eyes immediately catch on the marks littered across his body, bone and carved ornaments lining his torso and arms, heavy but balanced. From one earlobe hangs a thin metal chain, dark feathers threaded through it. It sways gently as he moves, brushing against his braids that are adorned with bones too. His gaze settles on you without surprise, as if he had been expecting this moment.

Lo’ak slips in behind him and the contrast is immediate.

The sides of his head are shaved clean, the rest of his braids pulled back into a low ponytail that is decorated with spines. Two loose braids frame his face, beads carved from bone and bullets clicking softly as he walks. His skin is painted much like his brother’s, red and ash, but where Neteyam’s markings feel ceremonial, Lo’ak’s look careless, almost playful, as if he smeared them on without patience.

Your eyes begin to wander despite yourself.

One of his ears is chipped, but both are lined with piercings too. But they’re are not bone. His are made of steel. You could tell by the way they reflect the firelight. Across his chest hangs a belt of bullets, resting against painted skin, and you wonder if these are part of his decorations too or if these are there to be used.

Your gaze flicks back to Neteyam, who walks with his chin lifted, shoulders squared. He looks like a man meant to be honored and feared.

Lo’ak sways as he follows, grin already pulling at his mouth, eyes bright with amusement, as if this is all just a joke, and a good one at that.

Fear claws its way up your spine.

You retreat instinctively, backing up as far as the tent allows until your calves hit the furs piled near the wall. Your heart hammers, breath coming quick and shallow, eyes darting between them as they move farther inside.

"Welcome, txeptsyip [little flame]," Neteyam says, as though this is a meeting long overdue.

His voice is calm. Pleasant, even. He folds his arms across his chest, rolls his shoulders once as if settling into himself and then looks at you with open interest. You can’t help but shiver as his eyes roll over you body before he holds your stare with warm intensity.

Lo’ak, on the other hand, moves immediately.

He takes two long, quick step toward you, too fast and too close. You flinch, but Neteyam’s hand comes out just as quickly, pressing flat against his brother’s chest. It stops him cold.

Lo’ak clicks his tongue, irritation flashing across his face as he stares back up at Neteyam. He leans back a fraction, shoulders loose, posture anything but obedient, but ultimately stays where he is. When your eyes finally meet his, the scowl melts into a slow, knowing smirk.

"What do you want from me?" you ask immediately, forcing the words out before your courage could fail you.

Neteyam’s gaze sharpens, just slightly. "We’ve come to propose a deal, txeptsyip. [little flame]"

Your brows furrow. "A… deal?"

Lo’ak laughs under his breath, rocking back on his heels like he’s enjoying this far too much, while Neteyam continues, "You have two paths ahead of you."

He lifts one finger.

"You will be sacrificed, like the rest of your clan. No one will mourn or even remember you, and your kuru will adorn my mothers necklace like all the others before you."

You swallow thickly. Then, he lifts a second finger.

"Or," he says evenly, "you can live."

Lo’ak’s grin widens as he adds, "with us."

Your chest tightens as understanding sinks in, and it’s almost nauseating.

"You mean like a prisoner or… a slave," you say quietly, already shaking your head.

Fear trembles through you, yet your hands curl into fists at your sides.

"I’d rather die," you whisper, then louder you say, "I’d rather join the great mother than live like this!"

The brothers laugh at your answer. Not cruelly. It is the kind of laughter that carries disbelief, as though you have said something naïve rather than brave. Embarrassed, your ears fold flatly against your head.

Lo’ak lets out a short breath through his nose then, shaking his head and Neteyam’s mouth curves into a smile as their laughter dies down.

"Slave," he repeats with a chuckle. "That might be the wrong word for it."

Lo’ak moves then, but this time, his brother doesn’t stop him. You suck in a sharp breath as he begins to circle you, feet soundless on the furs, his presence pressing in from behind, from the side. You track him with your eyes until he slips out of view, until you feel him more than see him.

"You think in extremes," he murmurs. "You forget there are other ways to belong."

Lo‘aks hand reaches out and a finger gently traces the curve of your spine, making you jump.

"You would have everything you could dream of," Neteyam continues, eyes sharp as they watch your face for any kind of reaction. "No more hunger. No more running from the vrrteps [demons]."

He steps in closer, voice lowering, almost intimate. "You would be protected. No one would touch you without our say. No one would take from you ever again."

Truthfully, he made it sound like safety. As if this was an act of kindness.

And for a brief, dangerous moment, your body betrays you, because it remembers what it is like to be cold, to be hungry, to sleep with fear curled tight in your chest. It remembers empty days and long nights and prayers whispered to eywa for protection.

The brothers see the hesitation flicker in your eyes.

Lo’ak smiles immediately. "See?" he says from behind you, his voice much closer than before. "You’re thinking about it."

You do. But deep down you know, everything they offer comes with an unspoken price. May that be obedience, gratitude or something else. A life wrapped in comfort, yes, but lived on your knees. Fed by the very poison Eywa forbade.

Before you could pull back, Lo’ak reaches for your hand.

His grip closes tight around your wrist, firm enough that you know fighting it would be useless. Your breath stutters, but you do not give him the satisfaction of struggling. He tugs once, guiding you toward the center of the tent.

The furs beneath your feet are impossibly soft, thick and warm. You’re so tired, only kept awake by adrenaline and fear, you knew you’d melt into them the moment you were allowed to rest on them.

Lo’ak releases your hand only once you are where they want you, fingers lingering just a moment too long. He grins at your tension, at the way your shoulders are drawn tight, your jaw clenched like it is the only thing holding you together.

"You would be no slave, txeptsyip, [little flame]" Neteyam says quietly.

He steps closer now, finally closing the distance he had allowed you. He stops at your other side, not touching, but near enough that you could feel the heat rolling off him.

"You would just be…," he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "ours."

There’s warmth on your backside too, and you gasp softly when you turn your head and find Lo‘ak this close to you. He leans down, until his lips nearly touch the lobe of your ear.

"Ours to kiss. Ours to touch…", something warm and wet touches your ear, before you realize that’s his tongue teasing your lobe, "and ours to fuck."

Goosebumps raise all over your skin at his words.

Their bodies radiate heat, caging you in, and for the first time since they‘ve entered the tent, you understand something with sick clarity.

They are not trying to frighten you. They are trying to persuade you.

"No," you say, breath shallow but voice firm. "I can’t— I won’t!"

Neteyam’s expression doesn’t harden. If anything, it softens.

Lo’ak’s fingers brush your hip— barely there, a featherlight touch meant more to distract than to claim. It’s infuriating how gentle it is. He’s not brutally grabbing you, how you expected them to. Not forcing. Just enough to make you aware of where you are. Of who stands behind you.

Neteyam steps closer then, close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. He lifts his hands and carefully cups your face in them, thumbs resting beneath your cheekbones.

"We’d take good care of you," Neteyam tells you, voice calm, almost reasonable. "We protect what is ours."

"And we never let it go," Lo‘ak adds, his smile sinister.

Your heart hammers painfully against your ribs. Every instinct screams at you to pull away, to bite and fight them. But another part of you, traitorous and tired, feels the pull of their attention. The certainty with which they speak, as though the world outside this tent no longer exists and it’s just the three of you.

"If you need proof of this," Neteyam says, tongue flicking over his bottom lip, "then we can show you."

The words are barely spoken before the space between you disappears. He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away— time you do not take. His forehead brushes yours first, breath warm against your lips, and then his mouth meets yours in a way that steals the very air from your lungs.

The kiss is firm, claiming and unyielding, but also controlled. Like everything else about him. The world narrows to the press of his mouth, the heat of his hands still cradling your face and his tongue as his slips between your lips. A small, helpless sound escapes you before you can stop it, but Neteyam greedily swallows it down.

Behind you, Lo’ak inhales sharply, a sound that borders on a groan. As if he were the one kissing you, sucking on your tongue, tasting your salvia.

"We’re gonna show you just how good you would have it with us," he murmured into your ear. "Belonging to us is a privilege not many have been allowed to."

Your pulse is racing. Your thoughts are tangled.

Lo’aks hands are still at your hips, squeezing soft flesh before they wander up higher, cupping your breasts. They’re so big and warm, and you feel each little scar on his skin as they impatiently rip away your top. Your too busy meeting Neteyam eager lips to do something against this, so you just gasp into the kiss when Lo‘ak begins to tease your nipples, rolls them between his fingers until they turn into hard pebbles.

"Mmmh, these would look so good pierced," he purrs lowly, kissing your shoulder and letting his canine rake over the nape of your neck. "I will put my mark on them soon, txeptsyip [little flame]."

As Lo‘ak kneads your breasts in his hands, Neteyam’s slowly move from cupping your face to squeezing your hips, gliding over your backside.

You don’t know who’s doing what or where anymore, but your limbs are becoming unstable and weak as both pair of hands explore your body. Heat was quickly spreading through your core, slithering deep in a place where you suddenly began to crave them.

Their low hums vibrated against your skin, surrounding you like a subtle lullaby. They were slowly caging you in between their bodies, more and more, until you began to squirm.

Sucked into an abyss of sensations, your head began to swim, until you were unable to focus on anything else besides their lips and hands all over you. All you could see, hear and smell was them. You were swallowed between them like a trapped bird.

Finally breaking the kiss with a gasp, your head falls back against Lo’aks broad chest as Neteyams hand sneaks it’s way lower and between your thighs. He cups your sex, feeling for how wet you are and then slides his fingers between your folds.

"You are very wet here," he groans, his finger rolling your clit easily with how slippery it was. Then he slides it lower, before he slips his finger into you in one, harsh thrust that makes you gasp. "But you are soaking here."

Your inner walls are clenching down around the single digit Neteyam thrusts into you, curling it slightly until you can’t hold back a long, drawn out moan.

"I want a taste," Lo‘ak says to his brother, his voice urgent and commanding. For a moment you fear they will start fighting over you, but then the older one slips his hand free from your loincloth and you pant heavily at the sudden loss.

It’s not for long, though, because he then spins you around so you’re facing Lo‘ak.

They work as one, starting to undress you by pulling down your loincloth and coverings. Neteyam settles himself down onto the furs first, maneuvering you so your head rests comfortably on his lap and spreading your thighs wide enough for his brother to settle himself between them.

His hands and lips are everywhere, kissing your cheek, nibbling at your earlobe, hands stroking your hair, as you watch Lo‘ak sink down to his knees.

The grin on his face is sharp and dangerous and you swallow to wet your dry throat. Raw nerves make your limbs shake, and you want to close your legs to hide yourself from them, but Lo‘ak does not allow it.

His hands glide along the inside of your thighs, keeping them apart. He kisses you there, kisses your navel and mound too. Kisses the inside of your knee as he drapes your legs over his wide shoulders. His teeth tease your skin, and when he bites into the softness of your inner thigh, you yelp in pain.

Neteyam keeps you pinned when you try to wriggle free, as if the pain had somehow managed to bring back the rational thinking part of you, the one that made you realize that this was wrong, so very wrong.

Your hands claw at Neteyam’s arms, but he coos softly into your ear, "shh, you will be fine. My brother is just teasing. We would never hurt you."

"That is, if you’re being a good girl," Lo‘ak adds from between your legs, licking the bite marks that are slowly turning purplish on your blue skin. Your tail thrashes against the furs, your chest rapidly raising and falling.

Behind you, Neteyam’s chest vibrates with a dark chuckle. You want to protest, want to tell them that you are neither their slave nor their pet, and that you would never be good for them. But then Lo‘ak grins and sticks out his tongue, ready to lick you there, yet is stopped short by the sound of your sharp gasp.

There, in the middle of his tongue, sits a small bead of steel. It reflects the light of the fire nearby, shiny and wet with spit, and your whole body goes rigid at the thought of it touching you.

"Kehe [no]— wait," you nearly choke on your own words with how hastily your force them out, "you— you can’t, it is forbidden to touch metal!"

Both brothers laugh softly at your words, neither of them giving you the impression that they were taking your pleas seriously. Instead, Lo‘ak just grins at you, his face continuing to lower until you feel his warm breath on your cunt.

"Oh baby, trust me. You want that metal to touch you," he murmurs.

"But…t-the great mother will—"

"There’s no great mother here, no eywa. Just us," Neteyam silenced you. "But you will learn to worship us all the same."

And before you could say another word, that metal is pressed harshly against your clit. The sensation of it is like no other.

"O-Oh!"

Truthfully, you expected it to be cold at first, but the steel is warmed up from sitting snugly against his tongue. It glides against your clit, rolls over and around it as Lo’ak expertly moves his tongue, and your back arches off the furs with how good it feels.

"See?" Neteyam chuckles. "We knew you would like it."

You’re so lost in the moment, you don’t even realize how hard your pressing your nails into Neteyam’s forearms, but he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He’s just holding you, rubbing his nose along your temple, breathing in your moans and whimpers as his brother feasts on you.

Puckering his lips, Lo‘ak sucks your clit into his mouth until your thighs begin to shake from how quick you were approaching your orgasm.

"I can feel you shaking, txeptsyip [little flame]," Neteyam whispers in your ear. "You’re being such a good girl for him. Yes, keep spreading those pretty legs."

More moans where spilling free as Lo‘ak circled your clit with his piercing, before sliding it down and fucking you with his tongue. Between your thighs he was moaning, slurping up your arousal without care for how filthy he sounded. The more you spread your legs, the more he was pushing his face against your cunt, hungry for more.

It was mind blowing how skilled he was with his tongue. You had never experienced anything like this, and it almost made you forget about the circumstances that lead you here.

"If you want to come, you can just let it go," the brother behind you murmured with a soft chuckle. He was rolling one of your nipples between his thumb and a finger, lightly pinching and tugging to egg you on.

"When you are ours, we will make you come as many times as you want to," he explains, almost casually. "As many times as you deserve, txeptsyip [little flame]."

His words made you feel dizzy.

They were planning to keep you for their pleasure, but that did not mean your own would come short. They made that much clear.

Aware of every new twitch and shudder, Lo’ak was adjusting the patterns of his tongue accordingly, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

"I- I think I’m gonna come," you managed to force the words out between quick breaths.

A low, throaty groan that nearly sounded like a growl broke free from Lo’aks mouth at the sound of that.

"Do it," he growled, barely lifting his lips enough to detach from your clit. "Come for me, c‘mon. Let me taste it."

It was heat against heat, hot mouth against hotter skin. His sharp tongue flicks over your clit a final time, metal hard and hot against it, and then you break into a thousand pieces.

Neteyam holds you as you come, sucking marks into your throat and shoulder, while you claw at his arms hard enough to draw blood. He groans with you, enjoying the pain that your pleasure inflicts on him.

You breath in shallow pants as you come down from your high, suddenly feeling entirely too hot under your skin. But there is barely time for you to process what had just happened.

Quickly, too quick for your liking, Lo‘ak grabs your wrists and pulls you away from his brothers lap.

The grin on his face is a mean one, with the lower half of his face still glistening in your arousal, ash and paint smeared so the pretty blue color of his skin was now shining through.

Your brain isn’t even functioning properly yet again, when the younger brother pulls you into a dirty kiss, making you taste yourself on his tongue, swirling the tiny metal ball around your mouth and teasing your lips with it. He releases you only when you think you might suffocate because he leaves you no air to breath, and you gasp when he finally does.

"If you already enjoyed this small piece of metal," Lo‘ak says lowly, grabs your shoulders and slowly turns you over so your head was now resting on his lap while Neteyam settled between your thighs. "Just wait until you find out what my brother will do to do."

Blinking a few times, you stare up at the other brother with wide eyes. Your first instinct is to close your legs and sit up, but Lo‘ak has you secured against him, his wide biceps caging you in. His skin is almost hot to the touch, muscles like steel as you wrap your hands around his arms, much like you did to Neteyam before.

Your thighs are spread further the closer he shuffles between them, his hands holding them up by the underside of your knees. But he’s not looking at you at all.

Neteyam’s entire focus is on your pussy.

His head is tilted slightly, the look on his face almost fond as he admires you. One of his hands comes to lay on your mound, his thumb gently circling around your clit, before he carefully slides the little hood up so he could get a better view at it.

Your breathing comes out heavier then before, and your entire body twitches every time he comes to close to that little bundle of nerves.

His thumb slides lower then, teasing you entrance and carefully pulling your lips apart as if he was examining you. It’s almost too much for you, and you try to hide your face in Lo‘aks arms.

"Still so wet," he finally breaths. "Such a tiny, tight looking body that you have. I will enjoy breaking you in."

The chest that you’re leaning against rumbles with a dark chuckle, then Lo‘ak leans down to whisper into your ear, "he‘s been talking about nothing else ever since we caught you."

His words make you shiver as realization dawns in on you. This was never a moment of impulse or a whim born tonight. You were always meant to end up here, with them.

When they took your people, they didn’t spare you because you begged well enough. You were chosen. Selected by spoiled sons of a broken clan, raised knowing that nothing was ever denied to them.

The fire crackles next to you, and then Neteyam’s hands leave your skin in favor of untying his loincloth.

When the dark piece of fabric finally falls away, you suck in a breath. The sound is loud and impolite, and you immediately want to clasp a hand over your mouth.

The warrior in front of you may be adorned with bones, leather and other natural materials that are not so different from those of any other na‘vi, honoring his heritage. But there, along the base of his cock, sits something foreign and wrong.

"H-How many…" the words come out as a hushed whisper of disbelief, your eyes wide as you try and fail not to stare at him like this.

On the underside of his length, Neteyam’s cock is pierced with four rows of small, neatly placed, shiny metal balls.

"Eight," he says proudly, letting his hand glide over each one of them.

Without thinking, you ask, "did… didn’t they hurt?"

"They did," he smiles. "That’s why I got them."

You swallow thickly. Neteyam makes a show of letting his fingers slip over the piercings, squeezing the tip and huffing out a breath. His eyes are half lidded, pupils blown as he watches you for any kind of reaction, seemingly getting off at the way you nervously bite your lip. Your own breath hitches when he moves closer, your eyes fixed on the forbidden metal that dares to touch your skin.

The soft head of his cock touches you first, making the fine hair on your neck raise as he lets it part your folds and smear your slick arousal over your clit. You hate how good it feels, until warm steel touches you too, and you don’t know whether to cry or moan because that, too, feels incredible.

Neteyam slides his cock against you in lazy strokes, letting you feel each piercing, and your imagination runs wild with how these little bumps might feel inside you.

"I want to watch you take every single one of them," he murmurs then, and your eyes widen slightly at the realization that you are supposed to take him to the last row of them.

"N-No, I can’t!" You begin to struggle, but Lo‘aks arms remind you that it’s no use. One of his hands pinches a nipple hard, like a reminder to stay put and you cry out softly. "Don’t," the younger brother says, his canine crazing your ear. "I like a woman with fire, but we’re trying to play nice because you’ve been good so far. Don’t make us regret that. I’d hate to break my new toy so early."

You bite your tongue in order not to spit venom at him, but your face must’ve given your thoughts away.

Neteyam chuckles softly, "If you want to be bad, save that for next time, txeptsyip [little flame]. But we will not hold back then."

The glare you give them wavers, and it disappears fully when he begins to push the tip of his cock against your entrance.

The stretch that follows makes you suck in a breath. He’s thick and long, and the first inch feels like you’re being split apart. But it’s a good kind of pain, you’re wet and pliant after your first orgasm, so when he pushes himself inside, warmth begins to spread in your core as your body gives way.

But then you feel that first touch of metal, and your thighs instinctively want to jerk close around his hips.

"Shh, relax, you were doing so good taking me," Neteyam coos, his hands spreading your legs wider as he sinks further into you. The first row of piercings slips into you and your mouth falls open with a surprised "oh!".

Those tiny beads feel so foreign against you, so warm to the touch. And eywa forgive you, they felt incredible. The sensation was like no other as he continued to push, making them roll along your inner walls.

"That’s one… and two," Neteyam says lowly, licking his lips to wet them. "Come on, count them for me."

Your head spins. You wouldn’t have been able to even tell them your name if one of them asked you right now, but then he slides in a few more inches and you manage to breath out quietly, "three…f-four."

Behind you, Lo‘ak was whispering sweet nothings into your ear, words you couldn’t really focus on but they made you so much wetter and then, "five, s..ix."

Sweat was slicking your forehead as more and more of his length was pushing past your tight entrance. It felt never ending, filling you constantly until you thought there was no room left inside you anymore. You felt so full of him, until finally the last row of piercings slid inside you.

"S-Seven…" You whimpered and Neteyam let out a deep groan, "eight."

"Smart girl," Lo‘ak teased from behind, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as if he worried you weren’t able to see just how deep Neteyam was inside of you. But even with your eyes closed you could feel him, could feel the heat as he breached you, the weight of his cock, the smooth tip again your cervix and the eight little beads of steel massaging your body from the inside.

You tried to swallow a soft, needy sound, that would give away how bad you wanted him to move, hating how good he made you feel, but unable to hide it any longer.

"Don’t forget to breathe," he grins, and you release the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. The moment you exhale, Neteyam withdraws from your tight heat, only to slam himself right back in.

Now you know why he’s told you to breathe.

The moan he practically fucks out of you is loud and embarrassing. You’re sure the entire village had just heard you.

And then, Neteyam begins to move. His strokes are hard, deep and on point, his pace only increasing as time passes. Every time he enters you, you feel his piercings so clearly and your moans turn more desperate with every thrust of his hips. His eyes roam over you, starting from where you were connected— in and out, his cock glistening with your slickness. Then your breasts, bouncing every time your hips meet, only supported by Lo‘aks hands squeezing and toying with them. And finally your face, lips swollen red from occasional dirty kisses, cheeks flushed and eyes half lidded.

Neteyam let out a grunt whenever he pulled back, before burying himself deep again, his cock knocking on your cervix as if he was made of steel too. There are words coming out your mouth, but you don’t recognize them as anything coherent. You think they’re curses, prayers, maybe even both.

You’re so lost in your pleasure, you don’t even realize that your eyes are falling closed, until Lo‘ak gives your cheek a few surprisingly gentle taps with his hand, jolting you back into reality.

"Hey, we‘re not done with you yet, txeptsyip [little flame]." He grins. "Can’t have you passing out on us now."

Lo‘aks hand then cups your face and squeezes your cheeks, forcing your jaw to drop, "yeah, that’s right. Open up for me."

You don’t know what possesses you in this moment to obey them so willingly, but when his face leans over yours, you eagerly stick your tongue out and let him lick over yours, before he let’s a thick droplet of spit land into your mouth.

It’s filthy and humiliating, and both men groan in perfect sync when you swallow down his spit.

"Fuck, you’re making me so hard," Lo‘ak sighs. The cock that’s buried deep inside you throbs in agreement and you mewl sickening sweet at that. Whatever it is that they’re doing to you, you don’t feel like yourself anymore.

This isn’t really you, missing your usual bite, your instinct to survive. This is a woman reduced to pleasure and nothing more. Just a hole for them to fuck. And worst of all, you were enjoying it.

Your head felt empty of all doubts and worries as you watched Lo‘ak move to kneel besides your head and then push down his loincloth to free his own cock. Your vision was slightly blurred from how hard Neteyam was thrusting into you, but you could still see the thin, polished ring of steel that was piercing through the head and the small slit of his tip.

Shuffling closer, Lo‘ak caressed your jaw with his hand, while he used the other to eagerly press his length against your lips, pushing until you opened up for him.

"C‘mon, suck my cock. Get it wet for me, baby."

So you did. Your tongue was stretched out as far as it could reach, and Lo‘ak immediately began sliding his length against the wet muscle. He tasted like ash and salty musk, heavy against your tongue and you moaned from deep within your throat before you slowly took him in your mouth.

"Fuuuck, there you go. That’s a good fucking girl," Lo‘ak groans at the sight, thrusting his hips forward to push himself deeper into your mouth. Your tongue begins to swirl around his head, tasting the metal of his piercing, teasing it, before you hallow your cheeks and suck.

Simultaneously, Neteyam was thrusting into you harder, pushing you further against Lo‘ak’s cock until you were beginning to gag on it.

Everything was too much —too good, too deep, too fast, too rough. All you could do was lay there take it.

Soon, the brothers had found a rhythm both of them were benefiting from, and you were moved back and forth only by the thrusts of both of them.

"Look at her. She is perfect for us," Neteyam chuckled from above you, your inner walls clenching down hard on his cock at his words. "Such a good, obedient pet."

Every now and then your jaw was hanging slack, letting moans fall freely when hands you didn’t know belonged to which one of them started rubbing your clit in viciously fast circles. Sometimes it felt as if they were both fighting for their place to make your feel good, and it was two hands rubbing against that oversensitive little nub.

Lo‘ak gave a loud groan whenever that happened, seemingly enjoying being able to just thrust himself into you until he hit the back of your throat, using your mouth in such a filthy, dirty way that it made your eyes roll into the back of your head.

"So eager to please and so easy to use," he agreed with a grin. "I don’t care what path she chooses, I want to keep her."

It was embarrassing how fast Lo‘ak and Neteyam could turn you into a trembling, whimpering mess. The squelching sounds they expertly worked out of you only added further to your humiliation, but also your pleasure. At this pace, it was impossible not to come. And both brothers knew that.

Soon, you could feel that familiar, addicting, tension building up in your core, stealing the very air from your lungs as you moaned around the cock in your mouth.

Higher and higher you felt that tension building, felt it crawl under your skin, a warmth spreading through your core. You wanted— no, you needed to come. There was no way around it. You found yourself having no control over this, just letting yourself go because it felt too good to care about consequences, or what was right or wrong anymore.

Metal and steel was beginning to poison you from the inside out, corrupting you slowly, turning you into this mess.

It was a buildup of tension that arched your back and curled your toes and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, something in you snapped.

When you come, it’s like a wave of release and you scream.

It pulses throughout your body, making you moan, loud and lewd and you should probably feel a little embarrassed too, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Not when Neteyam was fucking you through it so good, his head falling back against his neck in pure bliss. And not when Lo‘ak was using the vibrations of your moans to get himself off of them, a fist in your hair to push you down his length.

You felt each of them pulse, and then there was nothing but heat. The heat of your own orgasm as it came crashing down on you, and then the warmth of cum flooding your insides from both ends as the brothers cursed under their breath, holding you down with greedy hands and making you take, take, take and then swallow, until you couldn’t take much more.

Lo‘ak was first to pull himself out of you, and immediately you were gasping for air. The salty taste of cum still lingered on your tongue as he bend down and shoved his own between your lips, leaving you breathless once more as he tastes himself on your tongue. There’s a brief moment of pain on your bottom lip, before he finally pulls back. You catch the glimpse of blood on the tip of his tongue, and when you mirror the way he was licking his lips, you taste copper of where he had bitten you.

"Sorry," he was grinning down at you, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip. "Couldn’t help myself."

Brows drawn together in a frown, a tiny part in the back of your head wanted you to sit up and finally do something— hiss, fight, scratch him, anything. But your limbs feel like molten wax, sticking to the furs like warm honey.

Still grinning sharply, Lo‘ak must’ve noticed, because he bend down to cradle your head in one of his strange, four fingered hands. But instead of helping you sit up, he was merely directing your gaze to what was happening between your thighs.

The older brother was still kneeling there, and only when the sight of his sweat slicked abs and his heaving chest caught your eyes, your core clenched around what you noticed was his cock still nestled inside of you.

As if he had been waiting for your attention, Neteyam then pulled out of you. He was doing it slow enough, you felt each row of metal graze along your oversensitive walls and a whimper broke free from you at the sensation. It was followed by the warm feeling of his cum oozing out of you after his cock had finally made way.

You feel wet, sticky and empty, and a fresh wave of shame washes over you as you watch Neteyam‘s mesmerized gaze, entirely hypnotized by the sight. Too tired to move, you’re forced to lay there and watch as he then raises a hand, collecting the cum that had dripped out of you, before shoving it back inside your cunt with two of his long fingers.

You nearly choke on a gasp as you feel them breach you in one fluid thrust.

"Ah-ah, I want you to keep it in there," Neteyam says, giving his fingers a twist that made you keen. "Until I have marked you properly, you will carry my seed so everyone can smell myself on you."

Once he had withdrawn his fingers, he brings them to his lips and licks them clean of you, his tail curling behind him as if pleased by the taste.

It’s the last thing you see before Lo’ak finally lets your weight sink back, your head resting against the thick furs beneath you again.

Before you know what’s happening next, they move with unsettling ease, one on either side of you, bodies closing in not to trap but to hold.

Neteyam lies down first, an arm sliding beneath your shoulders, steady and sure. Lo’ak follows a moment later, lazily stretching out behind you, his presence warm and close, like a living wall at your back.

Their hands are everywhere at once.

Cradling, stroking. Slow, absent motions meant to soothe you. Fingers trace idle patterns along your arms, your side, the curve of your waist, even your breasts. You hate how careful they are. Hate how your body responds to the warmth, the closeness, the simple fact of being held after all that had happened.

The fire crackles softly from somewhere behind you, and exhaustion presses down on you like a tide you can no longer fight. Your eyelids flutter despite your efforts, growing heavier with every slow breath you take.

"Sleep," Lo’ak murmurs. He nuzzles briefly into the crook of your neck, spreading his scent onto your skin. "You’re going to need it."

You feel a hand find your tail, fingers brushing along its length, teasing the soft hairs at the tip in a way that makes you shiver despite yourself. Neteyam leans in, his lips brushing your temple. The hand on your tail glides to its base, squeezing gently and your eyes finally fall shut.

The last thing you register, before sleep finally takes you out, is Neteyam’s voice in your ear, whispering softly,

"You belong to us now, txeptsyip [little flame]."

Honorable mentions of artworks that inspired this fic:

Credit: @xyla1181

Credit: @porpunta

Credit: @fisheyea16

Credit: @liam_nae2

"Look at the ridges on this, Aonung," you said, breaking the silence as you lifted the shell up toward him.

You took a step closer, water swirling around your thighs. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with that infectious excitement you only got when you found a new treasure for your art. "The symmetry is perfect. Eywa really was showing off when she made this one."

Aonung stared at the shell, forcing his eyes to focus on the calcium spiral rather than the water dripping from your curls, and gliding over your ceremonial tattoo. Then, against his will, his gaze drifted up to your face. He felt that familiar tight pull in his chest—a mixture of suffocating pride and a desperate, surging need to be the reason that look stayed on your face. He wanted to be the source of that wonder, not a dead piece of calcium.

"It is... adequate," he managed to say, his voice a bit deeper than usual, rough like gravel rolling in the surf.

He felt foolish the moment the words left his lips. Adequate? It was a beautiful find. But his defenses were high, a wall built of teenage bravado and the terrifying vulnerability of a first love. He didn't wait for you to respond. He turned abruptly and effortlessly dove, his powerful tail kicking up a spray of glowing foam that misted the air between you.

You simply hummed with a small tilt of your head, unbothered by his stoicism. You dropped the shell into your basket, the clack of it joining the others, and watched his figure disappear into the darkening water.

Unbeknownst to you, underneath the surface, Aonung was on a mission.

The water was cooler here, silent save for the rush of the current. His bioluminescent spots glowed brightly in the dim depths, marking his path like a constellation. He swam past the easy finds—the common cowries and the drift-wood that Lo’ak was content finding in the shallows for his little sister. That was child's play. That was easy.

Aonung wanted the deeper parts of the reef. He wanted the places where the current was often unpredictable, where the pressure built against his ears, but where the rewards were unparalleled. He kicked harder, propelling himself toward a jagged drop-off where the coral grew thick and ancient. He scanned the crevices, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, hunting. He needed something that spoke of effort. Something that said, I went where others could not, just for you.

When he surfaced minutes later, he didn't just walk over and drop his finds into your basket. He waited. He treaded water, watching you scan the shoreline, waiting until you were standing still with that contemplative look on your face. He watched the way you bit your lower lip as you decided where to step next, your tail swaying in the water behind you for balance.

Only then did he move. He walked right into your space, dripping wet, the rising heat of his body radiating through the cool evening air. He stopped mere inches from you, close enough that you had to crane your neck slightly to look him in the eye.

"The shallows only give you what the ocean is tired of holding," he said softly, his voice low and intimate.

He reached out, his large hand hovering over your basket. He placed a cluster of small shells onto the pile of your woven treasures. They were heavy, distinct—a deep, blood-red color, their surfaces smooth as glass but thick and sturdy. They looked like they could withstand a storm, or a thousand years of tides.

You gasped, your fingers immediately abandoning your own basket rim to ghost over them.

"Aonung... these are beautiful," you whispered, the breath leaving your lungs. You looked up at him through your lashes, eyes wide. "The color... I’ve never seen this shade before. I can use the pigment from the broken ones to dye my thread the color of the eclipse sun. How did you find so many?"

You smiled, your ears swiveling back in delight as you felt your heart thump at the gesture. The realization hit you suddenly—he was so close. His broad frame towered over you, blocking out the view of the distant village fires, encompassing your entire world in that moment. You could practically trace every line of his tattoo that streamed from where his brow met his nose, to the right side of his face.

Aonung felt a swell of triumph so potent it nearly made him dizzy. He noticed the way you looked at the shells—with reverence and joy—and he silently vowed to empty the entire ocean floor, to fight an akula with his bare hands, if it meant you’d keep looking at him with those wide, appreciative eyes.

"I know where the hidden pockets are," he said, clearing his throat and trying to sound nonchalant.

He crossed his arms over his chest, though his own heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. A smirk grew on his lips, that familiar teasing glint appearing in his eyes as he narrowed them. He did a dramatic look away toward the other couple, shrugging his shoulders. "Lo’ak and Tsireya are happy with the scraps. I thought you might want something... more."

You gasped, your ears swiveling back, and you slapped his bicep playfully. The muscle under your hand was hard as rock, and wet skin slick against your palm. A small giggle of shock fell past your lips.

"Do not be mean, Aonung," you chided, though there was no heat in it. "But... thank you. Thank you for being so helpful today."

You gave him a bright, blinding smile, one that crinkled the corners of your eyes, before happily going back to your searching. You adjusted the basket, treating his contribution like gold, and bent down again to inspect the sand closely.

Predictably, your curls fell forward again.

Aonung stood rooted to the spot. Once more, you huffed softly and flipped them back with that graceful, unconscious toss of your head. Aonung watched the movement, his hands twitching at his sides. His fingers curled into fists. He wanted so badly to reach out. He wanted to be the one to tuck those wayward curls behind your ear. He wanted to be the one to carry the basket that was clearly getting too heavy to rest on your hip. He wanted to do everything for you, and the intensity of the desire was terrifying.

"Hey! Y/N! Aonung! Check this out!"

The shout broke the spell. Lo’ak was waving his arms frantically from a tidal pool a twenty meters away. He was holding up a bright orange sea star, visibly dry— either a shed or it simply died before it could make it back to the water. "It’s huge!"

Aonung looked at Lo’ak, his jaw tightening. Then he looked back at you.

He saw you laugh at Lo’ak’s find, your attention shifting entirely to the forest boy. "That’s amazing, Lo’ak! It will make a great center for a chest piece!" you called, your voice light and affectionate.

A sudden, sharp spark of jealousy—not of Lo’ak as a rival, but of the attention you were giving the sea star—flared in Aonung’s chest. It burned hot and fast. A starfish? Anyone could find a starfish. A starfish was nothing.

He didn't say a word. He didn't acknowledge Lo'ak's shout. He just turned and dove again, slashing into the water with more force than necessary. He went deeper this time, past the red shells, past the coral ridge. He was determined to find something so magnificent, so rare, that you wouldn't be able to look at Lo'ak, or the stars, or anything else for the rest of the night.

You laughed softly at his sudden departure, shaking your head. "He is so competitive," you murmured to yourself, amused by his antics. To you, it was just boys being boys, trying to outdo one another in speed and skill.

As the time passed, the moon rose higher, casting a silver sheen over the water. Your basket grew heavier, forcing you to switch hips frequently. You shifted the weight of Aonung's growing pile of treasures—he had returned three more times, each time with something more impressive: a piece of obsidian glass, a pearl still inside the oyster, and a branch of coral that looked like frozen lightning.

Finally, Tsireya waded over to you, Lo'ak trailing behind her like a happy puppy.

"Your brother is in such a good mood today, isn't he?" you said, wiping the sand from your hands as you turned to Tsireya. You gestured to the waterline where Aonung was currently surfacing, holding something that glowed faintly purple in his hands. "It's so nice of him to help me collect materials. Usually, he says weaving is boring work."

Tsireya froze. She looked at the rare, aesthetic hoard in your basket—materials that would have taken days to find in the shallows. She looked at the blood-red shells that required a dangerous dive into the trench.

Then, she looked out at the water. She saw her brother, the future Olo'eyktan, usually so proud and aloof, practically vibrating with the hope that you would like his latest offering. He was looking at you with an expression so open, so full of longing, that it was almost painful to witness.

Finally, she looked back at your sweet, oblivious face. You were smiling, genuinely believing Aonung was just being a dutiful clan member.

Tsireya let out a long, slow sigh, shaking her head.

"Yes, Ma tsmuke," Tsireya murmured, a pitying smile on her lips as she patted your arm. "Extremely... 'nice.'"

The following week dissolved into a blur of turquoise water and sun-bleached moments, defined less by your daily chores and more by the sudden, omnipresent gravity of the chief’s son. It was as if he had developed a sixth sense for your whereabouts, appearing whenever you were just starting to feel relaxed.

He appeared at random, unpredictable hours, disrupting the rhythm of your day with the chaotic energy of a storm tide. If you were mending nets by the docks, his shadow would suddenly fall over your work, his hands "accidentally" brushing yours as he offered to help with a knot you perfectly understood how to tie. If you were having a quiet meal, he would drift by, dropping a fresh fruit onto your woven mat without a word, only a smirk that lingered long after he had walked away.

But it was the afternoons beneath the water that became his favorite hunting ground.

You were deep underwater, the sunlight filtering down in shimmering "god-rays" that danced across the sandy floor, riding ilus with the Sully children and Tsireya. Down here, the world was silent save for the muffled clicks of the sea life and the rhythmic beat of your own heart.

You were all gliding through a forest of giant sea fans, the Sullys struggling a bit with their breathing rhythms while Tsireya moved with the effortless grace of a creature born of the current. You were focused on your own mount, adjusting your grip on the neural bond, when a large, dark shadow swept over you.

Aonung appeared right beside you, his ilu banking sharply to match your speed. In the turquoise gloom, his bioluminescent dots glowed like a map of the stars. He caught your eye and flashed a wide, shit-eating grin that sent a jolt through your chest. He didn't say a word—he didn't have to. He simply raised a hand, signing one sharp, challenging word:

“Race?”

You didn't even wait to signal the others. You leaned flat against the ilu’s neck, and the two of you went full throttle.

The pressure of the water increased as you accelerated, the reef becoming a blur of neon streaks. You pushed through the resistance, your tail acting as a secondary rudder, feeling the raw power of the ocean rushing past your skin. You and Aonung were neck-and-neck, weaving through coral arches and tight rock formations, completely dusting your friends. By the time you looped around the massive sea-wall and tore back toward the shore, the rest of the group was nothing but distant, tiny specks in the blue.

As the water turned from deep indigo to the pale, sun-drenched teal of the shallows, you both breached the surface simultaneously.

You gasped for air, the transition from the silent depths to the crashing sound of the waves making your head spin for a moment. Aonung popped up just inches away. He was desperately trying to play it cool, smoothing his hair back with both hands, but he couldn't hide the heavy, ragged heave of his chest. The race had pushed him just as hard as it had pushed you.

In the heat of the moment, your eyes betrayed you.

Instead of looking at the horizon or checking on the others, your gaze drifted. It started at his soaked hair, which was plastered to his forehead, then traced the dark, intricate tattoos that marked his face as a future leader. Your eyes lingered on his broadening shoulders and the powerful swell of his chest, following the lines of his body down to his core. His abs were defined and tense from the exertion, partially obscured by a beautifully woven chest piece that slung around his shoulders—a piece you knew he’d spent time choosing.

Aonung went still. He caught you staring, the exhaustion in his eyes instantly replaced by a predatory, playful spark. His ears flickered once, twice, and then that arrogant, knowing grin returned.

“My eyes are up here, ma txe’lan,” he teased.

His voice was a low, honeyed rumble that cut through the sound of the surf. You felt the blood rush to your face instantly, your ears flattening in pure mortification as your eyes shot back up to meet his. He watched your panic with absolute delight, his smile growing wider as he realized exactly how much of an effect he was having on you.

You quickly regained your composure, holding your head high as you huffed at him, trying to summon every ounce of dignity you had left while your face still burned a vivid shade of violet.

“I was simply observing the weaving!” you shot back, splashing a handful of water toward him to distract from your blush. “I helped make that piece, y’know? I was checking to see if you’d managed to fray the edges already with your... recklessness.”

Aonung didn’t flinch at the water; he leaned into it, his grin only sharpening. He looked down at the woven leather and shell-work crossing his chest, then back at you, his eyes hooded and dark with mischief.

"Ah, so it was a professional inspection then?" he asked, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. He began to paddle his ilu closer, the creature’s wet skin squeaking against yours as he closed the gap. "Tell me, weaver, did the 'work' meet your standards? Or do you need to get closer to check the... structural integrity?"

He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin, a stark contrast to the cool ocean mist clinging to your shoulders. The playful arrogance in his posture was infuriating, mostly because it was working.

"The work is fine," you managed to say, though your voice lacked its usual bite. "The wearer, however, is being a nuisance."

"A nuisance?" Aonung laughed, the sound deep and genuine. He reached up, his large hand lingering near the strap of the chest piece, right over the fastening thrum of his heart. "And here I thought I was being helpful, giving you a chance to admire your handiwork in action. Most artists would be grateful for such a... fine canvas."

He flexed his shoulder slightly, making the shells on the strap clack together—the very shells he had dived into the deep reef to find for you just a week prior. It was a silent reminder of the effort he was putting in, a hidden thread of vulnerability beneath his teasing— and unbeknownst to you, he’d chosen that piece because he recognized your work.

Before you could think of a witty retort, the sound of chattering ilus and splashing water announced the arrival of the others.

"Finally!" Lo’ak’s voice boomed as he surfaced a few yards away, his expression a mix of annoyance and awe. "What was that? You guys took off like you had an akula on your tails!"

Tsireya pulled up beside him, her eyes darting between your flushed face and Aonung’s smug expression. She didn't miss the way her brother was lingering in your personal space, or the way your tail was twitching nervously beneath the surface. A knowing, slightly weary smile touched her lips.

"Aonung, stop pestering her," Tsireya chided gently, though there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "She came out here to enjoy the water, not to be run ragged by your ego."

"I was merely testing her speed, sister," Aonung said, finally pulling his mount back a few inches, though he kept his gaze locked on yours. "And it seems she is almost as fast as I am. Almost."

He winked at you—a quick, daring movement that felt like a secret shared in front of everyone—before turning his ilu to join the group.

The afternoon that followed was shared between the both of you. 

The sun, a bloated orb of fire, dipped toward the horizon, bleeding amber and gold into the turquoise waters of the reef. In the weavers' pavilion, the air was thick with the scent of dried sea grass, crushed minerals, and the faint, sweet aroma of the incense the elders burned to honor the Great Mother.

You sat nestled in your usual spot, your legs tucked beneath you. This was your sanctuary. While the others were out hunting or practicing with their spears, you found a different kind of power in the loom. There was a rhythm to it—a heartbeat in the clack-clack of the wood and the sliding of the shuttle.

You were surrounded by the elders of the clan, women whose hands were stained with dye and whose skin was etched with the deep, storied lines of many seasons. You loved their company; they didn't care about the petty dramas of the teenagers or the posturing of the hunters. They spoke of the ancestors, of the flow of Eywa, and today, they were particularly interested in your recent progress.

"Your thread is becoming stronger, little one," Ti’miria, the eldest among them, remarked as she peered over her spectacles made of polished translucent shell. "And your eye for color is improving."

You beamed, dipping a bundle of fibers into a bowl of fixative. "Thank you, Ti’miria. I’ve been trying a new technique for the binding." you watched a her eyes wandered to your material basket.

"You have been blessed by the tides, little one," Saeyla remarked, her voice like crinkling parchment. She gestured with a gnarled, dye-stained finger toward the cluster of deep, blood-red shells resting atop your fibers. "Those are not found by mere luck. They cling to the undersides of the jagged rocks where the currents are strong enough to rip a weak swimmer from the reef."

You flushed, reaching down to pick one up. It felt heavy and cool, its surface polished by the violence of the ocean. "I didn't find them," you said, your voice softening. "Aonung went to get them for me. He said the shallows were only for things the ocean was tired of holding."

A hush fell over the circle. It wasn't a cold silence, but one pregnant with meaning. Ti’miria exchanged a look with the woman beside her—a look that held the weight of a thousand seasons. They knew the pride of the Olo'eyktan’s son; they knew he didn't risk his life for "weaving supplies" unless his heart was already caught in the thread.

"Is that so?" She whispered, a secretive, knowing smile stretching her lips. "How very... helpful of him."

Before you could defend his honor or insist it was just a display of his typical arrogance, a shadow lengthened across the pavilion floor. The heavy, rhythmic footfalls were unmistakable.

Aonung strode in, looking entirely too large and too vibrantly alive for the quiet space. He wasn't carrying a spear or a net. Instead, he held a small, sturdy basket of his own. Without a word of greeting to the elders—though he gave them a respectful dip of his head—he dropped onto the mat directly beside you.

"Aonung!" you hissed, your eyes wide as you leaned toward him. "What are you doing here? This is a quiet space."

He didn't look at you. Instead, he began pulling out strips of dark, cured leather and a handful of small, iridescent shells that shimmered like oil on water. "My father says a leader must know the craft of his people," he grumbled, though his ears were twitching in a way that suggested he was lying through his teeth. "I have... things to make. I am joining you."

You stared at his basket. It wasn't filled with broken gear to mend. It was filled with beautiful, hand-picked treasures—small, delicate white shells, obsidian beads, and a strange, glowing blue seaglass.

"Since when do you weave, Aonung?" you whispered, your voice hushed so the elders wouldn't hear your teasing.

"Since I decided I wanted to," he snapped back, though there was no heat in it. He fumbled with the leather strips, his large, calloused fingers looking comically oversized as he tried to start a basic four-strand braid.

You watched him for a moment, your heart doing a strange little skip. He was being so deliberate, his brow furrowed in that same intense concentration you had seen when he was hunting. You assumed he was making a new grip for his knife or perhaps a decorative band for his ilu. You had no idea that every shell in his basket had been chosen because it reminded him of the way the light caught your eyes, or that the length of the kelp leather he was braiding was exactly the circumference of your neck.

The hour stretched on. The elders eventually stopped staring and went back to their own work, their low hum of gossip returning like the evening tide.

Aonung was struggling. A low, frustrated growl vibrated in his chest as the leather strips slipped from his grip for the third time.

"You're pulling much too hard," you murmured, reaching over without thinking.

Your fingers brushed his, and he went perfectly still. The heat of his skin was startling against yours. You gently took the leather from his hands, showing him how to keep the tension even. "If you pull too hard on the left, the whole braid will twist. You have to be patient, Aonung. You have to follow to the material."

You guided his hands with yours, your smaller fingers resting over his knuckles. For a moment, the world narrowed down to the sensation of his skin, the smell of salt and sun that followed him everywhere, and the rhythmic sound of his breathing.

He didn't look at the braid. He was looking at you. His gaze was heavy, focused on the way your hair fell over your shoulder, on the small patch of bioluminescence near your collarbone where this necklace would soon rest, on the way your lips moved as you explained the craft.

"Like this?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that made your stomach flip.

"Yes," you whispered, finally meeting his eyes. "Exactly like that."

You spent the rest of the evening in a state of quiet bliss. You discovered that Aonung was actually quite funny when he wasn't trying to be the toughest warrior in the village. He told you about the time he tried to ride a skimwing before he was ready and ended up face-first in a patch of stinging coral. He told you about the hidden caves behind the northern cliffs where the water turned a color so bright it looked like the sky.

And all the while, he worked. He meticulously wove the shells into the leather, his movements becoming more fluid under your guidance. He was creating a necklace—a piece of jewelry so intricate and beautiful it would have taken an expert weeks—but he was doing it in a single night, fueled by a desperate, silent need to give you something of his own making.

By the time the moon was high and the fireflies of the reef began their nightly dance, you were both finished. The pavilion was empty, the elders having slipped away long ago with knowing smiles.

"I should get back," you said, feeling a sudden, shy heaviness in your limbs. "My family will be wondering where I am."

"I will walk you," he said. It wasn't a suggestion.

He picked up your heavy basket, slinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, while he tucked his own finished work into a hidden pouch at his waist.

The walk to your marui was slow. The village was quiet, the only sound the soft slap-slapof the water against the pilings and the distant call of a night-bird. Aonung walked close to you—so close your shoulders occasionally brushed.

When you reached the entrance to your home, he handed you your basket. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, softening the arrogance into something much more vulnerable.

"I enjoyed the weaving," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Even if the elders are nosy."

You let out a soft giggle, your tail swaying behind you. "They just like to see you doing something that doesn't involve throwing a spear, Aonung."

You looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. You wanted to say more. You wanted to ask him why he had really come, why he had looked at you like that over the leather strips, but the words felt too big for your throat.

"Thank you for walking me," you said instead, giving him a shy, radiant smile. "And for the help today."

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered.

You turned to go inside, your mind racing, but just as you reached the curtain, you looked back. He was still standing there, a dark silhouette against the silver water, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You waved a small, hesitant hand, and he nodded once before turning to melt into the shadows of the village.

As you stepped inside your marui and set your basket down, you felt a strange sense of completion. You didn't know yet that tomorrow, he would find you by the shore and press a cold, woven necklace into your hand—a gift of blue teardrop pearls, starlight and the talon of a reef bird to match his own, woven by the hands of a warrior who had finally found something worth holding onto more than his pride.

The golden hour in Awa’atlu was more than just a time of day; it was a transformation of the world. The Great Mother seemed to hold her breath as the sun, a bloated and magnificent orb of molten fire, dipped toward the horizon. It bled a palette of impossible colors—burning amber, bruised plum, and a liquid gold that turned the surface of the ocean into a shimmering mirror of fire.

The air was heavy and warm, carrying the sweet, intoxicating scent of the night-blooming flora from the shoreline and the sharp, clean tang of salt spray. It was the kind of evening that felt permanent, as if the universe had paused just to witness the transition from the frantic energy of the day to the bioluminescent peace of the night.

You were wading in the waist-deep water near the village docks, the cool, rhythmic lap of the tide a soothing balm against your skin. Today, you had finally unraveled your hair from its tight, intricate ceremonial braids. Without the weight of the beads and the structure of the weave, your hair felt immense—a thick, wild sea of curls that cascaded over your shoulders and floated atop the water like dark, silken kelp. You felt free, untethered, and entirely at peace.

Beside you, Tsireya was a picture of effortless grace. She was humming a soft, melodic tune—a song the Metkayina used to call the spirit of the water—as she moved through the shallows. In her hands, she held a woven basket of small, silvery fish. With practiced ease, she tossed them one by one to a group of young ilus that had gathered around you both.

The creatures were in a playful mood, their chattering clicks and whistles vibrating through the water. One particularly bold calf nudged its snout against your hip, nearly knocking you off balance. You laughed, the sound bright and clear in the evening air, as you reached down to stroke its smooth, rubbery skin.

"They are hungry tonight," you remarked, your fingers tracing the glowing patterns on the ilu's flank. "And very demanding."

Tsireya smiled, her eyes crinkling with warmth. "They know who has the best spirit, ma tsmuke. They can feel that you are at rest today."

But as the words left her lips, her gaze drifted past you, toward the pale curve of the shoreline. Her expression shifted—a mischievous, knowing glint entering her eyes that made your heart do a sudden, unprompted hop. "It seems we are not the only ones drawn to the water tonight," she murmured, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone.

You followed her gaze, squinting against the blinding gold of the setting sun. There, standing at the edge of the tide where the sand met the surf, was Aonung.

He looked different than he had in the weavers' pavilion or during the frantic races on the reef. Gone was the loud-mouthed warrior, replaced by someone who looked uncharacteristically hesitant. He was standing perfectly still, his hands tucked behind his back, his tail giving a sharp, rhythmic flick that betrayed his internal nerves. He was watching you—not with his usual smirk, but with an intensity that felt heavy, even from a distance.

He seemed to be contemplating his next move, caught in a moment of rare indecision. From where you stood, you couldn't see the sweat on his palms or the way his heart was hammering against his ribs, but you could see the way he looked at you. To Aonung, you were the center of the world. The golden light caught the curve of your neck, the wild tumble of your hair, and the way your woven top rested perfectly against your skin. You were a vision of everything he had been working toward for weeks.

Tsireya, never one to let her brother suffer in silence, cupped her hands around her mouth. "Aonung! Are you waiting for the tide to go out, or are you going to join us?"

The shout broke his trance. You saw him jump slightly, his ears pinning back in a flash of visible panic. He looked around as if hoping a rogue akula might appear to give him an excuse to leave, but when he realized he was trapped, he squared his shoulders. With a deep breath that expanded his broad chest, he began to wade out into the water.

His movements were slow, deliberate. As he drew closer, the water rippling around his strong legs, the playful chattering of the ilus seemed to fade into the background. There was a gravity to his approach that made the air feel thick.

"Tsireya," he said stiffly as he reached the two of you, offering his sister a curt nod. Then, his eyes locked onto yours, and the rest of the world simply ceased to exist for him. "Y/N."

Tsireya didn't miss the way his gaze lingered on your hair, or the way your own tail was twitching beneath the surface. She let out a soft, knowing giggle. "I believe the ilus by the marui’s are feeling neglected," she announced, already turning to swim away. "Do not be a bore, Aonung. Try to use your words."

She disappeared into the golden glare, leaving the two of you in a pocket of profound, charged silence. The water swirled between you, the rising heat of his body radiating through the cooling evening air.

"You look..." Aonung started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, deepening it to regain his composure. "Your hair. It is different."

"I took the braids out," you said, feeling a sudden, shy heat rise in your cheeks. You reached up to brush a damp curl from your face. "Do you like it?"

"I... yes. very much," he breathed, his eyes traveling over every feature of your face.

The moment felt fragile, like a piece of spun glass. Aonung took a half-step closer, his large frame towering over you, blocking out the sun and surrounding you in his shadow. He reached into the small pouch at his waist, his movements slow and reverent.

"I have been thinking," he began, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in your chest. "I have been courting you for a while now. It has been... a process. But I think I am finally ready to present you with this."

He held out his hand. Lying across his broad, calloused palm was the necklace he had labored over in the pavilion.

In the dying light of the sun, it was breathtaking. The green woven kelp-leather was vibrant and rich, a testament to the patience you had taught him. At the center hung the reef bird talon, polished until it gleamed like a piece of dark glass, a perfect mirror to the one he wore himself. But it was the additions that made your breath catch—trailing along the weave were small, blue teardrop pearls. They were the exact shade of the pearls you wore in your hair, shimmering with an iridescent light that spoke of the deep ocean.

"Aonung," you whispered, your fingers ghosting over the talon. "It’s beautiful. It’s perfect."

"I wanted it to be right," he said, his ears perking up at your praise. "I wanted it to match you. To show that I see you."

You were staring at the intricate knots, moved beyond words, but then his earlier phrasing finally clicked in your mind. You looked up at him, your brow furrowing in genuine, sweet confusion. "Wait... what did you just say?"

Aonung blinked, his confident posture wavering. "I said I wanted it to match you?"

"No, before that," you said, your head tilting to the side. "The part about... courting?"

Aonung’s ears did a slow, dramatic droop. His mouth fell open, and for a moment, he looked entirely lost. "Yes. Courting. The gifts? The rare shells from the trench? The racing every afternoon? The fact that I have sat through three weaver's circles just to be near you?"

You blinked back at him, your mind racing through the memories of the past weeks. To you, it had been a series of fun, increasingly close moments with a friend who was finally softening. "I thought you were just... being helpful? I thought we were becoming very, very good friends, Aonung."

Aonung looked like he wanted to throw himself into the surf. He groaned, a long, dramatic sound of exasperation, and threw his hands up in the air. "Very good friends? Y/N, that was courting. My presence at your side every waking hour for the past fourteen sun-cycles just to be very good friends?"

He paced a small, frustrated circle in the waist-deep water, his tail splashing the surface. "Did you think I was doing that for Lo'ak? You truly didn't know? After everything?"

The heat in your face was now a full, violet flush. Looking back at the intensity in his eyes, the way he always stood a little too close, the way he had essentially become your shadow—it was so blindingly obvious that you felt like a fool.

"Well... now that I think about it," you murmured, a sheepish, radiant smile spreading across your lips. "I guess it was a bit more than 'friendly' behavior."

Aonung stopped his pacing and looked at you, his frustration melting into a look of pure, helpless affection. ""I am courting a girl who is as blind as a cave-fish," he muttered to himself, though the corner of his mouth was twitching.

"I'm sorry!" you giggled, stepping into his space until your chests were nearly touching. "But I accept. The gift... and the suitor."

Aonung’s breath hitched. "I see you, Y/N"

"I see you, Aonung"

You took the necklace from his hand, the weight of it a physical promise. You moved closer, stepping up onto your tippy-toes in the swirling water to reach him. You wrapped your arms around his thick neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. Aonung didn't hesitate this time; his large arms surged around you, pulling you flush against his warm, damp skin. He held you with a strength that made you feel entirely safe, his heart hammering a frantic, joyous rhythm against your own.

In the distance, Tsireya watched from the sully Marui with lo’ak, her heart full as she saw the two of you silhouetted against the last sliver of the sun. It was done.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "Will you help me put it on?"

Aonung’s hands were trembling as he took the leather cord. You turned around, lifting the heavy, curly mass of your hair to expose the nape of your neck. You felt the cool touch of the pearls against your skin, and then the feather-light, reverent brush of his fingers as he secured the clasp.

When you turned back to face him, the necklace sat perfectly against your collarbone, the blue pearls glowing in the twilight. Aonung reached out, his thumb grazing your jawline, his gaze darkening with a sudden, heavy intensity.

"Y/N," he breathed, his hand sliding into the curls at the back of your head to pull you closer.

You didn't wait for him to ask. You leaned in, closing the distance, and then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was everything the last few weeks had been—intense, sweet, and deep like the ocean. It tasted of salt and the warmth of the sun. Aonung groaned low in his throat, his other hand splaying across your back to hold you as if he’d never let go. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, the world around you dissolving into nothing but the feel of him and the pulse of the tide.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead stayed against yours. He was breathless, a triumphant, vulnerable smile on his face. "Now," he whispered. "Do you still think we are just 'very good friends'?"