#posessive

You don’t turn immediately - you know that step.The faint pause in the doorway. The silence that always follows her coming home, as if the air itself recognizes her before you do.

Heels tap once against the floor.

You glance over your shoulder.

Wanda stands there, framed by the hallway light. Dark red coat still on, S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform beneath it, hair slightly disheveled from the wind, exhaustion sitting in the slope of her shoulders… and yet her eyes soften instantly when they find you.

For a moment she doesn’t move.

Her gaze drifts from the simmering pot, to your bare legs, to the oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder.

“…You cook like this on purpose,” she murmurs, voice low from disuse after a long day.

You grin. “Like what?”

Instead of answering, her fingers twitch at her side.

A pulse of red slips across the room, warm, weightless, alive.

You yelp softly as invisible hands catch your wrist and waist, gently but irresistibly tugging you backward away from the stove. The spoon clatters into the pot. The flame dims itself obediently under a flicker of chaos magic.

“Wanda— dinner—”

“Can wait.”

Your back meets her front. The heat of her seeps through the thin fabric instantly, and she exhales against your neck like she’s been holding that breath since sunrise.

Her hands never actually touch you — yet you feel them everywhere.

Magic curls around your forearms, a velvet pressure guiding your hands down to rest over hers where they hover at your waist. Another thread glides beneath your collar, ghosting along your skin. It tingles, not cold, not warm… just hers.

You shiver.

She notices immediately.

A soft laugh brushes your ear. “There it is.”

“You’re cheating,” you murmur, leaning back despite yourself.

“I am coping.”

Her nose grazes your temple, then lingers there. The tension drains out of her in stages, like someone unwinding a clock too tightly wound. The magic grows softer as she does, less restraint, more affection. It traces lazy shapes along your collarbone, dips down your arm, returns again just to feel you react.

You squirm faintly.

She hums. “I spend all day holding continents apart and stopping bullets midair,” she whispers. “I come home and you are… stirring sauce.”

The invisible pressure around your waist tightens, not possessive, just anchoring.

“You have no idea how dangerous that is.”

You laugh softly. “To who?”

Her lips brush just behind your ear. Not a kiss, barely contact.

“To my focus.”

The cabinet behind you opens with a soft creak. A wine glass floats out, then another. The cork eases free with a quiet pop, pouring itself as she doesn’t move an inch from you. One glass drifts to the counter beside the stove.

The other presses gently into your hand, guided by red light wrapping your fingers around the stem.

“You forgot to eat lunch again,” you say.

“I remembered,” she murmurs. “I just preferred the idea of this.”

The magic slides down your spine in a slow line and you inhale sharply.

She smiles, you can hear it.

“Every time,” she whispers.

Your head tips back onto her shoulder without thinking. The wine warms your throat; her presence warms everything else. Her fingers finally touch you, real this time, resting over your stomach where the magic already lingered. Reality and power layered together.

For a long moment neither of you moves. The city hums outside. The pot bubbles patiently. Her breathing steadies against your back.

“I missed you,” she says quietly, the humor gone, replaced with something deeper.

You turn in her arms.

Her magic helps, rotating you carefully, like she’s afraid the moment might break if rushed. Now she faces you, close enough your noses almost touch, her hands hovering at your hips, undecided whether to hold or not.

You decide for her, hooking your fingers into her belt.

Her composure falters instantly.

A faint red flare flickers in her irises.

“Careful,” she murmurs, but she leans in anyway, forehead resting against yours. “I am already using restraint.”

You smile. “You’re home. You’re allowed not to.”

She inhales sharply against your lips and you feel it, the precise moment restraint breaks.

The magic that had been whispering at your skin suddenly becomes a flood. Not violent, not rough, but present in a way that makes your knees weak: a tide of red wrapping around your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor. 

Your wine glass never spills … Wanda never spills … magic holds it steady as your back meets the nearest flat surface: the kitchen island, cool marble against your shoulders, your legs sliding open for her without thinking.

The red light coils around her fingers, painting them with power as she presses you down onto the counter, her thighs slotting between yours. Her mouth hovers, breath hot, teasing.

"Still think I'm not focused?" she murmurs, and the magic answers for her, slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips tracing your inner thighs not touching, yet you feel everything, every phantom stroke making heat pool low in your stomach.

You gasp and her green eyes darken. Chaos magic flickers in her irises.

She leans in closer, her fingers wrapping around your wrists and lifting them above your head. The magic tightens around them, holding you in place. 

"You know what this magic does?" she whispers against your mouth. Her other hand trails down your side, ghosting over your hip. "It can make you feel things you've never felt before. It can make you come without even touching you."

You whimper, not from the touch, because there isn't one, just that terrible, delicious red presence wrapping around your core like velvet and fire. She laughs, low and soft, watching your hips buck uselessly against empty air.

There it is… that desperate whine she lives for.

"Such a noise," she breathes, lips brushing your jaw. "And I haven't even done anything yet." 

The magic tightens.

"Wanda—please—" The words tear out of you, raw and ragged, your thighs trembling as that phantom pressure coils deeper, a slick, red pulse ghosting where you're most sensitive. You're already soaked, you can feel it, your body arching off the marble like it's trying to chase contact that doesn't exist. "I can't—I need—fuck—"

"Look at you," she murmurs, drinking you in like she's been thirsty for days. She looks powerful like this, clothed while she strips you bare with magic alone. 

"You're so beautiful such a mess already." Her gaze drops between your legs and her throat bobs. "And so wet, god."

Her auburn hair tumbles forward as she leans down, some escaping the loose knot at her nape, and she doesn't tuck it back, letting it curtain around you both like a private world. The soft strands brush your collarbone as her green eyes, usually so sharp, so composed, gleam with hunger.

The red light curls under your shirt hem, lifting it smoothly. Cotton peels up your torso, over your head, vanishing into thin air. Your bra follows.

Now you're bare, naked under the kitchen lights, sprawled out over the island. Her eyes burn a path down your body, lingering on your breasts, your stomach, the place where magic still pulses between your legs. 

She's still fully clothedsuit jacket still buttoned, the gold S.H.I.E.L.D. badge glinting at her hip. It's obscene, how put together she looks while you're laid out like a feast.

Her jacket falls open, revealing the white silk shirt beneath as she leans forward, hands braced on the countertop on either side of you. 

The magic between your legs intensifies, a red haze rising from the marble to coil around your waist like a living thing. 

"You look like you belong on this altar," she whispers harshly, green eyes glinting with something primal. "Like a sacrifice I'm about to devour." She pauses, then adds softer, "And I'm starving."

"Wanda," you whimper desperately, "I need something—your hand, your mouth, your magic—I don't care—I just need you to touch me." Your hips lift off the cold marble, chasing nothing but air. "Please." The word comes out broken, needy, something you'd never say outside the bedroom, but she loves this version of you, loves when you fall apart like this. "I'm begging you."

"There it is," she murmurs, her voice dropping into something darker, richer. She loves when you beg. 

The magic between your legs pulses, answering your prayer, but instead of touching you, it just intensifies the pressure, the phantom touch teasing your entrance without penetrating.

"What exactly do you need?" she whispers teasingly, green eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Use your pretty words." The magic traces circles around your clit without touching it. "Convince me."

Wanda's pupils dilate as she watches you moan and arch your back, your breasts pushing out as your head rolls back. 

She swallows hard, the magic between your legs throbbing with unspent power. Seeing you desperate and mindless with need turns her on so much, your pride gone, your face contorted with hunger for her touch. It's incredibly arousing to her. 

The magic traces up your inner thighs slowly but deliberately, avoiding your most sensitive areas entirely. "Fuck, look at you," she whispers hoarsely.

The red light fades as she drops to her knees, not gracefully, not carefully, but desperate. 

Your hands tangle in her thick auburn hair instinctively, fingers gripping tight as she kneels between your trembling thighs. Her green eyes, half lidded and hungry, drag slowly up your body to meet yours.

"Please—" you groan, not even ashamed anymore, just drowning in want. "Wanda, I need your mouth. I need to feel you—I'll give you anything—" Your heels hook against her shoulders, tugging her closer.

Her mouth is on you before you even finish the sentence, a ravenous, starved sound escaping her as she buries her face between your thighs. No teasing, no slow tasting. She devours, tongue flat and hot, pressing broad strokes against your clit before plunging deep. She groans against your skin like she's been starving, like she can't get enough of your taste.

Your head falls back, a broken cry splitting your throat as her lips seal around your most sensitive spot.

She's ruining you with her mouth, no finesse, just pure hunger. 

Her hands grip your thighs roughly, pushing them wider as she eats you out like she's trying to swallow you whole. 

Your fingers twist in her hair until it hurts, and she just moans against your heat, the vibration making your hips jerk violently. 

"Fuck," she pants between licks, "you taste so good—" She presses her tongue flat against your clit and suctions hard.

"Wanda—oh god—" Your hips stutter against her mouth, thighs squeezing around her head as the filthiest moans spill out of you, broken, gasping, no shame left. "Your—your tongue—I can't—"

She groans back, vibrating against your clit, and you watch her free hand fumble with the buckle of her belt

She unbuttons her suit pants clumsily, magic already working between her legs before she even touches herself.

A red glow pulses there, her magic forming an impossible length, longer and thicker. 

She groans around your clit "Fuck," she whispers harshly against your skin. Her fingers dig into your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter.

With a final, desperate lick that makes you whimper, she pulls back just enough to use her magic to strip herself completely. 

And she’s gorgeous. 

Her suit jacket, shirt, pants, all vanish in a flare of red light, leaving her pure and naked between your spread thighs. 

Her formed length stands out proudly from her body, throbbing with unspent magic and desire. She's beautiful like this, powerful, otherworldly, and utterly fuckable. 

"Is this what you wanted?" she whispers teasingy, rubbing the head against your soaked entrance.

"Wanda—please just put it in—" you whine, lifting your hips desperately.

But she doesn't listen. Instead her real hand snakes between your thighs, two fingers pressing teasing circles around your entrance without pushing in. Your whimpers grow more desperate until you're practically begging. 

"Look at me," she commands softly.

Your eyes meet her, her green irises hazy with want, auburn hair wild around her face. Then her slick fingers slide inside you slowly, curling just once. 

"Fuck—"

She works you with her fingers, three now, stretching you open, while her thumb circles your clit in lazy, torturous strokes. Her magic created cock presses against your inner thigh, hot and pulsing, dripping red energy onto your skin.

"So tight," she breathes, watching her fingers disappear inside you. "So wet for me." 

She crooks her fingers and you feel it—there—a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as your back arches off the counter.

Her breath catches as she watches you, your face flushed, lips parted, eyes rolling back. Her fingers pause deep inside you, not moving, just there. 

She's mesmerized by the sight of her fingers vanishing into your wet heat, by the way your inner muscles clench around her. 

Her mouth hangs open, no sound coming out, just ragged breaths. 

She can't tease you anymore, not when you look like this.

Not when she needs you just as badly.

With a sudden, desperate movement, she pulls her fingers out of you, only to immediately replace them with the head of her magic cock. 

You both moan at the first press inside you, she's thick and hot and alive with power. 

Her hands grip your thighs roughly as she starts to push in slow inches by inch. Her mouth finally closes around a choked sound, not words anymore just needy noises escaping her throat while she watches herself disappear into your body.

"Fuck—" she hisses, bottoming out inside you. Her hips stall there for a moment, just feeling you wrapped around her. 

Your legs shake against her shoulders where they're draped over them. She leans forward slightly, her body pressing yours down onto the counter, her mouth crashing onto yours in a messy kiss that tastes like desperation and magic.

Her hips start moving, long, deep strokes that drag against your walls like she's trying to bury herself permanently. 

Every thrust makes you slide slightly on the marble, her hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned. The magic within her cock pulses bright red, sending waves of unnatural pleasure through you every time she bottoms out.

She's not gentle. She's not careful. She's starving.

Your nails rake down her back, leaving angry red marks that glow briefly before fading, her magic healing them instantly, just so you can scratch again.

"Oh god—Wanda—I can't—" You cry out as she hits that spot inside you again, your voice breaking into pure, shameless noise. Your back arches violently off the counter, heels digging into her lower back, urging her deeper, harder.

She grunts against your neck, her usual composure gone. Her thrusts become erratic, hungry. 

"Agh-bozhe moi—oh my god ," she curses in Russian, breath hot and ragged against your skin. "Fuck—so tight—"

She wraps her arms underneath your thighs, pulling your legs back to press your knees against your chest, opening you up completely to her. 

The sudden change in angle makes you scream, her length hitting even deeper now with each thrust. 

The kitchen fills with the wet, slapping sounds of her magic fucking you ruthlessly on the countertop. 

"Mine—" she moans possessively, "Only mine—" Her fingers dig into your flesh hard enough to bruise, but you don't care, you just need more.

"Yours—yours—oh god right there, Wanda!—" you scream, back bowing off the cold marble as your walls clench around her. Her cock pulses inside you, that magic heat building with every relentless thrust. "Don't stop—please don't—"

Her eyes roll back, her thrusts becoming erratic hammering. A string of Russian curses spills from her lips. 

"I'm gonna come—I'm gonna come—" You chant desperately, your body tightening around her as your orgasm builds. 

Wanda's face contorts with effort and pleasure, her thrusts becoming even more brutal, her arms trembling as she holds your legs back. 

"Yes—" she pants, her own climax racing towards her. The red magic inside her length begins to glow even brighter, pulsing urgently against your inner walls. "Come with me—"

Your body convulses violently as you come, your inner muscles clamping down on her like a vise. 

You scream, sound echoing off the kitchen walls as your orgasm hits like a truck.

Wanda's eyes roll back completely, she lets out a loud, raw moan, her hips stuttering as her own release slams into her. 

The magic inside her length explodes, pulsing red light bathing you as she fills you with her magical essence, marking you from the inside out. "FUCK—"

She collapses forward, catching herself on her forearms to keep from crushing you. 

Her face buries in your neck, hot breath and soft Russian curses spilling against your skin as she rides out the aftershocks of her intense orgasm. Her length is still buried deep inside you, pulsing gently with residual pleasure.

Your legs are still draped over her arms, shaking slightly as the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you. 

Wanda's breathing is ragged against your neck, her body still trembling from the force of her release. 

The magic between you, still glowing faintly red, is slowly dissolving, taking the formed cock with it, but leaving behind a warm, sticky feeling deep inside you.

She finally lifts her head, eyes glassy and half lidded. 

"Still thinking about dinner?" she rasps, voice wrecked.

You laugh softly, breathless and boneless against the kitchen counter. 

"Yeah, definitely thinking about dinner right now," you tease, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you glance pointedly down between your legs. "Definitely starving." You shift slightly, feeling her magic slowly fading away inside you.

She kisses you slowly, deeply, her hands gentling on your thighs as she helps you sit up. 

"I ruined dinner," she murmurs against your lips, sounding almost apologetic, but her eyes sparkle with satisfaction. "And the counter." 

You glance behind you at the marble now slick with both of your releases. 

"Mmm," you hum, standing carefully on wobbly legs. "Good thing we have other surfaces." You waggle your eyebrows suggestively towards the bedroom. 

Her eyes darken instantly.

"Bedroom," she groans softly, standing up and scooping you into her arms effortlessly. 

You yelp and laugh as she carries you towards the bedroom, your legs wrapping around her waist instinctively. 

She kicks the door open and deposits you on the bed before following after you, crawling over your body like a predator. 

Her hands grip your thighs, pulling them back around her waist. 

"You’re on top," she whispers against your mouth, smirking wickedly. "Beautiful."

You push at her chest, flipping her over until you're straddling her naked body. Your hair falls around your face like a curtain as you look down at her, Wanda, the most powerful being in the universe, completely and utterly yours. She looks up at you with pure adoration and desire, her green eyes drinking you in.

Her hands coast up your thighs, over your hips. "There's my beautiful girl," she whispers. The magic between you feels different now, slower, more deliberate.

You smirk and begin kissing down her body, lingering on her breasts, her stomach, before settling between her thighs. 

She spreads herself open for you, already wet and glistening with need. You lick a slow stripe up her center and she moans deeply, her hand flying to your hair. Her eyes roll back as you begin to eat her out slowly, deliberately, like she did to you. 

"F-fuck," she pants, "Your mouth—" Her hips start to move, pressing her pussy against your lips and tongue.

You suck on her clit softly, your tongue flicking over it rapidly before plunging inside her. She gasps, her hand tightening in your hair almost painfully. 

"Just like that—don't stop—" She's so sensitive after already coming once tonight, you can tell by the way her thighs shake and her back arches off the bed. 

You double down on your efforts, adding fingers to stretch her open. 

"oh god—" Her voice breaks as you curl your fingers just right.

She's completely lost in your touch, her mind blissfully empty except for the feeling of your mouth and hands between her legs. 

She chants your name like a prayer, her body winding tighter and tighter. Her free hand moves to grab the sheets, bunching them in her fist as she rides your face desperately. 

"I'm close—I'm close—I'm—" Suddenly, she screams as she comes, her release soaking your face and fingers as you lap it up greedily. "Yes—yes—YES!"

She's a mess underneath you, soaking wet, panting, her green eyes glassy and dilated with pleasure. 

She pulls you up eagerly, tugging you by your wrists until you're straddling her hips again. She looks up at you with pure, desperate need. 

"Ride me— please ride me—" She whimpers, her hips bucking up against nothing.

You don't need to be told twice. 

You position yourself over her, and as you lower yourself onto her, her magic springs to life. 

The familiar red glow pulses between your legs as her magic cock forms again, this time slightly bigger than before. 

You gasp as it stretches you open, filling you completely as you sink down onto it. 

"oh fuuuck—" you moan deeply. 

Wanda groans loudly beneath you, her hands gripping your waist. 

"Look at you taking it—" she moans approvingly.

"Fuck—you're so deep—" you moan, beginning to ride her slowly. 

Your hands brace against the wall behind the headboard for leverage. 

Wanda's hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements as she watches your body bounce on her magic length. 

"That's it—take it all—fuck, look at you bounce—" She groans appreciatively, her eyes darkening as she watches you ride her. "You look so sexy—" She encourages you, her voice low and dirty.

Your pace quickens, your body getting used to her size again. 

Each downward motion makes you gasp as you bottom out on her. Wanda's eyes are glued to you, watching your breasts jolt, your face contort with pleasure, the way your thighs tremble when you rise up only to slam back down. 

"Don't stop—faster—god, you're so good at this—" 

She pulls you down harder onto her with each thrust, meeting your movements with upward bucks of her own.

"You feel so good—" she groans, her hands squeezing your hips hard enough to leave marks. "Ride me harder—use me—" 

Her magic pulses inside you, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. 

You throw your head back, moaning loudly as you pick up the pace even more. Your breasts bounce wildly now, and Wanda reaches up to grope them roughly while watching herself disappear inside you over and over again. 

"That's my girl—take it all—" She praises darkly.

"Wanda—I—I'm—" You sob her name, your thighs beginning to shake violently. Your walls clamp down rhythmically around her, signaling your approaching orgasm. 

The pace becomes erratic, desperate, you're not even trying to be pretty about it anymore, just need to feel yourself come around her. 

Wanda's eyes glow brighter, recognizing the signs. 

"Come on, baby—come on my cock—be a good girl for me—" She urges, her own voice breaking with need.

You moan out as you come, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your body locks up, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around her as you scream her name. 

Wanda moans deeply, feeling you squeeze her tight, her own release triggered by your climax. Her magic cock swells inside you, pulsing and releasing that same warm, sticky magical essence deep within you again. She keeps thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out. 

"Fuck—" she groans loudly, her hips finally stalling as she fills you completely with her magic. 

Her hands squeeze your ass tightly, pulling you flush against her as she buries herself deep inside you. 

"So beautiful—" she pants out, covered in sweat and completely wrecked. 

Her magic cock slowly dissipates inside you, leaving behind the warm aftermath of their intense joining. 

"All mine—" she whispers possessively, pulling you down to lay on her chest. "Only mine—"

You collapse against her chest, breathing ragged and body trembling from the force of your orgasms. 

She holds you close, her arms wrapping around your waist protectively while her lips press soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. Neither of you speaks for a long time, just enjoying the afterglow, the warmth of each other's bodies. 

Eventually, Wanda murmurs, "Dinner really is ruined, isn't it?"

You laugh softly against her skin. "Totally."

at first he was intrigued, one person with stupid suit can bust a whole drug ring with bodyguards? he laughed at it, and send some of his lackeys to capture you. they failed of course, his men coming back with multiple broken bones and bruises with their tails tucked between their legs.

at first it was curiosity, then interest, before it becomes frustration, he had gone almost crazy when he found out that you have busted too many of his rings. he put a bounty on your head - dead or alive with a large sum of numbers, no one ever succeed in capturing you.

he starts sending out assasins to track you down, all of them also failed miserably, they might beat you down and injure you to the degree, but never succeed in killing you completely.

after the frustration went down - comes the obsession. he doesn't remember when did his infatuation started, all he remembered that you had taken down too many of his business, too many of his elite assasins have been sent to hospitals and jail.

yandere! crime lord that get a huge adrenaline rush when he finally coming face to face with you, he tried to hide his huge grin when you got him pinned against the ground, he can finally see you up close and my, even if you're covered from head to toe he can tell that you're hell of a person behind that mask. there was something weirdly familiar about your presence.

he escaped successfully that one night just because he had planted a bomb under the building.

yandere! crime lord that becomes possessive of you, he wanted you alive all for himself now, wouldn't let anyone touch you but him alone and let it shows to other crime lords, all other criminals that had touched you all swiftly dealed by his assasins.

his subordinates are confused by his sudden affection towards the vigilante, but no one ever dare to question him, the last brave yet unfortunate guy had commented on the matters have been six feet underneath now.

yandere! crime lord goes as far as creating fake trafficking ring to capture you, and you escaped every single one of them. maybe you're just that slippery, or lucky, or he lets you go just because he enjoyed the chase as a sick form of foreplay, who knows? he's still determined to have you alk for himself anyways.

yandere! crime lord who saw how close you are with yandere! superhero. and immediately planning on to dispose the annoying fly. no matter if yan! supes are a literal justice icon with superpowers, with his money and power - he will dispose him sooner or after.

morally ambiguous! reader, who noticed their weird fixation over them and tried to eliminate both of them for good, only for them to slip away since their will to have you all for themselves are too big.

now it's all just game of switch between prey and predator for the three of you.

 “Being in line for Olo’eyktan does not give him immunity from everything.” Lo’ak argues before grumbling under his breath, “especially my right hook.” 

You whack the back of his head swiftly. 

“Ow! Save your aggression for Ao’nung, not me.” Lo’ak hisses. The glare you send back is far less effective when your eyes are still red from crying. So naturally, Neteyam takes over instead, hissing his brother’s name in warning.

“Nobody is hitting anyone,” you remind him before scooping up another chunk of sand to add to your own castle. Well, it more so looks like a shack today. And even that is generous. 

The east shore is quiet in the morning, a welcomed escape from the village and Ao’nung. You had slipped out before the sun had hit the horizon this morning just in case he came back early. A fruitless effort surely, as you know he has patrol for another hour, but your anxiety has a way of getting the best of you. Looking back though, you’re not quite sure if running to Neteyam and Lo’ak to relay the story had been the best course of action. 

Lo’ak had lit like a flame, ready for revenge and retribution in an instant. It’s no surprise, considering he was not the biggest fan of your involvement with the Metkayina prince. According to him, Ao’nung is a player, someone far too harsh for your tastes and not capable of giving what you need. A harsh judgment, especially for someone that Lo’ak had grown to at least be friendly with over the years, but even now you can’t deny there is a flicker of truth there.

Neteyam, on the other hand, had responded with bunched brows and a plethora of questions to get to the bottom of the matter. You love him, both of them truly, but even your surrogate older brothers can not change what has happened. This is your mistake and one that you alone have to live with. 

“I don’t know, tsmuke [sister]. You might feel better after getting a punch in. I’ll even hold him down for you.” 

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam snips.

“Fine,” He groans. “Neteyam can help too.” 

“My kingdom is going to call yours to war and trample your shell tower if you do not shut up.” 

“God, so violent.” Lo’ak mutters but he repositions himself to have his back blocking his sand tower  from his brother’s ire. 

Building sand castles had been their idea. Although, you’ve dragged them into this activity enough times you’re sure Neteyam could probably build one in his sleep. Today, both brothers are nice enough to pretend that this is a request of theirs and not just a suggestion born out of pity. 

“I just want to forget about the entire thing, ok? I was stupid and got ahead of myself. Classic story, nothing left to say.” 

Neteyam lifts his head, finally taking a break from shaving the side of his walls into a perfect line with the edge of his knife. “You were not stupid. The situation is just…complicated.” 

He sounds worse than Ao’nung did last night. No matter how many ways one comes to phrase the truth, nothing makes it hurt less. 

“Agreed,” Lo’ak chimes in while positioning what has to be the tenth seashell he has fit at the top of one tower. “Nothing about being with him was ever going to be simple. You’re a sweet person and he’s an arrogant ass. That’s not your fault.” 

“You truly are the worst help.” Neteyam’s eyes narrow as his tail curls in annoyance. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.” Lo’ak digs out a spare chain of beads from his hair to add as decor for his castle’s entryway. “You’re doing the right thing, cutting him loose.” 

“You’re right,” you hum, tracing patterns in the sand. It’s going to take hours to get the sand and algae from your new baby blue shorts but you can’t conjure up the energy to care. “It was selfish of me to hold on. After all, it’s not like I could have kept him from finding his mate forever.” 

“No that is not what I-”

“I’m taking down the tower.” Neteyam deadpans. 

“Cross our territory line.” Lo’ak points to the line in the sand between them, “and I will shove sand down your throat. And that’s not assault, that’s politics.” 

Watching them wrestle across the sand, simultaneously almost knocking down three of Neteyam’s castle walls, does take the edge off a bit. It’s a good distraction if nothing else. And it reminds you of a time when things were simpler. Before all of you grew up and had to start worrying about mating and responsibilities. Just two idiots rolling around in the sand.

When you were little you could not wait to become an adult and experience romantic rendezvous, find true love, and run off into the sunset together. If only you had known then how complicated love truly is. 

“Okay! Okay! Call a truce.” You demand when their rough housing has them rolling into your space like a tornado. 

“Shit!” Lo’ak yelps, barely jumping over your sand castle just in time and ending with a messy fall. 

Sand embedded in his braids, Lo’ak’s smile fades as Neteyam comes to inspect the damage. 

“You skxawng, you could have wrecked her…” he trails off. Both brothers pause with perked ears and perplexed expressions as they observe your sad little hovel of a castle. Typically you are the master of these competitions, adorning your kingdom with lace, pearls, shells, just about anything you can get your hands on.  Today it is nothing more than a mushy pile of sand with a few sticks. 

“Wow that is…” Lo’ak’s head cocks so the side as he scrambles for the right words.

“Hideous, I know. It’s okay.” You shrug.

“What? No no it’s uh…”

“Unique!” Lo’ak finishes for him. They talk over each other with reassurances as a small flicker of amusement tugs at your lips. 

“Actually this is perfect because we need an impartial judge to score ours.” Lo’ak suggests, sending Neteyam scrambling back to his sand castle for final touches. 

“Wait! Wait!” With the tip of his knife he carves the last imprints of a cobblestone path leading to his castle. Neteyam takes a moment to inspect his handy work, looking at it from every angle to make sure it meets his standards while Lo’ak lounges to the side with his tail lashing impatiently. “Alright. You may proceed.” 

A welcomed distraction indeed, you decide before sitting down in front of the two castles. They could not be more different. Neteyam’s structure is made of perfect lines and sturdy walls while Lo’ak’s is full of vibrant charm, so vibrant in fact that you can barely see the sand beneath all of the decorations. It’s wonky and completely nonsensical but as you observe the makeshift little Na’vi he has made out of blue sea glass, it brings a smile to your face. 

You point at the winner.

Lo’ak lets out a triumphant whoop. Neteyam’s tail drops before it begins thrashing and a stern line curves at his brows. 

“You have to know it would never survive as a fortress. A gust of wind would knock the entire thing over!”

Lo’ak grins ear to ear at his brother’s protest. Attempting to mimic that smile is difficult when a heavy stone still presses at your chest, but watching them squabble feels like a breath of fresh air from your own concerns. It’s nice to focus on little things that don’t really matter like sand castles. Instead of how you are going to live out the rest of your days under the rule of the man you are madly in love with but can’t have. 

“Not my fault you don’t understand the object of the game.” Lo’ak smirks. “It’s called understanding your audience.” He gestures to where you're perched with lace scraps strung into your hair and a light blue matching set. 

For a moment, you are afforded a reprieve from your own heartache. But then you spot a familiar silhouette out towards the horizon. Any semblance of peace you had captured disappears and you sprint off the beach before you can even confirm whether or not it is Ao’nung out there. Lo’ak and Neteyam try to call you back but you’re already gone. 

You need to talk to Ao’nung. You know you do. But the idea of facing him now, facing what an embarrassing idiot you have made of yourself while simultaneously fighting off his charm…well you aren’t strong enough for that. 

Not when it comes to him. 

Ao’nung has lived his entire life on Awa’atlu. He knows this island like the back of his hand and the ocean surrounding better than his own tail. So how is it that you, a tawtute who has lived here only a few months, have found ways to evade him? It’s been three days. Three excruciating days of hunting you down between his duties, only to come up empty handed or find you hiding behind the Sully family. 

You are a clever little minx, yet another quality he adds to the list of things he loves about you. 

But this particular talent is one he admires the most when it is not leveraged against him. Regardless, you can’t run forever. Sooner or later you will have to talk to him and, by Eywa, Ao’nung is ready to do everything in his power to expedite that conclusion. Because spending one more night alone in his marui, or even sitting in your room wondering where you have run off to, may very well be the death of him. 

Things are less than ideal right now. He can understand that. Navigating the push and pull of a woman’s emotions may not be his strong suit but he is smart enough to recognize that you have reason to feel apprehensive now. Whoever spoke to you must have planted a horrible seed in your mind that is now sprouting into an obstacle in your relationship. Exactly why he was trying fervently to keep you as far away from their backlash as possible in the first place. 

But, stars above woman, at least give him a chance to fix it!

If now having an inkling of what half the clan thinks of this relationship has you questioning the feasibility of mating with him, then let him change your mind. Allow him the chance to soothe your concerns and prove to you that he can provide for you in every way possible. Let him hold you close and shower you with praise until it blots out their cruel words. His courtship has been far from perfect, but there is still time to fix things. If you would only let him near you. 

Ao’nung has always had duties that have kept him from spending every waking minute with you but three days apart is no doubt the longest he has gone without you in his arms, and it is agonizing. His entire routine has been warped and twisted beyond repair. There are no impromptu fashion shows to look forward to. No silly ramblings that make his chest rumble with laughter as you struggle to get air in between your stories. And, fuck, if he even lets himself think about how long it has been since he has felt your satin skin beneath his hands or heard your fervent little moans, it will lead to his right hand going numb from all the labor it has done. 

You have him on his knees and you’re not even interested in witnessing it. 

He has tried everything he could think of. The morning after the party he was at your bedroom door the moment his patrol shift had ended, but you were gone. Between hunting, gathering, and shadowing his father he has not only checked your room time and time again but also scoured your favorite places on the island. And when that didn’t work, his search branched outward. Any and every place he could think of, that would not be considered trespassing, but of course you know exactly how to utilize that boundary. 

The tawtute at the outpost are sure to be avoiding him too at this point from how many times he has asked them for your whereabouts. They scatter just at the sight of him and it’s only a matter of time before they change the pin to the door so he can’t keep bothering them. He can’t search their rooms nor can he invade the Sully’s homes, according to his father, but he’s certain at this point that you have been taking refuge there. 

You return to your room periodically. Every day certain things in your room have been moved, clothing taken from the closet or day old clothing thrown on the floor. Eywa, he hates himself for how many times he has had to refrain from picking up one of your freshly worn dresses and using it to get off to your scent. His pride, no matter how injured it may be, still holds onto the hope of finding you in person instead. Regardless, that hope is dwindling by the hour and his pride may as well be damned in the name of feeling some sort of connection to you. No matter how pathetic that may be. 

He can’t keep living this way. Nor can he sleep a wink when he knows that you are out there heartbroken and suffering as well. Everything has gone terribly wrong. It was one thing when he was juggling these obstacles himself but now that you feel their weight too, he can not stand by and be expected to maintain a level of patience. This wedge between the two of you is only driving deeper with time and Ao’nung will not stand by and watch it idly. 

“It was not me, I swear it,” Kel’moro holds his hands up in surrender, his tsurak gliding right along side Ao’nung’s own. He turns his gaze to Veytan on his left who treads water with huffed breath. 

“Don’t look at me! I’m innocent too.” He immediately defends.

“Both of you have shown an annoying amount of interest in her. Perhaps enough to talk to her directly and say something deeply regrettable.” He runs his hand over the saddle handle, stretching his fingers in efforts to expel the surplus of adrenaline that is already building. 

“Interest doesn’t outweigh survival instincts. We didn’t want you to-what was it you said-break and reset our bones.” Kel’moro jumps in with emphasis. 

“I believe I said I would do the breaking and my mother’s trainees the resetting. Far worse.” 

“Exactly! We’re obviously not big enough idiots to risk that.” Veytan huffs out, grabbing onto the saddle of Ao’nung’s tsurak. 

“That’s a matter of opinion.” 

“Come on, brother. You know it was not us. Now can I get a ride? Your mother has had me diving for fish eggs all day and I’m exhausted.” Veytan pleads.

Ao’nung doesn’t respond but dips his chin in permission. His friend wastes no time in hoisting himself onto the creature’s back and catching his breath. Idiots his friends may be, but their claims are sincere. They are not smart enough to lie properly. So the traitor goes unnamed and his precious tawtute unfound. 

“You know how women are. So complicated and unpredictable but I bet if you give it some time-”

“Isn’t that her over there?” Veytan points to shore and immediately Ao’nung’s senses are on high alert. 

Sure enough, there you are in a pink little dress with a basket in hand as you scour the sand for shells, no doubt. You have his schedule memorized, that must be how you’ve been expertly choosing when to go into the village but he had switched shifts with Roxto today for this very purpose. You’ve made a bad play and Ao’nung is not wasting that. 

“Wow, you’re right! So much for her little game of hide and-”

Water cuts off the last of Kel’moro’s response. Ao’nung is beneath the waves and slicing through the distance before his friends can take another breath. The ocean bends to his will, the tide rushing him forward as if it too is routing for him to finally capture you in his arms again. By the time he surfaces onto the shore you are already running. In fact, you sprint through the crowds of people as if your life depends on it. 

This isn’t the first time the two of you have played a game of predator and prey. Both of you have enjoyed the build up that comes with him chasing you down until the inevitable end of tanging limbs and labored breath from several orgasms. Usually, however, Ao’nung dampens his speed to draw the game out and keep from scaring you too much. Today, though, he has no interest in leveling the playing field or worrying about your fear. 

With only a far off glimpse of your pink dress here and there, Ao’nung barrels through the crowd and sprints with fervor towards his little lover. There is no real joy to be found when this chase is not a game. Watching the sheer determination you have to stay away from him is like taking a spear through his chest, and it spikes his pulse. 

Clan members dart out of the way after one look at him, buying him extra time to make up the distance. However, your greatest advantage is your size as you can easily weave between the crowd while hardly being noticed. And so you go from a flicker of pink to vanishing out of thin air, slipping right from his grasp. Turning in every direction, he can’t spot you anymore. 

Ao’nung runs his hands through his curls, nails digging into his scalp. Enough is enough. This strategy is yielding him no results which means it may be time to consider alternative options. One option in particular that he has never been fond of.

Asking for help.

Ao’nung is on the brink of turning around and forgetting this entire thing the second he hears giggling coming from the marui. Yet here he stands, watching from outside the entrance as a forest boy ravages his sister with kisses along her neck and cheeks. Tsireya is already in a fit of blushing and giggles as Lo’ak pulls her onto his lap. Much like watching a battle scene, he can’t get himself to look away. You once called this phenomenon morbid curiosity. Ao’nung’s not so sure about morbid being the right word but disgusting seems to fit just right. In fact, his stomach turns as his tail lowers towards the floor with a slow lash. 

He’s happy his sister is happy, even if that happiness comes from a forest boy like Lo’ak, but that does not mean he needs to witness the details of such happiness.. 

Caught between ripping the male off of his sister and turning around to forget he was ever here, Ao’nung finally opts to clear his throat loudly. Immediately, golden and blue eyes blink back at him. Tsireya’s blush darkens as she shuffles off of Lo’ak’s lap. The Sully male on the other hand looks not the slightest bit bashful or bothered by being caught. Perhaps Ao’nung should have been more cut throat when Lo’ak first started courting Tsireya. The male has gotten far too comfortable groping his little sister since. 

“Ao’nung,” Tsireya smiles, brushing down her messy curls. 

“Now seems to be a bad time,” Ao’nung starts but his gaze is locked with Lo’ak’s. Something brews in those weird yellow eyes that is far from the friendliness they once fostered. 

“No! Don’t be silly! Lo’ak was just about to leave.” 

“I have dinner with my family.” He says simply. Lo’ak takes his sweet time laying a kiss atop Tsireya’s curls and whispering something sappy that Ao’nung has no interest in understanding, before finally rising to his feet. The moment the Omatikaya male is facing him once more, all softness seeps from his countenance and a snarl seems to be on the brink of tugging at his lips. 

Ao’nung holds his ground as the other male passes, watching him with the same intensity that a hunter watches their competition. Whatever has climbed down his loincloth is none of Ao’nung’s concern but that does not mean he has to lie down and take the consequences of his bad mood. 

Tsireya is already sorting her spare shells and jewelry pieces into woven baskets by the time Lo’ak leaves. 

“What’s going on?” She speaks quickly as if moving forward is the fastest way to forget what her older brother has just walked in on. Ao’nung could not agree more. “Did you want me to braid your hair?” 

On occasion he invokes help from his sister to wrangle his curls or situate them into braids but after how you reacted to his new hairstyle last week….

“No more braids.” He takes a cautious step past the tied up flaps of her marui before clearing his throat. “I actually came for…advice.” 

Tsireya’s head whips up comically fast. Her wide blue eyes take in his strained expression with a wave of curiosity and interest. 

“As in, romantic advice?”

Ao’nung fights back a deep sigh, looking out past the entryway. There still is time to escape and leave all of this behind. 

“I suppose you could call it that.” 

Tsireya lets out an uncontained shriek of glee.

Eywa, he is already regretting this! 

“Oh my Eywa, finally!” Her carefully organized jewelry is now being shoved into random baskets and pushed to the side in haste. “Hold that thought! Just wait wait wait!”

Tsireya leaps to her feet and tugs him further into the marui before he has a second to protest. She draws the flaps closed before shoving at his shoulder so he is sitting down on the mat in the middle of the room. Finally, with little giggles she can not fight back and a tail that is flickering in excitement, she drops down on the mat in front of him. She kneels directly across and places her fidgeting hands on her lap. 

“Okay, I’m ready.” 

And ready she is with blown out eyes and ears perked to catch every sound he is about to make. 

“Well?”

“Tsireya,” he warns with a sigh.

“Alright alright. I’m calm. Very calm.” She makes a show of taking a deep breath even as her lips are fighting desperately not to stretch from ear to ear. It is not common practice for him to share details of his very personal romantic life with his sister. In fact, it is not practice at all, despite her offers. She means well but it has never felt natural to talk so openly about the intimate parts of his life, it still doesn’t. But this is his last resort. And Ao’nung won’t lose you simply because his pride bars him from taking the last lifeline extended. 

Ao’nung swallows down the lump in his throat and takes a long inhale through his nose. 

“I am encountering…obstacles.” 

“Alright,” Tisreya drawls slowly. “What kind of obstacles?” 

His ears draw flush against his hair. It’s ridiculous but he can’t fight the urge to shift his position or squirm. 

“I…well it is hard to explain exactly.” Dear Mother above, end his suffering now!

“How about you start from the beginning then? Tell me everything from the point where you think things started to shift.” 

He loves you. There is no other explanation because there is no universe where he would do this for anyone else. Still, Tsireya is surprisingly easier to talk to than he imagined. She takes in every scrambled piece of information that he gives her as if it is valuable evidence to piece this situation together. No matter how long it takes him to stumble through a story, she is there with patient eyes and prodding questions to keep him moving forward. 

And it takes forever. Stars above it takes forever to explain everything. It’s a miracle Tsireya has not told him to shut up yet. Even he is sick of hearing himself speak about this. He will never understand how you are able to ramble for so long when it’s this difficult. Ao’nung can only hope that no one is nearby to hear his humiliating attempts at expressing himself. 

“Okay but what exactly did she say?” 

Ao’nung groans and falls onto his back. He drops a thick arm over his eyes to block out the light. This is turning into a headache.

“I already told you. She says she understands.”

“Ao’nung, I need you to tell me exactly what she said. Word for word.” 

“Why does it matter? The point is that she won’t even let me within a ten foot radius of her. I haven’t seen her in days, Reya.”  

He feels her small hand rest upon his shoulder lightly in attempts to comfort. Tsireya would probably give him a hug the moment he would ask  but he can’t get himself to say the words. Sitting here and openly wallowing feels like accepting defeat and that is the last thing he wants to do. He came here to figure out what it will take to fix it, not to vent to his poor little sister about his stupidity. 

“It’s going to be okay, Nung. You just need to go about this delicately.”

He flops his arm off to the side and stares up at the ceiling.

“Delicately.” He repeats.

“Yeah you need to be gentle in how you go about this.”

“I am gentle.” He defends. If only she knew how gentle he has had to be this entire time. After all, taking care of a little thing like you requires a firm grip on his strength. 

“Not sure if I would list it as one of your strengths, big brother.” There is fondness in her tone even when he turns his head to huff at her. “I know you want to burst in and fix everything now but maybe it’s best to give her some time to process things.” 

“She doesn’t want to process it. She wants to run away.” He sternly corrects her. “I am being dropped as a suitor.” 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” 

The deadpan expression he sends only has Tsireya shifting for a moment before responding gently. “Look, I simply wish you had consulted me sooner. I mean I figured she wasn’t at the celebration because she was sick, but not inviting her? Ao’nung, that is absurd.” 

Tsireya smiles at him sadly but that does little to ease the blow. 

“It would have been a disaster. Whoever has spoken to her has already gotten into her head. Can you imagine what would have happened were she to experience our parent’s ire first hand? Or watched the clan whisper and gawk just for being next to me? No, I wouldn’t put her through that.” 

Silence stretches between them. Tsireya pats his shoulder before letting out a sigh. 

“You two just need to talk it out.”

“It’s difficult to speak to her when I am treated like an Akula trying to sink my teeth into her.” And then an idea sparks to the forefront of his mind. “She confides in others. Your suitor, in fact, is sure to know what is going through her mind.”

Ao’nung wrenches himself back into an upright position but Tsireya already is pushing at his chest. “No, Ao’nung. That is not a good idea.”

“Why not?” His hairless brows knit together. Why not try every avenue at this point? Surely at least one is bound to yield results. 

“Because you two have not exactly been friendly as of recently. So stomping over and demanding answers from him is only bound to cause more trouble than help. For both of our sakes, keep a bit of distance. Please.” 

Ao’nung shoulders draw slack. Tsireya has always been so supportive and sweet, sometimes to a fault when it comes to others taking advantage of that kindness. Understanding her infinite capacity for goodness may not be within his ability but it does mean she deserves kindness in return. So, if his little sister is asking this of him, he will oblige. No matter how reluctantly. 

“Fine.” 

This time Tsireya does not wait for permission before wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. His own response is lagged but Ao’nung places a hand at her back and tries not to think about how badly he needs this. “The two of you will talk it out. I know it. Just try to be patient, give her some time to come to you.” 

Ao’nung has every intention of listening to his sister’s words. And for a couple days he is successful, for the most part. But that was before he knew what he would come home to. Because three days later, after a grueling training and snipping at new hunters who can’t listen to one simple direction, he steps into his marui with worn limbs and a heavy heart only to not recognize it. 

It’s gone. 

Every single one of your possessions is missing. From the tiny figures to extra blankets to even spare clothes that you have left at his place. All trace of you has vanished. In fact, even your scent isn’t here which means that one of the Sully brothers, perhaps both, came in to retrieve your things for you. 

Ao’nung’s blood runs cold. Blue eyes take in the new emptiness that is his home, only hunting gear, the essentials, and a few draped pieces of fabric he had initially put up to lure you that first night. 

That first night….

This entire situation is giving him deja vu. You’re avoiding him. The Sully brothers getting in the middle of his efforts. His marui changing drastically. All of this he has experienced before, yet this time it is so much worse. But if this really is like last time, then there is still one tactic he has not used. A tried and true classic that had you knocking at his marui in that pretty little nightgown. 

Ao’nung storms out of his marui and makes a beeline for the outpost. 

Tsireya may think that this will be solved with patience but it’s clear that you're far too stubborn for that. No, it’s time that he takes things into his own hands. Or rather, one thing in particular.

He makes it to the outpost in record time, ignoring the way tawtute drinking coffee at the entrance instantly scatter at the sight of him. They are irrelevant. He has come for one thing and one thing only. Your room is slightly worse for wear now that you have more stuff to cram it with. It’s clear that your repossession of items could have only occurred a few hours ago, planning it specifically for when he would be busy and out of his marui. 

Parting a path to your bed Ao’nung gets straight to work. 

Sheets fall to the wayside as he digs through the small pile of stuffed animals. It is only when he recognizes a tiny pink dress that he tugs on it and finds your stuffed little bunny. He almost smiles at the sight of it. Like an old friend he remembers. More accurately a familiar captive that had earned him your attention in the first place. 

Tsireya would scold him for playing dirty but you started it, precious. If only you had taken the time to talk to him, given him a chance to explain. But no matter, if he has to use your bunny as bait to have you shuffling towards his marui once more, Ao’nung has no problem with that. 

Satisfied with his successful loot he turns around with the small bunny in hand, ready to leave. But a small light catches his attention. The little on your sewing machine in fact. You are always so careful to not leave that plugged in. Fabric is still caught under the weird stick holding it down and another piece of fabric is only half pinned into place. 

This would only have been sitting like this for a few minutes, meaning you are not far away. Or perhaps you didn’t leave at all. Ao’nung whips around at lightning speed and sure enough there you are trying to backtrack into the hallway silently. A small squeak escapes you when his blue eyes catch you and you freeze in place. 

His training schedule has changed. Something you would not have known since you haven’t talked in a week and so here you are, foolishly believing you would be safe from his perusal today. Finally Eywa has shown good luck upon him. 

“Ao’nung um…hi…I was actually about to-”

Ao’nung is swift, acting before you come up with some excuse or try to sprint from him again. Of course, this time he would easily have the advantage. One arm swoops around your waist to pull you further into the room while his left hand, bunny still pinched between two fingers, closes your silly little door. Your stumbling gives him the perfect moment to station himself in front of the door instead. 

He came to capture a stuffed bunny but you are far more appealing of a prize. 

“Hey! Ao’nung you can’t just…is that my bunny?” Your tiny brows stitch together, a hand reaching out to grab it from him but he swiftly tucks it out of reach. 

Fuck, you are stunning tonight. In a silky little babydoll dress, as you call it, with lace trim and your hair tied up into a bun with a ribbon. It’s been far too long. So long that half of his brain is seeking darker places rather than focusing on the conversation he needs to be having with you now. But it’s been a week. A week since he has had a whiff of your scent. A week since he has admired your squishy little curves or tangled his hand in your strange colored hair. Even watching your face scrunch in annoyance is a beautiful sight to witness. 

Who cares if that annoyance is him. 

“You moved your stuff back,” he accuses. Nails dig into the toy’s fake fur all in effort of keeping himself  from touching you. 

“Well yeah, as you said it’s my stuff.” Your arms cross and you shift from foot to foot, refusing to meet his eyes. He’s made you nervous. Try and hide it  you might, but you’ve come to display yourself as an open book to him. Lying is by no means a strong skill of yours. 

“And so you send the Sully’s to break in and get it back?”

There is a beat where your mouth simply parts and all you can do is scoff in disbelief. 

“I thought I was doing you a favor, getting it out of your way,” you defend, tone sharpening by the second.

“Out of my way?” 

“Are you seriously mad at me right now?” You may not have a tail or moving ears to give you away but the way your little brows shoot up and ears turn red tells him he is entering dangerous territory. And yet, he would much rather be there for as long as it takes if it means no longer being isolated from you.

“Mad isn’t quite the word I would use, sevin.” 

Frustrated, eager, desperate, positively aroused. There are a lot of words one could use to describe his feelings right now. 

“Stop calling me that. Oh my god you are so ridiculous…I just…agh!” Your small hands throw up in the air, your face quickly coming to match the shade of your bunny’s dress. “I can’t do this right now! Get out!”

Now it’s his turn to raise his brows and stare down at you in disbelief. He has spent the last week trying to get into the same room as you. Do you really think that one little pout is enough to make him back down now? 

“I said get out!” Voice raised to a much higher decibel than he has ever heard from you, outside of orgasmic screeching, Ao’nung’s ears perk forward. Suddenly your soft little hands are planting at his lower abdomen as you attempt to push him towards the door. “Out!”

Ao’nung doesn’t have to so much as shift his feet to keep himself in place. Meanwhile you start pushing at his stomach, using your entire body weight as your feet scrape at the floor desperately. He bites his bottom lip. You would roast him alive were he to acknowledge how adorable this little resistance of yours is. And stars above, it is pathetic to even inwardly recognize how much he enjoys feeling your hands on him again. Even when scratching, hitting, and pushing at him in violence, no other touch is as soft and intoxicating as yours. 

Not to mention your dangerously close to lower territory that he is anxiously trying to keep in check. If he pops a boner right now you are going to kill him, or at least try to. At the end of the day it really is your fault though, precious. You’ve deprived him for so long, how is he not supposed to be driven mad by your absence? He never asked to become addicted to you. He never thought he would feel such feral need for a woman but you have twisted his life into something entirely unrecognizable and now here he is, prepared to beg you to flip it upside down all over again. 

“Let me know when you are finished.” 

It comes all too soon, unfortunately. Reeling back with a huff, you glare up at him. A few strands of hair have escaped your bun and now curl against your beautiful face. You are positively flustered and wholeheartedly the center of his desires. 

“I don’t want to talk right now, Ao’nung.” 

“Tough, I do.” He mirrors the way you cross your arms. Two can play at this game. The stuffed plushy is squished into the crook of his elbow and your pretty eyes flicker to it for a moment. To think he is back to being second place to an inanimate object. This is truly the worst way to find he is back to square one. 

“I don’t have anything to say,” You whisper. 

“Well I have plenty so maybe I will talk your ear off for once.” He had meant for it to come out with fondness but instead it digs enough to send you walking to the other side of the room.

“Be my guest,” You mutter before plopping down in front of your sewing machine. 

Truthfully, this is not how Ao’nung saw this playing out. It is only now that he realizes how much he had banked on you spilling all of your concerns and doubts to him so he could soothe them away. You’ve always had a way of making conversation easy. Now, it is just him. Stupid plushy in hand and the entire floor to himself. 

“You did not have to leave.” Throat run dry, he can’t find anything else to say. 

You sigh. “I was just trying to make this easier on both of us, Ao’nung. I didn’t want to be in your way anymore. Thought you might actually be grateful to get me out of your hair.” Thread twists between your fingers. You aren’t even trying to make a show of continuing your project. 

“In my way…” he trails off. Perhaps it is the fact that you are a tawtute or maybe he really does not understand women as well as he thought, but you truly have a way of speaking that riddles his mind. “Precious, whatever they told you. It does not mean anything.” 

You spin in your chair to face him fully. Mouth agape, you're ready to rip him a new one. “Doesn’t mean anything? Of course it does! Were you really never going to tell me yourself?”

Tell you himself? Tell you what? Tell you that half the clan doesn’t approve of his relationship with you? Tell you that even his own parents are giving him alternative options in hopes of splitting you two apart? Why, by the stars above, would he ever crush you like that?

Speech escapes him but you are already on a roll. 

“No one had to tell me anything, Ao’nung. Your actions spoke for themselves. Shutting me away, doing everything in your power to keep your friends and family from meeting me, lying about the mating celebration, dancing with that woman-”

“You saw that?”

A scoff bristles from your throat. 

“It really doesn’t matter what I saw. The point is, you never had the decency to tell me this was over!” 

Shit.

Ao’nung’s lips part as his brain tries to catch up. 

“Over…?”

“Or should I say instead, tell me what this was in the first place! Because maybe, just maybe, if I had known that this was all casual, I wouldn’t have made an entire fool of myself by falling in love with you!” That last line bounces from the walls. No doubt every tawtute in the outpost hears your shout, your chest heaving to take in air as your lips part like you’ve said something wrong. 

Ao’nung’s own heart skips a beat. 

“You love me?”

With a groan of despair you throw both hands over your face. Anger deflating with your shoulders, that tough exterior melts away into a countenance he recognizes far more from you. Still, not one he can truly appreciate when it means he is the source of your heartache. Stars, he is such a skxawng! No one has talked to you. No one has messed this up besides him. He is the center of your doubt. 

“Precious-”

“You know, I never deluded myself into thinking you were going to take a tawtute as a mate but, god, I at least thought you were my boyfriend. That we had something like a real relationship.” Your hands drop and Ao’nung’s head rears back with his muzzle crinkled.

“Boy friend? Do you sleep with your boy friends? Do they touch you the way I do?” He’s getting a migraine. Just when he thought you could not possibly throw his world off axis anymore than it is, here you are insisting you are friends? 

“No Ao’nung, that is not….” You sigh and dig your fingers through your hair. He can tell you are already praying for the patience it will take to get through this conversation. It’s not fast enough though. Because there is no way he is about to go another second as your friend without doing anything about it. 

“I have no interest in being your boy friend, precious. Let us make that perfectly clear.” He squats onto his haunches. Both hands settle at your knees and Ao’nung ducks his head until you are forced to meet his gaze. “I will not be your friend and I will not be just another man that walks into your life. That never has been and never will be my intention.” 

Every word is spoken with intention and a weight that has you staring back at him with wide eyes and baited breath. He finally has your attention, good. 

“All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be mine.” 

Your eyes frantically shift back and forth as if trying to process his words. 

“So then why keep me hidden? Why lie to me about the party? Would it have been that awful to be seen with me there?”

Ao’nung is already aggressively shaking his head before you are even finished. 

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it? Why were you so hell bent on not letting me come?” 

“Because it would have ruined everything!” His voice raises far louder than he means to but every second that passes with you not understanding is like trying to breathe underwater. And Ao’nung is finally ready to reach the surface. “You do not understand the backlash,” he huffs out a harsh breath, “the things they say, sevin. They are not for your ears. And I knew that were I to bring you they would break your heart and then we would never have a chance.” 

“A chance…”

“You would come to realize the hardships that come with being mine and that would poison this courtship. Their judgment would rip you away from me before we would have a chance to mate. Before I could even get the situation under control.” 

His chest now heaving, Ao’nung lets the truth hang in the balance. And hang it does, as you sit there in dumbfounded silence. His hands absentmindedly squeeze at your knees. 

“Mate,” You whisper, eyes staring far off. 

Ao’nung’s nostrils flare, tail lashing back and forth in frustration. 

“Mate,” he repeats firmly. “As in, how do you say it in English…” Sharp teeth dig into his bottom lip. “Marriage.” the word is entirely foreign on his tongue and, knowing his luck, he has most likely said it wrong but he’s willing to say it in one hundred languages if that gets you to understand the depths of his feelings.

A broken laugh escapes you. “No, Ao’nung, I know what mating means but…you…you’re saying you want to mate with me?” 

May the ground open up and swallow him whole. How could that even be a question you have? 

“Why else would I be courting you?”

You blink back at him with big eyes. This is utterly humiliating. His pride takes a deep slashing and Ao’nung has to remember how to connect his tongue to his brain before speaking again. Has he truly failed so horribly in courting you that you haven’t even known that’s what he has been doing? Of course the sky people do many things differently but what else could they possibly be doing in courting that he has not successfully done? 

Which means there is nothing left to do. Nothing left but to cast his pride aside and plead his case.. Ao’nung takes your hands in his and finally drops all the way to his knees. 

“I do not claim to be a perfect man. I am not well versed in the ways of sky people and there are times where my judgment in certain scenarios is…lacking. I do not speak freely the way you do, precious, but I know I can do this. No one can protect you better than I can. No one yearns for your touch with the same intensity that I do. I will provide for you in every way that your heart may desire and more. You will not find another man more devoted, more capable of giving you what you deserve.”

You let out a tearful laugh as your eyes begin to sparkle. He can’t fathom what about this is amusing but Ao’nung basks in the way your small thumb now rubs over the back of his hand.

“Whatever display you require to prove this, I will present. Whatever skill I am lacking for your tawtute standards I will master it. Tell me what you want and it is yours. Just give me some time to prove it to you.” 

You’re caught between crying and letting out short little laughs. You wipe at your tears but Ao’nung beats you to it, thumb brushing them away. There are many different ways that you cry. Before meeting you he did not know there could be more than one, but with relentless hope he prays that this is one of your happy tears spells. 

Reluctantly, Ao’nung tries to implement Tsireya’s advice. Patience is a difficult thing for him, especially when this little sky demon holds his entire world in her hands and he’s desperately on his knees waiting to see which way things will turn. Praying that you are not about to cast him out forever. It’s clear that he has made more mistakes in his courting than he would have ever imagined but with any luck your tender heart will have mercy on him. 

Ao’nung’s hands run down to your hips as he rubs soothing circles with his thumbs there. He tries not to think about the likelihood of this being the last time he gets to touch you. To feel your squishy curves atop silky dresses or tattered lace. 

“You,” a hiccup interrupts your speech, “are such a skxawng.” 

An insult has never felt more rewarding with the way your amusement breaks into fondness. 

“I know.” He murmurs. Tentatively, he leans forward until his lips are brushing your left shoulder, ears folded back against his head. “But maybe you can still keep this skxawng around?” 

You breathe out a sound that is somewhere between a hiccup and a laugh. It’s so endearing it takes a formidable amount of self control to stop himself from sinking his teeth into you right here and now. 

“As if I have the strength to order you away.”

Ao’nung’s runs his nose up the side of your neck and jaw before you are once more face to face. He preens when you cup his face with your hand. It barely spans the width of his cheek. 

“You could have told me. You know you can tell me anything. I wouldn’t have shoved you away. I didn’t want to, I just thought I was setting you free.” 

“I’m happily bound, precious.” No longer able to stop himself, Ao’nung presses a kiss at the column of your throat tenderly. “Don’t ever free me again.” 

Ao’nung savors the way you finally melt against him. Your laugh is so much sweeter than your tears and your kiss far more exhilarating than he remembered. A shiver runs all the way down to the tip of his tail as your lips move against his own and he finally tastes the sweet nectars that he has been craving for a week. 

When the two of you finally break away it’s due to your weak lungs running out of air. He shuffles closer until his torso is spreading your thighs apart and he can settle happily beneath you. 

“You know, you can’t protect me from everything.” You say into his hair as he peppers your neck with soft kisses. 

“I can try.” He mouths against your smooth skin. Still, you won’t relent. 

“It doesn’t work that way. There will always be challenges that come when we are together but you can’t forge forward to face them alone while keeping me tucked away in a box.” When your fingers tug at the nap of his neck and he begrudgingly rears back. “I’ve lived my entire life on this planet as an alien. This isn’t my first time experiencing prejudice.” 

That fuzzy feeling in his chest is tainted by the idea of you facing any sort of torment. Were the Omatikaya not welcoming? He had always figured their clan to be the most accepting of Sky Demons considering they have lived among them for so long. 

Your fingers trail across his shoulders in comforting strokes. “I can be tough too,” you whisper. 

And you are. In a way that Ao’nung has never seen from anyone else. War and hatred have always had a way of hardening people. No doubt it has built him into the man he is today and taught him how to work on the defense without showing weakness. But you have somehow managed to maintain your softness throughout all of these trials. You burst with passion and unbridled joy regardless of receiving first hand experience of others trying to dampen that light. Through it all, you chose to be vulnerable, to let that soft part of you thrive. And that may very well be the toughest thing Ao’nung has ever seen someone do. 

“No more secrets,” he whispers.

“No more hiding,” You vow. 

Ao’nung’s shoulders drop, as if a physical weight has lept from his shoulders. Your gentle touch smoothes that pain away, heals him from the inside out. Here, tucked in your strange room of frills and sweet daydreams, everything beyond the outpost doors drowns into background noise. He can envision a world where nothing matters besides the way you feel in his arms. The scent that now sends his head spinning. And the reassurance that Ao’nung has in fact not lost you forever. 

When his lips caress yours once more, it’s with a softness that he barely recognizes from himself. Now is the time to relearn you inside and out, to confirm that what has been running through his head are in fact memories,and not hopeless fantasies. When your fingers shyly fiddles with the curls at the nape of his neck, Ao’nung grins widely against your lips until his fangs are showing. Only you could hold his body and soul in your hands and still find reason to be nervous. 

You are the only woman he has ever kneeled for. That should be more than enough for you to understand how wholly you have destroyed him for any other, but still he feels the need to wash all of your doubts away. Whispered apologies pass between both of you. They pass in tandem with lips that press against his own with urgency and passion that make it feel like his veins are sparking with lightning. 

Suddenly, going slow loses all its appeal. 

He can memorize you over and over again until the sun rises and his father has to physically drag him away to his duties. But there is no promise he will survive another breath without your skin against his own. He needs to drink in the rampant beat of your heart, infiltrate every sense with your scent until it becomes the only fresh air he has ever known. A drug stronger than this, Ao’nung has never known, but neither has such insanity been more alluring. 

One tug to your hips has you falling from the chair straight onto his lap. Small hands scramble for something to hold onto, messily falling against his chest. Following your squeak of surprise, admonishments are on the tip of your tongue. Ao’nung swallows your protests before they can be uttered. You are more than free to give him a verbal lashing later when he has his head between your legs. For now, you are the air he breathes. 

In fact, you are the air beneath his wings, sending his head into a floating spin as he starts to sway. 

“Ao’nung!” You gasp and suddenly that ridiculous plastic mask is pushed at his muzzle. Despite his initial protests, there is no fighting you on this. Reluctantly, he must admit that the filtered oxygen does have a way of getting his head to stop spinning. 

Yet another reason, Ao’nung has never been a fan of the human’s metal cave. The sterilized air is a nuisance and one more thing keeping him from devouring you whole. 

Rolling his eyes, he tugs your wrist holding the plastic piece away. “Enough,” he grunts and dives back in. There is a war going on inside your head. The contrasting urges to scold him for being reckless and forget everything in favor of losing yourself in this kiss. Unfortunately, your worry for his wellbeing wins out. Soft hands push at his shoulders and you give him a glare that is undermined by the site of your sweet swollen lips. 

“I am not confident in my ability to drag a ten foot tall Na’vi to the infirmary.”

Laughter bursts freely from his chest. You feel its contagious effects too, even as you pout back at him and do everything in your power to fight the smile tugging at your lips. Wide grin putting his teeth on full display, Ao’nung makes no effort to dampen down his laughter as he finally takes the mask from your hand and sucks a breath in. 

After taking in a few breaths deep enough to suffice your worry, he draws your right hand  up over his shoulder followed by the other on the opposite side. With one smooth tug on your hips, he has you settled against him, ducking down so you two are nose to nose. 

“Then come home, precious.”

Your countenance warms even as you roll your eyes at him. Small brushes of your fingertips against his shoulder blades are send a shiver down his spine. It’s nice to know you missed touching him as much as he did you.

“You’re still calling it that, huh?” You jest.

“It’s where you belong. After all, half of the stuff in there was yours before you rudely moved it.” Cerulean eyes narrow but never lose their amused gleam. 

“Sleepover?” 

It’s Ao’nung’s turn now to roll his eyes. Of course you are still making the distinction between moving in and spending the night. Still, he’s is quick to answer. After a week sleeping alone he will take everything he can get at this point.

“Sleepover,” he confirms. 

You’ll yield someday. 

For once, Ao’nung does most of the talking. He asks about your sewing projects and gives his own report of what he has been up to over the past week. Responses that usually flow freely from your lips like an uncapped firehose, now barely trickle out. Your mind is elsewhere as you follow him down the familiar path to his marui. 

In fact it is fixated on one idea you had never dared to let yourself dream of. 

Mating. 

And not just with anyone, but Ao’nung, the future Olo’eyktan no less. If you had been told four months ago that your relocation to Metkayina waters would result in this you would have laughed at the fantasy of it all. That falls under the types of delusions you save for your journal and little daydreams to help you fall asleep. Even as the biggest starry eyed dreamer you know, that concept was never one to cross your mind as a possible reality.  

Yet here you are, stumbling along with your left hand fully dwarfed by one of swirling turquoise skin, pajamas and toiletries in your right, mind reeling over the proposal that has been dropped at your feet. 

Marriage is not a synonym for mating. Ao’nung’s use of that translation only reflects his poor understanding of English, but you know better. Marriage is a certificate,a piece of paper that can be broken by just another piece of paper called divorce. Mating on the other hand is an agreement of souls, something that is recognized beyond the material and set in stone by a Goddess above. Tsaheylu is a bond that can not be broken, one that you do not even have the ability to make without a kuru. 

Regardless, Ao’nung asks for the same terms and conditions. This is far beyond a fun time or summer fling. This is for life. Even for a union beyond the veil of death. You are on the brink of another spiral, all due to the mental gymnastics it takes to wrap your head around this concept.

Yet low and behold, here Ao’nung strolls with a wide grin and the ease of someone taking an afternoon stroll, not a man who has offered to tether his life to a tawtute. Even his tail swishes lazily behind him as he adjust cluster of bedding and trinkets in his arms, glaring down at your little bunny occasionally but still making sure it is not close from falling out and - fuck! You love this man.

There is no way to deny it. You would tie yourself to him in any and every way he would ask and you’re tired of questioning the sensibility of that urge. Mating, marriage, fucking blood oath at this point, it does not matter. You yearn to stay by his side forever. 

Ao’nung is brash and bold, and has a skull thick enough to require bashing in every now and then to knock some sense into him, but he is your idiot. You want to be the one rolling your eyes at his antics and tugging at his tail to bring false promises of behaving from his lips. Until the very end of your days, that is what you desire. 

Neck craning, your eyes trace over the curve of his nose, mapping out the infectious grin that brings a mischievous sparkle to his crystal blue eyes. Ao’nung likes to think of himself as an immovable force unaffected, like the great cliffs that do not turn with the tide. But you know better. His greatest strength is not his unyielding nature, but rather the fierce heart that beats beneath that tough exterior. He fights for the ones he loves, for his home, his people with a tenacity that is unmatched by anyone you have ever known. 

You’re tired of dreaming of what could have been in distant worlds. There’s no need to when your future is brighter than all of those far off tales combined. You’re ready to wake up and clasp what is right before you.

“Remember to blink.” 

“Hu-what?” You sputter as Ao’nung grin sharpens.

Blue eyes suddenly widen and flash at you in mimicked display of the way you’ve been owlishly peeping at him. It startles a little laugh from your throat. The sound only heightens when he adds, “You were the one that taught me staring is rude, precious.” 

Ao’nung gives a sharp tug on the small hand intertwined with his own. It sends you stumbling forward a few steps and successfully molding against his side. God, you have never met a man who acts more touch starved than the one right before you. 

“Considering how much you enjoy attention, I figured I would be pardoned for such an offense.”

“Wrong again, oeyӓ tawtute.” And that is all the warning you receive before Ao’nung snatches away your toiletries and uses his free arm to hoist you over his shoulder. Your hands clamber for purchase against his spine, but you know that there is no danger of being dropped. The real threat, however, is the hemline of your very short dress that is one mild breeze away from exposing your entire ass. 

“Ao’nung!” You gasp.

“Your short legs were slowing us down, sevin.” That boisterous laughter is far too contagious. It wedges little giggles between your pleas to be released and regain some sort of dignity. 

“Put me down! This is not the dress for this.” 

Of course, you’ve learned nothing over the past few months as you’ve expertly drawn his attention towards his next source of amusement. Your hands fight to reach back and tug at the soft hem but it’s no use. The ocean breeze already strokes over your thin panties, followed by a warm hand that smoothes over the curve of your cheeks. 

Blood  is already rushing to your head. You pin point that as the obvious source of the giggling fit that will not ease from your chest. A matter that is only made worse as Ao’nung openly gropes your exposed buttocks for anyone to see. Your laughter rickets into a screech when there is a sudden prick on the left cheek and you realize that this skxawng has actually nipped at the flesh with his teeth. 

“Hey!”

“If you’re so worried about your modesty, I suggest not making so much noise.” His tone is laced with smug pride. Now that the two of you are reunited, it seems his only focus is on planting you right back ‘where you belong’, as he puts it. 

Undoubtedly, this makes for a peculiar scene for any Na’vi in sight. Tawtute over their future Olo’eyktan’s right shoulder while his other arm is cinched around frills and trinkets they could not fathom understanding. It’s ridiculous even to your standards, but Ao’nung walks out in the open without a care. You’re not sure if this change has come in efforts of keeping his new promise or if he’s simply indisposed from making up to care. Either way, it settles a fondness in your chest that is impossible to ignore when, truly, you should feel embarrassed. 

Lucky for you, there are only a few stragglers. Adults pulling in nets or teens sneaking back into their family’s marui after drinking down on the west beach. Everyone else is too concerned with their own business to give the two of you a second glance. 

When Ao’nung finally sets you back on his feet he does not hand back your things. Of course, being the thief that he is, you expect nothing less. Instead he sets about putting things back into their place as your eyes sweep over his home.

It truly does feel bare without all of your silly touches. In fact, you had not realized how many things Ao’nung had managed to smuggle from your room until seeing his home now with everything gone. There are still a few purple drapes and seaglass trinkets he has carved for you over the past few months, but besides that, the space  is nothing but functional. Fire pit in the corner, weaponry stacked on one side, a saddle hanging just outside the entrance to dry, and other essentials that hold no extra frill or pizazz. 

Lo’ak was the one who offered to break in and steal your stuff back, so you never had a chance to take in what a stark contrast your absence would create. No wonder Ao’nung had stomped over to the outpost immediately. This shell of a home is the perfect external show of what you have internally been feeling over the last week. Hollow and bare. 

However, it had never occurred to you that he would be suffering too. Not when you had envisioned him preparing for mating season and thinking of brighter pastures ahead. 

It’s a bittersweet realization to come to, seeing now that he yearns for you just as much as you do him. That he had been in agony too. 

Padding across the room barefoot, you watch the way he fusses with the covers and places your bunny in the center before moving on to shove a handful of your calico critter figurines on the nearest shelf. A short breath flares from his nose. He tilts his head to the side for one second before seeming to decide it’s worth perching each creature on their feet after all. 

He works with urgency, as if that would somehow erase their original absence in the first place. Perhaps he too is more than desperate to put this entire misunderstanding behind him. 

Slowly you curve a hand down each vertebrae of his spine. Or at least, from the top of where you can actually reach. Swift ears peek up from between dark curls and Ao’nung falters slightly from his task at hand. Your fingers map out the bioluminescent freckles, jumping from one to the other like it’s Connect the Dots. The action soothes the giant of a man before you, his tail dropping down to a lazy drawl as his shoulders unwind. 

You brush over his hips and toy with the dangling strings securing his tewng. There is no rhyme or reason to your touch besides enjoying proximity once more. Lacking Ao’nung’s confidence, you are not often the one to initiate intimacy, at least not in ways that are so forward. So for once, Ao’nung refrains from teasing you or provoking a blush. He holds a steady and careful demeanor, as if worried that a sudden wrong move would make you realize your own boldness and scatter away. 

You bask in the feel of velvety soft skin covering hardened muscle and bones that make yours seem like thin twigs. Your left hand pinches a few long curls between your fingers and you smile at the perfect way one strand wraps around your thumb. Ao’nung lets out a breath when you rest your forehead against his spine and begin drawing patterns with the tip of your finger down to the base of his tail. 

Ao’nung has always encouraged this type of exploration but you often hesitate with the fear of doing something wrong at the forefront of your mind. This is your first time being with a Na’vi. Although you've lived your whole life on Pandora, you still find yourself lacking when it comes to understanding their cultures and costumes fully. You know nothing of what it is like to have a tail, and so you’ve operated your whole life cautiously keeping a respectful distance from what you don’t understand. 

Tonight, you allow yourself the luxury of escaping such fear. 

All that matters now is feeling him close. Refamiliarizing yourself with every part of him until this feels real. Until you can fully grasp the concept of him being yours. Of never being alone again. Of waking up every morning to his devious smile and honest eyes that have captured you, body and soul. 

Fascination bleeds into every gentle touch along his wide appendage, watching the way it swishes and curves with expression you have not fully come to understand yet. When you wrap your hand around the underside, closer to the base, Ao’nung lets out the softest groan and cranes his head back. Doing so drops the end of his kuru further down his spine, therefore drawing your attention to it. 

Logic has gone offline as you become entirely enthralled by the way dancing tendrils just barely peak out from his braid. This is the most sacred part of a Na’vi. It is how they connect to the world and each other in a bond that you’ve spent your whole life trying to conceptualize. Consequently, this renders the appendage extremely sensitive as well. Now, however, you’ve thrown fear of retribution aside in favor of satisfying your curiosity. 

And so without any warning, you abandon his tail suddenly and reach out one digit to let swipe through a few of those tendrils. 

Ao’nung’s response is instant. His entire body wakes with the intensity of one being shocked by electricity. A sound that is a strange mixture of a hiss and gasp wrenches from his lips and his tail wakes to the right so hard you almost get knocked over by it. That’s enough to disconnect your fingers from the sensitive area and Ao’nung keens forward with a dramatic exhale. 

He takes a moment to brace his arms against the marui walls and lean his forehead against them. All of the trinkets he had so carefully been situating are now toppled to the floor in a pile. 

“Yawne [sweetheart/love],” he exhales and it’s so stripped down from his usual rich timber that the sound sends a shiver down your spine. The shock of it all finally has your inhibitions returning as you come to realize that you might have actually hurt him. Or at least made him uncomfortable in some way. 

A sputter of apologies start to rain from you endlessly but before any of it can start to make sense, there is a large body encompassing yours. Ao’nung pins you against the opposite wall and swallows every regret that you voice with absolute vicious fervency. Taking in air becomes a real struggle, especially when his lips are quickly dragging you down to the depths of insanity. 

Only when Ao’nung switches to littering your throat with open mouthed kisses do you have a chance to take in oxygen. 

“Warn me next time, sevin.” He murmurs against your pulse. 

A distant part of you recognizes the need to say something, most likely apologize, but that part is fading further and further away the longer you remain trapped in his embrace. Ao’nung surrounds every sense, even blocking out the moonlight coming through the flap entrance with his silhouette. 

“S-sorry I-”

“Don’t apologize,” he nips at your ear. 

Any other time you would press him to explain this reaction. Break it down for you until the intricacies of Na’vi anatomy and their consequences make sense. But now the only thing that takes up space in your mind is the hands on your hips, the curls that tickle at your neck, any and every part of him that makes contact. Finger latching behind his neck, you encourage the onslaught or marks and bites that are sure to be staining your skin already. 

“I missed you,” just a breath that is barely enunciated, but Ao’nung hears it. Ears straight and head finally rearing back, he looks you in the eye. Something is slowly settling in his features. His chest rises and falls with heavy breath and his nostrils flare as he appears to be talking himself back from going entirely feral. You can see the moment he reigns himself in.

The hand right next to your head slowly comes down to brush your bottom lip with his thumb. “You won’t ever need to again.” For a moment the heat of desire burns into something deeper. Ao’nung speaks in a manner almost reverent and it is cast with a vulnerability you have known from him before. 

Large hands curve down the sides of your chest and waist before settling at your hips. He toys with the soft blue fabric of your dress but surprisingly does not bunch it up, at least not yet. Your eyes are drawn to the way his throat bobs as you softly twist the baby curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Let me show you how much I have missed you, paskalin.” 

You know exactly what he means. The offer is less than subtle but it lacks the lofty confidence you are used to hearing from him. It comes out as a plea. Your heart feels as if it could burst from the enclosure of your ribcage. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

When his lips touch your skin again, it is softer. Small pecks that adorn little places you had never paid much attention to before. The dip of your collarbone, the curve of your elbow, the inside of your right wrist. So gentle and sweet that it somehow feels more intimate than the carnal claiming you had experienced mere moments before. Ao’nung drops to his knees in order to lessen the height difference. One hand pushing at the hem of your dress, he exposes your stomach to leave tender kisses there, another one at your hipbone. 

In the dirty books you read there have always been mentions of worshipping a lover physically. In writing it had seemed far fetched and corny but perhaps this is what they had meant. You can tell from the tent in his loincloth that holding himself back like this must be excruciating but reaching a high is not what occupies Ao’nung’s mind. His sole purpose resides in making you feel seen, making you feel loved. 

And that digs at a part of you so soft and raw that you have to blink back tears from your eyes. 

Desperately, you search for some way to return the gesture. Sexual prowess has always been more of Ao’nung’s strong suit than your own, but you grapple for something, anything that will show his devotion is appreciated. Still praying that he won’t look up and notice your shiny eyes, your small hands smooth over his shoulders, neck, hair, any place you can reach. It is uncoordinated and far less intentional than Ao’nung’s own touch. 

Comfort, however, is found in his subtle response. His shoulders drop and tail slows into curving smoothly against his ankle. The hands at your hips travel down the back of your legs and you can feel his smile against your upper thigh now. 

The two of you slowly fall back into a familiar rhythm. Whatever hesitancy had briefly riddled you before has left along with Ao’nung’s need to peek up at you in search of permission periodically. With your blunt nails carefully scraping over his scalp until his ears are twitching, Ao’nung lets his large hands wander without restraint. When they carve a path up the vulnerable flesh of your inner thigh, you are unable to stop the drip of heat to your core. 

You’ve been around Na’vi long enough to know that he can smell your potent arousal. 

With a featherlight touch he skates atop the rounded flesh at the top of your thighs before hooking a thumb under each side of your panties’ waistband. The thin piece of fabric against your cunt is wet enough to stick to you for a moment before disconnecting and sliding down your legs. Ao’nung manually lifts your right foot up then your left so he can fish out the delicate garment. 

You can tell just from the wolfish smile and sparkle in his eyes that he treats this as a pretty treasure he has foraged. 

“And am I ever going to get that back?” You raise a brow at him when tucks it into the pouch at his belt. The Metkayina male is anything but apologetic as he looks up at you through thick lashes. 

“We can talk about negotiating a trade later, yawntutsyip [darling/little loved one].” 

Ao’nung barks out a small laugh when you tug at the roots of his curls in reprimand. He knows there is no real ire there, despite the way you scrunch your nose at him and glare. Keeping up the act becomes impossible the moment his lips are ascending your legs once more. Anticipation curls at the base of your stomach. 

If there is one thing you can attest to from first hand experience, it is that Ao’nung is expertly skilled in the way of pleasing a woman with his mouth. You’re not sure if this is a common skill among the Metkayina due to their breathhold ability, or if it's something unique to your lover, but either way, he has made you an addict to it through and through. 

“I like it better like this,” Ao’nung mouths at your hipbone. 

Your mind stalls for a moment, trying to understand what he means. Finally you huff out an unbelieving laugh before asking, “the dress?” 

“Mm yes,” He hums as his left hand traces up the back of your thigh until reaching your ass. “Easy access.” That devilish smirk is pressed right at your navel, mere inches away from where you desire him most. Ao’nung’s head is trapped beneath your skirt but you continue to dig your nails against his scalp. He purrs at the sensation and you bite back a laugh at the way his tail practically thumps at the ground. 

“So easy to flip this skirt up and find my favorite place.” His words send your own mind spiraling to filthy scenarios. “Could fuck this pretty pussy without even taking it off.” 

It is entirely unfair how aware Ao’nung is of your weaknesses. Within the first night of you two being together he had discovered the effect dirty words had on you and now it has become his favorite pastime. tantalizing you with words so filthy it has your pussy clenching around nothing. Still, Ao’nung is the biggest tease you know as he presses the smallest kisses to your clit. 

This is a weapon he wields without mercy. 

Growing impatient, you push at his head with all of your strength. Of course that means nothing when you are wrestling with a ten foot alien, but it does draw a dark chuckle from him. That sound continues when his lips latch around your entire pussy, those vibrations shooting straight to your core. 

The hand at your ass steadies you in place graciously as you fight not to hump against his face. It’s ridiculous how only one week apart has already turned you into a ravenous little thing. No other lover has made you crave them so thoroughly, but this reaction is one so innate, carved so deep into your bones, that you could not hold it back if you tried. 

Ao’nung’s rough tongue brings you to the edge of an orgasm in record time. So fast in fact, that your thighs clench around his head and you will every part of you not to let go so easily. Not only is it borderline embarrassing, but you’ve learned the importance of keeping Ao’nung’s ego in check. 

Of course the Metkayina prince is having none of that. Utilizing the difference in size and strength, he pries your legs apart and buries his face into your pussy until his tongue has managed to bully its way into your hole. Pistoning in out, that trained muscle alone finds a way to reach that sweet spongy spot inside until you are seeing stars. Ao’nung brings a thumb to your clit when you start to scream. 

Thighs quivering and pussy cinching around his tongue, your release leaves you entirely floored. White hot pleasure bursts from every nerve and your nails dig into his scalp in a far less affectionate manner now. He rides you through it with persistent rubbing at your clit and tongue working as if he is trying to carve you out from the inside out. 

It should leave you satisfied. Most of the time you require a moment to bask in the afterglow before feeling desire coil in your gut once more but it seems that your body has missed him in a way you greatly underestimated. That feral need eats at you from the inside out and suddenly he is much too far away. You need to feel his naked skin against your own. Kiss, touch, lick, and feel every inch of his star speckled skin until there is not a breath of space between you. 

You shove his head away unexpectedly. 

“Rude. I wasn’t done-”

Ao’nung protests die on his tongue when your blue dress falls away and his eyes land on your bare breasts. Alien or not, a man is a man. 

Legs still shaking from the after effects of being brought to heaven and back, you messily situate yourself on his lap. Considering the size difference and how thick Ao’nung’s corded thighs are, it is a stretch to fit a leg on either side but that only opens you up even more for him. Something that Ao’nung wastes no time in taking advantage of. One hand slots itself at the juncture of your thighs while the other shamelessly gropes at your naked breasts. 

You’re borderline delirious, worked up to a point you can’t pull yourself back from. Maybe it’s the time apart. Maybe it’s the fact that you know Ao’nung could be yours forever if you only say the word. Whatever the case may be, there is a yearning stirring within you that can only be tamed by him. You want him in every way that a person can want another. And that means no more going halfway or finding alternative ways to pleasure one another. 

You need him inside you. 

You need to mate. 

Eywa must be a merciful goddess because Ao’nung already starts prodding a digit at your sopping entrance. Your pelvis shifts forward to encourage him and the male simply grins against your ear. “My demanding little tawtute.” 

You’re too busy trying to suck a mark into the beautiful skin of his neck to respond. You choose a spot just atop the winding black ink of one of his tattoos. Unfortunately, the added apparel of such ink does make discoloring his skin far less noticeable, but you are up for the challenge. Even when you mark with him your teeth, those little indents go away after a day or so. 

The prince throws his head back in clear offering as a self satisfied smirk dances over his lips. Your attention is rewarded with a strong hand kneading at your right breast before pinching at your sensitive nipple. It sends a shot of electricity straight to your core as one digit finally starts to sink in. 

Ao’nung is far more careful than you have the patience for today. Naturally even one finger is a stretch that makes your breath shutter, but you can’t be damned with the logistics at this point. All you know is that he needs to make quick work of stretching you out so that you can finally feel him inside of you. 

“More Nung…I need more.” You exhale the second your pussy finally sinks over the last knuckle.

“Shh mawey, sevin. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Your teeth latch at the skin of his collarbone to punish, but that action backfires when his chest rumbles with a chuckle and he delights in the slight sting. It’s unclear what the hold up is. Ao’nung may tease but you can feel his desperation just as vividly as your own. His tewng strains at trying to keep his erection concealed and his pupils are blown out with a hunger you know means he is on the verge ruining you for the rest of the night. 

So why hold back? 

Why, when you're naked and wet and grinding against his fingers, is he trying to be a gentleman and take things slow now? 

He curls a finger against your sweet spot in practiced motion and it’s enough to distract you from the task at hand. Ao’nung coos at the way you tremble and claw at his shoulders, repeating the motion with his thumb rubbing at your clit now. Fuck, this man is going to drive you insane! He is quite literally the biggest tease you have ever met. If he doesn’t do something soon, you are determined to make him pay for it in any and every way you know how. 

That calloused thumb rubs circles against your clit in perfect synchrony with the digit that teases at your gummy walls. A climax is already on the brink of snapping again but right now that is not your primary focus. 

“Ao’nung please,” comes your begging as you clumsily try to undo the ties of his loincloth. As always his eyes brighten at the sound of your pleas. In fact you feel him twitch beneath the fabric. “I’m ready. I want you now. Always…forever…just please.” 

The pressure between your legs halts and Ao’nung’s chin raises to look at you properly. That smug aura is nowhere to be seen as his features contort into genuine inquiry. The very breath in his lungs still as he cups the side of your face. 

“Does this mean you accept?” Voice gravely with anticipation, Ao’nung stares back at you with every one of his senses dialed in. 

It feels like a ridiculous question, considering the way you’ve been clawing at him but it only strikes you then that you have not officially said it out loud. And you don’t know Metkayina customs or how this is supposed to go but you can sense that this is a vital milestone. 

“Yes, I accept.” Such a simple string of words to convey a monumental decision but the male snaps forward as if it is the most grandeur gesture he has ever received. He surges forward and captures your lips in a kiss that is mostly teeth with the way he grins against you. His happiness is infectious, dulling your need for one merciful moment as he switches to peppering kisses along every span of skin he can reach. 

“Want you forever,” You whisper but it may very well be lost on him as Ao’nung is drowned in smothering you with affection. 

“Oeyӓ muntxate [my mate/wife],” he repeats between little nips and kisses. “I will be good to you, precious.” 

A carefree little laugh slips from you at that. “I know,” you assure him. 

That vow seems to be one Ao’nung is eager to fulfill, evident by the way his fingers curl at your sweet spot again and this thumb rubs at you with renewed urgency. But this is not what you had in mind. 

“No Ao’nung, I’m stretched enough. Just put it in, please.” This time your fingers dig into the knot correctly and one side of his loincloth comes undone. Your glee falters when inquisitive eyes catch you.

Well, you should have known better. Ao’nung is a bossy male and the only thing he likes more than teasing you, is making you use your words when you can barely string a sentence together. 

“Fuck me.” 

Curt, short, and straight to the point; that is the best you can manage. 

It strikes through him with considerable force. Ocean blue eyes are swallowed by the black depths of his pupils and his hips ricket when you softly brush at his pelvis now uncovered. You couldn’t be more relieved to see this side of him come out to play. Finally, the two of you will be joined together. Ao’nung’s throat bobs. 

It strokes your pride a bit to see him so suddenly caught off guard at your order. Unlike him, you won’t tease him about it. Instead you opt to aid by reaching down to stark working on the ties of his tewng [loincloth] on the other side. Admittedly, there is a trickle of unease that comes when the fabric is stripped away and you are once more brought to face the size of him. 

Ao’nung is not only of a larger species than your own, but you are confident, well endowed even among the standards of the Metkayina. The length alone would be enough to reach the deepest part of you possible but that is not the real factor that scares you. It’s the width. 

Much like the rest of his broad frame, his cock is thick and burly. Just the bulbous head would stretch you beyond limits you have ever imagined. And then there are the ridges and bumps adorning his member with pretty tahini [star-like freckles] decorating it as well. There is not a greater contrast to your tiny soft pussy than this, but all you can think about is how wonderful those bumps would rub against your gummy walls. How perfectly he would fill you until there is no space left in you to claim, and then take more anyways. 

Logistics be damned, you’re ready now.

Yet right as you start to shift and get Ao’nung to withdraw his finger to make room for something much more desirable, wet digit exiting with a squelch, he grabs your wrist. 

“No.” 

That one syllable has never caught you more off guard. 

“What?”

“Not tonight, precious.” 

You gape for a moment and study his features for any sort of explanation to this joke. Since the beginning of your relationship this has been the end goal both of you have been looking forward to. And now that it’s here, now that he has professed his love and you yours and there is clear agreement that you are to be mated before Eywa, he says no? 

“Wha-what you do you mean? Why not?” 

“Well for starters, yawne, I would split you in half.” He nuzzles against your cheek with an amused grin that has your jaw clenching. 

“Now is not the time for teasing,” You whine into his neck. It feels like an inferno is about to burst inside of you and the proximity of his hard length sandwiched between your pelvis and his, is only making it worse. 

“I would never,” he nips at your earlobe. You exact your revenge by undulating your hips against him until he is biting back a groan. Even without reaching a hand down you can feel his cock throbbing against your soft tummy. 

“I’m being serious,” You stress.

“So am I. Hey hey, play nice.” Ao’nung’ scolding is paired with firm hands that halt your hips. In every other scenario his strength has been a source of delight and arousal, but now you find it the center of your frustration. There is no feasible way to fight against an alien that is double your size and engineered to take down enemies with one hand. 

At least, you have no chance of fighting against him physically. 

“There is a way to do these things, yawne.”

“I thought you said you were going to be good to me,” you pout and a surprised laugh rumbles from him. 

“My precious has teeth after all, don’t you?” 

You simply glare back at him when your next attempt to roll your hips and find some sort of friction for your aching cunt, is once more halted. 

“Be a good girl and take what I can give you now.” 

Sexual frustration has a way of fizzling all logical thoughts from your brain. That is what you blame on your next move. Because when one hand reaches for his cock while the other tugs at his kuru, it sends Ao’nung flipping like a coin on you. 

Within a blink you are sprawled out onto your back and pinned down by a heavy body that encompasses yours entirely. Your wrists are easily gathered by one of his hands and pressed above you into the floor. Legs remaining spread by the width of his torso, Ao’nung settles between there with a force that has your heart thumping wildly. 

“What did I just say, hm?” 

Dark curls hang down to frame his handsome face. With him caging you from above like this, you are forced to face him head on. A strange mixture of adrenaline and arousal mix together as you ponder on how easily he’s manhandled you. Mesmerized by the way he has you trapped against the marui floor by only using a small semblance of his strength. It turns your brain to mush, even as you hold on to the last fibers of stubbornness. 

“I want to be yours now.” You respond, ignoring his question. 

Fingers tighten around your wrist and Ao’nung eyes darken. 

“You are mine now.” He presses his other hand over your heart firmly. “Do you feel the way your heart picks up when you’re around me?” That very heart skips a beat as his hand travels down south. When he cups your pussy, a small moan escapes your lips. “Do you feel how wet and eager this pussy is for me?”

Eyes already starting to cross, you nod lazily at him. His middle finger softly curls to stroke up the center of you. 

“That is what it means to be mine.” His finger slides back down but doesn’t move again. He’s punishing you and it has a whimper catching in your throat. “You gave yourself to me a long time ago, tawtute.” 

“Then give yourself to me now,” you insist. Ao’nung rolls his eyes and his lips twitch in effort not to smile. He can say what he wants but you know that he is loving this. More often than not it is him stubbornly making demands. Sleeping at his marui. Taking swimming lessons. He has a knack for being bossy but he does not understand the depths of your persuasion as well. You know you can break him. Especially now as his cock lays heavily against your inner thigh with precum already leaking from the tip. 

Sooner or later he will have to snap. 

“I’m not as fragile as you think. I can take it.” 

That cracks the stern scowl from his face and he looks up to the sky as if ready to ask for patience from the Great Mother above. Hooking one leg over his thigh, you use that leverage to grind against the palm of his hand. 

“That is very cute, sevin.” Tone laced with dangerous amusement, he repeats this time only to himself, “very cute.” 

The man is only being logical but you’re borderline offended all the same. Desperation has your emotions going haywire and pouting at his audacity. So what if you’re a little small? People have done it before. You know they have. The Omatikaya have come quite a long ways when it comes to interspecies mating. Why should this be any different? 

Ao’nung catches the way your face scrunches up in protest. Eyes narrowing down at you, that smug smile returns before he is setting to work. Your stomach tangles into knots but there is no time to anticipate what devious plans have filled his brain because soon a thick digit is entering you once more while sharp teeth nip at your throat. 

This time Ao’nung is merciless with the curl of his finger. It works with a precision that is near damning as he pinpoints your weakest spot and focuses on that area until your eyes are rolling back. His thumb massages tight circles on your clit and your toes curl in response. 

The real kicker comes, however, when he starts thrusting that finger in and out at a pace that punches the very breath from your lungs. Mouth slack, a whine rings from you.  

“Is this what you mean, oeyӓ yawntutsyip?” His words are heated breath against your jaw, nuzzling his scent into your skin. “Taking one finger like a brave girl.” 

The marui fills with the sound of sloppy juices that are quickly coming to cover not only your thighs, but Ao’nung’s entire hand and wrist as well. Every time he plunges his finger back in, the heel of his hand bats at your small bundle of nerves. 

“Ao-Ao’nung,” you sputter his name into a moan. 

“I know, precious, I know,” he coos. Folding your fingers over the hand that holds your wrist, you search for something to ground yourself. Ao’nung flattens his hand so the palm is pressing your wrists down and his fingers can intertwine haphazardly with yours. “It’s a lot for this tiny pussy.”

You want to refute his point but how can you when your slick is coating down his hand and your walls already carry a satisfying ache from the stretch? The onslaught pauses for a moment and you gasp for air. But then there is a second finger posed at your entrance and you shiver with the inkling of what is to come. No matter which way he positions those two digits, it takes considerable effort to get the first knuckles in. 

With a vicelike grip, your pussy wraps around him and tries to push him out all at the same time. 

“You see, yawne? Your tawtute pussy is already struggling to take two fingers. Can you imagine what it would feel like to take my entire cock?”

You can and that thought is equal parts terrifying and intoxicating. Ao’nung soothes your cries with sweet words and gentle kisses as he sinks down to the second knuckle. The pressure is a constant between your legs and yet there is satisfaction to be found in the dull pain it leaves behind. It brings awareness to his presence. A reminder of how intimately you open up for him and only him. 

“I’d have you sobbing on my cock in seconds.” Ao’nung nuzzles at your collarbones. You faintly recognize that the male has never been so thorough in scent marking you before. 

“But-” the gasp ripped from you cuts off your complaints as those fingers finally fill to the hilt. He wastes no time in scissoring them back and forth to encourage further stretch. 

“You’re not ready for it. Not yet, yawntutsyip.” He kisses the corner of your lips. “But soon.” 

Dampness registers on your cheeks and only now do you realize that tears have slipped out. Not from pain but rather the overwhelming sensations that wrack your small body. Truthfully, you can not fathom what it would be like to take him now, even as everything within you yearns to find out. The length of his cock remains a heavy weight against your thigh that serves as a constant reminder of what will someday soon come. 

“Already crying just from my fingers,” Ao’nung teases but there is a tender fondness infused into his voice. “Sweet thing,” he whispers. 

You nod your head, although you’re not sure at what. Luckily this is taken as obedience and soon that submission is rewarded with mind numbing pleasure. Ao’nung works his fingers in and out of your pussy with the perfect undulations that have every nerve cell frying beyond repair. His thumbs traces teasing lines over your swollen lips and taps at your clit in random order until you can’t quite tell what is next. 

It feels like mere seconds before your voice is aching from the strain of your moans and blinding ecstasy is just within your reach. Reading your body signals like a language he has come to master, Ao’nung switches from teasing strokes at your clit to consistent swipes of his thumb that coordinate with that bundle of nerves being stroked from the inside as well. 

You fall apart for him without care. Blunt nails dug into his thick fingers and thighs trembling around his hips, release roars from every sensory point you can imagine. Sticky wetness pools between your thighs until it is coating your inner thighs. 

He rides you through it until sensitivity has you flinching. 

“Good girl,” he purrs into your splayed hair. Your head drops back to the floor with a sigh and only then do you notice that there is no longer a force holding your hands above you. They are nothing but limp limbs at this point. 

You look down to find his right hand now wrapped around his cock in efforts of subduing the ache there. With the way he twitches and his balls hang heavy beneath his length, you start to wonder how much of the substance on your thighs is not your own spend but instead his precum that has dribbled out. 

“Ao’nung,” you call softly. 

He beckons immediately with a forced grimace and sweet kiss to your lips. Your absence has given him withdrawals as well and it’s a marvel to see how he struggles to hold himself together when his body is begging to take things so much further. 

A thick forearm plants itself next to your head to support his upper body. 

“When we mate it will be done before the eye of Eywa. She will witness our bond and it will bring both of us nothing but great pleasure. It will be perfect. You understand this, don’t you?”

Your heart spasms. How foolish of you to think that Ao’nung would want anything less. Just as mating is stronger than the bonds of marriage, so too is its importance of presentation and atmosphere. There are logistics to figure out but beyond that, there is intention set behind where and how it is done. And if setting up that perfect moment is what Ao’nung desires, then that is what he will have. 

It’s endearing in a way that has your eyes prickling with tears again and wobbly hands pulling him down for another kiss.

Despite the way Ao’nung is borderline humping the ground beneath him, the kiss is not rushed. Sweet devotion sparks at every press of his lips and you return it in kind. 

“I understand.” 

He presses his forehead against your own and breathes through his nose. There is relief in your response but not enough to overshadow the contortions of ache that must be pulsing through his body. Still, something tells you that were you to tell him you’re tired now, he would tuck you into bed without complaint and go take care himself on his own. 

No matter how charming a show of devotion and love that would be, it's the last thing that you want. Luckily, your worn down body still seems to feel the same. 

“I just want to feel you,” His brow bones shift in confusion for a moment. When a small hand traces at his length his eyelids flutter closed. “In whatever way I can. Please?” 

Slowly, his eyes peel open to stare at you. 

“Is that what my yawne wants?” 

You nod and bite at your bottom lip. 

The promise sparks a new wave of energy in him. Already you can see the gears in his head turning, even so spot the light in his eyes when it lands on an idea that has his lips twitching. Something about that familiar confidence has your cheeks heating in turn. 

“Any way?” Ao’nung asks and that is really when you know this is the point of no return. Regardless, there is a thrill in the unknown. Besides, you’ve never been good at denying this man before and so the answer that leaves your lips is instant.

“Any way.” 

Praise falls from his lips without thought. How can it not when you are taking him like this? Those strange colored eyes hold a distant sparkle as little whimpers leave your throat. Ao’nung tightens his arms around your thighs that are pressed together against his chest and it sends a thrilling sensation around his cock nestled between them. 

He bites at the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood every time he feels the slick texture of your folds rub against the underside of his length. It is a blessing that you are dripping wet and have already soaked your inner thighs, making the slide of his cock back and forth against them a smooth, painless ride. On the other hand though, your scent permeates every puff of air he breathes and feeling the way you continue to drench his cock is testing every last fiber of control he has left. 

Truthfully, fucking your sweet thighs is equal part torture and pleasure when he knows that shifting his hips slightly to slip inside of you is not an option he can take. Even more so when you’ve already proven tonight that you would by no means stop him. 

Fuck, you begged for him! You were ready to wrestle a man twice your size to the ground and ride him if that’s what it took. And that conjured up something primal within him that Ao’nung was not ready to face tonight. 

At least one of you has to be the voice of reason and tonight that assignment seems to have fallen on him. It's a task not well suited to Ao’nung when the last week has already wound him so tight that he feels as if he is seconds away from exploding. 

And truthfully, that is how he knows this is not going to last long. Your plush thighs cushion him so perfectly and your skin feels like satin against his hard cock. Looking down, he finds that every forward thrust has his cock pressing past the seam of your thighs and creating a drag along your stomach. It creates a tantalizing demonstration of how deep his cock will reach inside of you, most likely it will create a visible bulge in your stomach. 

A growl rips from him and Ao’nung squints his eyes to concentrate. 

This line of thought is going to have him combusting far too soon and that won’t give him enough time to ring another orgasm from you. Sweet little thing that you are, you don’t expect another one but Ao’nung is greedy and wants to see you fall apart for him one more time tonight. Luckily he has found an angle that has the width of him splitting apart your pussy lips and rubbing at your clit perfectly. 

“Such a good girl, precious." He groans and you arch against him. “Letting your mate use your pretty thighs to get off. Always so good to me.” 

The fire in his lungs and fizzle of his empty brain may make it near impossible to speak, but Ao’nung can’t stop himself when every spew of honey coated praise is rewarded with another gush of sweet slick and that pretty little face scrunching in pleasure. He’ll talk himself raw if that continues to have you weeping for him so pretty. 

“Oh-oh fuck!” You jolt when one specific drag has your clit hood pulled back to leave your raw bundle of nerves exposed. Ao’nung prays to Eywa that you are close because he’s not sure how much longer he can last. 

“I will be good to you too, oeyӓ muntxate. I swear it.” Shifting your legs to be cradled in one of his thick arms, he takes his other hand to press against your stomach. “When I do take you, and take you I will yawne, I will fill you up so nice. You’ll feel my cum deep inside you right here.” He presses at the smooth flesh in emphasis and your eyes roll back. 

It’s hard to imagine that this is the same sweet tawtute that had been too shy to enter his marui without knocking a few months ago. Whatever creature that has awoken inside of you now is ravenous and Ao’nung is addicted to feeding it. He wants to see how far he can fan the flames of your desire. He will persist until slowly he has drawn out every one of your secret fantasies that you are too ashamed to think about, let alone express to anyone else.

That is more than fine by him. Those secrets should only be whispered to your mate, your husband. They belong to him just as you now do too. 

“Would that make you happy, sevin?” Your hair tangles against the floor as you nod back at him. “Your little pussy is crying for me, isn’t she?”

“Yes! Want-want you…want it so bad fuck please!” And what follows those delicious cries are words Ao’nung can’t even understand. At first he’s sure his brain has finally burnt out its last brain cell but then your babbling starts to sound familiar and he realizes it is because you are speaking a language he has never learned. He’s pushed you into babbling English nonsense and Ao’nung has never been more interested in learning the Sky Demon language than now. 

“I won’t stop until she has taken every inch of my cock. Until this pussy has memorized the shape of me and only me.” 

Your grasp at his bicep, finger curling over his arm band as you moan. 

There are going to be marks left behind on your thighs from the ridges and bumps of his length. A part of him almost feels bad for your sensitive clit that has taken such brunt stimulation from being rubbed against him for so long. But you’re close. He can see it in the way your chest gasps for air and your legs are shaking in his arms. Vowing to soothe your tired body later, Ao’nung kicks his hips into high gear. 

“Your body will know me from the inside out. It will crave me. Yearn for my touch, my scent, my seed in your sweet womb. And I will give it all to you, precious. Because finally,” Ao’nung exhales and curves his body down so your legs are sandwiched between your bodies. “Finally you will understand what it means to want someone as much as I want you. As much as I always have.” 

This new angle gives him less leverage to plunge his pelvis forward but the shift does wonders for you. Whether from his words or the sensation, he’s not sure, but your thighs clamp tighter around him and your body shakes with an orgasm so powerful it rips a scream from you. You are stunning. 

Sweaty and softy and pliant in his hold as you finally accept every sensation that ripples through you. And you are his. For now, in feeling, but soon you will be his in every way a person can belong to another. As mates, bound by their Great Mother above in a tie that can never be broken.

Ao’nung propels over the edge. His body moves by instinct alone with his hips stuttering forward in pure desperation. Tail curling along the ground and lips pulled back into a snarl, he releases all over your thighs and stomach. Ribbons of white shoot across your squishy flesh and Ao’nung feels as if he may never stop coming. Ecstasy shoots through him stronger than the waves of the sea. 

You drain him for all that he is worth, your mixed spends painting a beautiful scene across your poor little body. Ao’nung comes down from that high with a gasp and he barely remembers to support his weight with an arm when crashing down atop of you. 

After a long stretch of silence where both of you catch your breath, Ao’nung finally manages to find his voice again. “Precious?”

“m’happy,” you mumble lazily against his shoulder, already knowing what he is about to ask. It may not be a direct confirmation of your wellbeing but it is your own little way of letting him know you are alright. It oozes warmth into his chest. 

A tickling sensation draws at his back that he has come to associate with his silly tawtute. Sure enough, he looks back to find that you are clumsily tracing fingers down his spine and towards that tattoo at his left hip that you love so much. Barely conscious, your precision in following those dark lines is greatly lacking. 

Eventually Ao’nung conjures up the motivation to lift himself onto his knees and shift his weight off of you. He’s surprised to find a deep ache in his pelvis and legs. It creates a challenge when crossing the marui to wet a soft cloth for cleaning you up, but he manages. 

You’re fast asleep by the time he returns, sprawled out across the ground like a sweet offering. It’s a shame to wipe off the essence of him from your skin, especially when it has you masked in his scent from head to toe, but Ao’nung promised to take care of you. A pleased rumble escapes him when he brushes his nose along your throat to find that even with substance gone there is no mistaking the effects of his scent marking. 

You don’t even stir when Ao’nung carries you to the hammock and settles both of you in. For the first time ever, you don’t wake to demand your silly bunny. Ao’nung smirks at the toy in triumph before settling himself half sprawled across you. He makes sure to shift his weight in a way that won’t have you suffocating but also makes any sort of attempt to wiggle out from him near impossible.

You aren’t going anywhere. He knows that. 

Regardless, Ao’nung holds you tighter than he ever has before as he basks in the knowledge that you will soon be his forever.

I don't even know how to calculate how many hours I spent on this update! I need to learn some control but I think I'm happy with how it turned out in the end. If you like this, please share your thoughts! Interaction is what motivates writers and creates community on here<3

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