I’m Lisa but u can also call Me Ukai

after spending nearly two years of watching the process of jaafar become his uncle for the new biopic, a quiet night at the studio turns into something far more intimate when he asks you to hear a special recording made just for you.

now playing: the lady in my life - michael jackson

the studio smelled like vanilla and melted candle wax, the kind of scent that settled deep into your clothes after sitting somewhere too long. dim amber lights glowed low against the walls, reflecting off the soundboard and the scattered glasses sitting near the speakers. outside, the city was quiet through the tinted windows but in here, everything felt still. warm. private.

for the past year, you had watched jaafar slowly disappear into this role.

not all at once.

little by little.

like you have the historical context of the 12th century i.e. templars, the catholic boarding school setting, the PERFECT visual casting, jack of spades plot device, and so on

Pairing: Aonung x Metkayina!Reader

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, light teasing, pouting, a very smug Aonung.

Summary: After a morning spent teasing you, Aonung finds himself on a mission of break through your wall of silence.

You sat with your legs dangling over the edge, the water lapping at your ankles. You were pointedly staring at a small fish, ignoring the shadow that loomed behind you. Aonung had been teasing you all morning—something about your clumsy technique while harvesting medicinal algae—and you’d finally decided he had reached his quota of your patience.

"Still?" Aonung’s voice was smooth, carrying that playful arrogant lilt that usually made you roll your eyes.

You didn't look back. You simply crossed your arms, your tail flicking sharply behind you—a clear sign of irritation.

Metkayina!Reader

The afternoon sun filtered through the woven walls of the healing marui, casting rippled patterns across the floor like light through water. You knelt beside your workstation, carefully grinding dried seaweed into powder—ingredients for a poultice Ronal had taught you to make moons ago. The rhythmic sound of stone against stone was meditative, peaceful.

That peace shattered when several warriors carried Aonung through the entrance.

“Tsakarem!” one of them called, breathless. “Training accident—he needs attention.”

You were on your feet immediately, wiping your hands clean as they laid him on one of the woven mats. Aonung’s face was twisted in a grimace he was clearly trying to hide, his jaw clenched tight. Blood seeped through makeshift bindings around his left shoulder and ribs.

Your stomach dropped. He was your promised mate—the bonding ceremony was only weeks away—and seeing him injured made something fierce and protective flare in your chest.

“What happened?” you asked, already moving to assess the damage with practiced efficiency, your hands perhaps more gentle than they would be with any other patient.

“Misjudged a strike during spear training,” one warrior explained. “Took a hit meant to be deflected.”

Aonung’s eyes cracked open, finding yours. Even injured, that familiar cockiness flickered there, along with something softer when he looked at you. “It looks worse than it is, yawne.”

“Be silent,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered slightly at the endearment, already unwrapping the temporary bindings. “Let me see.”

The gashes weren’t deep enough to be life-threatening, but they were messy—one across his shoulder, another along his ribs. He would heal, but it would take time. You worked quickly, cleaning the wounds with fresh water infused with healing herbs, your hands steady even as Aonung hissed through his teeth.

His good hand found your thigh, squeezing gently—whether for comfort or just because he couldn’t help touching you, you weren’t sure.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, thumb stroking small circles against your skin. “Don’t look so worried.”

“I’ll worry if I want to,” you replied, swatting his hand away so you could work properly. “And you are not fine. You’re bleeding.”

The marui entrance darkened, and you didn’t need to look up to know who had arrived. Ronal’s presence filled any space she entered.

“How bad?” the Tsahìk asked, moving to stand beside you.

“Painful, but clean. No infection if properly cared for. He’ll need rest and daily treatment.”

Ronal examined your work with a critical eye, then nodded approvingly. She looked down at her son, and something flickered across her face—exasperation mixed with motherly concern and a hint of knowing amusement.

“You,” she said, fixing Aonung with a stern look, “will remain here for observation. No training, no patrol, no diving until you are healed.”

“Mother—”

“Do not argue with me.” Her tone left no room for debate. Then she turned to you, and you straightened instinctively under her gaze. “You will care for him. Change his bandages twice daily, ensure he rests, keep the wounds clean.”

Your ears flicked back slightly. “Tsahìk, of course, but—”

“You are steady. Patient. Trusted.” Ronal’s eyes held yours meaningfully, then flicked to her son with unmistakable amusement. “And you are the only one he will actually listen to. My son is… particularly motivated to please his intended mate.”

Heat flooded your face. Aonung made a sound of protest that his mother completely ignored.

“Besides,” Ronal continued, her tone almost playful now, “you two are to be mated soon. Consider this practice for tolerating him every day.”

“Mother,” Aonung groaned, his ears flattening.

But Ronal just smiled—actually smiled—and placed a hand on your shoulder. “He likes you very much, tsakarem. Use that to keep him from being foolish.”

After she left, you turned to find Aonung watching you with an expression that made your heart skip.

“She’s not wrong,” he said quietly. “I do like you. Very much.”

You tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach as you returned to treating his wounds. “Then perhaps you should try not to get yourself killed before our bonding ceremony.”

His good hand caught your wrist, pulling you closer. “Worried about me, yawne?”

“Someone has to be, since you clearly don’t worry about yourself.”

“Mm.” His thumb stroked along your pulse point. “I like it when you fuss over me.”

“I am not fussing—”

“You are.” His smile was warm, genuine. “It’s cute.”

____________________________________________

The next morning, you arrived at the healing marui with fresh supplies, only to find it already occupied.

Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk Sully sat around Aonung in a loose circle, while Tsireya perched beside her brother with an amused smile. They all looked up when you entered.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Tsireya said brightly. “Maybe you can make him stop complaining.”

“I was not complaining,” Aonung protested.

“You said the bandages were too tight at least six times,” Lo’ak countered with a grin.

“And that the mat was uncomfortable,” Kiri added.

“And that you were bored,” Tuk chimed in helpfully.

Aonung’s eyes found yours, and despite the teasing, there was heat in that gaze—the kind that made you very aware that you would soon be his in every way.

“I was simply stating facts,” he said, but he was looking at you like the others weren’t even there. “Though I feel better now that you’re here.”

Tsireya made a gagging sound. “You two are disgusting.”

“We’re not even mated yet,” you said, setting down your supplies with burning cheeks. “Now everyone out. I need to change his bandages.”

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” Lo’ak called as Tsireya herded them toward the exit.

“That leaves them a lot of room,” Kiri muttered, which earned her a shove from Lo’ak.

Once they were gone, the marui felt suddenly smaller. More intimate. You knelt beside Aonung and reached for the bandages around his shoulder.

“Alone at last,” he murmured, his good hand immediately finding your waist.

“Aonung.” You tried for stern. “I need to focus.”

“I’m not stopping you.” But his fingers were tracing patterns against your skin, distracting and deliberate. “Just… enjoying the view.”

Your face heated. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful.” His hand slid higher, brushing just below your breast bindings in a way that made your breath catch. “Especially when you blush like that.”

“Your shoulder—”

“Is fine. You’re an excellent healer.” He tugged you closer, until you were pressed against his uninjured side. “But I think I need more… personal attention.”

“The Tsahìk will have my head if these wounds get infected because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“My mother knows exactly what she was doing, putting you in charge of me.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “She’s not blind. She sees how I look at you. How I can barely keep my hands off you.”

You did know. Everyone knew. Aonung had never been subtle about his desire for you, even before the betrothal was official. The way he found excuses to touch you—his hand at the small of your back, fingers brushing yours, pulling you close during festivals. And lately, he’d become bolder. Just yesterday, before the accident, he’d cornered you behind the cooking marui and stolen a kiss that left you dizzy, his hand squeezing your backside as he pulled you flush against him.

“We are not yet mated,” you reminded him, though your resolve was weakening as his thumb traced the curve of your hip. “There are… proper ways—”

“Proper is boring.” But he said it fondly, pressing his forehead to yours. “Though I’ll wait. For you, I’ll wait.”

You softened, cupping his face gently. “Just a few more weeks.”

“Too long,” he complained, but he was smiling. “I want you now. Want to wake up with you every morning, fall asleep with you every night. Want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“They already know, skxawng. You make it very obvious.”

“Good.” His hand slid down to cup your backside, squeezing in a way that was becoming familiar, possessive. “Want everyone to know what’s mine.”

“Aonung!” You swatted at him, glancing toward the entrance nervously. “Someone could walk in—”

“Let them.” But he released you, settling back with a satisfied smirk. “My future mate, taking such good care of me. What would people think?”

“They’d think I’m too patient with you,” you muttered, but you were fighting a smile as you finally began unwrapping his bandages.

The wounds were healing well. You cleaned them carefully, aware of every point of contact, every time your fingers brushed his skin and his muscles flexed beneath your touch.

“You have gentle hands,” he said quietly, watching your face. “I think about them sometimes. About how they’ll feel—”

“Aonung.”

“What?” His expression was pure innocence, but his eyes were dark with promise. “I’m just saying, after we’re mated, I look forward to your… healing touch.”

You pressed a little harder than necessary on his ribs, making him wince.

“Behave,” you said firmly, though your own thoughts were straying to dangerous territory. “Or I’ll tell Ronal you’re being difficult.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He laughed, then immediately regretted it as his ribs protested. You couldn’t help but smile as you finished applying fresh bandages, your movements efficient but tender.

When you started to pull away, his hand caught yours.

“Thank you,” he said, serious now. “For taking care of me. I know I’m… a lot.”

You squeezed his fingers. “You’re mine. Or you will be soon. That means putting up with you is my privilege.”

Something fierce and possessive flashed in his eyes. “Say that again.”

“Which part?”

“The part where you called me yours.”

Your heart raced, but you met his gaze steadily. “You’re mine, Aonung. Even if you are reckless and teasing and—”

He pulled you down into a kiss that stole your breath, deep and claiming, his good hand cradling the back of your head. You melted into it, into him, forgetting for a moment about propriety and healing and everything except the taste of his lips and the way he made you feel—wanted, cherished, desired.

When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathing hard.

“Few more weeks,” he murmured against your lips, his hand sliding down your spine to squeeze your backside again, pulling your hips against his. “And then you’re mine every night. All mine.”

“Aonung, you need to rest—”

“I’ll rest.” His smile was wicked. “After one more kiss.”

You should have said no. Should have been responsible and proper and all the things a tsakarem should be.

Instead, you leaned down and kissed him again, letting yourself get lost in the feel of him, the promise of what was to come.

Until voices approached the marui.

You jerked back, heart pounding, just as the entrance flap pushed aside and Ronal stepped in, followed by Tonowari and Jake Sully.

They all stopped.

Ronal’s eyes took in the scene immediately: you straddling Aonung’s lap, his hand very obviously on your backside, both of your lips swollen from kissing. Her expression remained perfectly neutral, but you swore you saw deep amusement flickering in her eyes.

Tonowari coughed loudly, looking anywhere but at his son. Jake looked like he was trying not to laugh.

You scrambled off Aonung so fast you nearly knocked over your supplies, your face burning hot enough to glow. “Tsahìk, I was just—the bandages needed—”

“I can see the bandages have been changed,” Ronal said dryly, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Very… thoroughly, it seems.”

“Mother—” Aonung started.

“I also see,” Ronal continued, moving closer to examine his shoulder while you wanted to dissolve into sea foam, “that the wounds are healing well. You have done good work, tsakarem. Very attentive care.”

The way she emphasized ‘attentive’ made you want to sink through the floor.

“Thank you, Tsahìk,” you managed, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes.

Ronal straightened, fixing her son with a look. “I trust you are not making the tsakarem’s work more difficult with your… restlessness.”

“No, Mother.” But his eyes found yours, holding them with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Though I confess, having her close does make me feel much better.”

Tonowari groaned. “My son, perhaps—”

“Oh, let them be,” Ronal said, waving a hand dismissively. “They are to be mated in weeks. Better they are comfortable with each other.” She turned to you, her expression softening. “Though perhaps next time, ensure the entrance flap is secured. For privacy.”

Your face somehow burned hotter. “Yes, Tsahìk.”

Jake was definitely trying not to laugh now. “We should, uh… we can come back later—”

“No need,” Ronal said smoothly. She gestured for you to continue your work. “The tsakarem is nearly finished, I’m sure.”

As the adults discussed patrol schedules and reef boundaries, you tried to focus on organizing your supplies with shaking hands. Aonung caught your wrist, pulling you close enough to whisper.

“Worth it,” he murmured, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You’re terrible,” you whispered back.

“And you love it.” His fingers squeezed your hip possessively. “Just a few more weeks, yawne. Then I can do much more than kiss you.”

The promise in his voice sent heat pooling through your body.

“Behave,” you hissed, acutely aware of his parents mere feet away.

“Make me.”

You pinched his uninjured side, making him flinch, and he laughed quietly—that warm, genuine sound that made your heart do strange things.

Ronal glanced over, her expression knowing. “Aonung, stop tormenting your intended. She has work to do.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said dutifully, but his hand found yours beneath the supplies, fingers intertwining.

As you gathered your things to leave, he tugged you down for one more whisper.

“Tonight. Meet me at our cove after eclipse. Please.”

Your heart raced. The cove was your secret place, where he’d first told you he wanted to be yours, where you’d stolen countless kisses hidden from prying eyes.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” you murmured.

“I’ll rest better after I see you. Touch you. Kiss you properly without an audience.”

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

“After eclipse,” you agreed softly.

His smile was brilliant, possessive, full of promise.

As you finally left the marui, you could feel his eyes on you the entire way. And when you glanced back, he had the audacity to wink.

Just a few more weeks, you reminded yourself.

Then he would be yours completely.

And somehow, you knew those weeks would be the longest of your life.

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