shh children

Tap, tap, tap.

You type away important information pertaining to Mr. Thompson as per his psychiatrist's orders. Finishing a sentence, you take a moment to massage your temples with your fingers as you look over the patient's chart. Being a nurse for Smith's Grove Sanitarium wasn't your initial choice, but it was one that paid decently enough to keep the lights on at home and had great benefits. The doctors treated you and the others as inferiors and the patients could really make or break the day, but you persevered.

You recognized some here were just deeply troubled and needed someone to listen to them properly. And while a few of the psychiatrists and therapists try, most are here for the money or recognition of working here. The man you work under is one of those. Dr. Daniel Jackson is one of the most egotistical men you've met, convinced that he could crack open Myers despite the many years Loomis put into trying just that. There is a rumor floating around the possibility of Dr. Loomis wanting to stop his work, and you just know Dr. Jackson is chomping at the bit to take over the Myers case.

You glance over at the time and quickly finish up your charting, putting in Mr. Thompson was medication compliant, no longer feeling SI yet still experiences HI and AVH, but is seeing improvements with the new medications given to him. You save everything and click out of his file, pushing away from the nurses station. 

It was nearly time to see Michael Myers. You quickly grab a large Rubbermaid tub with the supplies needed for paper mache and drop them off in the usual room Loomis uses to speak with Michael.

It was a few years ago he was added to your rotation. You were a little apprehensive at first, given what happened to a nurse who worked with him before your time here. Outside of him making his masks, he just…lives in his own world. Yet when you took over part of his care he seems to have perked up a little. His change was subtle–almost discernable–but still present when you enter the room. He perks up when you enter his room, he shows you the new masks he makes, and sometimes has you make a mask with him. He seems to respond to you–not always verbally but something about you breaks through his dissociation. And despite the warnings around him, you've developed a bond with Michael. You've tried to explain some of what Michael shows you to Loomis, yet he never believes you.

A part of you feels it teeters on the unprofessional side, but the other part believes you two share a connection. You're not sure how deep it is and you know you shouldn't indulge in any feelings you may feel fester inside you when you're with Michael… but you can't help but be softer with him. Feel something for him you probably shouldn't feel, especially on those late lonely nights you seem to frequently hace larely. You definitely shouldn't think about his towering height over you and how his subtle actions towards you and you only really do it for you, but you do. You shove those thoughts and feelings away, yet they are always present.

You meet up with Ismael, giving him a friendly smile until you spot a new guard with him. 

“Hey, Ismael, new hire?”

“Yep.Noel Kluggs. Showing him the ropes.” Your friend nods and the three of you start walking down the hall to Michael’s cell.

“So who are you and why does this place have such a hot ass nurse here?” Noel comments with a sleazy grin, making your steps fumble as you look at him with clear disgust on your face.

“Hey, man, not cool.” You’re grateful for Ismael’s quick scolding even if you could easily stand up for yourself against someone like him. “Don’t talk about her like that.” 

“He’ll be quick to learn to not fuck with me.” You chuckle, which makes Ismael laugh at your comment while Noel looks confused. He doesn’t make any comments further but he does try to put on a ‘macho man’ show towards Ismael.

Ismael opens Michael’s cell and greets him like usual. You were about to say hello like usual but the new guy started making a scene. You roll your eyes and you were about to tell him to knock it off when he goes and touches one of Michael’s. Ismael shouts at him while you reach out and smack the man’s hand.

“Don’t touch his masks.” Ismael warns.

“What the fuck, did you just slap me?” Noel growls and takes a step towards you but the sound of metal scraping stills the three of you. Michael had stood up abruptly and turned to face all of you–everyone’s breaths catch in their throats. You could see Myers’ chest heaving as he loomed over everyone else. You could barely see his face with his mask and hair in the way but you can just barely see his dark eyes focused on Noel, his large hands clenching into tight fists. 

“Hey, Mikey… It's alright. We're sorry. He's new.” Ismael speaks softly as he looks up at Michael. He clasped the cuffs around Myers's wrists, the chain dangling between his arms. “I'm sorry about the chains, but we are taking you to see Dr. Loomis.”

“What the fuck are you sorry for? You like this guy?” Noel looks genuinely baffled as he looks between the two of you and Michael.

“It's called having basic decency, Mr. Kluggs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have Mr. Myers here handled. You can wait for us outside.” You let out a little ‘hmph’ and focus on the tallest in the tiny cell. You can see how much he is on edge right now with how tense his posture is. “You ready to go, Michael?”

“I am not leaving you alone with this freak.”

“Wait outside, Noel. Michael wouldn't  hurt me.”

“What the-”

“Listen to her.” Ismael grunts, grabbing Noel by the shoulder and guiding him out. He gives you a worried look but obliges. The door isn't closed, but it is still almost daunting being alone with him.

“I'm sorry about what just happened, Michael. He's new and just trying to prove himself.” You murmur as you step up close to him. You never thought much of your height compared to others but whenever you stood near Michael he made you feel so small and you have to cool off any sort of reaction his height brings you. It may be foolish to be so up close to him, but he's never given you a reason not to trust him. “Ready to go? We can make new masks before you and Dr. Loomis have your session.” 

Michael’s body seems to slowly relax back into his typical slouched posture. You barely hear the soft grunt from him as he shuffles forward, his eyes now locked on you.

Your smile gently and without touching him, you lead him out of the room. Ismael and Noel looked shocked at the hulking man following you so easily with no restraint and quickly scrambled to stand next to him. Nothing is said until the four of you reach the all too familiar, large room. Michael takes his seat at the table and you gently pat his shoulder and take your spot near him.

“Need anything else, nurse?” Ismael asks as he looks between you and Michael. 

“No. Thank you for your help.” 

You hear the dual footsteps grow further away until the door opens and closes. You know both of the guards are still outside, but now it is just you and Michael.

You don't say anything as you pop off the lid and set out the sheets of newspaper and various colors of construction paper. You get the necessary ingredients out and mix them for you both. While you can’t heat up the flour and water, it still works for crafts. 

“Do you want me to make one with you?” 

He lets out a soft noise and pushes some of the paper to you. He immediately starts tearing paper and getting to work and making something. You were slower as paper mache was a new medium to you but Michael’s hands worked fast, the chains connected to his cuffs tinking and shifting with each movement. You ‘tsk’ softly but know the guards wouldn't ever take off his restraints outside his room. You glance up from your own work to observe him.

“How are you doing today, Michael?”

His hands slowly stop his work as he peers up at you through his long hair. He doesn’t say anything and you don't expect him to, but his little responses tell you everything. He gives you a slight shrug and resumes making his mask.

“My neighbors are still being jerks.” You start to talk about your life as you normally do. It seems to be one of the few things that brings Michael out and in the present. “Last night they were so loud in their backyard. I don't know how two people can make so much noise but they do. I've tried telling them I work mostly in the mornings so I need sleep but they don't care.”

Michael grunts as he smooths out some of the wet paper of his mask.

“I made a delicious batch of cookies though, which was great since I usually suck at baking. I'll talk to Dr. Loomis and see if I can’t bring you some tomorrow.” 

Again you are met with silence from him but he stops his task for just a moment to briefly look at your face. He stares for a long time before going back to his mask. You don't say anything more as you focus a little too hard on finishing your own art project. 

Your mask is a little chopped and not the greatest made thing when you finish. It's lumpy under the red and yellow paper you placed on top of the newspaper yet it still has some charm. You let out a little huff at the sight of the mask Myers made with black as the primary shade with specs of red and blue placed on various places where the cheeks and forehead would be. It looks more smoothed out and less chunky than yours. 

“You are too good at that.” You grin as he looks at your face and the mask you made. He slowly slides the mask he made over to you. “For me?”

He grunts again and returns his hands back to in front of him. 

“Then, I will give you the one I made. I'll take them to my desk to dry while Dr. Loomis talks with you.” You carefully lift the mask he made into your hands and look it over with a smile. “Thank you.”

Michael leans forward a little, tilting his head back a little so you see more of his eyes and the current mask he is wearing. You blink as he stares and your smile waivers just a little at the intensity. You catch his hand twitching against the table and he moves as close as he can to you. Your breath catches in your throat but you don’t show any fear. It may be foolish not to be scared of a patient known for his random bouts of violence. It may be stupid, too, to reach over and gently place your hand over his.

“You've done good today, Michael.” You nearly whisper and you can feel the nearly indiscernible twitch of his fingers. His hand–much larger than yours–turns and he grips yours firmly. It makes you wince and almost instantly you felt his hand loosen its grasp on yours. You smile softly and squeeze his hand gently and he returns the gesture. You feel him start to pull you close and you swallow thickly.

 Before anything else could happen the door opens and in walks Dr. Loomis. You are quick to remove yourself from Michael’s personal space, your heart racing at almost getting caught being so close to a patient. You let out a shaky sigh, giving Michael a reassuring look, before looking at Loomis.

“Ah, making masks again, are we?” The older man asks with a raised brow. 

“As always, Dr. Loomis. I'll get the table cleaned up.” You murmur politely, all while Myers still stares at you. You gather up the supplies, place them in the clear tote, and click the lid back in place. You place the masks on top of the box and carefully lift it into your arms before grabbing the small bowl with the water mixture. “I shall stop by your room afterwards, Mr. Myers.” 

You can feel Dr. Loomis's stare on both you and Michael as you leave. Ismael thankfully opens the door for you and Noel doesn't say anything. You let out a sigh as you walk to your desk. You set down the container and place the masks down at your desk before taking a seat. You feel almost warm, or lighter, at the subtle progress Michael has made.

You stare at your hand as you recall Michael’s behavior, when Dr. Jackson appears with a stupid smirk on his face.

“Have you heard the news?”

You don't reply to him and just give him a hard look as you stand up. 

“Dr. Loomis is closing his work on that freak, Myers. He's going to hand the case to me.” His words make you freeze.

“What?”

“He doesn't think he can learn more or help Myers at this point, so he is giving him to me. And the first thing I implement is removing you from his case.”

“You can't be serious? Michael has shown improvements after he was added to my rotation.”

“Only that you have seen.”

“Ismael has seen it too.”

“Ismael barely knows his right from his left.” Dr. Jackson waves you off. “I don't need you or him meddling with what the patient needs.” 

“Unbelievable.”

“Believe it, sweetheart.” He grins and waves as he quickly takes his leave before you can say anything else. You stared at his retreating figure in disbelief. You feel the cold realization that he is limiting your time with Michael and the fact that Loomis won't be his primary psychologist  anymore. Change can be life altering for the patients and you worry about Michael’s reaction. 

You get through small tasks until the hour is up and Michael would be escorted back to his room, bringing the mask you made along with you. When you approached the room you saw Loomis leave with an almost troubled look before he spots you. Michael is led out by Ismael and Noel and you could see just how tense he is.

Dr. Loomis calls your last name. “May I speak with you?”

“Of course.” You swallow thickly as Michael is led back to his room. 

“I have decided to stop working with Michael Myers and have handed my case on him off to Dr. Daniel Jackson.”

“I've heard. He is removing me from Michael’s care team.” Your voice is tense. “I don't think that is a good decision, especially if you're no longer in charge.”

“While I respect your dedication to Michael’s care, I think Dr. Jackson's choice is a valid one. You are in too deep. I've seen the way you've treat him-”

“He responds to me, Dr. Loomis!” You exclaim, cutting him off. You felt your frustration boiling over at how stubborn this man is. “He doesn't speak but he responds with action.”

“And I have yet to witness that.” Dr. Loomis's face turns stern as he looks you over. “I advise you to drop this matter or I will highly recommend to the charge nurse you will need to take some time off and a suggestion that you take courses around the ethics of healthcare as a nurse.” 

“Dr. Loomis-”

“I will not hear anything else from you. And I will also advise you not to see Michael out of your own volition either. If Dr. Jackson wants you away from him, then you stay away. Now…Have a good night.” Dr. Loomis gives you a tense nod before walking off, not giving you a chance to speak. 

You stand for a few moments in shock. Your frustration and also the sudden sadness you feel brings tears to your eyes, but you try not to cry. Michael has been doing so well. Even if it's small actions, he's been coming out of his dissociation. Your heart clenches at the thought of him as you start to head to your desk, grabbing the mask you made before heading to his cell. 

Losing both Loomis and you will certainly shake Michael in some sort of way, and you worry for him. You worry about the care Dr. Jackson will place on him too. You worry Michael is either going to regress back completely into his dissociative shell, or become violent. Your stomach churns at all the possibilities. 

You're grateful to see Ismael when you arrive back at Michael's cell. He has a sympathetic look on his face. “Heard the news. I thought you'd want to say goodbye to him.” 

“I just hope he'll take the news well.” You murmured before Ismael opened the door for you. You take a deep breath and step inside, Ismael cracking the door so you have some semblance of privacy. You look at Michael as he sits at his desk, slouched and tense.

When your footsteps sound in the cramped room his head perks a little. 

“Hello, Michael.” Your voice is a little above a whisper as you greet him. You get yourself to where you are close behind him. You'd stand to his side if there was enough room in his tiny cell.

You're surprised to see him slowly turn in his chair and peer up at you from his spot. Even sitting, he is a hulking man.

“Dr. Jackson and Dr. Loomis told me what's happening.” Your chest feels tighter at what you're about to tell him. Your instincts tell you not to, but you can’t help but squat down and offer your hand to him. You half-expect him not to move, but you give him a small, sad smile when he places his large hand on yours. “And…Dr. Jackson wants to remove me from your care team.”

You feel his grip tighten on your hand as you let out a trembling breath. You don't see his face past his mask but his eyes seem to search your face.

“I tried reasoning with both him and Dr. Loomis, but they feel I am impeding your care. Loomis threatened to have me put on leave. I shouldn't be telling you any of this, but I would hate for you to not know why I won't be present any more.” You feel your eyes sting and the tears you were so desperately trying to hold back fall. You ‘tsk’ at yourself and hastily wipe them away with your free hand. Screw being professional. “It wasn't out of choice. If I wasn't risking my job or license I would choose to stay as your nurse.”

Michael pulls you closer to him, making you stumble and your knees hit the floor. He grunts and his hand is almost painfully tight around yours. His breathing seems to have deepened all while he stares directly at your face.

“I'm truly sorry.” You stand up slowly and try to take steps back but his harsh grip keeps you near. You almost worry–for just a second–but he drops your hand. You can barely force yourself to move away. You know if Loomis or Jackson catches you in here the consequences will be worse.

You leave his cell with a sad look and don't say anything to Ismael. You just head back to your desk at the nurses station to finish the rest of your rounds. Your mood stayed somber and it didn't help that Dr. Jackson would walk past you with a gloating smile.

—

You planned to turn in early when you got home but trashy television was a great distraction. You mess with the bandaids now adorning two of your fingers when you accidentally sliced yourself when you were cooking, the credits playing on the tv screen. You let out a soft sigh and decide to turn off your show and get up from the couch.

You groan as you stand up and stretch. You turn off your lights and pad your way to your bedroom, cursing softly at how the now stretched hems of your sweats catch under your heels. Your bed is a welcoming sight after the day you hand. You close your squeaky door and promptly flop on to your bed. You struggle for a second to get under your plethora of blankets but soon find yourself in a comfortable cocoon of warmth.

You let out a soft sigh as you press your face into your pillow. You close your eyes and try to take deep, slow breaths. You've always struggled falling asleep yet tonight you find yourself drifting off easily.

You're not sure what caused you to stir awake. Was it that your doors squeaked when it opened? Was it the heavy breathing you heard when you arose from your slumber? Or was it the sensation of being watched?

Your brain barely comprehends it as you wake up and sit up. You shiver when your plush blankets fall off you, making the cold air envelop your once warm skin. You rub one of your eyes with the heel of your palm and groggily look over to your door. 

Your heart drops into your stomach as your eyes lock on to the masked figure wearing stained, brown coveralls. Your eyes flicker down to his clenched hand and you spot the bloodied knife, and you whimper, scooting back against your wall. The man doesn't move or say anything. He just stares. You stay still as if any sudden movement was going to trigger something, your eyes locked on his form as your muscles tighten in case you need to fight or flee. 

The man tilts his head and underneath the neck part of his mask you spot messy, blonde hair peeking out. Your eyes widen as you realize the sheer height and you suddenly recognize the figure.

“Michael?” You whisper, voice unsteady. You can hardly believe yourself but everything about this man points to your former patient. Even the way he tilts his head to the side reminds you of him. “Michael, what are you doing here?”

You don't expect a verbal reply despite your question as you stare at him. You can see his chest rise and fall with a deep breath before he steps closer to your bed. What could you really say or do in this scenario? You and him have a good history, but now that he is apparently does that really matter?

Michael starts to step closer to your bed and you don’t make any more sounds or attempt to move. You swallow thickly when he reaches the side of the bed you’re on. You crane your head up while he looks down at you with a tilt of his head. His hand–not the one gripping the kitchen knife–slowly reaches out and grips your wrist. He lifts your arm and stares at your hand, his thumb sliding up from your wrist to tap against one of the bandaid’s around your pointer finger.

“Accidentally cut myself cooking. I was a little… distracted after everything today.” You murmur and cringe a little at reminding him of early.

Michael grunts and shifts his hand quickly, sliding his palm against yours and intertwining yours and his fingers. You swear your heart is about to slam out of your chest from your nerves. What was he thinking? What does he plan to do? Those are questions that everyone at the Sanitarium asked and you find yourself asking those same questions at this moment. The tall man looks over at your nightstand and sets his knife down slowly.

Your eyes train in on the open wounds on his hand and you look up at him in surprise. They look like scratches and you fear the worst at the thought of where they came from. The blood on his overalls implies what answer you’d get from him if he were to speak. 

“Are…Are you alright, Michael?” You’re hesitant to ask but you do so anyways as you look over his hand holding yours.

“Mmm…” Was all he replied with before his other hand moves around your hand and grasps the back of your head. He grips your hair and tilts your head back a little too roughly but it's clear he is holding his strength back. Something about him towering over you with his hands on you both terrifies you yet sends shocks of arousal through you. You want to push those feelings and thoughts away like you did back in the Sanitarium but they persist. 

You shouldn’t still be thinking like this about him. He is dangerous…but he has never been threatening with you. He's been soft, you think.

“Michael…” You whimper his name and his hand’s grip tightens.

“You.” 

Just one, singular word is all he said before he makes you lay back down on your bed, ripping your blankets away from your body. You let out a soft noise of surprise and before you know it, Michael is shoving his mask up above his nose and sloppily pressing his lips against yours. He still grips your hand tight and presses it against the bed as he crawls on top of you, his leg sliding between yours.

He bites your lips rough and his kiss is uncoordinated, but god is it hot. You're half-tempted to try and push him off. He's your former patient after all and it's all sorts of wrong. And yet, you find your free hand coming up to grip his shoulder. He barely lets up for air before his mouth is attacking yours again. He removes his hand from under your head to grip your jaw, pulling it enough to force your mouth open so his tongue can slip inside. Your mind is overcome with the roaring flames of growing passion that any previous hesitations or guilt have left you.

Michael lets up his kiss to your lips and instead attacks your neck. You whimper out as he roughly bites and sucks at your skin, his hand on your jaw keeping your throat exposed for him. You can feel the old, rubbery mask press against your skin as he bites and sucks at the same spot again and again, likely trying to leave a mark.

“Why are you doing this?” You manage to whisper out to him. You weren't complaining but you were confused in the midst of this shared heat. Michael grunts and slowly pushes himself up. He can’t see you with how his mask is pushed up but you watch him lick at his lips.

“You.” He repeats in his deep, almost hoarse, voice. He presses his knee against your core and you gasp. “Family…wife.”

You don't get a chance to reply, his mouth is back on yours in an instant.

“You are nice.” He grunts against your lips before he bites your bottom one again. You're certain it will be swollen in the morning. “Mine.”

You should feel excited he is speaking and acknowledging you directly, yet all you can focus on is your own growing need as he presses his knee against your pussy through your sweats once more. You let out a breathless moan at the sensation and you feel his hand–fingers still intertwined with yours–squeeze your hand in response and his other squeeze your jaw.

You're completely at his mercy and it thrills you. You can't help but roll your hips to try and get more friction where you need it most. Michael grunts again and pulls his mask up enough to where you can see your eyes. He isn't gentle about getting your clothes off. He nearly rips them from your body and tosses them onto the floor until you're completely exposed to him. His face is blank but his eyes roam over your body possessively.

“We shouldn't be doing this.” You murmur and his eyes snap up to meet yours. You feel his grip on you tighten before you continue to speak. “But, I'm no longer your nurse and clearly you aren't a patient anymore…”

That seems to please Michael. He leans down and nips at your chest before he licks at one of your hard nipples, sucking it into his mouth hungrily. You let out a sharp moan as you feel his teeth bite around the areola as he sucks and licks at the hardened bud. His hand leaves your jaw and he roughly grabs and kneads at your breast, all while keeping his other hand connected with yours. You squirm and roll your hips again, grinding your now bare pussy against his leg. He lets off your breast with a slight pop before he attacks the other one just the same. Your nipples feel tender and are deeper in color, covered in his saliva with his bite marks around each, once he is done with them. 

Michael sits up and his hands finally move to grip your legs. His movements are fast as he lays down on his stomach with his head between your thighs, putting your legs over his broad shoulders. You can feel his hot breath on your wet folds and it makes your face flare with heat. 

“You don't have-” Your words are cut off by a moan when he licks at your folds. Your noises are soft as his tongue laps up your wetness eagerly. No part of your cunt is left untouched and when he swipes over your clit? You're crying out and arching off your bed. You hear him grunt and his lips suction around your swollen bundle of nerves and focus all his attention and effort into licking and sucking your clit. You choke on a moan as jolts of pleasure and arousal shoot through you. One of his hands leaves your thigh and he maneuvers it underneath himself.

You cry out when two of his thick fingers slide inside you, your slick wetness making it easy for him to start pumping them in and out. He doesn’t start out slow and gentle. His pace is rough as he works you open.

“Curl your fingers a little…Just-Just like that.” You sighed before sharply gasping when he’s brushing against that spongey, sweet spot inside you. Feeling your legs twitch and try to close in around his head and with all the noises you were making has Michael doubling his efforts. You curse and babble and feel the telltale signs of your orgasm rapidly building to the precipice. Your hands move on their own as you attempt to push him off your sensitive pussy but he growls in response, using his free hand to bat away yours. You don’t even get a chance to react to his actions as you tumble over the edge of pleasure faster than you have in a while. Your release hits your hard and fast, and you can practically hear the increased wetness as he still fingers you.

You cry when Michael jerks away and pulls his fingers from your pulsing heat. You lift your head off your pillow and look at him looking at your pussy. His hands move and his thumbs part your folds as he watches your cunt clench around nothing. You feel his hot breath against your flesh and you hear him let out a mix of a grunt and exhale as you come down from your quick high. Slowly he sits up and falls forward, catching himself with his hands as he looks down at you. He pulls down his mask while you reach up with shaky hands.

You cup his face over the mask before dragging your fingers down his neck. You pull at the overalls and he lets you. You can still hear his heavy breaths behind the latex of his mask and you feel your arousal rekindled at the thought of his mouth smeared with your release underneath that mask. Michael sits up a little with you as you push down the coveralls off his shoulders to his waist, leaving just his white shirt covering his chest. Pushing them down a little more, you can clearly see the tent in the dark boxers he has on. 

“Want me to pull those down too?”

He grunts once more and he rolls his hips against your touch. You bite your bottom lip to hide your smile as you pull down the fabric constraining his length. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock. Michael, for a lack of a better word, is hung. You take a moment to look over what’s going inside you, admiring the deep red tip glistening with his precum. Your gaze trails over a prominent vein along his shaft before looking over the pubic hair at its base. You place your hands under the hem of the white shirt and trail it upwards his stomach. You can feel his thick happy trail leading up to his belly button as you caress over his hot flesh.

“You’re so warm.” You whisper as you pull off his shirt. He goes back to hovering over you with one hand bracing himself by your head and the other gripping your hip firmly. You can feel him tensing under your touch and his length twitches and drips a few small drops of his pre-cum onto your stomach. You can tell he is getting impatient–you’ve seen it plenty of times from him towards the guards and Dr. Loomis. “Do you want to fuck me now?”

The low groan from him tells you his answer.

Michael shifts his hips and he presses his cock against your folds. He grinds against you with a deep sigh and you whimper each time he rubs against your swollen clit. You reach down and gently grasp his flushed cock, guiding him to your entrance. Immediately he pushes his hips forward and you whimper when the thick head of his cock pops inside you.

Much like with his fingers, Michael sinks inside you to the hilt in one thrust. You cry out at the stretch and he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust to his size. He’s already rocking into you with steady movements and you can hear his breaths coming out harshly beneath his mask. You grab at his arms as you try to focus on the pleasure rather than the pain you feel. You watch as he tilts his head down and you just know he is watching himself disappear into your tight heat.

“M-Michael…” You breathe out his name as you try to adjust your legs around his waist. He grunts loudly and tightens his hold on your hip while moving his hand from beside your head to around your throat. His pace starts to quicken as he drives into you again and again until he is practically snapping his hips against you. He leans forward and drapes himself over your body, practically drowning you underneath his impressive frame.

Michael’s mask presses against the side of your head and you can hear his heavy breaths and grunts so much clearer. His hand still grips at your throat enough to make you light-headed in the midst of your pleasure. You shift your hips and the new angle as you squirming against him. He lets go of your hip and slides his arm under your lower back, palming at your ass and keeping your hips angled how you want them. His cock rubs perfectly against that spot as he continues roughly grinding into your heat. Your noises grow louder and you can tell that please him greatly. 

“Mine.” His voice is hoarse and muffled against your ear. You grab at what you can, your fingers digging into his skin. His pace is starting to falter and shifts into sloppier movements while you feel the familiar heat growing in your lower belly. Your walls start to clench and tighten around his cock while your breath catches each time he is fully inside you. With the added squeezing from his large hand along with your sensitivity from your previous release you’re at the edge once more.

“I’m s’close again.” You rasped out, gasping slightly for air. You feel his hand lighten up for a moment before squeezing again, making your head spin once more as tingles start to travel up your legs. He’s recklessly rutting into you, his grunts and your moans filling your room. 

“Breeding you…family.” He mutters and you barely catch what he says.

You can’t speak. The words are trapped in your throat as you let out hoarse cries of pleasure. In your hazy arousal, you haven’t thought about the fact that he has no condom on or how you’ve been spacing getting your refill for the pill. You feel too good to tell him to pull out…not that you think he would listen to you. In a different setting you would have insisted on some form of birth control, but you didn't and you still don't.

The coiling tension in your lower belly finally breaks and you dissolve into pure pleasure beneath Michaels. You let out a strangled moan as your walls pulse around his cock, pulling him deeper inside you. 

You hear a tense groan from him and his hand briefly tightens around your throat. Michael’s hips stutter until he gives you one final, powerful thrust, emptying himself inside you. His dick throbs with each spurt as he fills you full of his cum. You can’t help but moan at the feeling, your walls milking every last drop he gives you. Sweat sticks to both of you as he keeps himself pressed against and in you.

Michael lets go of your throat and pulls his mask up again. His mouth is back on your neck, biting and sucking repeatedly in several spots. He still slowly grinds his hips even as he's softening inside you. You let your legs fall from around his waist as he stills his movements with a soft breath. Giving your skin one last lick, Michael pushes himself up and off your body after fixing his mask. You could faintly see his eyes trail down from your face to where you both were connected.

You were expecting him to pull out. Instead, he removes his arm from underneath you to brace himself as his other hand caresses over your lower belly. Your face flushes at his action and you are reminded he came inside you. That you and him just had sex and you don't feel regretful at all about it. All your schooling and training about ethics in healthcare have gone out the window. 

You let out a soft, content sigh and caress his chest and shoulders. “Are you going to stay the night?” 

A soft noise comes from him before he lays back down on top of you, pushing his arms under you before rolling you both on your sides. You can feel his coveralls and boxers are still bunched at his thighs but he doesn’t seem to care. Neither do you at this point. You feel boneless and so full right now as he holds you tightly against his frame.

You can’t help but nuzzle against his chest as you relax, trying not to think of all the possible outcomes from what just happened. You don’t think about Michael being out of the Sanitarium and the implications that brings. You try to forget the knife sitting on your nightstand or the few words Michael whispered to you in the heat of the moment. 

Instead, you kiss his collarbone and feel him tense against you, his fingers digging into the skin on your back. He shifts his hold and keeps your head pressed against his chest. You can feel his release start to leak around where you both are still connected.

“Mine.” He mutters once more and you feel his touch drag from your back and slip between you both, resting against your stomach once more. “Ours.” 

Your birthday?

"Isn't it... around spring?"

Your job?

"Something-something with numbers."

Your relationship status? A complete mystery to him.

But he does remember:

Your favourite band from middle school,

Which one of the members was your crush.

Exactly how cringe you were about it.

He has you saved in his phone under a stupid name or an inside joke so obscure it would require a five-hour explanation.

The type of friend who is always — Platonically and shamelessly — flirting with you.

If you know him, you know it's never serious. It's just the way he is programmed.

"Heyyy, hotshot, how ya doin'? Don't you miss me?"

"No."

"Well, fuck you, me neither."

If some guy is bothering you, Dante instantly pretends to be your boyfriend and has way too much fun with it. He commits to the bit like he’s trying to win an Oscar.

It's so over-the-top it makes the other guy uncomfortable, but shame is not a word in Dantes vocabulary.

Now that we are on the topic, I have to clarify how overprotective he is of you. In his own way, obviously.

Like an older brother, he acts nonchalant, and he insists he "Totally doesn't care," but he does. He’s hyper-aware when something feels off, and sometimes that makes him a little overbearing.

In his defence, he lost too many people in his life; he can't afford to lose you, too.

"Text me when you get home, yeah? This ain't Wonderland, and there is a shit ton of demons out there."

Once, it was late at night. And he couldn´t walk you home, so... he just handed you Ebony and called it a day.

"You know how to use a gun?"

"No...?"

"Well, you point at the bad thing, pull the trigger, then hear something drop, and that's about it."

“Dante, I cannot use a gun.”

“Why not?”

“For starters, I don’t know the technique.”

"The general technique is that you gotta try to aim at something that isn't you."

"Well, no shit, but— "

"Alright, gotta go, babe. Bye!"

His methods are a bit insane, but hey! They work. (Kind of)

Dante is genuinely a pretty funny and chill guy. He always tries to cheer you up and lighten the mood. Especially when things are bad.

You can vent to him, and he will listen to you, plainly and unjudgmentally. Just don't expect him to open up in return or receive deeply sensitive, articulate advice.

At best, you get:

"Yeah... that sucks. Wanna get takeout?"

A guy like Dante doesn't open up to people easily. So if you’re his friend, chances are you’ve known each other for a long time, like Trish and Lady.

What's that? You want to meet Trish or Lady? Do not fret! Dante loves to introduce you to everyone in his orbit. He likes his people to know each other; it's like he is subconsciously building a little found family.

Which means you're probably close to, or at the very least, familiar with Trish, Lady, Patty, Morrison, Vergil and Nero.

And yes, you're part of this family whether you asked for it or not.

Dante is the kind of friend with whom you always end up sharing the most outrageous stories, "The Hangover"-level anecdotes.

Waking up in a hotel room you definitely didn't book? Check. ✅

Marrying a stranger in Las Vegas? Check. ✅

Gambling all your money, winning double, then gambling again and losing everything? Check. ✅

Ending up at a police station for a crime you two might have committed, accidentally or not? Check.✅

Even if you are a low-key and responsible person, you always end up in the craziest situations with him. It's like reality collapses into chaos whenever Dante is involved.

The type of guy who always invites you over for takeout. However, you will end up paying every single time.

"Sorry, sugar, this one's on you. But don't worry 'bout it, I'll get it next time."

You both know he won't, but you accept it at this point.

Yes, he owes you money. Even if you are as broke as he is.

Dante has depressive episodes more often than he lets on. You know when they happen: he becomes quieter, more pessimistic, cynical, and he sleeps too much or too little.

Dante, at his worst, is completely avoidant. He won't answer your calls or texts for weeks. Sometimes, because he is on a job, but other times, he is trapped inside his own head.

So occasionally, you're the one who has to show up and drag him out from his misery.

Dante won't ask for help, not openly. But he will ask you to hang out and have a drink at weird hours for no apparent reason.

To sum up, Dante is a complex person; his mind harbours many monsters, guilt, and nightmares, but despite all of this, he is an excellent friend.

Loyal. Protective. Unjudgmental. Ridiculously fun.

The type of guy you can't help but love. Even if he is driving you insane.

Vergil Sparda

Being friends with Vergil is not an easy task. This is not a role for the faint of heart.

Having a thick skin is strongly advised (More on this later)

That said, if you somehow manage to become his friend, congratulations. You are very likely his only best friend for life.

Aside from Dante, of course.

Due to the lack of healthy relationships in his life, Vergil is an intense person with an all-or-nothing mentality.

This manifests in many ways, one of them being his complete inability to process and reciprocate casual kindness like a normal person.

For instance, you can do the bare minimum nice thing to him, and he will either take it completely for granted or malfunction entirely.

"Here you go, Verg."

He stares into space for a solid five seconds.

"If you require any enemies eliminated, you shall inform me."

"I just lent you a book, Vergil."

"I see..."

He is loyal. Not in a normal, friendly way, but in the way a guard dog is loyal. He will defend you in your absence, death-glaring anyone who disrespects you, or intimidating anyone who pushes their luck.

(He would stab them if given the opportunity. Unfortunately for him, Dante now supervises his activities, meaning Vergil is no longer allowed to kill people indiscriminately. This greatly offends him.)

Say what you want about Vergil, but he's a man who gets shit done...in his own way.

"My boss has been bothering me an awful lot lately. He is such a creep."

Vergil opens a portal, disappears, and returns five minutes later.

"He has been dealt with."

"What— what do you mean by that?"

"He has been dealt with."

You don't make any other follow-up questions, and that's for the best.

His version of “hanging out” is peaceful co-existence. He is perfectly content reading beside you while you silently do something else: drawing, crafting, knitting, studying, working, or reading another book.

While conversation is allowed, silence is preferred.

In the same vein, the easiest way to bond with him is to be bookish or interested in poetry.

It's just an infinite pool of conversation topics that do not qualify as tedious small talk to him. (Something that Vergil very openly loathes)

While not a talkative man at all, he is surprisingly eloquent when insulting people. Especially the ones he cares about the most. Cleverly bullying people is his way of showing camaraderie.

So, yes, he roasts you a lot. You'd be surprised at how much you get read by Vergil; he can be reeeally sassy if he chooses to.

"You have a rather simplistic approach to logical thinking."

"It seems competence continues to elude you."

Or in conversation:

"I didn't sleep much last night."

"Evidently."

"I think I handled that well."

"Objectively, no."

"Sometimes I struggle to stay focused."

"I have no doubt."

(I did warn you about the thick skin. Befriending this bastard is not for beginners.)

Thankfully, he tolerates your insults back.

"So, you chose that attire willingly?"

"I refuse to receive fashion advice from a crusty Edwardian man whose last time you washed your coat was before the fall of the Roman Empire."

Judgmental, he has the meanest side-eye known to mankind.

You know you’re his best friend when, after someone does something idiotic, Vergil immediately locks eyes with you across the room and is like:

"Can you believe this moron?"

Most would disagree, but I think he loves gossip.

He will deny this vehemently. He insists he is not nosy, and yet he knows everything.

He is always silently listening to people, and he remembers everything. Therefore, he can't help but know everything about everyone; he wants to act nonchalant and uninterested, but he can't.

"Admit it! You love gossip."

"I do not concern myself with trivial matters."

"Then, how did you know she was cheating on her boyfriend?"

"Please. Even a blind man could see the infidelity."

Or, alternatively:

"Hey, Vergil! Did you hear about—?"

"Yes."

He is not a "mom friend" by any means, but he somehow knows your schedule and responsibilities better than you do.

"Aren't you supposed to be elsewhere?"

"It seems punctuality still remains a challenge for you. You are one hour late for your appointment."

Vergil is a cold, aloof man.

He doesn't sugarcoat, offer empty reassurance or give compliments lightly.

However, he deeply respects discipline, hard work and endurance in the face of adversities. If you feel like you’ve failed or want to give up, he does not dismiss it.

"You endured what most would not."

"You remained in the face of misfortunes. Commendable."

"Do not falter. It will pass. "

Unfortunately, he has a remarkable talent for making concern sound like a threat/ insult.

"You are not use to anyone being feeble, dehydrated and sleepless. Unless you seek failure, correct this."

"You forget yourself. Humans cannot tolerate physical strain as demons do. Take a break, you fool."

"You look pathetic. Have a proper meal. We will speak later."

"Attend to your health. No one else will, and neglect has consequences."

But sometimes — sometimes — he gets it right.

"You will succeed. It is inevitable."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you cannot escape fate."

"That's... surprisingly sweet of you, Vergil."

"Do not get used to it."

Nero Sparda

Nero is not subtle about his thoughts or feelings. If he likes you, you'd know.

There is very little slow burn in y'all's friendship. If you are an extrovert, you'll link instantly. If you are an introvert, he simply adopts you.

The one emergency contact that is actually competent. He answers the phone immediately, and before you even finish the sentence, he is already grabbing his jacket and keys.

"Hey—"

"What's up?"

"Shit, I'm sorry, Nero, I think I might—"

"I'm on my way."

He is fiercely protective. He believes you have to protect your people with your blood, sweat and tears. And to him, friends are family.

Although this is very earnest and honourable of him, Nero is a man who thinks with his heart first and his brain eventually.

If you are wronged, even if it is not a big deal, he will overreact.

He has a tendency to stand directly in front of you, argue with anyone, and escalate situations at record speed.

Sometimes it helps, because he would absolutely fight god for you.

But sometimes it does not help. Like, at all, he will actually make the situation ten times worse.

Similarly, he will defend you in conversations even when you’re not there.

"No, you don't know them. They are not like that. You know what? Fuck you, you better watch your mouth before talking shit about them."

Also, if someone interrupts you mid-sentence.

"Hey, man. They were talking."

If you have beef with someone, Nero now has beef with them, too. He forgets the details, but remembers the vibe.

"I don't like that person"

"You met them once."

"Yeah. Didn't like them. Vibes were off."

Nero is too honest for his own good.

"You look like shit. No offence."

Or, alternatively, if you're not wearing makeup:

"You good? You look sick and tired."

"I'm fine. I'm just not wearing any makeup."

"Oh— Shit. Sorry. Fuck me, I guess."

Unlike Vergil or Dante, Nero actually tries to be emotionally open. Sure, he is clumsy; he overcorrects, overshares or blurts things out.  

The same applies to emotional support. He doesn’t always say the right thing, but he genuinely tries.

Strangely enough, he is excellent at hyping you up, even when it makes absolutely no sense.

"You could totally take them in a fight."

"They are twice my size, Nero."

"Yeah, but you're more... fiesty. Like an angry kitty against a Rottweiler."

Or alternatively, while watching a movie:

“Okay, but like… if the situation were right, you’d have a chance with them"

"With who? Pedro Pascal? Be fucking for real."

"Nah, you'd totally have a shot."

He loves his friends with a passion. He thinks you are way cooler than you actually are, and no amount of logic will convince him otherwise.

You will get dragged into his domestic life. He introduces you to Kyrie and Nico immediately. He doesn’t mind if you stay the night or if you make yourself at home.

Needless to say, you probably get along with them, too.

Nero is that friend who cannot whisper to save his life, nor be subtle.

"Hey, Nero. Be subtle, but behind you is my ex."

"HUH?! WHERE?!" Violently twist his head like the girl from The Exorcist.

He’s the friend who constantly tries to get you out of your comfort zone. He makes you try things you normally wouldn’t, even if you’re shy.

"Okay, but it doesn't matter if it sucks, or if you make an ass of yourself, it'll be a great anecdote later."

"Thanks..."

Also, invites you to places at the last minute and acts surprised when you can't go.

"C'mon, it'll be fun."

"Nero, it's 2 am on a Thursday."

"So...?"

I feel that he loves spontaneous field trips.

“Hey, wanna go somewhere?”

“Where?”

“We’ll figure it out on the way.”

If someone flirts with you badly, Nero physically recoils and makes exaggerated gagging faces behind them.

"Oof, that was a tough watch, man."

Nero is the friend you have all your drunk stories with. Unfortunately, he remembers every single one perfectly. Especially the embarrassing ones.

He has at least 100 unflattering but hilarious photos of you, which he uses exclusively as reaction images in your private chats.

I know I've been nagging about how loyal and how much of a good friend Nero is. Which he is! But truth to be told, he is terrible at keeping secrets.

He will beg you not to tell him anything sensitive because the guilt will eat him alive. Yet, you tell him anyway.

He lasts maybe ten minutes.

Then he sprints to Kyrie.

Luckily for you, Kyrie is a much better confidante.

He is insanely competitive over the dumbest things imaginable, especially games:

Video games, card games, Monopoly, and don't get me started on UNO.

“The fuck you mean I gotta draw twenty-eight cards?! Fuck this stupid game! What color? GREEN?! I don’t have green!”

"What do you mean you don't have green? You have half the deck in your hand!"

"I know! I fucking hate this game..."

Anyway, Nero is by far the most normal of all the Spardas. So, treasure his friendship; he is a golden boy.

V Sparda.

Like Vergil, being friends with V is a slightly surreal experience.

For starters, he is objectively a strange man. I don’t think that needs further elaboration

Second, V comes as a full package deal, because wherever he goes, his familiars are not far behind. You don’t just befriend V; you inherit Shadow, Griffon, and Nightmare as part of the arrangement.

Someone artistic or introspective will likely get along with him best. Similar to Vergil, you get bonus points if you enjoy poetry. He loves to read and talk about books with you.

If V is your best friend, it means he is always there for you.

Physically.

No, like, literally.

I mean it, V has a habit of materialising out of nowhere beside you and scaring the absolute shit out of you.

“Greetings.”

“WHAT THE FUCK — since when have you been there?!”

“Enough. Either way, here I found this book you might enjoy.”

Like a good friend, he does check in with you, but in a very odd way.

He disappears for days, sometimes weeks, then suddenly appears at your door at midnight and asks how you are, like it's the most normal thing to do.

"V? Do you know what time it is? And where have you been?"

"Irrelevant questions." (A pause) "I have been meaning to ask you, how did your job interview go?"

If you’re feeling down, V isn’t the best at traditional reassurance. He tends to stand there awkwardly, clearly wanting to help but unsure how.

He isn’t terrible at emotional support, but he does have a habit of quoting poetry at the worst possible moments.

"Grief is but love enduring..."

"V."

"Apologies."

You and V are a trauma-dump duo. About 75% of your conversations are just venting. He listens without judgment because his threshold for weirdness is nearly nonexistent, so nothing you say fazes him.

While he isn’t always comforting in a conventional sense, he is actually one of the better Spardas to talk to emotionally. He’s not as closed off as Vergil or as avoidant as Dante, and he genuinely has a way with words. (Unlike Nero)

“You do not need to suffer for your endurance to have meaning. Your persistence speaks for itself.”

What’s the antonym of pushy? Unobstrusive? Well, that’s V. He is quiet, respects space, and minds his own business.

He’s the type of friend you can go months without talking to, then pick up right where you left off, as if nothing happened.

Like Vergil, V is unintentionally funny, and unlike Vergil, he’s significantly less intimidating. So, he is just an overall more approachable and entertaining person.

However, he has no concept of conversational momentum. You’ll be mid-rant, and he’ll calmly interrupt with something like:

"This reminds me of a line by Blake."

He is also that one friend who laughs last because he didn’t get the joke in time.

You try to teach him modern slang, and he tries.

"That was... 'Based', was it not?"

That one friend who never knocks and never closes doors behind him. And once you’re close, he borrows your things constantly. Nine times out of ten, you don’t even notice they’re gone.

Most of the time, he returns them before you realise. But sometimes… he forgets.

He doesn't do all of this on purpose; he is a bit absent-minded.

One of your favourite activities with him is watching bad movies and trash TV. He observes closely, analyses deeply, and somehow understands very little.

"This narrative is... ambitious."

V is odd, gentle, present and surprisingly sincere. As your best friend, he turned into a quiet constant in your life. I told you, it is a surreal experience to have him in your life, but it is no less special.

Author's Note

Miss me? (Say yes, please), I closed the request temporarily so I could catch up a bit with them. As soon as I write a few more, I'll open them again. Ideally, sometime in January. I have plenty of requests half-finished because headcanons for Dante and Vergil come easily to me, but I struggle a tad with Nero and V.

Although I'm not one 100% sure of this blog, I might correct it in the future: I had a lot of fun writing this, especially the dialogue, but I think it is a little bit dull and monotonous to read. Like, it could be funnier. However, I think it's an overall decent set of hcns.

Your first instinct was to try and sit up, your head swimming like you were emerging from a deep, dreamless sleep.

"It's okay, take it easy" the voice came clearer now, small hands gripping your much larger, bluer wrist. Human doctors swarmed around you, almost like little mice, checking vitals and making sure you wouldn’t rip out the IV drip when you moved.

Your body felt wrong, heavier than you remembered, your limbs elongated and when you managed to sit up straight, you towered over all the scientists around you. "If you get dizzy, just let us know, okay?" a women next to you said, gently prying some medical stickers off your body. You just nodded, not trusting your voice yet.

The mirror across the room showed a stranger as your sharper eyes raked over your body wrapped in a mintgreen gown. Your skin was now a rich blue, your ears pointed and catching every whisper in the sterile room.

Your new tail swished behind you without you actually wanting it to, knocking over a tray of instruments with a clatter. You instantly reached to hold your tail at the base and keep it still "Sorry" you croaked apologetically to the doctor, your ears lowered in shame.

Before she could dismiss you, a loud crash startled you in the lab next to yours. "Sedate him!" someone screamed and you watched a furious Recom through the large window, destroying medical equipment and hissing at everything and everyone around him.

"The Colonel" you stammered out like on auto pilot, ripping out the needles that had bugged you ever since you woke up.

Chaos broke out quickly, a doctor trying to keep you seated "Miss, you can't stand up yet, you could collapse!" he urged, but you shoved him aside, more forcefully than you had intended, not realising how strong you actually were. But you didn't care about that right now.

Seeing Quaritch here meant one thing- he died, too. And something inside you ached at the thought. He had been your, well, you couldn't really call it an affaire. You never slept with each other, never confessed anything. But even now you remembered the tension, his gaze on yours, that wasn't just nothing.

You stumbled to the adjacent room where Lyle was shouting frantically at Quaritch, he and other recoms holding the Colonel still as he thrashed and tried to bite.

Your walk felt weird, as if something was in between your legs that hadn't been there before. You blamed it on your muscles, which were still too weak to hold your body weight confidently.

"Miles" his name being said made him stop dead in his tracks, his yellow eyes snapping over to you. "All right, let me go, im alright" he muttered to Lyle and Z-dog.

Reluctantly they stepped back, ready to pounce if Quaritch tried something again.

But instead of lashing out, he approached you warily "Ain't this a bitch..." he muttered, eyeing you up and down, before trying out your name "...that you?"

You nodded at him, smiling crookedly, the fangs in your mouth feeling slightly too big. He returned the grin "So you got hit too, huh? Would have prefered to see again as a human, corporal" his words made you chuckle, your ears perking up in amusement as you lifted your arm to peel off a monitor patch that was still stuck to his forehead. "I would have prefered that too, sir"

The tension prickeled alive again as if the 15 years had never passed, as if you weren't resembling the enemy you both had learned to hate. His intense stare still didn't fail to make something stir in your core. The feeling though was unfamiliar, you blamed it on your body yet again.

Just when you lost yourself in his eyes, the door behind you hissed open. Human doctors in white coats, clipboards in hand, swarmed the space again after Quaritch had calmed down.

One man stepped forward, his breath huffing through the mask. "Uhh, Colonel Miles Quaritch and uhh..." he squinted as he looked back down to his documents, reading your name out loud "I'm gonna need you to come with us really quick."

Quaritch and you shared a confused glance. "My assistant to my right will be taking care of the other Recoms for the time being. And don't panic, it's less bad than it might sound" so off you went, exiting the room and walking behind a group of doctors.

They led you to another room. It was similar to the other lab, sterile lights blaring overhead and machines beeping around you.

"Sit, please" one of the nurses said, gesturing to large hospital beds. You lowered yourself carefully, your bare butt hitting the cold sheets and your tail curling around your leg absentmindedly. Quaritch did the same, sitting next to you with a stern frown, arms crossed over his chest.

The doctor cleared his throat. 'First off, congratulations on successfully taking part in the recom program! Your neural transfers are flawless, everything is working just as it should. You're stronger, faster, perfectly adapted for Pandora."

He cheered.You exchanged a glance with Quaritch yet again So far, so good. But if everything was perfect, what exactly was the problem?"

But..." he insisted, holding up a gloved finger "There is an... anomaly" the doctors eyes shifted down to scroll through his tablet, turning it to show you a screen of a DNA sample.

"During the, lets call it gestation, as your avatars were prepared to grow in their tanks, there was a labeling error in the genetic sequencing. Recoms are engineered to be almost identical to the Na'vi. Your bodies are made to mimic Na'vi biology fully, that includes male and female reproductive systems. You're both viable, but...mismatched."

Your stomach dropped in shock. You hoped you had understood them wrong. Quaritchs eyes narrowed next to you. "Goddamn it doc, spit it out" he barked. He didn't like what he was hearing so far.

The nurse beside him took over, her voice clipped "Standard female avatars have a vulva and an internal reproductive tract. Uterus, ovaries and fallopian tubes. Males have a phallus and can produce fertile seminal fluid through ejaculation." she explained, watching your jaw starting to drop to the floor. "Due to the mix-up, your avatar-' she nodded at you and your shocked face "-has male genitalia. And Colonel Quaritchs has female."

Silence crashed down afterwards. You tried to act professional about this, but what were you supposed to say now? There was a dick, between your legs. A fucking dick.

You took a deep breath, professional. Quaritchs on the other hand was about to combust. A vein appeared on his forhead, his ears pinned as flat as they could go and his tail lashing behind him dangerously "You're saying I have a pussy? You stupid science bastards gave me a fucking cunt!?" he outright roared, his voice could be heard down the corridor.

But the nurse didn't seem to be scared of his outburst at all. "Yes. And the corporal has a penis. We noticed it mid-growth. Even if the lab had noticed it earlier, they couldn’t have stopped it, let alone tried again. Recoms cost the RDA billions." she tried to reason firmly, as if that made it okay.

She waved her hands "But everything else is optimal. You'll adapt. These parts are for urination primarily and you are not here for procreation anyway. Focus on the mission" but Quaritch was practically fuming, smoke coming out of his ears. You had never seen him so tense, so angry, not even when Sully betrayed his race.

You swallow hard, staring down at the ground. Your new body felt even stranger now. "Adapt my ass" Quaritch growled, rising to his feet swiftly and towering over the doctors that were just half his size.

"Anything else you fucked up that we must know about?" He hissed down at them, baring his fangs naturally.

The doctor opened a file on his tablet, clearing his throat. "Not a fuck up, as you put it, but yes. Like my assistant has already explained, Avatar and Na'vi biology are very similar. That's means you will experience a heat cycle soon. One is mandatory before we can give out supressants to the recoms" the doctor swallowed thickly, watching Quaritchs jaw tick.

You lifted your hand in question behind Quaritch "Heat like in...animals?" you asked and to your horror, the doctor and nurse nodded. "Basically, yes. Both individuals will feel the urge to mate. The male will usually try to find a willing female to breed and procreate with" he gestured between you and Quaritch "The heat cycle can be shortened if the male disposes his sperm into the female. But it passes on it's own after about a week, though self inflicted pleasure can help ease the symptoms until then" the nurse informed, clasping her hands together in front of her.

That was it.

Quaritch hissed dangerously, the sound ending in a growl, the doctors shrinking together in fright "Not a word to my team or I'll fucking gut you" he barked before leaving the room and stomping down the hallway, rage evident.

★

Everything happened so fast after that, you got dressed, watched the recordings your human self had left for you and soon arrived on pandora, being shipped to bridgehead by a battle ship.

A lot had happened since your absence and it took general ardmore the whole day to show you and the team around. Quaritch seemed collected and calm, as if he hadn't recently found out he was dickless. But you knew he was brooding inside.

You arrived at your room at night, finally getting to unpack your things and rest for the day. Quaritch was stationed right next to you. You had to urge to go talk to him, about this, or anything really. Just to make sure he was doing as okay as a man could that now had to live with a vagina. But he had shut his door and locked it the second he was inside, Lyle throwing you a confused look before retreating into his own quarters.

You sighed deeply as you stretched from todays strain. You stripped down to prepare yourself for a quick shower, when your eyes landed on your panties in the body length mirror.

There was a slight bulge there. You had already used your new attachement to pee, but you hadn't taken a good proper look. Quite frankly, you didn't even know if you actually wanted to. This felt wrong, but then again, what in this body didn't feel wrong?

With a deep breath, you decided to take a look. You pulled down your panties and your cock sprang free. It was an impressive size, even soft, hanging low and heavy. You heard that Na'vi were hung like horses, still the size surprised you. It wasn't bad looking, either. Smooth to the touch with no hair, fain't stripes and a soft purple tip.

You wrapped a hand around it, weighing it softly. The image your mirror painted was wrong, though not only the cock was the problem.

You huffed. You knew you would have to live with this now. And the doctors were right- it wasn't like you were here to find yourself a mate, settle down and pop kid after kid out with them. You didn't even want children. So you hoped you would get used to it soon, to the point you'd forget that it was even there.

And as you watched yourself in the mirror, you wondered if Quaritch was doing the same thing on the other side of the wall, parting his pussy lips and taking a look at his clit. Did he feel phantom pain where his dick once was? You snorted at the thought.

Sleep came easy after your shower and you tucked yourself away in your narrow bed, exhaustion taking over quickly.

★

Then, two weeks later, it happened. You hoped you had more time to prepare, but you woke up sweaty as hell and with the hardest boner ever. Not even a cold shower made it go down, your dick just wouldn’t budge. Instead it kept leaking precum, even when you got your panties on, your cock straining against your pants.

You almost didn't want to leave your room at 0600 for morning training because your boner was so obvious! "How the fuck do they do this?" you muttered, trying to position your cock in a way it's outline wouldn’t be too prominent.

But every touch made you throb more, pleasure shooting up your spine as you tucked it upward with the head peaking out of your waistband, a large bead of pre staining your panties.

You moaned before snapping out of it, shaking your head. You groaned as you changed your panties the third time since you woke up an hour ago, your hands itching to just stroke yourself the whole day. But you were already late to breakfast, so you swallowed down the need in your groin and headed out.

When arriving in the canteen, a smell hit your nose like a punch to the gut. Your head had been fuzzy already, but this was a different level.

Lyle waved you over to his table. You threw your long legs over the bench, that smell even stronger now. Quaritch held his head low, his fork scraping around in the grey slurry on his plate. But even as the team fell into the familiar chatter like all these years ago, you couldn't concentrate on shit.

You were staring at your food with a frown, not knowing if you wanted to hold your breath or take a very deep sniff of whatever source produced this scent. You had never smelled anything like it.

"What's that smell..." you muttered more to yourself, but the whole table picked it up instantly "What smell?" Z-dog asked you, her cheeks stuffed with food. You tilted your head "You don't smell that?" you asked them. Everyone shook their head, except Quaritch, who seemed to be tensing up even more.

You brushed a hand through your hair, sweat beading at your neck "I don't know, it's like- very, very sweet. Like a fruit, maybe?"

Lyle shrugged, chugging down his coffee "they offer some of those fruits here in the canteen, say it's safe to eat. Wouldn’t trust that though" he grinned, a chuckle sounding from the group.

You nodded, deep in thought, cock throbbing despite everything "Yeah, must be it" you almost rasped. Little did you know that the sound of your voice made Quaritchs core tingle and that this alluring scent was his pussy, his arousal amplified by your own smell that assulted his nose.

When you bendt over the table to grab syrup for your stale pancakes, your cleavage right in Quaritchs face, goosebumps exploded on his skin. That was it, he pushed himself up, his cuttlery clattering as he stormed out of the canteen.

And just like that, the scent faded.

Training was hard, but you could blame your flushed state on the 20 laps you had to run around the compound as a warm up. And lifting weights was enough to let you forget the ache in your dick and how fucking horny you were, desperate to sink into a nice, snug pussy.

You shook your head at the thought, panting and wiping your sweaty face with a towel.

That's when your gaze landed on the colonal, who was stretching himself. He was folded in half, legs straight, his head near his ankles to stretch his hamstrings. You could see the outline of his pussy through his shorts, the lips plush against the fabric. It almost sent you spiraling.

The whole day continued like this, testing your restraint to the point that the first thing you did when arriving in your quarters was strip and stroke your dick. The nurse said masturbation would help? You would see about that.

You had a pussy all your life, but really, how hard could it be to stroke a cock? Judging by how long your past boyfriends held out cumming, you wouldn't be sitting here more than three minutes.

When you started to fuck your fist, it felt like you had been edging the whole day. You groaned out as you corkscrewed upwards, giving your swollen head special attention. So that's how it felt. It was amazing, and while you were desperate to cum, you wished you could prolong this pleasure even more.

But how could you keep yourself from cumming when your mind made you imagine Miles next door, stripped down to nothing and straddling his pillow while his cunt was pressed flush against the fabric. How beautifully his puffy lips spread wide over the pillows edge, slick coating the material in dark patches, his clit a swollen needy pearl dragging back and forth desperately to chase his climax. Maybe he'd even moan your name.

Fuck, that did it for you, and you shot ropes all over your abdomen, hitting your chest. It was ecstatic, though the sticky mess it left behind was rather unpleasent. And while you felt very bad about masturbating to your boss, it had actually made your dick go down for the first time today, the room not feeling like a sauna to you anymore.

★

You had a feeling you were able to handle your heat pretty well, Quaritch not so much. By day three, he snapped at everyone and everything. He was pissed off by the smallest thing, just one wrong breather could set him off.

He was berating Lyle about something you couldn't quite follow, and Lyle seemed to be as confused as you that it agitated the colonal so much.

Quaritch was frustrated and in the worst mood you had ever seen him in. He was sweating, his tail was lashing like a whip and his ears would never leave their place where they were pinned to his head. Most of the time his face was pulled into a deep frown, sometimes he would even hiss at people walking by, scaring some human soldiers shitless.

You were tying your shoes up in the lockerroom when you watched Quaritch through the window that let you see into the gym. He was the only one there, everyone else had fled from him, and he was beating the stuffing out of a punching bag as if it was Jake Sully himself.

You were about to leave for your room when Lyle stopped you. "Hey, uhm, do you know whats wrong with the Colonel?" He asked you, pushing up his sunglasses to rest on top of his bald head. You swallowed. Yeah, you knew. Lyle and the rest also knew about the whole heat thing, but they didn't seem to be affected yet.

You shook your head "Yeah...he's acting pretty weird lately. Maybe he hasn't come to terms with all of this yet" you suggested with a shrug, gnawing at your bottom lip to hide how nervous you were lying to him.

Lyle nodded firmly "Maybe you're right" he muttered, scratching his neck in thought. He really cared about his best mate, and it was hard not knowing what was going on. You patted his shoulder "I'll see if I can talk to him tonight, hopefully he's a bit calmer until then" that earned you a thankful little smile from the fellow corporal.

By evening, you stood in front of his door, hesitant to knock. When you did, it took a few seconds before you heard a gruff "come in" muffled from the other side of the door.

When it was you who entered, he stopped his restless pacing. "What are you doing here?" He growled, opening the small window in the narrow room, as if it would help to make your scent less prominent. He hated just how weak in the knees it made him, how much more his pussy throbbed smelling you.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying not to let your own arousal get to your head as your eyes raked over his bare torso "You are scaring everyone on the station with your behavior. What's wrong?" you asked, though his state was explaination enough.

"It's the heat, isn't it? That bad?"

He sat down on his bed with a grunt "Course it's that bad when you can't even make yourself cum!" he seethed, hiding his face from you in embarrassement. There, he said it. He was sexually frustrated and treating everyone like trash because of it.

You sat down in front of him on a chair, manspreading, his eyes fixating on the noticable bulge in your pants, but he forced himself to look away.

"No matter what I do, I can't cum. Tried it all because I just can't fucking think straight anymore. This is bullshit" he gestured vaguely downward, shame etching his features. "I can't rub one out because it's too sensitive and fingers inside don't do shit" just imagining Quaritch plunging his fingers into his hole desperately was enough to make you want to bend him over, but you stood your ground.

He sighed deeply "Just- how did you do it? Is there a trick, am I not getting something?" his voice cracked, words meaning so much more than they let on. How did you make yourself cum when you still had a pussy- and how did you manage to adapt so quickly? He felt like he was still at the beginning, lost and not himself.

You bit your lip, an idea popping into your head. You couldn't leave him like this and you hoped you wouldn’t regret this.

You stood up, stepping closer, his head leveled with your groin "Maybe instead of telling you I could...show you" you purred, grasping the side of his face to make him look up at you. His eyes grew wide with raw vulnerability "Show me?" It wasn't even a question, more of a plea if anything else.

Gently, you guided his hand to his waistband to give him the last moment of control. He hesitated, then shoved his shorts and boxers down and scooted up to the headboard, his leg still closed.

With utter most embarrassement he opened his thighs, presenting gorgeous swollen blue tinted lips to you. His clit peeked out under it's hood, engorged, and a trail of arousal dripped down his ass and onto the sheets. He shuddered at the exposure. "Fuck, it's... leaking" he rasped, almost disgusted with himself.

You knelt over him then, your nose pressed to his temple while your hand wandered lower and lower. "I will start slow, tell me if it hurts"

Your fingers traced his inner thigh, thumb inching closer to where he needed you. He gasped, tail thrashing.

"Everyone is different when it comes to clitoral stimulation. Some like it rough, others feel pain with direct contact. So try to circle the outside first." you explained breathlessly, your fingers sliding through the wetness of his folds, but not penetrating him yet.

You rubbed him slowly, listening to his body reacting. You circled his clit, not touching it directly, and it made his toes curl. He moaned, the sound going straight to your dick "That nice?" you whispered into his ear that had started to tremble. "Yeah, don't stop" he breathed, his eyebrows furrowing in pleasure while he watched you play him like an instrument.

You kept rubbing slowly, the pressure light until you noticed him bucking into your hand. It hadn't felt like this when he did it, not by a mile. And he couldn't help but spread his legs out in eagerness.

"Please" you heard him whimper pathetically "I need...more, it hurts" he nearly sobbed and you cooed, kissing his cheek. "Everything my colonel wants, he gets" you assured and went to settle between his thighs, hands on his knees to keep them from closing.

It was the most pretties pussy you had ever seen. Smooth mound, gorgeous lips and a fat little clit, eager to cum. Ugh you could just imagine what he would feel like wrapped around your cock.

Without torturing him any further, your tongue flicked out, tasting him. Sweet like a fruit, just like he smelled, and his pussy clenched at the contact. "Fuck! Yes!" he arched his back off the bed, hands digging into the sheets.

You licked broader stripes across his dripping cunt, lapping at his folds, avoiding his clit until he was begging. "Please... touch it." When you finally circled the nub with the tip of your tongue, he cried out, body convulsing. "Oh fuck! Just like that" he wailed, legs quivering around your head.

Emotions crash through you as you ate him out, pity for his struggle, triumph in easing it and the insatable lust his moans made you feel. He didn't know what to do with himself, all these sensations that licked up his belly like they never had before.

He didn't know wether to back away from you when the feeling intensified or push even harder against your tongue. His whole body trembled without his control, it was the cutest thing, nothing you would have ever described Quaritch with until today.

But seeing him drooling and writhing under your mouth, it almost made you cum in your pants. You suckled his clit gently, your finger dipping into his hole to prepare him for what was to come, before you pushed it in fully.

You slipped in without much resistance, that’s how soaked he already was, his walls fluttering around your finger. "Deeper... need filling." he gasped at the intrusion, grinding down against you, tears already rimming his eyes "Don't fucking stop" he whispered, but there was no real bark behind it. And just seeing the look in his eyes, you knew if you'd stop now, he would start bawling.

You added another finger, stretching him a little wilder "Hold on just a bit longer, baby. I gotta prepare this sweet virgin pussy before I can fill it up" despite his needy state, he scoffed at your words "I'll show you virgin-" but before he could end his sentence, you curled your fingers to hit that special spot inside, making him sob, hips bucking wildly.

You abused that spot with the pads of your fingers while licking and sucking his clit between your lips at the same time, watching his abdomen tense as he wriggled to get away from you, the sensations overwhelming.

"I- I think I'm...-cumming, I'm gonna cum, I think m'gonna cum" he slurred, panting, feeling lightheaded as his orgasm seemed to finally approach after days of denial.

It hit him almost suddenly, warmth exploding from deep within his core and filling every fiber of his being. He screamed, fat tears rolling over his cheeks while he thrashed, his pelvis lifting off the bed, his body twisting from the pleasure in ways that looked like it hurt.

His pussy was gushing endlessly around your digits, and you were sure you could even make him squirt if you tried hard enough. You let him ride it out until he laid boneless on the narrow bed.

You gently massaged his quivering legs as he tried to catch his breath. While you were throbbing in your own pants, it seemed like this orgasm had really rocked his shit. You wouldn’t blame him at all if he just passed out exhausted, and you would wait for him as long as you needed to.

Just when you were about to snuggle up with him, he pushed himself up on his elbows and flipped himself onto all fours, as if on instinct, ass up obediently and presenting his pussy to you, the lips parting eagerly, slim waist arching beautifully. "Fuck me" he rasped, looking over his shoulder at you, his face flushed a deep purple.

"How could I say no to that?" you grinned, giving his ass a smack that made his tail twitch where he had lifted it up and out of the way.

You kicked your pants off quickly and positioned yourself behind him, rubbing the head of your cock along his slit. He pushed back, whimpering. "You're really sure you can handle me, colonel? You never had your cute pussy stuffed this much before" you taunted, grinning even wider as he glared at you from below.

"If you don't get your fucking dick in me right this second, I swear to god-" but you don't let him threaten you, instead you pushed your head in slowly at first, moaning at the contact. He was so fucking wet and hot, swallowing you greedily. "Fuck, you're squeezing me tight. It's like i'm wrapped up in velvet" you groaned, pushing deeper.

He spread his thighs wider, that’s all his head screamed at him to do, and you slipped in even further, down to the base of your dick, until you met resistance. Quaritch keened under you as your tip kissed his swollen cervix, his tail curling.

"So big..." he whined, clenching around you helplessly "I don't- I..." he whined, hiding his face in his pillow. His abdomen was visibly bulging from your length, and it felt like he would fall apart at the seams.

It was so humiliating. Usually women praised him for being so big, and now he was the one moaning like a bitch with this disgustung urge clawing at his skin.

BreedBreedBreedBreedBreedBreed

His head was swimming and fuzzy, but he couldn't let you cum inside him, he couldn't. But god did he want to, what was wrong with him?

He hadn't noticed his ears trembling, but you did, of course you did. Your hand gently brushed over his sweaty back and softly turned him by the shoulder to face you. "We can stop...if you want. It's okay" you reassured him, though he saw how much this was killing you.

He shook his head, no words came out, but you read him like an open book still. You cooed in pity, leaning down to place kisses along his spine. They made him gasp and shudder beneath you, arching into your touch.

"I know you probably don't feel...like a man anymore. That you are less than." You whispered against his feverish skin, goosebumps prickling your lips "Miles, I've loved you ever since I joined this team. I still live you now. And if this malufunction caused us to finally be together like this, then I'm thanking the fucking universe that it happened."

Your words settled deep in his chest, though for a moment it felt like you overstepped.

Then, to your surpise, Quaritch began to move his hips back against you, muttering something into the pillow. "What was that?" you asked through a groan, your restraint wearing thin when he moved on your cock like that. You had never gotten your dick wet in this body, or ever, and you weren't sure how long you would last if he kept this up.

He growled at having to repeat himself again, his ears already glowing pink "I said knock me up before I change my goddamn mind" he hissed in shame.

It was like a flip had been switched inside you, your pupils dialating. You grabbed his hips and started a rhythm, deep pounding strokes. Each slap of skin on skin echoed in the small room, his wetness coating your balls. You moaned out, rolling your hips desperately, his pussy squelching and gushing endlessly around your shaft "So fucking good, you feel so good, Miles" you groaned, your abdomen tightening. "Don't think I could pull out even if I wanted to"

Quaritchs clit throbbed pathetically as you pounded his hole, relishing in the way you rocked his body on the bed, the metal headboard creaking under your harsh movements.

You grasped his waist with both hands, so slim you could almost wrap your hands completely around it, and pushed him into the arch even more. He wailed, tears brimming in his eyes again. "You like that, huh? Taking my cock so well." your words only fueled the heat in his gut. He moaned, drool slicking his chin and the pillowcase. 'Yeah, harder, fuck me stupid!" he sobbed, eyes screwed shut.

Tears flow freely now, mixing with his sweat. You needed to get deeper, impossibly so. You laid your whole body weight onto his back, grinding your cockhead against his cervix. His eyes fluttered into the back of his head and you kissed his cheek.

"That's the spot, huh? Gonna carve out your inside, make space for a baby, yeah?" that made him moan like a whore, craning his head back to kiss you. Your tounges swirled around each other, his salty tears mixing with your spit.

When you pulled back, a string of saliva still comnected your lips, his were plush and pulled into a gasp. You licked from his striped cheek to his neck and down to his shoulder, biting the smooth skin there. The slight pain made him tighten around you, earning a growl from you that warmed his core.

Your left hand laid over his, fingers slipping between the space of his and curling to hold him, to ground him. Your other hand slipped down to cover his abdomen, feeling the bulge leave and reappear with every thrust of your cock.

Then your fingers wandered further south until you reached his clit, rubbing it furiously. He screamed, bucking wildly as another climax was building.

You continued nipping at his shoulder, trying to distract yourself from the burning sensation in your thighs. You were sure your muscles would be sore tomorrow, worse than any workout you could do. But the need to cum, cum in him, and pleasing your colonal was stronger than the ache in your abdomen and hips.

Quaritch whined, his head turning to bury into his pillow, biting into it "I'm getting close" he mumbled, the fabric muffling his voice.

You grinned, blowing on his ear teasingly, watching it flick "Yeah? Is that pretty pussy gonna cum on my cock? Do I make you feel that good?" you taunted, feeling bold now that you head him so vulnerable under you. He bared his fangs to you in an angry snarl "When- nghh...this is over, oh- I'm gonna kill you" he threatened you, but not without moaning from your thrusts.

You could only chuckle. He might be scary on the battle field, but right now, when the pleasure you caused made him too weak to hold his ass up, he looked merely like a kitty. "Aww Miles, you can admit that you love me digging down in your stomach. Come on, say it" your voice was strained from the excertion.

When he didn't answer, instead he was only glaring at you, hoping he didn't have to give up the last bit of dignity he had. But you didn't have a problem with threatening him back "If you don't, then I guess I will pull out, not cum in you"

That seemed to do the trick instantly. His head shot up from the place on the drool-soaked pillow, eyes searching frantically for yours "No, no! No, please" he shook his head desperately, grasping your hand so you couldn't pull back "Please, cum inside me, you, fuck, you have to c-cum inside" he sobbed, primal need speaking out of him. He was crying like you pulling out was the worst thing that could ever happen to him.

You kept kissing his face to soothe him "Oh baby, I will, I will" you tried to calm him, but his brain was already too far gone, only the animalistic urge to mate remaining. Breed, get knocked up, breed, get knocked up.

"Your cock feels good, all the way i-inside, oh god cum in me" he babbled, his body rocking back to meet your thrusts.

You shushed him by wrapping your hand around his mouth, his whines still high and pleading "I will baby, I promise. Fill that belly nice and full" your own words triggered you, just the idea of knocking him up- it made you pound him even harder.

The feelings overwhelmed you both, the slide of his slick heat, the subtle bulge in his abdomen and his cries turning to sobs of ecstasy. Your hand slipped from his face so you could grip his hips better, bringing him up against you with every thrust. "Make me cum, please!" he screamed raw and hoarse, his voice carrying all the way outside through his opened window.

Pressure build steadily, your balls tightening painfully, and so did his pussy "Gonna cum.." you warned him, putting your last bits of strength into pushing him over the edge.

"Yes! breed me deep!" if this didn't gave you a noise complaint, you didn't know what would. You slammed home with a yell, finally exploding against his cervix. You wondered how it was possible you even held out that long.

Rope after rope painted his insides, his cunt spasming in response, his second orgasm of the night ripping through him.

You came endlessly, his pussy sucking you in greedily, not wanting you to pull out despite the fact that he collapsed, trembling, your cum gushing around your shaft as you stayed buried. The effect was almost immediate, the room not feeling hot and humid anymore.

You pulled out slowly with a hiss and a sad whine from Quaritch, watching your cum drip from his stuffed hole. You parted his sticky lips, his pussy pulsing, more cum leaking out onto the sheets. "Look at that" you panted, the sight alone making you want to fill him again.

His incoherent babbling and the way he laid almost passed out on his bed told you he needed a break, needed rest.

But you couldn’t let him sleep on his bed tonight. The bedding was ruined with cum and sweat, the pillowcase soaked through by his tears and spit. Ever so gently, you turned him over onto his back. He whined in exhaustion, not wanting to move and inch.

He was so tired he even let you spread his legs without complaint. You dipped lower to clean him up with your tongue, being mindful not to touch his clit, which was still sensitive.

Quaritch moaned softly as he felt your mouth massage his mound, the mix of his juices and your cum oozing out to coat your tongue. Once you had licked up most of the remains, you went to get dressed. You helped him put on his tank and boxers.

At first, he thought you were about to cuddle up with him as your arms snaked around his torso, but his world shifted as you lifted him up against you. He was too sleepy to actually protest you, his strong arms laying limb over your shoulder, his legs just barely wrapping around your hips. "God, what are they feeding you?" you groaned under his weight, earning yourself a slap with his tail.

You left his quarters with his heavy body draped over you, making sure there was no one in the hallway who could see you carry the colonel like a baby to your room.

Once his body hit your clean and cool sheets, he sighed in relief. "Come here, you..." He started with a lazy grin, reaching for you. You threw him a smile, got rid of your uncomfortable combat pants and let him pull you into his arms for a kiss. You cuddled up with him on the narrow bed that barely even fit one recom, but you made it work.

You always did, even when the universe threw medical fuck-ups at you.

Thank you, universe

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

haven't updated in a while! Im scared that the Quaritch love is dying down slowly but surely :(

Tonowari did only little to hide his glare as his eyes raked over Quaritch with hatred and anger. His gaze then snapped to Jake, who stood behind Quaritch, aiming a rifle at the back of his neck "You bring this demon to us, to cause more suffering?" his voice was booming, hisses and growls sounding through the crowd.

Jake shook his head, lifting one hand to try and shush the clan to hear him out "No, but I believe people can change, remember? I believe people can adapt, they can learn. I know I did" he started, the other voices dying down "I saw him hesitate, I saw him worry about his son"

Jake placed a firm on hand on Spiders shoulder, pushing the boy forward, who looked at the ground as if the mention of Quaritch being his father, or what remained of him, deeply ashamed him. Quaritchs ears dropped at that.

"The old Miles Quaritch is dead, he has been for a long time" Miles' shoulders tensed up. No matter how much he tried to deny it, Jake was right. But who was he without the memories of the man whose name he carried?

The mouth of the gun pressed further into his neck "But the new Miles Quaritch hasn't been born yet. And he needs our help to see this world like we do. Like he should have seen it from the very start"

Jakes words sat heavy among the metkayina, lingering like pressure on your chest. He turned to Tonowari, his voice quieter now, smaller, to talk directly to him "Tonowari, my brother, I promise you, he will change. Either he starts to learn or he dies. That was the deal"

But Tonowari still didn't look convinced at all, frowning deeply at Jake and the demon he had brought. "We just need someone who will teach him" Jake said, his eyes boring into Tonowaris with an almost pleading intensity.

The olo'eyktan huffed through his nose before lowering his head. "So be it" he hissed, then turned to face his clan "Toruk makto has spoken! The sky demon will walk among us from this day forward. Teach him what he was too foolish to understand" he roared, the lack of kindness in his voice chilling.

"Much like Toruk makto and his family, he will be like a baby, even more so." Quaritch growled at being called a baby, it was bad enough that he was tied up and on his knees where everyone could see, he didn't need to get pissed off even more.

"Treat him as our brother. And time will tell if he was worth saving" Tonowari spoke his last works directly to Quaritch, spitting them into his face.

Jake hauled Quaritch up to his feet. Tonowari called out a name into the crowd, one that made Quaritchs ears perk up without reason.

As he was pushed along by Jake, the clan parted to clear a path, and to keep a safe distance to Quaritch. Only one person stayed put, a woman. As much as he despised these blue monkeys, they did have some pretty ladies here and there.

You didn't flinch as Miles was pushed into your space, your expression didn't change. You looked calm, collected. No fear.

Tonowaris hand came up to sign from his forehead down to you "I see you, ma'yawne" Quaritch snorted. My beloved, were you that guys missus or what? You looked a bit young for that, but he also couldn't blame him...what a fine face you had. Damn, he had to get it together.

You returned the motion "Would you please treat his wounds and show him his marui?" Tonowari questioned, his head held low as if he was ashamed to ask this of you.

You nodded, giving him a soft smile. "I will" you answered shortly, giving Jake, Lo'ak, Spider and Quaritch a look before turning around without another word, heading to your own marui and expecting the other men to follow.

Once you arrived at your pod, you collected a few things you needed to treat his injuries. Your movements were unhurried and light, as if he was just someone from the village who needed help. And maybe that's what Quaritch needed. Someone who didn't treat him with kidness, but also without malice or hatred. Just a neutral interaction between two people.

Though he certainly deserved to be treated like trash, he had to admit.

"Sit him down" you instructed simply and Quaritch was pushed onto a woven mat by Jake and Lo'ak. They held him firmly by the shoulders, not showing any signs that they were about to move.

You sized Jake up, staring at him. "Leave us" they were hesitant at first, not sure if this was a good idea. But Jake knew you, so he wouldn't argue about your choice. It was better that way.

You sighed softly as you were finally left alone with Quaritch, cutting the bindings that secured his wrists behind his back "Careful, sweetheart. I don't think you thought that through" he chuckled, rubbing his sore wrist with his good arm while he watched you sit down crosslegged in front of him.

"I don't think you realise I am the one with a knife" you mirrored his sass, earning yourself a defeated nod and a grin "Touché" he chuckled, observing you while you cleaned your hands in a bowl.

You scooted closer to him, grasping his right arm with a firm hand and pulling it straight. He hissed at the movement, though he tried to hide it. A broken arrow was lodged all the way through his biceps. The wound looked gnarly, at the verge of getting infected. The bleeding had stopped, but you couldn't leave it in. Not a minute longer.

You put your hand under his upper arm to support it, your other hand gently digging into the wound to get a good grip on the feathers of the arrow. His face grimaced softly.

You looked at him "This is going to hurt. Breathe in" you instructed, waiting until his chest rose and he held it, a tense vein bulging from his neck.

You nodded, just to make sure "And out..." only when he started to breath out did you pull. You made a quick job with it, though his pained groan echoed, his lips turning into a harsh snarl that showed his fangs. You threw the wooden stick to the side, quickly smearing an antibiotic salve onto his...very strong and firm biceps, before wrapping his arm up tightly with palm leaves.

Just as fast as it came, your touch left him and he cranked open his eyes. His chest was heaving gently, brows laid in sweat from the pain. But you seemed relaxed, finished with him.

His gaze settled on his arm, snug in bindings "You done?" he asked as if he couldn't quite believe it.

You hummed in affirmation, his ears perking up, content. You came closer again after you had mixed together some clear white slurry that reminded Quaritch of aloe vera, though the texture was less slimy as it hit his skin.

You touched him softly, he almost couldn't feel your fingertips gliding along his face. While you did this, it was quiet between you, the only sound being the waves lapping ashore and families going to sleep a few maruis away from yours.

It was a bit awkward, to him at least. But you didn't seem to mind the silence at all. "So...that guy" he started, closing his eyes as you applied the gel to a cut over his eyes that was already starting to bruise.

"What guy?" you asked, brow furrowed with concentration. "Y'know, that guy. Your leader I assume?" he tried to explain to you, though it came off a bit disrespectful. Nothing knew with Quaritch. "Tonowari. He is olo'eyktan" you corrected him then, your fingers re-dipping into the bowl of jelly.

Quaritch rolled his eyes, so subtle you didn't catch it "Yeah, right. He called you my beloved" you recalled that Tonowari had indeed called you that, he often did. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but the way Quaritch spoke about it made you wonder if humans didn't use platonic names of endearment with each other. "Yes, and?"

Quaritch huffed at that "Well, that's a petname, ain't it? You're his missus or what?" he asked you with a hint of bitterness in his voice. Not even he knew where that came from, and why.

You pulled back your hands, staring at him a bit dumbfounded. You? The Tsahik of the metkayina? Tonowaris wife? That made you laugh and you shook your head no to his question "You called me sweetheart, even though I am not your sweet heart. Is that any different?"

Well, you had a point, a sense of relief washing over him. How weird.

The words you got me there were about to leave his mouth as he started to dismissively raise his hand, but a sharp pain shot up his right arm and he flinched. You quickly went to grab a piece of net, cutting it to the size you needed and wrapping it around his torso and arm like a sling, so he wouldn't move his arm too much while it healed.

"Your na'vi is good" you acknowledged, tying the knot over his shoulder "But it can be better. I will help you"

He was about to answer you when you stood up, your tail brushing his shoulder, almost on purpose, strutting past him. When you noticed he wasn't following you, you turned. He looked at you over his shoulder, confused. "Come" you said.

Quaritch didn't move, at least not fast enough for you. "Come" you repeated more enthusiastically, pulling him up by the good arm to drag him along. He stumbled behind you, the shells and beads in your hair chiming with every step ok the bouncy woven paths that connected the homes over the reef.

He had never looked long enough to appreciate the houses of the metkayina, there was no time when he ordered them to be burned down. But now as he watched you navigate through the pathways with his hand firmly in yours. Something in Quaritch itched to get his boots off and feel the woven material under his bare feet. He refused to let himself fall for that inner longing that felt too primal for him to approach.

It seemed like you had forgotten that his warm hand was wrapped around yours, too busy finding an empty marui for him to stay in.

You found one at the edge of the reef, not far from yours or Jakes. It was small, but enough for him to live in with the few belongings he had. "There. You stay here and rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day for you"

Quaritch chuckled, not moving an inch. When you realised the lack of movement from him was caused by your hand interlaced with his fingers, you quickly ripped your hand away, tail giving one irritated flick as you brushed past him. That was the most emotional he had seen you since his arrival. He found you to be very collected, calm. He wondered why.

He watched you set up his bed, if he could even call it that. It was a flimsy hammock he wasn't sure would support his weight without collapsing, but he had worse. He had to be thankful he was even getting something that resembled a bed and didn't have to sleep out in the mud with zero privacy. After all, he deserved every bit of harsh treatment.

"What makes you think I ain't gonna flee, huh? When everyone's asleep" he asked you then. You gave him a soft smile and pointed out the dark ocean to an illuminated pod "That is my marui. I am a light sleeper, I will hear you" you answered, stepping closer to him "You are surrounded by the sea and the people born there. If one of us won't catch you, my skimwing will" despite you being slightly shorter than him, your message was clear.

He lifted his left arm to salute you "Understood, ma'am"

The odd gesture made you tilt your head, your eyes squinting, your lips pulled into the slightest amused smile. He looked silly, but you didn't tell him that. "Sleep now. I will wake you up early" and with that, you vanished from his pod, a gentle salty breeze occupying the space where you once stood.

Quaritch sighed deeply as you left. He went to remove his tactical vest, which proved to be pretty difficult now that he couldn't move his right arm too much. Eventually, he got it off, forming a pile with his camo pants, which he had folded up neatly.

He kicked off his boots and socks, placed them near his clothes and sat down at the edge of the marui in only his tank top and boxers, his feet dangling just barely above the pitch black water.

He wasn't able to see that far across the ocean, the crashes of the waves being lit by the moon, just faintly.

And as he sat there, being able to freely breath the fresh and cool air without a pesky mask around his neck, his toes not being restricted by narrow leather boots and dipping into the water below, doubt crept up in his mind.

He didn't want to give up the humans ways and become feral like these savages he was fighting against. But with every day that passed, he wasn't sure if these thoughts were actually his. If any of this was actually his. On rare days, it felt like the memories surpressed something deep inside him- as if he were caged, longing for freedom.

Quaritch shook his head, swallowing down these dreading thoughts yet again. Instead he raked his gaze over to your pod. You stood right where he could see you between the woven walls, with your back turned to him.

Your arms suddenly lifted over your head and he knew, if you had faced him, he would have seen your breasts spill out from your top that you removed for sleep.

His head snapped to his lap so hard he was sure he just gave himself a mild whiplash. He was sure you wouldn't have minded much if he saw, your people walked around half naked the whole damn time. Though it wouldn't help his case if he watched you change like a creep, so he scooted back from the edge and stood up, removing his tank before trying to get comfortable in the hammock, as much as his bound arm allowed him to.

★

The next morning arrived sooner than Quaritch would have liked. Being from the military, he was used to getting up early with little sleep. He was trained to be wide awake by the first ring of his alarm.

But today, he just didn't want to leave his bed. He could have slept forever and would have been more than content with it. He didn't know if he was just exhausted from the events of the last few days, or if his body had finally found the way it should have had been resting all along- the na'vi way.

He remembered that you had said you would wake him early, but when you actually stood there in his marui at the crack of dawn- there hadn't been a time he would have rather asked for just five more minutes.

But at least your body blocked the sunlight from his face as you towered over him "It is time to get up" your voice was nice, but right now it grated through his dreamland and he grumbled, his brows furrowing, but his eyes remained unopened.

With a huff, you went over to untie the knot that held the hammock up on the wall by his feet, and he came crashing down in a second, his fall featherd by the bouncy ground underneath him.

You had to stifle a laugh with your hand as a string of curse words you had never heard left his mouth. Quaritch caught it, even as you quickly straightened up with a calm expression. "I could have just broken my other arm, Lady. And you call yourself a nurse" he protested as he sat up with a pained groan, the sling slipping from his shoulder.

"I do not call myself anything" you admitted innocently, crouching down to be eye-level with him. You tried to be sneaky and get a good look at his very well build torso. His biceps were thick and strong, you had seen and felt that yesterday. And you already searched for an excuse to touch him again.

His waist was slim and toned, beautifully so, nothing you had ever seen in your own clan. He must have noticed your eyes wandering, a soft smirk stretching across his lips "See something you like, sugar?"

That made you snap out of your shameless staring. You huffed a breath through your nose. Instead of answering, you laid something down in front of him that you had been carrying under your arm.

A strip of woven fabric, soft and sea-dyed, adorned with shells, beads and stones smoothed by the oceans current.

"This" you started "you will wear." Quaritch stared at the loincloth for a moment before he couldn't help but laugh, a sharp and disbelieving sound. "No way"

You tilted your head, squinting your eyes at him in confusion. It was almost cute how you didn't seem to understand where he was coming from at all, that he'd feel too bare and vulnerable and that it was...scary.

You blinked softly "It is a loincloth" you explained to him, as if knowing what it was would make him change his mind. "Yeah i know, and I'm not puttin' that on" he answered flatly, his ears pinned back in irritation. "I'll go in what I've got"

You looked him over, he was only in sime tight, black boxers. To you, they left little to the imagination, even more than the loincloths. You could clearly see the outline of his big-

You shook your head and stood up. Without another word, you stepped past him, reached down to where his clothes had been folded into a pile, and scooped up both the garments and his boots into your arms.

"Hey-!" his hand reached out as if he would have been able to stop you as you approached the edge of the marui, the same where he had been sitting yesterday, and tossed his clothes into the ocean.

Quaritch only heard a splash as his things hit the water and he surged to his feet. "Why the fuck did you do that!?" he raised his voice, squaring up behind you. You turned back to him, calm as ever, the salty breeze playing with your braided hair. The teal colour of your skin matched the light blue tint of the water perfectly. The picture you painted almost made him forget what he was mad about.

"They will dry" you said, your voice carrying a slight teasing edge "Eventually."

He stared at the water where his clothes floated, drifting lazily away from his pod.Then he looked at you. "...You serious?"

You pointed at the loincloth laying on the ground "Either this" you started, crossing your arms over your chest, the wave tattoo on your forearm showing "or nothing."

Quaritch scoffed at your words, his nose pulled into a soft snarl "Don't mess with me, lady" though he knew you were determined. And stubborn as hell.

You stepped closer to him, the faint smell of coconuts filling his nostrils as your hands reached up to secure the sling around his arm again, pushing the knot up where it was supposed to be resting on his shoulder. Your eyes flicked over his collar bone, fingers tracing his dark blue stripes that stretched over his pec, almost absentmindedly, until you said:

"I am fine with both."

Quaritch froze on the spot, but you removed your hand before you could feel his heart take a leap. You turned away before he could respond, making your way out of his marui with a slight more prominent sway of your hips than usual.

But his voice stopped you at the threshold "If I didn't know it any better, I would say you're flirting with me, sugar" he grinned, eyes roaming your backside.

You looked over your shoulder, your eyes fixated on his, barely dipping lower to his v-line and up again. Instead f answering his statement, you took a deep breath "Come find me when you are ready" and then you left.

★

Surprisingly, you didn't have to wait for him too long. You heard his bare footsteps approach over the rock where you sat and finished weaving a basket out of dried palm leaves. You didn't turn at first.

"Don't say a word" Quaritch muttered behind you. Slowly, you looked back. He stood there with stiff shoulders and a tightly locked jaw, but despite everything, wearing the loincloth, the sling for his arm abandoned. Not that he really had other options.

It fit him better than he wanted it to.

The fabric sat low on his hips, shells and pearls reflecting the early light of the sun and chiming against his skin. His tail flicked once, his cropped ears were pink at the tips and he looked utterly displeased.

You abandoned your work to stand up and observe him. He was already almost naked, but your gaze made him feel even more exposed. You walked around him slowly, nodding "Good."

His tails swatted your thigh "That's it?" he snapped at you with a raised eyebrow, his neck craning to see you "That's all I get after you threw my stuff into the ocean?"

Of course you could have said more. How nicely the loincloth sat on his hips, how strong his legs looked, how beautiful his abs curved with every movement, that the muscles in his back rippled under your assessing gaze- that you yearned to feel them shift under your hands. But why would you give him that satisfaction?

"Yes." you answered simply.

Quaritch exhaled sharply as you had completed walking in a circle around him until you stood in front of him again, looking annoyed down at you "Yeah, thanks a lot. 'ppreciate it" he deadpanned.

You stepped closer, your hand coming up to rest under his navel. For a moment his breath hitched and his thoughts slipped into the wrong direction, despite you just adjusting a knot on the cloth he had tied too loosely to withstand the pull of the water and its harsh currents.

You weren't touching him more than necessary, though you wish you could have, even just to mess with him a bit more.

"Now, come. Today we swim" you explained and walked over the jagged stone that had been smoothed out like a ramp into the water by the constant crashing of waves over the years.

You moved forward, your body welcomed by the sea and quickly submerged yourself fully. You resurfaced silently seconds later, gracefully, the water beading on your shoulders. He was still standing up top, waves lapping faintly at his toes, but he didn't move to follow you.

You cocked your head "Come. Or can you not swim?" You asked him only half serious, your voice carrying a teasing edge. Quaritch snorted "Of course I can swim" he just didn't feel like it. Not when fear was already gnawing at him by just looking into the ocean. He was able to see all the way down to the sand floor, which did only so little to calm him, but it was something.

With visible reluctance, he took a step on the slippery rocks, carefully wading deeper until he couldn't stand anymore. He swam alongside you for a moment before you dipped, disappearing and diving deep, the teal colour of your body shimmering against the faint rays of light that reached through the water.

Great. He floated on the surface, head kept steadily over the water. And he would have liked it if it stayed this way. You could dive with your little sea friends all you wanted, he'd be damned if he ever submerged himself fully underwater ever again.

A touch on his ankle startled him, your hand wrapped around his leg and softly pulling as if to encourage him to follow you.

He sighed. The water was shallow enough, clear, and no military ships in sight. So what could really go wrong? With another deep breath to prepare himself, he plunged under, your figure blurry but still perfectly recognisable.

The world had gone quieter as the water closed in over his head. He could hear the faint clicks of ocean creatures in the distance as water filled his ears, and the sounds his arms made when they sliced through the water. He kicked his feet a little awkwardly at first, his tail more than useless, while you swam circles around him with practiced ease, your paddle-like tail pushing you forward.

You formed an 'O' with your thumb and pointer finger, gesturing the question to Quaritch. He nodded, returning the motion to you to let you know he was alright. For now at least.

You found his way of swimming odd. He spread his legs like a frog and pushed the water behind himself with his arms, it felt a bit insufficient and was draining his energy quickly. You decided you would have to teach him differently. You were about to signal him to surface again, when a shadow came up behind him.

Your Ilu passed by him, her fins brushing him a bit more forceful than intended as she surged around him, curious and unafraid, assessing him as a new friend you brought. Unfortunately, Quaritch wasn't aware that this creature was of friendly nature and simply interested in him, threateningly invading his space.

He flinched hard in surprise, his body reacting with a gasp. Water instantly rushed into his lungs, body seizing to cough it out, which only made his nostrils fill with more water.

Memories breached through the panic, the burning sensation of drowning fresh like it once was, the darkness nipping at his vision while he was pulled under and the pressure weighing his body to sink to the ocean floor.

He thrashed helplessly, punching your Ilu in the neck. She instantly swam over to you with a hurt coo while Quaritch kicked his legs hard for the surface, fear obliterating any rational thought. Swimming up felt like torture, time had stopped as he ascended to the line where water met air.

He broke free gasping and clawed his way onto a slick rock, coughing violently, water spilling from his mouth as he retched and shook.

Quaritchs hands trembled, gripping the sharp ridges of the stone until his palms bled, bare knees scraping against the rough surface of the small rock formation surrounded by the sea.

He didn't even hear you get out of the water and climbing up beside him, only when he felt your hand on his back did he realise you were kneeling next to him. Your touch was grounding, easing his chills "Breathe" you cooed, brow furrowed in concern "You are okay"

He dragged air into his lungs like he would never get more if he stopped. "I-I can't-" He gasped, his head falling forward in exhaustion, but his body pushed him to the edge of hyperventilation.

"You can" you insisted firmly, your other hand coming up to shut his jaw and press it firmly over his mouth so he was forced to take deep breaths through his nose instead. His yellow eyes snapped to yours, in that moment you saw his very soul. And it terrified you as much as it woke your curiousity about this man. Not Miles Quaritch. But this man in front of you.

He was finally able to calm down, his blood pressure sinking as he looked at you, your presence making his heart settle again.

Your hand slid from his mouth to cup his jaw "You okay?" You asked then, the water dripping from his chin. He nodded "I'm okay" he rasped out, fighting the urge to lean into your touch.

"I'm sorry that Za'tary scared you" you pulled back quickly as the tension grew, instead keeping distance and apologizing, even after you felt something leap in your chest.

Quaritch went to sit up straight, brushing a hand through his cropped hair "Who?"

You chuckled softly as Za'tary popped her head out from the water, swimming around the island distressed, looking out for you. Quaritch spotted her, recognizing the animal as one he had ordered to be shot in another reef village weeks ago. He grimaced. "My Ilu. She is not dangerous" you explained to him, reaching your hand down to her to scratch her chin. She chittered, pleased.

"M'sorry for punchin' her" he said then, gnawing at his bottom lip.

You nodded in acknowledgment "It is okay, she is strong" you smiled, putting your fist up to tap your chest. He huffed a soft laugh, though his smile was barely there. "Well, guess she matches you then"

You scoffed at his words, shoving him gently "Do not think compliments will help you get out of this" you lectured with a teasing edge in your voice, already turning to the water. "Come" you waved.

"Ain't gonna risk drowning again, Lady" he crossed his arms over his chest, sitting on the stone like a child throwing a tantrum. You crouched closer to him, looking into his eyes "Because you do not know how to breathe" he looked at you as if he had never heard anything more stupid, but he bit the inside of his cheek to stay quiet.

You could see how bad he wanted to roll his eyes at you. "Here" you said, placing your hand flat against his toned abdomen. He stiffened instantly, but didn't pull away.

"Not your chest" you continued, you mimicked your touch on him by bringing his five fingered hand to sprawl against your stomach as well. You almost flinched, you hadn't expected him to be so...warm. You tried to snap out of it quickly "Your stomach. Feel it rise."

You inhaled deeply, demonstratively, waiting for him to do the same. At first he hesitated, but he soon closed his eyes to concentrate as he took a deep breath.

Your hand on his andomen moved ever so slightly, letting his skin press against your fingers as he held the air, before breathing out, ears flicking, unsure if he had done it right.

You nodded softly "Again."

While he repeated your instructions, your hand moved up from his stomach to his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs and pecs, four fingers laying flat against his heart. He watched you intently, his heartrate picking up and you felt it "You need to embrace the water, do not fear it. Calm heart"

Yeah, if you wouldn’t be touching him like this, so damn soft in a way that made his skin tingle, then he could calm his heart alright. "M'not scared of the water" he muttered, avoiding your eyes.

Instead of asking why his heart was beating so fast then, you had the feeling you knew already, you pulled your hand away from his skin. "Then what are we waiting for?"

You stood and extended your hand out for him to take "Come." you incouraged again, and fuck, if you didn’t look like a goddess right now, the sun just in the perfect angle behind you to make it seem like you were glowing from within, your hair a blissful halo around your face. "I will not let go of you this time" was this what the old sailors saw before being dragged deep into their deaths by a sirens call? He was about to find out, and he couldn't wait.

He grasped your hand in his, yours smaller due to the missing finger and followed you without hesitation as you stepped back into the water.

Step by step. You did not let go, just like you had promised.

Your other hand went up to grasp his free one, too, walking backwards into the sea. "The way of water" you started softly as the tide reached your waist, his eyes snapping up at you as he heard you speak "has no beginning and no end."

You guided him deeper, your grip curling firmly around him. You watched his muscles tense as the cold water lapped at his ribcage.

"The sea is around you" you continued "and in you." With every word you said, the water climbed higher around you both. His heart hammered, but he did not pull away, didn't stop looking into your eyes like nothing else mattered. In that moment it didn't.

Your voice was hypnotising, whatever ancient poem you were bewitching him with settled deep in his lungs, as if to make them stronger. "The sea is your home before your birth" your hands slipped from his hands to his wrists and up to his forearms, your bodies pushed closer together by the gentle waves "and after your death." you watched him swallow, his hands gripping your elbows as if he'd sink if he let go of you.

The water was abojt to cover your shoulders and you started to take deep breaths, in and out, he mimicked you. "The sea gives, and the sea takes."

Your throats were enveloped by the waves and you had to tip your head back to breath. It should have scared him, the way he clung to your every word.

"Water connects all things," you whispered, emptying your lungs one last time "Life to death. Darkness to light."

On the last word you both gasped for as much air as you could, before you submberged. Together.

The water closed over his head. His instinct screamed at him to flee at first, but your presence anchored him. Your eyes never left his, making sure he was okay, making sure he knew you got him, that he wasn't in danger.

You swam side by side through the colourful reef, he even tried to copy the way you moved underwater. It was clumsy, but you appreciated it.

You let him touch plants that retracted once he did, smiled as a group of zukzuks swarmed around him, their baby briefly settling down on his calf to enjoy a short ride, before it's mom snatched it away again. You laughed at that, bubbles forming behind your hand.

A featherfin fish rounded the corner of a large coral formation and Quaritch looked at you as if to ask permission to touch it. You nodded your head, biting your lip to swallow down your mischief.

None the wiser, Quaritch extended his hand, and by the time he barely grazed the creatures tail, he was slapped by it, the fish quickly swimming away.

Judging by the fact that you were already darting away by the time he realised, you knew that this would happen. You looked over your shoulder with a grin, a clear challenge, and he wouldn’t be Quaritch if he didn't accept it, even when his chances were practically zero.

He tried to race after you, swimming through tall sea grass, rock formations, large tree-like corals which looked ancient, but by the time he had to stop as a giant school of weird looking yellow fish passed him by, he lost sight of you.

Quaritch looked to his right, his left, behind himself, turned in a whole circle to scan the area for you, but you had seemingly disappeared.

That's when a ring appeared around him, getting wider as it went over his head, thinning out until it broke apart into tiny airbubbles traveling to the surface. He looked down to his feet and saw you laying all the way down on the ocean floor, your hands near your mouth as you exhaled to push another bubble ring upward, which stretched out to let Quaritchs body pass through.

Seeing the bubbles made his chest tighten uncomfortably. He went to swim back up, breaking through the water with a gasp, but not panicked this time.

He looked around, only to see that the rock you two had been on previously was now so small in the distance, he could barely make it out. In that moment he realised just how far you two had swam, and how long he had held his breath without even noticing.

Quaritch watched you resurface right in front of him, much more graceful than he had. "Not bad, sky man" you teased, trying not to grin too much. You were just his teacher, after all. Not his friend.

He splashed water into your direction "You're playing unfair, you knew that damn fish was gonna slap me"

You faked a surprised look, turning to swim to a smooth rock that peeked from the shallow ends of the lagoon "Did I?" you asked innocently, but he knew you were smirking when you turned your head away. "Don't play dumb with me, missy" he darted behind you "Thought you'd teach me all rights and wrongs so I can learn to see"

You climbed onto the stone that was smooth under your skin, warmed from the sun. "No one can teach you how to see" you explained, sitting down comfortably to let the warmth of the sun dry your clothes.

Quaritch stayed in the water but folded his arms up and supported himself on the rock like this so he wouldn't get pushed back into the ocean by the waves, his whole body floating on top of the water, the sun shining warm on his back as well, the dogtags around his neck glimming in the light "Ain't that your pretty little job?"

You shook your head "You have to experience it yourself. You find something that makes you want to see"

Quaritch scratched mindlessly on the rock with his finger, kicking his legs behind him in the water "how will I know I found it?" he asked you then, looking up to you sunbathing. If he was actully curious or just playing with you, you couldn't tell, but you answered anyway "You will know"

You spent the whole afternoon like this. You had fallen asleep on the warm rock, fully at peace, not caring if Quaritch stayed or not. You weren't his babysitter after all, you hadn't even been given the task to teach him. It just all fell into place, somehow.

When you awoke, your skin was now a slight deeper teal colour everywhere the sun could reach. When you looked around yourself, Quaritch was nowhere to be seen.

A heavy feeling settled in your chest, even though you shouldn’t care at all. Why would you?

Suddenly, a gasp sounded in front of you and Quaritch surfaced, adding a few colourful stones to a pile that he had collected while you slept. He wiped the water from his face with his hand, shaking his head like a dog to get rid of the droplets adorning his hair. Only then did he notice you were awake "Hey, sleepin' beauty" he grinned up at you, a soft sunburn stretching across his cheeks.

But you were more intrigued by the little trinkets he brought "What is all this?" you asked him, crouching closer to pick up a smooth tumbled rock that glinted iridecent in the sunlight.

He shrugged, pushing the pile closer to you so you could look through them, as if searching for your approval "I went diving while you were sleeping. Thought I would collect some pretty rocks, hell knows what you people could use it for"

Your fingers found one singular shell between the stones he had gathered. You picked it up with a smile, admiring the spiky ring around the top that was sharp enough to cut skin, though the colours showed otherwordly beauty, a pearlescent band wrapping around the sturdy shell. Just how fitting.

You brought the shell up and held it against his hairline "The King's crown" you announced the name of this specific type of shell. He chuckled at that "That's what it's called?" he asked you and you nodded with an affirmative hum.

"Well, guess I gotta keep that one to myself then" he pursed his lips slightly, cheeky, and you huffed, giving his forehead a shove with your pointer finger "Big headed man" you scolded, but without any bark behind it.

He asked you to sort out the stones that you thought would be useful. He brought the ones that were left to the shore, waving you over to join him. You packed up the rocks into a little pouch around your hip before you stood next to him in the sand and watched him do something he called skipping stones.

He threw them into the water and magically, they jumped a few times over the surface until they finally sank. You looked at him like he was crazy and picked up a stone yourself, threw it, and it was pulled underwater instantly with a loud splash.

Between a bit of lighthearted banter, he taught you this knew skill, even went diving on his own to retrieve more rocks when you ran out. You failed each and every time, but it was so fun. You almost forgot who he was, that he wasn't one of the people just because he had reluctantly put on a loincloth and that he certainly wasn't as kind and carefree as it felt.

Still you tried to ignore the others that watched you from a distance- Jake who seemed almost proud, Neytiri who wasn't happy with this situation at all, Spider who...well, he observed quietly, went to occupy himself with Lo'ak and Tsireya, not quite accepting the good time Quaritch seemed to be having after everything that happened in the last few weeks.

Maybe Quaritch had felt your slight hesitation, but how could he blame you at all, or anyone in this village?

By the time the sky dipped into an orange hue, you had thrown more rocks in your life than you ever had before, and just when you were about to give up, the last stone you picked up skipped over the water one, two, three times before sinking. It hadn't held out long like Quaritchs, but at least you had actually managed it.

"Not bad" he mirrored your words from today holding up his weird looking hand. You stared at him as if waiting for something to happen, but it just...didn't. "What are you doing?" you asked, huffing out a small laugh.

"Uhh, High-five?" he stated as if it was so obvious, you tilted your head even further. "I do not know what that is"

He cleared his throat to mask the slight embarrassement creeping up and took his hand down again "We do that as a little celebration, when something good happens" he shrugged and you eyed him up and down, then you smiled softly "You sky people are weird"

He chuckled dryly "Yeah, guess we are. But hey, I taught you somethin' too. Makes us even, I shouldn’t be the only one to change my worldview entirely" his stance was proud, and maybe he was right. Without another word you turned, flicking your head into the direction he should follow you in. The eclipse was near and you were both starving.

He followed just half a step behind you as you walked along the line where sand met water, the waves lapping at your feet.

He walked, the loincloth remaining uncomfortable, especially now that it was wet and clinging to his legs “Still feels weird, this thing" he muttered, though more to himself than to you.

You glanced over your shoulder, your eyes flicking briefly over his form, appreciatively, before returning forward. “It suits you” you said.

A stupid grin stretched across his face, flattered and proud, his chest puffing up just a little “…Yeah?”

“Yes.” you confirmed.

And for the rest of the walk to his marui, he didn’t complain once.

You both then ate dinner together in silence. You had brought roasted fish wrapped in broad leaves, some fruits and steamed vegetables cut into pieces. It probably wasn't something he usually ate from where he came from, but he dove in without hesitation and it left him full, but not uncomfortably like the fast food at bridgehead did, and he felt energized. He felt good.

You sat crosslegged across from him, just staring at him as you finished your food, while he sucked his fingers clean. That image made something in your stomach flip, but you pushed it down. Instead you reached into the pouch at your hip and withdrew the shell he had retrieved earlier.

Quaritch frowned, swallowing down the last pieces of food in his mouth “That thing again?”

You took a length of dried vine and braided it around the shell, hooking the spikes at the crown between the material to create a space that held the shell firmly in place.

Quaritch watched your hands, his head tilted. “…So what is this exactly?” he said at last, voice rough but not mocking "M'not really a jewelry person"

Your head lifted and you studied his face for a second longer, then returned to your work. “This is not just decoration.” You tied the vine securely, tested the knot with a firm tug, then held it up between you.

“This” you declared “is the beginning of a songcord”

He stared at the dangling shell. “A what?”

You shifted closer to him, not invading, but closing the distance enough that the cord could hang between you. “A songcord is a life" you explained “It starts with your birth and ends with your death. It is the keeper of memories, it marks important moments in someones life"

You lifted your own from where it rested wrapped against your forearm. Quaritch hadn’t noticed it before. Not really. It was longer than he expected, going all the way from your wrist to above your ellbow. A cascade of shells, beads, carved bone, pearls and braided fibers, each and every piece different.

“This is mine” you spoke with a sense of proudness that made something in his chest ache. “Our lives are not meant to disappear” you almost whispered “They are meant to be remembered. Sung. Passed on. No one is ever forgotten”

Quaritch looked down at the shell in your hand. He didn't understand everything yet, didn't feel it the way you did. Maybe he never would get to that point, but he felt like listening to you was worth it.

He bowed his head down to let you hang his new songcord around his neck, for now. You admired it for a moment, your hand brushing over his chest. Then you suddenly lifted his silver dogtags over his head. "Hey, what are you-" for a second, he thought you'd throw the necklace into the sea just how you did it with his clothes this morning, stripping him off the last pieces of his identity completely.

To his surpise, you chose to wear the dogtags yourself. They looked good on you. Fuck did they look good on you.

You played with them, letting the unfamiliar material slip through your fingers, the tags warm through his body heat "You are right. Changes and growth happen together, and I promise to not just teach, but to learn. To learn you" nothing you did could have prepared him for this.

And with that you stood, but before you could just vanish, he stopped you. You turned to him, a bit agitated as if you had just said too much and wanted to desperately disappear "I promise I will... try" try what? To be better? To learn, to understand?

He didn't know, but you seemed to be pleased, just nodding at him before you finally left.

Just how was he supposed to sleep after all of this?

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

I really hope you guys like this as much as I do. I guess you can tell just how carried I got😭 Part two will probably take a while if it is about as long as this one, but part two will have smut in it you freaks

The sun dipped low over the lush canopy of Pandora, casting long shadows through the bioluminescent undergrowth of the Hallelujah Mountains. You, a seasoned warrior of the Omatikaya clan, had been patrolling the borders ever since the Sky People returned with their recombinant abominations. Rumors spread like vines—whispers of a demon in Na'vi skin, leading raids with the precision of a thanator but the cruelty of a machine. You'd seen the destruction firsthand: scorched earth where sacred sites once stood, clans scattered like leaves in the wind.

Your mission was simple: scout, report, and if Eywa willed it, eliminate threats. But fate twisted like a neural queue when you stumbled upon him—Miles Quaritch, or what was left of him in this stolen blue form. He was alone, separated from his squad after a skirmish with your kin. His recombinant body, tall and muscled like any Na'vi but marked by the faint scars of his human past, lay slumped against a glowing tree root, his queue severed in the fight, blood trickling from a gash on his side. He wasn't dead, though. Far from it. Those yellow eyes snapped open as you approached, knife drawn, his lips curling into a sneer that screamed defiance.

"Well, well," he growled, his voice a rough rasp laced with that alien accent, even in Na'vi tongue. "Another blue monkey come to finish the job? Make it quick, kid. I ain't got all day."

You hesitated. Killing him outright felt too easy, too merciful for the butcher of your people. Instead, you bound him with vines infused with paralytic sap, dragging his heavy frame back to a hidden cave deep in the floating rocks—a place only you knew, far from the clan's eyes. Eywa's will, you told yourself. Interrogate him. Learn the Sky People's plans. But as the days blurred into nights, something shifted. Quaritch was no mindless drone; he was sharp, unyielding, spitting barbs that tested your patience.

"You think tyin' me up makes you the big hero?" he'd taunt during your interrogations, his massive form straining against the restraints, muscles rippling under azure skin striped with those telltale patterns. "I've faced worse than some forest boy playin' soldier." His eyes, fierce and unblinking, would lock onto yours, a challenge in every glare. Yet, beneath the bravado, you saw cracks—the disorientation of his new body, the flicker of something almost vulnerable when he spoke of his "old self." He hated the Na'vi ways, mocked the connection to Eywa, but he adapted fast, his survival instincts kicking in like a predator cornered.

You fed him, tended his wounds with healing salves from the forest, all while prying for intel. He gave little at first, just enough to keep you coming back—hints of RDA movements, veiled threats. But isolation bred tension. Conversations turned from hostility to reluctant exchanges. He spoke of Earth, a dying world you'd only heard horrors of; you shared tales of Pandora's harmony. One night, as atokirina seeds drifted lazily through the cave's entrance, illuminating his features in soft glow, he cracked a rare, bitter laugh. "You know, in another life, I'd have put a bullet in you without blinkin'. But this body... it's messin' with my head. Makes everything feel... different."

That "different" hung in the air like pollen. You noticed how his gaze lingered on you longer, tracing the lines of your warrior's build—the broad shoulders honed from vine-swinging, the lithe strength in your limbs. Your own eyes betrayed you, drawn to the way his tail flicked in agitation, or how his ears pinned back when you got too close. The air thickened with unspoken energy, the kind that sparked between two warriors testing boundaries.

It happened on the fifth night. You'd unbound him partially, trusting—foolishly, perhaps—that he wouldn't bolt. The cave's warmth from a small fire pit amplified the humidity, beads of sweat glistening on both your skins. Quaritch paced like a caged ikran, his queue regrown but twitching with pent-up fury. "You gonna keep me here forever, or what? This ain't no vacation, blue boy."

You stepped forward, your voice steady. "You're free to leave. But you won't. Not yet."

He snorted, closing the distance until his breath ghosted your face. "Oh yeah? And why's that?"

"Because you need this," you replied, your hand pressing against his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart—Na'vi now, alive with Pandora's pulse. His eyes widened, a flash of surprise before that trademark smirk returned, but it faltered when you didn't back down.

"Big words," he muttered, but his voice dropped an octave, rough and laced with something darker. "You think you can handle me?"

The challenge ignited you. Your lips crashed against his in a fierce clash, all teeth and dominance, your hands gripping his braids to pull him down. He resisted at first—pure Quaritch stubbornness—growling into the kiss, his larger frame shoving back. But then he yielded, just enough, his tongue battling yours in a war he was losing. You pushed him against the cave wall, the bioluminescent moss lighting up under the impact, your body pinning his.

"Damn it," he hissed between breaths, his hands—finally free—clawing at your loincloth, but not to fight. "You... you're somethin' else."

You stripped him methodically, your fingers tracing the ridges of his abdominal muscles, down to the hardening length between his legs. He was massive, even for a Na'vi, his cock throbbing under your touch, the bioluminescent freckles along its shaft glowing faintly in the dim light. Quaritch bucked into your hand, a low groan escaping him, but his eyes burned with that unyielding fire. "Don't get cocky, kid. I ain't breakin' that easy."

But he was. You shed your own coverings, your own arousal evident—thick, veined, and ready—pressing against his thigh as you ground against him. He cursed in his human tongue, a mix of English expletives that sounded foreign yet fitting from his lips. Your queues connected in a rush of tsaheylu, the bond flooding you with his sensations: the raw hunger, the confusion of pleasure in this body he still fought against, the grudging submission bubbling under his tough exterior.

You prepped him carefully, your fingers slick with natural lubricants from the cave's flora, probing his entrance. He tensed, hissing through clenched teeth, but didn't pull away. "Easy there, marine," you teased, echoing his own bravado. One finger, then two, scissoring inside him, stretching the tight ring of muscle. His walls clenched around you, hot and velvety, his cock leaking precum onto his stomach as you curled your digits to hit that sensitive spot. Quaritch's head fell back, a strangled moan ripping from his throat— so out of character for the colonel, yet so raw.

"Fuck... you," he panted, but his hips rolled into your touch, betraying him.

When he was ready—slick, open, and trembling—you positioned yourself, the head of your cock nudging his entrance. You pushed in slowly at first, inch by agonizing inch, feeling the exquisite tightness envelop you. Quaritch's breath hitched, his hands digging into your shoulders, nails drawing blue blood. "Shit—too big, you bastard," he growled, but his legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you deeper.

You bottomed out with a groan, buried to the hilt in his heat, the bond amplifying every pulse, every flutter of his inner walls around your length. He was vice-like, gripping you as if to reclaim control, but you set the pace—slow, deep thrusts that had him arching off the wall. "That's it, Colonel," you murmured against his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. "Take it like the warrior you are."

His responses devolved into grunts and curses, his body betraying his words. You picked up speed, pounding into him with rhythmic force, the slap of skin echoing in the cave. Each thrust dragged along his prostate, making his cock twitch and spurt more precum, smearing between your stomachs. Quaritch's tail thrashed wildly, his ears flattening as pleasure overrode his defiance. "Harder—fuckin' harder," he demanded, ever the commander, even as he submitted.

You obliged, angling your hips to hit deeper, your hand wrapping around his neglected cock, stroking in time with your thrusts. He was a mess—sweat-slicked, moaning incoherently, his recombinant body quivering under you. The bond let you feel it all: the building pressure in his core, the way your cock stretched him perfectly, filling him completely.

"I'm gonna—ah, shit—" he warned, but you didn't stop, driving into him relentlessly until his body seized. He came first, ropes of thick, glowing cum painting his chest and yours, his walls spasming around you in waves that nearly pulled you over the edge.

But you held on, fucking him through it, prolonging his orgasm until he was oversensitive, whimpering—actually whimpering. "Too much... kid, too damn much."

"Not yet," you growled, your own release coiling tight. A few more brutal thrusts, and you buried yourself deep, flooding him with your seed. Hot spurts filled him to the brim, the creampie overflowing as you ground against him, ensuring every drop stayed inside. Through the bond, you felt the warmth spread, marking him from within, his body milking you dry in greedy contractions.

You collapsed together, queues still linked, breaths mingling. Quaritch's eyes, hazy with afterglow, met yours. "Don't think this changes a damn thing," he muttered, but there was no bite left—just a ghost of a smirk, and something almost like respect.

Snickers broke out around the room.

His jaw tightened. He stepped closer. Too close. “You think you’re funny?”

You stood slowly, maintaining eye contact. “I think you oughta take about three steps back before I demonstrate exactly how funny I am.”

His hand twitched toward your arm, your fist clenched, then the entire hall went silent.

A heavy set of boots hit the metal floor behind him. Colonel Quaritch didn’t have a loud introduction, didn’t need to. His presence was intimidating enough.

“Is there a problem here, Corporal?” His voice was firm.

The grunt stiffened immediately. “No, sir.”

Quaritch’s eyes didn’t leave you. Not once. He’d walked in expecting noise, typical base nonsense. Instead, he found you, stiff backed, defiant but you were smiling.

The corporal swallowed and stepped back like you’d told him to five seconds earlier.

“Good,” Quaritch said evenly. “Then you’re dismissed.”

The man practically fled.

You bent down, picked your wrench back up, and wiped it off on a rag like nothing had happened. Then you glanced up at the Colonel. You didn’t drop your gaze. You just gave him that same soft, smile.

“Afternoon, sir.”

The accent came out again at the casual greeting. Something like recognition flared in his eyes. He’d been stationed all over hell and back, heard every dialect under the sun. But that? That was home. Dusty roads and shotgun racks and heat rising off asphalt. Something he hadn’t heard in years.

He studied you openly.

“Where you from?” he asked.

“Alabama, sir.”

His brow lifted just slightly. “Is that right.”

“Yes, sir.” You tilted your head faintly. “You?”

“Texas.”

Your smile widened just a hair. “Well I’ll be damned.”

A few people nearby pretended very hard not to eavesdrop.

Quaritch stepped closer. “You always handle your own business like that?”

You shrugged lightly. “I was raised to.”

He believed it. There was no tremor in your hands. No lingering tension in your shoulders. You hadn’t needed saving. You’d had it under control. That did something to him. A slow but deliberate appreciation settled behind his gaze.

“I don’t tolerate harassment on my base,” he said, though his voice had shifted to be a bit softer “You got a problem, you bring it to me.”

You leaned one hip against the table casually. “I didn’t need rescuin’, Colonel.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I know.”

He’d seen it the second he walked in the way you stood your ground. The way the corporal had already been backing down before he even spoke. You weren’t prey, he realized.

His voice dropped half a notch. “What’s your name, soldier?”

You gave it to him.

“Mechanic?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

He glanced at the wrench in your hand. “You any good?”

You held his stare. “Id like to think so.”

A moment passed. Then one corner of his mouth lifted, just barely. The closest thing to a smile most people ever got from him.

“I’ll be expectin’ that,” he said.

He turned to leave but looked back over his shoulder at you.

“And next time someone steps outta line,” he added evenly, “I’d like to see what you would’ve done.”

Your grin sharpened. “Yes, sir.”

He walked out, boots echoing down the corridor. But for the first time in a long time, Colonel Miles Quaritch wasn’t thinking about Pandora.

He was thinking about Alabama.

----------------

The barracks were quieter this late.

Most of the grunts were either at chow or blowing off steam in the rec room. The hum of the base filtered through the walls, distant generators, metal doors sliding open and shut. You were stretched out on your bunk, boots off, one knee bent, a paperback balanced in your hand. A pen rested between your teeth while you flipped a page.

You didn’t hear him at first.

Quaritch filled the doorway, broad shoulders, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He’d meant to do a quick sweep. Check discipline.

Instead, he stopped.

“You always off in your own little world like that?”

You didn’t jump. Didn’t scramble upright like most people did when he appeared. You just lowered the pen from your mouth and glanced up.

“Well if it ain’t Texas himself.”

His eyebrow lifted. “You’re in my barracks, soldier.”

“And you’re in my line of sight, sir.” You marked your page with a finger but didn’t close the book. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He stepped inside, slowly and his gaze dropped to the paperback.

“What’s that?”

“Book.”

He gave you a look. “Don’t get smart.”

“Too late.”

A faint exhale left his nose.

He nodded toward it. “You read that stuff often?”

“All the time.”

“You got free time and that’s what you’re doin’ with it?”

You finally sat up properly, crossing your legs under you. “Yes, sir.”

He studied the cover, worn edges, notes scribbled in the margins.

“You some kinda nerd?”

There it was. The faintest teasing edge in his tone. You blinked at him. Then you smiled slowly.

“Well,” you drawled, “I reckon that depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you think literacy’s a personality flaw.”

He huffed a short laugh despite himself. “I just didn’t picture you the bookish type.”

“And what type did you picture?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “More hands-on,” he said finally.

You tilted your head. “I can fix an engine and quote Shakespeare, Colonel. The two ain’t mutually exclusive.”

He folded his arms. “Shakespeare, huh.”

You watched him a second longer, then closed the book gently and set it beside you.

“Let me guess,” you said sweetly. “You were more of a… punch first, read never type.”

His jaw tightened just slightly. “You callin’ me stupid, soldier?”

You met his stare without flinching. “I’m callin’ ya a meathead.”

Anyone else would’ve swallowed those words the second they left their mouth. But you didn’t. You held eye contact. And then a slow smile spread across his face.

“Careful.”

“You started it,” you reminded him.

He took a step closer to your bunk. “You think I don’t read?”

“I think,” you said calmly, “that you probably read mission reports and ammo counts. I read history, poetry, philosophy. There’s a difference.”

He braced one hand on the metal frame of your bunk, leaning in just slightly. Close enough that his shadow fell over you.

“You always this mouthy?”

“Only when the other person can banter back.”

He studied you like you were a puzzle.

“You got guts,” he muttered.

“I’ve been told.”

“And you’re not intimidated.”

You shrugged. “Should I be?”

His eyes narrowed faintly. “If you were smart.”

You tilted your chin up just a fraction and scoffed. Silence stretched. Finally, he straightened, stepping back.

“What’re you readin’?” he asked again, more curious now than mocking.

You picked the book back up and held it out slightly so he could see the title.

“Military history,” you said. “Figured I oughta know some history of the branch I joined.”

His brow lifted. “You interested in that?”

You smiled lazily. “Maybe I like knowing how things work.”

He studied you a long moment longer.

“You surprise me,” he admitted quietly.

“That so?”

“Most people on this base got one setting.”

“And what’s that?”

“Loud.”

You laughed softly. “I can be loud.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Another silence. Then, unexpectedly, “You got any recommendations?”

You blinked at him. “For a meathead?”

His eyes flashed, but there was amusement in them now. “Watch it.”

You considered him carefully. Then you picked up a second book from your footlocker and tossed it lightly toward him. He caught it easily.

“Start there,” you said. “If it’s too many big words, I’ll find you somethin’ with pictures.” He looked down at the book in his hand. Then back at you.

“You better stop playin’.”

You rested back against the wall, reopening your original book.

“Colonel,” you murmured without looking up, “I would never.”

He rolled his eyes, but tucked the book under his arm and walking out of the room.

—--------

The hangar roared with engine tests and shouted orders, the air thick with fuel and the heat from the tarmac. You were halfway inside the open panel of a Scorpion gunship, boots braced on the ladder, wrench clenched between your teeth while your hands worked. Tank top. Cargo pants. Grease streaked along your ribs and collarbone.

Colonel Quaritch stopped a few yards out, arms folding across his chest as he watched you dismantle half a million credits’ worth of hardware like it was a lawn mower back home. He whistled loudly and you look down meeting his gaze. You slid down from the ladder, wiping your hands on a rag.

“Engine three was lagging on ignition,” you muttered. “Fuel mix was off by a hair.”

“You fix it?”

You glanced over your shoulder and nod.

“Well I’ll be.” He says begrudgingly amused. “You didn’t salute,” he noted.

You tossed the rag into your toolbox. “My hands are filthy, sir. Didn’t wanna disrespect the uniform.”

His gaze dropped briefly to the grease on your arms, the way your tank top clung damp with sweat in the heat of the hangar. Trying not to linger.

“Convenient.” He nodded toward the open panel. “You tear down a gunship for fun?”

You climb back up the ladder, messing around with some of the fuses in the back. “I tear things down when they ain't working at 100 percent.” You say calmly.

“You givin’ me that book the other night,” he said, tone casual but not really. “That your way of tellin’ me I’m reckless?”

You didn’t look at him. “I gave you a book about tactics.”

“You think I don’t have tactics?”

You tightened a bolt, then glanced down at him from above. “I think you prefer overwhelming force.”

“And?”

“And sometimes overwhelming force isn't the way to go.”

The corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“You takin’ shots at me, mechanic?”

“Depends,” you replied lightly. “Did you read it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Which told you everything you needed to know.

“I noticed the notes,” he said finally. You tried not to look pleased.

“Yeah?”

He stepped closer to the ladder. Close enough that if you leaned down, you’d be in his space.

“‘Appear weak when you are strong,’” he quoted evenly. “‘Win without fighting.’” His eyes met yours. “You think that’s me?”

“I think,” you said, voice steady, “that a smart commander knows when to be feared… and when to be underestimated.”

“You wrote in the margin,” he continued, “that brute force is insecurity in uniform.”

You winced faintly. “You weren’t supposed to read that one.”

A slow, low chuckle left him.

“So you do think I’m a meathead.”

“I think,” you corrected, climbing down from the ladder, “that you’re capable of more than you let people see.”

That caught him off guard.

“Funny,” he said, “I thought you were mockin’ me.”

“Oh, I was,” you said easily. “Little bit.” You stepped around him to grab another tool, close enough that your shoulder nearly brushed his chest. “But I wouldn’t have given you that book if I didn’t think you’d understand it.”

He watched you tighten another panel into place, movements efficient and sure.

“You mark up all your books like that?” he asked.

“Only the ones that make an impression.”

“And you think I’m worth it? Gettin’ to read your notes?”

“I think you’re used to being the loudest voice in the room,” you said softly. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not thinkin’.”

“You’re somethin’ else,” he muttered.

You smirked. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

He stepped closer again, not enough to touch, but enough that you felt a bit warmer, shakier.

“You know,” he said, voice lower now, “most people try to suck up.”

“And?”

“You hand me a book tellin’ me to fight smarter.”

You shrugged lightly. “Seemed useful.”

He studied your face.

“You got any more notes for me, Alabama?”

You smirk slightly and shake your head. “Not at the moment.”

“You fixed the ignition?” he asked finally.

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded once.

“Good.”

Then he turned to leave. But this time, when he walked away, it wasn’t just with the knowledge that you were competent. It was with the quiet understanding that you weren’t challenging him out of arrogance. You were sharpening him. And he actually kinda appreciated that more than he’d ever admit.

—-------

The music was loud, and the lights low. Someone had dragged half the base into one room and called it a party. Laughter bounced off the metal walls, bottles clinked, boots thudded against the floor in uneven rhythm. The air smelled like cheap liquor and sweat, different from the mess hall, but just as thick.

You were right in the middle of it.

Leaning back in a chair, one arm slung over the backrest, a bottle dangling loosely from your fingers. Your cheeks were warm, your smile easy, your laugh cutting clean through the noise.

“Jesus,” one of the techs muttered nearby, watching you tip the bottle back again. “How much has she had?”

“Enough to drop you,” someone else snorted.

“And she’s still upright.”

“She’s actin’ like she just got here.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, unfazed. “Y’all talkin’ about me like I ain’t sittin’ right here.”

“Ma’am,” one of them grinned, “we’re tryin’ to figure out if you’re human.”

“Born and raised,” you shot back. “Just built a little sturdier than the rest of you.”

More laughter and then the energy shifted.

Quaritch had stepped into the room, and it was like the volume dipped half a notch without anyone touching the speakers. A few people straightened. Others suddenly found something very interesting to look at in their drinks. He took in the scene, your relaxed posture, the empty bottles nearby, the way you looked entirely too comfortable in the chaos.

“You always drink like that?” he asked as he approached.

You tilted your head up at him, slow smile forming. “Depends who’s askin’.”

“Your commanding officer.”

“Well then,” you drawled, lifting the bottle slightly, “I drink responsibly, sir.”

A couple people nearby choked on their drinks.

“That right.”

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t leave, he didn’t correct you either. Instead, he reached over, grabbed a bottle off the table, and pulled a chair closer turning it so he sat facing you. That alone made a few heads turn.

“You plannin’ on slowin’ down anytime soon?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Why? You worried about me?”

“No,” he said easily. “I’m wonderin’ how you’re still conscious.”

You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on your knees. “Southern constitution.”

“That so.”

“You’d fold,” you added lightly.

His eyes narrowed, a spark of something competitive flashing through. “You testin’ me?”

You held his gaze. “You volunteerin’?”

He tipped his bottle back. And just like that, it became a contest.

Time blurred after that.

More bottles. More laughter. People drifting in and out. At some point, the noise faded into the background. He was leaning back in his chair now, one arm slung over it, posture looser than you’d ever seen. Not sloppy, but not sharp either. Tipsy. You were still steady.

“Told you,” you said, nudging his boot lightly with yours. “You’d fold.”

“I didn’t fold,” he muttered.

“You’re sittin’ cockeyed.”

He huffed a quiet laugh.

“Maybe I just like the view from here.”

Your brow lifted slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“What?” you asked, softer now.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face before looking back at you.

“I can’t stop thinkin’ about you.” The words landed between you. No teasing. For once, just the unpolished truth.

You didn’t speak right away. Didn’t smile it off.

“You’re drunk,” you said finally.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But that don’t make it not true. You show up, run your mouth, back talk me like you're tryin’ to get in my head-”

You let out a quiet breath. “I wasn’t-”

“You were,” he cut in, not harsh, just certain. “And I let you. I don’t let people do that,” he added.

“I figured.”

His eyes searched your face “And now I can’t get you outta my head.”

Your heartbeat kicked just slightly faster and you leaned back in your chair, buying yourself a second. “That sounds like a you problem, Colonel.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

His eyes don't leave you and you nervously stand, you needed to get away from this situation before you made a stupid decision. As you stand however, the multitude of alcohol you had consumed rushed straight to your head, making you grip the table. “Shiiiit…” you groaned.

Quaritch's hand found your lower back as he steadied you. “Easy Alabama…” he cooed. “Let me walk you back.”

"Yeah let's get outta here," you murmured, grabbing his hand. He followed without a word, his grip firm as you wove through the crowd of rowdy soldiers. The cool night air hit you outside, sobering you just enough to help you walk straight. He walked you back to your quarters, his presence a solid wall beside you.

At your door, you turned to him, pulse hammering. You simply stared up at him for a moment. You needed to thank him for the fun night, thank him for keeping you safe, and retire for the night. Under no circumstances should you do what you were thinking of doing. Screw waiting. You surged up on your toes and crashed your lips against his, rough, demanding, tasting the whiskey on his tongue as he growled into the kiss. He didn't hesitate. His huge hands gripped your waist, shoving you backward through the door with force and slammed it shut behind him. You stumbled into the room, laughing breathlessly as he pinned you against the wall, his mouth devouring yours teeth nipping at your lower lip.

"Eager little thing," he rumbled, breaking the kiss to yank at your shirt. Buttons popped as you clawed at his vest, fingers fumbling with the straps and zippers of his uniform. Clothes tangled and tore in the frenzy your top hit the floor first, followed by his shirt revealing the scarred expanse of his chest. He kicked off his boots while you shimmied out of your pants, kicking them aside in a heap.

Naked now except for your underwear, you pushed him toward the bed, teasing grin on your face. "C'mon, old man, think you can keep up?"

His eyes darkened, a smirk curling his lips as he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto the mattress. He loomed over you, stripping off the last of his gear until he was bare, his thick cock already hard and jutting out, veins pulsing. "I'll show you old man," he snarled playfully, voice low and promising. He dove down, capturing your nipple in his hot mouth, sucking hard while his hand slid between your thighs. Fingers parted your slick folds, rubbing your clit in firm circles that made you arch and gasp. You carded your fingers through his hair as his tongue lashed your other breast.

"Fuck, Miles," you moaned, hips bucking against his palm. He chuckled against your skin, the vibration shooting straight to your soaked cunt.

"That's right, say my name," he ordered, slipping two thick fingers inside your pussy, curling them to hit that spot that had you clenching around him. He pumped them slow and deep, calloused thumb pressing your clit, building the pressure until your thighs trembled.

You shoved at his shoulders, rolling him onto his back with a surge of playful strength. Straddling his waist, you ground down on his cock, feeling it slide easily through your folds, teasing your clit. "Not so old after all," you teased, leaning down to bite his neck, sucking a mark into the skin there.

He groaned, hands gripping your ass, spreading you as he thrust up, the head of his dick nudging you. "Keep talkin', sweetheart. I'll fuck that sass right outta you." With a shared grin, you sank down, taking him inch by inch until he filled you completely, stretching your walls around his girth. You rode him hard, bouncing on his lap, breasts jiggling with each slam. He met your rhythm, hips snapping up to bury himself deeper, one hand sneaking to pinch your nipple while the other slapped your ass lightly, the sting adding to the heat.

Sweat slicked your bodies as the pace quickened, the bed creaking under the force. His cock throbbed inside you, hitting deep with every thrust, your pussy clenching tighter. "Gonna make you cum first," he grunted, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing fast. The stretch of him filling you completely sends jolts of pleasure through your core, his girth pounding against your inner walls with every thrust upward he gives. Sweat slicks your skin, mixing with his, as you grind down, chasing that building pressure.

"Fuck, look at you," he growls, voice rough and teasing, his blue eyes locked on yours. "Riding me like you own a mechanical bull. Bet you've been practicing for this, haven't you, sweetheart?" His words hit you like a spark, making your clit throb as you clench around him tighter, the humiliation twisting into heat that pushes you closer to the edge. You ride him faster, your breasts bouncing with the force, nipples hard and aching. His cock hits that spot inside you over and over, relentless, pounding you until your vision blurs. The coil in your belly snaps, and you shatter, crying out as your orgasm crashes through you. Your pussy spasms around his cock, your arousal soaking him as waves of ecstasy rip through your body, leaving you trembling and gasping.

But Miles isn't done. With a feral grin, he flips you onto your back in one swift motion, pinning you beneath his weight. He hooks your legs over his broad shoulders, folding you in half, exposing you completely. His dog tags swing forward as he thrusts back inside, the cool metal brushing your cheek with each brutal drive. The tags dangle right in your face, clinking softly against your skin, a constant reminder of his dominance that sends fresh sparks straight to your core. He fucks you hard now, hips snapping with punishing force, his cock slamming deep into your oversensitive pussy. Each plunge stretches you wide, the angle letting him grind against your g-spot without mercy. You feel every inch of him, thick and unyielding, pounding you into the mattress. The dog tags sway with his rhythm, grazing your lips, your nose pushing you toward another orgasm faster than you thought possible. Your pussy flutters around him, the building tension coiling tighter, and with a few more savage thrusts, you come again, harder this time, screaming his name as your body convulses.

Miles' cock pulses deep inside your clenching pussy as he unloads, hot spurts of cum flooding you, marking you from the inside out. His thrusts slow to a grind, hips pressing flush against yours, holding you pinned with your legs still draped over his shoulders. The dog tags rest against your chest now, warm from his body heat, as his breath comes in ragged huffs.

"That's it, darlin'," he coos softly, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. One big hand strokes your thigh, thumb tracing soothing circles on your sweat-damp skin. "Breathe for me. Just breathe." His blue eyes soften for a split second, watching you pant and tremble in the aftershocks, your body limp and spent beneath him. You think it's over, your muscles ache from the intensity, your core throbbing with that delicious soreness. A sigh escapes you, eyelids fluttering as you start to relax into the mattress. But then his grip tightens, a wicked smirk curling his lips. Before you can react, he pulls out with a wet slide, his cum leaking from your swollen folds, and hauls you up like you weigh nothing.

"Not yet, sugar," he murmurs, flipping you onto your knees in one fluid, commanding move. Your hands scramble for purchase on the sheets, ass up and face down, vulnerable and exposed. He positions himself behind you, one arm snaking around your neck in a firm headlock, his bicep flexing against your throat, not choking but holding you right where he wants you, your head tilted back just enough to feel his control. His free hand spreads your cheeks, thumb brushing your dripping hole before his cock nudges against it. Still rock-hard, slick with your combined release, he shoves in deep with a single, brutal thrust. You cry out, the new angle letting him bottom out harder. The headlock keeps you arched, your back bowing as he rails into you, each snap of his hips driving him to the hilt.

"Fuck, you're takin' it so good," he growls right in your ear, hot breath fanning your skin. His arm tightens just a fraction, pulling you back onto his dick as he pounds relentlessly. "Look at this greedy little pussy milkin' me like it can't get enough. My perfect slut, huh? Built for my dick." The words pour out filthy and praising, his voice rough with lust, spurring you on as pleasure builds anew. It's incredible the way he dominates you completely, his body caging yours, the headlock making every breath a reminder of his power. Your pussy flutters around him, stretched and filled to bursting, the friction igniting sparks that race up your spine. He doesn't let up, fucking you with raw force, his hips colliding with your ass in loud, rhythmic smacks. Cum from before squelches with each plunge, easing the way as he claims you deeper.

"That's my girl," he praises, teeth grazing your earlobe. "Squeezin' me so tight, beggin' for more without sayin' a word. You love bein' locked up like this, don't you? My dirty little fucktoy, comin' apart on my dick again." His arm flexes, holding you steady as he grinds in circles, rubbing that sensitive spot inside until you're moaning uncontrollably, the pressure coiling hot and fast in your belly. The headlock adds to the thrill, your pulse thundering under his hold, every thrust sending you rocking forward only for him to yank you back. It's overwhelming, amazing, your body surrendering to the onslaught, pussy gripping him desperately. He senses it, speeds up, slamming home with grunts of approval. "Gonna make you soak me, sweetheart. Show me how much you crave this rough treatment. Cum for me, you filthy thing let it rip through ya."

His praises push you over, the coil snapping as ecstasy explodes. You shatter around him, pussy convulsing in violent spasms, juices gushing as you scream into the sheets. He doesn't stop, fucking you through it with savage delight, his own release building until he buries himself deep and erupts again, flooding your depths with another load while murmuring, "Good girl…atta girl…”

Quaritch collapses against you, his body covering yours as you both struggle to catch your breath. The room smells of sweat and sex, and you can feel his heart hammering against your back where he's still draped over you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then he shifts, carefully pulling out before rolling to his side. The bed groans under his weight. His blue eyes sweep over your naked form, taking in the marks he's left on your skin - the bite marks on your neck and shoulders, the finger-shaped bruises on your hips.

"Don't move,” he rumbles, his voice rough from exertion. It's not a suggestion. You nod, too exhausted to form words. Quaritch reaches out, his large hand gently stroking your hair away from your face. His touch is surprisingly tender compared to how he'd been fucking you just minutes ago. He maneuvers you both until you're lying face to face, then pulls you against his chest. His skin is warm, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. One of his legs slides between yours, keeping you close. "Never done this before," he admits quietly against your hair. "Stayed after."

You look up at him in the dim light of your room. His expression is unreadable but softer than you've ever seen it. "First time for everything," you manage to say.

His lips brush your forehead. "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Corporal Wainfleet was waiting for him to lead the way to the office of the new on-world Expeditionary Force Commander, General Francis Ardmore. Regarding leaders, Quaritch has a lot of respect for Ardmore. As the new SecOps leader of Pandora, she's managed to do more in the past year than he had in the past 30 years before his untimely death. But now, he's got a second chance at finishing what he started 16 years ago. And this time, he will succeed.

Just like he wasn’t used to his own face, it was especially hard for him to look at his teammates. Although the features were similar, seeing the alien genes mixed in with the human DNA was surreal. The voices were the same, the mannerisms and the laughter too. But just… alien. Wainfleet, Zdinarsik, Walker, Prager, Ja, Fike, Mansk, Warren, Zhang, and Lopez were all resurrected as a fragment of their human selves. Data imported into living tissue… that’s all they were, and yet he felt like so much more. He felt more alive than he could remember, even in his human days.

As they stomp through the steel hallways, cold air blasting down on them every few feet from massive vents, various science pukes in pristine lab coats leap out of their way, not wanting to get trampled by 9-foot-tall aliens. SecOps specialists salute them as they pass, and it almost makes him nauseous. Ever since waking up in his new body, everything about the place makes him sick to his stomach. He's not sure what it is just yet, just that something is off.

The sterile chemical stench, the harsh lights, the monotone colors, and worst of all… the humans. Just something about their presence was almost electric, sending warning bells into some animalistic part tucked deep into his brain. It told him to get out, get away.

But like many things in his mind, he squashes it down and ignores it, shaking his head to clear it as the automatic doors slide open for the pair. They duck through the doorway and stride up to Ardmore, giving off a salute. She nods at them to relax, and Quaritch loops his hands into the loops on his belt. The fabric irritates his skin, but he wears the uniform anyway, trying to hold on to those last few things that separate him from the savages outside.

“So, as you know, we’ve been having a problem with our supply trains,” she starts, gesturing for security footage to be put up on the screens around them. Various windows pop up, showing off different angles of train cars on fire, with natives scurrying about, looting whatever they could get their hands on. “And their leader is proving to be a bigger problem than I originally gave him credit for. He's an old friend of yours, actually. Jake Sully.”

Quaritch grits his teeth. He keeps his face as stoic as possible, but his stupid tail gives him away, the appendage lashing around behind him, the bristly hair at the tip brushing against his knuckles at his waist. He catches Lyle's ears twitching in response, but they each keep quiet, allowing her to continue.

“As the newly reinstated leader of the SecOps team, I want you to be in charge of finding Sully and getting rid of him. Without Jake, the native insurgency should slowly die out. His knowledge of how we operate is the only thing they have working for them, and without that, we'll finally be able to get on top of our primary directive here on base. But, I can’t send you out into the field just yet.”

“And why is that?” Quaritch keeps his voice low, cocking his head ever so slightly to the left as he looks down at the woman. Its almost comical how small she is compared to his new form. Not that he wasn't tall as a human, but it still startles him to be towering several feet over everyone else on base. Was she seriously doubting his capabilities?

“It’s not that I don’t think you can handle yourself in a fight,” she holds a hand up, bringing her coffee mug to her lips to take a sip before she continues, trying to keep the conversation feeling more casual than it is. “Our forces can’t aide you out there at all. Their base of operations is somewhere in the floating mountains, and there seems to be some kind of... biological response that alerts the local wildlife of our presence. Even with skel-suits set to stealth mode, we can’t be in that territory for more than ten minutes before we start taking heavy losses.”

The camera footage on the screens reinforces her words as various species of animals tackle and tear apart the soldiers in the giant metal suits. Banshees swoop in and rip the pilots straight out of their seats from their aircraft, and arrows protrude from bodies amongst the smoking wreckage of the most recent derailing. His ears twitch again.

“So, what exactly are you suggesting?”

“I’ve got a specialist that is being decantered as we speak. Another recombinant, who was an apprentice of Dr. Grace Augustine. She's a xenobiologist, she helped pilot the avatars when Augustine was still running the program.”

Quaritch waits for her to continue speaking, nodding along to show he was listening. He rakes through his memories, trying to figure out if he had anything from his previous life about this doctor.

“She was KIA before Hell’s Gate fell. Security footage shows it was reportedly a gunshot wound while she was aiding in the escape of Jake Sully, Norm Spellman, and Dr. Grace Augustine after Selfridge had given the green light for the mining project under the natives Hometree.” A faint vision of his human hands holding a gun and firing towards the figures crawling into a Samson chopper dances at the edge of his mind, but he can’t quite grasp it.

“Anyways, she’s the most qualified person in our arsenal who's got the deepest knowledge of Na’vi culture and dynamics. You guys are fresh out of your tanks, and until you’ve had at least a few weeks of proper training and calibration, I can’t have you out on the field just yet. She will teach you to the best of her abilities, and then once you guys are ready, I’ll have her work on the next group. For now, you guys are our trial run, Blue Team. Once Project Phoenix is cleared for success, we’ll start bringing in a few more operatives. For now, it is just you guys, so listen hard and learn well. You are currently the most expensive walking assets the RDA has and I don’t want to be the one to file a bad quarterly statement because you jarheads couldn’t follow simple instructions.”

He bristles slightly at her choice of language. He may not exactly be the man he was before, but he still didn’t tolerate disrespect. If she weren’t the General, he would’ve had her ass for that by now. Instead, he clenches his teeth once more, tail lashing around before he opens his mouth to speak. “Who’s the puke?”

She grins slightly behind the rim of her mug, taking a breath. “Dr. Sully, Jake’s little sister. I thought you might appreciate the irony.”

Quaritch scoffs, stepping away to walk in a small circle, shaking his head. He comes back around, crossing his thick arms across his chest, testing your name out on his lips.

“And what makes you think she’ll help us? Especially if it’s cause she’s training us to help hunt her brother?”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants. If she refuses, then we’ll have her euthanized. That’s the glory of being a recombinant, Colonel. You are wholly RDA property. You need my permission to breathe, eat, shit, and fuck. Otherwise, we’ll have you put down. You may be expensive, but never forget that you are replaceable. Make that fact known to her. I’ll put a gag order on the nature of your mission so she won’t catch wind of it. And if she does, we force her cooperation. She’s a part of your team, so I expect you to keep her in line. If I have to step in, it won’t be pretty.”

They stare at each other for a few heartbeats. Wainfleet is the one to finally break the stifling silence between the pair, clearing his throat. “So, uh, when do we meet our new teach?”

“She should be waking up in a few minutes. You’re welcome to watch, but she won’t be cleared until tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

Quaritch glances towards Lyle, tilting his head towards the door. Without another word, they depart, leaving behind the screens which were still playing brutal footage of RDA soldiers- men and women he had once defended- dying at the hands of all that Pandora had to offer. Quaritch sighs through his nose, clenching his fists. This was going to be the hardest mission he’s ever been assigned, he could already tell.

It felt nice to have your skin exposed to the warm sun, and to feel the wind against you whenever the breeze picked up through the Marui.

Since you were still too weak to get up and wander by yourself for long periods of time, Kiri insisted on keeping you company. Tuk came and went, growing bored and restless easily, and the boys had jobs to do, so they only came to find you during meal times. Kiri kept your mind busy by asking every question under the sun about Grace, but you welcomed it.

Her questions keep you from thinking about him, because you can't handle that right now. And apparently, Jake refused to talk about Grace outside of whatever was necessary, so you were happy to oblige her. After all, no one else knew Grace as well as you.

"Lo'ak teases me all the time that Norm is my biological father because of all of their time in the woods alone, but... surely not, right?" Kiri winces as she mutters the words, her hands fidgeting with her mop of hair.

"That wouldn't be so bad, would it? Norm is an amazing man. Loyal and smart. I would think it an honor," you laugh softly, brushing your fingers through your hair to get out the tangles.

Kiri makes a noise of disgust in the back of her throat, and you laugh harder, until pain shoots through your stomach. When you finally catch your breath, you look back at her with a huff. "No. Despite how often he appeared in her video logs, he was otherwise involved with someone else."

"Thank you, Great Mother," she sighs under her breath, just as Neytiri ducks into the tent, depositing her weapons on the mount against the Marui's wall, her ears twitching at the sound of your voices.

"You braid your hair like a human," she hisses, and your hands fall still, abandoning the long, singular braid that you were actively twisting. Ever since you woke up, Neytiri has made no effort to hide her hostility towards you. Something that she and Jake argue about nearly every night.

"Mother," Kiri warns, rising to her feet so she was standing between the two of you. Neytiri pins her ears and then walks away, carrying a string of fish with her so she can clean them outside. "I'm sorry. She gets... jealous when I ask about her. That's why Dad never talks about her."

"I don't blame her. If my daughter idolized her birth mother, I'd get a little jealous too." You sigh. You know for a fact it had nothing to do with the Grace discussion, but you don't want to burden her with that. She's already got enough on her plate.

"I do not idolize her, I'm just... curious." Kiri tries to hide it, but you see right through her. You level her with a look, and she cringes away, distracting herself with your hair instead. "I can braid it so you look less human."

"I would love that," you smile weakly, watching as her shadow dances across the walls as the fire flickers from behind. Anything to make yourself less associated with the RDA.

She moves to stand behind you, pulling your hair back behind your shoulders so she can unwind it, separating it into sections. "I'm sorry about Mother, she... she's been different, ever since we left the forest."

"Your mother has suffered many things in her life. You were lucky to be born after the war. You... you haven't seen the worst of the RDA."

"It gets worse than the Tulkun?"

"Much worse." You whisper, and your eyes fall closed as you think back to your time as a human. "Grace and I... we did everything we could to convince them to move the mines to somewhere that the Ometikaya weren't occupying. They didn't know much about the world, but they knew enough to make the connection that wherever the floating mountains were, there were unobtanium deposits beneath. They didn't care about the Tree of Voices. Anything that was in their way was just an obstacle that could be removed with enough force. Including Hometree."

"You say that as if there was something you could have done to stop them," Kiri states observantly, twisting the top part of your hair into a knotted bun, using polished bone spurs to stab through your hair to keep it pinned in place. She starts twisting the lower part into smaller braids and finishes each one off with small wooden beads. She threads a bone needle with twine and knots the ends to keep the beads from sliding off.

"Every time I think back on it, I try to convince myself that there was something I could have done," you say, fidgeting with your top. "But in all honesty, there's nothing that we can do to stop them."

Nothing that doesn't involve a lot of bloodshed, but you figure she probably already knows that. It's the unspoken threat that hovers over the heads of all Na'vi. Instead, the conversation comes to a dead end, and a heavy silence weighs on your shoulders as she twists your hair methodically, dropping each finished braid over your shoulder. When she was done, she fished out a few feathers from her bag and sewed them into one of your braids, patting your back when she was done.

"I found those on the day that we met. We were exploring the ruins of the Battle. Dad forbade us from going that far away from Camp, but of course, we didn't listen. I think Eywa was pushing us there for a reason. Otherwise, we never would have found you." Your fingers glide over the soft feathers as she speaks, and a soft smile dances on your lips. 

"Thank you, Kiri." She shrugs as she gathers her things and then reaches a hand out to help you to your feet. 

"Come. We should go see how the others are doing."

Others, as in the other Recoms. You were still an other to her. To the People.

When Jake and Tonowari returned from speaking to the Tanu'i, they both shared with the Metkayina what was said across the waters. The Tanu'i didn't want anything to do with the Recoms, or the RDA, or war. Which is understandable. Hell, you wouldn't want anything to do with it either, if only you had the choice.

Unfortunately, you don't have that luxury.

The Metkayina felt the same. The Council of Tulkun met a day later, and the Matriarch and Patriarch claimed that death can only bring more death, and that it was not their way to kill, for any reason. The Metkayina sided with their soul sisters and brothers, and the Recoms- and you- were spared.

Spared from hard manual labor, though?

No.

And although you're still on the fence about what you feel for Quaritch, you have to admit that watching him sweat under the baking sun as he rebuilds huts or repairs canoes, his muscles rippling under his cerulean skin, glistening in the light, is all very enjoyable. And not a bad way to pass the time.

You approach him as he rises to his full height, wiping a hand across his face to clear it as you reach towards him with a water bladder in your hands. He doesn't say a word, nodding graciously as he gulps the water. Droplets trickle out of the corners of his mouth and down the length of his neck, and you have to clear your throat and look away, betrayed by something feral that lingers in your mind.

When he was finished drinking, he passed the bladder to Lyle, who was staring longingly at it. It was strange to see him without his glasses, which had been lost in the fight on the ship. His hair was also starting to grow back, but in your opinion, it looks better shaved. Or rather, it was familiar shaved.

It was also a shock to see them wearing loincloths fashioned from leather and woven fibers, and dried-braided seaweed. All of their RDA-issued belongings had been burned after Jake returned from the Tanu'i, and you swallow hard, trying not to stare as you see more of Quaritch than you are prepared for. Neteyam, acting as their translator for now, hovers a foot away, watching the two of you warily, probably under the instruction of his father.

"I like your hair," Quaritch shatters the heavy silence, taking one of the small braids between his fingers, gently rolling the wooden bead under his thumb. He tugs it once and then lets it fall back into place, and you huff softly.

"Thanks."

God, why is this so awkward? How are you supposed to move past everything that's gone down between the two of you?

"How's your wound?"

"Healing," you sigh, absentmindedly smoothing your hand over the bandages. It was still tender and hard to stand, but you could at least lie on your side now. "Going to leave a pretty nasty scar."

"It'll be a good story for the grandkids," his lips twitch with the ghost of a smile, and you can't help but grin in return, shaking your head. The wooden beads jangle softly, and you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, stepping away from him with the now-empty bladder in tow.

"I'll see you at dinner?"

"If I'm allowed."

The silence returns, and you nod, wordlessly shuffling away. Kiri extends her arm to you, and you take it graciously, leaning into her as she steers you towards a large Maru'i filled with women. They were each weaving baskets, their materials scattered all around, while men and women knotted fishing nets along the outer walls. You pick your way around the others until you find Zdinarsik, dropping to the floor with a soft huff.

"That was painful to watch," Kiri laughs, dropping a bundle of materials beside you.

Z glances out of the corner of her eye, and the edges of her mouth twist into a smile. "You go and see the Colonel?"

"Yes," you say defensively, plucking the first few fibers from the pile, mirroring Kiri's deft movements as she starts a basket. To Kiri, you say, "Why?"

"Things are awkward between Mom and Dad right now, because of, well- you know- everything. But at least they can carry on a conversation without shrinking up like loreyu."

"I'm sorry, it's only like the man killed me in a past life, then resurrected me, then took everything from me, and then saved me over and over again... It makes things complicated!"

Kiri holds up a palm in mock surrender, but she doesn't bother to hide her grin. "Is anything ever un-complicated?"

You glare down at the fibers in your hands, twisting them too tightly, and they splinter in your grasp. Kiri scoffs, sweeps the pieces away, and then helps you start again.

"And what about you? You've always got something to say," you stare pointedly at Z.

"I'm not sayin' shit." She chuckles, alternating the colors in her basket artfully. She picked the skill up quickly and claimed that it was relaxing, like disassembling a rifle. Mind numbing. "One, I'm just as complicated. Two, it's not my business."

The sounds of soft murmuring conversations fall over your trio as everyone focuses on their baskets, until Kiri huffs softly. "Complicated, like working beside a woman who kidnapped your siblings and threatened your life, on multiple occasions?"

Z makes a tsk sound in the back of her mouth, jerking her head in a terse nod. "Exactly."

Part of the 'rehabilitation' of the Recoms included a public apology to the Sully family, and to the Metkayina. Ronal was unimpressed, and she was very vocal with her distaste about the entire situation. It was clear that the only reason she allowed it at all was that Tonowari seemed to side with Jake, and unlike Neytiri, she does not argue with her husband.

Which made sense once you learned that it was Ronal's spirit sister who was killed during the hunt to draw Jake out of hiding. Although Quaritch didn't pull the trigger, he still played a major part in all of it, and he had a lot to pay for.

The children were... mixed, to say the least. Tuk was very much of the mindset of 'it's in the past', 'water under the bridge' kind of thing. Then again, her attention span only accommodated so much. Kiri was hesitant but willing to forgive, because that is the way of the Na'vi.

Lo'ak, on the other hand, was visibly angry and refused to be around the Recoms unless it was absolutely necessary. Then again, his anger seemed to be reflected back to everyone and everything, and he spent most of his days in the water.

Neteyam was... indifferent. He didn't suffer directly under the hands of the Recoms as much as the others did, and was following the orders given by his father as the dutiful son.

As you stew in your thoughts, your hands work mindlessly at the basket in between them, until it is finished, just in time for lunch. Kiri and Z help you stand, and you use your basket to carry ingredients back to the Sully Marui, where you and Kiri prepare the food as the others filter in.

Some days seem to drag on forever, and you only grow more restless as your body takes its sweet, precious time to heal, much to your frustration.

The children are practicing their swimming. You watch from the dock, swishing your feet in the cool water lazily. You've been instructed not to submerge yourself in water until you are fully healed, to prevent infection.

You make for a much better doctor than you do a patient, because your instinct is to argue. The salt content of the water would be just enough to keep the wound sanitized; it would just need to be cleaned thoroughly after leaving the water! Then again, the poultice would wash away, and you could tear open a hernia if you strain too much in the water, and there's no way you would be able to perform a reparative surgery on yourself, and the Na'vi don't have the technology to do such a thing...

"Penny for your thoughts?"

A voice sighs loudly from beside you, and you jump slightly as Lyle hits the deck. He drops his feet into the water, just as you are, only he takes it a step further and reaches down to scoop up handfuls of liquid to splash over himself.

He and Quaritch are still working on canoes a few meters down the beach, and they must be taking a break to eat.

"Just thinking about how ready I am to be healed." You pout, kicking the water.

He laughs softly, shaking his head. "You never were very patient, huh?"

You smile, hiding your face by staring down at your hands, which rest over the bandages.

"I know it's really none of my business, but... You ever gonna forgive the Colonel?"

Your ears twitch at his question, and you dare to sneak a glance at him, your cheeks heating up. "It's complicated, Lyle. I can't just... let it all go. I need time. I forgive him, sort of, but also, I'm just- ugh-" you growl, struggling to find the right words. "I just need time."

"Hey, I get that! Shit's been complicated since we all woke up. But you also have to understand that you're all he has. I mean, sure, he's got me and Z, but it's just us, you know? We're not part of the Clan, and without the RDA, we have no one. We're outcasts on an alien planet. We gotta stick together."

You know exactly what he means, because that's exactly how you have felt since you arrived at the Metkayina. Outsider.

"I'll take that into consideration." You mutter, looking back down at your hands.

The water bubbles near your feet, and Tuk bursts from underneath, rubbing her eyes as she blinks away the water. She holds up a seashell triumphantly, a massive grin splitting her face. "Look! I dived all the way down to the bottom of the reef! I got this for you. We can make it into a bracelet!"

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and you match her smile, taking it graciously. "That's very sweet of you, you didn't have to do that!"

"I'm going to see if I can do it again. Maybe, we can have matching ones!"

And just like that, she's gone again. Her youth has made it easier for her to adapt to the ways of ocean life, and already, her clothing is starting to reflect her acceptance of her time here. In fact, you've noticed that all of the Sully children are starting to wear similar clothes to those of the Metkayina. The only one who seems to hesitate is Neytiri. Not that you spend a lot of time around her; her icy glare is enough to send you running into the other room.

You're not oblivious to her true feelings about you, and if it wasn't for you being Jake's sister, you know that she'd have you locked away with the others, or probably worse.

You clench your fist around the seashell until it cuts into your palm, grounding yourself back into the moment. You see Lyle shift out of the corner of your eye, and you look over at him quizically.

"What's up?"

"Nothing, just... Just her. She reminds me of my baby sis."

Your ears flick, and you shift until you're facing him more fully. "I didn't know you had a sister, Lyle."

"I don't really talk about it much. Especially not now. My mom had me real young. She was barely fifteen. Raised me on the streets and was off and on with different guys. Evetually she got knocked up again, and the guy married her. Step-dad raised me as best as he could, but I was a total shit as a kid and teen. Ran off to be with a girl before I was eighteen. Mom got knocked up one last time, and it was my baby sister. They all called her the miracle baby, 'cause after my brother, she got pretty messed up inside. Doc's told her she wouldn't be able to have any more."

You listen patiently, watching as a wave of emotion takes over his features. "Anyway, I didn't know about her until I was done with Basic. I came home and found out I was a new big brother. I started showing up more for her. She was the angel of the family. Spoiled as hell, but precious," he laughs softly, shaking his head. "She called me Ly-Ly. I kept telling her, 'It's Lyle darlin', but she insisted on calling me Ly-Ly. When I was on leave, I would always come home and stay with them so I could play with her. She'd make me play house for hours."

"Then what happened?" The way he talks about her gives you a sense of dread, and you probe gently, not wanting to stir up bad things from the past unless he was willing to talk about them.

"She was ten when I deployed for Pandora. I was planning on splitting the money with my mom to help take care of Gina, my sister. Mom was sick- ovarian cancer- and between her medical bills and just the cost of living, I wanted to help out. The pay was too much for me to spend all on myself anyway. Might as well do some good. Plus, I enjoyed the work." He stares out at the ocean, just as Tuk breaks the surface once more, sucking in a deep lungful of air before diving back down with a splash. "She was ten. Then it took six years to get here, I served for about five, then resigned my contract for a hell of a bonus, served another six- then died. And sixteen years after that, I woke up and was told I could never contact my family again. It would be a breach of contract, which I had signed when I was still human. After all, we were RDA property, not an individual."

"And now she's all grown up?" If you count the math in your head correctly, she's probably about 42 years old.

"I missed everything. I called up their files; I didn't care if I was breaking a rule. Mom died shortly after I left, and Gina's dad wanted nothing to do with her after that. She was raised in an orphanage, and then after that, nothing. No records of employment, no adoption, no death certificate. I have no idea what happened to her- still don't. There's no telling with the way life is over there. But I like to think that she made a life for herself. She was a tough kid, strong-willed and stubborn as hell. I know she's out there."

"I'm sorry you couldn't find out more about her. And I'm sorry that Tuk brings all that up," you pat his arm awkwardly, and he flicks his ears, smirking. You've learned that that is his way of hiding what he's really got going on inside.

"Nothing you can control, why be sorry? It just makes me feel worse because we terrorized those kids. Tried to use them as bargaining chips when they're just kids. Children that got caught in the crossfire." He shrugs, pushing away until he's back on his feet. "Anyway, I'm happy to make up for it all by helping out. It's hard work, and the uniform is unfortunate, but... yeah. Gotta make a difference somehow, right?"

"That's a noble thought, Lyle. Thank you for telling me all of that. I'm sure it was nice to get it out, huh?"

"Mm, debatable." He hums, flicking his fingers in a mock salute as he moves to step away. He hesitates, turning to say one last thing. "Just... think about the Colonel? Maybe check on him?"

"I'll think about it," you huff, swiping the air to shoo him away. He retreats with that familiar smirk on his face, shaking his head lightly as he rejoins Quaritch on the beach. You can see Neteyam scolding him in the way that he gestures his hands, but Lyle just shrugs, bending down to grip the massive logs and haul them back to their worksite.

Quaritch shields his eyes from the bright sun, staring down the beach until he locks eyes with you.

Despite the distance, you could feel the heat of his gaze as if he had his hands on you, right there. You suck in a breath and jerk your head away, especially since the light from above is perfectly accentuating his chiseled muscles in deep shadows. You shift awkwardly on the dock, choosing to stare out into the water as Tuk resurfaces once more- a new shell in hand.

Dinner among the Metkaina is a communal event. The entire village gathers around a massive fire, and the scent of roasted fish and vegetables fills the air as you near it. You could feel the heat of the flames before you could see it, and the roar is almost deafening. For a moment, you get a flashback of the day Quaritch and Bukowski were burning the Tan'ui, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to clear your mind.

Kiri grips your elbow, shaking you lightly as she feels you stop. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I just need a second to catch my breath," you lie, pulling her hand free. "You go ahead and find your family, I'll join you in a second."

She doesn't look convinced, but relents anyway, joining the flow of traffic as they file down the length of the beach, plates in hand.

You move in the opposite direction, wandering down a dock to lean against a thick wooden pillar, which juts out from the ocean. You lean your forehead against it with a heavy sigh, waiting for your heart to calm down as you focus on the waves gently lapping at the shore.

Footsteps softly pad towards you, and your ears twitch as they follow the movement, until they come to stop just a few feet behind.

You could recognize that scent anywhere.

"Jake let you off your leash?"

You don't bother looking over your shoulder as you speak to Quaritch, and he makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

"No, he's standing a few meters back."

You turn your head and find Jake hovering, as usual. His hands are on his hips, and his lips are pursed, ears flattened as he watches the scene unfold like a disapproving father. You don't need a cheuffure, especially with Quaritch. The damage has been done; there's nothing worse he could do to you, but Jake doesn't seem to care either way.

"I saw you come over here and just wanted to check that you were good." Quaritch shifts on his feet as he rubs the back of his neck hesitantly. "Guess I'll just, uh... leave you to it."

Your teeth nibble at your bottom lip, and before you can think twice about it, you call out to him. He turns to face you once again as his name tumbles past your lips, and you push away from the post, reaching for his hand.

His skin is warm and rough under your touch, and you slide your fingers down until they are intertwined with his. You tug him closer, and his hands instinctively move to your waist, careful to avoid the bandages that are woven around the trunk of your body. Your free hand flies to his face, and you cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your eyes.

"I should be the one to ask if you are okay."

Beneath your palm, the muscles in his jaw twitch, and a line forms between his eyebrows as they furrow. He swallows hard, and you suck in a breath as a wave of emotion consumes his features, despite how hard he is fighting to keep it contained. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jake shifting uncomfortably on his feet, granting you a shred of privacy by turning his back on the pair of you.

"Not really." You can barely hear him. It comes out as a hoarse grunt, and your grip on his jaw tightens as he tries to look away.

"I should have checked on you sooner. I was just... scared. And I know that's no excuse but-"

"You were bleeding out in my arms. You could have died, again, and it would have been my fault-"

"No! I'm the one who jumped on Bukowski, I'm the one who ignored you- and Jake- I put myself in that position!"

"And I put you on that ship." He grips your wrists to pull them from his face, casting his gaze to the floor. "Everything- all of this- was because of me. I got my entire team killed. Failed my mission- repeatedly- and now we are hiding out in fucking tents, because our only other option would be the firing squad."

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. "And the worst part? I would have been fine with dying. I ain't scared of that. But watching you lie there, lifeless, wondering-waiting- for days if you were alive or not... and then to see you walking around but ignoring me... I've been dying slowly, and you hadn't even stopped to notice."

Now it's your turn to look away. Your cheeks burn in shame, because all this time, nearly two weeks since you arrived on the island, and you had hardly spoken more than a handful of words to him. And the only excuse you have for yourself is that you've been a coward, hiding from your feelings. Because what will Jake think of you when he sees just how much you love him? How will the Na'vi treat you when they know that your heart had been taken by the enemy?

Your mouth gapes as you scramble to form a thought, but the words die on your tongue. Instead, you pull yourself free from his grasp, despite the twinge of pain that protests in your abdomen as you reach around him. Your palm glides down the length of his kuru, starting at the base of his skull, and a shudder runs through his entire body. You pull yours around your shoulder, and despite standing there in the open, where anyone can see, you allow the ends of your braids to intertwine, forming the bond.

His pupils dilate as he stares down at you, and you have to crane your neck to stare up at him fully. 

His thoughts flood your mind, and his emotions hit you stronger than the ocean waves as you feel it all. The worry, the fear, the pain. His desire, his longing, his shame. Everything, the big and small. He shares it all with you, and tears trail from the corner of your eyes as you open yourself up to him.

You show him the war that's been raging inside of you, ever since you woke up. The pain at his betrayal for shutting you out, pretending to be the Colonel that Ardmore expected, pretending to be as heartless as Bukowski. The anguish you felt as he grasped at straws to draw Jake out, including killing the Tulkun and kidnapping the kids- again. You show him your anger and hurt, the confusion in your heart... all of it.

Your heart tells him what your mouth can't, and although you're not quite sure what it's telling him, it seems to be enough.

His lips press against yours hesitantly, and you sigh against his mouth, angling your head, opening yourself up to him, even though you're still not sure how you feel-

"Alright, that's enough!" Jake barks from the end of the dock, and you jump, having completely forgotten he was even there. He must have gotten curious at the silence and turned to see the two of you locked in a heated kiss.

Your cheeks flare with a furious blush, and Quaritch grins, kissing the flat tip of your nose. His hands gently pull apart your kurus, and you rise to the balls of your feet so you can bump your forehead against his, rubbing against his skin so his scent will linger.

Jake stomps up the dock, fed up with the two of you. He slams his palm against Quaritch's chest to make him take a step back, while his other hand nestles into the crook of your elbow, steering you away.

You glance at Quaritch over Jake's shoulder to see that he's still smirking like an idiot, trailing after you and Jake, although, wisely, he's about a meter behind.

Now, cis white women getting content made for them is OBVIOUSLY not the issue here. People write for their personal interests, and there is nothing wrong with that. We all know this, and we all enjoy a fun story with our favorite characters centering around us.

The main issue here is the mentioned women not tagging their content properly, refusing to tag their content properly, straight up lying in the tags or not tagging things at all.

Trans men, nonbinary people, trans women, gay men, disabled people, fat people, intersex people and many people of color or non-american readers are constantly left out of fandom space and forgotten entirely. I've seen hundreds of complaints about it, and it needs to be spoken about more. While I'm on specifically talking about the fanfiction part of it, it is a VISIBLE issue in every fandom space you could possibly partake in. I don't even need to explain to you the rampant racism and transphobia in the cosplay community.

And the fix is extremely easy! TAG YOUR THINGS PROPERLY. It is the easiest, simplest form of allyship one could do for the community, and it goes miles. However, a lot of you seem to not understand how to, even if your heart is in the right place.

How to tag your fanfiction for the general audience:

- Specify the gender of the reader. This goes MUCH farther than just what pronouns are used. I've read WAY too many fanfics that tell me it is gender neutral, only to be hit with nicknames like "princess", or to be told the intended reader loves dresses and wears a bra.

- In tags or a prior description, mention every nickname used for the reader and every possibly gendered descriptor. It's really not difficult, and doesn't take too long.

- If necessary, mention what style of clothes the reader is specified to wear. And if this applies as well, specify any highlighted personality traits you gave the reader.

- Specify the body of the reader. This also goes much farther than gender. "Afab" and "amab" don't exactly cut it. Many people are triggered by certain words connected to genitals, so specify what words are used for those as well! Also, if you are trying to write a gender neutral body, PLEASE specify whether it is entirely gender neutral or something is implied. Many say it is gender neutral, and then explain how the reader's body self lubricates, or even has a clitoris. Please do better than that.

- For the love of God, do not automatically feminize the "GN afab" reader you wrote without a warning, and PLEASE MENTION if breasts are even spoken of, let alone used for smut reasons. And do NOT refer to someone's body as having "fem" or "male" genitalia. just say vagina or penis, please.

- Specify what body type you had in mind. Many fat or even slightly chubby individuals need to look for fanfiction that specifically caters to them, because "neutral body reader" writers, tend to not make it neutral. If you have any specifics on whatever you have written for the body mentioned, do tag it!

- Specify what sort of skin tone or hair texture is mentioned, if at all. Many POC complain that they read neutral fiction just to find straight hair, pale skin, light eyes, and blushing faces to be mentioned. If any color of the body is mentioned at all, or anything is implied, do say so! This also can go for specific things you may not think about, like how long it takes hair to dry, how easy it is to brush, hairstyles and other things of the sort.

It may seem like a bit of a list, but this is really the LEAST you can do for your community. We are consistently forgotten and ignored anywhere we go, and the simple things like this truly mean a lot.

- If there is an implied location, or anything to imply a place of origin, it's best to be on the safe side and mention that if it feels important.

- Please tag if you put the reader through, or mention a past traumatic event. Casually putting the reader character through things like an abusive ex, abusive parents, bad home or work life, or something like a car accident can be highly triggering. tag your scenes thoroughly! This also applies to putting the reader insert through something like sexist comments, unwanted touching of any kind, and similarly negative situations.

I cannot tell you the amount of times I've turned to fanfiction as an outlet and an escape, as many others have, just to be jumpscared by my favorite characters misgendering me. It's truly a miserable experience knowing no place is actually welcoming to me, or in the very least accommodating for people who aren't like them. This post is NOT meant to shame or send harassment to those who are forgetful, but ignorance is never a good thing to uphold. No one is asking you to write for an audience you don't want to, we just want to KNOW who you are writing for. Assuming an entire space is all one demographic is never, ever a good thing.

If you need help writing for a demographic you don't fully understand, just ask people who are a part of it how they would! Look at how other writers write and tag their content, and listen to anyone if they have necessary critiques. I wish you all happy writing! :]

what’s on todays agenda? memorize sections 1-20 of the labor code. create 7 case digests for one course. read 13 more cases for another. application of obligations and contracts. review for a summative on taxation. not to mention, they still have some tasks assigned from their internship at lex corps. who knew that interning for one of the shadiest companies can be so tiring? the pay is well though.

the real reason y/n chose lex corp was to get one last jab at bruce, though it doesn’t matter. nobody knows anyway.

nobody knew until y/n came back from the manor at 4am. the same time everyone returns from their own nightly duties.

in the living room, the batfamily was together, having their typical family bonding time without you. as usual. it used to bother you. but who needs them now when you have 4 terror profs breathing down your neck, expecting you to perfectly repeat the law in verbatim?

y/n enters, looking very groggy. seeing the amount of family members present in the room made them falter. usually they would crash on the couch, but they can’t exactly do that now with people, can they?

sensing the batfam’s conversations die down as they look at you, you forced out a “uhm. sorry.” while you grip the books you have on your arms. you adjusted your shoulder bag before you leave the room. that’s fine. you can stay in your own room.

“oh, y/n! couldn’t sleep?” dick was quick to act. “where are you going? you got errands to run this early?”

“..i’ve been outside all day. i just got home.”

“that’s bullshit.” jason cut in, “it’s dangerous to go out this late in the night, you mean to tell us you’ve just been out there..?” his brows furrowed.

“..i always go home this late in the night at fridays.” y/n looked at their watch. if they go upstairs now they can still take a nap for 30 minutes!

“what nonsense. what could you possibly be doing outside-“ damian started his rant. luckily, alfred came to your rescue.

“ah! mx. y/n. apologies, i didn’t hear you enter. would you like any refreshments?”

“no, thanks alfred. i think im gonna rest for awhile.” you rub your eyes.

“i see, would you like me to assist you with your things?”

“it’s alright. i’ll see you later, alfie.” y/n gave a weird look to the batfam before walking away, probably on their way to their room.

.

when y/n left, then came the questions.

.

“you know they go out this late?” bruce asked first.

“yes, master bruce. law students typically have night classes as their attorneys professors only have time within the night to teach.”

“law? they’re studying law?” damian asked, almost as if such a thing was impossible for y/n.

“night classes? how do they get home..?!”

“how come they never told us?” tim spoke up.

“i didn’t even know they graduated…”

alfred can only sigh in disappointment. but before he can reply to any of them-

“we gotta go talk to them..!” now this put alfred into action.

“i think not, master dick.”

“what..? why?” jason was also standing up, following after dick.

“you heard mx. y/n. they are extremely tired. you all don’t know just how tired they are.”

“tired?” damian sprang up. “they’re tired? they’re just a civilian.”

“hang on-“ tim tried to diffuse the situation,

“they’re tired from studying is what you’re saying, pennyworth? what about us? i’m sure they can spare a moment of their time.” he started marching his way towards your room.

the rest followed after.

“master bruce! mx. y/n is terribly tired, please put a stop to this.” bruce looked torn, wanting to listen alfred. but his curiosity got the better of him.

“..i want to see y/n too.” he started making his way out the living room, trailing after the boys.

alfred let out a sigh of exasperation before tailing behind bruce, trying to get him to see reason. they have all the time to make it up to y/n after. why disturb him now?

.

damian burst open the door, expecting a verbal show down, only to be left bracing for nothing. y/n used to yell at him to get out of his room before, but he was only left with silence.

y/n sat on their desk, pen on hand as papers scartered everywhere. and i mean everywhere. on their desk, the floor, their bed, taped on the walls, everywhere.

their ipad was lit open, if damian looked closely he could see some document in there. y/n’s laptop was also open, having another similar document open. something about torts or whatever. there was also a drink next to him. was it coffee, water, or tea?

“..what’s wrong?” y/n asked with hesitation. what could damian possibly want right now?

“y/n!..you’re still up..?” dick entered shortly after. y/n looked at the clock on their bedside, “uhm, yeah. i was just about to sleep.” that was a lie. they were in the middle of something, but maybe they can finally get out if he said something.

“what are you working on?” y/n yelped as tim appeared suddenly by their side. when did he get here?

“just something for class.” y/n wasn’t too keen on sharing anything with tim. not after being pushed away by the very same guy before. tim was always too busy handling legal documents for WE, surely shit like this is nothing to him.

“i can help-“ tim said, continuing to look at the papers scattered.

“-y/n, i didn’t know you studied law, what school are you attending?” now bruce is here? give me a break.

“okay- can i talk to you guys later? i’m in the middle of something.”

“i thought you were just about to sleep?” jason raised a brow. ugh.

“just- can you leave..? i’m busy.”

“too busy for family?” probed damian.

“oh you’ve got some nerve to say that shit to me now after all these years.”

their eyes widened. y/n almost regret saying anything until alfred entered,

“..mx. y/n, I truly apologize for their behavior. please, take some rest soon.”

damian reacted first, wanting to dig further, and soon chaos erupted. voices speaking over the other. y/n’s once quiet and quaint room was now full of too many people, all wanting to say their piece.

amidst the noise…

clink.

the sound of a mug tipping over broke them from their rants.

everyone turned to look at tim, holding a pile of papers. the mug unfortunately spilt it’s contents over the ones that weren’t on tim’s hand.

“no, no, no, no!” y/n quickly grabbed the mug, looking at the files they were just working on.

y/n looked at them defeated. shit. what were they gonna do?

the brothers looked at tim, who set the papers down and held his hands up in mock surrender, “i didnt do it..”

alfred walked closer to y/n.

“mx. y/n, allow me to help you clean this-“

“get out.”

“hm?”

“get out. all of you.” y/n turned to face everyone. “all of you get out of my room..!”

“y/n it was an accident-!”

“we didn’t mean to-“

“you were the one who left that mug on your desk-“

“GET OUT.”

..

The chandelier lights of the Gotham Museum gala glittered like distant stars, casting a warm glow over the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns. You smoothed the silk of your crimson dress—Versace, a nod to the life you'd left behind—and took a sip of champagne, your arm linked with Jonathan's. It had been months since the divorce, since you'd shed the Wayne name like a too-tight skin, but tonight marked your first public appearance since then. The Falcone case had shaken the city to its core, with Carmine Falcone's empire crumbling under the weight of scandals and arrests. Bruce had been at the center of it all, of course, his Batman persona pulling strings from the shadows. But you? You'd finally escaped those shadows.

You hadn't always been this way—poised, untethered, alive. Once, you'd been the darling of the Victoria's Secret runway, strutting in angel wings and lace that made headlines worldwide. Your face had graced billboards from New York to Paris, your body a canvas of confidence and allure. But then came Bruce Wayne. Charming, brooding, with promises of a family that needed you. You quit modeling the day he proposed, trading catwalks for Wayne Manor, determined to be the perfect wife and stepmother. You cooked meals, attended school events, patched up scraped knees from "training accidents" you weren't supposed to question. You poured your soul into Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian—even the girls, Barbara and Cassandra, when they deigned to acknowledge you.

They never did, not really. To them, you were the outsider, the trophy wife who didn't understand their world of capes and cowls. Dick's polite smiles hid resentment; Jason's sarcasm cut like knives; Tim barely looked up from his screens; Damian called you "the interloper" to your face. Barbara and Cass? They tolerated you at best, whispering about how you were just another of Bruce's fleeting distractions. And Bruce... oh, Bruce. The cheating started subtly—a late-night "meeting" here, a lipstick stain on a collar there. Selina Kyle, Talia al Ghul, even that reporter Vicki Vale. You confronted him once, tears streaming, but he brushed it off with that infuriating Wayne charm. "It's complicated," he'd say, vanishing into the night as Batman, leaving you alone in that echoing mansion.

That's when you sought help. Therapy seemed like the only lifeline in a sea of neglect. Dr. Jonathan Crane was recommended by a discreet acquaintance—brilliant, they said, with a specialty in fear and trauma. Your first session in his Arkham office was clinical, his blue eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses, his voice a soothing baritone that dissected your pain without judgment. "Tell me about the fear," he'd prompt, leaning forward, his presence a quiet intensity that made you feel seen for the first time in years.

Sessions blurred into something more. Jonathan listened as you unraveled—about the isolation, the betrayal, the way Bruce's absences left you hollow. He shared glimpses of his own world: a childhood marred by bullying, his fascination with fear as a tool for control. There was a darkness in him, a edge that thrilled you, so different from Bruce's stoic heroism. One evening, after a particularly raw confession, his hand brushed yours. "You deserve more than to be a shadow in someone else's story," he murmured. The air crackled. You kissed him that night, in the dim light of his office, his lips tasting of forbidden promise.

The divorce was swift, brutal. Bruce didn't fight it—guilt, perhaps, or relief. The Batfamily's reactions ranged from indifference to outright scorn; Jason even smirked, "Good riddance." You didn't care. You packed your things and went straight to Jonathan's arms. He wasn't the hero type; he was the villain in waiting, experimenting with toxins in hidden labs, whispering about a world where fear ruled. But with you, he was tender, possessive, his touches igniting fires Bruce never could. Nights in his modest apartment turned passionate—his fingers tracing your skin like he was mapping every vulnerability, his voice low as he confessed his Scarecrow alter ego. You didn't flinch; you embraced it, finding power in the chaos.

Now, at the gala, you spotted them across the room. Bruce, in his impeccable tux, chatting with Commissioner Gordon. The kids flanked him: Dick with his easy grin, Jason brooding in a corner, Tim nursing a drink, Damian scowling at the crowd. Barbara wheeled through with poise, Cass silent and watchful. They hadn't noticed you yet.

Jonathan's hand tightened on your waist, his breath warm against your ear. "Nervous, my dear?"

You shook your head, a sly smile playing on your lips. "Not anymore."

Bruce's eyes locked on yours first. Surprise flickered, then something darker—regret? Jealousy? He excused himself from Gordon and approached, the Batfamily trailing like reluctant shadows.

"Y/N," Bruce said, his voice that familiar gravel. "You look... well."

"Divorce agrees with me," you replied coolly, tilting your chin. Jonathan's arm was a steady anchor, his gaze dissecting Bruce with clinical interest.

Bruce's eyes shifted to Jonathan. "Dr. Crane. I didn't realize you two were... acquainted."

"More than acquainted," Jonathan drawled, his tone laced with amusement. "Y/N has been under my care for some time. And now, she's simply under me."

A flush crept up Bruce's neck, but he masked it quickly. Dick cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, good to see you, Y/N. Been a while."

"Has it?" you mused. "I suppose raising you all single-handedly while your father was out playing hero does blur the lines."

Jason snorted, but there was no malice in it this time—curiosity, maybe. Tim averted his eyes, Damian muttered something under his breath. Barbara offered a tight smile. "The Falcone mess has kept us busy."

"I'm sure," you said, your voice dripping honeyed venom. "But I've moved on to better things. Jonathan understands neglect in ways you never could."

Bruce's jaw tightened. "If this is about—"

"It's not," you cut him off. "It's about me. Finally."

Jonathan leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Shall we dance, darling? Leave the bats to their brooding."

You nodded, letting him lead you to the floor. As the music swelled, you glanced back once—Bruce watching, the family shifting uncomfortably. For the first time, you didn't feel like the neglected wife, the failed mother. You were the woman who'd risen from the ashes, wings intact, with a man who saw your fears and turned them into strength.