Olivia Harrington

Sometimes you hated this job.

Recombinant Support Officer, or RSO for short. Lots of fancy-sounding words for what’s basically the professional babysitter of the recombinant team Deja Blue.

Your days are a blur of running around playing manager, nurse, personal assistant and part-time waitress. You fetch whatever they demand, no matter if it’s protein sludge, ammo or a snack they suddenly need in the middle of a briefing. You check their vitals, patch up minor wounds, monitor their workouts and make sure they don’t forget to hydrate. You keep them healthy, combat ready and basically presentable enough to show off to command.

And when one of them snaps their fingers? You’re there, med kit in one hand and coffee in the other, trying not to roll your eyes too hard. They’re supposed to be the pinnacle of military engineering. Most days however, it feels like you’re wrangling giant, moody housecats with assault rifles.

The military calls this "critical operational support." You however just call it the longest, never-ending shift of your life…

Okay, you may be exaggerating a bit. Usually it’s not that bad.

You get to order around people, which is kinda fun when they’re these genetically enhanced badasses who’d rather glare than listen to anyone but you. You’re the one calling the shots on the small stuff, like when to eat, when to rest, who needs patched up first, so you get a little taste of power.

And yeah, you do get to see some insane action every now and then, when the squad actually gets sent out instead of just flexing in the lab. Makes the whole circus feel kinda worth it.

Sometimes they actually surprise you, too. Like when one of them cracks a joke or thanks you for keeping their sorry asses alive. That’s a win.

It's nice to know they need you. But that isn't the part that bothers you. No, what bothers you is that even though they’re blue and inhumanly tall, they’re still men.

And the thing about men is that they are all the same. No matter how big, how strong or how blue their skin was, they were still just men. Selfish, arrogant assholes who think the world owes them something. Even underneath all that superhuman bullshit that should make them look like earths hero’s, they’re just men with zero self-awareness and a serious touch of entitlement.

In their spare time, when they’re not roughhousing with each other, the soldiers tease and flirt like you’re some prize they’re trying to snag, tossing around dumb jokes and smirks like it’s all just harmless fun. You’ve had to shut down more than one awkward friendly shoulder squeeze or accidental hand linger. And they don’t even realize they’re being gross half the time!

So yeah, it’s nice to know they need you, that you’re as much part of the team that they feel comfortable around you. But the constant parade of unwanted attention? That’s the part that wears you down.

This was one of those weeks, the kind that seemed to stretch on endlessly, where every shift bled into the next and sleep became more of a vague memory than an actual necessity. Between running interference on squad drama and making sure none of your overgrown blue idiots forgot how to eat properly (no, a cigarette and beer doesn’t count as breakfast), you were running on fumes.

So that morning, the cafeteria was your sanctuary. Early, quiet, blissfully free of soldiers. Just you in a corner booth, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that was finally, mercifully hot. A very rare occurrence.

You were halfway lost in thought, mentally counting how many hours of sleep you’d missed this week, when the artificial light above your head suddenly vanished and a shadow fell over your table.

"Well, ain’t this my lucky mornin’."

You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was: "Colonel."

"Boss." With a sharp grin, Quaritch slid into the seat across from you without waiting for an invite, his long blue frame making the table look like it belonged in a dollhouse. "Up early I see."

You took a sip of your coffee. "I’m trying to have breakfast without an audience for once."

Quaritch’s grin widened, before he tipped his own coffee mug up in cheers. "Hell, I’m the whole damn show, sugar. Front row seats, backstage pass. Comes free with my company."

A dry laugh escaped you. "Generous offer. But I’m still not interested."

"That’s cold," he said, feigning injury with a hand pressed dramatically to his chest. "Here I am, brightenin’ your day and you’re gonna shut me down like that?"

This was nothing new. Quaritch had a way of circling conversations like a predator that already knew it had the upper hand. Among all the recombinants, he was easily the most persistent, needling with a mix of sarcasm, shameless flirting and just enough sincerity to make it difficult to tell where his game ended. Or where it was even headed.

"Quitting isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?" You joked lightheartedly, yet your chuckle came out more nervous than you intended.

"Not when I see somethin’ worth the effort." His tone was smooth, confident, as if the words were a statement of fact rather than an attempt at charm.

You couldn’t help but squirm in your seat at that.

Quaritch was still grinning, all teeth and arrogance. Sometimes you thought he must’ve been paid by the number of flustered looks he could wring out of you, because when it wasn’t teasing, it was this thick, shameless flirting that made you want to either laugh awkwardly and flee the scene or pour cold water over your head to regain some sense of control over your own body.

Because truth be told, it was betraying you. Every. Single. Time.

Unfortunately you knew just where unprofessional work affairs would get you. And Pandora was not one of those places.

The stakes were too damn high for that kind of stupidity. Getting caught flirting (or worse) with the Colonel wouldn’t just earn you a slap on the wrist. It’d get you a one-way ticket off Pandora, and not the cushy kind with severance pay and a nice shuttle ride home. No, it’d be the kind where you’re tossed out with a 'don’t come back' stamped on your record, reputation shot to hell before you even made it through the debriefing.

But this right here, this was exactly where your newest plan finally came into play.

Born out of equal parts desperation and self-preservation, you had went out and bought the cheapest fake diamond you could find in a rundown supply store tucked away in one of Bridgehead’s less glamorous corners.

Pretending to be married, or at least engaged, wasn’t exactly the dream solution, but it was certainly better than the constant parade of wandering hands and flirting that made concentrating on work seem impossible. Oh, and it would also hopefully protect you from loosing your job (and dignity) when a certain Colonel once again decided that you were his favorite past time activity in the base. Because, let’s be honest, a simple 'no' would not work on this man. Not that you were able to ever tell him that, once it really came down to business.

So, with a subtle clearing of your throat, you let your hand rest casually on the table, the ring catching the light just enough to draw attention.

And just as you thought, his eyes immediately dropped to it. Quaritchs smirk faltered for the briefest fraction of a second before he recovered. "Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t know ya‘ had a boyfriend."

"Fiancé," you correct, hiding your nervous smile behind your coffee mug.

He let out a low chuckle at that, shaking his head. "Huh. Bet he’s a lucky son of a bitch."

"Yeah," you said, quickly taking another slow sip. "He is."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s amazing how fast a simple band of metal changes the mood of team Deja Blue.

Only a couple of days later and the not-so-professional comments at work had dropped by half, the 'accidental' touches happened less and the teasing had shifted to dumb jokes about your 'lucky husband' instead of your ass. It was as though the squad had collectively decided that maybe there were better uses for their energy than testing boundaries.

Today’s task list, however, hadn’t gotten any shorter. Down in supply, a fresh shipment had arrived. Crates stacked high with whatever specialized gear Command had decided the recoms couldn’t live without this week.

Unfortunate for you, none of them moved itself.

Three bulky boxes were stacked in precarious balance against your chest, your arms straining to keep them steady. Every step down the hallway became an exercise in blind navigation, the top box blocking nearly all of your vision. The muffled thud of boots and distant chatter echoed off the metal walls as you shifted the boxes from one hip to the other, inching closer to the squad’s staging area.

Somewhere ahead, a shadow shifted into view, though the stack made it impossible to identify what or who was standing in your way. There was no warning, no greeting for that matter, just a sudden shift in weight as the boxes were lifted away in one smooth, unasked-for motion.

"Jesus, kid. C‘mere." Quaritch huffed, the boxes now cradled easily in his arms, his expression equal parts irritation and amusement, as though watching someone single handedly drag themselves into exhaustion was both maddening and weirdly impressive. His gaze flicked over to your now empty hands, then back to the face that had been hidden behind the boxes.

"Thanks, Colonel," you muttered, hiding the relief in your voice.

"Where do these go?" he asked, already walking ahead, like this little rescue operation was just a minor detour in his day.

"Oh, uh, these are for the squad," came your reply, already a little breathless from keeping pace with his big steps. "They’re headed to your floor."

A curt nod was all you received as an indication that he’s even heard you.

As you walked, Quaritch’s tail swished lazily behind him, a subtle, rhythmic motion that was impossible not to notice once your eyes had drifted in that direction. And that was certainly not because you were staring anywhere else in that region. There was just something about the way it moved, those sharp little flicks when he was irritated, that made it clear he wasn’t entirely thrilled to be here right now. Maybe it was the fact that someone had been hauling three boxes solo, maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, he carried these boxes as if they weighed nothing to him, which was definitely impressive.

From behind, it was hard not to let your gaze linger. The broad line of his back, the easy flex of his biceps, the muscles under his camo tank, even the casual confidence in every movement. It was an irritating kind of perfect. And sure, it was easy to dismiss that flicker of interest as something purely biological. Quaritch was tall, strong, yeah even a little bit handsome, but that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. Yes, that also may have made him look dangerous in all the best ways and infuriatingly capable, but it also made him off-limits.

So no, there was no real crush here. Just… an aesthetic appreciation. That was all.

Not to mention, he was so much older than you!

Old enough that if life had gone a little differently, he could’ve been the dad glaring at your prom date on the front porch.

The worst part about this was that you found it a teeny tiny bit attractive. Not the potential dad part— God, no, but the way it showed how much older he was.

Every time he called you 'kid' (and he did that a lot) it was like being smacked in the face with the reminder that you were barely halfway to his age and miles beneath him in experience, rank, and, well… every other way that counted. It was both a turn-off and a turn-on in the most deeply inconvenient, self-loathing and confusing sort of way.

Never, ever in a million years would you admit that to anyone. This piece of information about yourself was something you’d take to the grave.

Which was exactly why you had to actively force your eyes away now, because if he ever caught you staring you’d never hear the end of it.

"So," the Colonel drawled, slowing his steps just enough to glance over his shoulder with that stupidly hot half-smile, "your boyfriend know they let you do manual labor, sweet cheeks?"

"Fiancé." You correct him again. "And yes, he does."

"And he’s fine with it?" Quaritch pressed. The corner of his mouth twitched with a flicker of curiosity, though there was a certain weight in his stare that you guessed meant he probably wouldn’t like whatever answer was coming.

You arched an eyebrow in return. "Why wouldn’t he be?"

"M’just sayin’," he shrugged, shifting the boxes in his arms with ease. "You’re such a tiny thing, I wouldn’t want my girl carryin’ boxes twice her weight."

A short, nervous laugh escaped you. "Well, lucky I’m not your girl then, huh?"

Quaritch didn’t bother replying to that. He just let out a low, amused scoff, as if the very idea of you being his was so far-fetched it was laughable. Oh, well. There goes another blow straight to your self esteem. Not that there was much left to chip away at when it came to Quaritch anyways. He was so out of your league, the both of you (and basically the rest of the world) already knew that. No need to sulk about that in self-pity.

The rest of the walk stretched in silence, his boots echoing dully against the corridor floor until you stepped through the wide double doors into Team Deja Blue’s common area.

This part of their floor looked exactly like a bunch of oversized soldiers had claimed it as theirs.

There was an absurdly large couch sprawled across one wall like it had been built for titans, all rumpled cushions and a suspicious stain you weren’t willing to identify. In the center sat a pool table so big it looked like it had been stolen from a luxury cruise liner, with pool cues that could double as spears. A mini fridge, that was about as tall as you, hummed quietly in the corner, plastered with dented RDA stickers, pictures of na’vi pinup girls and the faint smear of what looked like dried hot sauce across the handle. Ew.

This room smelled like the unmistakable cocktail of protein powder, sweat and whatever half-eaten ration pack someone had abandoned in the sink. Your nose wrinkled and you took a mental note to get someone to come in here this afternoon with industrial-strength disinfectant.

In the open gym section, the heavy clank of weights rang out as one of the men grunted through a bench press. Meanwhile, Lyle was flexing in front of the mirrored wall. Behind him, Z-Dog sat cross-legged on Mansk back while he cranked out push-ups, barking encouragement like some sadistic personal trainer. A few others lounged across the couch, trading jabs over a card game.

"These go into the storage room next door," you told Quaritch, moving to take one of the boxes from his arms.

He didn’t argue, just shifted his grip so you could grab hold.

In the storage room, narrow industrial shelves lined the walls, stacked with neatly labeled crates of gear, recom supplements and spare uniforms.

Balancing the weight in your arms, you stepped past Quaritch and made for the nearest empty shelf, stacking one box on top of another with a grunt. The second you did, there was an unpleasant little snag. Your hand caught somewhere between the cardboard and the metal of the shelf. You hissed under your breath, tugged, and before you knew it, the fake engagement ring went spinning off your finger and clinked against the floor.

Quaritch’s gaze tracked it instantly.

He set his own box down with a solid thunk and, without a word, strode over in one step. One large hand swept it up from the floor, his long fingers turning it once between them as though examining it.

When he straightened, the ring sat gleaming in the center of his palm, dwarfed by the sheer size of his hand. His eyes flicked from the cheap little diamond back to you.

"I know I said you’re tiny," Quaritch murmured with a dry chuckle, “but that thing is ridiculous, even for you. It’s so small."

"Excuse me?" The words came out sharper than intended as you stepped forward and quickly snatched it from his fingers.

His smirk didn’t budge, if anything, it deepened. "I’m just sayin’. Your fiancé must not love you if that’s the best rock he could put on your finger."

You could feel the heat crawling up your neck, not entirely from embarrassment but also because his words hurt. Fake marriage or not, you felt offended by his comment.

"It’s not always about the size!" You grumbled angrily.

"Sure it ain’t," he chuckled. "Man lets his girl bust her back carryin’ shit at work and sticks her with a pebble from the bottom of a fish tank. Sounds like a real winner."

That was the last thing you’ve heard him call after you, after you squeezed yourself between him and the door, and marched off.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The water tastes sweet.

It takes you by surprise and for a split second you think of spitting it out. If this was the same water you got in the canteen yesterday then it should still taste like the bottom of a boot or licking a stop sign. But it doesn’t. Now it’s citrus and sugar, things you hadn’t tasted since before the world went to shit and your minimal pay on this exo-moon was spent on more important things and not… Lemonade.

You glance down at the translucent cup in your hand, brows furrowing in confusion. It’s lunch hour and the usual grumble of tired bodies and clinking trays slowly fill the cafeteria.

You swallow as slowly as you can, savoring a flavor that may end up killing you if that turns out to be poison or something. But there’s nothing. It really is just lemonade.

Interesting.

Usually, the only liquid that ever crossed your lips since you’ve landed here was water and the occasional black coffee so bitter it could strip paint. Lemonade wasn’t part of the deal. Not for someone at your rank, not unless you were dreaming or someone had screwed up the dispensers. Or… paid for your ration.

Here, everyone carried those thin, plastic cards that could be scanned at the drink machine or the food line. The machine would then spit out whatever ration or meal plan had been assigned for you, a hardcoded limit on what you could order. Usually, that meant choosing between two options neither of which was worth getting excited about.

You take a sip again, eyes scanning the room, wondering if someone upstairs finally decided to cut you some slack. Like that’d ever happen.

The higher-ups and the recombinants, those were the only ones who could afford things like lemonade, beer, or even an occasional steak. And speaking of the devil…

"Trouble in paradise?" Quaritch’s voice cuts through the background noise like a knife.

Before you can blink, he’s already settled himself to sit opposite of you, that damn grin stretched wide, looking almost hopeful as he’s waiting for a response. Hopeful for what… exactly?

"Huh?" You stare at him, dumbfounded. His gaze flickers down and you follow his direct line of sight. The ring! You must’ve forgotten to put it on this morning.

"Oh! Oh, that. Uhm, no I, I’m just getting it cleaned." It’s a lame excuse and you know chances are high he’s not buying it, but Quaritch just raises a brow, clearly disappointed. That must have not been the answer he was looking for.

Before another beat can pass, the weight of his stare makes your skin prickle. That flicker of disappointment in his eyes is almost worse than the grin. On top of that, he’s a lot more intimidating when he’s quiet like this.

You scramble for an escape hatch. "So… the lemonade." You lift the cup with an awkward smile, waiting for him to put two and two together.

The Colonel’s laugh was low and quick, the kind that rumbled in his chest and made your shoulders hitch. He leaned back in his chair, big arms folding over his chest. "What? Can’t spoil my favorite girl?"

"It’s Recombinant Support Officer," came your prim correction.

He snorted, one brow hitching up. "Yeah, whatever, kid."

There was a long, drawn-out sip from the lemonade, partly to hide the flush creeping up, partly to avoid giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. Of course, that only earned you a slow head tilt from across the table, like he was evaluating whether the drink or your fluster was sweeter.

Now that you were thinking about it, today was the second time this week the Colonel lingered in the cafeteria without the rest of his merry band of chaos following in his wake. That alone was unusual. Quaritch was a pack animal, the squad usually orbited him like stubborn moons. Seeing him here alone, sitting across the table with no distraction but the occasional sip from his coffee, sent an odd ripple of unease crawling up your spine.

Not fear exactly, he wasn’t about to flip the table and throw punches, but a different kind of nervousness. The kind that came from being the sole focus of someone who didn’t often give their attention in such a concentrated dose. And the lemonade? Clearly his way to apologize for the rude comment about your ring size the other day.

You idly stabbed your fork at the pile of mashed potatoes on your tray, more a performance of eating than an actual attempt at it. Every so often, an obligatory bite was taken just to keep yourself from looking too obvious, though chewing felt mechanical under the weight of Quaritchs unblinking gaze.

There was a feeling of hyper awareness of every movement, how long it took to lift the fork, whether your posture looked too stiff, if avoiding his eyes made it seem suspicious or just obvious. But still, he stayed put, leaning back and watching you like his favorite show was on.

"The squads been wondering when we‘ll get to meet the lucky guy," Quaritch said eventually.

The cup in your hand met the table harder than you had planned, a muted thunk that drew his eyes briefly downward before they came back up, pinning the focus squarely in place. Great. Now you were sweating for real.

Once more, the tray in front of you became very interesting. Stabbing at the limp cafeteria greens felt safer than holding his stare, though the fork kept scraping against the plastic in a way that was far too loud to be considered subtle.

"Oh uh, never I guess." You forced it out as casual as possible. "I keep my private and work life strictly separated."

Opposite of you, Quaritchs gaze didn’t waver. There was no smirk and no easy grin this time, just a low grumbled, "Aha."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

"Pick it up, ladies! I’ve seen retirees with hip replacements run faster than this!"

That damn whistle of yours split through the morning air again, sharp enough to make Quaritch’s ears ring.

There was something about the smug little way you stood on the inside of the track, clipboard in one arm, whistle dangling from the other hand. Your shorts, fitted top, hair tied back just enough to keep it out of your face… Christ, you looked like a high school PE teacher who’d swapped dodgeball for military-grade training.

Behind him, a few groans rose from the pack. Z-Dog threw a glance over her shoulder, her signature smirk in place, before she broke into a bark of laughter.

"Pretty sure this counts as harassment, boss!" She called out.

"Pretty sure you still have another three laps," you countered without missing a beat. The laugh that followed was completely unbothered.

The sun caught on the sheen of sunscreen across your shoulders, highlighting the faint smirk you wore every time someone groaned or cursed under their breath. That, of course, only egged you on. You could be a real sadist if you wanted to, he had to give you that.

"Straighten up, Wainfleet! You’re leaning like you’re dodging sniper fire— fix it!" Another blast of the whistle, followed by some spiel about daily training goals like you were the damn drill sergeant here.

Quaritch smirked despite himself. There was a part of him that almost respected the nerve. Most people simply kept their mouths shut around the recoms unless they wanted a bad day. Not you, though.

Little spitfire. Barely came up to his shoulder and yet somehow had the balls to bark at a squad of recombinant marines.

"She’s enjoying this way too much," Fike muttered from somewhere next to him, just loud enough for the others to hear. A few chuckles followed at that.

"Yeah, she’s only here to watch us suffer." Wainfleet, never one to keep his damn mouth shut, didn’t even bother lowering his voice as he poked Fikes side with his elbow. "Waste of a good view if you ask me."

That earned him another round of snickers from the rest of the squad.

"I wonder if she’s that bossy with her husband," Prager then chimed in, words laced with a grin Quaritch didn’t need to see to picture. "Poor dude probably doesn’t get a say in bed either."

"Yeah, bet she’s got a damn spreadsheet for it," someone else added. Most likely Wainfleet, by the sound of his smug laughter.

Again, Z-Dogs shrill voice piped up, "Hell, if she gives him performance reviews like she gives us, I feel bad for the guy."

Enough of that. Quaritch gave a sharp whistle of his own, the kind that cut clean through their gutter talk. That got them moving again, boots thudding against the packed dirt in uneven rhythm. A few of them still muttered under their breath, but it was drowned out by the slap of sneakers and the shrill blast of your whistle. If their banter had hit, there wasn’t a flicker of it showing. Maybe their little comments didn’t register to you anymore, just another layer of morning noise, like the hum of the electric fence or the smell of wet earth.

Still, the mental picture stuck in his head like a tick. Some poor sap, thinking he’s king shit in his own little castle, while getting steamrolled daily by a five-foot-nothing hurricane. A guy like that probably asks permission before touching so much as a shoulder. Probably schedules his own sex life around your damn Google calendar.

Quaritch bit back a laugh. That’s not what a woman like you needed. Not some limp handshake motherfucker who folds like a lawn chair every time you bark an order. No, you were the type of woman who needed to get yanked right out of that command tower, shoved up against the wall, and reminded you didn’t have to hold the reins every second of every day. Let you lean back, breathe for once, and watch somebody else put in the work. You needed someone to fuck that tension right out of your little body, turn you into a real mess, until you were satisfied and fed. Not this pencil-pusher you were supposedly shackled to now. You needed a real man.

But that tiny ring belonged to a man who probably thought taking charge meant picking between the two options of a dinner date that you had planned. Poor bastard didn’t even know the fire he was sitting on.

After a quick medical checkup once you’ve had decided their morning cardio was done, a shower and choking down whatever the cafeteria was pretending was chicken, the squad drifted off to kill their free time.

Quaritch however, had a briefing to sit through. One of those that dragged on well past its usefulness while some corporate type clicked through slides of information he’d already heard twice this month. Unable to keep his focus on the slide show about na’vi migration patterns and some half-baked plan to foster cultural understanding, his gaze kept drifting to the datapad balanced on his knee. His thumb dragged over the brightness slider that refused to land anywhere between blinding and nearly black.

After the third flare of white across the screen, the Colonel exhaled slowly through his nose. Not that this was urgent, but irritating enough to decide it needed fixing once this was over.

When the meeting finally wrapped, he headed straight for the IT department.

The echo of his boots on the tile carried down the corridor, drawing a few sidelong glances from passing people. Some stiffened automatically, stepping aside to give him a clear path. Others held his gaze for half a second too long, that mix of wariness and grudging respect written plain on their faces. A pair of soldiers straightened from their slouch against the wall and snapped quick salutes as he passed, earning nothing more than a curt nod in return.

The second floor’s hallways were quieter, lined with the less glamorous offices and departments. IT sat at the far end, the door unmarked except for a faded placard with a serial number no one bothered to replace.

Quaritch didn’t knock when he reached it, just swung the door open and ducked under it.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate.

The low murmur of conversations and the clack of keys faltered, replaced by the same silence that often followed when his big shadow fell across a room.

Rows of desks were cluttered with cables, monitors and the occasional half-drunk cup of coffee. Most of the occupants were men, heads bent over their work, but a few women also sat among them, their posture stiffening as his gaze swept over the room.

The first to actually move towards and approach him was, surprisingly, a woman. A woman with more balls than the rest of these nerds in here. She was tall, soft around the middle and with a mess of red curls tied back in a loose knot. With thick glasses perched low on her nose, she certainly looked like she belonged here.

Now that he looked at her up close, there was something familiar about her face, though he couldn’t place from where exactly. She might be one of those people he‘d seen in passing often enough to know they belonged, but not enough to remember their name.

"Colonel," she greeted with a polite nod, "What can I do for you, sir?"

"This needs fixing." Quaritch shifted the datapad in his grip, holding it out for her. "Thing‘s been acting up all day and I can’t figure it out."

The woman in front of him nodded briskly. "Alright, just give me a moment, sir."

But when she turned toward her desk, he didn’t move to the entirely too small chair she’d no doubt intended for him without second thought. Instead, he fell in step right behind her, the soft squeak of her flats barely covering the heavier sound of his boots. She glanced back once, then decided not to argue with the man twice her size.

The desk she led him to was a battlefield of stacked folders and open manuals. There were a few familiar devices to the datapad in her hand as well, all of them connected to her computer by a chaos of several different colored cables.

The redhead slid into her chair and began tapping at the screen, narrating in a quick, clipped tone about recalibrating the sensor and adjusting some internal settings. But Quaritch didn’t bother to take in any of her words. His attention had already shifted, eyes skimming over the chaotic sprawl in front of him. Two handwritten notes about codes he couldn’t make sense of hung on the edge of her monitor, right next to a small framed picture that stood on the desk.

The photo showed her and a few other women, smiles wide and carefree, arms draped around each other as they were holding their boarding passes to Pandora. Friends, maybe. Nothing unusual at first glance.

But then his gaze hit the far right of the frame, and his chest hitched ever so slightly at this one particular face. There you were, all smiles and grin wide enough to make the sun jealous. Made him wonder how anyone could look that damn confident and still get through life without flattening half the idiots around them.

A slow grin began to form on his face, part disbelief, part amusement. That explained where he had seen this woman before: You had the exact same framed picture sitting on your tidy desk.

Leaning back slightly, pretending to stretch, Quaritch then settled his gaze on the woman that seemingly grew nervous under the sudden, unwanted attention.

Licking his lips, he then asked, "Busy day?" Although his mind was anything but, he kept his voice light, letting it sound casual.

"Always," the redhead replied without looking up, hands still dancing over the keys. "This place doesn’t run itself. But who am I talking to?"

Quaritch let the corner of his mouth hitch up. "Fair point." His eyes drifted toward the little frame perched on the edge of her desk once more. This time, the woman did notice. "That your crew?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah, kinda," She said a little awkwardly. "Some of us came to Pandora together. Training, orientation, that kind of thing."

"The one on the far right…" He hummed, tilting his head as if studying the picture for the first time. Then his finger tapped the desk beside the frame. "She the one who keeps barking orders at my squad, right?"

"Sounds like her." The redhead briefly looked up, then laughed softly. "Yes, that’s y/n. We shared quarters for a while before assignments got shuffled. She’s… She is a handful, huh?"

"She is." Quaritch’s mouth curved into that slow, knowing smirk. "Bet her husband’s got his hands full keepin’ all that fire under control."

The redhead snorted. "Oh, no. Y/N’s not married."

Now that made him pause for a moment.

"No?"

"Nope," she said, popping the p a little, her nose too far up that datapad to pay any attention to the way Quaritch ears twitched at that. "Far as I know, she’s not even seeing anyone."

The woman was already back to clicking through menus, like she hadn’t just dropped a grenade in the middle of his thoughts, when Quaritch leaned an elbow on her desk, licking his lips,

"Interesting."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s not like you’re busy or anything.

The digital clock in the corner of your monitor had already slipped well past quitting time and the only thing on your mind was the blessed quiet of your quarters. The keycard to your room was already in your hand and the only thoughts you had left in you revolved around a shower, maybe a snack and definitely not about work for at least ten glorious hours.

That was, until your phone buzzed.

»Need your input on reworking the squad’s training schedule to accommodate new operational priorities. Come by my office to sync calendars. Now. — MQ«

"Wha— right now?" You groaned.

There wasn’t even a 'please,' no 'if you’ve got time' or anything of that sort, just the assumption that your evening plans were infinitely less important than the Colonels little calendar crisis. You let your head fall forward against the door to your quarters with another long groan. God, sometimes you really hated this job.

Guess the universe had decided your night off needed a body count.

"I’m gonna kill him," you muttered as you shoved your keycard back into your pocket and turned on your heels.

The halls were quieter at this hour, most offices you passed already had their lights off and blinds drawn, but a few scientists still lingered in the corridors.

By the time the Colonels office came into view, it was immediately obvious something was… different. Pushing the door open you found him already expecting your entry. But instead of sitting in his chair behind the desk like usual, Quaritch leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest in a way that somehow managed to make him look both casual and intimidating at once. The muscles in his arms flexed a bit once you stepped into his office.

"Evening, Colonel," you said, trying to keep your tone casual, though a subtle edge of impatience crept in. The day had already stretched longer than it should have and all that was standing between you and your bed was him.

Surprisingly, Quaritch didn’t reply to your greetings. Not a word, not even a grunt. You raised a brow, half expecting some sarcastic jab, but nothing.

"Alright then," You murmured. Shrugging subtly, it was easy to chalk it up as nothing. Moods like this weren’t unusual for the Colonel after all, even if they so very rarely were directed at you.

Sitting felt almost absurd, given he was practically looming over you. But since he made no move to sit as well, you just continued with your routine. Bag set down beside you, your hands immediately fished out your datapad, flipping it awake with a swipe of your thumb.

"Looks like we’ve got a clash with the training simulations on Thursday," you said, keeping your voice measured, trying not to betray how aware you were of his close proximity. "We might need to shift some sessions or—"

Fingers hovered over the first entry, but before another word left, a large hand slid into view. The datapad was then taken from you. It left your hands ever so slowly and was gently laid down on the desk, just out of your reach.

Your spine straightened instinctively and a look of confusion crossed your features. Had something been entered wrong? Some misstep in the schedule? Maybe he’d dragged you up here just to chew you out over a typo or something.

"So," the Colonel said, licking his lips before they spread into a grin. "How’s your little boyfriend, fiancé, whatever?"

"Uhm… what?" The word slipped out sharply, surprise tugging your brows together. For a moment the thought struck that maybe you’d misheard him, maybe fatigue had twisted his words into something else. But the look on his face told a different story.

Quaritch didn’t so much as blink.

"You heard me, sweetheart." That grin of his only widened, teeth flashing like he was savoring your reaction.

The silence stretched long enough for your pulse to trip over itself. You shifted in your chair and a flicker of defensiveness running up your spine made your posture straighten instinctively.

"…Good, I suppose," you finally managed, though it came out clipped and uneven. Fingers tapped against your knee in restless rhythm, desperate to steer things back into safer waters. "Can we now go back to—"

"You know what’s funny?" He cut you off.

Your jaw tightened. "No, sir."

"I had a nice little chat with one of your girlfriends earlier." Quaritch drawled, shifting just enough to push himself off the desk and step closer. "The redhead from IT, what was her name again? Ah, hell, doesn’t matter." A low chuckle rumbled out of him. Then, he leaned over your frame, his hands gripping the armrest of your chair on either side, basically caging you in.

You swallowed drily. Every nerve in your body seemed to stand at the attention, muscles coiling before you even knew why.

"But she told me something very interesting."

A cold shudder licked its way down your body, pooling heavy in your stomach. The room suddenly felt too small, too quiet. You could hear the faint hum of the overhead light, the sound of your own pulse thudding in your ears.

"She said you don’t have a fiancé." His voice was low and steady. "That you don’t even have a boyfriend."

The bottom dropped out of your stomach immediately after Quaritch had uttered these words.

Heat flared in your cheeks and your mouth parted— whether to deny it, explain or tell him off, you weren’t sure, but he was already leaning a fraction closer. You decided on the second and perhaps the safest option.

"L-Listen I can explain—"

"I‘m all ears."

Your mouth went dry, words tumbling out in a rush before you could stop them. "I just— I don’t want to get in trouble!"

One of his brows arched. "For what, sweetheart?"

"For this." Hands made a vague, helpless gesture between the two of you before dropping back to your lap. "Flirting with the squad, being unprofessional. For getting caught doing something I’m not supposed to, doing inappropriate stuff—"

The ramble spilled faster, "I mean, I’m supposed to keep things organized, on track, not get tangled up in rumors or, jesus, even just laughing too much at one of their dumb jokes could look bad, and now you’re sitting here looking at me like that, and what if—"

You stopped only because your chest seized and your lungs were clawing for air. Quaritch took his sweet time to take all of your words in, his eyes mustering you for a moment.

"So you’ve been thinkin’ about doin’ things that aren’t appropriate?"

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. "Wha— No!"

He let the corner of his mouth twitch upward, almost amused. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place, making it impossible to look away and sweat broke out over your forehead at that.

"Relax," he drawled, voice rumbling with that calm authority that made your pulse trip faster instead of slower. "Ain’t no one gettin’ you in trouble, kid."

The words should’ve soothed you, but the way he said them only made the knot in your stomach twist tighter.

"But you could’ve just said no, you know?" Quaritchs tone was lighter now, almost taunting. "S‘not like they were gonna bite you or anything."

"Yeah, sure," you scoffed, frustration edging your voice. "Your men behave like animals. Even Z-Dog gives me the creeps sometimes..."

That earned you a laugh.

"Can you blame ’em?" Quaritch said, leaning in just enough that the air around you grew significantly warmer. "A young thing, cute little doll, bossin’ us around. ’Course they’re gonna act like dogs around you."

Heat rushed to your cheeks before the meaning even finished sinking in. His eyes stayed locked on you, even as your breath caught when his shadow shifted closer and you glanced away in shame.

A single calloused finger then tipped under your chin, the touch deceptively light for a hand that size. Instinct had you jerking a fraction, but his grip didn’t tighten, just held you there, guiding your gaze back up to his.

"There wasn’t any need for that little story about bein’ engaged. Not with me, kid." He said lowly. "I ain’t in the business of makin’ trouble for you. Hell, I’d make damn sure no one else does either."

Again, your lips parted, but nothing came out. That little pause seemed to amuse him. He angled his head slightly, studying your face like he could peel you open and read everything you hadn’t said out loud. That alone made you shiver.

"You know that, don’t you?" His thumb brushed along the edge of your jaw, slowly, enough to make your pulse hammer. "I know you do, but you were tryin’ not to let it show. The way you go stiff when I’m close. The way you talk back like you’re tryin’ real hard not to trip over your own tongue. S‘cute."

"That’s not—"

"Sweetheart," he rumbled, leaning closer until his breath ghosted warm across your cheek, "you don’t lie half as well as you think you do. That little ring ain’t foolin’ nobody. Truth is, you want that cookie. You just don’t wanna get caught with your pretty little hand in the jar, right?"

The faint scrape of his lips ghosted along the sharp line of your jaw, slow enough to make your pulse stutter. And when he pressed his mouth to the side of your throat, heat flared beneath your skin.

This shouldn’t be happening.

God, this couldn’t happen. One wrong sound and if anyone opened that door, just one of the night staff or a soldier passing through, it’d all come crashing down. The thought should’ve snapped you into motion, should’ve made you push him off, should’ve sparked a protest sharper than the shallow breaths slipping through your lips. But instead you sat rooted in place.

Each exhale from him feathered warm across you, raising goosebumps that contradicted the heat pooling in your core. Involuntarily, your thighs squeezed. Then his mouth was there again, but not in the polite brush from before. No, this time he parted his lips, pressed them open against your skin, leaving kisses that burned and claimed all at once.

His tongue skimmed the column of your throat, dragging a hot line over tender skin as if he were committing the shape of you to his memory.

"W-We really shouldn’t," it finally burst out of you, and if it hadn’t been words you were sure it had been a moan instead.

Your body betrayed you. Shoulders twitched as you squirmed in the chair, thighs pressing tight together in some futile effort to ground yourself. Heat coiled in every inch of you, flooding your face, your neck, down your chest. Each open mouthed kiss dragged another surge of warmth up your spine, until it felt unbearable to sit still, unbearable to do nothing.

"Then don’t. Tell me to stop," he hushed against your neck. "Tell me like you mean it."

Your lips parted, breath spilling uneven and shaky, but the words he had asked for never came. Of course not. Because you didn’t mean it. You didn’t actually want him to stop.

His hand then found your thigh with the same unhurried certainty as his mouth, palm broad and warm even through the fabric of your uniform. The weight of it settled heavy, reminding you of the difference in size between you and him. His fingers tightened, squeezing until your breath hitched sharp in your chest. That small show of strength sent a pulse of heat straight through you, robbing you of any last scraps of willpower you’d been clinging to.

Your eyes fluttered closed, lashes trembling, as if shutting out the sight of him might dull the sensation. It didn’t. If anything, it sharpened everything else, the rough scrape of his jaw against your skin, the wet drag of his tongue marking you, the pressure of his hand as it squeezes your thigh.

"If Ardmore finds out about this…" The words came out as a whisper, half plea, half warning, but barely steady enough to count as protest.

The Colonels hands didn’t falter. They shifted higher, inch by inch, broad palms sliding until they nearly encircled your hips.

"No one will find out about this," was muttered against your neck.

And then the world tilted. Strong arms lifted you in one swift motion, the grip around your waist like iron. With a squeak, your body was set down atop his desk. The solid edge was cool beneath yours thighs. A sharp contrast to the burning press of him crowding in close. Under you, papers shifted and a pen clattered to the floor.

A minute later, Quaritch has you pinned to the desk with a giant hand on your chest.

The weight of his palm flattened against the center of your chest, not harsh, but firm enough to keep you pressed back into the wood. Every shallow breath only made your chest rise against his hand, every movement reminding you how easily he held you there.

Soon, Quaritch‘s hands find the waistband of your skirt. He tugs on it with minimal effort and against all logic, your hips rose to help.

He peeled fabric down inch by inch, humming under his breath in a sound that might as well have been approval. A hum. The Colonel humming at your half-naked body like he’d just stumbled onto a damn fine bottle of bourbon.

For all his size and brute strength, his hands moved with startling precision. Your shoes thudded against the floor as your legs shifted, freeing yourself from the last stubborn stretch of fabric.

You could feel every pass of his eyes like a physical touch, hotter than his palms on your thighs as he dragged your lace panties down. Quaritch hummed again, deep in his chest, and something traitorous in you fluttered at the sound.

Then your eyes caught his.

The reality check slammed into you with the grace of a shuttle crash: this was Quaritch. Colonel Miles Quaritch. Not some faceless soldier, not some harmless flirt you could shrug off at breakfast tomorrow. This was the man with enough authority to ruin you six different ways before the end of the week.

Quaritch’s mouth curved into something smug, as if he knew about the thoughts behind your eyes just from looking at them for too long and too intense. Then he sank lower between your thighs, shoulders wide enough to nudge them apart with barely a shift. The cool air of the room skimmed your exposed skin, but all you felt was heat.

Soon, Quaritch started kissing down your stomach, savoring every inch of skin. You felt the faint graze of teeth as he dipped lower and lower, his tongue drawing a path from your navel down to—

"But what if we… what if we’re—"

Quaritch’s low growl cut you off once more. "Jesus, kid. Relax and let me take care of you, will you?"

And then his mouth was on you in the blink of an eye.

You spine arches at the sudden, but not at all unpleasant sensation. Your gasp of surprise peeks into a whine and you quickly bite your lip to quiet yourself, when his long, board tongue swipes through your folds.

It becomes clear almost immediately after that first lick, that this moment right here. This would be so worth getting in trouble for.

Who would’ve thought that the Colonel Quaritch was so damn good at pussy eating?

It only takes mere seconds for him to find where you are most vulnerable, the most delicate. Tracing the outline of your cunt with his thumbs on either side of you, he spreads your slickness up and then down, then gently spreads your folds apart. It gives him access to lick and suck on your clit in all the best ways.

His lips and tongue are big, so much bigger than yours. But that made it so much easier for him to cover your pussy whole, to reach all these wonderful places. The top of his tongue moves with practiced ease as it flicks over your clit and god, it feels phenomenal. Your toes curl and you sob out a moan, lungs burning with the need for air. You don’t know whether to suck in a breath or hold it there.

Despite all you know of him, in this, Quaritch is messy, you realize. He doesn’t care about the mixture of spit and slick running down his chin, that it covers half his face or the fact that you hear him gulp it down with groan like it’s the fountain of youth and you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting on his tongue.

"Oh!" Your spine arches even more, subconsciously pushing yourself against his face. It’s embarrassing, really. But you’re already too far gone to care. No one has ever made this feel so good before.

Then his middle finger breaches your entrance, sliding in deep, and you moan, something high and pitched, hips canting upwards as Quaritch fucks you with a single digit, smooth and slow.

One finger becomes two, and you sigh, arching like a wave with every thrust. Your hands grasp at nothing before they settle on the back of his head and Quaritch circles your swollen clit with his tongue, playing with it in a steady rhythm. Occasionally you even feel him kiss it and it’s enough to make your thighs shake.

Your slickness increases until his lips and chin are sopping, his ministrations ringing sighs and cries in an ever increasing volume from you. Your hips stutter, you pull at his hair and that makes him suck on your clit harder.

Distantly, you remember the fact that you’re not in any of the soundproof rooms meant for training, but in an office with very thin walls and an even thinner door. Immediately, you clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling the strings of curses and moans that fell freely from your lips.

"Such a shame." Between your thighs, the Colonel glanced up at you, his grin wide and sharp canine wet with slick. "Those sweet little moans suit you better than that bossy tone."

His hand slid up your thigh, prying it wider as if to emphasize his point. His eyes never leave your face, not even as he sinks down again.

"Don’t go hiding ’em now, sweetheart. Let me hear ‘em." The words were hushed against your wet skin and his lips were immediately drawn to your clit once more.

"I- I‘m gonna.. oh, fuck," you let out a shaky breath. "M‘gonna cum— stop! Stop, stop, I— can’t!"

"Can’t, what?" Came a low chuckle from between your thighs, pointed tongue teasing your entrance where it stretched around his thick digit.

"Quiet," you choke out, fisting your hands in the short stubbles of his hair to try and pull him off, "I can’t keep quiet! S-Stop, oh god!"

But the bastard doesn’t stop. If anything, his lips sealed firmer against your slick heat while two thick fingers curled deep inside, grinding into that exact spot that made your vision strobe with white-hot sparks. The low groan that came from the man feasting on your sweet arousal sent vibrations up to your core. It rattled your bones, stole what little composure you had left. And if it weren’t for his wide shoulders to be in your way, you would’ve clamped your thighs shut around his head. It doesn’t hold you back from trying though.

The sound that escaped you was strangled, almost feral, muffled only by the trembling hand still clamped against your mouth. Every twist of his fingers, every stroke of his tongue, dragged you closer to the edge of something that felt inevitable, unstoppable, terrifyingly good.

"Mm, there she is," Quaritch rasped against you, his voice low and wicked, lips dragging slick down your folds before latching back onto your clit. "Knew you had more in ya than that stiff little attitude."

You shook your head, tried to twist away, but the desk under your hips and his hand splayed heavy across your stomach kept you pinned. Each flick of his tongue ripped another ragged noise out of you, each thrust of his fingers pushed you closer to shattering.

"Don’t fight it, sweetheart. Give it to me." His words vibrated into you, sharp enough to make your toes curl, thighs quivering against the iron lock of his shoulders. And then— release hit like a flood. Your hand fell useless from your mouth, the sound that tore free far too loud for thin walls, a cracked cry strangled into his name.

"Atta girl," Quaritch growled in approval, holding you down as your body arched off the desk, every muscle seizing under the quake of your climax. He didn’t let up, not until the tremors had left your thighs trembling and your chest heaving, not until you sagged back against the wood, utterly spent.

Slowly, he pulled his fingers from you, dragging them slick over his own tongue to clean them, before rising to his full height. That grin was back, sharp and devastating, mouth glistening with proof of what he’d just done to you. Proof of how much you enjoyed it.

The air hadn’t even returned to your lungs before the world spun again. Now Quaritch’s hands were on your hips and in one effortless motion he flipped you onto your stomach. The desk rattled beneath the shift, papers scattering again, the cold edge biting into your ribs as your cheek pressed against the polished surface.

Quaritch’s palms slid up your sides, pinning you down just enough to remind you who was in control here. He leaned over, chest hovering heavy against your back, breath hot at your ear.

"I ain’t done with you yet," he murmured, his voice a low gravel that made your core clench all over again.

Rolling his hips forward just enough for you to feel the promise of him pressing against you, thick and hard even through his gear, you gasped softly.

"Please… stop teasing me," you whispered, and even though your legs were shaking, toes barely touching the ground, you tried to push back against him.

The rasp of a zipper made goosebumps race across your arms, your back, your neck, everywhere, as anticipation began to flood your veins like fire.

"Y’know," Quaritch drawled, "I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a while now. Wonderin’ how that sweet little pussy might feel wrapped around me."

Your breath hitched, body tightening at the words alone. His laugh rumbled against your spine, dark and satisfied, as though he could feel the way you clenched around nothing just from the thought.

"Bet it’s even better than I imagined."

Through the tangle of hair that fell into your face, you risked a glance over your shoulder.

Quaritch’s pants rode low on his hips now, his broad hands tugging them just far enough to free himself. And what he revealed had your breath catching in your throat.

Huge. That was the first word your scrambled brain managed to cling to. Too big, too thick, alien in ways that made your pulse trip and stumble. His length was ridged in subtle lines and dots that caught the low office light, the flesh a darker shade that gleamed faintly as he stroked himself once, leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world. The sheer scale of him made your thighs quiver against the edge of the desk, heat pooling low in your belly.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart," Quaritch rumbled with a smirk, catching you staring. The tip of him brushed against the inside of your thigh, leaving a slick trail of pre-cum behind.

"Don’t worry about that," his voice dropped into something dangerously close to a growl, "I’ll make it fit."

The blunt head of him then pressed against you, nudging insistently at your entrance. Your whole body clenched in defiance and desperate need all at once. The stretch came slow at first, a sharp, biting fullness that made your breath break apart in short, choppy gasps. Nails raked the desk, useless against the hard surface as the first thick inch split you open.

"Jesus— fuck!" The words dissolved into a moan, muffled by the crook of your arm as you bit down to silence yourself. Every nerve lit with fire as he eased deeper, inch by agonizing inch, the ridges along his shaft dragging over hypersensitive flesh in a way that felt so alien and yet unbearably good.

"Relax," his breath was hot against your ear. "Breathe. Let me in, sweetheart."

His palm spread over your lower back, pressing you down just enough to make your hips tilt for him. "That’s it," he rasped, voice thick with triumph. "Takin‘ me so good, so fuckin‘ good."

The desk creaked under the strain of your body fighting to adjust, trembling thighs trying to hold steady. Every inch he fed into you sent another shockwave, another surge of heat through you.

"Miles," His name broke out of you like a prayer, shaky and drenched in need.

The fullness of his cock sinking into you was overwhelming, almost suffocating. Each inch settled heavy inside you until there was no room left, no space unclaimed, just the ache and heat of him stuffed to the hilt. Your walls clenched instinctively, fluttering around the thick length buried deep inside you.

Quaritch stayed pressed flush against you, chest to your back, holding still as though savoring the way your body struggled around him. His cock throbbed inside you, thick veins and ridges pulsing against your inner walls like he was marking his presence there with every heartbeat. The sensation sent another shudder down your spine, your breath catching on the sharp edge of another moan.

"Feel that?" His voice rumbled low against your ear, almost smug. "That’s me. Right where I belong."

Slow at first, letting the full weight of himself sink in deeper, he started moving. Each thrust made your body melt over the desk, every inch dragging fire through nerves you didn’t even know could burn so hot. Quaritch’s hands gripped your hips like anchors, guiding each powerful thrust. The sound of him moving inside you, the wet slap of skin against skin as his movements grew faster, made a new wave of pleasure crash down over you.

"O-Oh my goood," you let out a long, drawn out whine. Your thoughts spiraled— this was reckless, insane, probably career-ending, but fucking hell did it feel good.

Each powerful thrust drove deeper, stretching and filling you in a way that made your mind spin. The pace of his hips was calculated, cruel and intoxicating, forcing you to feel every inch of his cock. Another stroke, harder this time, and your body jolted in response, the pure intensity of it making your brain melt.

The force of Quaritch’s thrusts made the desk squeak and groan beneath you. His own grunts were low and guttural, vibrating against your back as he drove into you again and again.

"Fuck, yes… Look at you fuckin’ takin’ it. So perfect and tight," he groaned, hips snapping forward with precise, merciless intensity. Fingers dug into the curve of your hips, holding you steady even as every pulse of his length stretched and filled you further.

"Please," you begged in that whiny little voice that was still so unfamiliar to you. "Please don’t stop, don’t s-stop! I‘m so close! Pleasepleaseplease!"

Quaritch grunted against your shoulder in response, teeth grazing the tender skin as his hips pistoning without mercy, each stroke pushing you closer. One of his hands then found your jaw, lifting your face until you were bent enough for his lips to reach yours.

His tongue still tasted of you, salty and warm, as he shoved it inside your mouth, deep enough you nearly choked on it. It’s enough to make you clamp down hard on his cock, and you moan into each others mouths at that.

And then finally, warmth pooled and spilled, every nerve ending inside your core alive with fire, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath his relentless rhythm. More moans tore free, high and broken, echoing across the walls of his office as you arched hard, pressing yourself impossibly close to him.

Quaritchs hips still snapped forward, holding you in the peak of your pleasure, matching the rhythm of your shuddering climax until he‘d reached his own. The grip he had on your hip was almost bruising and your teeth found the softness of his bottom lip in return. The Colonel hissed sharply at that, but the sound quickly morphed into a sigh of relief as you felt his hot cum paint your insides.

His hips pressed forward a few more times, languid thrusts that drove every drop home, making sure none of it went to waste. Your walls clenched reflexively around him, a trembling, overstimulated cocoon of heat and satisfaction.

Finally, he pulled back, letting his cock slip free with a slick, wet sound that left your core aching and your body shivering from how empty it suddenly felt.

The Colonel straightened, his gaze still locked on you with this possessive intensity and also a hint of triumph as he helped turning you over and sat you onto his desk when your legs were to weak to stand on their own. Truth be told, it did flatter you that he was so obviously uncaring about the way you made a mess on his things when you sat there, bare and filthy wet. If anything, the sight of you shifting uncomfortably to prevent his cum from staining his desk made a flicker of hunger return to his eyes.

"Okay," you finally panted between heavy breaths, fingers brushing through your hair in a desperate attempt to appear collected, but there was a significant amount of spit, cum and slick smearing between your thighs that made you physically cringe. "We… we can’t— nobody can ever know about this!"

"Jesus, kid." Quaritch just rolled his eyes as he slumped down onto the seat behind him. With his thighs spread and his sweat soaked tank highlighting his abs, it was hard not to ogle the man in front of you. His hand rested casually around your ankle, mindlessly rubbing circles onto your skin with his thumb.

"For the record," he adds, his lips curling into that signature grin. "I don’t care what anyone thinks about rings or promises, so you can keep wearing that shiny little lie. But you’re mine when you’re around me, got it? Anyone else even looks at you wrong, and I’ll make sure they regret it."

Your brows lifted at that. "You… you would do that for me?"

"Course I would." The Colonel scoffs. "Nobody is gonna get you in trouble because you’ve decided to have a little fun. Not tonight, not ever. I’ve got that covered."

Your cheeks heated even more now, and a smile tugged at your lips despite the rapid thump of your heartbeat. It covered the feeling of guilt that wanted to gnaw on your insides for tasting this forbidden fruit, and that alone was a win.

Quaritch mirrors your little smirk. "But," he leans forward, letting his thumb continue its lazy circles over your ankle, "if you feel like trying that again… I’m more than willing to help make sure ya‘ don’t forget how good it can be to break a few rules sometimes."

"Alright," You bite your lip, laughter and heat blending together, and nod. "I think I can agree to that."

And sometimes you think, you don’t hate your job that much.

 Y/n frowns at his words, being mindful not to apply too much pressure as she wrapped the gauze around the wound carefully across his bicep. Y/n bites her lips at the stinging pain of worry strikes through her.

“You should be more careful Spider. You cannot be reckless all the time, you cannot expect Lo’ak to always have your back either” Y/n says softly, her eyes wandering over the tiny scratches over his body in worry. Spider scoffs out loud, rolling his eyes at her words. 

“You worry too much Y/n, You don't even know Lo’ak, we have each other's backs” Spider assures, making Y/n sigh out loud. She holds the urge to nudge against his wound out of spite.

“Because I don't know him”

For as long as Y/n had known she had always been in the cold confines of base camp, what she knew to be her home. The only thing she had known truthfully. 

Y/n was born shortly after the war, her father was unknown, but her mother who was a well known medical officer of the team, sadly passed upon her birth. She grew up following Norm and Max around the lab, as they were the only people she felt any sort of connection to. They knew her mother well and raised her alongside Spider, who also couldn't be transported back to Earth due to being so young. 

Though Spider was younger then her by a bit, Y/n always trailed behind him within the lab. She had no other females around her age, it was natural to grow incredibly close to Spider over the years. 

“Well, you should. Next time I'll introduce you! He'd love you, come with me next time I go out” Spider says nonchalantly, not taking notice how Y/n’s shoulders slumped at his words.

“Ha Ha , very funny Spider” Y/n spits bitterly, tying up the bandage before turning around and leaving him for the tiny sink where she washed her hands begrudgingly. 

“O-oh,shit, I'm sorry Y/n…I didn't mean to sound…it came out wrong..” Spider apologizes, hopping down from the medical table to walk up to her. Y/n focuses on scrubbing her hands so she couldn't focus on the sadness bubbling within her. 

Y/n grew up alongside Spider, they ate together, played together and slept together while growing up. But Y/n…was different. 

For as long as she could remember, she had never set one foot outside the compound. Y/n even had her quarters on the farside of the base, as if they didn't want her near the entrance at any costs. That's why when Spider would sneak into her room to accompany her, she felt less lonely.

Over the years Y/n grew but not as tall as Spider. Spider was a hunk compared to her much tinier and delicate figure. Y/n always worked out within the base to increase her strength and endurance but she gave that up years ago when she came to the conclusion she would never be able to see the world outside the cold gates. 

Y/n always wondered why she was deprived of something Spider was allowed to do so freely, she would always boil with envy when she walked Spider as close to the gate as Norm would allow her. 

Watching him run off to his freedom only made her mental resolve crumble that much more. It didn't help when Spider would go on and on about his adventures. Y/n would always aggressively chew her food to drown out his words during communal dinners. 

Y/n had learned to tune out his words from time to time, but how can she when he was living what she dreamt about day in and day out?

When she questioned Norm and Max why she couldn't leave, they would claim it's because she is too delicate, that there are toxins and dangerous creatures out there her body could not handle and Spider could because he left the compound at such an early age.

Y/n chalked it up to something deeper they are not telling her, based on the constant blood tests and X-rays they conducted on her for ‘check ups’ when she never even stepped outside the facility. 

She never did question them too much on the tests, why would she? They wanted what was best for her, and she had no place to argue. Maybe she was, as they claimed, ‘delicate’. 

When they compared Y/n’s stature and physical maturity against Spider, they claimed it was for her safety that she didn't leave. That she wouldn’t be able to defend herself and that her body is more delicate than others. She was the only girl her age, the only young human girl in Pandora and they didn’t want to take a chance. 

Y/n always kicked herself for being room ridden in her early years that led her to not get used to the outside world. Always drinking in logs of her mother and Grace Augustine. She also convinced Max if she could see Jake Sully’s logs, which she was grateful for. The current Olo’eyktan, was a human like her. And now he is living his truth amongst his people out there. 

“It's fine, I'm not bothered by it anymore” Y/n says harshly, spinning around as Spider grabs her shoulders. He looks down at her apologetically.

“No, it's on me. I shouldn't even be telling you about my day when you….” he trails off frowning.

“No! No, it's fine Spider. I love listening to your adventures. Honestly. It's my form of entertainment and I love watching you happy” Y/n says smiling up at the taller boy.

Despite this Y/n always tried to stay positive, always helping around with research, helping maneuver samples and making sure the tanks are full for the exo packs they would take outside for excursions and for Spider’s constant usage. Y/n tried to be as helpful as possible, all to divert her attention from the void she felt deep within.

Her free time always consisted of watching logs, watching how her mother spoke about the Na’vi with excitement. Her mother had helped the clan recuperate after the war, helping alongside Mo’at with the injured. Y/n’s mother had even gotten close with Neytiri, the wife of Jake Sully. Her mother was also involved in Neytiri’s firstborn’s delivery. 

Y/n watched in amazement everytime memorizing how her mother spoke fondly about the world, the beauty that basked her in awe all the time. Y/n couldn't help but desire that as well. Fantasize about going out, running across the forest floor with no limits or the chance of running into a cold wall. She craved freedom. Craved adventure. Something more. Something beyond her personal prison. 

“Y/n! There you are!” Norm peeks into the medical wing, his hand gripping a tablet as he eyes Spiders wrapped arm in worry. Spider shows a thumbs up to clear his concern as he turns his attention back to Y/n.

“Can you double check on the exo-pack’s when you have time? The filters need to be cleaned and the power supply pack needs to be changed. Think you can do that for me?” He asks, offering a tiny pleading smile. Y/n forces down her pent up sadness and manages a tiny nod.

“Max told me to check them earlier. I just have a few left” She explains to which Norm sighs out in relief. “Good, did you fix pack #8? That one was almost busted the last time I saw it” Y/n waves him off, she wasn't in the mood to go back to recharding and cleaning the exo-packs, the very thing they needed to survive the outside world. The very thing she wishes she had the opportunity to use. 

“Yes, no worries. I’ll get them done!” Y/n reassures as Norm nods once more before ducking down to head for the laboratory. Y/n sighs out once he is out of earshot. She turns to Spider who had been quite the entire time. 

“Ok...wanna have dinner together?’ Spider asks, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen over her face behind her ear. Y/n smiles at Spider, her dear friend she grew up to love and cherish as a brother. 

“I’d love that, my room or yours?” Y/n asks, taking his larger hand into hers as she tugs him towards the kitchen.

“Yours, you have a more comfortable bed”

~~~~~~

“I’m off!” Spider calls out quickly grabbing an exo pack and securing it tightly against his face. Hearing his declaration and watching him walk towards the exit, Y/n scurries to his side, glancing at the watch on her wrist as she frowns deeply. 

“Are you insane! It's already nightfall!!” She hisses. She rolls her eyes noting how Norm and Max didn't seem bothered by the fact that Spider wanted to go out again, and this late into the day, the sun had already set a while ago which meant the dangers of the night would be out on the prowl. 

“So what? Kiri wanted to show me some cool bioluminescent plants. We can only see them when the sun has set anyways” Spider shrugs, tightening the pack against his back. Y/n bites her lips furiously, her nostrils flaring in a mix of anger and worry for the boy. 

“Spider, seriously? It's only been 3 days, and your wound hasn't fully healed yet. What if you run into trouble?” She rants, trying to stand in Spider’s way crossing her arms in frustration. Spider sighs out loud, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. 

“We won't be going too far out and I have this-” He gestures to the bow slung across his chest. Y/n raises an eyebrow, glancing at his injured arm as if to answer his statement . He playfully rolls his eyes, sidestepping her and quickly walking past her. 

“I’ll be fine Y/n, quit worrying!” He calls back, walking towards the entrance with determination. Y/n sighs out realizing she wouldn't hear the end of it if she took another step closer to the entrance especially since Norm and Max were in her line of vision. She throws her hands up in annoyance, turning to Max who simply offers a tiny smile. 

“Seriously? You're allowing this?” Y/n asks her cheeks flushed in worry. 

At this point Y/n didn't know what egged her to react in such a way. Was it a worry for Spider’s safety? Was it anger towards the ‘adults’ in the lab that allowed him to venture out so late? Or the more likely option, was it jealousy? Jealous over the fact that Spider could go out, and she can't. 

“Relax Y/n, it's not the end of the world. Let the boy live a little” Max says teasingly which caused the tiny girl to fume. 

‘Then, why can I live a little?’

Hearing the entrance lock from a few feet behind her Y/n whips around to leave the lab, intending on going to her room to watch her mother logs. Watching her mothers calming logs always helped calm her down. 

“Wait! Y/n?!” Norm calls from his seat, causing the girl to stop right outside the door. She glances back, her eyes cold and unwavering.

“Yes?” she asks in a monotone, not feeling in the mood to listen to what he had to say. “Did you check the exo-packs like I asked the other day?” He asks, not noting how Y/n looked ready to kill at this point. 

“Of course, now if you’ll excuse me. I have to go to my room” Y/n easily lies before marching out of the lab. Max glances at Norm who had a questioning look on his face. 

“The rebellious stage?” Norm asks, tapping his pen against his lips 

“I'd say more like just fluctuating hormones?” Max offers, glancing back at where she had stormed off to.

“Thank god I don't have children of my own”

“Norm….Y/n and Spider are practically our children…”

~~~~~

“No”

Y/n’s hands scurry over the hanger, rechecking the packs in her arms, her heart beating a mile per minute.

“No, no no no, where are you?” Y/n whispers to herself, her eyes jumping around as if it would magically appear in front of her.

After gloating in her room for half an hour Y/n decided to finally finish up her duty to clean and recharge the exo packs. She had been rather lazy the past few days, lazy to the point she kept putting off the chore entirely. 

The moment she arrived back to the lab it was empty, everyone must have left for their quarters or for dinner, a perfect time to quickly finish her work and be on her way to her room again. But unfortunately for her, life wasn't going to be that easy. 

She remembered leaving a few packs to do later, but one was missing. The very same pack Norm had emphasized on, the defective and nearly beaten up exo pack. #8. 

She looked around aimlessly, double checking the logbook to see if anyone had mistakenly taken the pack out. But she knew no one would be out this late. And if things couldn't get any worse, there were no loose packs lying around. No one would have mistakenly placed it anywhere. And the recycling system didn't have it either so no one decided on throwing out the defective pack. 

Which only left one, bone chilling conclusion.

“Shit…Spider” 

Y/n looks at the entrance a few feet away. Before the entrance seemed to shine, it seemed to always glow in her eyes. But right now, it looked menacing, scary even. It was the very same door Spider had run out of not too long ago, wearing the defective mask. 

Y/n feels sweat drip down her forehead, her eyes widening in fear. Due to her laziness, her foolishness. Spider was going to die. And all because of her. 

The exo packs would be good for a few hours even if they are near to running out of power, or even if the filter needed to be changed. But Y/n knew about that mask, #8 was defective. That mask should have been discarded weeks ago. And she knew Spider didn't have hours, he had minutes left. 

“What have I done? '' Y/n shakily covers her mouth, covering up her sobs as she feels the weight of her mistake weigh down on her. She couldn't seem to form a coherent thought  as she sobs out of sheer pain and guilt that shook her body. 

Just as her sobs die down she glances at the entrance one more time, before mindlessly grabbing two exo packs. She slings one across her arms carefully while placing the other one over her face, securing the mask snugly and slinging her arms through the power pack. She held the extra pack close to her, taking tentative steps towards the entrance. The closer she got, the faster her heart rang against her chest.

She knew Norm and Max would be devastated if they found out Spider was in danger , or worse dead because of Y/n. And she couldn't, wouldn’t live with his blood on her hands. She nears the entrance, her hands shakily reaching out to firmly grasp the cold handle. 

She didn't know how, she didn't know if she had the ability. But she would rather die trying than sit in the lab waiting for the inevitable.

She was determined to find Spider. Wherever he may be.

Glancing back at the empty lab once more she turns her exo pack on, taking in a deep breath. The hum of the power supply working flawlessly vibrates against her back comfortably. 

Locking the airlock she opens the door, shutting it behind her with force as she runs into the unknown forest ahead. 

Not sparing a glance back at her so-called; prison. 

~~~~~~~~

Y/n had been wandering around aimlessly as her feet carried her deeper and deeper into the forest. She didn't have the time to bask in the beauty of the forest she had desired for long as her worry and fear for Spider clouded her vision. 

Her eyes darted around, the bioluminescent plants aiding her in her quest through the dense forest filled with twigs and foliage that crushed under her hurried steps. 

“S-shit” 

Y/n comes to a stop in a clearing, resting her hand against the tree beside her to catch her breath. She had never run so far, and for such a long duration in her entire life. She felt her legs tremble under form as if it couldn't hold her upper body weight any longer. Her breaths came out in gasps occasionally fogging up her face plate. 

At the rate she was going she didn't know if she had a chance to even find Spider. Feeling all the adrenaline drain from her body, she slumps against the large tree, sliding down to sit on the cold forest floor beneath. Her eyes trail over the beauty as she tries to regulate her breathing, her eyes glimmering with  mild excitement. 

For a moment, she forgot that Spider was in danger. 

For a moment, she felt like she was dreaming. 

Her fingers clutch the leaves underneath her, they felt so soft yet rough at the same time, her eyes catching the various plants that glow and glimmer in the dead of the night. It was an indescribable beauty. Y/n found herself realizing  her mother had not done justice when describing the beauty of Pandora in her logs. 

Pandora was not simply beautiful; It was breathtaking.

Y/n smiles softly to herself, her eyes taking in the beauty of the night. She couldn't imagine how it would look during the day. What she would do to stay out and wait it out till day break. 

Her thoughts are cut short when she notices a small glittering thing float down to her from high above the treeline. She watches curiously, her legs regaining some strength as she shakily stands up, her grip on the extra exo pack for Spider secure. She stands to her full fight as if to meet the floating object halfway. 

A surprised gasp leaves her lips as realizes the beautiful being was floating down to her, her face flashing with recognition. The seed came mere inches away from her face.

Y/n shakily lifts her free arm towards it, facing her palm up. Staying perfectly still. The pure spirit hoes on to land on her palm swiftly, as if it intended on landing on her hand in the first place. Y/n giggles softly feeling the tiny tendrils tickle against her bare skin. 

“You're a Atokirina” (Woodsprite) Y/n whispers out quietly,  as if weary of scaring the delicate being. She watches how the seed stays on her hand, fluttering occasionally but staying put. What a beautiful sight, she felt her heart soar.

Y/n had learned a lot through her many ‘lessons’, from Norm and the logs. About the importance of a woodsprite and its meaning. She had also learned they were pure spirits and considered scared. Y/n bites her lips softly as a thought crosses her mind. Taking a moment to contemplate her question she takes a deep breath.

“I've lost a dear friend of mine…Spider, will you help me find him?” Y/n whispers, feeling silly for asking a favor out loud. She watches how the seed flutters at her request, floating up at her words. Taking this as a sign, Y/n pushes her wobbly legs to follow the floating woodsprite across the clearing and near a patch of bushes. 

She comes to a halt noticing how the woodsprite started to float upwards, floating further and further away. She tilts her head in question. Did it want her to continue on straight? Straight through and deeper into the forest? 

Y/n glances back at the bush in front of her, her eyes catch the slight movement between the leaves. Her heart jumps at the movement. Was it Spider? Was he in the bushes? 

Feeling like she had no other option she slowly comes closer towards the bush, watching the rustling increase the closer it got. She couldn’t help but feel fear ping inside of her as she came closer, her feet practically tip toeing against the forest floor. 

‘If it was Spider, why hasn't he come out yet?’ 

Gulping loudly she reaches out her free hand to move the leaves for a better view but within a blink of eye she is harshly pushed down to the ground. 

The extra pack flies away at the impact of her landing harshly against the forest floor, her back pressed down by a heavy weight. The deep growl makes Y/n’s  blood run cold. 

Her eyes widen in unbridled fear as she stares into the eyes of an angry viperwolf. Out of fear she trashes against the beast, screaming in fear which only agitated the creature who snaps its fangs at her. 

Tears pool along her irises as her body gives in, to warn out to fully fight back. She feels the creature get closer to her face, the warning growls disappearing as its eyes square down into her smaller form. 

She scrunched her eyes shut, waiting for it all to end in a second. 

Spider was right, your life does flash before your eyes. And all Y/n saw was her sad self, staring at her own reflection with no purpose. An empty shell of herself. No goals, no ambitions. Nothing. All because she was denied such freedom. 

Y/n feels her body relax. Maybe this was what she needed? Maybe this was meant to be? 

She silently prays when all of the sudden the weight is lifted off of her. 

Her eyes snapped open as she scurried to sit up. Y/n eyes widen in shock, her jaw going slacked as she watches the viperwolf snap defensively against her saviour. 

She drinks in the sight of a Na’vi male, and not just any male. A really tall Navi, his broad back facing her as he wrestled against the viperwolf. She catches a glint of a knife that was lodged into the creature as it whines in pain. 

Y/n had never seen a Na’vi up close before, sure she had scanned over files and pictures. She even got to interact with some of the avatars. But this. This was new. This was a true Na’vi. And he had saved her.

Y/n crawls over to the abandoned exo pack that had gone flying when she was thrown to the ground, making sure it wasn't damaged as she looks it over. Sighing in relief, she glances over at  the Na’vi as he looms over the now dead viperwolf, whispering something in their native language as he pulls out the knife. Cleaning it if it’s blood.

“T-thank you” 

Y/n whispers, taking tiny straps to get a bit closer to the now crouched male. At the sound of her voice he visually stiffens, his grip on the knife tightening as he sheaths back into its casing across his belt 

Not receiving a response Y/n clears her throat, she wanted to wipe her face of the tears that had slipped past her eyes at her near death experience. But the mask proved to be a barrier at the moment. 

“Thank you for saving me” Y/n tries again. This time she takes a cautious step back when the male whips around, standing up immediately to his full height towering over her. Y/n craned her neck to get a glimpse of his face, her breath hitched upon taking in his features. 

He must have been the most beautiful, handsome Na’vi Y/n had ever seen. The markings and stripes along his face displayed beautifully, his yellow eyes shining bright as they pierced into her soul, his locks braided neatly and laying past his shoulders. Decorated with beads and pearls. 

And his lips, so nicely shaped and perfect, Y/n found herself getting lost in them. But from the looks of it, he wasn’t smiling at her. No. He was frowning, his eyes burning with what looked to be anger. 

“Thank??” He growls slowly, pointing his index finger towards Y/n in accusation. His English accent thick. 

“You thank?? For this?!” He hisses, his ears flattened against his head. Y/n flinches at his tone, looking over at the viperwolf that attacked her earlier. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she realized he had killed a creature, a native creature for her. 

“I’m sorry…I-”

Y/n looks back at the handsome stranger, noting how his shoulders relax a bit at her apology. 

(A/N: The rest of the dialogue is in Navi)

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get in the way. Create a…conflict” Y/n says in Na’vi. Though it was broken and missing some words, the male seems to relax fully once she speaks to him his mother tongue. 

Once she had grown interested in the Na’vi culture Y/n had made Norm’s life a living hell until he taught her how to speak. She could understand almost everything after many years of practice, it was her speaking that needed improvement, 

“Why did you save me?” She asks, her voice shaky from the event that had unfolded. The male grunts at her question, choosing to look anywhere else but her. His tail twitches under her stare. 

“Because Ewya seems to have chosen you…for what. I don’t know”  he explained. Y/n eyes widen at his words. Had he been watching her the entire time? From the moment she walked into the clearing? And she hasn't known of his presence? He must be a warrior, judging by his stature, his precision and skills. 

“I’m truly sorry, it was foolish of me to provoke him…” She wipers apologetically. The male's eyes twitch upwards, taking in her world. 

The male shuffles a little, the storm behind his eyes seems to calm down at her words. He seems to contemplate something before looking over to her, his expression much more relaxed than before but still hard. 

“Where are you from?” he demands, but much softer than before. He looked stiff, ready to defend himself if need be, but the original hostility had dispersed once he saw the sincerity behind her apology, 

“I-I’m from the base camp, a good way away from here. I work with…Norm and Max?” Y/n explains, peering up at the giant. Y/n thought it best she use the names of her guardians who she knew were known amongst the Omatikaya. She used their names hoping for the male to calm down, and luckily it worked perfectly, 

The male's tail twitches at the names mentioned, a flash of recognition crossing his face. He lets out a grunt as he glances around the clearing.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone tawtute. I will escort you back so you may not cause anymore trouble. Is that clear?” (Human) The male says sternly, his eyes completely calm but filled with authority. Not waiting for her response he turns his back on her, taking two strides waiting for her to follow him. 

Y/n thought he was around her age, but his tone and choice of words, how he held himself made him seem older. That, or he was that of nobility. 

“I can’t!” She quickly objects.

The male halts his steps, peering over his shoulder with an unamused look on his face. He sighs out, 

“Why not tawtute. Do you want to die? It’s dangerous and you have nothing to defend yourself,” he warns. 

“My friend….My friend is in danger, I’m looking for him” Y/n holds the extra pack up as his eyes trace over the human invention. His nose slightly scrunches at the sight but he waits for her to further explain. 

“He left with a defective exo pack, if I do not deliver this to him in time he will die.” She says stepping closer to him. The male stiffens at her close proximity, his heart rate quickens as his nostrils fill up with her scent,  which he chooses to ignore. 

“Another tawtute? In the forest? It’s really late in the night, he’s probably already dead” he states, his tone holding traces of sympathy. 

Y/n eyes widen at his words. Had she truly been late, it’s true it’s been a while since he had left, the exo pack couldn’t have malfunctioned at any time. Was it all for nothing?

“N-no! I can’t let that happen. He’s alive, I feel it-” Y/n places her hand over her heart for emphasis. “Spider, he can-“ 

“Spider?!” The male jolts at the familiar name. His eyes light up on high alert causing Y/n to be taken aback.

“Y-yes, Spider! Do you know him!” She confirms, taking a step closer to the Na’vi. The male glances back at the exo pack one more time before offering his large hand out for her. 

“Come” 

~~~~~~~

The male Navi pulls Y/n along with him as she walks quickly through the forest. Y/n desperately tried to keep up, her lungs burning at the sensation of her rapid pace. 

Y/n tried to get the male to give her some space, to let her run freely by his side as him pulling her seemed to pose a problem. But the only response she got were grunts of acknowledgement and nothing more, 

“C-can we slow down?”  Y/n asks, her chest heaving with every breath she tries to take. The male stops, turning towards her. His eyes burning with determination, his tail swishing behind me. 

“You tawtute are slow, weak. If you don’t hurry we won’t find him” the male hisses. Y/n realizes this male must be one of Spider’s friends. He recognized him the moment she mentioned him, and the urgency in his actions proved he cared for him. 

“I’ll try to keep up. Can I please walk on my own?” Y/n pleads, the arm that had been tugged at for the past few minutes throbbing with pain. 

The male scoffs, the tiniest smile playing along his lips. “Fine, do what you want tawtute, but move with haste” the male turns around taking a few steps but much slower this time to accommodate her speed. 

“I have a name!” Y/n huffs out.

“Oh? What might that be?” There is a small trace of amusement in his tone as he keeps walking forward. Y/n glances down at her footing. Being mindful where she placed her feet on the huge branch as she didn’t want to fall. It wasn't a big drop, but it was big enough to break a bone or two. 

“Y/n. My name is Y/n” she wheezes out. The male hums at her response, satisfied that she answered to him so quickly, 

“Y/n…Mhm…” the male says her name causing Y/n’s steps to falter. The way her name rolled off his tongue, so elegantly it seemed to cause her heart to skip a beat. The deep baritone voice only made him sound that much more….attractive.

“What's your-”

Y/n was so lost in her thoughts she misplaced her next step. Y/n screams in fear feeling her leg slip from under her, she is able to see how the male Na’vi whips around to the sound of her scream, rushing to catch her in time but to no avail. Y/n’s fingers slip past his by a few mere centimeters as she tumbled towards the forest floor. She landed with a huge thump, landing on her face. 

“Y/n!”

Y/n groans in pain, struggling to sit back up. Luckily nothing felt broken, but her entire body screamed in protest as aches and pain took over her body. She held her breath to calm her racing heart. Just as Y/n tries to stand up, the male jumps down to her side. He crouches down to her level assessing her for any injuries with a worried look. 

“Woah, that was a scare! Talk abou-hmpfhghaa?”

Y/n’s words get caught off as the males' large hands cover her mouth. Y/n eyes widen at the action, her face heating up at the feeling of his warm hand over her mouth. His hand was big enough to cover her entire face if he wanted to. But all she could focus on was the way his body heat radiated off of  his soft hand.

‘He feels so warm…..wait…warm?’ 

Y/n feels her heart drop to her stomach realizing why she felt his hand press firmly against her mouth. 

Her mask had broken clean off. Her face was fully bare.

If it weren't  for his hand she would have inhaled the toxic air. Dying in an instant.

“Mhdgjpfff!” 

The male's expression is filled with worry, his eyes dancing around for the extra pack she had with her for Spider. Unable to find it near them he growls in frustration. It might have slipped from Y/n’s fingers when she had fallen. Such luck. 

“Can you hold your breath? Do you think you can hold your breath till the base Y/n? Forget Spider, let me carry you back to your base!” The male says urgently, his face showing emotions he didn’t show earlier. Y/n ignored how her heart rate accelerated at him saying her name so freely. 

Her eyes mist over realizing this was the end. She shakes her head, she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it, and with the extra pack not in sight it was as if she was meant to perish. Like everything that has happened today, happened for a reason. 

The Na’vi shakes his head in denial, refusing to take no for an answer.

“No, there must be something. Another way” He glances at the sky, he would call his Ikran but the question still stands. Would she be able to hold her breath for that long? 

Y/n smiles at the male, her tiny fingers reaching up to grab his hand, trying to tug his hand free from his hold. . 

The male shakes his head, refusing to remove his hand. Y/n feels herself get light headed  from the lack of oxygen. If this is what fate had in store for her, she was willing to allow it.

Noticing how her eyes got droopy, the male pulled Y/n into him, having her head rest against his free arm while she sat against his lap. 

He looks down at her with sadness, his eyes staring into her e/c eyes realizing there was nothing he could do. He felt utterly useless. 

Y/n nods assuringly as she is finally able to pull away his hand. The male closed his eyes, he didn’t want to watch her in physical pain in her last few moments. A shaky sigh escaped his lips. Y/n looks up at the star's above, her eyes closing to a shut. 

Y/n thanks the gods above for letting her see the forest for the first time, and for meeting a Na’vi at the first try. In a way she got to experience everything she desired in the span of one day, and that made her happy. 

She takes a deep breath and……

Nothing happens. 

Her lungs fill in with the air around her as her eyes snap open. The male peeks his eyes open as well hearing her gasp in surprise, his  widened as he watches her able to breathe the air around her. His air. The air that was supposed to be…toxic. 

Y/n smiles wide, sitting up straighter. She can breathe fine, in fact the air seems lighter as it travels through her, better than oxygen! She could breathe Pandora air! Had the great mother spared her life?

“W-hat?!” Y/n sits up fully now, still within his grasp. The Na’vi’s eyes bore into her in shock and surprise as she wiggled what was left of her mask off her face. She adjusted her hair and moved it from face as she inhaled deeply. 

“I…I’m not dead!” She declares, turning to fully to face the male. She squeaks in surprise when she realizes how close their faces were from one another as she is practically resting over his lap. She shyly looks into his eyes, him staring back at her in awe. 

The male's eyes widen at her , fully taking in her beauty. He hadn't noticed her when he was blinded by anger, or when he began to worry over his friend Spider.  

Now that he had her in his arms, he realized he didn’t want to let her go. He was able to see everything, and up close. The mask that seemed to hide her beauty finally gone, showing him what he had missed. What he had been blind to see before.

“W-what’s your name?” Y/n asks, beginning to shy away from his intense stare up close. Maybe she looked silly with her messy hair and puffy eyes? 

The male breathes in, a genuine smile twitching along his lips.

“Neteyam,…my name is Neteyam”

And for the first time in forever, Neteyam felt completely breathless. 

___________________________________

groaning from the lack of warmth, you rolled over and propped yourself up on your elbows, hands tucking under your chin to scan the room. the haze of sleepiness is still apparent when you lock eyes with a blurry figure standing in the doorway of the closet. the light illuminates around his broad, naked torso, and you simpered at the familiar sight.

“good morning,” you beam, reaching a hand to rub your eyes and finally lay a clear gaze on moon baek.

you marvel at the soft smile that you receive in return: bright, teeth flashing as he runs his hand through his hair. “morning, baby,” he replies, his voice gruff against the early sunrise. you sit up, pulling up the sheets against your chest, and admire the beautiful man in front of you surrounded by discarded morphine bottles and needles. 

when you first met moon baek, you’d both been desperate, hungry, and anger-filled, unfortunate teenagers on the street. he’d been a defensive and utterly hateful boy at the age of fifteen. you hadn’t been much better, only offering the amount of respect you’d received, which it turns out wasn’t a lot for a young, parentless child.

the streets of seoul were busy, gang-ridden, and harsh, but you had found them better than the nasty government housing that you’d been placed into only months prior by the local courts. as a young girl, it was either devour or be devoured. whether you were scouting the dark streets hours after the sun had hidden its face, facing against the harsh, snowy winters or the hot, rotten heat waves of summer. the struggle was incessant. not to mention the human threat of pervert old men, middle-aged thugs, or the odd older woman who promised a safe space and food, only to try to sell you to a shady business she owned or owed.

you’d been scouring through a particularly lucrative neighborhood dump when you’d heard a noise, a metal scrapping of some sort, either a can against the concrete or another hefty object scraping a hard surface. the sound paused your movements, letting silence surround you for a few moments, confused if you had heard the noise right or your senses had played tricks on you in your already anxious state.

when no other noise continued, you slipped from your position against the deep dumpsters and landed silently next to it. your hands clutched an unopened, nearly expired turkey wrap and a stale, clipped-together, half-eaten chips. you turned to face an unfamiliar, large, boyish chest, with two more aligned on either side.

you shakily picked your head up and made eye contact with what appeared to be a man in his late twenties with a lengthy scar that dragged through his eyebrow and down the corner of his eye. the duo flanking him seemed to be around the same age, with matching tattoos beneath their left eyes in the shape of a cross. even with your lack of proper education, your instincts alone were enough to send your nerves screaming for you to run. instead, you froze, the packaged food slipping between your fingers and splattering against the man and your shins.

before you had a chance to gather yourself, he reached forward, slamming a palm down against your neck and collarbone with a smirk. a silver-capped canine grinned back at you in the pale light. you gulped down your pleas inside your throat.

“and what’s a little girl like you doing out here all by your lonesome?” the man snarked, not looking for an actual answer to his hypothetical. the posse behind his shoulders laughed as though a cue card had been held up that told them to do so. you bit your tongue to keep the fear to yourself.

 the man raises his other hand that’s not already attached to you to tap your chin at the lack of an interaction from you. you met his eyes for the second time that night, but this time, a glint of frustration gazes back at you.

“i —,” you stutter. “i— was just looking for some food.”

you admit this in a mumble, sheepishly looking away from the trio, who, to your standards, seem pretty well-fed themselves. 

one of the sidekicks snickers— you’re not sure who, and then the hand that tapped your chin is in your hair. you take a step back, accidentally hitting the wall of the dumpster, and stop, realizing your mistake as it happens: you’re cornered.

“well, why didn’t you just say that, sweetheart,” came the brute man’s reply, leaning an arm against the space near your head, further trapping you inside the stench of these men. your fingers are twitching, and your wide eyes begin to water, dread chorusing through your veins.

you’re not sure which one is hit first by the flying blur that comes from your right. all you know is that one moment there are three men crowding you in, and the next, one is on his back before you, and the other two are in a heap, groaning and shouting with blatant annoyance. then, something is pulling your arm, causing your head to whip to the side as your body is pulled away from the scene. 

 it takes about a block for your brain to catch up with your feet, wrenching your arm from the newest stranger’s grasp. “yay!” you cry in part exasperation and part confusion. “what—”

your complaints are short-lived as you hear a curse, followed by the boy placing his hand on the small of your back to keep the previous pace he’d set, just as the three thugs rounded the prior street corner you’d passed. your worn shoes felt every crack and pebble you passed over as you sprinted alongside the strange boy. the brief glimpse you’d seen had been of sharp, young features, a shock of short black hair that reached just above his earlobes, and most confusing, a patchwork of gauze over one eye. he certainly didn’t seem the type to help someone in a precarious situation. 

he wore a similar dark-colored sweatshirt to your own, and the night breeze from running made his forehead peek out from behind his bangs in sporadic steps. you couldn’t help but wonder who he was and where he’d come from. after several minutes, he pulled you behind a stack of old crates, using the spare tarp to cover the two of you, pressing his body warm beside yours. the cool air and ugly humanity nipped outside, but inside the tarp was surprisingly snug and comfortable.

eventually, the even pants that came from both of you faded to a normal pace. the boy moves, most likely to open the tarp and leave, but you stick out a hand in time to pause his movements.

“thank you,” you whisper meekly, embarrassed. he only nods in your direction, continuing to stand up from your makeshift hiding spot. “are you leaving me?”

the boy glances down at you, pity thick in his eyelashes. “yes,” came the reply, void of any emotion.

your head tilts up and down in resignation, leaning farther into the corner of the wall and edge of the crates, wishing to disappear instead of restarting your search for food. one more night of hunger wouldn’t hurt. at least, you’d met someone remotely kind enough to avoid further trouble today.

you must have fallen asleep because the sound of rustling awakens you the next morning. tense, you sit up hastily, knocking your head against the heavy wood beside you in your panic. to your confusion, you come face-to-face with the boy from last night, and this time, a mouth-watering scent of bread reaches your nose.

stunned, you take the offering of food without question, before following him outside your makeshift bed from the previous night. you mumble a thanks before ripping open the package and moaning as the sweet flavor lights your taste buds afire. after swallowing, you hold out a hand to the boy in formal greeting and introduce yourself.

he chuckles lightly before grasping your outstretched hand. “i’m moon baek.”

you nod in confirmation and turn back to your breakfast, stomach churning at the introduction to sustenance after several hours without. after finishing your respective meals, you turn back to the boy.

“why did you come back?” you wonder aloud with furrowed brows. you quickly pierce your lips and sheepishly look at the boy beside you, afraid of sending moon baek on his lonely way again. he glances over at you, eyeing you carefully, but instead of an answer, he merely shrugs and gives you a knowing smirk.

you can’t resist your smile that follows.

that night, after setting up a makeshift room with loose sheets, planks of wood, and abandoned lanterns, the two of you admired your hard work within your lucky find of an abandoned building. it wasn’t much, god knows, but to you, it felt warm, like home.

your routine quickly formed, either moon baek doing most of the nighttime hunting for supplies to live, and you mending clothes, sheets, and cooking at your place, or the two of you would scavenge together. with moon baek’s quick wit, physical strength, and mysterious visible injury, most steered clear.

the divided set of responsibilities worked nicely until one day, moon baek approached you with what appeared to be a handgun. having shared most of his traumatic youth, you knew half of his time during his days out was dedicated to looking for any sort of clue to identify who’d taken him as a baby, as a child, and who’d been ready to kill him for parts at such a young age. you understood this and sympathized with his need for vengeance.

the work wasn’t scrupulous, leaving moon baek’s hands stained in more than one way, but when he came back to your makeshift room at the end of the night, it was as though the long day was forgotten — if only for a few moments. you’d help in the ways you could, learning how to defend yourself, scraping for money and supplies alone, and occasionally following a peculiar individual while your partner tailed the other.

when he’d managed to get his hands on the glock, and several rounds of heavy metal balls that packed just as much power when cocked and fired, the final piece of his revenge was in place. he silently packed a small backpack full of supplies in the dim light between your makeshift beds, mere inches from each other’s. you sat beside him, head resting on his shoulder as he wrapped miscellaneous smoke bombs, rounds, and knives within the bundle. the silence was thick as you broke it.

“are you leaving me?” you whispered, peering up at the handsome boy’s face.

you heard a sigh from beside you, knowing the answer already in your heart. “yes.”

you’d swallowed the bitter reality, and for the last night in this space, lay down beside him and listened to his even breaths as the dusk turned to black, and your heavy lids closed by themselves.

for the first several months, you thought the first time he had left only to return to your side must have been a coincidence. it was hard not to believe that moon baek had left you all alone in the wide world this time. eventually, the abandoned building that the two of you had shared was purchased and prepped for demolition. the city was planning on building another skyscraper office building. you’d gathered what you needed and drifted away from the city block, adding to your conclusion that the chapter you shared with moon baek had ended. 

your sense of security was gone, the wish to continue this dismal path you’d been laid faded, and you felt the ramifications of his absence in everything you did. lack of sleep, anxiety, and hunger seemed to wreck not only your body, but also began to creep into your mental state as well. when you’d been walking back to the subway lockers you’d stashed your entire life in while you worked your part-time delivery job, you were sure that hallucinations had become just another symptom of your circumstance.

your eyebrows narrowed as you squinted, trying to determine if the person in front of you was a real person or a figment of a hallucination, when a chuckle came from moon baek’s chest. you tilted your head, noting how the crowd of people seemed to part for the strikingly tall individual, and shook your head to clear your confusion. moon baek stayed the same, unmoving, a smirking smile creeping alongside his face. his previously covered eye was uncovered and now shone bright blue.

beside yourself, you grinned, feeling your lips curl before you’d registered your response, quickly jogging to him. you threw your arms over his shoulders, your back arching as you tiptoed to reach his height, his familiar weight and warmth radiating beneath your palms. he had to stoop to reach you, but the satisfied sigh that came from his throat confirmed that he didn’t mind. just as you moved to step back, he leaned in for a passionate, long overdue kiss that made the onlookers move even farther around you.

with his newfound illegal success, moon baek’s life had drastically changed since you’d last met him. now working for an american man by the name of jake, he was in charge mostly of the imports and exports within korea. the position was more than lucrative, and soon, along with the progression of your relationship with moon baek, you became entangled further in the world of gangs, drugs, and weapons. between stolen kisses and tight embraces, jake continued to delve into other foul activities, such as weapon trafficking and drugs. every finger interlocked was overshadowed by a scandal or murder, jake needed to be orchestrated. 

it also seemed that moon baek— nicknamed blue-brown by the man who’d ordered his transplant— was one of the most valued members of the organization. his wicked wits came in handy when organizing the gang's activities and advances. considering the charismatic man he is, it didn’t surprise you that he seemed to be working his way quickly through the organization’s ranks.

in fact, if most of moon baek and your youth was spent on the run, then most of your young-adult years were spent as cattle. worked to the bone, promised more than was given, and reprimanded when stepping out of line. no matter the position, ill fortune continued to follow the two of you.

as the months turned into years, you found yourself settling into a routine, but not without knowing that one of moon beak’s feet was inevitably out the door. his self-proclaimed life’s mission was too great. the need to convey the despicable lesson of selfishness he’d been taught as a child outweighed his safety, his health, his life.

when he’d been diagnosed with cancer, jake helped the two of you access the best healthcare internationally, taking moon baek away from you once more. over the past few weeks, as he’d been tapered off the steroids in preparation for surgery, what he’d lost in weight was made up in his height. his farewell hug was just as warm despite his weak frame. the airport was bustling, per usual, but the sadness the two of you emitted steered the public away from your tight embrace.

for old time sakes, you whimpered against his ear, “are you leaving me?”

a dry chuckle erupted between the two of you, and through your tears, you gave a weak smile.

“yes,” he whispers, wiping your tears from your cheeks. his touch is soft, his voice gruff. you take a moment to memorize his heartbeat before stepping back and giving him a wide, shaky grin of goodbye that would have appeared to others as a grimace.

this farewell felt more like a promise to return than any of the others. you knew that one day there would come a time when moon baek would leave for a place you could not follow. one of life’s hardest pills to swallow is the realization that no matter how much you mentor, reassure, argue, manipulate, or agree, a person’s choice remains that person’s choice alone.

and so, when moon baek had returned from the states with a plethora of new scars, a still actively cancer-ridden body, and a final mission directly from jake, you knew the end was near. 

you’d spent as much of the time with moon baek as you could, indulging in your usual activities: going to fancy restaurants, drinking soju until your faces were more flushed from alcohol than each other's whispers and whines, dancing around your living room to old classic rock records with the bright city lights illuminated beneath you.

this morning, you could feel the tension in the air, despite the warm, loving look that accompanied your lover’s greeting. despite the years of preparation, you still gulped your true feelings of fear, abandonment, and guilt, beneath your tongue as you rose from the sheets and reached for moon baek’s face. his hair is soft as your hands tangle in the stands and your mouths connect.

the kiss tastes salty with tears — yours or his, you’re unsure. it’s gentle, but firm, his tongue working your mouth open with admission. it leaves you as breathless as the one he’d first shared with you in the subway station after returning from his first dealings with his new affiliation.

you pull away slowly, allowing the line of spittle to connect and split between the two of you, already missing the feelings of warmth on your lips. you stare up at his heterochrome eyes, your throat suddenly dry, your uncontrollable question prepared to tumble from your mouth.

finally, you break eye contact and look at the city beyond his crouched shoulder. “are you leaving me?” you whisper with as much courage as possible, although it feels as if your chest is caving in on itself, your breath stolen before you can inhale.

you hear the thick gulp that follows the question, and the tight embrace that follows, leaving you more hollow than consoled. he ran a hand over the back of your head in a soothing pattern.

“yes, my love,” he murmurs, his breath catching, his grip contracting impossibly. your sob is muffled in his shoulder as your fingers grip the back of his shirt for a stronger hold. you feel the bite as the fabric cuts into your circulation, but you find yourself unable to let go. the two of you stay in your embrace for a while, the exact time irrelevant, as any would be too short. 

eventually, the early dawn breaks into the day as the sun cuts across the eastern shore. the warm glow shatters the dull, sad mood that the two of you clung to, swallowing your sniffles as you let go of your tight grasp. moon baek gave you one last kiss, a moment-long peck on the temple, before he grabbed his gun from the vanity and left for the exit.

the moment the door clicked shut, your legs gave out as your world was ripped from beneath your feet.