electric feel | tonowari x fem!metkayina!reader x ronal | 18+
cw: ffm, threesome, reverse cuckold, dom!tonowari, switch!ronal, sub!reader, p in v sex, nipple torture
word count: 328
tonowari’s hand was holding a knot in your hair, guiding you to ride him up and down, a nice view of your ass to greet him. “slow, yes, just like that,” he says encouragingly. he throws his head back and his ears twitch. you felt amazing. riding him, was your favorite you’ve learned.
ronal was pawing at your nipples, watching her husband’s cock go in and out of you. “look at me,” she turns your head towards her, she kneels to the side of of you and kisses you, tongue playing with yours. you moaned into her mouth as nimble fingers play with your nipples again, twisting and pinching this time. you shudder with pleasure and it shoots through your entire body.
it was almost too much being surrounded by them. the both of them got you on such a high followed by a gentle coming down. you’ve come countless times between tonowari’s cock and ronal’s fingers and tongue. they would invite after everyone else had gone asleep and have their ways with you.
ronal’s hand leaves one of your nipples and slides her hand down your front, reaching your pussy. “oh please, please ronal, please.”
with tonowari using you and ronal’s toying, you didn’t even know what you were begging for. more of something.
“touch her, touch her ronal.” tonowari gruffly demands. she obeys and places two fingers firmly on your clit and rubs gently. you cry out and cover your mouth with your hand.
“no, we want to hear everything.” tonowari grabs your hand and holds it down from your face, fingers interlacing with yours. his thrusts are getting more frantic now, and with ronal’s torment your release will be soon.
you’re completely fucked out when you hear tonowari telling you to come. you come all over his cock, head completely fuzzy now. tonowari quickly pulls out on feeling your tightening pussy, letting his wife taste his release with her tongue. “sìltsan ‘eveng (good boy), tonowari.”
(i am using an online translator, so this could be wrong lol)
do not feed or use my shit for ai. pics found on Pinterest
“The way of water has no beginning and no end. The sea is around you and in you. The sea is your home, before your birth and after your death. The sea gives, and the sea takes. Water connects all things, life to death, darkness to light” – Tsireya
Ronal te Natsira Tan'ite
“Hold still. Stupid woman!” – ༄⭒.˚
[ ENTER ]_
Tonowari te Tsika'u Arvak'itan
“They are killers of tulkun. They must die... here... today!” – ༄⭒.˚
[ ENTER ]_
Aonung te Tsika'u Tonowari'itan
“If you want to live here, you have to ride” – ༄⭒.˚
[ ENTER ]_
Tsireya te Tsika'u Ronal'ite
“The strength of the ancestors is here” – ༄⭒.˚
[ ENTER ]_
Rotxo te Rara Yapto'itan
“What is that, is that supposed to be a tail?” – ༄⭒.˚
Above art of reader by @coconuthoneyandjaguars. It's so beautiful!
My Pearl: The Jump | The Fall | The Plunge
Part 3/3
Word count: 10.6k
Pairing: Young!Tonowari x fem!curvy!metkayina!reader
Description: Meddling Tulkuns, a metkayina rager, and an angry love confession, oh my!
Content warnings/tags: fluff and angst, curvy/plus!sized reader, fake dating, arguing, body description is not detailed, body insecurity, friends to lovers, she fell first, he fell harder, Eykatey!Tonowari.
Author's note: Part 3 took a second to cook, but I think she's cute! A million thank yous to @lejardinfleur!! Without you, this story would not have happened, you supported me literally every step of the way. I love ya, Finn! I am kinda sad to be wrapping up this fic, but also very proud of how it turned out! I would maybe even be open to adding little headcannons or ficlets for it in the future!
Na’vi Words used:
Swoasey - Kava bowl
Txe'lanneyä - my heart
Oel ngati kameie - I see you
Skxawng - Idiot
Syulang - Flower
Tsakarem - tsahik in training
Yawnetu - Beloved one
Playlist:
Undertow - Lisa Hannigan
Opalite - Taylor Swift
The Only Exception - Paramore
You swam through the water, letting the cool current wash over you as you navigated the inner cove where hundreds of Na’vi and Tulkun greeted one another. The Tulkun had been around the reef now for several weeks since their migration cycle had brought them back home. You noticed an abundance of young tulkuns and calves as you swam, making the excitement grow in your chest. Tomorrow, you would get to witness the bonding of the Metkayina babies with the Tulkun calves, a connection that would last a lifetime.
You were looking for your own spirit sister, Nan’ti, among the numerous Tulkun that swam past you, but you did not see her anywhere. You were about to surface when you heard her song, a flowing, happy lilt to her voice that made it obvious who was singing. She was calling for you.
You followed the sound, although it was hard with many songs being sung and conversations being had. You finally found her swimming towards you and you smiled widely at her beautiful face.
“Sister, I see you. Welcome home,” you signed, glad to be with her again.
“I see you, sister. How have you been? It has been so long,” she asked.
“I am well, I am content,” you replied.
Nan’ti let out a short sound, showing her disbelief. “You look as if you are burdened with something.”
You should have known you could never hide anything from her. You rolled your eyes, “Yes, perhaps there is something. I like a man, but it cannot be,” you divulged honestly.
“Ahh, is it still the same one? Tonowari, Brother of Lan’pey?” she asked and you hid your face in your hands.
She took you embarrassment as an answer. “It is!” she called.
You nodded, “My affections are unchanged,” you agree.
“What makes you say it cannot be?” she asked.
You pursed your lips, deciding on which words to say. “He is a handsome man, a strong warrior, he will be Olo’eyktan one day. He is far above me.” You signed, explaining your deepest fears to her.
“His good qualities do not make you less, sister. You are beautiful like the water; soft and free flowing. You are loyal, a good friend, a good daughter. You would make any person a good mate one day, especially Tonowari.” She settled your worries the smallest bit and you smiled at her in thanks.
“He kissed me,” you admitted and she made a sound somewhere close to a shriek.
“Then how can your affection be one sided?” she asked.
“Because he did it to deceive people that we were together, not to actually kiss me because he likes me.”
“That cannot be. There are many differences between Na’vi and Tulkun, but one thing that is the same, is that males do not do things they do not want to do. If he kissed you, he wanted to,” she argued and you shrugged, still not letting her get your hopes up.
“Was it at least a good kiss?” she asked and you were so surprised that you laughed.
“Yes, it was a very good kiss,” you signed, brushing your lips at the reminder.
A tulkun swam past you, making a sound that grabbed your attention immediately. When you realized how close the incoming young bull was to you, you swam closer to your spirit sister to get out of the way.
The bull turned to circle around and you realized a Na’vi was holding onto his fin. It was Tonowari. He clung on as they made a wide, graceful arch around Nan’ti. You rested a hand on Nan’ti for balance and Lan’pey, Tonowari’s spirit brother, stopped beside you both.
Tonowari let go and swam over to you, signing a greeting, “Oel ngati kameie, Y/n. Oel ngati kameie, Nan’ti,” he signed and you both greeted him back.
“I wanted you to meet my spirit brother, Lan’pey,” he signed, moving from in front of you so you could say hello to the young bull.
You smiled at the tulkun, bowing your head in respect. “Oel ngati kameie, Lan’pey. I am glad to meet you.”
“I have heard much about you. Tonowari has had much to say,” Lan’pey said, a mischievous glint in his eye. It was said that as headstrong and bold as Tonwari was, his spirit brother was even worse in those aspects.
“Y/n does as well,” Nan’ti cut in and you whirled around to glare at your sister.
“He overexaggerates,” Tonowari insisted, sending his own warning look to his tulkun.
“I do not, it is not in the Tulkun way to be dramatic,” Lan’pey argued.
“No, but it is your way to be dramatic,” Tonowari teased him.
“I take offence, brother,” Lan’pey grumbled.
“You will recover,” Tonowari turned to you, “Swim with us,” he invited.
You shared a look with Nan’ti, silently asking what she would like to do. When she cocked her head as if to say, “Why not?”, you turned back to Tonowari. You nodded and he smiled.
You grabbed Nan’ti’s fin, hanging on as the four of you cut through the water. You felt free, like you were flying, as the tulkun twisted and dove again and again. You and Tonowari laughed when you resurfaced from time to time.
When it was time for the ceremony, the tulkun took you nearly to the shore, wailing farewells and promises to see you tomorrow.
Once you had made it to the beach, you heaved in a deep breath at the exertion it had taken, laughing at the half drowned look Tonowari had going on. His curls clung to his back and his face, the twists and coils now defined from the sea water. He smiled wide and open mouthed at you. He was beautiful and it pierced you suddenly like an arrow.
As he walked in front of you, he reached back behind him to grab your hand, tugging you forward. From your vantage point, you could see the gnarly scar the akula had left him with all those months ago. The warbled skin was raised and purple still, yet to fade into a deep turquoise. You longed to run a finger over it, but his voice tore your attention away from his skin.
“Hurry, we will miss the ceremony. Olo’eykatan will skin me for being late again,” he urged over his shoulder and smiled back at you, despite the truth in his words. He knew that he could talk his way out of most of the trouble he found himself in. You accepted his awaiting hand so he could pull you towards the inner village.
“If you were so afraid of Olo’eyktan, then you should not have tried to flip in the air so many times!” you laughed.
-
Later that night, after the bondings and prayers, the real party began. Nakata carried Rayal on his back as Poeya carried the jug of alcohol in her hands. She had already drunk a few gulps, her body languid and relaxed because of it.
The swallow she had forced on you had not affected you other than the odd, lingering taste in your mouth. Unfortunately, that meant that your hands still had a slight tremble from the anxiety of you and Tonowari’s first party as a “couple”. His arm was lazily thrown around you now for appearances, a carved wooden bowl of kava was already in his other hand.
Calf communion had commenced early this morning and celebrations would continue well into the following day, meaning that everyone was in a jovial mood. The young Metkayina would take any opportunity to celebrate, which corresponded to all the young adults and even some older teens slinking off to the cove after dark.
It was as much of a tradition as the actual ceremonies throughout the day.
Tonowari had started drinking early. As soon as the sun had started setting, Nakata and Tonowari had been nursing cups. Their actions had become looser, more free. When it was time to make your way down to the cove, they had started singing horribly and off-key. Nakata had insisted Rayal jump on his back. The two were in love, and one day they would realize it. Nakata had yet to give her his courting gift yet, the Skxawng was too much of a fkio to do it, despite Tonowari’s near constant urging.
After sludging through sand and weaving through mangrove roots and palms, you arrived at the party just as someone hit the first few beats of a drum. The already forming group cheered down the beach when the music picked up and Tonowari cheered with them.
“Aayyyy!” he exclaimed, unwrapping his arm from around you and the loss of contact was slightly disappointing.
Instead, he tucked the suddenly empty swoasey under his arm and grabbed your hands in each of his, walking backwards as he tugged you towards the others. You laughed as he moved his shoulders to the beat, making your own shoulders dance by extension. His callouses grated at your skin, but you did not mind.
Nakata tore past you, Rayal squealing on his back as she was jostled around by his antics. Others on the beach looked up at the noise, but the two did not seem to care.
“I cannot deal with all of these lovesick fools!” Poeya huffed from behind you and you turned to look at her, tearing your hands away from Tonowari who immediately frowned at losing your touch.
“Awww, you poor baby,” you cooed teasingly, waiting for her to catch up with you.
“What about this poor baby? You have just abandoned him,” Tonowari deadpanned, hands moving to his hips.
You raised your eyebrows at his dramatics as you took Poeya under your arm. “I can only coddle one baby at a time,” you pointed out.
“Well, I have courting privileges,” he pointed out as the two of you walked past him and he trailed behind.
“Girl code trumps courting privileges,” Poeya argued, taking a swig of the alcohol as you arrived on the fringes of the party.
“This is not what I signed up for,” he grumbled.
“I am sorry, Zukzuk’tsyìp,” you giggled as he frowned. But his pout did not last long as his attention was nearly immediately diverted. He spotted more of his hunter friends by a fire and waved at them, muttering that he would be right back before he branched off.
Poeya rolled her eyes before she slid out from under you when she drew closer to Rayal and Nakata by the woven mats covered with food and drink. She set down her clay jar half full of alcohol just to pour a cupful of a different one.
“I want one too,” Nakata insisted, holding his hand out.
Poeya passed out drinks to your cousin and her sister, but before she could hand one to you, Tonowari was jogging back from a group of hunters, two cups in his hand and his swoasey from earlier long forgotten in the sand somewhere.
“Try this,” he demanded, lifting the wooden cup to your lips as you hurried to reach up to grab it and steady his hand. You hesitated, but took a drink of what he offered.
Fruity alcohol burned down your throat as he watched you swallow, his eyes glittering in the low light. The drink was fine as far as alcohol went, but you were so surprised by its appearance in front of your lips, that you barely registered its taste until a movement after it had traveled down your throat, too distracted with Tonowari suddenly looming over you.
“Good, right?” he asked as you pushed the cup from your face and blinked at the robust, but tart flavor.
The taste of it appeared in your mouth. “Gah!” you sputtered, shaking your head as if to shake it away.
“Not good?” he asked, brow lifting in question.
“Strong,” you answered.
Since the drink had been hastily forced to your lips, you had not been able to catch all of it. Drops made their way down your chin as you hurried to clean up the mess with your hands.
“Sorry,” Tonowari murmured, watching a stray trail distractedly as it dipped under your jaw.
“I got it,” he rectified, as one of his hands came to your back to pull you to him and the other went to the back of your neck, holding you in place. He pulled impossibly closer as his head lowered, mouth coming to the angle of your jaw. You stood dazed and motionless in his arms as his hot tongue darted out to swipe a line up your skin.
When he had gathered up the stray drops of drink, he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your lips, immobilizing you further.
He pulled back, his goofy smile was on full display, his pupils were dilated wide. “Yeah, it tastes good,” he answered his own question. He retreated slightly, hands ghosting a trail down your back to rest loosely around your waist.
Your mouth gaped open. “What was that?” you finally managed to whisper. You looked around inconspicuously, but did not see any onlookers that he would want to impress.
His eyes widened mockingly at you. “Me cleaning up my mess, come on,” he urged, pulling you towards a group of people by a fire pit, laughing and watching the dancers kick up sand as they spun. Rayal and Nakata were sitting among the group, as well as Ronal and her group of healers.
You stiffened at the sight of the unfriendly woman already staring daggers at you. She would be unhappy with Tonowari courting you, it was well known of her sights being set on him since childhood. She only grew more of a crush on him when he was named Eyktanay. You had no idea of what esteem he held her in, he rarely talked about her, but you had seen the two talking and laughing together before.
Tonowari sat down next to Nakata and guided you with him by pulling on your waist. He never removed his hands from you, but instead used them to drag you down with him. You landed in his lap, and winced in embarrassment, immediately scrambling away from instinct.
“No way,” Tonowari laughed, pulling you back flat to his chest and wrapping his arms around your middle to anchor you still. You were powerless in his arms, as he pinned up to him. You sank into his warmth, his chest solid behind your back.
“Gross, that is my cousin, bro,” Nakata groaned.
You rolled your eyes, “Shut up,” you blushed.
“If I do not comment on your weird thing with Rayal, then you do not get to make comments either,” Tonowari grumbled, and Nakata paled.
“Oh? Am I your “weird thing”?” you asked teasingly, your hands smoothing across his arms around your waist.
“Yeah, all mine,” he chuckled near your ear.
“I am still here!” Nakata exclaimed. “Rayal and I do not have a weird thing! And stop getting handsy with, basically, my little sister!” He reached over to box Tonowari’s ear, making him grunt in surprise.
Tonowari tore an arm away from your side to lean towards his best friend, with you still in his lap, and slapped Nakata in the side of the head. Nakata swiveled, preparing to retaliate.
You sat up straight, “Stop fighting, boys,” you warned, glaring at them both to back off.
“Y/n! Tonowari!” a chipper voice entered your ears, and both of you turned to see Ronal floating across the sand towards you with a drink in each of her hands. Nakata leaned back as he saw her approaching, evidently not wanting to be involved in the new conversation.
“Ronal,” Tonowari nodded politely, as you stiffened in his arms. Noticing the change in you, his hand traveled in a short soothing line across your stomach before backtracking the way it came.
It was not that you did not like Ronal, but the girl had the ambition of an Akula on the hunt and was not afraid to step on tails to get her way. She had made comments about you looking different when you were younger, but now that you were both adults, you rarely interacted.
“Why do you not have a drink in your hand?” she laughed, handing him the extra cup and he took it. Tonowari had already finished his liquor from earlier, the abandoned, devoid cup sitting upright in the sand a little further away.
“Thank you,” he said, as she looked down at you, an analyzing glare on her face as if she knew something you did not.
“You are welcome, ‘Wari,” she chirped, “Y/n, did you want one too? I can go get one for you?” she offered and your jaw tightened at what was obviously fake niceties. Her nickname for Tonowari making your hackles rise. She had no right to call him that and you found yourself not liking it one bit.
You suddenly got the feeling she was after something you possessed, like a child who was mad at their favorite toy being taken. You knew many girls liked Tonowari and they did not understand why he was with you, but none had been so bold as to challenge you for him, even in smaller ways.
You smiled up at her, rubbing your thumb against Tonowari’s arm and she shifted on her feet as if refraining from speaking. “No, do not go through the trouble,” you declined, and Tonowari held his cup in front of you.
“Have this one, Txe'lanneyä,” he insisted and you nodded faintly.
“Thank you,” you took it, half because you really did want something to drink and half because you knew Tonowari did not need any more. The gesture made Ronal’s grin falter, and you internally cheered in triumph. The displeased look on her face made you glad you had accepted his offer.
She quickly schooled her features back to joy. “Oh! I almost forgot!” she exclaimed, eyes lighting up. “‘Wari, the others need help with the last barrel of spirits. Would you get it for us?” she asked sweetly, smiling down.
He sighed, but nodded, showing the side of him that could be the dutiful leader. “Yeah.”
“Amazing!” Ronal nearly squealed and the sound made your annoyance spike.
Tonowari gently tapped your thigh to indicate that you needed to move. You grabbed his awaiting hand as he helped you move off of his lap and onto the sand below.
Nakata was fighting back a grin as Ronal waved Tonowari away from the fire and back towards the village. You noticed that she did not grab anyone else. The barrel must have been fairly small sized if one person could carry it alone.
“He is already a little unsteady on his feet,” Nakata chuckled, nodding to how Tonowari seemed to shuffle more than walk.
“He will be fine,” you assured yourself as much as him.
“Oh, I know. I am impressed that the big skxawng has drunk enough already to feel it,” he laughed as Rayal kicked up sand coming to sit between you where Tonowari had just been.
“What are you two talking about?” she asked, crossing her legs in front of her as she glanced between you.
“Her intended,” Nakata grinned, enjoying the way you rolled your eyes at him, visibly annoyed.
“What about him?” Rayal prodded, nosy as ever.
“How he is already feeling his drink this early in the night,” you replied and she barked out a laugh.
“He cannot be that drunk, he holds his liquor well,” she pointed out.
“He started early today,” Nakata rebutted.
Rayal watched the two finally disappear through the tree line and turned back to you, “Where is he off to with Ronal anyway?” she asked. She looked growingly more worried and it made anxiety flutter in your own stomach.
“To get another barrel of spirits,” you shrugged.
Rayal blinked at you blankly, “And you did not go with them?” she squeaked, a crease deepening between her brow.
“No… they are going to get the barrel and then come right back. We are courting, yes, but that does not mean he is mine to watch over like a child. I am not his mother,” you reminded her and she dramatically huffed and rolled her eyes.
“Wiya, it is my own fault. I have not taught you everything you should know,” she groaned. “You do not let your man traipse off with another woman that likes him! Ronal is still enamoured with Tonowari, she is interested in him. Her friend, Mai’ku, told me so herself. Surely that is reason enough that they should not be alone.” n
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Did she think Ronal was going to suddenly seduce Tonowari away from you? Did she perceive your relationship to be that fragile? You hoped Tonowari was not so easily swayed, even if your relationship was a front. If he was to do so much as flirt with Ronal, that would make you out to be a fool, the very thing you were hoping to avoid with this farce.
“Many women like him, but I trust him,” you finally managed to say even as your mouth went dry.
“I pray to Eywa you are right,” she sighed and Nakata frowned.
“You are worrying her. Tonowari would not be so fickle. He only has eyes for you, cousin. Do not be afraid,” Nakata assured you, but it brought you no comfort.
When Tonowari did eventually come back with a barrel over his shoulder a short while later, you sighed the smallest sigh of relief.
Ronal let out a laugh at something he said before she split off, waving behind her and shouting a thanks as she joined her group of friends closer to the water.
As soon as his back was to her, his face dropped, eyes blinking furiously like he was fighting to focus.
You got to your feet, feeling worry clawing at your gut from his expression. You walked over to him as he set down the alcohol on the sand and spoke to the two young men who were pouring drinks.
“Thanks, Tonowari,” one of the guys said and Tonowari nodded, raising a hand to gesture his response.
He backed away, almost bumping into you but you put your hands on his back and he stopped just in time.
“Woah! Hey,” you greeted, as he turned to see who was in his path.
“Hello Sevin’eve!” He smiled goofily, before his features faltered again and he shook his head slightly. He slid his hand into yours and led you towards the fire where many young adults sat telling stories, as well as food and drink was being passed around.
“What is wrong?” you asked, brow pinching in the middle.
He looked confused, forehead creasing as he shrugged, “Nothing! Nothing. Do I look as if something is wrong?” he seemed to force a chuckle, and you found yourself not believing him.
“You look as if you are hiding something. Did something happen with Ronal? You can tell me, I would rather know now, than be made the fool-”
“Woah…” He laughed, putting a hand up to stop you. “Nothing happened, Everything is fine.”
“Then why do you look concerned?”
“Fine, I will tell you,” he sighed, looking down at his feet. You leaned in an inch, anxiety gnawing at you, but then he said, “I am trying very hard to stay upright right now, and I am beginning to fail,” he whispered. You leaned away, exasperation clear on your face.
“Do not scare me like that, Skxawng!” you huffed. He barked a boisterous laugh as you took him by the arm. “Come on, let us find somewhere to plant you.”
You led him to the fire, finding your friends listening to tales spun by Tonowari’s friend, Yoru. You helped Tonowari sit carefully rather than fall down, and he plopped onto a large mat with none of his usual grace.
You sat beside him on what was left of the mat as Tonowari swiveled around, wriggling his body so that he was lying on his stomach and wedged himself under your crisscrossed leg.
“Do not fall asleep,” you muttered quietly to him as Yoru told a particularly interesting joke and the people around you laughed. “I will not be able to drag you back to your marui on my own.”
“I will not,” he promised.
Your attention was drawn away from him when you noticed Ronal’s assessing gaze from over the fire, she watched you carefully, eyes flicking between you and Tonowari. You slid your gaze away, but, for appearance’s sake, rested a hand over Tonowari’s back, covering half of his mottled scar with your fingers.
He looked up at you behind him and checked that everything was alright. When he just saw you, he smiled at the touch. You smiled back before turning back to absentmindedly listen to Yoru’s tale.
A moment later, you noticed Nakata hold out his hand for Rayal to take and she slid her fingers into his, the two getting up to join the dancers and the music. He spun her across the sand, the fire flickering animatedly behind them. You watched them twist to the music with a fond smile, glad to see them happy together.
"That feels good, keep doing that," Tonowari muttered from the ground and your gaze was drawn back to him.
“Doing what?” you asked.
“With your hand,” he explained, and you realized you had been swiping a finger back and forth over the raised scar on his back, although it had not been a conscious decision.
“Oh…” You blushed turquoise as you realized you had been touching him unknowingly. His back felt smooth and firm under your palm, other than the skin around the scar which was raised and uneven. You felt the bumps and ridges as you traced up and down and then up again.
In no time, deeper breaths were drawn from him and you realized he had fallen asleep, his arm resting on the crook of his elbow and his mouth hung a little open. The skxawng had fallen asleep, just as you had told him not to do.
He looked so peaceful, you could not find it in yourself to wake him up just yet.
You continued the mindless movement as you watched the others dancing and laughing. You smiled as you observed them having fun, but you would not trade your current position for theirs. You looked down at Tonowari, resting your head on your hand and realized that you much preferred being right where you were.
-
At breakfast the next morning you shoveled food onto your plate in a half-awake stupor. You were still rubbing sleep from your eyes and yawning when you looked up and noticed a young teen staring at you with a narrowed gaze. You blinked as she snickered and looked away quickly.
You turned around to go find your seat, telling yourself it was odd, but it did not necessarily mean anything. Teens were weird. It could have been something as small as your hair looking off today. It probably did look a little more wild than usual, you had not felt up to spending extra time on it today to tame it into something appealing.
But when you felt the gaze of many more of your peers on you, you knew something had happened. Before you could reason out who to ask for clarification, your father approached you, looking grim faced. “Ma’ite, are you well?” he asked quietly.
You both stood awkwardly among the seated villagers. “Yes, Sempu… has something happened?” you asked.
He pressed his lips into a line and he guided you to the side of the room, out of the direct hearing range of the others. “You know I do not like to listen to gossip, but people whisper. They say that you and Tonowari are not really courting,” your father said and all blood drained out of your face.
“Who told you that?” you said, barely above a whisper.
“Everyone is talking about it. Your mother heard it from her friends. It is said that Ronal is telling the village of your deception, as she heard it from Tonowari’s very mouth,” he explained.
You stared at him numbly, trying and failing to process what was just said. He waited for your response and when you were unable to give one, he urged you to speak, “Is it true? Tell me.”
When you managed to look up at him, your eyes were full of terror. Your skin felt clammy and the room suddenly became too small. The look on your face was all the confirmation he needed.
“Daughter…” he whispered, shaking his head in disappointment and your heart sank further.
You handed him your plate, “I need some air,” you croaked, turning from him and making your way through the crowd. It felt like that first night all those weeks ago when people were whispering that you and Tonowari were courting, but now they were calling you liars.
You maneuvered past the horde of eyes that watched your every move and nearly made it to the door when a massive body blocked your exit. You looked up and saw Tonowari attempting to enter the room in front of you and your jaw tightened in shame. He looked down at your teary face before glancing around at the crowd as if searching for a reason for you to be upset.
His eyes returned to yours when he found nothing immediately concerning with the crowd. “Txe'lanneyä,” he started and the first tear slipped out of your eye. “What is wrong?” His fists clenched at his sides as he glowered at whatever was making you sad.
“I… I cannot-” you stuttered, fighting to not let your hands shake as panic consumed you. Instead of trying to explain, you wiped your cheek and shook your head, swerving around him to get out of the covered dining area with hurried steps.
“Y/N!” Tonowari called your name, but you did not look back.
You made it outside and immediately breathed in the cooler air, feeling your lungs were able to expand now that you were out of the crowd’s range of vision. You continued to walk to the water. Feeling the sand under your toes and listening to the soft rush of a breaking wave grounded you. You halted once the sea enveloped your feet and stared out to where the blue sky met the turquoise sea.
But your relief was short lived as lumbering steps behind you made the tension rise in your shoulders all over again. You whirled on Tonowari, and seeing his concerned face made you uncontrollably angry. All of the pent up fear and emotions from the past weeks welled up in you like a flooding river.
Rage bubbled in your gut when he looked so clueless. How could he not be aware of what he had done just the night before? It had to have been him, your own father had said so. Tonowari had been talking to her and looked guilty when he had come back, you should have pressed harder for answers. Maybe you could have gotten ahead of this if he had just told you upfront.
“What did you tell her? What did you do?” you demanded once he was close enough.
He reared his head back, stopping down the beach from you, still a ways away, but close enough for you to see each micro expression on his face and hear each word from his mouth.
“Of what do you speak?” he asked evenly, not giving in to panic just yet like you had. “Who?”
“Ronal!” you exclaimed, pressing your fingers to your temple and trying to regulate your breathing. “She has told everyone the truth. They are now saying that this is a lie!” you cried.
He let out a breath, taking one step forward as he gazed at you through his lashes. “I did not mean-”
“So you did! You told her?” you cut him off.
He stood taller, his eyes darting around your face. “She asked about how we got together… and I told her that I asked you to court me. I said something like “thank Eywa she said yes”. She asked me what would have happened if you said no,” he paused and your tail twitched nervously behind you.
“Txe'lanneyä… I had gotten into the drink. I said things I should not,” he interjected and your eyes narrowed.
“Just tell me,” you begged and he forced his eyes shut for a second, gathering his thoughts.
His gaze slid back to you. “I said that if you had said no, that we both would have been screwed. She started asking all these questions, she knew so much already, I just… I don’t remember exactly what was said, but she gathered that something was wrong. She asked me outright if we were truly together,” he said.
Your face fell, hands shaking and you brought them to your chest and held them against your sternum. “What did you tell her?”
His breath hitched, “I hesitated… just for a moment, but it was enough.”
You took another step back, “I did not tell you because I did not confirm her accusation, I did not know if it was in my head. I thought for sure it would blow over and leave her mind once the night was over,” he swore.
A morning breeze tousled your hair and locks of it blew over your face. “I cannot believe you would do this,” you whispered in disbelief, shaking your head as if denying it would reverse all the damage that had been done.
His forehead wrinkled, “I did not mean to! She asked so many questions and my mind was not keeping up. I am sorry!” he exclaimed, but you just clenched your fist in anger, turning from him and facing the ocean.
“This was your idea,” you accused quietly, brow pinching in the middle. “This is all your fault. What have you done?" you cried, tears dripping down your cheeks. He stalked a few steps nearer and you could see him out of the corner of your eye as he came to your side.
He looked so conflicted that it almost made you pity him. “You can blame me, that is fair, but I do not regret what we have done, even if they do know,” he said firmly and you scoffed waterily.
“I do,” you bit out and his face went slack. “This hurts,” you muttered, furiously wiping away a tear that escaped down your neck.
He winced before his expression hardened into a defensive expression. “Blame me, that is fine, but you also agreed to this. The fault is not mine alone," he pleaded, taking one last step closer and you finally turned to face him again.
Your brow lowered. "What choice did I have? I was too worried about what they would think of us, and how the Olo’eyktan would doubt you. But I was foolish, I did not consider the after and now it is too late. The two of us will never be the same. We can never go back to how we were.”
He reared his head back, fist clenching at his side as he paused to search your face. He shook his head as if he had found his resolve. “And you want to? I was also changed from this. I see things differently now. I see you differently. I do not want to go back.”
You sniffled, looking up to him imploringly. “What can you possibly mean? They will laugh at us, we will be shamed.”
He sighed, smiling sardonically as he stepped closer and gently took your face between his hands. “I mean, that I cannot bear to see you sad like this. Your tears shred my heart in two. Your smile alights my soul. I look for you in every room or crowd. Everything reminds me of your face. I do not want to be separated from you, especially in this manner.”
You gaped up at him, face frozen in shock as his eyes softened. “I mean that I love you,” he said.
Your heart momentarily stopped beating in your chest, before it kicked up and restarted all over again. “You.. love me?” you asked, feeling as if you did not hear him correctly.
He nodded, “That is right. I love you. I have for some time now,” he confessed and you gaped up at him, not sure what to say.
“You cannot…” you murmured, gripping his wrists and attempting to tug them away from your face, but his hands did not budge.
“Why not?” he demanded, staring into your eyes intently.
“You are Eykatay, I am just… me. We could never truly be together,” you stammered and he shook his head.
“That is not an answer. Why do you doubt your own value? You are worth more to me than the stars. What good is being Olo’eyktan if you are not at my side? I would give it all up if-”
“Stop!” you hissed, “Listen to yourself, you cannot give up everything you have worked for, not for me. You deserve a woman who… is strong.”
“You are strong.”
You shook your head, “A woman who can lead,” you argued.
“You would be a fearsome leader, you could do anything,” he insisted.
Your ears pinned back in frustration. “A woman who is a warrior or a healer, not one who trips over her own nets.”
His frown deepened, “What does it matter? You are of clear mind, of strong heart. I need you beside me, that is what I have learned this past month.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued on. “Do you not love me? I have interpreted your gaze incorrectly, is that the problem?” he said quietly, finally loosening his grip on your jaw and his hands slid down your neck, landing hesitantly on your shoulders.
“Of course I love you,” you scoffed, “but you cannot love me. You are mistaken,” you insisted.
“Why is that so unbelievable? Why can you love me, but I cannot love you?” he demanded and removed his hands from you entirely to rest on his hips. He glared down as he waited impatiently for you to explain yourself.
“Because! Because I am not like those other girls that like you. I am not delicate, I am not small. You called me a syulang at first, and it made my skin crawl because you reminded me of what I am not. I am nothing like a flower or those girls.” you hissed and his face hardened.
“Fine, you want to know why I decided on syulang?” he asked as you crossed your arms over your stomach.
He did not wait for your answer. “Yes, it was partly because you are as beautiful as a flower in bloom, but also because they are persistent. They grow in the oddest places, the sandiest soil, the hottest weather that should wither them, yet they keep going. You keep going too. The world has not been kind to you, but you have always been kind to it. That is a rare beauty, to be able to resist even the harshest conditions,” he said, and you felt another tear make its way down your face.
“And I do not want a delicate girl, ready to blow over at the first sign of a breeze. I want a strong woman who knows who she is, who will weather every storm with me. I want you,” he demanded. He stepped impossibly closer, bringing his hands back to your face and wiping away your tears with his thumbs.
“I am sorry,” you croaked, head bending forwards as you averted your eyes in shame. You rested your head on his chest, feeling the warmth emanating from him.
“For what, Txe'lanneyä?” he said softly.
“For being difficult,” you said, “I do love you, I do, and I have for so long that it is hard to imagine you loving me back.”
You glanced up after saying the words, which allowed you to catch him smiling and you felt suddenly hopeful. “I am the difficult one. I should never have played games with matters of the heart. I messed everything up, let me fix it. Let me love you,” he begged, tipping your chin back up until your eyes met his.
“Okay,” you relented, the tension slowly leaving your body as he embraced you, tucking your head under his chin as he pulled your body back into his. In his arms you felt safe, hidden away from the world that you had not yet worked up the courage to face again.
“What do we tell them?” you asked, voice muffled against his skin.
“We tell them the truth. That we are courting, that I do love you, and growing more enamored by the day. Ronal is a gossip, that is known. Perhaps she got this rumor wrong.”
“You are suggesting we lie again?” you gasped.
“One last time,” he promised.
You bit your lip, mulling it over. “Okay, our last one,” you agreed with a nod.
He smiled, leaning his forehead against yours and you could not help but smile back. You reveled in the knowledge that this time, it was real. You let yourself feel it down to your toes, a tingling, warmth that spread over your body now that you knew your feelings were returned.
“Tonowari!” a booming voice echoed down the beach and your bubble popped. You both turned to see the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk marching across the sand towards you.
Tonowari pulled mostly away, leaving his hand on your arm, but needing the rest of his body to bow and his other hand to gesture the traditional Na’vi way of greeting.
“Oel ngati kameie, Olo’eyktan,” Tonowari said, “Oel ngati kameie, Tsahìk.” You watched with wide eyes as the two leaders stopped in front of you both.
“Oel ngati kameie,” you muttered, hurrying to follow Tonowari’s movements.
“We hear whispers,” the Tsahìk gritted out, looking between you both. The fact that they did not return the greeting showed how upset they were with you both. Your stomach dropped at the realization. You looked to Tonowari to see how he was reacting, but only found a cool mask of calm over his face.
“I understand there have been rumors spread about us,” Tonowari agreed and you harshly sucked in a deep breath of air. The Olo’eyktan’s eyes slid to you at the sound and you quickly bit your lip to prevent yourself from doing it again.
“And is it true?” the Tsahìk demanded.
Tonowari started, “It-” he managed to say before the Olo’eyktan held up a hand to silence his second-in-command.
“No, she will tell us,” the clan leader commanded, his iron gaze locked on you. All eyes swiveled to look at you and Tonowari squeezed your arm reassuringly.
You blinked rapidly in an attempt to focus. You felt the compulsion to lie as agreed, but it felt wrong. After all these weeks, you just wanted a clear conscience. “Yes,” you breathed.
The Tsahìk's eyes widened and she started muttering under her breath. Tonowari’s mouth pressed into a line as he undoubtedly was wondering what you were doing.
“Yes, it was. It started that way, so we could both save our reputations, but… it grew into something more,” you confessed.
“So, are you together or not?” The Olo’eyktan asked, brow furrowing low on his forehead.
“We are together. We love one another, it is plain to us now,” Tonowari answered for you and the Olo’eyktan glared critically at him.
“You are reckless, son of Arvak. Do not rush into something, as you tend to do,” the Tsahìk warned.
Tonowari’s posture straightened and he looked levelly at the two. “Of this I am certain, and have been for many weeks. I love her, I am courting her, and if she will have me, I intend to take her as my mate one day. I know that this was an untraditional way of going about it, and I understand if you wish to select another Eykatay, but I stand by the choices I have made, and I choose her.”
The Tsahìk and Olo’eyktan exchanged a look with one another as you gaped at Tonowari, your fingers wrapping around the crook of his arm. His gaze swiveled to you, nodding once in encouragement.
“You have shown maturity in this decision, Tonowari,” the Olo’eyktan finally said and you let out a miniscule breath of relief. “She is a good choice and I see your bond is already strong.”
“Thank you, Olo’eyktan,” you said, lowering your head in respect.
“Do you return his feelings?” he asked.
You shyly looked up at Tonowari, unable to stop the smile from blooming on your face. “Yes, I love him very much.”
The Olo’eykatan nodded in approval and the Tsahik spoke up, “Then we will begin your training tomorrow. I was not sure that you were serious about one another, but now I see. You will make a fine Tsakarem.”
A small laugh escaped your lips. You were overjoyed at the prospect of what she was offering. “Yes ma’am,” you agreed quickly, “I am in your debt,” you told her.
“Thank you,” Tonowari said and the Olo’eyktan held out an extended arm. Tonowari let go of you to clasp their arms together, hands at elbows, as you exchanged a smile with the Tsahik.
The two men separated and Tonowari’s hand found its way around to your shoulder. He had done it before, but now the display of casual affection felt so different. “What should I tell the others?” Tonowari asked for advice and his mentor considered the idea, turning to his wife whose eyes widened in question.
“You will go back in there and address the rumors. Do not over explain, tell them that you are courting and there is nothing else to it. Your history is your own. Being a leader means finding the fine line of what is private and what the people are owed. Matters of the heart are often not for others,” he decided.
You could not help but feel nervous at having to face the music and speaking to the people, but at least you would not have to tell them of your trickery. Your body pulsed with nervous energy, but Tonowari’s warm voice steadied you.
“It will be as you said. Thank you.” Tonowari said and you nodded in agreement.
“As Eykatey and Tsakarem, you will be expected to have places of honor at calf communion today. Make sure he has told you what to expect,” the Tsahik advised you, smiling knowingly as your eyes widened.
“Yes ma’am,” you agreed and she pointed her chin back to where you came.
“May Eywa smile upon you. Go, we will be there in a moment,” she said.
Your walk back to the other villagers felt all too short. “Are you ready?” Tonowari asked and you numbly nodded.
“Can you do the talking?” you asked quietly, hating large crowds and watching eyes. Surely you would stumble over words and make a fool of you both.
His gaze softened, “I was the one to mess it up, I will fix it,” he promised and you pursed your lips to keep from grinning at the solemn look on his face.
“You are very good at that,” you shrugged and he paused.
“At fixing things?” he asked and you did grin this time.
“At messing them up first so that you have to fix them,” you explained as he shot you an astonished look before he grinned too. “But you are rather good at the fixing part.”
He shook his head in mock exasperation, “I will handle it, Txe'lanneyä.”
When you both entered, the people hushed, looking at you both as you walked in, hand in hand. A swarm of wasps buzzed in your belly, but Tonowari tugged you forward with a mask of indifference and at a steady pace.
“Na’vi,” he called after coming to a stop on a raised dais the Tsahik used for prayers occasionally. The people went completely quiet then, all looking up at him in shock. You had not stepped up onto the platform with him, instead offering your comforting support from the ground level as you kept your joined hands entertwined.
Your eyes found Ronal and she glared unabashedly. You did not bother acknowledging her. You had already won and she knew that based on the look currently on her face, there was no point in revenge. You having him was enough to boil her blood.
“There have been whispers and we have come to address them,” Tonowari boomed, his voice cutting across the room, demanding respect and a listening ear.
“It has been said that I am not truly courting this woman,” he continued.
You found your parents in the crowd. Their clenched jaws and narrow eyes made you feel momentarily guilty for what had been done. Yet as Tonowari said, “but that is false,” they both immediately looked relieved and equal parts confused.
“We are very much in love, and have been for some time.” Tonowari explained, looking around the room. “If you have a concern, I suggest you come talk to me directly instead of whispering behind my intended’s back,” he warned and stepped down from the raised area.
The people erupted in whispers as you grinned softly at him, feeling relieved. You were glad he had kept it concise and short, not saying more than was needed.
“Come, let me help you prepare for today,” he said, letting go of your hand to grip your waist and gently steer you back out of the space.
“But… I-” you stammered, feeling as if you should do something more than leave immediately.
“Well well,” Nakata’s smooth voice broke through the murmuring and he stepped in front of you with his arms crossed.
You skidded to a halt, Tonowari bumping into your back. He did not need to scramble to steady himself as you had, seeing as he had managed to keep his balance. He instead pulled you flush to his chest, allowing you to lean your weight on him in the cramped space.
“Brother,” Tonowari greeted Nakata and your face heated under your cousin’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Real or not real?” your cousin asked lowly, leaning in to limit the possibility of people overhearing.
You smiled, looking up to Tonowari over your shoulder as he beamed back. “Real,” you both said in unison.
Nakata’s face broke into a triumphant smile, “I knew it! Did I not tell you?” he asked smugly and you shook your head at his antics.
“You told us,” you admitted with a small groan.
“You are a meddler, Nakata,” Tonowari warned with a low laugh, slowly steering you around your kin and towards the door. “I have to get your cousin ready for her first calf communion as Tsakarem,” he explained as you parted ways.
“You are Tsakarem?” Nakata asked in disbelief as you made Tonowari stop again.
“No, I am not Tsakarem yet. I begin my training tomorrow,” you explained and Nataka reached up to box your ear good naturedly.
“Way to go, cousin!” he cheered and you smiled at his excitement after waving his hand away. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Tonowari beaming down at you proudly.
“Thank you,” you said earnestly.
“We really have to go,” Tonowari explained, moving you back into motion.
“Fine, Yawnetu. We will go,” you huffed a laugh as you waved to Nakata and he waved back.
“I like that endearment much more than Zukzuk’tsyìp,” he noted as you ignored the eyes on you and exited.
“Oh? But I liked Zukzuk’tsyìp, perhaps I will keep it,” you teased and he huffed in your ear, before moving around to stand beside you now that there was more space.
“Call me what you wish, I am yours, but do not wonder why I feel emasculated,” he said and you laughed.
“We cannot have that, I will not tease you then,” you smiled as you made your way into your family's marui.
“Tell me about calf communion, what am I to do?” you asked, placing your hands on your hips.
He shrugged, “Stand there and look beautiful, as you already do. We have no significant parts to play today. We will stand behind the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik, looking solemn and serious,” he said, schooling his features into an overexaggerated deadpan stare.
“That cannot be, that look would scare all of the babies away,” you giggled, poking him in the side as his expression broke and he watched you with admiration.
“Yes, but it is my preferred expression during ceremonies, so I do not laugh at an inappropriate time and gain a glare. You, however, may coo and fawn over the babies, since I know you will want to anyway,” he explained.
“Good. You are right, I will be too happy to try to look sour,” you chirped, “I will be at your side, for real, and I get to watch adorable babies and calves commune together for the first time. I could not look stately or somber if I tried.”
He smiled, leaning against the support pole near the door and crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you.
“What should I wear?” you asked, going to the basket where you kept your loincloths and tops, sifting through them and pulling out a yellow one and a pink one.
“Whatever you like, you will look beautiful no matter what. You could wear what you have on now,” he suggested and you scoffed.
“Do not be ridiculous. This is too simple,” you fussed, looking down at the plain brown and green woven net-like top you were wearing. “No, it is between these two. What do you think?” you asked, holding them both up for him to see.
“Wear the pink one, it will go well with pearls,” he said, nodding to the top in your right hand and your brow wrinkled in confusion.
“I do not have pearls, just the one you gave me,” you explained.
“Then it is good that I brought you something,” he said with a knowing smile. He pulled out something from a pouch along his waist and your eyes widened at the sight.
“Tonowari, you do not have to give me anything,” you said, as he held it up to you. It was a beautiful woven necklace that was dotted with pearls.
“Do you like it?” he asked anyway.
“Of course I do. It is beautiful. Did you make this?” you asked, running your hands along the pearls dangling from the plant fiber loops at the bottom and making them gently tinkle as they knocked into one another.
“I thought I should get you a courting gift, a real one. I have been diving for the pearls for nearly a fortnight and I had the weavers show me how to put this together for you. I only finished yesterday, Eywa must have known I would need it for today,” he draped the necklace against your skin at your collarbone and you held it there as he walked around to your back to fasten it.
“You really have liked me for a little while now,” you realized in a giddy daze, your hand brushing along the intricate details of the necklace.
“You have ensnared me, I do not know who I am anymore if I am not yours,” he said over your shoulder, hands leaving your neck and drifting down your arms as you leaned against him. “Pearls, for my pearl,” he hummed.
“Tonowari…” you sighed, “You cannot tell me such things, I have barely processed this morning's events. You cannot speak poetry to me or my heart will burst.”
“You will have to endure it now, I will have much to say,” he chuckled, and you smiled at the warm sound.
“Then I will learn how to,” you nodded. “But for now, I do need to change,” you reminded him.
“Ah, then I suppose you will want me to leave you,” he said as you straightened up, turning around in his arms to face him.
“That would be preferred, I will see you shortly at the communion,” you reminded him.
“It is still a ways away,” he murmured.
“Who knew you to be so clingy?” you teased. “Here. A parting gift.”
You raised up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his and wrapping your arms around his neck. You could feel his lips turning up into a smile against yours as he entwined his own arms around your waist and picked you up, your feet raising off of the floor.
You laughed against his mouth at his show of strength, hitting the flat of your wrist into his shoulder to indicate for him to put you down. He did not listen and instead held you suspended as he explored the feel of your mouth on his.
When he finally put you down, you felt weak in the knees and were grateful that he had a hand on your side to steady you.
“I should leave more often,” he said under his breath. He swept your hair behind your shoulders with his free hand to better see the necklace.
“Then go,” you laughed, just barely pushing his chest towards the opening.
“Fine,” he groaned, but leaned forward to peck your lips one last time before breaking away and walking to the door.
You turned and watched him stalk outside before he paused and back tracked to the entryway, “Hey, Sevin’eve?” he said, as you crossed your arms over your chest.
“Yes, Yawnetu?” you responded.
“I love you,” he smiled goofily in a way that made you think just getting to say the words filled him with excitement.
“I love you too,” you laughed, shooing him away and he nodded and ducked back out of the marui.
-
You decided that Calf Communion was even better up close. You had stood by Tonowari as the Metkayina babies met their spirit brothers and sisters for the first time. You and Tonowari had perched on Lan’pey as the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik stood on a rock nearby. Babies and calves swam around each other, letting Eywa guide them to the one they would be connected with for over a century, if they were lucky.
You had only let joyful tears slip down your cheeks once. Tonowari had caught you wiping it away and he watched with care and affection. He otherwise stuck to his solemn and almost grumpy expression, looking every bit the fearsome hunter who had killed akulas and nalutsas and led hunting parties regularly. You were proud of yourself for containing your emotions for the ceremony that you usually cried all the way through.
When it was complete and the people all dove into the ocean to swim alongside their spirit siblings, you and Tonowari had jumped into the water hand in hand. Lan’pey made a sound of greeting to your spirit sister, Nan’ti, as she appeared out of the depths.
“Hello, sister,” you told her with a smile, happy to see her.
“Happy Calf Communion, sister,” Nan’ti said in return. “Much has changed since we last spoke yesterday. I can see it on your face,” she continued.
You smiled, but covered it with your hand bashfully, “I am very happy,” you assured her and she did the Tulkun equivalent to laughing.
As if rehearsed or in synchronicity, you and Tonowari each grabbed a hold of your Tulkun’s fin and let them pull you further out to sea, away from all of the others. When the bottom of the ocean dropped to near darkness and Lan’pey let out a wail, both tulkuns slowed until all that moved you was the current.
You let go of the fin so that you could sign, “What are you doing?” to Nan’ti, but she just let out a mischievous sound. With one last chirp, the tulkuns arched back in the water and turned away from you. You looked at Tonowari who looked like he was in on the scheme.
“What happened?” you signed as Tonowari swam closer, stopping when he was within arm's length.
“I asked them to take us further out,” he signed back and you narrowed your eyes.
“Why?” you asked.
“So that I could kiss you away from the people’s eyes. We have performed for them enough,” he told you, his hands coming to your sides and resting there as he gauged your reaction.
Anticipation bubbled in your chest at the news. “Then what are you waiting for?” you signed back.
He smiled, unabashedly and wide, as you kicked your feet to propel yourself closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck and felt the water moving around your bodies, the two of you sinking together now that you were both too distracted to stay perfectly suspended.
He pressed his lips to yours. The warmth of his body combated the chill in the water and you found yourself drawing ever closer until there was no distance. The silence of the watery underworld seemed to hold the moment into a suspension of time. It felt as if you were the only ones on Pandora.
His arms locked around your middle as his body slowly sank beneath the deep and took you with him. You could name many of the happiest moments in your life and this one would take the top of the list. His hair tickled your shoulders and you suddenly wondered what it would feel like to run your hands through it.
You reached one hand to scratch through his scalp, your fingers just barely brushing the base of his kuru. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine and he nipped at your bottom lip in retaliation. You smiled through the kiss, feeling your weight press into him now that you both were nearly horizontal. You gently dragged your hand through his curls, the smooth tresses miraculously having very few knots or snags.
You pulled away after another few moments, wanting to see his face. You were glad you had when you opened your own eyes to find his eyes still closed. His face was relaxed and the total opposite of the serious look he wore at the communion today. His eyes blinked open to meet your adoring gaze.
You pulled your hand out of his hair, and pressed your fingers to his lips, running a line across them now that they were more swollen than before. He smiled against your touch and you felt giddy that you could make him do that so effortlessly now.
He lifted his head to press it softly to your forehead. You could see every pore, line, and crease on his face, an amalgamation of things that made him so beautiful. You were thankful that Eywa made each of her creatures differently. Just like the pearl strung to the songchord, his imperfections made you love him more.
He removed one of his own hands from around your hip and instead pressed it to his heart, patting the skin there twice before he pointed to you. The message was clear despite words.
My heart is yours.
You smiled back, your own heart skipping a beat at his meaning. You patted your own chest before pressing the same hand into his.
Our hearts beat as one.
-
That's a wrap on My Pearl! Thank you for going on this journey with me!
Taglist:
My Pearl taglist: @diaryofasecretmermaid @itskekeelise @strawbaerriesvt @celestialsonglines @xoxojules86 @kiatjuddae @escapefromrealitylol @sh3wolfgam3r @user153639937 @imverytiredtbh
A reluctant Tonowari agrees to train a human he sees as weak. She resists his authority, and neither is willing to yield—yet the ocean has already begun shaping their fate.
Content warning:
Violence / near-drowning (non-graphic), Emotional distress / panic, Power imbalance / authority pressure, Conflict, tension, and harsh treatment, eventual smut and fluff, tags will be updated as story progresses.
Tonowari stomped out of the Tsahìk’s hut in rage, the woven entrance settling softly behind him as he emerged into the open air. The world stretched wide before him—endless sky meeting the rolling sea, the wind carrying with it the sharp, salt-heavy scent of water and distant tides breaking against the shore. It should have steadied him, the vastness, the openness, the familiar rhythm of the ocean, but instead his jaw remained tight, his shoulders locked with a tension he did not release, as though the air itself had failed to ease what lingered beneath his skin.
Her voice stayed with him.
Not in full, not clearly, but in fragments—broken sounds of hesitation, of uncertainty, of someone who did not yet understand how to move within a world that demanded awareness at every step. It echoed in his mind as he walked, layered over the quiet sounds of the shore, and it left a bitter edge in its wake. No control. No discipline. No awareness. A burden.
And now—his.
A slow breath left his nose as he came to a stop at the edge of the water, the tide brushing softly against the sand at his feet. The horizon stretched endlessly before him, where sea and sky met in a quiet meeting of light and color, shifting with the fading day, and for a moment he let his gaze settle there, as if the vastness might silence the thoughts pressing against his mind.
He should have refused. He should have spoken when mother gave her command, clear and unwavering as always. You will teach her. There had been no hesitation in her voice, no room for argument, and yet Tonowari had said nothing, had not questioned, had not pushed back.
A human.
To be taught.
By him.
The thought alone made him nauseous.
His gaze darkened slightly as his mind returned to her, to the way she moved—too fast, then too slow, never quite steady, her actions carrying a kind of reckless uncertainty that sat uneasily with him. He remembered the way she laughed when she should have been still, the way she struck her own head as if the world itself were something to be toyed with, as if consequences were something distant rather than immediate. It was foolish. Dangerous. The kind of behavior that would not survive long among the People.
And yet.
She had survived the sea.
Barely, yes—but she had endured what many could not. His eyes narrowed slightly at the thought, something quiet and measured slipping beneath the sharpness of his earlier judgment. The sea did not spare the weak without reason. It tested, it judged, it revealed what lay beneath the surface. And she had not been claimed by it.
That mattered.
Still, the question remained, lingering just beneath the surface of his thoughts, quiet but persistent. Why her? She was Sky People—whether she claimed otherwise or not that truth remained.
Tonowari’s gaze shifted back toward the hut behind him, the faint structure barely visible at the edge of his vision, and he watched it for a moment longer than necessary, as if expecting movement, as if she might emerge again and challenge the quiet he now stood within. But she did not appear, and the silence remained, thick but undisturbed.
She would learn.
Or she would fail.
Simple. Direct. No complication.
His expression hardened slightly as the decision settled within him, no longer a thought but a certainty. He would not go easy on her, not out of cruelty but out of necessity, for if she was to remain among his people, she would have to earn that place through discipline, through endurance, through the steady weight of effort and respect, not through words or empty promises. Not through anything given freely.
His hand flexed once at his side, a small, grounding motion, before stilling again as the wind shifted around him, carrying the scent of the sea across his skin. A final breath left him, slow and steady, the tension within him settling—not gone, but contained, controlled. Then Tonowari turned, his posture straightening as he began to walk forward once more, leaving the water behind as he moved with quiet certainty toward what lay ahead.
The matter was decided.
And he would see it through.
No matter how she tested him, no matter how she resisted the discipline he intended to give, she would learn what was required of her to stand among his people.
The warmth came first, slow and gentle, like sunlight sinking into your skin after a long cold night. It wrapped around you, soft and endless, easing the tightness in your chest until you could finally breathe without effort.
You were back on the beach.
Golden sand stretched beneath you, warm and shifting as it slipped through your fingers. The ocean moved beside you in quiet, steady rhythms, waves brushing your ankles before retreating again. The air carried salt and heat, and above you the sky was impossibly clear, painted in bright blues and gold that felt almost unreal in their perfection.
They were there again—the faceless person.
They stood close, as if they had always been there, their presence grounding you in a way nothing else could. When their hands found yours, they were warm and steady, holding you carefully, like you were something fragile but worth keeping. The restless storm inside your chest softened under their touch, fading into something distant and quiet.
The thought came gently, not quite your own.
You were safe.
For a moment, everything stilled.
They leaned closer, unhurried, certain. When their lips met yours, it was soft and familiar, like something you should remember but couldn’t quite reach. The taste lingered, faintly salty, like the ocean breeze, and it stirred something deep in your chest—an ache that felt like loss and comfort all at once.
You leaned into it, holding onto the moment as if it might disappear.
And then it did.
The change began at the edges. The sky flickered, its colors warping as the light dimmed unevenly. The sand beneath your hands shifted too quickly now, dissolving through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold it.
You shook your head, panic rising. “Wait—”
The warmth in their hands faded, slipping away as if they had never been there at all. The ocean darkened, its calm surface twisting into something heavier, something that pulled instead of soothed. The air grew colder, thinner, harder to breathe.
The world fractured.
Gravity vanished, and for a brief second you hung suspended before everything flipped. The sky collapsed into darkness, the sea rushing up to meet you, and you knew exactly where you were before you even hit the water.
The ocean swallowed you.
Cold closed in instantly, crushing and inescapable, dragging you down into a depth that felt endless. It was the same ocean—the one that had taken everything, the one you had fought to escape. Your body moved on instinct, struggling against the weight of the water, but it resisted you, pulling you deeper as the faint light above slipped further out of reach.
Your chest burned as you tried to breathe, panic turning sharp and desperate. Water rushed in instead, choking off any sound, any air, until all that remained was pressure and darkness closing in around you.
You woke gasping, your body jerking upright as air flooded back into your lungs too fast to control. Your chest heaved, each breath raw and uneven, your heart pounding as if you had just broken through the surface.
The warmth was gone, leaving only the fading memory of it behind.
A voice cut through the haze, low and familiar, pulling you back as your head snapped toward it.
“Jake?”
He was already there, sitting close, watching you with quiet patience. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes stayed sharp, tracking every small movement like he was making sure you were really back.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m here.”
Your breathing came in sharp, uneven bursts, your chest still tight, lungs struggling to settle after what felt like being dragged back from the edge. Jake didn’t rush you. Instead, he reached for a carved cup beside him, lifting it with steady hands and holding it out to you. “Here. Water.”
Your fingers trembled as you took it, the smooth surface slipping slightly before you tightened your grip. You brought it to your lips too fast, swallowing in desperate gulps before the cool water hit your throat and made you cough, turning your head as you tried to catch your breath.
“Easy,” Jake said again, a little firmer this time, not harsh—just steady, grounding.
You nodded, forcing yourself to slow down, the panic still clinging to the edges of your thoughts. When you finally lowered the cup, your eyes started to take in more of your surroundings—the woven walls, the filtered light spilling through gaps, the quiet presence of others lingering at a distance, watching without intruding.
“I—” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat, gripping the cup a little tighter. “I’m fine.”
Jake raised a brow, not buying it for a second.
“You almost died. Then you act bat-shit crazy after we wake you up here, fall asleep after tsahik treated you and wake up thrashing again.”
Your fingers tightened around the cup until your knuckles shifted. “…Yeah,” you muttered. “I gathered.”
A beat passed, quiet but not uncomfortable. Then Jake let out a small breath that edged close to a laugh.
“You always this bad at swimming?”
Despite everything still lingering in your chest, a broken half-laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “Apparently,” you said. “First time? Would not recommend.”
That got a real smile out of him, brief but genuine. “Yeah,” he said, “ocean’s not exactly forgiving.”
The tension eased just a little, like the air itself finally decided to let you breathe again. You glanced at him, studying his face for a second, grounding yourself in something solid.
“…You look the same,” you said, a small edge of humor creeping in. “Aging like fine wine since you got your blue skin, huh?"
Jake huffed, amused. “Yeah? Been through hell, moved planets, my mates got a bun in the oven—but sure, same guy.”
Your eyes widened slightly. “Wait—a bun in the oven?”
“Yeah.”
“Your mates pregnant?” you repeated, staring at him like you’d missed something huge.
“Last I checked,” he said dryly.
You shook your head in disbelief. “That’s insane.”
“Tell me about it.”
A small silence settled between you, but this time it didn’t feel heavy—just quiet, like space to breathe.
“…So how did you even end up here?” you asked. “Last I remember, you weren’t exactly… ocean people.”
Jake leaned back slightly, resting his arms on his knees as he looked out across the space before answering. “We weren’t,” he said. “Came here seeking uturu. Me and my mate—Neytiri.”
You blinked.
“…Oh,” you said slowly, then narrowed your eyes a little. “Wait—Neytiri?”
Jake glanced at you. “Yeah.”
You pointed slightly at him. “That crazy bitch who was dead set on killing me before?”
Jake snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah. That one.”
You stared at him for a second, then let out a disbelieving laugh. “Of course she is.”
“…Back when I helped you with the Omaticaya, I knew you had a mate,” you said, squinting at him. “I just didn’t know it was Neytiri.”
Jake huffed, already catching the tone. “Yeah, well—would’ve been a real icebreaker: ‘Hi, this is my mate, she might try to kill you.’”
You snorted despite yourself.
“Would’ve been nice to know,” you shot back. “Might’ve stood a better chance at staying alive.”
Jake smirked. “Hey, you survived. That’s gotta count for something.”
You raised a brow. “Barely.”
“Still counts and she’s not that bad once you get to know her,” he added.
You shot him a look.
Jake smirked faintly. “Okay—she is that bad. But she means well.”
You shook your head, still trying to wrap your mind around everything. “This place though…” you glanced around again, your voice softening. “It’s different.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “Metkayina. Reef people. Whole different way of life.”
“…And they’re just letting me stay?” you asked, quieter now, like the idea hadn’t fully settled yet.
Jake hesitated for just a moment before answering. “Tsahìk had a say in that.”
You frowned slightly. “The… Sa-heek?”
He exhaled. “Tsahìk. It’s a title.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but then the space shifted—subtle, but undeniable. The air itself seemed to still, as if everything in the room paused in recognition of something greater.
Jake straightened slightly.
You turned.
She entered without announcement, moving with a calm certainty that made the space feel smaller and more focused all at once. The Tsahìk.
You didn’t know her name—only that she helped you recover. Her presence carried weight without force, steady and unwavering as her gaze settled on you, observant, searching, seeing more than what was visible.
She approached, her hands gentle but precise as they moved to your temple, checking the wound. You flinched slightly at the pressure, but stayed still as she worked, murmuring something under her breath—a prayer you didn’t understand but could feel in the quiet of the moment.
Her hands moved with practiced care, applying herbs, adjusting the bandage with quiet confidence that made it impossible to look away.
You swallowed, then spoke softly, “Thank you.”
Her hands paused immediately.
She looked at you, her expression firm but not unkind.
“Do not thank me,” she said, her voice calm, certain.
Her hand rose, pressing gently against your forehead, and for a moment her gaze drifted, as if she was listening to something far beyond the room.
“Thank Eywa.”
The words settled deep—quiet but heavy with meaning.
“She has saved you… for a purpose.”
You felt that sit in your chest, something uncertain but real.
Jake shifted slightly beside you, glancing between you both before speaking. “Yeah,” he said, more grounded now. “What she means is—you’ve got a place here. If you want it.”
You looked at him, then down at your hands, at everything that had changed, everything you’d lost—and everything still ahead.
“…I can stay?” you asked quietly.
Jake nodded. “You can stay. And learn the ways of the People.”
For a moment, you just sat there, taking it in.
Then, slowly, you nodded.
“I… I’ll try.”
The Tsahìk watched you in silence—unmoving, unwavering.
You frowned slightly, still trying to piece everything together, your eyes drifting over the woven walls and the soft, filtered light before settling back on Jake.
“So… who’s teaching me?”
Jake glanced toward the entrance for a brief moment, then back at you, like he was measuring how much you’d actually understand.
“…Tonowari.”
Your brows knit. “Who?”
He let out a quiet breath, like he’d been expecting that question.
“Tonowari,” he repeated, a little slower. “The one who carried you here.”
You searched your memory—fragments of cold water, pressure, weight being pulled from the ocean, a figure holding you steady.
Then a face surfaced.
Sharp. Unyielding. Watching you like you were something to be assessed, not comforted.
“You mean the same guy who called me a useless piece of driftwood the second he saw me…?”
Jake let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah. That sounds like him.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line. “…charming.”
You paused, squinting slightly as you tried to place the name. “Tonoowari…? Tono… wavi? Thats his name?”
Jake huffed under his breath, shaking his head faintly. “Close enough.”
Jake leaned back slightly, tone more grounded now.
“He doesn’t trust easily,” he said. “But he didn’t let you drown. That says something.”
You tilted your head, hopeful. “So… he likes me just enough not to drop me off his giant flying fish thing?”
Jake huffed lightly. “It’s called a skimwing.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup, your voice quieter now. “…great.”
Jake gave you a small look. “He’s strict. Knows what he’s doing. If you’re gonna survive here, you’ll need him.”
You huffed softly. “Love that for me.”
Jake gave you a small, reassuring look. “Just try not to get on his bad side on your first day.”
You stared at him. “I’m pretty sure I already am. He tried to kill me, remember?”
Jake smirked. “Relax. If you’re still breathing, you’re probably doing something right.”
“…wait.”
You looked at Jake, narrowing your eyes slightly, your grip tightening around the cup as you tried to make sense of what you’d just been told.
“You said strict like… how strict?”
Jake frowned a little, shifting his weight where he sat, one elbow resting on his knee as he looked at you.
“What do you mean?”
You gestured vaguely, still unsettled by the memory that wouldn’t quite leave you.
“Like… strict or ‘I’m going to hit you again’ strict?”
Jake blinked, clearly caught off guard by how fast you went there.
“…you’re jumping to that again?”
You gave him a look.
“I mean he did slap me.”
The words came out a little sharper than you meant, the memory flashing back—quick, sudden, the sting more than the pain, the way it had left you stunned.
Jake didn’t deny it this time.
“He was correcting you.”
“By hitting me.”
You shifted slightly on your spot, the woven floor creaking softly beneath you. Your fingers tightened around the cup, the carved surface grounding but not calming.
Jake exhaled through his nose, his gaze steady but tired, like he’d already had this argument a dozen times in his head.
“He could’ve just talked to me,” you said, quieter now.
Jake nodded once.
“He could’ve. But they don’t really lead that way,” he said. “Not like we do.”
You shifted again, your gaze drifting out toward the water. The sunlight caught on the surface, broken into flickering pieces by the movement below.
“…I’m still not thrilled about being trained by someone who slapped me,” you said.
Jake gave a small, almost indifferent shrug, like he understood but wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.
“Fair. But he’s the one who’s gonna make sure you don’t drown out there again.”
Your fingers loosened around the cup without you realizing it.
You looked down at your hands, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly as your breathing slowed, the memory of water pressing in replaced by the reality of being here—breathing, sitting, still alive.
“…yeah,” you said quietly. “I got that part.”
Jake gave a small nod, like that was all that needed to be said for now.
“Good.”
And for a moment, neither of you said anything else—the sound of the ocean and the quiet movement of the world around you filling the space where words didn’t need to be.
Tonowari entered the tsahiks hut slowly, his movement controlled and deliberate. The air seemed to settle as he stepped inside, quieter, heavier, as though the space itself adjusted to him without question.
His gaze moved once—first to Jake, then to the others—before finally settling on the human.
She was still.
Too still.
Watching him carefully, like a cornered animal weighing every possible outcome. Her fear was written plainly in the way her shoulders were held too tight, in the shallow rise and fall of her chest, in the effort it clearly took for her to remain where she was instead of fleeing.
Good.
Fear keeps you alive.
Tonowari stepped forward at an unhurried pace. Control wasn’t something he reached for—it was something he carried naturally.
He stopped just a few steps away from her.
Up close, the human looked even smaller. Fragile in a way that almost felt out of place in a world like this. Her frame was thin, her skin still pale beneath the fading light, her body marked by the aftermath of the sea—water, injury, exhaustion.
Her eyes met his, wide, alert, and holding just enough to meet his gaze without turning away.
His eyes sharpened slightly.
“Sky demon,” he said, voice low and steady, each word carrying weight.
she gasped, indignant. “Hey—That’s not—”
“You will not speak,” he cuts you off. “Not until spoken to.”
Her jaw tightened, but she stayed quiet. She didn’t look away.
Good.
“Tomorrow,” he continued, his voice steady and precise, “you will come to the sea.”
There was a brief pause.
Her fingers flexed slightly at her sides before she spoke, careful but direct.
“…Why?”
Not loud. Just Intentional.
Jake closed his eyes for a moment, already sensing where this was going.
Tonowari didn’t answer immediately. He studied her instead—her posture, her voice, the way she held herself even under pressure.
Then he said, simply, “Because I command it.”
Her expression shifted—subtle, but enough to show resistance.
“…That’s not an answer,” she said.
Jake made a quiet sound under his breath, already bracing himself.
Tonowari tilted his head slightly, watching her more closely now.
“You question,” he said, his tone calm but edged, “after I pulled you from the sea?”
Her chin lifted just a fraction.
“I’m not questioning that,” she said. “I’m questioning why that gives you the right to decide everything for me.”
“…You speak as if you have standing here. you dont”
A brief pause followed.
Tonowari’s gaze sharpened—not offended, but more interested now than before.
“If you wish to remain among the People,” he said, each word deliberate, “you will prove that you are not a burden to them.”
“You will learn our ways, Or you will not survive them.”
She didn’t look away.
“…Then I’ll learn,” she said, quieter now, but steady.
Jake let out a breath, stepping forward slightly as if trying to ease the tension.
“Okay—good. That’s good. That’s progress,” he said, half to himself. “No one’s dying today. Let’s keep it that way.”
Tonowari didn’t acknowledge him.
Then he turned away, the matter settled in his mind, his voice trailing behind him as he walked.
“Do not disappoint me.”
And with that, he left them standing in the stillness of the ocean air, the sound of the water filling the silence he left behind.
You just stood there for a moment, still feeling the weight of Tonowari’s words sitting heavy in your chest.
Then you turned.
“Jake.”
He looked up. “Yeah?”
You gestured vaguely in the direction Tonowari had gone.
“…that man is impossible.”
Jake let out a quiet breath, already half expecting this.
“You think?”
You stared at him. “He called me a burden.”
Jake didn’t even flinch. “Yeah. I heard.”
“He talks like I’m a problem,” you continued. “Like I’m just… some thing he has to deal with.”
Jake leaned back slightly, watching you, a hint of amusement in his expression.
“Well,” he said, “to be fair… you did wash up in his village after nearly drowning.”
You gave him a look. “That’s not the point.”
You huffed, pacing a little now, your frustration building again.
“He didn’t listen to me,” you said. “Not once. Just decided everything on his own. ‘You will do this.’ ‘You will go there.’ Like I don’t even get a say.”
Jake shrugged slightly.
“That’s kind of how he leads.”
“That’s not leading, that’s—” you searched for the word, “—control.”
Jake tilted his head. “Same thing out here, sometimes.”
Pairing: Young!Tonowari x fem!curvy!metkayina!reader
Description: When Tonowari ends up in a precarious situation over your honor, you are shocked when he comes up with an outlandish proposal. An idea so crazy, it just might work to get you both out of this.
Content warnings/tags: fluff and angst, curvy/plus!sized reader, fake dating, body description is not overly detailed, body insecurity, bullying because of readers body, friends to lovers, arguing, reader is in love with Tonowari already, Tonowari is reckless before he learns a few lessons, part 1/3, reader is 22 and T is 23.
Author's note: This was inspired by this request and it spiraled into a series. Thank you @lejardinfleur for being my amazing idea fairy!! Also a thank you to @lumilily for catching all of my silly grammar fumbles! You guys are the best!!
Na’vi Words used:
Eyktanay - general, second in command
Sngel - garbage
Skxawng - idiot, moron
Kurkung - asshole
Txanfwìngtun - loser
Zukzuk’tsyìp - little otterfin
Tanhì - bioluminescent freckles
Playlist:
Ship to Wreck - Florence + the Machine
Song of the Sea - Lisa Hannigan
Belly of the Whale - Searows
Growing up, being physically taller and softer than most of the kids your age, sometimes felt like a cruel punishment from a past life.
You ate what they ate, played when they played, yet that did not make you look like the other slim-waisted and narrow hipped girls in your village. Na’vi bodies were lithe, willowy, slender, but you hadn't been born that way.
Where other girls had flat stomachs and hard planes, you had soft skin and rounded features. It wasn’t impossible for Na’vi to be built this way, you had seen others when you visited distant villages for festivals. Nothing was wrong with you, but for some reason, it gave others the impression that there was.
They made fun of you for looking different, even though you outswam many of them, your body cutting through the water just as well. Your height was a useful tool when they could not reach the ripest fruit hanging from the taller branches. You had never verbalized it, but you knew you were stronger than them too.
Yet, despite your advantages, they did not see it as you did. They called you names when they thought you could not hear, and you pretended not to notice.
For most of your childhood, the only one larger than you was Tonowari, a young man from a prominent Metkayina family. He was praised for his skill with a spear and his quick thinking. He was criticized for his reckless behavior and confidence in most things. He was not cruel, never mean, but he knew what he knew, and few could tell him different.
He towered above the other boys well before he stopped growing. His shoulders were broad and his limbs long, making a terrifying threat in the water. But while you stopped growing in your late teenage years, he never seemed to stop. The top of your head came to his nose, still half a head shorter than him, which he used to tease you about as if it was a competition.
He had become a friend to you, falling into a tight knit group of friends that never acted like you were different. Poeya and Rayal were sisters who were thick as thieves, but fought together like territorial ilu. Nakata was a sometimes reserved, but humorous young man who was Tonowari’s best friend and your cousin. It was he who pulled you into the group and forced you to make friends, effectively pulling you out of your shell.
When Tonowari had passed his Iknimaya, it felt like the celebration lasted days instead of hours. People still talked about his quickness and his bravery from the trial. He had quickly risen among the hunters as someone fearless and strategic, not hesitating to do what needed to be done to keep the village safe and provide for the clan.
When the elders decided who should be next in line for the mantle, they unanimously agreed; his positives far out weighed his flaws. The Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk had named him Eyktanay, all eyes watched him.
Which was why it was especially jarring when he had gotten in trouble for one of the few times in his life a few months ago. He had been on a hunt with Nakata and a few others, a select group chosen to hunt an akula who had been too close to the Ilu pen, and therefore, too close to the village for comfort. They had broken up to comb the waters on Tonowari’s orders, splitting off into pairs. Despite the others’ hesitancy, he insisted it would be fine that there was an uneven number of people, that he would go at it alone.
When the akula attacked him, it was from behind. His tsurak had just barely dodged in time to avoid a deadly bite. Luckily, Nakata and their friend, Yoru, had still been nearby, and even luckier, the akula was young, not at its full size yet. The three were able to help Tonowari in killing the beast and it had fed the village for many weeks.
Still, Tonowari walked away with a slice down his back, leaving a permanent, thick teal scar from his shoulder blade to nearly his hip. The Olo’eyktan had been furious at his recklessness, his pride. The entire village had questioned whether to doubt Tonowari and it made him start to doubt himself.
Your heart broke for him because of his pain, but you knew he would come back, he always did. As soon as you had laid eyes on him, you had known he was special. Your crush on Tonowari had been instant. When he smiled and greeted you the first time you hung out around them at only 12 years old, you knew you were completely hopeless.
Tonowari was kind and handsome and cocky, all things that half the young people in Awa'atlu noticed as well. He was a year older than you along with Nakata and Poeya. Your chances with him were slim, even as he guarded you, Poeya, and Rayal from danger or uncomfortable encounters with the other young men. You had always reminded yourself that his eyes watched over you like a family member more than a suitor.
When he overheard the other teens make snide comments about you, he always defended you, shoving them aside and telling them not to mess with you or else they would have to answer to him. And when they teased him about how he must like you for saying such a thing, he always shrugged and said, “I would be so lucky, but she will not have me.”
The first time he had said it, it had gotten back to you through Rayal who giggled as she told you, finding the entire notion hilarious. When you asked him why he said this the next day, he simply shrugged and said, “They do not need to know if it is real. Let them believe it, it does not matter to me.”
Now that you were nearing your twenty second year, you had assumed he had stopped needing to defend you after not hearing any teasing or taunts from others. He never led you to understand there was anything going on behind your back, just let you believe the boys had matured. The truth was that the young boys were now men, having long ago learned their lesson the hard way to stay far away from you, lest they wanted to anger the Eyktanay.
But it was on hushed whispers that you learned about his most recent incident over your honor. You had entered the communal space and quickly noticed the eyes that watched your movements and the whispers that followed you. You took less food that you would normally take, self conscious as people eyed you critically.
You sat by yourself at the evening meal as you waited for your friends to arrive, picking at your fish, but not eating much more than a few bites. The two boys must have been running late as always, seeming to always be at their own pace. The sisters were making their way across the room, stopping to line up to get food before they sat down.
“Can you believe him? Turning down my courting advances to be with her,” a voice attempted to whisper from behind you. You turned to see who it was and who they were talking about, chiding yourself for being nosy, but not able to help it. Your eyes widened to see two girls, Hiva and Elayok, already looking in your direction. Elayok wrapped an arm around Hiva’s shoulders as they glared at you.
You quickly turned back around to face forward and break eye contact. Luckily, Poeya approached at that moment, a plate full of sea food in her hand. She sat delicately beside you and turned her full attention to you, shaking her head.
“Why did you not tell me?” she asked slyly, pretending to look thoroughly displeased with you, but underneath, she seemed very happy at whatever situation she was referencing.
You tilted your head, “Tell you what?” you asked, confused.
“That you and Tonowari are courting, we could not get the full story out of him, but he admitted to it. Why was it a secret?” Rayal asked, coming to sit on your other side.
You blinked blankly at her, “What in Eywa’s name are you talking about?” you demanded.
Poeya rolled her eyes, “The truth has been released, you do not have to act that way. Tell us everything! How did it happen?” she prodded, but you just stared, mouth agape in shock.
At that moment, whispers picked up across the room as Tonowari and Nakata entered. Nakata looked amused, as if he was about to witness a show, while Tonowari only had his severe gaze set on you. They skipped the food, weaving through the seated figures as the people looked up at them, watching closely as they stalked up to you.
Tonowari stopped in front of your seated form, Nakata moving to sit beside Poeya. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Tonowari asked.
You stared up at him, lips held tightly closed together so that you did not have your jaw hanging open like a fish.
“What for?” you asked dumbly. Poeya elbowed you lightly, but you ignored her as you had trained yourself to do over the years.
Tonowari winced, “Just… I just need to talk to you,” he said as a non-answer, holding out a hand to help you stand up.
Your brow furrowed over your eyes, his words and expression worrying you. “Okay,” you agreed, taking his hand. He tugged you up with more strength than you thought one capable of. You flew up to your feet so unexpectedly that you stumbled, Tonowari’s hand coming to your waist to steady you.
“Thank you,” you muttered as he nodded and stepped away. You glanced at Nakata, whose eyes flipped between his best friend and his cousin, watching you as if he knew a secret.
Tonowari kept hold of your hand, tugging you back through the seated crowd and out through the exit.
“Tonowari, what is going on?” you asked, his nervous disposition was stressing you out. The sun had already set over the village, casting the world in a glowing deep blue as bioluminescence reflected off of and through the water. The Dorado Verde flying above called to each other as if saying goodnight.
“I messed up,” he muttered quietly over his shoulder as he dragged you through mauris and docks. He stopped when he made it to an outcropping of trees on the island, away from the village center which was built somewhat over the reef.
He turned to face you and dropped your hand, his tanhì glowing in the darkness. “You messed up? What does that mean?” you demanded, arms crossing over your chest as he sighed, running his hand over his unbraided curls. They sat around his head like a halo, smaller sections were pinned away from his face, but most of it flowed freely.
“I said some things I should not have, about you,” he sighed, “about us.”
“About us?” you muttered quietly, “What ‘us’?” you prodded further and he closed his eyes tightly, steeling himself for your reaction to his actions.
“I was hunting with Yoru today when he told me about what some of the scouts have been saying, things about you.” He shook his head as if shaking off his anger.
“That is the problem? I am used to their insults, let them talk.” You shrugged, trying your best not to look wounded.
“I have already handled it, I’m afraid that is the problem. The details do not matter, but I may have accidentally led them to believe that we are courting. I was angry, I was not thinking,” he said, silently pleading with you with his eyes.
You scoffed, “Tonowari te Tsika’u Arvak’itan, you will tell me exactly what happened so we can fix this,” you glowered, anxiety rising in you like a tidal wave.
He clenched his jaw, his entire body wound tight as he stared down at you regretfully. You were not used to the cocky warrior looking so guilty.
“I went to L’rilk, the one who has been spewing his sngel around the village,” he started, looking off to the ground, his eyes downcast in shame as he recounted his story. “He admitted that he insulted you, did not even try to pretend he had not.”
“What did he say?” you asked, feeling like you needed to know.
Tonowari shook his head, “It does not matter, it is not true.”
“It matters to me, tell me!” You insisted.
“No! I will not,” he exclaimed, voice raising, “I cannot utter the words. I would not disgrace you by repeating them,” he argued, shaking his head vehemently.
“Tonowari, I can handle-”
“I know, I know you can, but you should not have to. If you really must know, you can ask a gossiping girl, but you will not hear the words from me,” he ordered with fire.
You sighed, relenting to him. “Then at least tell me how we got here. Why does he think we are courting?” you said.
“Well…” he sighed, bringing his hand to his forehead and attempting to smooth away the creases that had formed. “I went in angry and I confronted him.”
He waltzed into the alcove where weapons and tools were stored and where the very skxawng he was looking for was mending nets with his friends. A group of them were gathered together, laughing and jostling each other like young, stupid boys tend to do.
“L’rilk!” He thundered, marching up to the idiot in the middle of the group. L’rilk turned at his name, raising his brow at the newcomer.
“Tonowari, I see you, brother,” he nodded, gesturing the traditional Na’vi greeting, but Tonowari scoffed, fists clenching at his sides.
“If you saw me, then I would not have to tell you again. Do you remember what we discussed last time?” he asked lowly. “I hear from the hunters that you have been speaking badly about y/n. Is this true?” Tonowari asked for clarification, wanting to know for sure before he went into this conversation with his hackles raised.
L’rilk shrugged, “Maybe I said a few things. It is not my fault she makes a spectacle, flaunting herself in front of the men. As if they would want her, have you seen how much she eats?” he asked, snorting at the thought.
Tonowari’s eyes seemed to glow red, but it may have been a trick of the light. He stepped closer, forcing L’rilk to step back as he towered over him. “You lie about her for attention and it has gained mine. You will not speak about y/n again. You do not so much as utter her name,” he ground out, shoving a finger in L’rilk’s chest so hard that he stumbled.
"Woah!” L’rilk laughed and the rage in Tonowari’s chest bubbled. “I do not see why you always defend her. I mean, she could be considered pretty enough, for one shaped like a tulkun. I personally do not see the appeal, but to each their own," L’rilk smirked and his friends snickered behind him.
Tonowari nodded coldly, realizing L’rilk was really doing this. “You insult me with your foul speech, kurkung,” Tonowari hissed.
“I did not realize you were so fond of the girl, one might think you were courting her,” L’rilk leveled a look at Tonowari, but it did not intimidate him as L’rilk hoped. It only seemed to make him turn more fearsome.
“And what if I was?” Tonowari ground out, as he shrugged unsparingly, “That gives me the right to challenge you to a test of skill. Or maybe I could just attack you now, do away with the formalities. I would start by cracking your ribs, one for each time you insulted her. I would beat you until you did not know up from down. Do you want that? Do you want me to embarrass you in front of your friends?”
L’rilk sobered as he spoke. “I did not know that you were truly with her or I would not have insulted her.” He shrugged, huffing out a laugh so as to not appear like he was totally being eviscerated.
“I should not have to be with her for you to show her some respect,” Tonowari ordered. He would later realize one of his mistakes from this day was never outright denying L’rilk’s accusations, too focused on his anger to think of societal repercussions for you. “You do not deserve to even look at her. You, who has never known the warmth of a woman, you are cruel in your ignorance. You are the dirt beneath her feet,” he hissed.
L’rilk’s face morphed into anger, “Who are you to speak to me like that? You are not the Olo’eyktan yet,” he snapped back.
Tonowari’s lip curved up wickedly, “I am the one who answers for y/n. Tell your friends what I have told you here today. If I hear anything being said about her, I will break each of your hands,” he threatened, glancing around the room over the downcast eyes of the scouts.
The men shifted on uneasy feet, avoiding the eyes of the Eyktanay as he turned away and stalked away from the group.
“Oh, and L’rilk?” Tonowari paused at the door, turning back to see the pale-faced man gripping his net tightly, “I will tell you this because I know it will take you a long time to figure out on your own. Real men like our woman shaped like her, it gives us something to hold onto. It seems like you might prefer little girls instead.” Tonowari flashed a grin when he saw the shocked look on L’rilk’s face as he sputtered out words of disagreement.
Tonowari did not wait for him to respond competently, just turned and marched out of the alcove and back into the village.
An hour later, when Nakata stomped into his kelku demanding answers for why the hunters, divers, and scouts were all chittering like children over the news of the Eyktanay courting his cousin, Tonowari realized he had messed up.
“You did not deny it?” you asked, after he finished telling you his heavily condensed and edited side of the story.
“I was not thinking! I was so angry. I could have hit the txanfwìngtun right then and there if I had known the Olo’eytkan would not find out,” he said, fists balling up again at his sides.
“So he thinks we like each other, that is not so bad. Let them think what they will,” you said, more in an attempt to calm yourself down.
Tonowari grimaced, “I am afraid they think our relationship is more… intimate than that,” he muttered.
Your shoulders tensed up, “What does that mean? What did you say?” you asked, although you had a feeling that you already knew.
“I told him that he did not know the touch of a woman and that if he ever said a word about you he would have to answer to me.” he shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“Now they are saying that we have all but formally mated,” he admitted quietly and your stomach sank to your toes. “The future Olo’eyktan is expected to only have one romantic partner, if I was to be seen as fickle it would mean that I am disloyal. Our reputations are at stake. I do not have to tell you what they would say about you,” he continued.
You shook your head, not even able to focus on his words, still reeling from the fact that he even did this in the first place. “I do not see how this went on so far, you need to stop getting in trouble on my behalf!” you told him, voice raising so you hoped he understood you.
He scoffed, “I am not in trouble,” he rolled his eyes at your exaggeration.
“Keep this up and you will be. Listen to you! You say you need to keep up a certain image, does the Olo’eyktan doubt your ability as a leader?” you argued.
“The details do not matter, what matters is how we handle this now. We have two options. We can go in there and deny everything… or…” he hesitated to continue, eyeing you nervously as you prompted him to continue. “Or we could maintain the lie.”
Your mouth fell open, “What?!” you sputtered.
“Hear me out! L’rilk will attempt to use any chink in my armor against me. If he finds me to be a liar, he will bring it to the Olo’eyktan. I do not need any more scrutiny after the Akula incident,” he begged.
“That is not a good idea, what if we were found out? That would have horrible repercussions for both of us.” you argued and he stepped closer, taking one of your hands in both of his.
“Think of what they would say if we tell them it is false. L’rilk and his friends will call my role into question and they will come down even harder on you,” he pointed out. “I will take the fall for this if you want me to, tell them you had nothing to do with any of it, but I can not guarantee it would work where we walk away unscathed. Please, this would be a favor to me, let me fix what I have broken.”
You had been made fun of by L’rilk before, you knew the sting of his words. He had stopped saying them to you directly several rotations ago, but you now realized it was because Tonowari had been fighting your battles for you.
“How many times have you had to come to my defense?” you asked quietly.
He gritted his teeth, “What does that have to-”
“How many times, Tonowari!” you demanded.
He paused, looking guilty, “At first, once every few weeks, eventually every few months. I was handling it,” he asserted quietly.
You backed away, “Why was this kept from me?” you whispered, raising your free hand to your cheek and pressing firmly against it. The coolness of your hand eased the heat in your face the slightest bit.
“Because you did not need to know. It would only hurt you,” he explained and your eyes softened at his thoughtfulness, however misguided it was.
“We are no longer children, you do not need to defend me.”
“I wanted to,” he said, looking deeply into your eyes as if begging for understanding.
Your resolve crumbled, not that it was ever that strong in the first place when it came to him. You knew he would have done the same for Poeya and Rayal, but your heart still picked up its rhythm at the words. He wanted to defend you, he cared enough to protect your honor. You wanted it to mean something, anything, but your mind knew what your heart ignored, he was just a friend. He would never look at you with love or affection as you wished.
“If we do this,” you started and he visibly relaxed, ears moving forward to listen. “We need to be honest with only one another, but no one else can know,” you insisted.
He winced, “Nakata already knows.” he admitted and your eyes widened at the news.
“Tonowari!” you groaned, and he shrugged.
“He was the one who told me the news was going around, what they were saying about us. He figured it out very quickly when I stared at him like a fish!” He argued and you closed your eyes, stressed that things had become so muddled.
“What are his thoughts on the deception?” you begrudgingly asked.
“He is apprehensive, but agrees it is the best case scenario,” Tonowari said.
You sighed, respecting your cousin’s judgement. If he agreed… then you would go forward.
“Should we tell the girls then?” you asked, feeling bad at the idea of letting them believe the lie.
“No,” Tonowari shook his head, “I love Poeya and Rayal like my little sisters, but they talk too much. Our secret would be out in no time,” he pointed out and you deflated. He was right, the sisters loved to gossip like old bitties.
“That is true.” You nodded.
“Y/n, tell me what is on your mind, what are you thinking?” he asked gently.
You met his eyes, “If we do not do this, people will say I used you, even if it is not true. If they believe that something has… transpired between us, then they will only grow crueller. You know how they are, they will twist the narrative against me. That is their way,” you said, seeing the story play out in your head and hating that he was right.
Tonowari nodded, looking deep in thought by the way his eyes left yours and focused over your shoulder.
You huffed, barely believing what you were about to say, “I will do this, but you have to fix it. This cannot last forever,” you demanded and his eyes flew to you.
“Truly?” he asked, relieved.
“Yes,” you nodded in confirmation.
“Thank you, you will not regret this. We will give ourselves a month, that gives me time to work through a solution. In the meantime, we will put up the appearance of courting. What are you comfortable with?” he asked and you blinked at the question that felt so loaded.
“Uh,” your face heated at the thoughts running through your mind. “You may hold my hand, touch me if you need to, and I suppose gifts and acts of courtship would be expected from us. I trust you,” you muttered
He nodded, pride blooming in his chest at your faith in him. He hoped it was not misplaced. “And if it comes up, am I allowed to kiss you, to keep up the facade?” he asked, grinning like a troublesome boy.
You let out a laugh in surprise. “Why would you need to do that?”
He shrugged, “You never know.”
“Sure, if the situation calls for it, which it won’t, then you may kiss me,” you agreed.
He smiled, “Never say never,” he pointed at you.
You rolled your eyes, “And we will need nicknames, all the couples have them. I should come up with something truly heinous for you as punishment,” you said.
He nodded, resigning himself to your judgement. “That would only be fair,” he said.
“I have already decided. You will be Zukzuk’tsyìp.” The small, cute creature was the opposite from Tonowari in basically every way, but the name was adorable and you knew he would hate it.
He groaned, “That is terrible," he complained and you smiled widely.
“Then it is perfect,” you asserted. You sobered at the next thought that came to you, “Our parents… they will have to be convinced as well,” you sighed, head reeling all over again at the complexity of the lie.
“We will crest that wave when it comes. Let us get through tonight first, we have already wasted enough time, they will wonder where we have been. We will walk back in there hand in hand. Let them stare, let them talk. You will not have to work at this, let me handle the finer details. To them, I am courting you, it will be best if you only seem to accept my advances, let them think I am the lovesick fool. It works to our story,” he advised and you nodded.
“Okay, I can do that,” you nodded, but internally, you were screaming. Your crush on Tonowari had been slow and growing for years, could you handle his romantic attention knowing it was fake, knowing it had to end?
“Are you ready?” he asked, taking a deep breath and standing stiffly.
You looked at him, cocking your head to the side before reaching a hand up and pinching his lips firmly, your other hand musing his hair.
He swatted your hands away, “What are you doing?” he asked, shocked. His lips were tinged purple and looked swollen, his curls now disordered.
You looked blankly at him, “You said it yourself, they will wonder where we have been. Let them think we were being as scandalous as your words suggested,” you shrugged and he relaxed.
“Ah, I like the way you think,” he reached to you, doing the same thing. His fingers were calloused, but gentle as he pressed them into your lips. You laughed at the ridiculousness of this situation, the sound muffled. He smiled back, running a hand through your hair to puff it up and make it look slightly messy.
He took your hand in his much larger one, his fingers brushing the underside of your wrist as they wrapped around your palm. “Now we are ready,” you said.
Once you had walked back inside and braved the wide stares from your kin and peers, you sat back down in your spot, and this time, Tonowari sat next to you. He was so close that his scent lingered around you, a fresh, salty smell with undercurrents of dune grass and the water lilies that grew outside of his marui.
He rested a hand on your shoulder as you sat with your friends, being grilled on what was going on between you. You had momentarily panicked at first, realizing you had never gotten your story straight, but it turned out that you did not have to talk much. You just placed your hand on his knee and smiled shyly as he came up with a generic, but sweet story of how you supposedly accepted his courting advances.
Nakata sat in silence, arms crossed as he let Tonowari spin your web of lies. You caught his eye and he shook his head at you with a small smile gracing his lips. He seemed to be laughing at this situation, one that he apparently supported. Rayal and Poeya were overjoyed, ecstatic even as they asked question after question.
Most of the crowd from before had already dispersed to their mauris to sleep for the night. It felt like you were pushing a canoe into quiet waters before you braved the real storm further out.
Later that night, as you sat on the dock outside of your parents home, you were glad to have a reprieve from the deception, even just until the morning.
His fake affections were suffocating. It was terrible to know what the weight of his hand on your shoulder or the warmth of his smile felt like. It was worse to know it would never be meant for you.
Footsteps made the netting creak behind you and you turned to see your cousin, Nakata walking up to you. To sighed, knowing the conversation that was about to be had was going to be anything but pleasant. He lowered himself to sit beside you, staring out over the water with a tiny grin gracing his lips.
You sat in silence, soaking in the sound of distant waves lapping at the shore as you both collected your thoughts.
Finally, “What have you agreed to, little cousin?” Nakata asked. His tanhì glowed in the dim light, as a curl fell over his face.
You closed your eyes, wincing at the question, because the truth was, you had no idea. “Tonowari got in too deep to dig himself out, and he did it all for me. What was I supposed to do?” you asked.
He shook his head at your predicament, “I do not envy you,” he chortled, kicking his feet languidly in the water below.
You nodded, “It hurt today, knowing it was all fake, that he would not have done it if he did not have to,” you admitted.
You looked up to him and he met your gaze. Your lighthearted cousin suddenly looked subdued and conflicted. Tonowari had his best friend since they were boys. No one knew him better than Nakata, but he also knew you like the back of his hand. He had seen heartbreak in your future because of your infatuation with Tonowari.
“What do I do, Nakata? I do not know if I can handle this,” you muttered, your sudden vulnerability something you only showed to your cousin. He was your closest friend and your advisor wrapped up into one, neat package.
“You can do this, you have to. There is no way out, but through now, not without tearing down everything you have both worked for,” he pointed out.
You swallowed thickly, nodding at his words, even as they confirmed your fears and your hopes at the same time.
A part of you wanted to do this, of course you did. How could you pass up the opportunity to be near him, to be in his orbit? You enjoyed the feeling of his attention, however fleeting you knew it to be.
He pursed his lips, eyes sobering when he realized you were filled with anxiety. “Do you love him?” he asked quietly. He had watched you two together. He knew how you felt, even if he had rarely verbalized it other than a few jokes to tease you. A blind person could not miss the way you gazed at the Eyktanay.
“What?” you uttered, the word barely leaving your lips as the blood rushed out of your face.
He sighed at your suffering. “I do not really need to ask, but I will. Do you love him?”
You searched his eyes and found no malice, no humor. “Yes,” you admitted and his shoulders tensed at the confirmation.
“Then you have to be careful,” he warned. “Tonowari is my friend, we are brothers, but he is reckless. He is a good man, but he does not often think before he plunges into dangerous waters." He looked intently at you, imploring you to hear his words.
"Do not let him pull you down with him.”
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Series Taglist: @edgyficuselastica (comment to be added)
content warnings: 18+, smut, fem reader, human reader, size kink, size difference, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroat, choking/gagging, spit kink, praise kink
word count: 0.7k words
tonowari is a lesson in patience and overwhelming scale. being in his personal pod at night means the only light comes from the glowing anemones and the soft, pulsing bioluminescence of his skin. he’s sitting on the edge of the woven mat, his massive legs spread, watching you with an expression that’s calm but heavy with a deep, territorial hunger.
"you are so small," he murmurs, his voice a deep, resonant boom that feels like a physical weight against your chest. "sometimes i worry i will crush you, little one. but then i see the way you look at me."
he reaches out, his hand—nearly as big as your torso—sliding over your shoulder to guide you down between his knees. when you look up at him, he looks like a god carved out of the ocean itself.
"show me," he rumbles, his thick fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head back. "show me how much you want to hold of your olo'eyktan."
when he finally lets you see him, it’s enough to make your throat go dry. his cock is a broad, heavy weight, his skin a deep sea-blue that feels like velvet but looks like iron. the girth of him is a literal wall; you have to use both hands just to get a grip around the base, and even then, your fingers don't even come close to meeting.
"easy," he breathes, a low, grounding sound as he feels your hands shaking. his tail, thick and powerful for swimming, curls around your waist like a tether. "i am not going anywhere. take your time."
you start slow, just tasting the broad, flat head of him, and tonowari lets out a sound that’s more of a vibration than a groan. he leans back on his elbows, his chest—wide enough to shield you from a storm—heaving with a sudden, sharp intake of air. the smell of him is all salt water and clean skin, intoxicating and thick.
as you try to take as much as you can, the scale of it becomes a physical struggle. your jaw aches almost immediately, the corners of your mouth stretched to their limit as you try to accommodate the sheer mass of him. he’s so thick it feels like he’s filling your entire head, the heat of him radiating against your cheeks.
"that is it," he mutters, his voice dropping into a rough, jagged register. his hands come down to cup your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones with a surprising gentleness that contrasts with the raw hunger in his eyes. "you are so brave for me. so greedy."
he starts to guide you then, his hips tilting in a slow, rhythmic grind that forces him deeper. every time he pushes, you feel the blunt pressure at the back of your throat, making your eyes water and your nose scrunch up. he watches the way your throat works, the way you choke back a sob of overstimulation, and his pupils blow wide until the yellow of his eyes is just a thin, glowing ring.
"yes," he gasps, his fingers tightening in your hair, though never enough to hurt. "just like that. keep your eyes on me, little one. i want to see you taking all of it."
he’s breathing hard now, the calm facade of the leader starting to crack. his hips move faster, a heavy, wet friction filling the quiet pod. you’re focused entirely on the sensation of him—the way he feels like he’s stretching you beyond your capacity, the way his fingers feel like brands against your skin.
"i'm close," he warns, his voice a jagged whisper as he reaches down to tilt your chin up further. "don't stop. i want to give you everything. i want you to feel the weight of me."
with one last, deep surge of his hips, he bottoms out against the back of your throat, his whole body going rigid. he lets out a low, guttural roar as his release hits, a thick, pulsing heat that seems to go on and on, filling you up until you're breathless and dizzy. he stays there for a long moment, his forehead dropping against yours, his massive frame shaking with the aftershocks of a peak that felt like the tide coming in.
🍓 pairing: miles quaritch x human fem reader x varang
🍓 tags: nsfw, alien cultural misunderstandings (you guys know the drill at this point), oral sex, scissoring, vaginal sex, threesomes, fingering, size kink, miscommunication
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reblogs are always enormously appreciated!
General Ardmore might just be the scariest woman you’ve ever met. You don’t think you do a very good job at hiding how intimidated you are when you’re sitting fidgeting at her desk under her narrow-eyed, cold stare.
On the other side of the desk, Ardmore hasn’t looked up from her datapad since she first grunted a greeting at you when you’d sat down. It’s a powerplay – you both know it’s a powerplay. But damn, it’s working.
“Um… Ma’am…” You start to say, awkward and stilted, but she raises a hand to stop you.
You shut up immediately, cowed.
Ardmore flicks through whatever it is she’s reading for another minute. In the silence of her sparse, impersonal office, it feels like an eternity.
Finally, she lifts her head and fixes you with a stern look.
“You know, I’m trying to figure out just what it is you do, exactly.” She says, and her voice is just as cold as her eyes.
You swear it feels as though the temperature in the office drops.
“Oh.” You say. You’re trying to keep your voice light, but it just comes out strained. “I, um. Well, I suppose I manage the–”
“The purpose of the Recombinant Support Team,” Ardmore cuts across you cleanly, as though you had no voice at all. “Was to handle the administration for the unit so that they could focus on their missions.”
There’s a slight pause.
“Yes.” You say weakly, though you’re not sure if she was actually waiting on a response or not.
“As far as I can see, you do very little of that.” Ardmore is staring at you with an impassive expression. “You seem to spend most of your time doing their laundry.”
You feel your skin get hot and prickly with embarrassment. You don’t always do their laundry. Just… just a handful of times. But you don’t get a chance to defend yourself before she’s continuing.
“You have no experience, no real skills. I can’t rightly see how you got hired in the first place. You should have been reassigned when the useful members of your team were killed.” She huffs, the first edge of irritation beginning to creep into her tone. “But Quaritch has always liked a pretty young face.”
The prickling humiliation gets worse. Your shoulders are hunched, and you can’t meet her eyes.
What she’s getting at is something that you have been aware of on some level, despite your attempts at denial. You know that you were always the least efficient member of the team, but you had thought that you had worked with enough enthusiasm to make up the difference. And even when you were the only one left, no one had ever complained.
But you weren’t completely stupid. You know that the Colonel didn’t treat you like just any assistant.
“I–” You start to say, but she interrupts you yet again.
“I’m going to give you a choice.” She says, folding her hands in front of her.
There’s a pause, but this time you don’t speak. You just wait, your tummy clenching anxiously. This doesn’t sound like it’s going to be good. Are you being fired? Or demoted? Or finally reassigned? You suppose it was just a matter of time.
“The Colonel has become increasingly difficult to handle of late,” Ardmore says, setting the datapad down in a way that comes across as too casual. “He’s unruly, resistant to command. Seems to think he knows how to deal with the Na’vi insurgents better than anyone else.”
You blink. You had been aware on some level that there had been tensions between Quaritch and Ardmore, but you don’t know why or what happened. No one tells you anything around here, and you’re too focused on just getting by to really worry about the bigger picture of the RDA’s long-term goals on the planet.
“You’re aware that he left the city, unsanctioned, three days ago?’
That makes you tense. It’s an accusation, really.
Of course you knew – there had been some kind of disagreement. You knew that Quaritch had asked for a ship and been denied, but not the particulars. You also knew that they had received some intel about Sully’s whereabouts, and had disappeared on their ikran mounts before anyone even knew they had gone.
You’re aware of all of this because you’ve already been chewed out by the higher ups in SecOps. You’re meant to be up to date with the Recoms every move, after all, so it’s easy to drop the blame in your lap.
“Y-yes,” You say, guilty and anxious all at once. “I didn’t sanction that–”
Ardmore continues over you, once again completely ignoring your attempt at speaking. It doesn’t seem like she cares much if you know what she’s talking about; you get the impression that she’s off-loading some of this onto you like this is a stopgap therapy session.
“The reason he was brought back was to complete a specific mission, and he has failed that mission several times.”
Retrieving or killing the betrayer and insurgent, Jake Sully. You know this one. It’s hard to miss the holovids shimmering all over Bridgehead, declaring him an enemy of humanity.
“So… is the Colonel being recalled, or something?” You ask.
Ardmore looks as though she’s stopping herself from rolling her eyes through sheer will power.
“The Recoms represent a significant investment by the company, so no, they’re not ‘being recalled, or something.’” Her voice is harsh in a way that makes you sit up straighter, your stomach curdling. “But they do need some… incentive to ensure they stay in line.”
You nod dumbly. “An incentive.”
“And that’s where you come in.”
Truthfully, you haven’t been following along with her reasoning very well in the first place, but now you’re flummoxed.
“Me, ma’am?” Despite your confusion, you work to keep your voice as even as possible. Ardmore is clearly already irritated about your very existence; you don’t want to give her a reason to hate you even more.
Your caution goes to waste, because Ardmore’s eyes flash in aggravation anyway. You suspect that there’s nothing you can do to please her, and it makes your spine go stiff. Your knees are watery, too – if you were standing, you might have gone weak.
“Yes, you.” Ardmore says sharply. “Next time the Recoms are sent out, you’re going with them.”
The order falls between you two like a lead balloon. You blink at her, turning the words over in your head. It takes you a moment to parse their meaning, and then another moment to discern that she’s one hundred percent serious. The General isn’t the type of woman to make jokes, but the statement is so bizarre that you honestly can’t quite get your head around it.
“Out.” You say at last. “Into… into the field?”
The General’s nostrils flare slightly as she takes an inhale, like she’s trying to regulate her patience. Then she forces a smile.
“That’s right.” She says. “Quaritch has been reckless recently. Let’s see if he takes the same type of risks when he’s toting you around behind him.”
You gape at her. You understand the basic premise. Quaritch has become a pain in her ass, so she’s decided to shackle a weight to his ankle to ensure he doesn’t go rogue like he’d done before.
But why does that ankle weight have to be you?
Your mouth is dry when you swallow. “Uh… I don’t… I don’t know if that… I don’t think the Colonel would care too much if I got killed in the field, ma’am.”
Ardmore snorts a little, which isn’t a reaction you had been expecting.
“Right,” She murmurs, glancing at the datapad. “You were on sick leave the day we rolled out against the Metkayina. The rest of the Support team were with the Recoms, but not you.”
You blink, picking anxiously at a hangnail on your thumb. “Uh… Yes, ma’am. I had a cold.”
You swear her cold blue eyes actually flash at that.
“A cold.” She says the words slowly, as though tasting them. “A bad cold, was it?”
You hesitate, because no, it hadn’t been a bad cold. It was really little more than a case of the sniffles, but Quaritch had looked at you with such an expression of disgust when you had blown your nose near him that you had thought he was going to have you quarantined. Instead, he had ordered you to take a few sick days.
You hadn’t thought about it too much at the time; you had been all too happy to take the excuse to skip what you had thought was going to be the straightforward arrest of Jake Sully. But now, you can recognise that it’s a little strange that you were pulled off duty just for a runny nose, especially by a hard-ass like Quaritch.
“It could have been contagious.” You say weakly.
Ardmore ignores that.
“Pack a bag. Keep it light.” She says bluntly. “They want to head out tomorrow.”
There’s any number of reasons you could give to illustrate how this is a bad idea. You’ve never been outside Bridgehead, you have no combat training, you aren’t even very good at the job you have! The Recoms may not have complained, and Quaritch may not have demanded your reassignment, but that doesn’t mean that he actually wants you around. In the last few months, you’ve hardly seen him at all!
But you’re stressed and confused and not thinking clearly, because the only thing you blurt is; “Tomorrow? But they just got back!”
“Quaritch has a fire under his ass at the moment.” Ardmore grunts, already picking up her datapad again. “But that isn’t much good if he fails again.”
She redirects her attention to her datapad and it’s clear that you’re dismissed. But you’re not quite ready to go.
This is the stupidest plan you’ve ever heard. You’re not the smartest around, but even you can tell that this is irresponsible, ridiculous. Why send a civilian out with two Recoms, who have been engineered to fight back against the nine feet tall, vicious hostiles that want all humans dead?
“You said there was a choice.” You manage to say without your voice trembling. “What… what’s the other option?”
Ardmore’s eyes flick up to you.
“Other option.” She repeats without inflection. She sets the datapad aside again, then clasps her hands to look over you properly.
The once-over is brief, and you get the distinct impression that you’ve been found wanting.
“If you choose not to go, then there is no need for you on this planet.” Ardmore says after a pause. “Your presence here is superfluous. With only two Recombinants left, there’s not much need for a Support Team as they now report to me directly.”
“So–” You begin, blinking.
“So,” Ardmore cuts across you again. “You’ll be sent back to Earth.”
The words land like a suckerpunch to the chest. Your breath hitches, and you stare at Ardmore with wide eyes.
You’ll be sent back to Earth.
You can’t let that happen. There’s nothing for you back on Earth. Your city is a wasteland, buckling under the weight of a population that it doesn’t have the resources to sustain. Pandora had been a new start for you – signing up for the RDA had been an act of desperation. The thick smog of the cities had begun choking up your lungs, the oppressive atmosphere of the dying planet contributing to your chronic migraines, and you had known in that instinctive, bone-deep way that if you didn’t get off-world soon you would die in that dark, mouldy apartment that you were spending most of your paycheck renting.
You couldn’t go back there. You couldn’t.
And judging from the way Ardmore is looking at you right now, she knows it.
“I’ll go pack my bag then, ma’am.” You say, defeated and dull.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
The jungles of Pandora are beautiful. You’ve only ever seen photographs, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of it. It pulses with energy and life, vast swathes of lush greenery stretching up towards the sky like hands. When you stare down from the Samson aircarrier, you can see the lines of rivers criss-crossing like veins. Up here, you really can almost subscribe to the idea of the planet as one big living entity, like the native Na’vi believe.
It’s so different to the decaying atmosphere of Earth and the industrial hellhole of Bridgehead, but you don’t really get the opportunity to admire it properly because you’re so focused on the fact that Quaritch is angry with you.
It’s not necessarily obvious, but you’re rather embarrassed to admit that you’re incredibly attuned to Quaritch’s moods. It’s partly a survival instinct; Quaritch can be a scary motherfucker, and you feel a certain pressure to ensure that he’s kept happy. You tell yourself it’s because you’re the last member of the Support Team, but that doesn’t quite ring true.
The truth is, you have a big fat embarrassing crush on the Colonel.
You tamp it down the best you can, but Quaritch doesn’t help things. You know that he’s aware of your crush; it’s obvious in every interaction he has with you. He calls you pet names – baby, honey, cupcake – he pats your rump when you walk by, his hands linger all over you.
You’ve become so accustomed to his attention that when he turns surly, you swear to god you turn into a sad wilting houseplant taken away from the sun.
You know you’re acting like a total loser, but it’s like you can’t quite help yourself. Quaritch’s attention is intense, and it feels all consuming in the most exciting way, so when it’s taken away it feels like a shock to the system.
It’s not that he’s ignoring you or anything, but for the few days after you’re first assigned to follow him and Wainfleet, he’s cold. He doesn’t engage much in conversation, just grunting at you, and there’s no head pats or even little ass slaps. You pretend it’s not completely pitiful to be so affected by his irritation, and you pretend not to see the sympathetic looks Wainfleet sends you when you gaze after the Colonel.
You’re good at pretending.
But one day, maybe four days after you first set out, he softens again. You’re not sure what the trigger is, but you’re so relieved that you’re not about to question anything.
And that brings you to… whatever this is. The unconventional part of your dynamic with your boss.
His cot on the air transport is tiny and narrow by Recom standards, but you fit on it just fine. With Quaritch on it too it’s a narrow squeeze, but neither of you mind. The low hum of the Samson engines thrums through the metal floor of the cargo hold, a steady rhythm beneath the quiet creak of the cot’s frame and the slick wet sounds of your mouths moving together.
Quaritch is massive even in repose, resting heavily on his back. You’re curled against his chest, one of his big arms looped around your waist to keep you anchored against him. His lips are much bigger than yours, but you’ve done this so often now that the honeyed slide of your mouths together fall into an easy, languid rhythm.
The dim red standby lights paint Quaritch’s broad Na’vi features in warm contrast, the little freckles on his face incandescent in the gloom. His golden eyes are heavy-lidded – you’re not sure if it's from arousal or fatigue. It’s the end of a long-day, and he and Lyle had been trekking around various tribes all day. He hadn’t said anything when they’d gotten back, so you had assumed that it hadn’t gone well.
When he’d tugged you into the small room where the cots are held, the only compartment on the transport where the air is regulated for humans, that only confirmed it. Lyle had watched the two of you go, rolling his eyes.
Your breath catches as his tongue slips against yours, dominant even in leisure. One large hand slides down from your neck, tracing the curve of your spine before settling firmly on your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you squeak.
His mouth moves over yours with practiced ease, coaxing you to open, to sigh, to melt. And you do, instantly. Your hands slide up his arms, over his shoulders, fingers tangling into the knot of his braid at the base of his skull, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat.
When he pulls his big head back, breaking the kiss, a thin string of saliva pulls taut, creating a bridge between your swollen mouths.
“Damn, you’re messy,” he huffs, thumb swiping over your glistening mouth, smearing moisture.
His gaze darkens, but he doesn’t lean in for another kiss. Instead his broad nose nuzzles at the side of your neck, placing slow wet kisses to your jaw. Your body is quivering under his attention at his hot breath huffs against your sensitized skin.
“I gotta favour to ask, sweetpea,” He murmurs, tongue lashing just under your ear.
“A-a favour?” You repeat, shivering.
“Mhm,” He hums, reaching up to prod a thumb at your lower lip again just to watch the soft flesh give. “Just a small one.”
You blink, trying to collect yourself. Your skin is hypersensitive, feeling every point of contact between you and your boss right now. God, this is so inappropriate. You’re pretty certain that if Ardmore were to learn of this little routine, where you make out with the Colonel every damn evening as a fucked up form of stress relief, you’d be reassigned to work in the onbase McDonalds so fast your head would spin.
“Uh… yeah.” You say, sounding completely fucking stupid. “A favour. Mm. What is it?”
There’s a soft huff of breath against your damp throat, and it takes a moment to recognise it as a laugh.
“Need you to approve a weapons requisition for me.”
You’re still feeling a little damn slow on the uptake, but you nod anyway. That’s not really a favour, is it? That’s part of your job. Weapons requisition forms are pretty standard, and he usually just leaves any paperwork he wants you to sign on your desk. Maybe he’s only asking because you’re out in the bush, and there’s nowhere for him to drop it off or something.
“Of course I can do that.” You say breathily, already leaning up to him in the hopes of getting another kiss. You’re so relieved that he’s not angry with you anymore that you think you’d agree to anything.
God, you know you’re pathetic, but when he gives you that sharp, arrogant smile, sharp canines gleaming, you feel your stomach give a sharp lurch. You try not to squirm too obviously, but your thighs press together instinctively.
“That’s my good girl,” He purrs, his chest rumbling as he leans down once more. “Keepin’ the team goin’, aintcha?”
It’s so obviously not true, just a bone he’s throwing you, but you nod your head anyway. It’s good to feel wanted, to feel useful. It’s not a feeling that you’re used to here on Pandora, always living with the heavy awareness that you’re only here because Quaritch has taken a liking to you on a whim. Even then, you’re not stupid enough to think that just because he likes to make out with you whenever he’s had a hard day, that he’s sweet on you.
The Colonel is a man on a mission, and you’ve never been under any illusion of where your place with him is. It’s just… stress relief. When the Colonel has a mad day, he often seeks you out for lazy make out sessions, fingering, a little groping. Never any more than that, no matter how you writhe and beg.
“You gonna get that?” He murmurs against your throat, teeth dragging over your pulse point.
“Huh?” You pant, mind hazy and a little stupid.
Your conscious awareness has narrowed down to his mouth on your neck, the suckling motions of his tongue as he licks over the marks he’s leaving. A prey instinct in the back of your mind has kicked in and is screaming at you for allowing such an enormous predator to pin you down and press his sharp teeth to your throat, but you’re so horny and dazed that you stuff that survival impulse down deep.
“I said,” He nips at your earlobe, pulling a breathy squeal from you, “Are you gonna get that?”
At first you don’t notice the beeping, too busy chasing his mouth again, lips parting eagerly. But then he pulls back to look down at you, cat-like eyes darting over your sweaty, dazed expression, and you begin to come back to yourself.
Your head snaps around, your eyes falling on your datapad where it sits across the room on your own cot. The screen is lit up as it vibrates, emitting steady beeps.
General Ardmore calling.
You let out a startled shriek, scrambling out of the cot.
Quaritch lets out a low huff, falling back onto the standard issue bunk and lazily pillowing his head with his two arms. He watches you with darkened eyes, looking both amused and annoyed.
You scramble to straighten your uniform—it’s wrinkled, blouse misbuttoned, one strap of your bra peeking out near your shoulder. You yank it back in place, flustered.
“Oh, god,” You hiss, panicked. “Shit.”
You ignore the low rumbling chuckle from behind you as you grab the datapad. Low-level panic is causing your fingers to tremble, but you clear your throat and affect a pleasant expression as you answer the call.
The connection is a little spotty this far out, and the video feed flickers as Ardmore’s familiar scowl appears on-screen.
“Ma’am.” You greet, attempting to surreptitiously smooth down your hair.
Even through the fuzzy video, you can see her cold eyes narrow.
“Sitrep.” She barks, audio crackling.
You clear your throat, struggling to gather your thoughts. “Yes. Um. The… the Recom unit scoped out another one of the Reef clans–”
“Any sign of the kid?”
Behind you, the cot creaks as Quaritch shifts, listening in.
“Not yet, ma’am.” You say, fighting the urge to glance over your shoulder.
Even through the shitty videofeed, you can feel Ardmore eyeing you, assessing you. You’re hyperaware now of the rumpled clothes, you’re messy hair. Can she see the hickeys Quaritch’s sharp teeth have no doubt left on your throat? All you can do is pray that the connection is too bad for her to see details.
“And Quaritch?” She asks.
You hesitate, just briefly.
“He’s conducting interrogations with the clan.” You say. “Within mission parameters.”
Truthfully, you don’t have much of an idea of what goes on when Quaritch and Wainfleet move out into the wild. They leave you on the transport with the other humans, mounting their ikran and flying off to intensify the search for Quaritch’s son. When they get back they smell of gasoline and ash, and neither will offer any information about what they’ve done.
“That wasn’t my question.” Ardmore’s voice crackles, but you can hear the undertone of impatience.
You steady your voice. “He’s focused, ma’am.”
You don’t look behind you, afraid of what you might see on Quaritch’s face. He knows that Ardmore calls every night for a sitrep, he knows that she’s using you to check up on him, but you’ve never talked about it. It’s probably part of the reason he’s so reticent with information, why he keeps you in the dark on his plans.
But Ardmore doesn’t seem happy.
“Have you been out in the field with them?” She demands. “That’s what you’re there for.”
There’s no point in lying. You can tell by the look on her face that she already knows the answer, and you know where this is going.
“Um… no, ma’am.” You say hesitantly. “It was deemed too dangerous for a non-combatant–”
“I want you out there with them tomorrow.” She barks, as you had suspected.
You deflate a little, anxiety curdling in your stomach. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyes flick briefly past the camera, then back to you, calculating.
“And you are not to involve yourself beyond observation,” she adds. “No heroics. No fraternisation.”
Your cheeks burn, hearing the unspoken accusation. “Understood.”
There’s another pause, during which Ardmore studies you like a pawn on a board she hasn’t quite decided how to use.
“Keep the channel open,” she says finally. “If anything changes, I expect to hear it immediately.”
You’ve barely begun to answer when she hangs up, the videofeed going dead. In the ensuing quiet, the hum of the air carrier and the low hiss of the oxygen tanks only seem to emphasise Quaritch’s silence.
Finally, you turn, and as soon as you catch sight of Quaritch you flush. He’s still stretched out on the cot, right where you’d left him, but what you hadn’t noticed was the unmistakable bulge in his cargo pants. God, you’re glad you hadn’t glanced behind you in the middle of that call – you’re certain you would have lost your train of thought and humiliated yourself in front of Ardmore.
But then your eyes lift to his face, and the warm simmer of arousal that had started in your belly is tempered. His jaw is clenched, his eyes dark – no longer in arousal, but now in unmistakable annoyance.
“I guess I’m coming with you two tomorrow,” You say, keeping your voice as light as possible as you stand. “Where did you say you were going?”
Instead of answering you, Quaritch stands up. He fixes his vest, ignoring his hard-on. His ears are flattened against his skull, and your stomach sinks as you realise that he’s angry.
“Next time,” he says, voice rough, “you tell her less.”
“Oh.” You say, voice small. “Right. I’m sorry. I just–”
But he’s not interested in speaking to you, because he doesn’t wait for you to finish speaking. He just grunts, stepping past you and heading for the door.
You watch him leave, lip trembling.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
Quaritch and Wainfleet are keeping their plans from you again.
It’s obvious in the way that Quaritch doesn’t look up from his datapad once, even with you sitting by his side jabbering away. He towers over you, enormous even when sitting, with his broad shoulders and lithe waist. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he stabs a big finger at the holodisplay. He’s not the best with technology, and his ears are pinned flat against his skull in irritation.
The transport judders, an air pocket causing the small aircraft to lurch, but it barely puts a pause in your story as you lean into his side.
“But Elena said that if Kyle was going to keep sleeping around on her, then she may as well…” You trail off slowly, realising that the only one listening to you is Lyle.
Quaritch is still frowning at something at the datapad. You squint and crane your neck, but can’t quite catch a glimpse of what he’s looking at.
“Do you want help with that?” You ask.
You’re already reaching for the pad, used to helping him with whatever he needs, but this time he lifts it up out of your reach.
“No,” he grunts. “Leave it.”
You blink, surprised. He never usually refuses your help. If anything, he usually shoves whatever piece of tech he’s messing around with into your hands and leaves you to sort it. But this time, he angles the datapad out of sight so you can’t see what he’s doing.
It shouldn’t be surprising at this stage, but you still feel the little sting of hurt.
Lyle leans forward. “What did Elena do next?”
“Huh?” You blink, distracted now.
Lyle is watching you, tail coiling impatiently, waiting for you to finish your story.
“Oh, right.” You clear your throat, gathering yourself. If Quaritch is going to be like that, fine. You’ll just ignore him for a while until he decides to act right again.
“Right. So, Elena said that if he was going to keep sleeping around, they may as well just open the relationship.”
Lyle gasps, letting out a low cackle of delight.
The rest of the flight is quiet, the silence only broken by you and Lyle murmuring together. Quaritch is distant, focusing on whatever is on his datapad. His huge hulking body is pressed right against yours, but he may as well be miles away.
It’s not until later that you really regret not asking more questions, demanding answers.
It’s late by the time the air carrier landed at a sort of village, and you’re forced to rely on the too-bright artificial floodlights to illuminate the surroundings. It’s some sort of Na’vi settlement, though it doesn’t look like any that you’ve seen photos of. It’s built between the roots of what had once been an enormous tree though its surroundings are sparse, as though the plantlife has been purposely burned back to create an ashy expanse of dirt on which they’ve constructed their raw-hide tents and wooden yurts.
The people, too, come as a shock. You’ve never actually seen a Na’vi before – the Recombinants don’t count, too human in nature to really count as alien – and you’re a little taken aback by how… different they look. It’s not just the red and black paint, or the shaved heads, or the near nudity. It’s the way they move; catlike, crouching low to the ground, hissing at each other.
Mangkwan, Lyle had muttered to you lowly.
Crates are hauled off the carrier and dropped into the dirt with heavy, final thuds. The Mangkwan swarm the crates immediately. Someone laughs, sharp and breathless. Another lets out a shriek of delight when a crate is cracked open and the contents revealed. Long blue fingers drag over dark metal like it’s something holy. The rifles are lifted, weighed, admired, before being passed hand to hand with reverence that tips quickly into glee.
You watch with a dry mouth, feeling sick to your stomach. You’re not sure what you’ve agreed to be a party to by ordering those damn weapons, but watching the exhilaration in those strange alien faces has you feeling an irrepressible feeling of sinking dread.
And then there’s the woman.
Nine feet tall, slender in that muscular Na’vi way, she towers over you. She moves like a panther, as though she’s aware of every inch of her body as she saunters around, her face lit up with a dangerous sort of delight.
You can only assume that this is the leader of the clan. Her skin is ash-streaked like the others, but unlike the others her body modifications are minimal, and she hasn’t shaved her head. Her tight braids are crowned with a headpiece that fans out in a way that reminds you a little of a frill-necked lizard you’d seen once in a nature doc.
She’s a little bit terrifying. It’s difficult not to stare.
Quaritch is sauntering around. Ostensibly, he’s overseeing the weapons drop, but to you it seems like he’s… showing off. Peacocking, almost, displaying how powerful he is, how strong, how he keeps his promises. It’s important to emphasise those things to his new allies, you know this, but the way he looks at the woman makes you… edgy.
He had pulled you in front of her, his enormous hands cupping your shoulders and pinning you in place for her perusal. The way the Na’vi around you treat her with nothing short of obeisance only solidifies your initial impression that she was the leader of the clan.
“Here she is,” He says, his chest all puffed out. “The little girl who organised all these weapons for you.”
He says it in English, then repeats it in Na’vi. You bristle at being called little girl, but don’t dare to correct him. Not while the woman is staring at you, mouth parted, like she wants to eat you alive.
You’re pretty sure you’re the first human she’s seen up close, though admittedly she doesn’t seem too interested in the human soldiers behind you who are unloading the crates. She stares at your face and features, your hair, the dimensions of your body, as though she’s trying to unravel you with her eyes alone.
When Quaritch shows the strange Na’vi woman – Varang, he had called her – the FT-M3A1 Flamethrower, he stands so close to her that he’s practically pressed up against her back. His hands linger in a way that you’re so familiar with, because it’s usually your body that they’re lingering on.
And Varang leans back into him as they press the trigger together, hungry flames spraying out and catching onto the raw hides that they use for the village tents. Her girlish laughter rents the air as she watches the fire catch and spread across her own village.
“Booyah!” Quaritch booms, grinning wide as he watches Varang torch one of her own people’s tents.
“Booyah!” Varang echoes, almost girlish with excitement, hollering it like a war cry.
The smell of gasoline is choking even through the breathing mask, and you have to tamp down your nausea as you watch her spin on one foot, grabbing at Quaritch’s hand as the other Mangkwan descend on the shipment.
Quaritch disappears into the tent after Varang, the beaded curtain parting just long enough to swallow his broad shoulders before falling closed again.
Your stomach clenches so hard you thought you might be sick, though you try to brush your instinctive panic away. You tell yourself that he’s just gone to talk strategy, to negotiate, to do whatever it is he does when he’s being the Colonel instead of… whatever he’s been to you.
But the way Varang had smiled at him, so thrilled and coy, the way the curtain settles behind them, the finality of it, makes something ugly twist in your gut.
You wait for them to come back out, flinching as a Mangkwan man lets off a spray of gunfire behind you. But the curtain remains still, and no one returns.
An hour later, you’re still sitting by the cookfire in the Mangkwan camp, with Wainfleet tense at your side. Your fingers fiddle constantly with the pack at your side, the one keeping breathable air flowing steadily to your mask.
“Stop messing with that.” Wainfleet grunts without looking at you.
His eyes are fixed on that stupid beaded curtain hanging over the entrance of Varang’s tent. He’s barely looked away since the Colonel had disappeared inside.
You had realised pretty quickly that the leader of this tribe, Varang, was crazy. Like, clinically fucking insane.
It was the way she had laughed, high and girlish and totally incongruous with the way she had wrought destruction on her own village. Her eyes had glinted wildly in the reflection of the inferno, and when she had turned to Quaritch you had seen desire there. Admiration, even.
“What do you think they’re doing in there?” You ask, unable to help yourself.
Wainfleet finally tears his eyes away from the beaded curtain, only to give you a look of disbelief.
“What do I think they’re doing?” He repeats.
Under his disbelief, there’s the unmistakable thread of sympathy. God, he feels sorry for you.
You wince, then turn away again. Probably best not to think too much about it, or you might be ill.
Behind you, the air is rent with sporadic gunfire and ululations from the triumphant Mangkwan who are still messing around with the brand new shiny weapons. You don’t even flinch anymore; they’ve been like this for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like they’re going to stop anytime soon.
Wainfleet barks something at them in Na’vi. Your grasp on the language is poor; you’d taken a few classes when you were new and idealistic, but it was tough. Still, you know enough to know that he’s ordering them to stop wasting ammo. You doubt it’ll make a difference though – the only person they seem to respect enough to take orders from is Varang herself.
Sure enough, the two causing the ruckus merely sneer at Wainfleet, hissing.
The ones that aren’t shooting into the sky are dancing around the fire, their movements rough and hypnotic. When the fire spits sparks, they cheer. The atmosphere is charged, celebratory. You’re not sure what the weapons mean to them, but it doesn’t feel good.
A few are sitting near you and Wainfleet at the fire. They’re staring at you, hard. Anytime you make eye contact with them, they hiss at you, chuckling throatily when you flinch. Again, you suspect you’re the first human they’ve seen up this close. Or maybe it’s just that they usually kill your kind when they’re this close. It certainly looks as though they’re thinking about it.
Ever since you stepped foot on Pandora, the RDA had been impressing upon you how dangerous the Na’vi were, how vicious and bloodthirsty. Looking at these people before you, you can believe it. The relish that they wield the weapons with is alarming, and you feel a seed of panic in your stomach.
You had done this, even if you didn’t realise it. It was you who had ordered the weapons, it was your signature on all those forms.
“Fuck,” You moan, burying your face in your hands. “Ardmore is going to kill me.”
Wainfleet doesn’t bother reassuring you. He just keeps watching the curtain.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
Varang has taken to watching you. A lot.
It feels… challenging. Or appraising, maybe.
You avoid her to the best of your ability. You can’t look at her without thinking of the way she and Quaritch have gotten so much closer recently. They spend most of the day together; ostensibly talking strategy, but you see the way their touches linger. Even the way they look at each other like they’re the only two people in the world, as though everything else is just background noise. When she laughs at something he says, his mouth quirks in a way you’ve only ever seen when he’s pleased. Really pleased.
It makes your chest ache.
But as the days pass, you realise something. When she’s not watching Quaritch with those bright, lamp-like eyes, she’s watching you.
It had been easy enough to ignore at first. You’ve taken to avoiding Varang, and by association Quaritch, since that night the weapons had been delivered. Perhaps part of you had been hoping that Quaritch might notice and come looking for you, leaving Varang’s side just to ensure that you are okay, but you were destined to be disappointed on that front.
You only make it two days without seeing them. You had hoped that you would be returning to Bridgehead after dropping the weapons off, convinced that your little excursion out into the wilds of Pandora had come to an end.
But instead, Quaritch insisted that you were staying.
You’d been too flustered and bewildered to argue, simply retreating back to the aircarrier.
It was big enough to comfortably transport everyone it needed to transport along with its cargo, but it wasn’t built for staying on longterm. The bunks are narrow and cramped, and highly uncomfortable. The only net positive was that you could take that stupid mask off and breathe the stale processed air.
That’s where you are, all curled up on the bunk that Quaritch had been sleeping in before he met… her. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but despite yourself you still find his scent comforting.
You’re trying to catch up on reports, but your mind is buzzing and you job at the datapad more violently than you should. You’ve never been very good at keeping your paperwork in order, and you know that your quality has slipped even further since all this started.
You’re currently struggling through a report for Ardmore, chewing absently on your lower lip as you try to find a neutral way to word your explanation for just what’s happened over the last few days. Things had spiralled out of control so quickly, and it’s hard to ignore the hard knot of anxiety in your tummy when you think about it.
Apparently, Quaritch had met Varang before, on the Recoms last excursion into the forest. She had connected their neural queues together and performed some kind of freaky alien connection, and now Quaritch seems to be obsessed with her.
At least, you’d like to blame the freaky alien connection; Wainfleet certainly did. He’d told you all about the connection, all about what Spider had told them. The first connection for a Na’vi baby was their mother, then father, then the trees. You’d be lying if you said that you understood it all, but Wainfleet speaks with such grim gravity about it. You know the only connection he’s ever performed is with his ikran, and the idea of connecting with another person seems to unnerve him. He also seems convinced that the reason Quaritch is so… enamoured with Varang is because she’s taken the place of the first connection.
You’re not so sure. You’re not blind, after all. You can see that Varang is one of the hottest women you’ve ever seen in your life. She might stare at you, but when she’s not looking you stare right back.
You had been fascinated by the Colonel’s Na’vi form, no matter how you’d tried to hide it, but despite the new body his body had still very much been human. But Varang? She’s so alien to you. Your eyes trace her narrow waist, her small bound breasts, the way her hips sway like a metronome when she walks.
How could you blame the Colonel for being so enchanted with her? You can see why. They both have the same wildness to them, like their sharp edges fit together.
You’re so lost in your miserable thoughts, that you barely notice the door sliding open or the heavy footsteps approaching.
“The hell you doin’ in here, kid?”
The Colonel’s voice has you jolting, looking up in surprise. And the sight of him standing there, breathing mask around his neck, with Varang at his side? Oh, that has you bolting upright.
Quaritch approaches with the ease of navigating familiar surroundings, and normally the sight of him coming to seek you out might have your heart thrumming. But instead, your attention is drawn to the woman following behind.
Varang’s big golden eyes are flicking around the bunks, curious about the surroundings but clearly finding them wanting. Within seconds, her eyes land on you and stay there.
“Sir,” You blurt, your voice pitched higher than is entirely natural. “I– The General wants a report.”
He lets out a low, unimpressed rumble.
“She’ll survive without one for the next few days,” he says. “We’ll report to her when we’ve got something to report.”
That makes you hesitate. You absolutely do have something to report. Several things, in fact; starting with Quaritch’s new infatuation with the tsahík of the Mangkwan. You had also been hoping to do a bit of damage control before Ardmore learned through the grapevine that the weapons that had been requisitioned by you had been gifted straight to a hostile Na’vi tribe.
“I don’t want to get in trouble.” You murmur, frowning.
That makes Quaritch laugh, the familiar low chuckle that has the hair on your arms standing up. Up to this point Varang had been standing quietly by his side, eyes fixed on you. It feels like being under the watchful gaze of a predator, and you’re afraid to make any sudden movements. In this environment, in the air carrier with its sleek metal walls and artificial air, she seems more naked than ever.
Next to Quaritch in his fatigues and vest, and you in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, her long legs and lean waist draw your eyes like they’ve been magnetised.
You look away from her, flustered.
Quaritch turns to say something to Varang in Na’vi. Your grasp on the language is still weak, but you catch the gist of it. Something along the lines of; ‘Such a good girl, isn’t she?’
You’re not sure if you understand all the nuances, but Varang finally looks away from you. She raises her eyes to Quaritch, and her mouth splits into a wide, fanged smile. She looks wild and fierce under her paint, and you feel gooseflesh beak out on your skin. If she wanted to, she could split your spine up the middle with one hand. And with the way she looks at you, sometimes you think she does want to.
You feel distinctly humiliated. They’re talking about you in another language as if you’re not right in front of them, and Varang’s eye contact feels predatory and feline. You don’t miss how Quaritch’s big fingers coast over her waist, or how she coyly sways into him.
Quaritch turns back to you then. “Pack your things. You’re staying in the village.”
You double take.
“In the– what?”
Quaritch isn’t waiting around for you to wrap your head around that new order. He’s already stepping back, heading back to the main control centre of the aircarrier, but he speaks over his shoulder.
“The air carrier is rolling out tomorrow alongside the Mangkwan.” He says. “Varang here has so kindly agreed to help us with our search for Sully.”
“Oh.” You say, determinedly not looking in Varang’s direction. “Okay. But why do I–”
“You’re staying here.” Quaritch says firmly. “Don’t need you out there gettin’ in the way, or gettin’ yourself hurt.”
Getting in the way?
You stare at him in disbelief.
“But–” You begin, “Sir, my job is to–”
“Your job is to do what I tell you to do.” Quaritch barks. “Ain’t much good to me if you get yourself killed in the field.”
And with that he’s gone, already yelling orders at some of the soldiers in the control centre. You’re left alone with Varang, who isn’t even blinking as she looks at you.
You simmer with rage, feeling like a pot that’s about to boil over. This is such bullshit. You’ve done nothing wrong! Why have you been sidelined like this? It’s true that you’ve never been an essential member of the team, but you’ve received direct orders from Ardmore to stick with him. And besides that, you were hoping that he wanted you to stick with him.
It’s not like you and Quaritch were ever in a relationship. He never struck you as the type, anyway. If anyone had bothered to ask, you would’ve said he didn’t want strings, didn’t want expectations, didn’t want to answer to anyone. You’d never talked about what the two of you were doing. You’d just fallen into it, assumed there was some kind of unspoken understanding there. It hadn’t been serious, but it had been consistent. He’d pulled you into dark corners of his office for quick kisses, his hands always finding your ass when you walked past, and you’d spent too many long evenings pressed against him, making out like it was nothing more than stress relief. Something easy. Something contained.
And now he’s found some local tail to occupy himself with, and you’ve been quietly shuffled out of the picture like you were never more than a convenience to begin with.
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.
And even worse is that fact that even though he’d walked off without a second glance, Varang is still there.
Her braids are pulled tight to her head, and with her ash-painted skin and black-rimmed eyes, there’s nothing to soften her features. But her eyes are what unsettle you the most. They’re such a clear shade of honey-gold, but there’s nothing bright about them. They’re dark, always sharp. You don’t know how to place the look she gives you.
There’s no open hostility, no contempt, but you can’t help but feel as though she hates you. There’s too much energy in her stare to be anything else.
She’s a full foot shorter than Quaritch’s towering frame, but her presence is palpable. Ignoring her is impossible; it feels like she’s sucked all of the air out of the room.
When she steps closer, you don’t manage to stifle your flinch. She crouches, peering closer at you, and you feel like you’re a bug under a magnifying glass.
You keep your eyes fixed on her face, wary and on guard. Her tail coils behind her, slow and undulating like a rattlesnake.
And when she speaks, her voice is almost menacing in its softness. You’re a little distracted by how close she is, so your attention isn’t solely on her words, but you’re pretty sure you catch the gist of it.
“I will take your mate.”
Your spine stiffens, and your eyes dart to the door Quaritch had disappeared out of. There’s no chance that he had heard her, of course.
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Did she think that Quaritch was your mate? And if so, she was planning on taking him from you? To steal him for herself?
Maybe you were overreacting. It’s not stealing if he was never really yours. But you’re shocked by her boldness. There’s not an ounce of apology in her smug gaze as it flickers over your face, watching you carefully. Her tail is coiled and pleased. She seems confident, as though she doesn’t have an ounce of doubt in her ability to do so.
And you hate to admit it, but you don’t doubt she could take him from you, either. You’ve seen the way he looks at her, the way he wants to please her. You can’t really blame him, either. She’s… well, she’s alluring as fuck. Even now, with her in your space and vaguely threatening you, your body strains towards her like you’re entranced.
She’s still staring at you, as though waiting for an answer.
There’s nothing you can do but muster up your best glare, then gather up the scraps of your dignity and stalk past her. You don’t look back once as you flee, unwilling to spend one more second under her golden-eyed scrutiny.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
Varang’s tent is one of the most solid structures in the village, with stitched animal hide reinforced and anchored into the ashy ground with wooden posts that have no doubt come from the remains of the enormous burnt tree that this village is nestled under. You hadn’t thought that Na’vi built with wood – something about not upsetting the flow of nature – but every dealing you have with the Mangkwan makes you think that you know nothing about the Na’vi at all.
Maybe you need to break out that little Pandora for Beginners book you had downloaded on your datapad back when you first arrived here.
Quaritch had left you here hours ago, saying something about staying out of trouble and seeing you when he got back, but he was distracted. His mind was clearly elsewhere, taken up with hunting Sully and retrieving Spider. And, you suspect, taken up with Varang, too.
So now you wander around this weird little yurt, unsettled by the… decor. There are bones everywhere, threaded into hanging decorations like windchimes and suspended from the tent ceiling, or carved into strange little bowls containing all sorts of powders and ointments. There are other decorations made from woven plant fibres that you can only assume have been stolen from other clans, as they don’t match the style of anything else. It seems cluttered on first glance, but as you look around, trying not to feel as though the strange skins overhead are about to fall down on you, you begin to see that everything is arranged with some kind of order.
You step around the various decorations hanging from the animal hide ceiling – narrowly avoiding what you think may be a spine – and continue your exploration.
At the back of the dwelling, past yet another beaded curtain, is what you can only assume to be the sleeping area. It looks… cosy. The floor is lined with plush furs, providing a soft-to-the-touch cushion that you’re sure would be very comfortable, if you could stop imagining Varang coiled around Quaritch upon them.
You’re trying not to feel too bitter about whatever the hell it is that’s going on between them. You think you’ve been doing a decent job, but watching the Mangkwan mount up on their ikran and take off after the air carrier, leaving you behind like a spare part, is kind of doing a number on you.
She’s my Jolene, you think miserably.
You spend the day in the tent. You finish a preliminary report to Ardmore that you don’t send, and then you just… lounge around, lost in your thoughts. There’s nothing to do but think – you don’t even nose around, because you’re terrified of disrupting something of Varang’s that might cause her to come back and eat your head off.
Quaritch has always sort of treated you like a little pet. The worst part though, was the way you kind of liked it.
As the least competent person on the Recom Support Team, hired last and trusted with the least amount of work, you’ve always been aware that the Colonel hired you because he thought that you were soft and pretty to look at. You had thought that you would be offended by that, but instead you’re… kind of flattered. No one else had ever seen anything worth remarking upon when it came to you.
You liked the head pats, the pet names, the way he’d guide you by the elbow or keep you tucked just behind him like something fragile but owned. It was humiliating, if you thought about it too long. It was also intoxicating. Being useful was nice, even if you knew he was only indulging you.
It’s stupid and humiliating to admit, even to yourself, but you miss the attention, the casual possessiveness, the way he used to keep a hand on you like he was absentmindedly checking you were still there. You miss being noticed, being managed. Being indulged. Now his focus slips past you too easily, caught by something sharper and louder and far more interesting than you ever were, and it leaves you painfully aware of how conditional your place with him has always been.
And why were you being kept in Varang’s tent anyway?! It felt like salt being rubbed into an already raw wound.
‘I will take your mate’, she had said. There was nothing ambiguous about that.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
To your bewilderment, even when Quaritch and the Mangkwan return from their outing, you’re not permitted to return to the air carrier.
It feels like the worst kind of joke, having to share a tent with the two of them. Quaritch had returned with a supply of spare masks for you, but there had been no conversation about it. It’s like he had just assumed you’d be happy to move in with him and his weird witchy alien girlfriend.
God, it boils your blood.
Varang had even set up a tiny little sleeping area for you, right next to theirs! She had maintained eye contact with you as she had done it, arranging those small plush furs so close to theirs that it was impossible to take it as anything other than mockery. Why the hell did she want you so close if not to wave in your face what you couldn’t have?
And then to watch you so closely for a reaction! God, she’s the worst.
You refuse to give her the reaction she’s so clearly hoping for. You just turn up your nose, and move the furs immediately to the other side of the yurt.
She watches you set up your new sleeping station, scowling, and you feel a rush of triumph. She’s not going to get to you that easily.
You’re so used to having Quaritch’s attention all to yourself, but now it’s split. He doesn’t even really ask you to do anything anymore. Now, it’s like you’re a pet for real. You spend most of the ensuing days lounging in the furs, bored out of your mind.
When Quaritch had first come back to the tent and seen your new bedding set up on the opposite side of the tent, he had rolled his eyes and huffed in irritation.
“Sulkin’ don’t suit you, baby,” He warns even as he steps past you. “Gotta adapt.”
You scowl, and don’t bother answering.
Quaritch is always busy, either planning with Wainfleet or whispering and grinning with Varang. When they come back to the tent, you make yourself scarce. You really don’t want to see whatever goes on between them when they’ve got privacy. The scenes that your imagination offers up when you finally sneak back into your little furs at night to sleep are bad enough.
One good thing that comes of your strange little stint in the Mangkwan village is that your grasp on the Na’vi language improves drastically by being so immersed in it.
During the times that you’re avoiding Quaritch and Varang, you wander around the Mangkwan. They’re not as scary as they had initially seemed to you. They don’t bother you when you walk by them, at least, and some even exchange some words with you. You assume it’s down to your proximity to Quaritch, or maybe the fact that you’re currently staying in their tsahìk’s tent.
But their tolerance doesn’t extend to Wainfleet, who they often brush off, hissing at him.
You’ve spent the day wandering the village, eager to escape Varang’s relentless staring. You swear that her scrutiny has gotten worse recently, or maybe it’s just because now that you’re sharing the tent with them, it’s difficult to escape her attention unless it’s fixed on Quaritch.
By evening time, you end up sitting with Wainfleet for a while, watching while the Mangkwan eat and dance and wrestle with each other. Sometimes you can’t tell if they’re playing or fighting – everything just seems so violent, enough that you flinch into Wainfleet’s side every time they clash.
At your side, Wainfleet is cleaning his sniper rifle. His eyes are watchful, darting around the gathering in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t trust anyone around him. On your other side is Zari, a Mangkwan woman who has taken to the human-style weapons with great relish. She’s learning how to use a rifle just like Wainfleet’s, and she’s watching him and trying to copy his cleaning motions with her own gun.
A few days this week you’ve tagged along with Wainfleet to watch him train the Mangkwan with the weaponry, just to get out of the damn tent. Zari is one of the few that deign to exchange some conversation with you in Na’vi, so that you can improve. She was injured in a raid, so she seems to find extra enjoyment out of training with the guns, and she has plenty of time to speak with you.
As you hold a fairly clumsy conversation with Zari, you struggle to ignore the stare piercing into the side of your head.
You’ve begun to get a little better at pretending you don’t notice Varang’s ceaseless staring, but Zari is quite clearly affected by it. She’s tense at your side, ears pinned to the side of her head and tail held very still at her side. Occasionally her eyes dart towards her tsahìk, before glancing quickly away again.
You simply refuse to look in Quaritch and Varang’s attention. You know that they’re sitting together, probably leaning all into each other’s space, tails entwined like usual. Watching them like this makes you feel a little crazy. Bad enough you need to share a sleeping space with them, listening to them whisper and giggle like goddamn teenagers at a sleepover. You don’t need to watch them playing footsie over dinner, too.
Zari is shifty enough under Varang’s watchful eye that your stilted conversation doesn’t last very long. You huff quietly when she ducks her head to return her full attention to her gun again.
Varang is doing this on purpose, you know it. At first the staring had felt like a challenge, like she was mocking you. But now it feels as though she’s trying to be intimidating, like she doesn’t want you making friends around the village or getting too comfortable. But then why invite you to stay in her tent?
Sighing, you turn to Lyle to speak in English.
“I still don’t get why I’m not allowed to stay on the air carrier with the rest of the humans.”
Wainfleet just grunts. “Boss doesn’t want you staying with the soldiers.”
You frown. There’s a kernel of logic there, you suppose. As the only civilian woman on this mission, it could be argued that you were removed for your own safety. But that argument fell apart when you considered that you had been moved into a tent with an alien woman that hated you and probably wanted you dead for being previously entwined with your boss.
“I don’t like staying in the tent,” You complain, feeling like a petulant child. “Why can’t I just stay in your tent? You know I don’t take up much space.”
Wainfleet doesn’t answer, his attention taken up with oiling the bolt on his rifle.
You scowl, irritation settling heavily over you. Around you, the Mangkwan are still eating or dancing, shoving each other and issuing challenges, or yipping in victory. While a few of them still side-eye Wainfleet, not fully happy with his presence, you don’t even seem to register to them. Quaritch, at the other side of the fire, is the subject of reluctantly admiring glances.
As eclipse approaches and the sky darkens into a deep burnt umber, Zari pauses her cleaning in favour of turning to you.
“Tsahìk will want you to return to tent before dark.” She says, speaking slowly for you.
Despite yourself, you like Zari. She’s been nice enough to you, though her shaved head, bone piercings, and war paint is still alien enough to you to give you pause. But just like all the Mangkwan, she has that weird, almost worshipful reverence towards Varang.
You hum to show her that you’ve heard, but make no move to return to the tent. Why the hell would Varang care if you were back before dark?
Instead, you look at Wainfleet with a pout.
“I hate her.” You grumble, kicking your feet.
Wainfleet just grunts.
Irritated, you turn your scowl on him. “Seriously? Is that all you have to say?”
“Kid,” he says tiredly, finally looking around at you. “I ain’t stupid enough to get all twisted up in… whatever this is.”
He makes a vague hand gesture that seems to encompass you, and Quaritch and Varang, and the tent behind the gathering.
You bristle instinctively.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wainfleet finally sets the gun down, giving up the pretense of distraction. When he turns to you, he looks a little bit pained.
“Look, I didn’t really get what was between you and the boss even before this,” He says lowly. “But whatever the hell is going on between you two and the witch lady really ain’t my business.”
You gape at him, mouth open and stunned.
“Nothing is going on between us!” You say when you finally manage to regain your senses. “I thought that maybe the Colonel– that maybe– I don’t know! But there’s certainly nothing now that he’s with her.”
Wainfleet gives you the kind of look that suggests he thinks you’re an idiot.
“You sleep in their tent with them.” He points out.
“Not with them!” You snap reflexively. You feel like a prickly cat, overdefensive. “That’s just– that’s where the Colonel put me!”
He just huffs, shaking his head, and turns away.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Whatever. If you wanna get fucked nasty by them, I’m pretty sure all you gotta do is spread yourself out in that crazy lady’s stupid furs and wait for them to pounce.”
Once again, you’re struck dumb. Wainfleet has never spoken to you so bluntly. You’ve seen him in action mode, intimidatingly serious and quiet, but most of the time around you he’s been pretty light-hearted. He plays up the stereotype of stupid army grunt, but he’s wicked sharp and unfailingly loyal.
He’s been stressed lately, on edge around the Mangkwan and tense ever since they’ve been armed, but this is the first time he’s directed any of that stress towards you.
“I– I don’t–” You say stiffly, but you can’t even bring yourself to finish.
God, this is embarrassing. Do you want to be fucked nasty by them? You’d been so distracted by your changing circumstances that you haven’t thought anything of the sort. At least, not really. Nothing that you’d be willing to admit to.
Wainfleet has picked up his gun, finishing cleaning and oiling it with quick, jerky moments. The conversation is clearly over.
Humiliation simmers in your belly as you gather yourself up, refusing to look Wainfleet’s way. To your immense frustration, you feel tears pricking at your eyes.
Since you came to Pandora, you’ve been so damn lonely. You’d been a bit of an outcast within the Support Team, with such an obvious gap between capability and experience. The way that Quaritch had treated you had set you apart from them, and you’d never managed to make any friends even after they had been wiped out in the battle with the Metkayina.
You weren’t friends with Wainfleet exactly, but there had been a sort of camaraderie you’d had with him that you’d taken comfort in. Now, you’re embarrassed as hell.
What had you been thinking, dumping all your problems onto Wainfleet? He’s a soldier, and he’s currently got much bigger problems with the ongoing conflict – he doesn’t have time to listen to you whine.
You slink away from the cookfire like a kicked dog.
The idea of returning to Varang’s tent and having to watch her and Quaritch curl up close whispering to each other feels like way too much for you to deal with right now. So you decide instead to return to the air carrier. You doubt Quaritch will even notice that you’re missing.
As you slip out of the village, you garner a few curious looks from the Na’vi you pass. Thankfully, no one tries to stop you.
The huge shining metal frame of the Samson air carrier is tucked into the sparse vegetation a short walk from the village. It sticks out like a sore thumb; the Mangkwan avoid it, and the human soldiers avoid approaching the clan without Quaritch’s directive.
It feels like it’s been an age since you’ve been to the Samson, though it can’t be more than a week since you’ve arrived with Quaritch and he’d struck the deal with Varang. So much has happened in the last week, but at the same time you’ve been doing hardly anything other than stewing in your own thoughts.
Still, you’re eager to get inside the carrier, looking forward to the opportunity to remove the damn breathing mask and get some sleep. The cots are austere and uncomfortable, but at least you’ll get a break from Varang’s stupid yurt.
As you approach the Samson, you see some of the soldiers gathered around outside, guns in hand. You think for a moment that they’re just practicing their shooting, though it strikes you as off that they’re doing so as dark falls.
Then you get closer and hear the sloppy laughter, and see the glassy eyes, and you realise that these morons are drunk. They have their guns, but they’re just shooting at some of the glowing mushrooms that are growing in the underbrush. They’re not hitting much, either, their shots going wide and spraying dirt up.
The sound of their slurred goading and snickers has your steps faltering.
Shit.
You know exactly what these guys are like when they’re drunk, and you know it’s not a good idea to go anywhere near them. It’s an even worse idea to go near them without either of the Recoms near you – their enormous stature is usually enough to scare off even the most persistent of creeps.
You think of the way Quaritch had insisted that it was safer to stay in Varang’s tent, how he had been insistent that you weren’t to stay on the Samson. As much as you hate to admit it, he might have been right.
But you’ve already stormed away from the village, and the air carrier is right there. Maybe you can slip by without them noticing.
You aim for nonchalance as you attempt to skirt around them, giving them a wide berth. You figure if you don’t look at them, if you don’t acknowledge them, there’s a chance they’ll stay in their own little orbit of stupidity and leave you alone.
The ramp to the air carrier is within a stone’s throw when one of them staggers back, laughing, and catches sight of you.
“Hey,” he calls, voice thick and sloppy. “Hey, sweetheart.”
You don’t respond. You pretend you didn’t hear it, your feet crunching softly over ash and dead leaves as you keep walking. When Quaritch had started going around barefoot, you had copied him without thinking too much about it. You regret that now – if you have to run, it’s going to be harder.
There’s snickering behind you, and even without looking you’re unnerved to find that they sound like they’re closer now.
“C’mon,” another man says. “Don’t be like that.”
A shot cracks through the air, close enough that you flinch despite yourself. Dirt sprays up a few feet ahead of you, glowing faintly where some bioluminescent spores are disturbed. The laughter spikes, ugly and filled with macho overconfidence.
You freeze, shoulders tense. Jesus Christ.
“Whoa, she jumped,” the first guy snickers. “Didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart.”
Slowly, you turn your head just enough to look at them, keeping your body angled away. There are three of them. Maybe four. It’s hard to tell in the low light, as they’re still standing in a loose group. You can’t see their faces all that well behind their masks, but their weapons are loose in their hands and their posture is sloppy in that particular way that means they think they’re untouchable.
The moment feels fragile, and you have a distinct awareness that these men are drunk and reckless enough to snowball things well past the point of no return.
“I’m just heading back to the carrier,” you say, forcing your voice to stay even. “You guys should probably pack it in. It’s, uh, getting late.”
There’s a beat of silence, and for one wild and naive moment you actually think they might listen. But then they share a look, and burst into ugly, snickering laughter.
“Jesus,” one of them says. “Hear that? She’s givin’ orders now.”
Another takes a step closer, eyes dragging over you in a way that makes your skin crawl. “You ain’t supposed to be out here alone, are you?”
Your pulse starts to thud in your ears, acidic panic rising up your throat.
“I– the Colonel knows I’m here.” You lie.
“Oh, yeah?” He grins, slow and ugly. “‘S the Colonel able to look beyond that little blue piece of ass he’s been hangin’ out of?”
“He’s–” You start to say, but cut yourself off when they start to move.
They don’t move quickly or anything, but there’s nowhere for you to go as they start spreading out. They box you in, so there’s no way to slip past them.
“I don’t want any trouble,” you say, hating the way it comes out smaller than you intended.
“That’s good,” the first man says, grinning as he steps forward. “Neither do we.”
“Just thought maybe you’d keep us company for a minute,” the second man adds. “Gets lonely out here.”
You swallow thickly, and your dry throat clicks in the silence. “No, I– I should be getting back to Quaritch– actually.”
A few of their expressions change at that, smiles dropping into something unfriendlier. The two at the front keep their sloppy drunk grins plastered on, though irritation flickers over their faces. You know you’re dealing with the fragile egos of men who aren't used to being told no, and they feel unpredictable.
“You need to relax,” One of them says with the air of imparting sound advice. “You’re wound tight as hell. You been neglected, huh?”
Your skin prickles as he steps forward, and you tense.
You stiffen as he closes the distance, every instinct in your body screaming at you to move, to run, but there’s nowhere left to go. The Samson ramp is behind them now, blocked by broad shoulders. Their size is nothing compared to the towering Na’vi you’ve been spending so much time around recently, but they’re still big bulky military men. You know you don’t stand a chance against them.
The third one laughs, low and ugly. “Bet she’s bored stiff. All alone in that ash pit with the freaks.” He steps forward, reaching for your arm. “Want a good time, sweetheart?”
Your jaw tightens. You can feel your heart hammering, loud enough you’re half-convinced they can hear it too.
“I said no,” You say, your voice thin but sharp. “Back the fuck off.”
That finally wipes the grin off his face. Not completely, but enough. His eyes harden, the drunken amusement souring into something resentful.
“Watch your mouth,” he snaps. “You ain’t in Bridgehead anymore.”
You’re so busy running through scenarios in your head – which way you’ll dodge, how you’ll escape, how you’ll lose them if they follow, how you’ll scream – that when they actually make a grab for you it catches you totally by surprise.
You squeal, attempting to twist out of his grip, but several things happen in quick succession.
In your panic, your mind registers the low hissing sound as being akin to air being let out of a pressurised container. It’s low, steady, accompanied by an odd snarling rumble.
Nearly in the same moment, the man who had grabbed her is town roughly away. You yelp as his blunt fingernails leave scratches on your arm, though it’s more from shock than pain.
Everything happens so fast that your mind barely keeps up. The men are yelling, and then one of them staggers back and knocks into you, hand cracking across your mask hard enough to rattle your skull. You go down hard, sprawling in the dirt and knocking your head on the way down.
By the time you pick your head up, your eyes are watering and two of the three guys are unconscious on the ground. The last, the one who had grabbed you, is the only one left standing, though it doesn’t look like he will be for long.
Towering over you all, face contorted in a look of poisonous rage, is Varang. But you’ve never seen her like this.
She seems impossibly tall, her spine curved as she bares her teeth at the man cowering below her. Her red headpiece flares over her head, giving the impression of a threat display as if her wickedly sharp canines aren’t enough. In the dark, she looks like some sort of vengeful demon.
The man is babbling something, panicked and frantic, but it falls on deaf ears. Varang doesn’t understand a word he’s saying, nor does she seem interested.
She brings her hand down on him in one hard, brutal slap, and he hits the ground with an ominous crack. He doesn’t get back up again. In fact, he doesn’t move at all.
“Oh god,” You babble, scrambling to try and get to your feet again. “Jesus, fuck–”
Varang turns on you then, and for a wild moment you’re certain that you’re next. You flinch when she steps forward, whimpering.
But no blow comes. She crouches in front of you, that familiar stare darting over you, assessing. She’s angry – you can feel it rolling off of her in waves.
Ridiculously, your eyes begin to sting, welling up with tears. Maybe it’s delayed shock from that horrible encounter, or maybe it’s the fact that Varang is angry with you, but it all suddenly feels like too much.
The first sob that escapes you is so loud that it hurts your chest, jarring your whole body.
Varang stiffens.
A large hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to your feet. Bizarrely, you think she’s actually trying to be gentle, but she’s twice your size and doesn’t seem to really understand how much stronger she is.
You yelp once when she yanks you after her, and she seems to make some attempt to slow, but the pace she keeps is clipped and rushed. You stumble after her, sobs melting into anxious gasps as you try to keep up with her. She’s holding your wrist, and you end up toddling clumsily alongside her like a child.
She leads you back to the village quickly, hissing at a few Na’vi who are in her path. They scramble aside, their large eyes watching curiously as you stumble alongside their tsahìk. Some of them call after her, asking questions, but you’re too distracted to parse the words and Varang isn’t stopping to answer.
For the first time since you’ve gotten to this place, you’re relieved when you make it to the tent. Sometime during the walk you’d started clinging to Varang’s hand, and she’s not shy about towing you behind her.
Inside the tent, Quaritch lounges shirtless in the furs. To your surprised bewilderment, all he’s wearing is a loincloth, same as the other Na’vi you’ve seen. He’s scrolling through a datapad of his own, his tail curling languidly at his side.
He glances up when Varang appears, shoving aside hanging hides and bone decorations, but you don’t think he really registers the expression of fury on her face or the tears on yours. His eyes have instead fallen on your joined hands, and a pleased smirk spreads across his face.
“You finished throwin’ your hissy fit then, sweetheart?” He drawls, setting the datapad aside so he can lean back lazily. “Good to see you’ve finally come around to–”
But then he catches sight of your faces, and he sits up again. His sanguine grin disappears, replaced by a furrowed brow as his Colonel personal falls down like a curtain.
“What the hell happened?” He barks, and his eyes linger on your tear-streaked cheeks under mask.
Varang finally releases your hand; to your surprise, it’s you that clings to her. When she lets out a little rumbling noise you snatch your hand back, but there’s no time for shame to set in before she plants one of her large hands between your shoulderblades and starts pushing you towards the furs.
All the fight in you has gone, because you simply allow yourself to be pushed.
She says something to Quaritch, but it’s fast and angry and you only catch a handful of words; ‘man’, ‘take’, ‘mine’, ‘slap’.
Quaritch’s back is stiff as he listens to her, frowning. His eyes fall on you then, and he reaches an arm and quirks two fingers at you, the command clear: ‘come here’.
You don’t even hesitate. You practically fall into the furs, clambering on your hands and knees like a whimpering little kid as you crawl toward him. You’re vaguely cognisant of Varang crawling after you, twice your size and still emanating waves of irritation.
Quaritch’s big hand cups your jaw just beneath the mask, tilting her head back so he can take a look at your face. You’re still sniffling, eyes red and puffy, and your nostrils are beginning to itch where the blood is drying and crumbling.
“Got a crack across the face, didja?” He murmurs lowly, thumb stroking over the corner of your jaw and earlobe.
Despite yourself, you bristle. Your shock is beginning to wear off a little, and now you’re getting defensive and angry. How the hell have you ended back up in the one place you were trying to avoid.
“Is that all you have to say?” You ask for the second time that evening.
God, you’re starting to get seriously sick of military assholes.
He raises a brow, then gestures at Varang. “Well, I’m guessin’ that she took care of ‘em.”
You think of the way she had brutally smacked them into the ground, the sickening crunch of their bodies hitting the ground. You’re pretty certain they hadn’t been moving. Jesus, had she killed him?
Varang sits behind you, her tail swishing lazily like a cat. She has no idea what you two are saying, but her ears had pricked up when Quaritch had gestured at her. Now, she’s looking at you as though she’s expecting something from you.
You glance away. Her stare is even more intimidating up close.
“I was just trying to–” You begin, but to your frustration your voice cracks in upset.
Two twin rumbles erupt, making you flinch a little. Then two big hands land on your hips and suddenly your world flips. You squeak, startled, suddenly finding yourself on your back staring up at the animal hide tent ceiling. But then your vision is filled with Varang’s face as she leans over you, and suddenly she’s all you see.
She begins tugging roughly at your shirt, and you squeal in surprise as the fragile fabric tears with a loud rip.
“Jesus, woman,” Quaritch swears in English, before switching to Na’vi. “Easy! I told you, slow–”
“Have been doing slow!” She hisses back, teeth bared. “Not working!”
You’re startled to see that her canines are a little longer than Quaritch’s. Maybe it’s just a difference between native Na’vi and Recom bodies, but it adds to the wildness of her.
Quaritch huffs, but he doesn’t seem annoyed. He seems… amused?
He turns back to you, grin turned a bit wry. “Sorry, sweetheart. Gonna have to take your clothes off.”
You goggle at him.
“Take my– what?”
Varang is tugging at your trousers now, but they’re proving more of a challenge for her. She seems to be familiar with the mechanism of the button and zip – and there’s a pang that comes with the knowledge that it’s probably from unbuttoning Quaritch’s fatigues – but the belt seems to be an obstacle. She hisses at the buckle, aggravated.
“She don’t like all these clothes,” He says, though he needn’t have bothered. You could see that. “Just take ‘em off while you’re in the furs, yeah? Make life easier for yourself.”
You’re a little annoyed that he capitulates to anything she wants, but with the way she’s so damn insistently tugging at your clothes even you have to admit that it’s the easier option.
“Okay!” You snap at her, unbuckling your own belt and shuffling out of your trousers.
She sits back, pleased, and watches. You try not to tremble under her big yellow unblinking stare as you strip down to your simple, functional cotton underwear. You wish you were wearing nicer panties, then you curse yourself for thinking something so stupid. The underwear issued by the RDA are simple, functional, and unflattering, but it’s not as though either of them were expecting lingerie.
Varang’s eyes dart over you. For a moment you think she’s checking you for injuries and you spare a second of surprise – you hadn’t thought she cared. But then you see her eyes linger on your tits in your ill-fitting bra and the greying cotton clinging to your hips.
“She’s staring.” You whisper to Quaritch, mortified. You raise a hand to press over your chest.
But when you look to Quaritch, he’s staring too.
“She’s been so excited to get to know you,” He drawls without taking his eyes off you. “But I told her to take it slow. That you’re a skittish little thing.”
You stare at him, feeling as though you’ve missed a step.
“...What?”
Varang has nestled herself into the fur now, coiled like a jungle predator. A tiger, maybe, or a lioness. Even at rest, her long grey-blue limbs folded in elegant lines, she gives the impression of latent energy, of danger.
When she reaches out with one long dusky finger and begins to trail a light touch over your bare shoulders, you have no idea how to react.
Up close, her scent floods your senses even through the mask-filtered air—hot earth, cinders, salt, something musky and deep. When you don’t flinch away from her she rolls closer, as though taking your stillness as tacit permission to keep touching.
“What’s happening?” You whisper, and your voice comes out pitched higher in uncertainty.
Quaritch just chuckles. He’s leaning back with his arms folded behind his head, looking for all the world like this is a totally normal occurrence. His interest is betrayed though by the flicking of his tail and the intensity of his eyes as he watches Varang’s fingertips coast over your collarbone.
“We’ve been waitin’ for you to get your damn panties out of the twist you’d knotted in ‘em,” he says. “But Varang ain’t a patient lady.”
“My panties are not in a twist.” You snap reflexively, before actually thinking about what he’d said. “Patient?”
Quaritch huffs, rolling his eyes.
“Jesus, kid,” He says in exasperation. “I know you ain’t always the quickest, but c’mon now.”
You fumble for an answer but before you manage to say anything, there’s a weight in your lap. Varang’s every movement is so quick and sinuous that you barely even see her begin to move – one minute she’s reclining at your side, and the next she’s swung herself to straddle your legs.
“Eep.” You let out the least dignified sound you’ve ever made, staring up at her with wide eyes.
Beside you both, Quaritch lets out a breathy snort. “Like I said, impatient. You've been playin’ hard to get for too long.”
Hard to get?
Varang looms over you, the size difference stark and shocking. She’s so tall but so lithe, her proportions alien and alluring. Her tail flicks behind her as she stares down at you with quiet intensity. Up close like this as she leans over you, you can see the small round bumps from scarification over her hairless brows and the bridge of her nose, down her long abdomen. You had originally thought that she didn’t have as many little glowing freckles as Quaritch did, but now you can see that they’re just covered by the scars or the ashy streaky paint she’s covered in.
She leans down, nostrils flaring slightly as she inhales your warm human scent from your neck. You hold very still, eyes wide. The prey instinct in the back of your mind is screaming – she could so easily bite through tendons and sinew with those sharp teeth, and she’s very close to your throat.
But then she leans back, huffing in a way that sounds pleased.
Her fingers are calloused from archery, and they tickle a little as they slide over your collarbone, pausing at the worn strap of your bra. That strange little half-smile of hers lingers around her lips as she tugs at it just to watch it snap back into space.
Her large thumb brushes over the swell of your breast, lingering on the nub of your hardened nipple through the thin cotton.You squeak, startled, but there’s nowhere to escape to; it feels like Varang’s bulk is encompassing you, like she’s the only thing left in the world.
She tugs at your bra. The fabric strains, stitches popping, but holds firm.
“I do not like this.” She says to Quaritch, her expression turning a little scowly. “How do I remove, Quaritch?”
The way she says his name, accented and all drawn out, is actually a little bit cute. You don’t get much time to think on it though, before Quaritch’s big hands are worming their way under your back.
“Hey–” You start to gasp, but then Varang takes you by the shoulders and pulls you up so that you’re sitting, giving Quaritch more access to your back.
With a practiced hand, he undoes the clasp of your bra in one easy snap.
You gasp as Varang tugs the shitty fabric aside, tossing it carelessly over her shoulder.
You think you should probably be giving at least a token protest, even just to maintain your own dignity, but you’re embarrassed to find that you can’t. It’s been a very long time since you’ve been bare in front of anyone. And even longer since someone has looked at you so hungrily.
Sure, you’ve had your lazy make out sessions with Quaritch in his office, or in the Recom bunks when no one else was around, but you’ve never been unclothed. Even those few times he’s fingered you with those gloriously big long fingers of his, you haven’t been fully naked.
“What’s happening?” You whisper, eyes darting between them uncertainly.
Quaritch says something to Varang, and she shifts. As she swings her leg over you, moving off of you, you’re distracted by the coiled strength in her thighs. She’s pure muscle, the carbon fibre-infused bones adding even more weight to her, but she moves with an ease that you’re grateful for. One wrong move would probably crush you, but she’s too nimble for any stray hits.
You’re able to sit up now, and you do so slowly. Now that her tall body isn’t curtaining you, you’re more self-conscious than ever. You feel exposed, and you cross your arms over your chest in embarrassment.
“Overthink it?” You repeat in disbelief. “She took my clothes off!”
Varang is still smiling; just a coy little curve to her lips. She might not understand your words, but she still looks amused by you. Maybe your human modesty is a novelty to her.
“‘Cause she wants to fuck you.” Quaritch says bluntly. “Thought that was obvious.”
It feels like your world has been turned on its head, again. For a very long moment, all you can do is stare. The words ‘fuck you’ and ‘obvious’ keep replaying in your mind, and you can’t quite decide which element to address first.
“Fuck me?” You repeat at last, eyes darting anxiously towards Varang and her coiling tail. “You mean… like, fucking me up?”
Varang smiles, a finger reaching out to brush over your nipple. To your mortification, it stiffens further under the attention. You don’t quite have the presence of mind to pull away.
But Quaritch is staring at you, looking stumped and a little irritated.
“What?” He says. “Why would she–”
“She hates me!” You hiss. “I thought–”
“Hates you?” Quaritch has the nerve to look flummoxed. “Kid, she’s groping your tits.”
“I can see that!” You shriek, voice cracking.
That makes Varang pause, her broad brow furrowing in confusion. She looks to Quaritch, clearly seeking an explanation for your distress.
Quaritch just snorts, leaning back. The fact that he’s not taking you seriously only makes you more irritated. You’re sure that you’re stiff like an angry cat, your expression like thunder.
“You’ve been ignoring me all week!” You accuse. You want to sound angry, but you fall just short. Embarrassingly, you sound hurt instead.
You attempt to rally yourself, scowling weakly. “You don’t get to ignore me and then try to drag me into a threesome–”
Quaritch has the audacity to roll his eyes.
“Come on, honey. It’s not like that.”
“What is it like, then?” You shoot back.
Honestly, you’re a little impressed by your own spine. You usually find the Colonel scary enough to have your knees weakening, and you’ve never managed to work up the courage to express your feelings to him. But this time it’s different; you’ve had a shit day after a shit week which has followed a shit few months. You feel like you’re about to burst.
“I’ve given you space, sweetheart, but my patience is at its limit.” Quaritch sighs. “Can a man not want his girls to get on?”
His girls? You blink, thrown off. Quaritch doesn’t seem to notice your pause, and Varang is still curled behind you – despite not understanding your conversation, her elegant long fingers are tracing curious patterns over your ears, the sides of your neck, the length of your spine and each knob of your vertebrae.
“Can’t help that we’re mated now,” Quaritch says, his eyes darting over you to Varang. “Not like it was planned, but there’s no gettin’ out of it. These people do it for life, you know.”
He reaches over your head to brush one of her thin braids behind a pointed ear, and she playfully nips at his finger. You feel a deep throb of envy.
Mated. You had suspected that they weren’t just fucking, but it hadn’t been confirmed until just now. It feels like a punch to the gut, but Quaritch continues before you can wallow.
“I gave you space to think about things, but you shuttin’ down ain’t helping anything. Varang’s been chewing my ear off all week to get you into the damn furs with us.”
The whole conversation has been one bizarre revelation after another, but this one might actually take the cake. Varang wanted you naked and in their furs? You had thought she wanted you dead.
“She hates me,” You blurt. “She doesn’t want me near you.”
That earns a harsh bark of laughter from Quaritch. You’re aware, of course, that it’s a ridiculous thing to say when you’re all hunched almost naked in her weird witchy tent. They’re both looming over you, practically sandwiching you, and Varang hasn’t taken her hands off of you once since your bra came off.
“Well,” Quaritch drawls, grinning. “As much as I like the idea of havin’ two pretty girls fightin’ over me, I'm not all too sure that’s what was happenin’, baby.”
There’s a beat of silence as that settles over you. The events of the last week begin reshuffling and recontextualising in your head. You had thought that Varang had been mocking you after mating with Quaritch and pulling him away from you, but now you feel stupid and self-obsessed. But why would she want you like that? Just to satisfy a curiosity?
“It’s normal for ‘em,” He continues as though you have any idea what he’s talking about. “They got no hang ups about it.”
You stare at him. Slowly, you’re beginning to put the pieces together. You’re not stupid, but it all seems so silly and unlikely that you’re having a hard time believing it.
“Threesomes?” Even saying it out loud has your body flushing with embarrassed heat.
God, you’ve never done anything like that before. It feels like a fever dream that this is even being suggested.
Quaritch shrugs, the motion lazy and almost insouciant. “Well, it’s the natural solution, ain’t it?”
Wet heat runs up the side of your neck, and you lose track of the conversation instantly. You jolt, squealing, but Varang’s tail has wrapped around your waist and she’s baring her teeth.
“Too much talk, Quaritch,” She says, her voice low and smokey. “Stop distracting her.”
Quaritch just grins and lies back, outstretched in the furs in just that tiny loincloth. The yurt is dimly lit with small flames in the braziers littered around the place, and the flickering light casts the musculature of his lean Na’vi body into sharp relief. God, he’s so hot. His arrogance should probably be a turn off, but you’re embarrassed to admit that it only adds to the wetness between your legs.
“She screws like she fights,” He whispers like he’s sharing a secret. “Brutal and fiery. But I’ve told her to take it slow and easy.”
And with that he folds his arms lazily behind his head, cushioning his skull with his biceps as he watches the two of you with a grin.
For a moment you just sit there, feeling like a spare part. You’ve never had a threesome before, so you’re not sure what you’re meant to do right now. Are you both meant to suck his dick at once? Do you, like, fight for who goes first? Is there meant to be a weird sort of competition over his dick? You’re not sure you could beat her–
But Varang isn’t moving on Quaritch. She’s moving on you.
All you can do is gasp as she pushes you down. It’s not that she’s rough, but she moves with purpose and she’s so much bigger and stronger that even a light nudge completely flattens you. Now that you’re looking at her in this new light, her smile doesn’t look so mocking. Now it looks pleased, excited even.
Your legs are splayed open and Varang crawls between your thighs. Every move is deliberate, and she’s slowed right down. You think she’s going slow on purpose – obviously, Quaritch’s words have stuck with her. Where she had been forceful earlier, she’s cautious now.
You swallow thickly, and hear your throat click in the quiet.
“Off.” Varang coos, her long fingers hooking into your cheap panties. She’s smiling at you like she thinks you’re a bit stupid.
You glance at Quaritch reflexively. He’s watching the two of you closely. You think, a little uneasily, that he looks like he’s trying to guess her next move.
Still, when she tugs at your panties again, you allow her to pull them off you. She tosses them aside carelessly to join your bra, and then her big eyes fix between your legs.
When she sees you fully naked for the first time, her reaction surprises you. She laughs, high and girlish.
Your legs snap shut so quickly. It doesn’t even matter that she’s still between your thighs, blocking them from shutting fully, because you scramble to get up. The immediate impulse is to flee – you don’t even know where, because it’s not like you have options, but you’re so embarrassed that you almost feel like braving the air carrier despite the soldiers.
“Calm down,” Quaritch hastily, reaching out to place a big hand on your shoulder. He doesn’t exert much pressure, but he’s strong enough to hold you in place. “It’s the hair.”
“What?” You snap, feeling like a cornered animal.
“The hair,” He repeats, gesturing at the thatch of hair between your thighs. “Unclench, sweetheart. It’s new to her, s’all. She did the same to me.”
You really hadn’t thought too much about Na’vi pubic hair, but you suppose it makes sense that they don’t have any given their lack of body hair overall. Equally, hadn’t thought about Quaritch having pubes – maybe a holdover from his human DNA, like his eyebrows.
Varang is looking between you, head tilted. She’s assessing you, trying to figure out what the problem is. She glances down between your legs again, and this time she shifts so that she’s laying on her belly between your legs.
You’re trying to keep your legs closed, but Quaritch shifts so he’s lying behind you now. He pulls you flush against his chest, your back to his front. His arms wrap around your waist, one large hand splayed possessively over your stomach, with the other dropping to ease your legs apart so Varang can have a proper look.
Utterly exposed, all you can do is lay there and try not to melt in embarrassment.
Between your legs, Varang lets out a low, churring rumble. When her nostrils flare and you realise that she’s scenting you, your embarrassment reaches its peak and you simply can’t take anymore.
“Why am I the only one naked?” You practically shriek, wriggling. Then you screw up your bravery and make a stab at using the meagre Na’vi you have. “Clothes off!”
Varang stills, and for a moment you think you’ve made a mistake. This is a woman comfortable in her own authority, who is used to getting things her way. What if she takes badly to you attempting to order her around in her own home?
But then her smile blooms into a sharp, delighted smile. It’s broad enough to crinkle her eyes but with an edge to it, as though you’d offered her a cache of weapons all over again.
“Little Sky Girl speaks Na’vi?” She purrs, leaning down.
She licks a line from your sternum up your throat, and you jolt a little in surprise.
“A little,” You say shakily. “I’ve been learning.”
Without your panties, the wetness between your legs feels completely obscene. Your thighs feel sticky in a way that you really don’t want to examine considering you’ve barely been touched.
“Full of surprises,” Quaritch chuckles. He’s looming behind you, watching you with Varang as if you’re his favourite TV show.
You don’t reply, because your attention is captured by Varang now. She’s reached behind herself, beginning to untie the thin length of animal hide binding her breasts. Every move is a provocation, fluid and intentional – she tosses the binding aside, revealing her small, proud breasts. She starts on her loincloth next. Though you can practically feel the impatience radiating from her, she doesn’t rush.
She maintains eye contact with you as she tosses the loincloth aside next, and your cheeks burn.
You glance down, unable to help yourself, and your eyes stick.
Jesus.
You’ve never seen a Na’vi pussy before, and you’re a little struck by the sight. It’s both alien and familiar in a way that jars you. The anatomy is similar to yours, except for the fact that it’s… well, blue.
She has a perfect seam of blue, neat and glistening with arousal. Her folds are a few shades darker than the rest of her skin, and to your fascination, the inside of her winks purple, not pink. Her clit peeks out from beneath its hood, glinting almost pearlescent in the dim firelight of the tent.
You feel a little dizzy. You’re naked in Varang’s tent. Varang is sat in front of you, also naked, spreading her legs for you proudly like she wants you to look.
You should do something. Say something.
You point uncertainly at the indents in her skin from the tightness of the binding that had bound her breasts. “Pain?”
Varang just looks at you. You get the impression that she’s assessing you, like she doesn’t quite know what to make of you. She had undoubtedly been expecting a different reaction from you after showing off her cunt.
Then, she laughs, low and pleased.
“No pain.” She says it as though she thinks you're adorable.
It’s a little condescending, but you feel your nipples tighten anyway, puckering into hardened nubs. Quaritch noticed too; you can hear him chuckle, and then he shifts so that he’s beside you.
“You’re gonna make her real happy, baby.” Quaritch says. His words come out in a low, pleased rumble that you can feel vibrating into your back. “She’s been wantin’ to play with you for a while now.”
“Wanting to–?”
You’ve barely even gotten your sentence started before Varang decides to lay down on her back, legs spread and cunt exposed. You stare, struck dumb yet again. Fuck, that’s a sight. Her body is long and lithe, small breasts and shifting musculature under her velvety skin. The length of her legs! Have they always been that long?
She’s unself-conscious in a way that makes you sweat. Her eyes are fixed on you again, but now her impatience seems to be simmering at a low boil.
She barks something at Quaritch, but this time she speaks too fast for you to catch it. Her tone is unmistakable; whatever she said, it was a demand.
You had never pegged Quaritch as a man who would take orders from someone who was once an enemy, but his hands scoop under your armpits and lift you before you can protest. You’re not all too sure where he’s taking you; until he lifts you right over Varang.
You squeak as you’re settled into her lap, your legs slotting right between her much larger ones until you’re settled with your pussies pressed together, slick against slick.
“Oh, now ain’t that a sight.” Quaritch purrs out.
Your breath catches, staring down at where you’re scissoring with an alien. Her powerful thighs bracket your hips and waist, her powerful muscles flexing as she grinds up in slow, rolling motions. With a commanding sort of pressure she pulls you down against her further.
She doesn’t start slow, and she’s certainly not gentle. When her clit glides over yours, aided by the slick slide of your joined arousal, you both moan.
“Jesus,” Quaritch’s voice has dropped huskier as he shifts closer to get a better view. “Look at the two of you, all juiced up. You hear that?”
And you do – as Varang uses her grip on your hips to pull you down as she humps her cunt up against yours, the room fills with the wet, squishy sounds of your aroused cores rubbing.
Every roll of her hips is hypnotic; even on her back below you, there’s not an ounce of submission in her body. She’s grinning, wild and unrestrained with her teeth glinting, as she uses her grip on your hips to set a steady, hungry pace.
There’s no teasing – it’s a straight to the point sort of pleasure that soon has you panting. With an audience that responds to you so vocally, purring and moaning every time you roll your hips of your own accord, you soon find yourself responding eagerly with no real care for how you appear.
The bead of her clit is much larger than yours, serving as a perfect little bump to rub yourself against. It serves the dual purpose of stimulating you until you’re sweating and whimpering, and also satisfying her. Her head is thrown back as she pants, eyes half-lidded as she watches you rub yourself against her. Her long-fingered hands remain on your ass; you may have the illusion of control, but there’s no mistaking who’s really calling the shots.
“Like two cats in heat,” Quaritch says. He’s watching with an amused expression that does a poor job at hiding his avid interest.
“Ah!” Varang’s back arches as your cunts slot together just right, clits rasping over each other with a friction that has stars flashing before your eyes.
The moan that’s torn out of your mouth is long and low, a little breathless. You don’t think you’ve ever made such a slutty sound before, but you don’t have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed about it because Varang is still moving, her grip on your ass encouraging you to keep humping your pussy into hers.
You’re both so wet that the slide is easy, syrupy and sticky. Pleasure is sparking through your veins, your breath catching every time the eager beads of your clits grind together. It doesn’t take long before your hips are rolling against her with a desperate sort of speed.
It feels so good, enough so that you actually don’t have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed. Varang doesn’t seem to care that you’re grinding against her faster now; you’re both panting, sweating.
“Oh god.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel a trembling down deep in your pussy. “I’m–”
You don’t even get the words out before you cum in a convulsive wave. Your cunt clenches in a series of hard spasms, twitching against Varang’s as your clit grinds against hers.
“Fuck!” You shriek, clinging to her blindly.
She bares her teeth in a victorious grin, and doesn’t pause. You ride out your orgasm against her, whimpering as the glide gets wetter and slicker as your pussy grows juicier with release. Varang milks every last shock of sensation out of you, until the catch of your clits together grows too much.
You shiver, wanting more and less all at once, when suddenly a big four-fingered hand is clasping over your mask.
“I want your mouth.” Varang is saying, her large fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar mechanism of the mask.
You’re very horny. That’s the only excuse you have for the way your hips keep rolling lazily, your jaw soft and dropped as you pant. Even in the face of your only source of breathable air being pulled from you, you keep humping against her pussy.
Thankfully, Quaritch still has some firing neurons left. He swoops in quickly, grabbing Varang’s hand away and placing it on your loose breast instead.
“No mouth today,” he says. “Next time, when she has air.”
Varang hisses at him, but it seems more reflexive than anything because she doesn’t appear upset. Her attention has already been captured by your breasts; softer than a Na’vi’s, with more fleshy give to them when compared to the much firmer breasts of Na’vi women.
“Soft.” She mutters thoughtfully, her thumbs rolling over your beaded nipples with relish.
Quaritch chuckles.
Then, suddenly, she twists up and pulls you from your perch slotted against her. You yelp, but there’s not much you can do other than go with the flow and allow her to manhandle you. She moves quickly, flipping you onto your back and settling between your thighs on her hands and knees.
“Quaritch.” She says, glancing over her shoulder. Her tone has hardly changed at all, yet it’s clear that this is a demand.
Quaritch, still laying on his side as he watches the two of you, raises a brow. He seems quite content to watch, amused and pleased by the sight of Varang on her hands and knees between your legs. Varang is seemingly always aware of the eyes that follow her, and this time is no different – her back is arched, her narrow hips swaying as her tail undulates playfully in the air.
“Tsahìk.” Quaritch purrs her title lazily, though he doesn’t come closer.
Her title pleases her, you can tell by the way her tail flicks. Still though, she frowns impatiently at him.
“Come.” She says, a little clipped with impatience. “You will pleasure me, as I pleasure her.”
The steady, practiced amusement on Quaritch’s face breaks, only to be replaced by a genuine grin.
“Oh, will I?” He asks sardonically, though he doesn’t bother maintaining the pretence for a full minute – within fifteen seconds, he’s moving closer to slot himself up behind her.
Varang only arches more, the pert globes of her ass offered up to him like fresh fruit on a platter. She even waves it a little, tauntingly. Quaritch must be used to this sort of taunting, because he just snorts a little and delivers a quick open-handed smack to the side of her ass. It’s not particularly gentle, and the sound rings out in the yurt.
Varang gasps, jolting at the blow, before letting out a sharp laugh and grinding back against him.
You watch with widened eyes and shortened breath as Quaritch reaches down to untie his loincloth. Though he seems collected, the roughness of his movements as he shoves his pants down reveals his restlessness. You take a breath as you crane your neck, eager to see what he’s packing.
But to your bewilderment, there’s nothing but smooth space between Quaritch’s legs. Well, there’s hair, coarse and straight, like he had said. But it doesn’t border anything at all. Where you had expected a cock, there’s nothing at all.
You gape. What the fuck? He’s like a big blue Ken doll with pubes.
“Where’s your dick?” You blurt, unable to control your reaction.
Quaritch huffs a short laugh, but his ears lower a little. Shit, is he embarrassed? Maybe it was rude to point it out, but… Varang was acting like she wanted to be fucked. Was the Colonel dickless? Jesus, was that why he’s been so angry recently?
But no, that can’t be right. You’d seen the bulge in his pants after long makeout sessions, and you’d felt him the few occasions you’d dry-humped like horny teens.
“It’s still there, smartass.” He grumbles. “Gotta work for it now, though.”
That doesn’t answer your question at all. You frown, embarrassed and confused and too horny for this. Thighs squeezing together lightly, you glance at Varang. She’s already looking at you; her ears had pricked up the moment you spoke, clearly interested by what you have to say.
“Where?” You ask clumsily, pointing at Quaritch’s smooth blue crotch.
Varang tilts her head and for a moment you think she doesn’t understand what you’re asking her. But then her eyes dart to Quaritch’s crotch and she grins, sharp and eager.
She moves, pushing herself back up so that she can spin round and push him onto his back in the furs.
Quaritch allows himself to be pushed down. He’s rolling his eyes and huffing, but you know it’s for show because his lips are curving into a smug, self-satisfied grin. He looks as though he’s exactly where he wants to be.
“Come,” Varang demands, gesturing you closer.
This time, you don’t hesitate at all. You crawl closer until you’re at her side, both of you kneeling between Quaritch’s large, densely muscled thighs. Varang leans into your personal space, confident in the knowledge that you’re not going to be running away any time soon. Her smooth blue skin is hot to the touch against yours, and she maneuvers you closer with ease until you’re right where she wants you; tucked half under her as the two of you lean over Quaritch’s groin.
Now that you’re so close that your breath is brushing his skin, you can see that your initial impression of there being just blank space isn’t entirely correct. Under the light dusting of hair, you can see… Well, you’re not entirely sure what you’re looking at.
It’s not until Varang reaches out to touch him, parting the hair and prodding at the soft mound there, that you realise there’s a small vertical slit.
“What’s that?” You ask curiously.
Varang says a word that you’ve never heard before, her fingers pressing on either side of the slit and tracing it playfully. She doesn’t quite touch the slit itself; rather, she plays with the slightly swollen flesh on either side.
“Is that a pussy?” You blurt, eyes wide.
The concept of the Colonel, the scariest man you’ve ever met, with a pussy has you reeling. But just as soon as you’ve voiced the thought, Quaritch is huffing in irritation.
“Don’t be a jackass, kid.” He grunts, his voice a little gravelly. Clearly, whatever Varang is rubbing feels good.
Under her fingers, the slit seems to dilate slightly. The tip of something seems to be poking out from just inside, and when Varang leans in to lick at it, Quaritch throws his head back with a groan.
Under her attentive tongue, what appears to be Quaritch’s cock begins to extend. It doesn’t happen all at once; rather, it distends in increments. Feeling bold, you reach out to stroke your fingers along the squishy blue base of his length. He doesn't seem to have a scrotum; you wonder if it’s internal, same as his cock was.
And his cock is big. Fully proportional, long and thin (but still bigger than any human cock you’ve taken before). Those little glowing freckles are dotted along the underside, forming a pretty little trail all the way up to his purple mushroomed head.
“Shit.” Quaritch picks up his head so that he can watch you and Varang play with his cock at the same time.
He must like whatever he’s seeing, but his pupils are so dilated that there’s nothing left of his iris but a thin ring of gold. Varang clearly notices too, because she bares her teeth in a grin before licking up the length of his cock. If Quaritch is nervous about her sharp fangs near his delicate bits, he doesn’t show it. If anything, he humps his hips up to get more of himself inside her mouth.
Rather than indulge him though, Varang just gives one teasing suckle to the swollen, purplish tip before pulling away. Quaritch huffs as though he’d been expecting that, though he doesn’t complain. He’s watching her closely, waiting for her next move.
You’re watching her closely too, taking your cues from her. When she takes a hold of your arm and pulls you like a ragdoll onto your back in the furs in front of her, you go easily. Then she settles on her elbows and knees, settling low with her ass in the air. Her tail is held high, swaying coyly in the air in a way that is unmistakably teasing.
Your attention is fixed on her pert little ass, distracted by the way she’s waving it to taunt Quaritch, so when a dextrous, hot wet tongue slides through your sticky folds, you nearly shriek.
“O-ohhh, fuck.” You sigh, spreading your legs eagerly.
You feel like a bit of a slut with the way your every inhibition has flown out the window, but you refuse to let your mind linger on any shame. It feels too good – you can’t remember the last time someone ate you out, but it feels like a lifetime ago, and it certainly had never felt like this. Your makeout sessions with Quaritch had often ended with his big fingers stuffed down your panties to rub you until you creamed, but while it scratched the itch for a while, the wet heat of Varang’s mouth is making your eyes roll back in your damn head.
It feels like you’re boiling up inside. Your temples are sweat-slick, hair sticking to your forehead in a way that you’re certain can’t be attractive. Your cunt is so wet and sticky that every lap of Varang’s tongue against you makes a squelching sound that is truly mortifying. You don’t even know how much of the wetness is your own arousal or Varang’s saliva.
She’s sloppy about it, which you hadn’t expected. She just always seemed so put together, but she’s tonguing into your cunt like she wants to lick the flesh off your bones. You mewl and arch and wriggle, but her powerful hands keep you pinned so she can mouth at you as she likes.
You’d almost forgotten about Quaritch until he settles himself behind Varang. He looms over her, even taller than she is, and leans over so he can get a better look at her licking your cunt.
“Slow down,” He drawls, though he sounds amused. “You’re gonna lick her raw.”
He wraps a big hand around the base of Varang’s tail and tugs lightly, playfully. She pulls back from you just so she can hiss over her shoulder at him.
“She wants it now! You deny her–”
“I am not denying her.” Quaritch rolls his eyes, exasperated. His accent is thick, causing the words to form a little clumsily in his mouth, but you find yourself grateful for it. It’s much easier for you to understand the language when it’s pronounced slow and intentional.
His yellow eyes turn to you then, and he lifts a brow. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Okay? You don’t think you’ve ever felt so excited in your life. You’ve been content with Quaritch’s lazy makeout sessions and the clandestine fingering, but that was because you hadn’t dreamed of expecting more. Laying here sandwiched between two enormous bodies that could crush you with ease has you gooey between the legs in a way you couldn’t have expected.
You nod, breathless.
He gives you a sharp grin, and then drives into Varang in one short roll of his hips. Varang keens, high and drawn out, before it tapers into a moan. You watch her face, enraptured by the way her expression slackens in pleasure. The self-satisfaction that she’s been carrying herself melts away, replaced by raw want.
The thing that so fascinates you about her is that even like this, bent over between you and Quaritch, there’s not an ounce of submission in her. She’s so self-assured in her own desire that it makes you feel small, like you’re blessed and lucky to be allowed so close to her while she allows Quaritch to sink inside her.
But then her eyes fix back on your face, piercing even through the transparent plastic of your mask, and she lowers her mouth to your cunt again, laving over the sticky arousal that has collected in your folds.
Your eyelids flutter as you sigh, finally allowing the last of your tension to melt out of your spine.
God, that feels good. Maybe it’s okay to just let yourself enjoy this. You’ve never had an illicit encounter like this, and the thrill adds to the airy, electric build up in your cunt. If a nine foot tall sexy alien woman wants to involve you in her sex life with your boss, who the hell are you to deny yourself? Especially when you don’t think you’ll ever experience anything this crazy again in your life.
When Quaritch starts fucking into her, the rhythm of her tongue is disrupted against you. You try not to be too disappointed but you can’t help the whine that slips out of you unbidden. You think that maybe they miss it, considering the air is filled now with the wet slap of skin against skin and Quaritch’s low grunts matched by Varang’s little gasps.
But then both of their eyes swing around to you, and Quaritch grins.
“Feeling neglected again, baby?” He asks, a little mocking.
You nod, mortified. Then you wonder why the hell you had nodded at all. Was he making fun of you? It all abruptly feels too overwhelming – you don’t think you’ve ever felt so vulnerable in your whole life.
He says something, too low and quick for you to catch, and then Varang is grinning. Her head lowers between your legs once more, purring lowly, and begins licking again. Her tongue rasps over your clit and your thoughts evaporate, all higher level thinking disappearing in favour of sheer instinctive desire.
When you spread your legs wider, breath hitching, Varang’s purring kicks up a notch. The rumbles from her mouth make your eyes roll back in your head – it’s like having a hot, wet vibrator that licks at you. You feel too hot, too overwhelmed, like your skin is several sizes too tight.
Your eyes slide closed in an effort to block out some of the world before you get sent into sheer sensory overload, but when Varang squeals you snap them back open as if your eyelids were spring-loaded, unwilling to miss a thing.
Quaritch has taken a grip of Varang’s tail in his hand, pulling her back to meet her every thrust as he sets a brutal pace.
She’s letting out high, vulgar moans of pure delight. The sounds she makes are absolutely outrageous; completely lewd, wanton, and totally shameless. You don’t think you’ve ever heard sounds like that outside of a porno, but there’s not an ounce of disingenuity in her noises.
There’s no performance at all; just sheer enjoyment. The fact that she’s making those noises into your already sensitised cunt makes you feel like you’re going insane. Each little yip, purr, and moan thrums against your clit whenever she’s not suckling sloppily at it.
Your nerves spark, and your legs convulse without conscious thought. You can feel another release bubbling in your lower belly and the tips of your toes, your mind narrowing down to those points of pleasure as Varang’s rough tongue undulates against your swollen clit.
“Oh god,” You pant, your hips twitching up into her mouth again. “I’m gonna– I think–”
Quaritch is humping into Varang like a dog in rut, low intense grunts spilling from his lips as his hips move in brutal, near frantic spasms. You think – as much as you can think right now, with your higher-order awareness beginning to slip away from you – that you would love to watch him fucking her properly, from a different angle.
The thought takes you by surprise even as it floats through your mind. Even earlier that day, such a thought would have had you stewing in a bitter sort of envy. But everything seems softer right now, fuzzier around the edges – encapsulated in their furs, warm and buzzing like a live-wire, you can’t imagine allowing a single negative emotion to touch the sides of you.
You can feel your climax build deep in your belly like a cresting wave, and your toes curl in anticipation of it.
You orgasm violently. When that pleasure snaps it feels like it ricochets through every nerve and synapse in your body – your legs clamp shut around Varang’s skull hard enough that if she was human, you’re sure it would have hurt. As it is, you think she actually enjoys it, because she starts to lick you harder, faster.
It’s too much almost immediately, but you can’t form the words to tell her to stop. Your hands form fists in her glossy micro braids, though you don’t remember reaching to grasp them. All you can do is cling to her, keening wordlessly as her rough textured tongue works you into a cascade of bliss that feels endless.
You’re a pathetic little puddle of sweat and spit and spasming limbs, hardly able to tell up from down. You’re vaguely aware of Varang squealing in a way that suggests her own orgasm has knocked her out of the running at the same time as that heavenly, too-much tongue pauses in its tireless licking.
“Oh, fuck,” You breathe, your eyes blinking hazily up at the hide ceiling of the yurt.
The wet slap-slap-slap of flesh against flesh is still echoing as Quaritch fucks Varang almost brutally hard. You blink rapidly, trying to clear your head and regain some feeling in your numb buzzy fingers after your orgasm as you watch the two of them.
Varang is loose-limbed and soft, the expression on her face satisfied as she rests her face against your naked belly, panting. She’s clearly already came, small tremors running through her slick thighs, but that doesn’t stop Quaritch from chasing his own end.
“Fuck,” He snarls. “Fuck, fuck–”
His movements turn sloppy, then jerky, then he stiffens with a hissed moan. Your own spent cunt clenches around nothing as you watch his face, drinking in the details as he cums; his pinched brow, slack mouth, glassy eyes. God, he looks good.
Your thoughts are slow and soupy; you wish you had had the presence of mind to watch Varang’s face while she came. You want to be filled. You want to curl up right here and never move again.
Quaritch lets out a low groan of pure male satisfaction, his broad shoulders going lax as he hunches over Varang’s back. She’s still laid out on top of you, her back arches and hips tilted towards him, but once Quaritch pulls out of her she practically collapses onto you, spent.
The weight of her body slumping onto yours forces all the air from your lungs in an exhausted ‘ooof!’, and Quaritch hastily pulls her off. She goes easily, allowing him to settle her gently on the furs next to you.
She curls around you almost immediately, her chainsaw-like purring reminding you of an overlarge sundrunk housecat. It’s almost endearing enough to forget that you thought that she was a total psychopath.
Quaritch reclines next to you. He’s still grinning, no doubt immensely satisfied. It seems like his orgasm has softened some of the tension that’s been running through him like a steel rod in his spine. When he slides down on your other side, there’s a boneless quality to him that certainly wasn’t there before.
You stare up at the ceiling, wide-eyed and a little stunned. As the feeling comes back into your fingers and toes, reality is sinking in.
Jesus Christ, you just engaged in a threesome with your rogue boss and his new alien mate.
Varang is sleepily playing with the shell of your ear, one of her long lithe legs is draped over your hips – it’s long enough to reach over to Quaritch, her toes playfully prodding at his thigh. He grunts, grabbing at her ankle and coasting his hand the whole way up her leg before groping at her pert ass.
You’re squashed right in the middle, still a little bewildered about how you managed to get into this situation.
“Should I– go fur?” You ask in badly accented, halting Na’vi. In case it wasn’t clear what you meant, you point over to the small pile of furs that you had dragged over to the other side of the tent.
You’d been sleeping in that sad little pile for the last week, and you just assume that they’ll want you to return now that they’re satiated. You’ve tried to avoid them at night, slinking in after they’ve fallen asleep or curling up with the furs over your head, so you’re not all too sure what their night routine is.
Do they always cuddle like this after fucking? How often do they drag a third person into their furs? Or is this the first time?
It certainly seems… adventurous to drag you into this considering they’ve only been together a week, you think a little sourly.
But when you look up at the two of them, they’re both looking at you as though you’re speaking in tongues.
Had you misspoken? Maybe what you said meant something completely different. You scramble for a moment, working back over your words in your head.
But then–
“Mates sleep together.” Varang says, frowning.
She seems irritated, and the sight of her painted brow pinched in a frown has you nodding swiftly. You pull back, unwilling to linger in the furs when they don’t want you there.
But before you can go anywhere, Varang’s leg tightens over your hip and an arm winds under your waist as she hisses softly. You go very, very still.
“She told you to stay.” Quaritch grunts, though he doesn’t bother to open his eyes.
“No she didn’t,” You whisper back, keeping your voice low as if that might keep Varang soothed. “She said that mates sleep together.”
Quaritch peels one eyelid open just so he can give you a look like you’re a little slow.
“What’s the difference?” He grumbles.
He’s relaxed enough after his orgasm that he doesn’t seem to be able to work up enough energy to devote to the conversation. As a result, he doesn’t see the way you’re gaping at him blankly.
Admittedly, you’re not always the quickest, and the Na’vi language and their customs are so foreign to you that you don’t understand a lot of it. But it sounds as though Quaritch is including you in the mates statement.
Which is ridiculous, because you’re barely even a situationship to him. At least, you hadn’t thought so. Now, you’re bewildered. You lay still, compressed between their much larger bodies as they curl around you and each other in the most surreal three-way cuddle pile you’ve ever experienced.
It takes a bit of wriggling to sit up, since neither of them seem all that interested in lifting their heavy limbs to make it easier for you.
“Did you…” You manage to say, your voice cracking. “Did you sign me up for some kind of weird alien polyamory without asking me?”
“Hah?” Quaritch squints at you through one lazily opened eye, but you don’t wait for him to say anything further.
You smack at his arm. You’re so much smaller than him that it bounces off ineffectually, but it makes you feel a little bit better.
At least, it does before Varang lifts her head, looking between the two of you. You stiffen a little, wondering if she’s going to smack you down for daring to strike her mate the way that she had smacked that soldier outside the air carrier.
But she surprised you by smacking Quaritch instead, a little harder than you had but right over the same place.
This time Quaritch moves, his thickly muscled arms moving to wrap around your waist and Varang’s at once. He hauls you both atop of him, grumbling something about “Two damn women at once… pain in my ass”.
You wriggle, still unsettled, but Varang grins wide, settling down against the length of his body like she belongs there. She purrs, and her tail coils playfully around your upper thigh.
“Not like there were many conversations.” Quaritch mutters. “You mad about it?”
You can feel his words rumble lightly in his chest as you lay against him, and despite yourself you find yourself relaxing against him. The steady thrumming of Quaritch’s voice and Varang’s purring, their velvety skin, their encompassing warmth, has you melting reluctantly against them.
You allow yourself to think. It’s difficult to answer the question. You’re not all too sure what’s happened tonight. One moment you’d been angry with Quaritch for tossing you aside for Varang, the next you’re squashed between them in their furs and they’re talking about mates like it was a given that you were part of that arrangement.
“I… don’t know.” You say slowly. “I’m not sure I really understand.”
Quaritch just snorts.
“Yeah, me neither.” He grunts, reaching down to scratch at the light thatch of hair above his cock. To your fascination, you see that his length has retracted back into that little internal pouch.
“She said that she was going to take my mate.” You protest, mortified even to be saying it out loud. "As in, you."
Quaritch huffs a lazy, tired laugh. He says something to Varang in her ear, too quick and quiet for you to hear. She grunts, eyelids fluttering, and mumbles something back.
Whatever she said has Quaritch rolling his eyes back to look at you with a single sardonic brow raised.
“You gotta improve the language, honey.” He mutters. “She said she’s gonna take you as a mate.”
You gape at him. Even with it being stated in plain English, your brain cycles around the words without engaging with them fully.
“What the fuck?” You blurt.
Had they known the whole time that you were involved in this weird little ‘mating’ situation? Was that why they had been so amused with your sulking, your insistence at sleeping apart?
What you had thought was mockery from Varang might just have been an expression of interest.
“Too much talking.” Varang mumbles in Na’vi.
She’s clearly trying to sleep, her ears twitching in irritation every time someone speaks.
You quiet down, biting your lip. It seems like you’re the only one confused by any of this. They’re certainly not wasting much time having moral quandaries or wondering what this means for your standing among them.
A little hesitantly, you allow yourself to relax fully against them.
Never in your wildest dreams would you have first imagined this when you came to your pencil-pushing job in Pandora – squashed between two enormous alien bodies, one of them your resurrected boss, in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere filled with Na’vi that are hostile to basically everything.
But the furs are warm and comfortable, and paradoxically you feel small and safe pressed against the bulk of Quaritch and Varang. Everything outside of the tent feels distant and hazy, like the only real thing in the world is right here narrowed down to the palpable heat of your bodies in a post-coital pile.
Just maybe, you could postpone your little meltdown until tomorrow.
Quaritch must feel you surrender to the situation, your body relaxing against his, because you feel his lips curve into a smile where they’re pressed against the top of your head.
When he leans down to speak in your ear, you shiver lightly.
“Best leave this out of the field report to Ardmore.” He says with a low laugh, his large hand delivering a quick, fond slap to your ass.
synopsis: During a brutal raid, you take a near-fatal arrow and fall from your ikran. Varang’s world shatters when she believes she’s losing her mate forever, unleashing raw desperation, reckless fury, and an intensely emotional tsaheylu reunion when you finally wake…
genre: angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, recovery fic
warnings: graphic injury (arrow wound, head trauma), unconsciousness, fever/infection, near-death experience, blood, medical themes, tsaheylu (intense emotional bond)
word count: 2k
a/n: requested by anon
︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶
The raid tears across the borderlands like wildfire over dry scrub.
Varang leads from the front, her nightwraith slicing low through smoke and ash, wings cutting sharp arcs against the bruised sky. You fly just behind her right wing - your usual place - close enough to hear the low growl in her throat when she spots prey, far enough that your ikran’s wingbeats don’t tangle with hers.
The two of you move like one creature split in two; her spear already red, your bow drawn, arrows nocked and ready. The wind screams past your ears, thick with sulfur and the copper promise of blood.
Then everything changes.
A single long arrow, tipped with obsidian, rises from the chaos below like a striking viper. It punches clean through your side, just below your ribs. The impact is a hammer blow, pain exploding white-hot and immediate under your skin. Your bow slips from numb fingers, your ikran shrieking in alarm as your weight shifts, sudden and violent.
You sway. Your claws attempt to scrabble at the harness, but you’re too late.
You fall.
Varang’s head snaps around at the sound of your ikran’s cry. She sees you tumbling, sees the dark bloom of blood against your crimson paint, sees your body folding in midair like a broken wing, and a raw, guttural scream rips from her throat. Not a command, not a war cry, but something primal and shattered.
“No!”
Her nightwraith banks so hard the beast nearly stalls. Varang lowers her desperately, leaning low over the saddle, reaching one clawed hand uselessly toward you as if she could snatch you from the sky itself.
But she’s too far.
You hit the volcanic stone hard, shoulder first, then the back of your head cracks against a jagged outcrop. The world flashes black as blood begins to pool beneath your skull in a dark halo. You don’t move again.
Varang’s nightwraith slams down beside you in a storm of dust and ash. She leaps from the saddle before the wings have fully folded, feet pounding the ground as she sprints the last few strides.
She drops to her knees in the spreading blood.
“Ma yawne-” Her voice cracks. She grabs your shoulders and shakes you once, hard. Nothing. Your head lolls, eyes closed, breathing shallow and wet.
Desperation claws up her throat. She slaps you across the face; not cruel, but frantic, the crack of it loud even over the battle roar.
“Wake. Wake!” Another slap, lighter this time, trembling. “Please…”
Still nothing.
Her yellow eyes go wide, pupils blown with terror. She presses two fingers to the side of your neck, feeling for a pulse. It’s there, faint and thready. You’re barely alive, but you’re still here.
“Get the healers!” She roars at the nearest warriors, voice cracking like cooling lava. “Now! Or I will feed your spines to the vents!”
They scatter. Varang doesn’t watch them go. She gathers you against her chest, careful of the arrow still lodged in your side and the blood matting the back of your head. She cradles you like something fragile and irreplaceable, tail lashing, ears pinned flat.
Your breathing is shallow and wet. Each exhale ghosts against her throat like a dying ember. Her tail coils tight around your thigh, anchoring you to her the way it does every night in the furs. But this time it shakes.
She has faced eruptions that swallowed villages. She has poisoned her own father to save her people from weakness. She has stared down the sky people’s metal demons without flinching.
But this, this tiny, fragile sound of your lungs struggling, undoes her.
“Eywa may have abandoned us long ago,” she murmurs against your temple, the words for your ears alone, “but the fire still listens. Stay, my beloved. Burn with me. Do not dare leave me in the cold ash. I will follow you into the dark if you do.”
A healer finally arrives, breathless, carrying salves and glowing herbs. Varang snarls when the woman tries to take you from her arms. She hisses at every clumsy touch, every hesitant hand.
“Touch her gently. If she dies because you were clumsy…”
The threat dies unfinished.
They work fast under her glare. The arrow is cut free, the wound packed with steaming poultices. Your head is bandaged thickly with strips of soft hide and glowing salve. Varang never lets go, not once, until they lift you onto a litter and carry you back to the Mangkwan camp.
She walks beside it the whole way, one bloodied hand never leaving yours.
They bring you to the only place Varang trusts, the center of her own tent. The air is thick with volcanic smoke and healing herbs. You lie motionless on thick furs, arrow wound cleaned but angry-red, the bandages on the back of your head already spotting dark.
The next days are torment carved from stone.
The wound festers. Fever takes you in vicious waves, your body shaking, skin burning, breath ragged. The healers murmur grimly: the blow to your skull was brutal. Bone cracked. Blood pooled inside. They’ve done what they can, but they cannot say if you will wake. Or if you will wake as yourself.
Varang becomes stone.
She barely speaks. And when she does, it is to snap orders in a voice flat and cold. She snarls at anyone who lingers too long near the tent flap. The clan parts before her like water before a blade. She leaves the tent only once - for the next raid.
She fights like someone with nothing left to lose.
Her spear moves faster, harder, careless of her own skin. She takes cuts she knows could have avoided, and returns streaked with fresh blood and new scars, eyes dull.
When she steps back into camp, limping slightly, one of the healers is waiting outside her tent.
“She is awake.”
Varang freezes. Her pupils flare wide for a moment, golden and cat-like, absolutely enormous. For one heartbeat something raw and vulnerable flickers across her face - fear, hope, relief, all at once.
Then she shoves the healer aside with a snarled “Move.”
She ducks through the entrance, and the firelight catches your open eyes.
You’re pale, exhausted, pain etched deep in every line of your face. But you’re awake. Looking at her.
The breath is punched out of Varang’s lungs.
Her knees buckle and she drops beside the furs, hands shaking as she cups your face with reverent gentleness, thumbs brushing the edges of the bandages. She presses her forehead to yours so hard it almost hurts.
“I was so lost.” She whispers, voice cracking open. “I thought-I thought you had left. And I did not know how to burn without you.”
Tears cut clean tracks through the ash and dried blood on her cheeks. She doesn’t even try to hide them.
You’re exhausted, and your throat is raw, too sore to speak much. But your hand lifts, trembling from pain and exhaustion, and finds the braid of her kuru. You stroke the hair gently, the way you always do when words fail.
She looks up at you, eyes shining, tear-streaked, fierce and fragile all at once.
“How do you feel, ma yawne?”
You manage a faint, pained smile. “Like I fell out of the sky.”
She exhales a broken laugh.
You don’t say more. Words feel too small, too fragile for what’s crashing through you both.
Instead, your hand slides down her braid to find the glowing tip of her kuru. Your fingers brush the sensitive tendrils, coaxing them gently toward yours. The queues twitch, alive with anticipation, seeking like vines in the dark.
Varang’s breath catches as her golden eyes lock on yours, fierce and utterly unguarded. For once, the unbreakable Tsahìk looks small, like the fire in her could gutter out if you slip away again.
She nods once and leans in.
Your queues meet in one soft, electric snap, and tsaheylu ignites.
It hits like falling into lava and cool rain at once.
First comes the rush: her heartbeat slamming against yours, fast and frantic, syncing in jagged bursts until they beat as one thunderous rhythm. You feel the ache in her fresh scars from the reckless raid, the sting of cuts across her ribs, the burn in her shoulder where she took a spear meant for someone else. You taste the ash on her tongue from days without food, smell the sulfur and blood that clings to her skin like a second war paint.
And she feels you.
Every inch of your pain floods into her. The deep throb where the arrow tore through muscle, the nauseating pulse behind your bandaged skull, the bone deep exhaustion that makes even breathing feel like lifting stone. She winces visibly as your agony becomes hers, her tail lashing once before coiling tighter around your leg.
It grows deeper.
Memories cascade like sparks from a dying fire.
You see flashes of her. A child watching her village swallowed by eruption, ash raining like black snow. The moment she drove poison into her father’s veins to save what remained of her clan. Nights alone in the vents, screaming into the dark until her voice broke, convinced Eywa had turned away forever.
She sees you. The first time you knelt before her as her right hand, heart pounding with awe and fear. Stolen touches in the furs when the clan slept, her claws tracing your spine like she was memorizing every ridge. The terror of falling, knowing you might never feel her heat again.
Emotions pour unchecked. No walls, no armor.
Her fear crashes over you like a tidal wave. The suffocating void when she thought you were gone, the certainty that without you the fire in her would die to embers, leaving only ash and a hollow leader. Regret follows, sharp as obsidian, for every harsh word, every time she pushed you to the edge of battle because she couldn’t bear to admit how much she needed you close.
Only your unyielding love answers her. It wraps around her terror like glowing vines, soothing the raw edges. You push back waves of I’m here. I came back. I will always come back, until relief blooms in her chest, mingling with a fierce, possessive joy that makes her gasp against your forehead.
The bond pulses deeper still, sensations blurring: her breath on your skin becomes yours; the gentle stroke of your fingers on her kuru echoes in both of you like ripples in shared water. Pleasure and pain intertwine - your shared wounds throb together, but so does the electric thrill of connection, the sacred heat of being utterly seen.
Varang shudders. A low, broken sound escapes her as tears spill freely now, dripping onto your collarbone. She presses closer, forehead fused to yours, bodies trembling in the furs. She exhales shakily, the sound ragged with relief. Her hand finds yours, claws threading carefully between your fingers. The bond hums, alive and eternal like the heart of a volcano, steady and molten.
Slowly, the intensity ebbs, leaving just enough room to breathe. The flood becomes a deep, constant current: her strength bolstering your weakness, your warmth thawing her stone. You feel her vow settle into your bones: no more reckless charges, no more distance. She will guard you as fiercely as she guards her heart, but softer now. Yours.
She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. Tears still gleam on her cheeks, but her gaze is steady, glowing with something new; fierce devotion, a love stripped bare.
“Ma yawne.” She murmurs, voice thick. “You are my fire.”
You manage the faintest smile, pain fading under the warmth of the bond.
“And you are mine.”
She curls fully around you then, tail wrapped possessively, one hand splayed over your heart where she can feel it beat in time with hers through tsaheylu. Her kuru stays twined with yours, the connection unbroken, a quiet golden glow between you.
For the first time since the arrow struck, the weight in her chest lifts. The fire that has always burned in her, wild and all consuming, now burns shared. Steadier. Brighter.
She presses one soft kiss to your temple, right at the edge of the bandage, and whispers against your skin,
“Rest now. I have you.”
You let your eyes drift closed, exhaustion finally winning, but safe in the cradle of her arms and the unbreakable thread of your bond.
thinking about how hard Spider tried to save his little brother...
the way he literally tries to curl his body around Neteyam to shield the wound from the open water makes me want to vomit.
he was both the eldest and the smallest. he was brave and just moved on instinct. his only words were encouraging Lo'ak that he had Neteyam, or to urge them forward. he did everything he could to help, using all his strength to hold Neteyam onto the Ilu and help lift him, even when his little brother was so much bigger than himself. like. he's just a kid. he held onto 'teyam with everything he had. cause that was his brother.
