Starjjin

The kink developed as naturally as it was always gonna.

You like him big; he likes you small. You like the authority of his age; he likes taking care of his girl.

It just makes sense.

You both know damn well you're playing with live ordnance here—but the pin's already pulled.

The first time you moaned daddy—sobbing it right against his throat, hovering on the razor edge of coming undone with nine inches of Na'vi dick stretched deep inside you—it blew a hole straight through his brain.

He couldn't get the sound out of his head for weeks.

Hearing that needy little whimper echoing long after he's returned to the village... hell, he's never needed to duck into the shadows to wring out his own cock so damn fast in his life.

It has him sneaking off after dark like some dirtbag just to put out the fire in his gut—to chase five seconds of relief.

And if he doesn’t?

His body overrides him—waking him up at the crack of dawn with his dick throbbing and a hot, sticky mess already soaking straight through his loincloth.

There ain't a single day Jake takes this blue body for granted. Not since the moment he first opened his eyes in it fifteen years ago.

It's top-tier gear. Strong, fast, relentless. Built for war. Built to survive. A weapon he can always rely on.

But right now—on one of the many desperate nights just like this one—his own flesh is betrayin' him.

Hard.

It's late, pitch black and the tide is lapping cold against the shore as he stands hidden behind a jagged ridge of rock on a secluded stretch of the beach.

Braced against the cool stone with one heavy forearm, his chest heaves like a runaway engine as his fist strokes over his thick, heavy length, furiously pumping himself to the raw, filthy memory of the last time he had you pinned under him.

"You're making my pussy beat, Jake," you giggled, cheeks flushing crimson with your hands thrown over your eyes, thighs clamped shut tight in an attempt to trap his teasing hand.

The cheap RDA cot groaned under his hefty weight as he knelt with his shoulders hunched over you, toying with the sexy ass frills of your panty line.

He always took his sweet time like this—dragging the rough, calloused pad of his blue thumb in slow sweeps along the edge of the cotton. Hooking a massive finger just beneath it to drag over your bare, silky heat before retracting it—tormenting himself as much as he was you, deliberately refusing to give either of you the pressure you were beggin' for.

It worked like a charm to get you thoroughly riled up. To get you slick, pulsing and dripping enough so he could stretch your tiny pussy open and sink himself in—as deep as he wanted.

As deep as he fucking needed.

Jake rumbled with a low, chest-vibrating chuckle, smoothly pulling his hand free from the futile squeeze of your thighs. He dragged his broad palm over the soft, warm skin of your belly, letting it rest heavy just beneath where your skirt was all bunched around your waist.

That damn skirt—always flashin’ right beneath your unbuttoned lab coat, pulling his eyes like a magnet across the room every time you bent over to snag a sample jar off the bottom shelf.

"Yeah?" he smirked, drawing a lazy drag of air from the mask slung loose around his neck. "Feels good, baby?"

You hesitated for a second with that expression that drove him nuts—bottom lip sucked right between your teeth as your pretty eyes tracked down to where his hand was completely swallowing the expanse of your belly.

"Mhm," you murmured, a dizzy little smile in your eyes as you looked back up at him, tracing your tiny nails over the thick, raised rivers of blue veins across the back of his hand. "But I don't get it, daddy..."

Jesus, his eyes went dark and heavy right then. A low, possessive rumble vibrating deep in his ribs. He swept his hand up to cup the side of your head, swiping his thumb over the full swell of your bottom lip—stopping himself just short of pushing it right inside—handling you with the terrifying precision of a five-ton machine trying not to crush a glass bottle.

Christ, his mind went straight to the gutter—tracking right to how tight and warm your small mouth felt stretched around the head of his cock.

"Want daddy to show you what it means, sweetheart?" he'd said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp that made your skin prickle.

You nodded with total, unhesitating enthusiasm.

Jake smirked—slow, dark and mean.

"Not sure you've had enough teasin' yet," he'd drawled, slowly dragging the pad of his finger down the sensitive skin of your inner thigh—trailin' over that sexy little birth mark he loves.

"Hey, I have," you pouted, furrowing your dainty brows, tryin' like hell to look mad at him even as your whole thigh started quivering under his touch. A breathless little giggle burst out of you, knees snapping shut to trap his hand still.

The friction of your thighs tight together made you gasp, and when you jerked your legs apart to look down between 'em innocently—fuck. The flash of pure, unfiltered pleasure that washed over your face in that exact second—

On the beach, Jake lets out a deep, ruined exhale.

His knuckles are white-hot and slick around his own shaft as he pumps himself frantically—thick, heavy drops of pre-cum falling down to splatter into the cool, dark sand between his feet.

He clenches his eyes shut, his ears pinned back flat and tight against his skull as his brain drags him kicking and screaming right back into that bed with you.

He simply chuckled—low and dirty—as he followed your gaze down to your own lap.

"Looks like you're already findin' out yourself, hm? Why don't you do that again for me, sweetheart? Squeeze those little thighs tight for daddy," he murmured, using that quiet, commanding tone that always had you doing exactly what you were told.

Your knees buckled inward right away, clamping together again as you glanced up at him with wide, wrecked eyes, a shaky exhale slipping past your lips. God, he watched like a hawk as you squeezed the second time—hard enough to wrench a desperate little whimper right out of your chest.

"Mm," Jake smirked, his pupils blowing wide—black swallowing the amber-yellow of his eyes whole—as his huge hand shifted down between his own legs. He palmed the massive, throbbing swell bulging against his loincloth. "Keep doing that for me, kid. Gonna feel real good."

You let out a shaky sigh as you did it again, clenching your legs together faster this time—pinching your own wet cunt—and it was only right then he realized his tail was doing the rounds, thumping out of control as it made a loud, heavy clack against the metal bunk frame.

"Mmh, feels so good, daddy," you moaned, your lidded gaze dropping straight down to where his fist was working in slow, ruthless strokes over the heavy ridge strainin' against his loincloth.

"Yeah," he sighed, a low growl in his ribcage as his grip tightened through the coarse fabric. He didn't break eye contact for a second, watching your small hips squirm and twitch on the narrow cot. "You look so fuckin' good, baby. Makin' daddy so hard for you, angel."

His hand dropped from his own groin, heavy and warm as it cupped the top of your bowed knees.

"Open up for me, sweetheart," he murmured, giving you a firm, commanding tap. "Let 'em fall."

"I don't wanna. I like it like this," you whined, your little legs instinctively trying to fight him, tryna maintain that tight seal even as his hand worked between your knees to pry them apart like kindling.

"I know ya do. But you're gonna let me in anyway, baby girl—'cause this is gonna feel a whole lot better."

He heaved your knees wide open, looming over you with his broad shoulders, blocking out the rest of the cot until there was nothing left for you to look at but him. A giant palm spread out beside your head as he brought his thumb up to his mouth, slicking the wide pad of it with a dark, deliberate swipe of his tongue as he looked you dead in the eyes.

Then he dropped that heavy weight back down over your mound, grinding his wet thumb right into your sweet little clit.

You gasped—loud, sharp, and wrecked—flushing red as a rose as a helpless groan tore right out of you.

"God, you know how fuckin' pretty you are?" Jake growled low, his military discipline threatening to buckle as he dropped his gaze, watching his own thumb sweep slow, heavy pendulums over the swell of your clit through the thin fabric.

His eyes flicked right back up to lock with yours, refusing to let you look away as he brought that thumb back to his lips to re-wet it with a thick coat of spit.

He dropped it straight back down, working those heavy, rolling circles over the cotton until he was soaking the material through—painting you in his own wetness while you writhed and mewled beneath him—

"Hohh—fuck," Jake pants out loud into the quiet, cool night air, his forehead slamming hard against his forearm on the rock.

His grip around his throbbing shaft stutters, loosening just a fraction as he fights against his own body—tryna drag every agonizing second out—whole frame shaking as he strains to keep from blowing his load before he reaches the memory of you coming apart.

He'd caught your sweet moan with his mouth right then, claiming you in a bruised, desperate kiss—pouring his own deep groan right into your throat while his other hand dragged rough up over your chest.

He shoved the cheap cotton of your tank up over your tits, palming the ridiculously soft swell of one—feeling your peak hard and buried against the callouses of his massive fingers.

"Oh, daddy, what are you doing to me?" you whimpered, puffing a soft, hot breath against his lips as you arched your chest right up into his palm, hips stuttering and wriggling under the relentless motion of his thumb down below. "Your hands... feel so fucking good..."

"Yeah? Does it make your pussy beat real nice?" he mumbled against your mouth, kneading at your small tit in deep, steadying waves.

"Yeah," you nodded helplessly, brows pinched tight, hair all mussed up as your head rolled to the side against the pillow. You panted for him, trying to clench your thighs again over the thick trunk of his wrist.

"It feels..."

"How's it feel, baby?" Jake breathed heavy, desperate like a starved dog just to keep hearin' your voice, his long fingers pinching down around your little flushed nipple to give it a firm tug as his thumb flicked in swift, rapid strokes over your clit.

You gasped out loud—a cracked, broken moan tearing out of your throat—and Jesus, his cock twitched hard enough to hurt, thrashing like a hungry beggar trapped against the tight, coarse restraint of the fabric. He knew how much of a mess his loincloth was without casting an eye over it—could feel himself leaking like a pipe for you.

"It feels like I might... oh, Jake," you panted, eyes shutting tight all of a sudden as your thighs trembled uncontrollably.

Jake snatched his hand away swiftly, leaving you suspended right on the edge before your body could explode into overdrive.

"Woah, fuck, baby—wait for me," he growled, his pupils blown pitch-black as he worked one-handed to yank the tie of his loincloth loose.

He chucked the scrap of fabric to the hard floor of your room, his face twisting into a dirty grimace as his fist went straight to his swollen cock—running a couple of rapid, brutal tugs over the head.

"Lemme just..." he winced, letting out a ragged, tortured breath, eyes slamming shut for a second while he stroked himself fast right over you, trying to relieve some of that blinding pressure in his gut before he lost all self-control.

You gasped when he grabbed your ankles, dragging your legs up and peeling your little wet panties right off you before leaning down, caging either side of your head with his striped, muscle-corded forearms while crowding his massive hips down between your thighs.

The heavy head of his cock dropped straight over your dripping heat, his shaft twitching with pure impatience at the contact.

"Wanna let me in, baby?" he rumbled—low and rough—as soft as he could muster right against your ear.

"Daddy!!" you wailed as he began to push without waiting for an answer, your small hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders as he sank his full weight down into you.

"That's it. Deep and slow, remember, deep and slow," he rasped over your sharp cry as he started sliding right into your tight wet folds—sending your watery eyes rolling back into your head, your thighs clamping like a vice around his hips as you stretched wide as hell to take him.

He started working his hips with agonizing restraint—filling you with barely half his length in shallow, punishing thrusts designed to break you in as carefully as he could manage.

"Big," you whimpered right next to his ear, your hot, ragged breath triggering an involuntary flick in his sensitive, cat-like ear. "You're so big, daddy."

"I know, shh. You're doin' so damn good for me, baby girl," he gritted out against the shell of your ear, his voice rougher than gravel itself as he pressed a heavy kiss to your hot, flushed cheek. "Takin' all of daddy so fuckin' well."

Lie. The word burned in his throat. You weren't takin' all of him—not even close. He was holding back two thirds of his length, muscles locked up so tight his spine felt like rebar just to keep from spearing you through the cot.

He planted bruising kisses down the sharp line of your jaw—feelin' the lethal drag of his upper fangs skimming your soft, human skin—his eyes lidding heavy as he buried his nose into the sweet, feverish scent of your neck.

He dragged himself back out—torturously slow—feeling every ridge and vein of his thick shaft scraping against you, begging to be wrung dry by your tight, hot walls. His disciplined buckled; he couldn't stop it. He slammed back in—deeper this time, pushing his limits and almost touching base—and the raw pressure made you scream out a broken cry as your spine arched up off the bed to chase his chest, your hard little nipples burying into his blue skin.

"Good girl," he groaned, the praise thick and dark in his mouth. He pulled out again, every inch of flesh dragging—before driving straight back in. His thick thighs and glutes locked up tight as he rolled in deep enough that his heavy pelvis finally met yours—the rough friction of his groin grinding hard against your clit, making you near enough lose your damn mind right there.

"Jake!!" your cry echoed around the small room, your face screwed up in absolute bliss as he started rolling his hips in slow, deliberate circles.

"Mm, yeah," he panted against the rapidly pulsing crook of your neck, picking up his pace just a fraction, matching the way your body was beggin' for it. "Can feel you gettin' tighter, baby."

He gave you enough stimulation to keep your walls fluttering around him, drawing out every last drop of tension. Then he pumped you full again, burying himself to the absolute hilt—a deep, tight groan vibrating out of his own chest as his throbbing balls pushed flush against your slick skin.

Your desperate scream shot off the walls.

Your face was a picture of pure, ruined ecstasy as you started coming apart right around him, little thighs shaking like an earthquake where they were locked up around his waist.

"Dirty girl, wantin' my big, alien dick so bad like this. Makin' me think about you when I shouldn't," he grunted, his final string of discipline snapping like a rope as he picked up into a ruthless, rhythmic rut, chasing the way his length was throbbing with need for a release inside your clenching cunt.

"Bendin' over like you want me to take you right there in the lab—slip your filthy little panties aside and just fuck you raw. Claim every goddamn inch of you—"

"DADDY! Fuck!! I'm—"

On the dark beach, Jake's jaw locks, his face twisting in a wrecked grimace as his slick hand rutting over his shaft drags him straight over the edge.

"That's right..." he panted, growling low and strained over your sharp, orgasmic whining, your nails dug deep into the thick muscles of his arms as he pounded your little body through the tight, pulsing convulsions of your climax. "Come all over Daddy's cock. Fucking milk me—Jesus—"

Jake lets out a strangled, broken groan into the soft sea breeze as his cock detonates in his own pumping fist. 

Thick, burning ropes pulse violently from his slit in heavy spurts, his massive striped thighs giving way like lead beams under a load as he paints the earth—coating the cold beach rock and sand below with the raw proof of his addiction to you.

Fuck.

He can’t stop his legs as they buckle under his weight. He sinks to his knees with a hard, rough thump in the sand, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut—his large hand still clamped, cum-slick and trembling around his convulsing cock as his damp forehead collapses against the cold face of the rock.

Pathetic. The word hits him like a physical blow.

A grown fucking man. Leader of the people. A dad. 

Reduced to a filthy, shaking mess on his hands and knees in the sand for a human girl who calls him daddy.

"The fuck are you doing, Sully…" he rasps weakly under his breath, the words drawing tight out of his throat, hollow and raw. 

He drags a rough, calloused palm hard over his face, smearing sweat and sea salt as his throat bobs with a gulp that feels like cement—desperately trying to wipe away the dizzying, intoxicating haze of you. 

He forces the memory of your satisfied body sprawled out under him right out of his mind. Snaps his posture back into rank, hauling his massive frame up off the beach on legs that feel like cold lead.

Reaching down with a trembling hand, he snatches his discarded loincloth off the sand, violently snapping the coarse fabric to shake out the grit before wrapping it back around his waist—securing himself like a heavy weapon back in its holster.

He takes one last look down at the evidence before furiously kicking dry sand over the wet patches, burying it deeper—praying to Eywa or whatever gods are listening that the tide comes in fast to wash the rock clean before the sun hits the reef.

He can’t let Neytiri know about this. He can’t let anyone know about this. Christ, if someone found out what he’d been doing…

He has to put a stop to it. He has to stop acting a fool  before it ruins his goddamn life. 

But like hell he knows where he’s gonna find the strength. Not when he’s already cooking up another weak-ass excuse to drop by the lab—just to find out what you’re wearing. Just to get that skirt bunched up around your waist one more time.

With a low, defeated growl rattling his chest, Jake turns his back on the ocean and begins the quiet march up the shore, his big feet sinking silently into the sand as he heads back to the marui—ears pinned flat in absolute shame.

You didn’t asked to be revived in the form of a Na’vi body. You thought the RDA was only taking a precaution when they asked you to consent to the program. You didn’t expect to actually wake up after your death in an entirely new body.

You were one of the only scientists brought back from the dead; there were seven of you in total. The rest were military soldiers.

You didn’t remember much about your old life. Though, it wasn’t really yours to begin with. You just had the memories of a woman.

Your sole purpose on Pandora remained largely the same after your revival. You continued to dedicate your life to science and medicine as the faint memories of your old life swirled around in your mind.

You were the first recombinant to be brought back. The RDA thought it was best to revive the scientists before the soldiers. They were right. You were much calmer than they expected, fascinated by your new blue skin and swishing tail. A year later, the soldiers were revived.

You were expecting to remain uninteresting to them. After all, they never paid you much attention when you were human. But you had Grace to blame for that. She always swiftly hid you when Colonel Miles Quaritch and his team walked by, knowing the Marines had a taste for women who looked and acted like you.

Unfortunately, as one of the only females in the operation, the soldiers noticed you a lot more. Ja and Prager only sent you lazy smiles as you passed, fully intent on letting you do your thing, but five other military recoms were a nuisance to your daily life.

The annoying military Recombinants—Quaritch, Lyle, Mansk, Fike, and Brown—were a rough bunch, the kind of men who thrived in the presence of violence. You were the complete opposite of them, preferring the quiet lab and rarely ever talking back. The difference between you and them couldn’t have been more obvious, and boy, did they love to remind you.

You were no stranger to wandering glances. You noticed them back when you were human. Yet, you still felt uncomfortable when the Marine recoms stared at you.

Every time you passed by their little group, they turned silently, their gazes watching your every move. Today was no different from that. You clutched the data pad in your left hand as you strolled through the base, on your way to the science lab once again. You noticed the dreaded group almost immediately; they were laughing pretty loud after all.

They were all leaning against the wall, exchanging teasing remarks. Mansk was the first to spot you. He whispered to his teammates and the mood suddenly shifted. Your ears pinned against your head in annoyance as you passed them, feeling their eyes burning into you.

They said nothing for the first second before Lyle opened his mouth. “Hey, Doc!” He loudly called out. You paused, glancing over your shoulder. You knew if you ignored them, they’d just follow you and you’d get no work done. “Looking good in that body. How about you come check on me later? I might need a… personal examination.” You didn’t have to look to know he had a snarky grin on his lips.

Quaritch deeply chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. Not necessarily good ones, though. “Careful, Wainfleet. She might take you up on that offer if she didn’t have her hands full.” His eyes roamed your body, not even trying to hide it. You felt your face heat up.

Your tail swished from side to side in frustration, which only encouraged them. You began walking again, merely rolling your eyes at the remarks. However, Mansk didn’t let you go so easily.

“Don’t be coy, Doc. You’re practically part of the team now. Why don’t you join us for some drinks?” He pushed himself off the wall and stepped in front of you, blocking your way.

“You’ve got us all wondering what you’re hiding under that lab coat.” Brown chimed in with a smirk. You lightly huffed, casually stepping around Mansk.

You wouldn’t usually reply to their biting comments but you were on your last nerve today. “I’m here to do a job.” You said, “And so are you. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate if you stopped annoying me.”

You tried to walk off but a firm tug held you back from important work. “Feisty today, aren’t we?” It was Quaritch. You pulled your arm back, lips curving into an unimpressed frown.

“I am not here for your blatant entertainment, Colonel. I’m here to get my research done.”

Despite your sharp tone, Fike still muttered something to Mansk that had them both snickering. You clenched your jaw.

Quaritch’s grin widened at your words. “You definitely find a way to keep things interesting, Doc. If you ever need a break from all that chatter in your brain, we’ll be happy to relieve some stress.” His voice dipped into a suggestive tone, and you knew what he was implying.

You took a deep breath, barely holding onto the last of your calmness. “I have work to do, Colonel.” You briskly walked away, the sound of your boots growing fainter as you shoved past the laboratory doors.

You sat at your desk for a minute, calming yourself from the annoyance bubbling up. No matter how hard you tried to stay focused on this godforsaken planet, the weight of the soldiers’ gazes and their various taunts still drew a reaction.

You knew you’d be seeing them much sooner than you liked. You were due to collect some samples and you needed someone to keep guard. Though, the RDA gave you five idiots to keep watch instead.

An hour after your run-in with the particular group of soldiers, you were forced to see them again. You trudged through the base, trying to delay the process. You saw them waiting outside, tapping their boots against the floor impatiently. They were expecting to see another scientist, a less amusing one, but when you swung the door open, they grinned.

“Let’s get this over and done with.” You muttered, pushing past them.

You hated Pandora but you could never hate the beauty of it. Sometimes you wished you had been born Na’vi so you could appreciate everything the dangerous world had to offer.

The jungle was alive with sounds and the chittering of animals as you moved carefully through the vegetation, ducking occasionally to avoid a tree branch. You stopped every five minutes to take a sample, labelling it and storing it away before continuing on your way.

You knew you weren’t alone, you had five military recoms trailing after you, and that made everything less beautiful. Their forms moved heavily through the foliage, not really caring where they stepped. The group was meant to keep you safe but they only felt like a distraction.

You were observing a particularly interesting plant before you heard the rather obnoxious voice of the Colonel. “What’s the matter, Doc? We got you all hot and bothered?”

Your ears flicked at the unnecessary remark. “Only doing my job, Colonel.” You muttered, careful not to show any emotion Quaritch would use against you.

“That all you’re doing?” Lyle piped up, the grin evident in his voice. “You should be focusing on something else. Like us.”

Oh, how you wished to throw a rock at him or shove a handful of dirt into his mouth.

You heard Mansk snicker as you straightened up, walking further into the forest without another world. You had no intent of taking part in their banter.

“Don’t be so cold, Doc.” Fike called after you as they followed close behind. “We’re just tryna keep you company, can’t have you lonely out here.”

You wished you were alone. Perhaps you should have specifically requested for Z-dog and Walker to accompany you instead.

You slowed down and that was enough for Quaritch to take long strides to stand behind you. His tall frame casted a shadow over you as he fell into unified steps. “Loosen up, Doc. This’d be a lot more fun if you did.” Again, he didn’t try to hide the way his gaze flickered to your chest. He was never subtle in the slightest.

Your grip tightened on your tool kit as your tail flicked him. “For the last time, I’m here to collect data.” You coolly said, “That’s all.”

Quaritch chuckled, “Can’t blame a guy for trying. You’re the only interesting thing out here.”

“Yeah.” Brown, who wasn’t too far behind, voiced. “Watching you work is a nice change from the military crap.” You would have preferred if they were actually doing their jobs instead of focusing on you.

You ignored them to the best of your ability but it was difficult with the group almost circling around you, their remarks growing bolder by the second.

You were scanning a tree when Lyle broke your trance of concentration. He leaned in, "You know, if you ever need a different kind of data… We’re more than happy to volunteer."

You quickly recoiled, a little disgusted at his words. Quaritch placed a hand on your lower back before you could step away. “Easy, Doc.” He uttered, “Wouldn’t want you to trip and fall.”

You held back a scoff. “Can you all just stop?” You said, the frustration seeping into your voice. “I’m trying to collect data here, and you’re all acting like animals.”

They clearly enjoyed your reaction. Mansk steeped forward, “You don’t like our attention, baby?”

You almost succumbed to the urge of throwing a pair of scissors in his face. “I’m collecting samples. If you have nothing scientific to say then leave me alone.”

Quaritch raised his hands in mock surrender yet the smug smirk on his face never faltered. “Alright, we’ll back off.” You doubted that.

The uneasy feeling of their eyes never truly disappeared. You could hear their muffled laughter and murmured comments following you, a reminder that you still weren’t alone.

Barely an hour had passed before the sky darkened. You didn’t think much of it before the first raindrop hit your nose. You tilted your head up, eyes scanning the sky. It only took a second for a heavy downpour to drench you. The droplets of water crashed against the ground with such intensity that it made it hard to see, and it almost hurt.

“Shit.” Quaritch muttered over the booming thunder. “Everyone, under the trees!”

Mansk, the closest recom to you, grabbed you by the shoulder and dragged you under the nearby tree. The canopy offered some form of shelter but still not a lot. It did little to keep you dry.

Your clothes were already soaked, specifically your thin shirt. It uncomfortably clung to your skin. Your straight hair was curling in the humidity, sticking to your face.

Lyle shook his head like a wet dog, his braid sending water flying everywhere. You covered your face to block the droplets. “This rain is something else.” He said, “Never seen such a heavy downpour.”

Mansk was the first to check up on you since the rain. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Doc, you look a little… soaked.” His eyes lingered on your drenched form while you glared at him.

You tugged at your shirt, a fruitless attempt to keep it from sticking to your skin. The fabric was nearly transparent, leaving nothing to the imagination. Mansk’s words had brought you the undivided attention of his teammates.

“This weather is really doing a number on you, Doc.” Quaritch drawled as he leaned against the thick tree trunk.

“It’s only rain, Colonel.” Your response came out sharper than you intended it to. But you knew even if you screamed at him, he wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Yeah, but it’s kind of hard not to look.” He chuckled.

Fike, who was standing on your left, smirked as you tried to wring out your shirt. “That’s one way to distract us. Keep it up and we might forget why we’re out here.”

Lyle was the next to comment. “Loving the view, Doc.”

You shot Lyle a look before forming your arms over your chest. “Let’s just focus on staying dry.” You grumbled.

“Don’t worry, Doc. We’re just appreciating the scenery, right boys?” Quarditch’s gaze shamelessly traced every curve that was now exposed by your wet clothes.

You opened your mouth to snap back but the words never rolled off your tongue. Quarditch had reached out to brush a strand of wet hair away from your face. His warm touch lingered for longer than necessary before pulling away.

You impatiently waited for the rain to stop but as the long minutes dragged by, you lost hope. It had been half an hour of a continuous downpour and you were still soaked, forced to shiver as you paced back and forth.

Quaritch and his team had settled at the base of the tree, sitting in a circle and trading jokes. They seemed unconcerned about the delay while you were basically gnawing at your fingertips.

Your tail flicked back and forth as you paced, flicking droplets of water with every step and narrowly avoiding whacking Mansk. The longer you waited, the less time you had to gather data. You were already on a tight schedule.

Quaritch noticed your unease and he parted his lips to speak up. “What’s wrong, Doc? Can’t stay still for two seconds?” He teased. You glowered at him.

“I don’t have time for this, Colonel. I have limited time and this damn rain is wasting it.”

“Relax, sweetheart. You’ll get your samples eventually.” Lyle butted in. You gritted your teeth, the tip of your tail swaying in annoyance.

“That isn’t good enough.” You seethed.

“Pacing isn’t gonna make it any better.” Fike called out.

Quaritch looked up at you, sending you his signature smirk. You despised what he was going to say next. “I’m sure we can find a way to occupy you, Doc. Just to pass the time.” There was nothing innocent about his words.

“I don’t have time for distractions, Colonel.” Every time you tried to push him and his team away, they tried to reel you back in.

Quaritch was clearly amused by you. You turned to watch the rain again, your patience wearing thin.

You waited for another ten minutes. You tried to sit still for as long as you could before you couldn’t take it anymore. “Fuck it.” You cussed, grabbing your tool kit. The recoms watched as you stepped out from under the tree without a word, letting the hard rain hit you again.

“Hey, where you going, Doc?” Lyle exclaimed, though his tone sounded more amused than concerned as the soldiers watched you.

You didn’t reply as you stalked forward, determined to collect as much data as you could, even if it meant catching a cold later.

“Guess she’s serious about that data,” Mansk commented with a chuckle.

The recoms watched as you disappeared into the jungle. None of them stopped your stubborn pursuit as you marched through the rain despite the miserable conditions.

“Do you think maybe she’s just crazy?” Fike voiced.

It took you twenty minutes to trudge back to the group. You were drenched and shivering and overall not in very good condition. But at least the last sample rested safely in your kit.

Your shirt was completely see-through by this point. It offered you no protection against the frigid rain. You maintained some of your calm composure despite the chills racking your body.

The soldiers were still lounging under the tree, only raising their heads when they heard the sound of a twig snapping. They all stared at you in amusement as you finally reached them.

Quaritch immediately locked eyes with you. “Look who’s back. You look like you’ve been through hell, Doc.” His eyes scanned the small tears in your shirt.

It surely felt like you had. You were glad the soldiers weren’t there to witness you tripping.

“Shut your trap.” You sneered, dropping the sampling kit before sitting down and slumping against the tree. “I fucking fell down a hill and into a river. Hit a few trees too. Hurt like a bitch.” They had never heard such strong language from you but then again, they didn’t know you had the willpower to walk through the heavy rain.

Lyle whistled lowly, “Damn, Doc, you’re practically giving us a free show over here.”

You didn’t reply. Your ears were pinned back against your head in annoyance as you watched the rain. “Let’s just get out of here.” You grumbled, going to collect your supplies before Quarditch grasped your arm.

“No can do, Doc. The rain ain’t letting up and we can barely see a meter in front of us. We’ll get lost or some of us might fall down a hill. Again.” He grinned, showing off his fangs as he searched your face for a reaction.

“We can’t stay out here for the night.” You fired back. “We’ll get eaten alive.”

“Nah. This area is relatively safe. Good thing we didn’t go too deep into the forest.” Quaritch’s tail lightly flicked, showing he was in no hurry to get back to the base.

You tilted your head back, almost hissing in frustration. You didn’t want to be stuck out in the forest with these military imbeciles. You didn't want to admit it, but Quaritch had a point; you could barely see the next tree over.

Agonising hours dragged by as the rain poured down. The soldiers aimed to entertain themselves, sometimes throwing a few teasing remarks your way. You merely rolled your eyes at their jeers.

"Alright, Lyle, time to pull out the tent. Looks like we're stuck here for the night." You heard Quaritch mutter. To your surprise, you watch as Lyle pulls a tent from his bag. You let the soldiers set it up, knowing you wouldn't be of much help anyway.

"Ladies first, Doc." Quaritch grinned, stepping aside for you to enter. Your tail flicked him in annoyance as you brushed past him. The interior of the tent was large, tall enough to fit your avatar bodies, but it was still a tight squeeze. Your Na'vi body was well-built, your arms toned from the harsh terrain, but the soldiers were almost huge. They were tall with large muscles, taking up almost all the space.

Military gear and supplies were strewn all over the floor of the tent, making it impossible to walk without stepping on something. The heavy droplets of rainwater hammered down onto the tent's fabric, creating a sort of ambience.

Your shirt, which had taken most of the rain, clung to your skin uncomfortably. The cold was beginning to seep through, making it hard to focus. You shifted around, lightly groaning.

With a sigh of exasperation, you had reached a breaking point. You lifted your wet shirt over your head, peeling the thin fabric off. You weren't particularly concerned with how the soldiers' eyes flickered to stare at your bra. You were just glad that awful shirt was off.

As you began to wring the water out of the shirt, Quaritch spoke up. He let out a low whistle before speaking. "Didn't expect this kind of show, Doc." Oh, how insufferable he was.

The tent felt even smaller now with how their gazes lingered on you. You settled into a dry corner of the tent, wrapped in a towel. Your eyes were drooping before Lyle made a biting remark. You quickly grabbed your shirt, throwing it at him. It hit Lyle in the face with a loud slap.

The soldier yelped in surprise and stumbled back. "Watch it!" he exclaimed. His teammates burst into laughter, their amusement evident.

"That's one way to shut him up," Quaritch said through a small laugh.

You eventually dosed off, exhausted and sick of the icy cold. The soldiers stayed awake, their guns at the ready. They lowly murmured amongst themselves, continuing their playful banter.

Lyle nudged Quaritch, a grin spreading across his face. "Look at that, Colonel. The Doc's out like a light." Your tail was lazily draped over your body as you curled up into a ball to retain warmth.

Mansk leaned in, lowering his voice. He didn't want to accidentally wake you and end up being slapped in the face with a shirt like Lyle. "You think she'll be annoyed if we keep making these jokes?"

"Nah, she's out cold." Fike softly chuckled under his breath.

Brown glanced over his shoulder, grinning. "Think she's dreaming 'bout us?" He lightly snorted.

Quaritch raised an eyebrow, his gaze still focused on your still body. "Careful now. If Doc wakes up and hears you say that, she won't be so friendly."

Lyle quietly laughed, "Yeah, you don't wanna get hit in the face with that shirt, trust me."

The quiet atmosphere was interrupted by a shrill cry. It was unsettling, making the soldiers jump in surprise. The sound cut through the night enough to jolt you awake. You blinked dazedly, squinting in the dim light.

"What is that noise?" You groaned, pushing yourself to your feet. Your annoyance was apparent as you moved the tent flaps aside. You stumbled out, the rain hitting you like a sturdy wall. You shielded your face from the heavy downpour, your gaze searching through the storm. You found the culprit—a large bird the size of your long torso rummaging through the scattered gear you had dropped.

"Get out of here!" You yelled, throwing a rock at the strange creature. The bird squawked again before scrambling off, leaving your seething form in the rain.

You re-entered the tent in worse condition than before. The soldiers tried to suppress their amusement as you shook off the water.

Lyle didn't even try to hide his laughs. "You're back at square one, Doc. Might need to take your pants off this time." You ignored him, returning to your previous spot.

"We’ll have to put a bell on you so you don't end up in the rain," Quaritch added, only humiliating you more.

You slumped against the side of the tent, stuck between a state of sleep and awareness. You jumped again when the same screech erupted from outside, testing your patience.

You slowly pushed yourself up once more. The gazes of the soldiers burned into you, clearly amused. The bird had not learned its lesson from the first time, plucking up the courage to scour through your gear once more. You saw how its beady eyes glanced at you, glinting with mischief.

"I've had enough of you!" You exclaimed, "You keep interrupting my sleep! And get away from my stuff!" You launched yourself at the bird, tackling it. Its screams escalated in volume as you swatted at the animal. It tried to avoid your advances, darting and hissing at you.

The soldiers poked their heads out of the tent, wanting to watch the chaos unfold. "Never thought I'd see a scientist take on a wild animal."

"Yeah, get some, Doc!" Lyle shouted, "Beat that thing!"

Fike turned to Quaritch, lightly nudging him. "You think she'll give up any time soon?" He muttered.

The Colonel shook his head, huffing in amusement. "Not a chance."

The bird scampered off, and you turned around, drenched but victorious. You ignored the soldiers' encouraging shouts as they clapped you on the back. You were desperate for rest, even if it meant fighting an animal. Everything began to settle down again, finally, until that bird returned.

"Oh, that is it!" You screamed. Your rage boiled over. "I'm going to cook that thing!" Lyle quickly grasped your shoulder, holding you back.

"Hey, calm down, Doc!" He shouted.

"I've had enough of that bird! I'm hungry! I'm gonna cook it if it doesn't shut up!" You tried to wriggle out of Lyle's grip, ears pinned back in anger and fangs bared.

"Might wanna rethink that, Doc. We ain't in the middle of a kitchen." Quaritch spoke up.

Eventually, you calmed down. You reluctantly sat down beside Mansk in the circle, arms folded over your chest in frustration. "You look cold, angel," Mansk commented, earning a glare from you.

"No, I'm perfectly warm. I might be sweating a little." You sarcastically replied, mockingly fanning your face. Mansk handed you his jacket, but you hesitated before taking it. Slowly, you slipped it on, wrinkling up your nose at the smell of his strong cologne rubbing off on you.

As handy as ever, Lyle pulled out a portable battery heater after noticing your intense shivering. "Forgot I had this." He laughed while Fike and Brown rolled their eyes. The heater softly hummed, and you almost closed your eyes at the much-needed warmth.

The soldiers fell back into their usual conversation, keeping their voices low so as to not disturb you.

"You finally warming up, Doc?" Quaritch glanced at you with a small smile, though it was more of a smirk.

You silently lifted your hand, showing him the middle finger. He chuckled, not offended in the slightest. After an endless night of rain and exhaustion, you finally drifted off. Your head lolled to the side, falling onto Mansk's shoulder while your tail was draped over Lyle's lap.

Mansk glanced down at you with a grin, his eyes trailing over the curve of your tail. He lowly chuckled, "I could get used to this. Not every day you get a warm spot and a cozy tail.”

All your life has been a sequence of standing in the place between. Between brothers and sisters, between peace and war, between a forest that loves you and a family that never quite feels like it was meant for you.

The disconnection began when you and your brothers started to grow up. Jake had begun to shut you out of everything.

Your mother, never really there for you, always focused on your siblings. The only person whose connection to you had not severed was Tuk, and still, you knew that the day would come—because it always did.

It happened with Lo’ak, it happened with Neteyam, it happened with Kiri, and it happened with your parents.

You sit silently slouched over some weapon crafting material, hands skimming the string, testing it. Your father sits just a few feet away, helping your brothers and Kiri craft their own bows. “Dad, can you help me?” you murmur, “i cannot attach the string to the—”

“Y/n— can’t you wait? I’m helping Kiri.”

“Okay,” you say evenly, nodding even though he is not looking. “And when you are done?”

“Sure.” He says, voice rough, lips tight.

One minute passes, then two, he seems to forget that you’d even called out for him in the first place. So you figure it out yourself.

Even Tuk’s glance, soft and slightly knowing, can’t erase the hollow ache curling in your chest. You bury it under the weight of your work, under the sound of strings snapping into place and wood being sanded smooth.

Tuk comes from behind you, hands already on your shoulders, peeking over them to see your work. “Y/n…can I tryyy?”

“Not now, Tuk. I am not finished.”

“Are you having trouble?”

“No.” You say, quicker than you should have. Tuk’s frown is instant, tiny hands loosening around your shoulders.

You set the materials aside and take her little hands in yours. “I am busy.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

Your mother crosses into the large space of your home, eyes skimming briefly over you before focusing on other things.

When her eyes land on Tuk, they narrow slightly. “What did you do?” She asks you immediately, your shoulders tense as everybody looks up from their laps, all eyes falling over you.

“Nothing, I am just crafting the bow—she would not leave me alone.”

“She should not have to. Do not treat her as if she is a burden. Let her try.” Your mother says.

You can only sigh, handing Tuk the crafting materials sharply. “There,” you murmur.

Your mother gathers whatever it is she needed and remains outside, close enough to hear everything being said inside. you take the components of your unfinished bow back immediately and continue to work.

Only, Tuk does not complain this time, she just watches your hands as they skim wood and sometimes tug at the strings too hard.

“You are doing it wrong.” She teases.

“I am not,” despite everything, you smile.

“Seriously, Neteyam showed me-“

“I said I am not!” You snap, your voice cutting louder.

Instantly, your fathers voice echoes across the space. “Hey!” The single word cracks through the air like a whip.

You freeze, Jake is already on his feet, anger flaring quick and hot. “Don’t you talk to her like that.”

Everybody freezes. Tuk flinches slightly beside you. Your chest tightens, legs pulling in at your side. “I told her that I was busy.”

“She’s a kid!” He snaps, stepping closer. “Your sister. You don’t yell at her because you’re frustrated.”

“I did not- I am not frustrated.”

“But you did, and yes you are angry!” he yells, voice rising. “And you’re taking it out on your siblings.”

Something inside of you twists like a vault, sharp and sudden. “I just wanted to finish something without being interrupted,” you murmur, hands shaking slightly as you try to focus.

Before he can respond, a new voice cuts through. “What is happening here?” Your mother stands at the entryway, and before you can say anything, your father steps up.

“She snapped at Tuk.”

“No-” you sigh, “she kept getting in the way of things. I was just trying to finish my bow!”

“So you raise your voice at her?” Your mother asks.

“Yes.”

“She just wants to learn, is that a crime?” Your father chimes in.

“I am learning too!” You snap. “I just want to finish my work!” You stand now, breathing heavily.

“Y/n, apologize. Now.” Your mother crosses her arms, waiting.

You shake your head and crouch to gather your things, brushing past your parents carelessly and moving toward the doorway.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jake asks, but you ignore him., continuing to move.

You find yourself sitting stiff on a smooth rock, fingers still pulling at the stupid string that got you here in the first place.

The noise inside the marui fades slowly, piece by piece, until it is replaced by the low hum of night insects and the distant rush of water.

Jake steps outside, arms crossed, jaw tight. Staring out into the darkness as if it might offer him some answers.

Of course it doesn’t. He exhales through his nose, long and controlled, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders.

“Daddy?” The voice is small.

He turns, already softening. “Hey baby girl.”

Tuk steps closer, hands clasped behind her back the way she does when she’s thinking too hard about something.

“What’s up?” He asks, crouching a little so that he’s closer to her height.

She doesn’t answer right away, just looks at him—studying. Then, she speaks, “do you love Y/n?”

The question lands wrong, too direct, and too easy. Jake blinks, caught off guard. “What kind of question is that?”

Tuk shrugs, it is not her usual, playful shrug—this one is careful. “You always say you love us, all of us.” She says quietly.

“I do.” He answers immediately. “Of course I do.”

“But…” she hesitates, eyes dropping for a moment before lifting again. “you don’t talk to her the same, that’s it.”

That hits harder than anything that was said inside. Your father’s expression tightens. “Tuk-“

“You sometimes get bad at her faster,” she continues, words a little quicker now, like she’s afraid she won’t get them out otherwise. “You always listen to Kiri, sometimes Lo’ak, and Neteyam.”

He flinches, barely.

“But you don’t really listen to her.” She finishes with a sharp exhale, as if she’d been holding those very words for decades.

A long pause stretches—then, finally, “I am trying to keep this family together.” Jake says, voice lower.

“Everyone is under pressure, baby…I can’t-“

“Maybe Y/n is as well.” Tuk interrupts, almost a whisper. “You just don’t look.”

That stops him completely, here he is, learning about his middle child from his youngest, learning things he should have already known.

“She tries really hard, I can see it. Nobody else does.”

Jake looks away then, out into the trees again. Trying to avoid what’s sitting in front of him. “I know,” he says after a moment, but it does not sound as certain as it should.

Tuk steps closer, tiny hand reaching for his, he lets her take it. “Maybe you should tell her, daddy.” she says.

He glances down at her. “Tell her what?”

“That you love her.”

Tuk says it so simply, like it should be easy. Jake’s throat tightens slightly, his grip on her little hand shifting.

“I think she forgot.” Tuk adds.

That one lands deep, for a second, he doesn’t speak at all. The sounds of the forest fill the space between them, thick and alive, but it does nothing to ease the quiet weight settling in his chest. “..yeah,” he murmurs. “I’ll talk to her.”

Tuk nods, satisfied in that small way of hers. “Okay.”

She squeezes his hand once before letting go and walking back inside.

Your father stays where he is, still staring into the dark.

You remain silently seated on the same forest rock, fingers curled in the moss, legs dangling—your bow is finished beside you.

Nobody has come looking for you, and that’s all you can think about. Not the bow you finally built, just the fact that your own family forgets you like a story with a torn page.

You are always the one to watch as they share the love you were once a part of. The realization creeps in, you lean forward, your elbows resting on your knee caps, palms squeezing against your eyes.

You gasp sharply, then your cries escape like a weight you didn’t even know you had to bear, now it’s melting into soil. Your hands move away, letting the tears escape—your face is washed in secrets kept too deep, a baptism of everything you cannot say.

Your mind drifts once again, you, as a young girl- held in the arms of your parents, or you, curled up with your siblings, or- “whatever,” you murmur.

You hop off of the large stone, taking your bow, moving quietly through the forest. You test the bow by drawing it as far as possible and piercing right through a woven target—a forgotten one.

You spend the long night hours walking about the forest, drowning yourself with work, it’s not even close to dawn, and you’re still tired. Eventually, you go back to the village on your own, your kelku is quieter than usual when you step inside, not empty, just wrong.

It is the kind of quiet that feels like everyone is aware of something, but no one knows how to touch it. For a brief second, a few heads lift, then they go back down too fast.

You don’t say anything, you just move to your space, set down your bow carefully, and pick up whatever work is closest. Something unfinished, something that gives your hands a purpose so your mind doesn’t have to.

No one stops you, not your mother, or your father, not even Tuk. But your siblings notice the way your tail is unmoving. None of them bother to speak.

The silence stretches, it follows all of you into the night. Sleeping doesn’t come easy, despite your obvious fatigue.

The space feels too tight and too empty at the same time. between breathing, shifting, the faint sound of your family settling in—but none of it reaches you.

So you get up quietly.

By the time morning comes, you’ve already been working. Your hands move without thinking, sharpening, tying, adjusting. Anything that keeps you from stopping.

Anything that keeps you from feeling.

“You’re up early.” Jakes voice.

You don’t look up. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Your father watches you for a moment longer than usual this time, like he’s trying to figure something out—but he says the wrong things.

“You can’t keep doing that.”

He almost reaches for you, almost softens—but that quickly turns into authority all over again.

Your hands still slightly. “Doing what?”

“This,” he gestures vaguely, frustration already creeping in. “Running off every time something doesn’t go your way.”

“I didn’t run.” you cut in sharply, the words quicker than you intend. “I just left.”

Lo’ak, leaning against the doorway, snorts. “Left, ran, whatever. You’re too old to keep acting like this. Everyone else has real things to worry about.”

Your hands freeze on the bow. “Real things?” Your voice is louder now, shaking slightly. “Is it a real problem that I exist here, and you all ignore me?”

Lo’ak shrugs, too casual, almost bored. “Maybe if you weren’t so sensitive-“

“Sensitive?!” You snap, standing up, heat curling in your chest. “I am not sensitive! I am tired! Tired of being invincible to you all. Tired of being treated like I’m nothing until I explode!”

Jake steps closer, tension rolling off of him. “Y/n. I am trying-“

“No!” You yell, spinning to face him. “You’re trying for everyone else! You listen to Kiri, you listen to Neteyam, but not me!”

Kiri, standing at the doorway beside Lo’ak watches closely, eyes rolling. “Well maybe if you weren’t always running away or sulking, people would notice you more.” She says.

The words hit like a whip. Your chest tightens, everything twists inside. “I am done” you murmur, voice low but trembling. “Done trying to matter to people who don’t see me.”

Jake opens his mouth, frustrated, angry, but no words land. You brush past him, Kiri and Lo’ak, ignoring the shocked looks, the unspoken guilt, the tension in the room.

Without another word, you move towards the doorway, shoulders rigid. You don’t even stop to grab anything, you just make your way out.

“Y/n-“ Jake calls after you.

But you don’t stop. The hut is suddenly emptier than it’s ever been.

You don’t notice the hours passing, moving through the forest in a quiet rage, letting the night swallow your footsteps. By the time night is a blue smear over the horizon, your limbs ache, your hands smell of wood and bowstring, but you feel somehow more yourself than you have in weeks.

Your family is seated, together in the hut, spending quality time with one another. Jake’s voice breaks the silence in a soft whisper. “Tuk told me something. Last night.”

Your mother stills, moving closer so that your siblings do not hear. “What?”

Jake hesitates, but not for long. “She thinks Y/n might have forgotten that we love her.”

Neytiri inhales sharply. For a moment, she cannot speak. Her jaw tightens, her ears lowering slightly, the weight of it settling in her chest all at once.

“She did not forget,” Neytiri says at first—quick, instinctive, but it doesn’t sound certain.

Jake looks at her then, really looks—and realizes she’s already further ahead than he is, already understanding what this means.

Your Mother sets the materials in her hands aside, more abruptly than she intends. “All this time..” she murmurs, almost to herself. “She stands there, and we let her.”

Neytiri shakes her head, already moving toward the entrance. “We will not let that be the truth she carries.”

There is urgency in your mom now, emotion pushing through control. “We can remind her now.”

Your father nods, solemn.

The forest still breathes when they leave. Not peacefully, but alive.

Not peacefully—but alive in that quiet, watchful way it gets after conflict. The air is thick, holding onto the last echoes of raised voices, of things said too sharply, too late.

Jake and Neytiri move quickly through the trees, their pace urgent, focused on you. Not the village, or the others.

“She went east,” Neytiri says, voice tight, already scanning the ground, the branches, the smallest disturbances.

Your mother stills, but her body does not fully obey her. Her hands tighten around nothing, fingers curling as if they are trying to hold onto something that is no longer there.

The sounds of the forest blur for a moment, fading beneath something older, something softer.

A memory, it comes uninvited. You are small again. Much smaller than the others ever seemed to be. Your limbs all softness and curiosity, your steps uneven as you try to follow her through the roots of the forest.

“Ma’ite,” Neytiri had called gently, glancing back at you. “Stay close.”

You had nodded quickly, too quickly, determined. Always determined.

A root caught your foot, you stumbled forward with a small cry, hands scraping against the ground. Not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to startle you.

Neytiri had turned at the sound, but not fully. Because Neteyam had called for her at the same time. “Mother, look!”

Something about his voice.. pride, excitement, it pulled her attention. Just for a moment Just long enough that when she looked back, you were already pushing yourself up.

You did not cry, or reach for her. You were just quiet.

Your little hands brushed the dirt off your palms, clumsy but practiced, like you had already learned that no one would always be there to do it for you.

Neytiri had stepped toward you then. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head quickly. “No.”

She remembers that now, the way you did not look at her when you said it. The way your shoulders stayed slightly hunched, like you were holding something in.

But Neteyam had spoken again, tugging at her attention, and the moment passed as easily as breath.

She had let it pass.

The memory snaps away just as quickly as it came. Jake nods, jaw set. “She couldn’t have gotten far.”

But there’s something unsettled in his tone.Because deep down he knows you could.

They move faster, the forest parts around them, familiar, guiding—but something feels off. It all felt too quiet and too still.

then a high, distant sound. Your father freezes mid step. Your mother turns sharply toward the sky.

The scream of something tears through the air. “Move!” Jake tries to warn the villagers from where he is, but it is too late. The missile hits.

The explosion rips through the village behind them, a violent bloom of fire and sound that shakes the ground beneath their feet. Light flashes through the trees, unnatural and blinding.

Creatures flee and everything alive reacts. “No!” Neytiri’s voice breaks into something raw, already turning back. Jake doesn’t hesitate this time. “Go!”

They run.

Back at the village, it’s chaos. Flames devour the edges of huts. Smoke coils thick into the sky. The sound of sky peopl weapons cuts through everything—sharp, mechanical, wrong.

People scatter, some fighting, some trying to pull others to safety. And then you arrive at the edge like a shadow.

Silent. still and watching. Your chest rises and falls once, then you lift your bow. Everything else disappears, you move along the outer edges, slipping between trees, using darkness and smoke like armor.

Your arrows fly, clean and precise. A Sky Person drops before they even understand what hit them.

You don’t stop, you shoot many more. Your movements are sharp, controlled—every shot intentional.

There is no hesitation here, no second guessing, no waiting for someone to notice you. This is where you exist.

Inside the chaos, Jake is commanding, pulling people back, redirecting fighters. “Fall back! Move the children now!”

Your mom is already ahead of him—faster, deadlier. Every arrow she fires finds its mark, but neither of them sees you.

You’re too far out like always. A sky person turns, weapon lifting. You draw faster, but the release is too slow. The crack splits the air, you don’t even register the sound properly.

Just the impact, it hits your side hard enough to spin you. Your breath vanishes instantly as you’re thrown off balance, crashing into the ground. The world tilts, blurs.. your bow slipping from your grip before you can snatch it back.

For a second, you feel nothing. No pain, just ringing silence. Then, it comes. Your body folds slightly, a sharp, broken inhale tearing through your chest as something hot and deep ignites in your side.

Your hand moves instinctively, it presses—just enough pressure, but it is wet. You look down, your hand is dark, shaking.

Your jaw clenches tight, you force yourself up, every movement slower now, tighter. You pick up your bow again, and you keep fighting.

You don’t let yourself stop, you don’t even let yourself think. You move through the pain, through the heat, through the way your body is starting to feel heavier than it should.

You hit another demon, another target. Another breath you almost lose. By the time the sky people retreat, you’re barely steady.

But you’re still standing, so it doesn’t matter. You leave before anyone can see.

The village slowly regathers itself. Smoke drifts through what remains. The fires are being put out. Voices are lower now.. shaken, exhausted.

Jake moves quickly, checking everyone. “Tuk?”

“I’m here!” She says, running into his arms. He pulls her in, relief flashing across his face.

Lo’ak, Kiri, Neteyam. He checks them, one by one—everyone is safe and alive. “Where’s Y/n? did anybody see her?" he asks suddenly.

There’s a pause, a long one. Your siblings exchange hesitant looks. Neytiri’s head lifts slightly, eyes closing. “She is not here.” She sighs.

Jake’s chest tightens. “Damn it-” They don’t wait this time, they move to leave again—to find you.

Another distant rumble sounds, not as close.. but enough to make them pause.

Your father looks back. The village is still vulnerable, still recovering. There are injured villagers, children crying.

Not safe, your mother sees it too, Jake’s pull back, his silent choice to stay. He exhales sharply, jaw tightening.

“We secure the village first,” he says, voice firm but strained. Your mother doesn’t argue.. and they turn away.

You come back alone, the village is different now, of course it is, it is quiet, and cold. Your steps are slower, but still steady, your hand never leaves your side, pressed tight and holding everything in.

You move toward your hut, walking in on just your family. You hold yourself together, not crying, whimpering, not even a limp. You just walk to your space and set your things down.

Night falls so fast. The sounds of the village dims into something mute and distant. Soft footsteps, the crackle of what little fire remains.

Inside the hut, your family settles again. Slow and careful, as if everyone is pretending things are normal.

You sit in your hammock, unmoving. Your hand is still pressed to your side and it hasn’t left. At some point, the others lie down. One by one, the shift of bodies, the quiet murmurs, the slow rhythm of sleep beginning to take hold.

No one looks at you long enough to notice that you sit holding yourself together with just your palm. Besides, they are all sleeping.

You lay down gently on your side, knees drawn in slightly. the ache in your side grows sharper and hotter, gnawing at you until it’s unbearable. Try to ignore it at first, thinking you can will it away, thinking no one needs to see you like this.

But it only spreads, twisting deeper, coiling into panic. A strangled gasp escapes, sharp and sudden. You bite your lip, trying to keep it back, but the pain wins. “Dad…!” The cry is desperate, high, cracking in your throat.

It cuts through the quiet of the night, and it shakes your small body. You press your hand harder, sobs breaking through as your body trembles uncontrollably. “Dad, please…”

“Daddy I didn’t mean to- earlier. Dad, I didn’t!” You cry, wondering if he’s hearing you, if he’s awake. “Dad?”

“Yeah?” His voice is thick with sleep, but awake.

Your sobs tear free uncontrollably, raw and unfiltered.

“Y/n..” he murmurs, the sound of him moving fast reaches your ears, the thud of his feet against the woven floor, the rustle of his body as he reaches for you.

Your eyes flutter for one second and he takes your wrist immediately, uncovering the wound. “Oh my- why did you hide this, baby?!”

“I don’t- I’m sorry! I- I thought you’d be angry!”

He frowns deeply, the sounds of your cries rouse your siblings and mother awake, they hesitate for a moment.

“What’s going on” Lo’ak says groggily.

“Who is crying?” Kiri says.

Neteyam is the first to join Jake’s side, hands reaching for your face. “Stay with us.” He says firmly.

You cry, squeezing your father’s arm. Your mother rushes over, brushing carefully past Neteyam and gripping your shoulders, forehead against yours.

Your body is still shaking, breaths breaking apart as pain pulses through your side.

But the pain doesn’t just sit in your side—it pulses through everything, sharp and consuming, stealing the air from your lungs in broken pieces. Your fingers clutch at your father’s arm like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

“stay with me,” Jake says, but his voice is different now, not sharp, not impatient. It’s unsteady.

He is afraid.

His hands hover for a second like he doesn’t know where to touch without hurting you more—then one settles against your cheek, grounding, warm. “Look at me. Y/n.”

You try but your vision blurs, tears mixing with the haze, but you force your eyes open just enough to find him. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to make you mad.” Your voice fractures under the weight of it.

that’s what breaks his heart. “no, hey,” he shakes his head quickly, pulling you closer without thinking, like he’s trying to hold you together himself. “You’re not- I’m not mad. I’m not mad at you.” His voice drops, rough, thick. “Never.”

Your breath stutters again, body curling tighter despite the pain.

Beside him, Neytiri is already moving, fast, precise, hands firm but gentle as she inspects the wound. The moment her fingers press near it, her expression changes.

Fear. “She’s losing too much blood,” Neytiri says sharply, but her voice trembles at the edges. “Why did you not come back sooner? Why did you not tell us?”

You don’t answer because you honestly can’t. Because the answer is sitting right there between all of you, unspoken but louder than anything.

Because you didn’t think anyone would notice.

Neteyam’s hands stay steady on your face, his forehead pressing briefly against yours. He speaks low, urgent, “You’re okay. You hear me? You’re staying.”

Lo’ak is frozen a few feet away, guilt hitting too late, too hard. He doesn’t speak at first—just stares at the blood on your side like he doesn’t understand how it got there.

Kiri’s arms wrap around herself, her earlier words hanging between you two like something rotten. She looks at you now and her voice comes out smaller than ever before. “Y/n,”

From the other side, tiny hands grab onto your arm. “Y/n…” Tuktirey whispers, already crying again. “You’re gonna be okay, okay?”

Your grip tightens weakly around your father’s hand. “Dad…” you whisper again, softer now, like you’re slipping somewhere he can’t follow. “ I tried to be good. To fight back.”

His entire expression crumples. Something inside Jake gives way completely. “Hey- no, no, no,” he breathes, shaking his head. “You don’t have to try to earn that. You hear me? You never should have.”

His voice cracks fully, openly now. “I love you.”

The words come out like they’ve been trapped for too long. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it. I’m sorry I didn’t show it-“ his grip tightens, almost desperate, like if he lets go you’ll disappear, “but you don’t get to leave thinking you had to fight for a place in this family. You already have one. You always have.”

Your breath hitches. For just a second the pain dulls under something else, something warmer.

Neytiri moves, pressing cloth firmly to your wound, her hands steady even as her voice softens when she leans close to you. “Stay with us, ma’ite. stay.”

“Sa’nu..” you sigh, eyes softening just briefly. Your body trembles again, but this time your hand doesn’t just clutch your side. it shifts, weakly, until it presses against your father’s.

Around you, everything is different now. The silence that once ignored you is gone. replaced by voices, by hands, by urgency, and by a fear of losing you.

By love that came too late. but not too late.

You wake up wrapped in comfy sheets and the same clothes you were shot in. Herbal smoke drifts in the air like the song of a new day, the sun casting gold streaks across the hut.

Your entire family is asleep around you, you stir faintly, reaching for the bowl of water, but it drops from your weak hands.

You wince slightly as your siblings and parents stir, your father is alarmed and stands too quickly, “Y/n.. baby, you okay?”

“Yes. I need water.”

He stands, scooping up the bowl and filling it with water. He puts the bowl to your lips and tilts it slightly, filling your mouth with water.

When you’re done drinking, you look down and notice the bandaging at your middle. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“Three days.”

“Three? I should be okay to walk.” You try to stand, but Jake physically holds you back, guiding you down gently.

“Not yet. We’ll work on that together, okay?”

“Why? I mean, three days..”

“Yeah, three days of sleep.”

Your siblings and your mother are already awake behind your father.

Your mother is already closer than she’s ever been without you calling for her. Her eyes aren’t scanning the room, not checking on anyone else—they’re on you entirely. There’s something unsettled in them still, something guilty, but something else too.

She’s not looking away this time.

Tuk is the closest to you already, fingers brushing your arm softly. “I told you that you would be okay.” She smiles.

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you say.

Your mother steps closer now, slow, like approaching something fragile. Her hand lifts, hesitates for the briefest second—then rests against your hair, smoothing it back from your face.

The gesture is so soft it almost hurts more than the wound. “You do not decide that alone anymore,” she says quietly.

No sharpness or correction. Just the truth.

Behind her, Lo’ak finally speaks, voice rougher than usual. “That was.. stupid,” he mutters.

Neteyam shoots him a look.

“What?” Lo’ak adds quickly, but it’s weaker now. “Not- not like that. I just mean-” he exhales, frustrated with himself, then finally looks at you. “You should’ve said something.”

Kiri shifts beside him, arms uncrossing slowly. “We didn’t make it easy,” she admits, quieter than you’ve ever heard her.

That one settles deeper and no one rushes to fill the silence after that.

Your father’s hand squeezes your shoulder slightly. “We’re gonna do better,” he says.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Tuk leans into you more, her head pressing gently against your arm. “You didn’t forget, right?” she murmurs.

You blink. “Forget what?”

She tilts her head up at you, eyes wide but certain. “That we love you.”

The question hangs there—but it doesn’t feel as heavy as it did before. Because now you have something to measure it against.

You glance around the room again. At your father, who hasn’t let go. At your mother, who hasn’t looked away. At your siblings, who are still here—with you, not around you.

Your fingers tighten slightly around Tuk’s hand. ““No,” you say, voice quiet, but steady.

Their love has never been forgotten, just hard to see. Your father exhales, something in him easing at that. He leans forward just slightly, pressing his lips briefly against your forehead—careful of the bandages, careful of you.

“We’ll make sure you don’t have to wonder again,” he murmurs.

And this time, it doesn’t feel like something you have to earn.

Weeks of healing and your families tentative care pass, your father helps you walk, your siblings bring you refreshments without you having to ask, and your mother stays by your side.

She sings to you your songcord at night, she rebraids your hair when she notices that they need fixing, she steadies you when your nightmares become too much to handle, and for once—she isn’t choosing someone else entirely over you.

You are theirs, and they continue to make sure that you see it and feel it. You are no longer standing in between, you are finally, undeniably held.

Pete Mitchell never set out to be a father.

He had every intention of using his navy pay cheques to fund an eternal bachelor lifestyle. Impressing women with that charming smile, bringing them to expensive restaurants, and then to the condo he rented in whatever city he’d been stationed in. 

Seeing the carnage left in the wake of Nick Bradshaw’s death only solidified his desire to remain childless. There was a gaping hole left in Carole Bradshaw’s heart and Bradley’s life that Pete could only hope to help bridge. He could never be Goose. Goose was an infinitely better man that he could ever hope to be. But he’d try, until his dying breath, to be what they needed of him. 

That was all he had room for in his life. Flying, and the debt he felt he owed to the Bradshaw's.

Four years after losing his RIO, graduating Top Gun and leaving Charlie Blackwood behind like so many before her, he was back in Fightertown. Before the first day of his posting, he went to the bar. Like pieces in a puzzle, everything that evening came together to create the picture of an accidental pregnancy and an absentee father. Pete had gotten his wallet stolen the week before. When he bought a new one, he’d been so pre-occupied in replacing his ATM cards and IDs but didn’t think to replace the condom he typically carried it in the bill compartment like a teenager in a coming of age movie from the eighties. He was a few drinks in, and could’ve sworn the woman said she was on the pill. Normally, he’d still wear the condom, out of an abundance of caution, an extra layer of armour to protect his lifestyle. That night, though, he was just desperate enough to forgo it.

A few weeks later, he began receiving calls from a number that seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place. They called once a day for nine days before leaving a message.

“Pete, I don’t know if you even remember me, but it’s Paula. Please call me back.”

When he’d heard that voice on his answering machine he raised a brow. Sure, he’d remembered the night they shared. He wasn’t so callous as to forget people so quickly. But, he found it odd she was calling. He’d been called by women he’d gone out with before, but she’d seemed to be on the same page. If anything, she seemed more eager than he was to keep things casual.

He called her back, and she picked up on the first ring, as if she’d been waiting for it.

“Pete?” Her voice shook, from the other end of the line.

“Yeah, it’s me, Paula.” He replied, the confusion evident in his tone.

“Look, I know we wanted to keep things casual, but could we maybe meet? There’s something I have to tell you.” The words flew at him fast, barely intelligible. He paled at the question. She wanted to meet up? Oh no.

“Oh God, Paula don’t tell me you have some venereal disease or something?” His hand rose to push his hair back as he paced back and forth, landline in hand.

“What? No, what the hell Pete? Just please, please meet with me somewhere. As soon as you can.”

“Paula, can you please just tell me now, what could we possibly have to talk about?”

“I’m pregnant, dick.”

Pete could’ve sworn the floor fell out from beneath his feet, sending him into a pit of alligators ready to eat him alive. As far as Pete was concerned, this was the end of his life as he knew it.

Pete Mitchell was never meant to be a father. 

Over the years, you’d grown used to barely seeing your father. When you were younger, you’d forget his face in between visits from how long apart they were. You didn’t hate him, it was more indifference. In your mind, you simply didn’t have a father. You had a man named Pete Mitchell who would drop by sporadically and who shared similar features, but it was your mother who gave you everything and more. 

That changed on your fifteenth birthday. Your mother was in her study after you’d had dinner with her and your grandparents. It was a week-day so you’d have a birthday party with friends that coming Saturday. The door was cracked, as she always left it in case you called out to her. From your bedroom, where you sat finishing up some homework, you heard muffled sobs. You set your workbook on the floor, and quietly made your way in the direction from which the noise came. When you peeked through the door, you saw a photo on your mother’s bulky desktop computer. One of Pete, Bradley, and Carole. 

At that moment, you saw the cruelty that laced Pete’s actions. You saw how ruthless he was in his disregard for not only you, but your mother. You weren’t an idiot. You saw how your mother’s face dropped when she told the hostess the fifth member of your party couldn’t make it. She hadn’t mentioned inviting you, but she never did for fear of getting your hopes up only to leave you disappointed. This— seeing your mother cry at the photograph of Pete and his quasi-family instead of with you— was what set you over the edge.

Any shred of respect you held for Pete Mitchell was gone now. He was nothing.

The next few events that came around that Pete would normally visit for, you’d asked your mother not to invite him. After she tried to convince you that you didn’t have to cut him off ‘for her sake’, you finally wore her down and had her concede. If he didn’t respect her, he didn’t respect you. Anyone who didn’t respect you both had no place in your life, as far as you were concerned. 

Eventually, he stopped reaching out. Not that he did it frequently to begin with, but the ‘hey kiddo’ texts that used to hit your phone bi-annually stopped not long before you turned sixteen. 

When you graduated high-school, you decided to attend San Diego City College so you could stay home in Coronado and save on rent. Your mom had a friend who ran a bar on the beach, who was kind enough to give you a job as a bar back until you were old enough to officially bartend.

College wasn’t going well. The path you’d thought you wanted turned out to be a bust, leaving you in limbo as far as your future was concerned. You dropped out after your sophomore year, deciding to take some time to consider before returning. When you finally turned twenty-one and were able to bartend, you fell in love with it. You found that military men loved to tip the pretty young bartender and used it to your advantage, as creepy as it was. You made decent money doing something you enjoyed, so you didn’t see the harm in just seeing where it took you. 

It made you feel good. You didn’t like to admit it, but feeling needed like that healed a small part of you. The way everyone vied for the bartender’s attention on a Friday night made you feel desirable in a way that was foreign to you.

Eventually, you were able to move into a small apartment that met your needs in the East Village, and you truly enjoyed your life. You still visited your mom, almost every day and would spend most of your spare time at the beach, watching the waves roll in. You loved your life, truly. Some of your friends were constantly trying to set you up with men they knew and swore you’d like, but your life was undoubtedly what you wanted right now. You refused to bend that just for the sake of having a man in your life. Not only had you seen your mother brought to tears by a mere man, but you’d seen your friends make up excuse after excuse for the poor treatment they received from their partners. You had no interest in experiencing that for yourself. 

Life went on, you continued working at the bar, and exploring possibilities for your future. One day, you walked into work and your boss looked at you, a mournful look on his face. 

“Hey, kid.” He said with a sigh.

“Oh my god, are you firing me?”

“I wish this wasn’t the case, kid. But, my parents need me to move closer to them. My mom had a fall last week and my dad’s been trying to take care of her, but he just can’t keep up. I’m selling the bar.”

Your heart sunk. Sure there were other bars on the island, but you loved this one. You held a special place in your heart for it, and the independence it had given you.

“But!” He continued, seeing the sadness that decorated your features. “The woman I’m selling it to, Penny Benjamin, I’ll talk to her about taking you on. Tell her you’re the best there is, and she’d be a damn fool not to hire you.”

You nodded, as he offered you a familial pat on the shoulder and told you to take all the time you needed before you officially got started. “But not too long,” he winked, “it is Friday after all.”

You tried to work as usual, the comfort of knowing you’d be personally recommended was the only thing quelling the looming anxiety that lay deep in your stomach.

True to his word, your boss had recommended you. Like the angel she was, Penny agreed to hire you. You grew to work together like a well-oiled machine. Knowing what each other were thinking without needing verbal communication, getting each other out of sticky situations with weird men, and coming to care for each other deeply.

Neither of you knew the other had been slighted by Pete Mitchell. Penny knew you weren’t in contact with your father, and you knew that Penny had been involved with a few aviators. But, until he showed up again at the bar, three years after Penny took over neither of you knew how closely linked your stories of woe were. 

That night, was full of dramatics you weren’t keen to relive. First, while you were polishing some glasses, you heard an eerily familiar southern drawl utter your name. When you looked up from the cup covered in stubborn fingerprints, you saw exactly what you expected. That blond head of hair, atop a face chiselled by the gods themselves wearing his signature cocky grin.

“Hey darlin’.” Jake. Fucking. Seresin.

“Jake.” You replied, monotone. “They revoke your Top Gun graduate status and making you do it all again?” 

“Please, if they revoked my status they’d have nothing left to show for the program’s success.” He replied, without missing a beat. You hate the way you almost smile.

“You at liberty to share why you’re here, then?” You asked, curiosity peaked.

“‘Fraid not, sweets.” There he goes again, those nicknames.

You and Jake had a rather disconcerting history. The first time you’d served him was a night you finished early. He’d offered to buy you a drink after your shift and one thing led to another. Another, in this case, meaning his bed. He was in town for another couple weeks after that, and you had developed a friendship. A friendship riddled with flirty banter and suggestive comments, but a friendship none-the-less. 

You saw Coyote walk through the door behind him and nodded in his direction as a greeting. You wordlessly opened two bottles and slid them Jake’s way, winking at Coyote as you told Jake you’d open him a tab.

You tried to rapid-fire the rest of your preparations, knowing that if Hangman was here, more were surely close behind.

You and Penny, like always, worked in sync to provide fast and efficient service. Once the orders had hit a slight lull, everyone having moved onto the activities spread throughout the bar, you spotted a pretty nasty looking puddle in the corner near the dart-board. There were shards of glass scattered throughout it, so you sighed and told Penny you’d go clean up the spill that nobody bothered to inform you of. 

“Who did this?” You asked, a hand on your hip as you looked at Coyote and Jake like schoolboys who needed scolding. When Coyote looked nervously towards Jake, “Javy… not you. You’re supposed to be the good one.” You said, with a sigh, as you began to clean up the area. As you walked away, after sweeping up the glass, to get the mop bucket Penny called out your name.

“Go ahead a take a bit of a break, after that honey. Come back when it picks back up.” She said, with a fond smile. You nodded, and worked towards finishing the cleaning before Jake waved you over to the pool table they’d migrated towards. 

“Hey slacker. Left Corner.” Jake said, smirking at you before sinking the 8-ball with his eyes locked on yours and winning his game against Coyote.

“Did you wave me over for something, or did you just want to show off?”

“Just heard Penny mention break, is all. Didn’t want you running off.” He said, walking up to face you. Only inches apart. Suddenly, he looked up. “Well if it ain’t Phoenix.” The next few minutes were a flurry of introductions, as you sunk into the shadows trying to escape the conversation. There was a strange tension that you, admittedly, weren’t fond of.

As you heard the bell ring, indicating someone was buying a round, you hastily made your way back behind the bar knowing it was about to get significantly busier. When it was busy at the bar, it was like you developed tunnel vision. You zeroed in on what needed to be done and paid little attention to anything else. 

You didn’t know that the drinks you were pouring were being funded by Pete Mitchell. He didn’t know you were the bartender standing with your back to him on the other side of the round bar. Looking back, it felt like there was something poetic to be said about him not recognizing the back of his own daughter’s head. Something profound to describe the distance between them, but really, you thought, that was too kind. That was merely you assigning beauty to the ugliness of his of absence. 

When it started to slow down ever so slightly, you heard the jukebox cut out. Now that silhouette you would recognize anywhere. That was Bradley Bradshaw. The man you’d been losing a silent battle with your entire childhood. The golden boy who was more valuable to your biological father than you yourself. You’d met him a year before, when he’d attended Top Gun the first time. You didn’t tell him who you were, but you saw on his face that he had put the pieces together. You shared more features with Pete than you cared to acknowledge.  He nodded to you, as if he was creating a silent understanding between you, but you were at a loss for what he thought you shared. He’d won. In your mind, he’d gotten everything you felt you lacked in childhood. What could he have possibly thought you two could bond over? Later, he told you what Pete had done, and you understood. You couldn’t believe Pete had tarnished the sanctity of not only one but two parent/child bonds. Or maybe you could, you weren’t sure.

You’d been so distracted, staring at Bradley’s back as he played a few keys on the old piano Penny had in the bar, you jumped when the bell rang yet again. Shouts of “Overboard!” replaced the ringing in your ears as you turned to see who the unlucky person was. Your stomach dropped as you saw that being carried in your friends’ arms, was none other than Pete Mitchell. He was smiling at Penny, before his eyes quickly flicked to meet your own. The smile remained for a moment before recognition flashed across his features, and it dropped faster than a baseball thrown from an MLB pitcher.

That night, while you were closing, Penny asked you what had happened. Your vibe had shifted after the Overboard, she noted. You told her. The man who’d been thrown overboard was your father. You weren’t even sure how, while living in Coronado, you’d managed to avoid him so long. It was truly a miracle. 

“What? Pete has a daughter? He never mentioned that.” She said, with a raised eyebrow as she continued wiping down the bar top.

“Yeah, salt in the wound, Pen. Thanks.” You said, with a humourless chuckle. 

“I’m sorry, I just… wow.” She said, resting a maternal hand on your shoulder.

“Yup,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “It’s whatever, I just was surprised to see him.”

“You don’t have to brush it off like that.” She said, voice stern but still laced with kindness.

“I don’t really know what else there is to it, Penny. He was a deadbeat. Really, he’s nothing to me.”

She sighed, and the two of you finished cleaning in silence after that. The next evening, you ran into Bradley at the grocery store. You both looked at each other like deers in headlights for a moment before he broke it by greeting you.

“Hey,” he said, your name feeling foreign on his tongue. “How, uh, how’ve you been?”

You laughed at how awkward the conversation felt. Like two kids whose moms were friends who were now forced to converse. “I’ve been fine, what about you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Um, Mav’s my instructor.” He said, quietly. “At, Top Gun. I got called back. Obviously.” 

“Oh,” you said, eyes widening. You didn’t really keep up with his naval career but from the tidbits you’d heard from your mom, you didn’t really ever think he’d be allowed in a position of authority. “That’s um, that’s gotta suck.”

“Yeah. No kidding.”

This was awkward. You knew this was awkward. He had to know this was awkward. Why were you both prolonging this suffering?

“Look, I… I know we don’t have any kind of connection really, but you feel like family in a… weird way. And I just - can I give you my number? If you ever need anything please just reach out.” He offered, scratching the back of his neck with the hand not holding a grocery basket. When you didn’t answer, he tried to lighten the mood. “I mean, you don’t have to. Of course. I’m not trying to make anything weird just maybe we could start a ‘Victims of Pete Mitchell’ support group, or something?”

Your lips curled into a tight smile as you tried to internalize what Bradley was saying. After a moment of contemplation, you nodded and reached for your phone. You handed it over and told Bradley, “I mean, I’d rather talk about anything other than him, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh, yeah sure. Wanna hangout sometime?”

And so you did. The two of you grabbed coffee after he finished work the next day and talked about anything and everything. The only exception being him.

You’d seen Pete a few more times before the mission. He’d been visiting Penny frequently and when he arrived in his dress whites the evening before they left, your heart broke for Penny. You really didn’t care about him, but you knew she did. So, you gave her a hug and told her you could handle the rest of the night on your own. She very reluctantly agreed and left with him.

The next day, while they were gone. You and Penny were getting ready to open the bar.

“You know, he told me he really regrets not being there for you.” She said, breaking the rhythm you’d fallen into.

“What?” You asked her, your hand freezing as you were halfway through wiping a table.

“He, he doesn’t know how to approach you but-”

“Yeah, well, he really shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry, I just wanted you to know that he-”

“Penny, please. I know you guys have this thing going on and that’s fine. But please leave me out of it.”

That was the first straw. The next, was upon their return. You were glad they’d succeeded with no lives lost on their end. From what you’d heard, which wasn’t much, that was nothing short of a miracle. You congratulated Jake on the kill he’d added to his belt and Bradley on his own as well as his survival. As you pulled away from your hug with Bradley, he told you he and Mav had made up.

You were getting tired of hearing about it. About how he’d changed. About how great he was. About how people forgave him. It was like they were only saying it expecting you to do the same.

You nodded, and returned to working behind the bar. Hoping you’d gotten away with it, you worked in peace for all of two minutes before a throat cleared behind you. When you turned, you were met with none other than Pete Mitchell. 

“Congratulations on the mission, Captain. What can I get for you?” You asked, keeping as much distance as possible. 

“Come on, can we talk, please?”

“Why? Amelia’s only thirteen, you got lots of time to be her dad, you don’t have to pretend to be mine.”

“I’m sorry. I know there’s nothing I can say or do but-”

“You’re right, there is nothing you can do. So just tell me your order, or I’m going to go help other people.”

He sighed, and remained silent, so true to your word, you moved onto serve other patrons.

The evening ran long, the celebrations making people rowdier than normal.

As you finished locking up, you jumped when you saw someone standing at the bottom of the steps. It was him again.

“Jesus! What do you want?” You asked aggressively, walking past him.

“Please, I want to apologize. I’m a different man now and I-”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps telling me.” You told him, spinning on your heel to meet his eyes.

“What?” He asked, confused.

“Bradley and Penny. I get it. You’ve made amends or whatever, but I gave up on you and your bullshit a long time ago.”

“Come on, please just hear me out I want a relationship with you. You’re my only kid.”

“Cry me a river, old man. Go play house with everyone else and leave me alone.” He responded by saying your name in an almost whiny way. “No! No, I’m not doing this. You may have everyone else eating out of the palm of your hand but you, Pete Mitchell, are the same man who left my mother alone. Who let her watch as you cared for another woman and another kid and left her to do this shit all by herself.”

“It wasn’t like that. I had a responsibility to them after Goose-”

“Yeah,” she said, cutting him off for the nth time this conversation, not wanting to hear what he has to say. “It’s kind of ironic how you felt such a deep responsibility to them but none to us. You got my mom pregnant and then left her in the dirt to run off with Carole and Bradley. You were a grown fucking man. Have some goddamn integrity and take some accountability I don’t wanna hear your sob stories. There’s nothing you can say to change what you did.”

You took a deep breath, and continued. “You don’t get partial credit for showing up now. The fact is you weren’t there. You dug this grave, now lie in it and stop acting like a victim when you were the one and only person responsible for everything that has happened.”

You didn’t hear what he said next. You didn’t care to. You only hoped he got the message loud and clear. 

Pete Mitchell was not your father. Pete Mitchell was nothing.

Your goal is to get the hell out of this house, start over a state away or something, maybe community college while working part time— a normal life for once. One of your own.

You’ve got some money saved in a private account, you don’t need anybody, except your grandma. If you needed to talk to someone, she’d be there. Always.

Your dress is still missing, but you slide on someone’s jeans, your underwear ruined and added to the list of things youre missing. Easing the dresser drawer open and stealing a shirt and flannel, maybe a pair of socks too so you weren’t walking barefoot.

You attempt to sneak down the steps but your legs buckle at the last two, a yelp escaping your lips as you trip on your own legs.

“Here comes the bride~” John hums which has Gaz laughing.

“Mornin beautiful, hope we didn’t hurt you too much.” And Gaz goes to help you up and snatch yourself away, stumbling into the end table behind you but using it to steady yourself.

“No, nooooo. Never. You guys- shit- you guys—“ you’re at a loss for words, face palming once more as heat rises underneath your skin, remembering what happened last night. “I’m great, I’m perfect! Never been better!” You nod to yourself as if it would make it true.

John takes a moment, taking the state of you in, then checking in with Gaz.

Worry is in the older man’s eyes, ends of them crinkling, “Really need t’ leave so soon dove?”

“I’m sure you guys, have things to do. People to see.”

“Just you, sweetheart. Just— focused on you.” Gaz says softly.

And you can hear your ‘ker-thunk’ so hard in your chest, it shakes you even more. The attention you’d been dying for years, was so easily given to you last night, even in this moment. It’s, you, you, you.

You shake your head, “I’m sorry, I’ve really wasted your time.”

“Not at all.”

“…And the man, the ex-“ John clears he throat, “Did you two- really get married, on paper—“

“—It was supposed to happen at the reception.”

And theres a hint of relief on both of their faces, much easier to snag you with a man who’ll be gone from your existence when there are no legal documents you have to fill out. 

You give them both a forced smile, a chuckle, “I’ve gotta go! I’ve fucked a lot- I mean, I fucked up a lot in the past 24 hours. I don’t think I can hold up the hate [+] brigade any longer than I have, and you guys- must have-“ you finally swallow down a breath, “a life or something! The four of you, It’s about that time, I have an appointment at the laundry mat- with the dentist.”

You’ve got John smirking, arms folding across his chest, “Funny thing this one is, yeah Gaz?”

“Look,” Gaz starts but there’s a honk of your taxi outside.

“I have to go-“ and you take a step to leave but he grabs your arm in time. Not rough but enough for him to bend down to meet your pretty brown eyes, sliding a card in your hand.

“You call, we’re there. Anytime love, promise.” Gaz sighs, fixing the girl on your head before ever so lightly caressing your face, “Still the prettiest bride we’ve ever seen.”

“Ghost ‘nd Soap will wreck havoc that we’ve let you go dove, we’ll have to meet again. All five ‘f us.”

You suck in a breath, biting your lip, “I-sill think about it.” Your eyes flicker to the both of them, lifting the card along with your phone. “Thanks again.”

It’s easy to let a bird go, much easier to let you think youre free, track exactly where you’re going and move from there. Of course the 141 wouldn’t let someone as perfect as you go. Not when you had your way with them last night, too addictive.

You fit right in with the four of them, Thry couldnt let you go now.

If you weren’t the right bride for your stupid ex—

You definitely would be for the 141.

He stared at you without responding, and there was a long pause of silence before your smile dropped into something smaller.

“Wait? Do you not sell?” You covered your mouth, “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing, they told me they bought from you before!”

“Relax, bird. I do.”

“Oh! Great, that’s great. Um, how much for an eighth?”

“On the house.” He smirked, digging through the back of his car.

“What?”

“First time buyer, gotta guarantee you like it.”

You caught the bag he tossed you with a shy smile on your face, humming. “Okay, thank you!”

Ghost watched you jog to your friends after that, holding the bag out to them with a proud smirk.

The next time you bought from him, you were all by yourself, jean shorts showing off your pretty legs.

“Hi.”

He chuckled, “You’re back.”

You leaned into the window, low-cut shirt clinging to the swell of your breasts.

“I am.” You smiled, “How much for an eighth this time, for real?’

“Already have some pre-rolls, you can just have ‘em.”

“Huh? No, I didn’t pay you last time!”

“No one ever wants the pre-rolls anyway,” He shrugs, he lies. “They’re cherry flavored.”

That sparks your interest, “Really? I didn’t know they did that.”

You hand him your phone then, “Put your number in, yeah? So, I don’t have to hope to randomly run into you to buy more.”

When he hands the phone back you laugh after reading the contact name, “Ghost? That’s your drug dealer name? Really?”

“Do you want free weed or not?”

You laugh louder this time, “Yes! Yes! I was just teasing. Thank you!”

You text him two weeks later, a stupid meme at that with beady eyes, ‘more, please sir?’

He hates the way it makes the corners of his lips twitch.

He’s mobile that day, and you send him your address with one too many exclamation marks tagged on the end. You run out in leggings and slippers, a giddy smile on your lips.

“Hi.”

He laughs, “Hi, bird.”

“I liked the pre-rolls!” You say excitedly, leaning into the window, “Never had those before.”

“Yeah? What you need today?”

“You have any more?”

He frowns a little, “Get in with me, I’ll roll you some.”

You open his passenger side door too willingly, “Oh good. I don’t know how to roll,” You confess, “My friends usually do it for me.”

His mouth dips into a smirk, “Yeah? ‘Ts not that hard, watch.”

You lean closer, eyes wide like he’s actually teaching you valuable information and not how to roll a joint.

“Gotta make sure to take out all the seeds and stems before you grind it.” You watch him grind it enraptured. “Gotta roll up the tip first, then, wrap the paper tight.”

You nod eagerly.

“Fill it with your flower, roll it upwards with your thumb to make your shape. Then,” He licks across the paper, “Seal it with the glued edge, and twist the tip.”

He holds it out to you, “There you go.”

You take it between your fingers with a soft smile, “Thank you.”

You text him three days later, a picture of a lopsided joint that he definitely didn’t sell you.

‘How’d I do?’

‘Looks like shit.’

‘That’s mean :(‘

‘Come over, let me help.’

‘On my way!’

You show up an hour later, the crooked joint in your hands. You sit on his couch with a frown.

“You know, I didn’t think it came out that bad.”

“Give it here.” He laughs, “You packed it up wayyy too much. Got too much at the end here too, didn’t tap it out.”

Still, he lights it, holding it out for you to smoke. You take it between your fingers, inhaling a small amount before coughing slightly. He smirks at your watery eyes, taking the joint from you to smoke it.

“Sorry,” You say, “I got my lip gloss on it.”

He chuckles, the tip glistening with the gloss, placing it in the corner of his lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

It tastes like your lip gloss. Strawberries and weed.

You take turns smoking it. Simon watches you the whole time, with lidded eyes, focused on the way your pretty lips curl around the joint. The way your chest rises with each inhale, your eyes becoming heavier and heavier, a lazy smile smeared across your lips as you lean closer to him on his old couch.

All he can think about is those lips wrapped around his cock and not the tip of the joint. And he’s definitely rock hard in his sweats, but he doesn’t care if you notice, not when you keep giggling at every bad joke he cracks.

He jerks himself off when you leave, promising you’ll be safe and text him when you get home. He finishes when your message pops at the top of his screen ‘made it safe :)’

He invites you over himself a week later because he’s got random inventory, he ordered them himself, of strawberry wraps and he’s certain you’ll like them.

You do like them. You’re melted into his couch, blinking lazily at him.

“How come you never charge me?” It’s a whisper.

He looks at you, the room dizzy with smoke and your pretty gaze.

“Never make pretty girls pay.”

“Oh?” You sound disappointed, “So, you give it free to other girls?”

He shakes his head, “Just you.”

You squint, “Are you only giving me free weed so you can get a lay?”

He smirks, “Is it working?”

You scoff, smacking him in the shoulder, “Unbelievable.”

He catches your wrist.

“You giving it to my friends for free too?”

“Careful,” He smirks, “You’re starting to sound jealous.”

You roll your eyes, trying to pull away from him. He keeps you close, tugging you into his lap so fast you have no choice but to slip onto his thighs. You don’t look at him, eyes focused to the side.

“Just you.”

You peer down at him then, “Huh?”

His fingers find your cheek, still burning from the embers of the joint, “You’re the only one I don’t charge.”

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“C’mere already.” He murmurs, pulling you down to kiss him.

You make a noise of surprise, like you hadn’t expected your smoke sessions to lead to this, with his cock pressed between your thighs eagerly, grip on your chin and hip to keep you close to him.

You kiss him back earnestly, smaller hands finding his shoulders. He loves it, fuck he loves the way your hands shake against his skin, the vibrations that leave your chest and fill his. He’s been dreaming about this since the moment you walked over in your tiny skirt.

Your bottom lip pops away from his, glistening with his saliva and not the lip gloss you insist on wearing.

“Wanted you to do that for ages.”

He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah?”

Your hips grind against his then, “Only reason my friends made me go was because I wouldn’t shut up about how hot you were.”

He presses his teeth against your neck, fingers making quick work of your belt and pants. “Came over with your ass and tits out, been jerking off to the memory ever since.”

You inhale sharply, “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter when his fingers find your cunt, squelching with the sound of your arousal. He dips one finger in, drawing a whimper from you, and god you’re so fucking warm. The weeds got you nice and lax, a small grin on your lips as he coaxes you with one thick finger and he's sure he's never wanted to fuck someone more.

Your grin turns into a broken cry when he adds another, lips quivering around the shape of his name. Ghost. Ghost?

His thumbs already on your lips, gaze strong on you, “Simon.”

You nod in quiet understanding, “Simon.”

There’s a sticky strip of arousal that clings to your panties when he slides them off your thighs and it takes everything in him not to bury his face below and smell.

You scramble to his sweats, tugging them down impatiently. He lifts his hips willingly, lets his strained cock smack against his abdomen angrily. You lick your lips when you see it, eyes wide at the sight.

He grips it by the base, thumb coming up to wipe at the precum spilling from the tip.

“Oh my god.” You groan, “Let me ride you, please.”

He slides lower on the couch, tapping your hips casually in agreement like he hadn’t been picturing you on top of him for weeks, “Go on.”

You rise to your knees above him, shaking hand grabbing his cock so lightly it makes his eyes flutter. You glide his tip along your seams until it snags at your entrance, and you make a soft noise when he pops through. You slide down eagerly as much as he holds your hips and grits through his teeth to take it slow.

Your head falls to his shoulder when you sink to the base, his head rolling to the back of the couch because you’re so fucking warm and tight, and the weed definitely isn’t helping because he’s feeling everything ten times worse.

And when you lift your hips, he swears he sees heaven between your thighs when you drop back down and your pussy makes an obscene squelch.

You bury your face in his neck, arms around his shoulders and just fucking go at it. Ass slamming against his so fast the room echoes with each slap. You whine high-pitched with each thrust like you aren’t the one setting the pace, like you aren’t the fucking yourself raw around his cock.

“Jesus, bird, slow down.” He grunts, fingers dimpling your skin.

He says it because your legs are shaking and there’s sweat beading on your chest, whimpers falling from your lips endlessly, but more so because he doesn’t want it to end this soon. When he hasn’t even laid you back properly to fuck you the way he had hoped.

You don’t listen well.

You just keep sloppily fucking yourself onto his cock because you’ve found the sweet spot, the one that has you on the brink of an orgasm.

His lips on your neck do it for you, your toes curling into his shitty ass couch when you break. You soak his balls then, pussy clenching so tight around him he has to bite down on his cheek so he doesn’t bust.

He’s already moving you to your back, finding a home between your thighs when you come back down. You don’t even argue, like the perfect thing you are, folding your own legs to his shoulders, and arching into the couch.

He slides in slow, and your pussy spreads for him so prettily.

“Fuck,” he drawls, “Listen to her, just fuckin dying for me to fuck her.”

You whine loud at that, hips bucking to get him to move. He doesn’t wait a second longer, thrusts so hard into you, you feel it in your toes and your legs straighten out in shock.

He fucks you slow and hard, pace languid from the weed pulsing in his veins. You like it, at least he thinks you do from the way you keep writhing under him, the beginning syllables of his name broken on your lips between every thrust.

When he leans forward, pressing your knees to your shoulders, you gasp in shock from the stretch, but then his tip snags against that spot in your cunt that melts your brain into mush, and your eyes just roll into the back of your head.

He smirks proudly, bullying his length against that spot until you’re pushing at hips, murmuring something along the lines that it’s too much.

He doesn’t stop.

You pulse around him when you cum a second time, sweet voice ripped from your throat, and turned into blinded pleasure when he stamps his thumb against your swollen clit. Your feet tense at his shoulders, fingers tight against the cushions.

He finishes inside of you then, head falling to your shoulder with a deep groan, hips fucking into you with each pump.