Aonung × you
Story: he is so in love with you, and he always pray to eywa for you to notice him and for eywa to choose your as his mate (part 1)
//☆*:.｡ The One Eywa Had Already Chosen ｡...:*☆ //
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Ao’nung had never spoken your name aloud when he prayed.
It felt too fragile for his mouth, too exposed. So he kept it pressed behind his teeth, whispered only in the quiet rhythm of his breathing as he knelt each night beneath the soft glow of bioluminescent roots.
His hands would rest against the earth, fingers digging slightly into the cool soil, and his thoughts would circle you again and again—your voice, the way your eyes sharpened when you challenged him, the way you never softened just because he was the chief’s son.
Eywa, he would think, not daring to ask too much. Let her look at me. Just once more.
By day, he pretended none of it touched him. When he returned from missions, skin marked with salt and sweat, shoulders aching from the weight of responsibility, he made sure his stride stayed careless. He laughed louder than necessary. He flicked water from his braids and smirked when others praised him. When you were nearby, he leaned against posts as if he had nowhere else to be, as if your presence did not pull at him like the tide.
“You did well today,” you told him once, handing him a weapon he had left behind.
He shrugged, forcing ease into his voice. “I always do.”
But his ears had betrayed him, tilting forward just slightly. You noticed. You always noticed.
When the time came for him to choose a mate, the village spoke of it with reverence and tension. Ao’nung was not just a young warrior anymore—he was a future leader. His union would shape the clan. Everyone knew it.
Ronal watched him closely. Tonowari spoke carefully. The elders murmured of balance and strength and the will of Eywa.
“You will not choose alone,” his father told him one evening, voice firm but not unkind. “A leader does not belong only to himself.”
Ao’nung clenched his jaw, staring out at the sea. He already knew that truth. He had always known. Still, something in his chest tightened, because part of him feared Eywa’s will might take you away from him instead of toward him.
That night, he prayed harder than he ever had before.
When the decision was revealed, it was done beneath the great spirit tree, with the clan gathered and the air humming with quiet anticipation. Ao’nung stood straight, hands at his sides, face sharp and unreadable—until your name was spoken.
For a moment, the world went silent.
His breath caught. His eyes snapped to you so fast it was almost painful. You.
For all his practiced composure, joy cracked through him like lightning. His heart raced, wild and uncontained. He wanted to laugh, to shout, to run to you—but instead, he lifted his chin, pretending calm, pretending this had been expected all along.
Later, when you were alone for the first time since the announcement, he finally let it slip.
“…It’s you,” he said quietly, disbelief softening his usual edge. “Eywa really chose you.”
You studied him, searching his face. “You don’t look unhappy.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “Unhappy?” Then, more softly, almost embarrassed, “I don’t think I have ever been happier.”
The mating ceremony was sacred, slow, filled with ritual and meaning. Bioluminescent lights glowed around you both as you stood before Eywa, hands trembling slightly as they found each other’s. Ao’nung’s grip was warm—steady, reverent. When he looked at you, his usual sharpness was gone, replaced by something open and awe-struck.
He struggled not to stare. Failed completely.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmured under your breath.
He leaned closer, voice low, meant only for you. “I can’t. I’ve tried.”
When your queues joined beneath Eywa’s gaze, his breath shuddered. It felt like a promise finally fulfilled, like every prayer he had never dared to voice had been answered all at once. The world narrowed to the space between you, to the quiet understanding passing through your bond.
Afterward, as the clan celebrated and the night deepened, Ao’nung stood beside you, still half-dazed.
“So,” you said lightly, “the future leader doesn’t look so sharp now.”
He huffed, ears flicking. “Don’t get used to it.” Then, softer, sincere, “But… I’m glad it’s you. I wanted it to be you. Even before I knew I was allowed to want.”
For the first time, he didn’t act cool. He didn’t pretend strength meant distance. He simply stayed close, as if Eywa herself might take you away if he let go—even though, at last, you were his, and he was yours, exactly as fate had intended.
Part 2
Part 3
Part4
