#afaa

You were crouched beneath a leaning pillar of old wood, shoulders tight, attention fixed on something beyond Varang’s first glance. When she stepped forward, she saw it. Him. Sapok.

The elder’s breaths were slowing, the chest rising more from will than its usual habit. A man held together by tendon, and even those were loosening.

You lifted your gaze to her, a soft frown creasing your features.

“It’s time.”

Those two words carried the finality of the situation. The kind that meant a soul would not return through the roots of the Tree, not tonight, not ever. Time meant the moment Eywa reclaimed what was left—unless, as in Sapok’s case, He refused. 

Sapok had been split open long before his body began to fail—grief hollowing him when fire took his children, then his grandchildren, then the home his mothers grandmother had woven and built. Some wounds refused to close.

Grief had rotted him from the inside, until madness carved out his eyes with his own hands.

“I curse Eywa,” he’d spat at Varang once, voice shredded. “Do not let me return. Let my energy be mine, and mine alone.”

And she had promised.

Varang lowered herself beside you, knees against the soft earth. With deliberate care she drew her blades—curved shypers that caught what little light seeped through the smoke. Sapok could not see her, could not know whose hand would free him—but she swore his breath steadied, as if some part of him knew she was there.

She angled the blade.

Then she opened his throat.

With a second practiced motion, she severed his queue. The neural tendrils sparked with a frantic, chaotic flutter before collapsing.

Varang laid the queue against her hip, another to the collection.

“To the fires we will see you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the cooling skin of his brow, “and in the ash of your remains, we will carry you.”

You joined her in the ritual. Together you washed his body in ash, coating every wound, every ridge, every piece of him that grief had kept. You bound the flesh with cloth and quiet hands, sealing him for the journey he had chosen.

Tradition demanded quiet before the flames rose, and so you held your breath. Thinking.

Varang leaned in first (she always did) and brushed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. You shifted, shy. “Not now,” you muttered.

But she only hummed and wrapped an arm around your waist anyway.

“Why not?” she whispered against your skin. “Life should be savored when death sits so close, no?”

You shot her a look. Annoying. So annoying. You gathered your tools, bowls—your things, and packed them into a hollowed gourd. “Do not be like this.”

One ear flicked. “Like what?”

“Crude,” you snapped.

Varang smiled. She always smiled. It never meant anything except whatever she wanted it to.

“You’re angry,” she said. She caught your hand and pressed her mouth to each knuckle, slow, though her eyes never left yours. “Tell me. What have I done?”

Your lips thinned. Your tail gave you away.

“The sky-person,” you grumbled. “The one with the strange voice and the uglier face.”

Varang paused. And for the first time, her smile shifted into something fond. Now that angered you. You pulled your hand away and turned, jaw tight.

“Oh. Him?” she said at last. “Miles Quaritch.”

She reached for you again, palms gliding up your forearms, barely touching. She tried to catch your eye again.

“Him?” you mimicked her airy tone. “Yes. Him.” With a sudden twitch to your tail you groaned. “Eywa preserve me. I will not have a lovers quarrel beside Sapok’s dead body.”

“He would laugh,” she offered lightly.

You hissed and shoved her back with a flat hand. She pouted, and somehow that made it worse. “I need to do some things.”

You slipped out of the hut, brushing past the hanging beads. Of course she followed. Her stride matched yours.

“That is very vague, Y/n,” she said, tone almost sing-song.

You turned your head back, hands failing about. “Oh that's very vague?! You-”

You suddenly hit someone's chest. “Oh!”

Your eyes looked up. Golden eyes, hair along the brows and a meatier, softer impact. Who else other then:

“Miles Quaritch.” You said his name clumsily. It was the demon language, English. But it earned something of a smile from him. Like Varangs, cocky. Unlike Varangs, surprisingly warm.

“Watch where you’re going, cupcake.”

You barely understood him. Varang seemed to, though. Her demeanor changed, she tilted her head. “Demon.” She briefed a nod, and he tilted his head back, gesturing to a nearby Yurt.

“We got some things to discuss.” He grumbled.

Varang soothed a hum, before gently taking a strand of your hair and pinching it. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

You watched as she led him, and glared at Miles Quaritch, who eyed you before following her.

Great.

.

.

.

You had seen death stare at you.

It wore a woman’s face—pleasant, almost gentle. Golden-amber eyes that caught the light, hatred folded neatly behind patient lips. Black against black: wax-dark hair braided with bones of past loves.

Death came as kisses pressed to your cheek, as queues offered in submission, heads bowed. Death had a name here.

Varang.

Quaritch was not death, but the feeling curled similar in your chest. It lodged beneath your ribs and dragged its way down your spine, coiling into your legs until instinct screamed. Move, idiot. Move until he catches you.

You stared at him as he stared at you, the bonfire crackling between. Varang had told you his story: human once, died, reborn na'vi. That's why the pair made sense together, you supposed—he'd crossed the threshold and returned, and if Varang was death itself, then he must be the one who guards her door. Gatekeeper. Guardian. Something worse.

Now the spirit would not stop looking.

You turned away first, fixing your attention anywhere but him. Your mouth pulled into a soft pout as you drank from the skull-cup—nectar cut with water. Too sweet, you felt your teeth ache.

“Your pet has a staring problem.” You grumbled. 

Varang lifted an eye, her smile widened, and she played with your beaded top. “He is curious.”

“He should be curious somewhere else.”

“Now, Y/N,” Varang chided softly, “do not be hostile.”

You almost laughed at that. Do not be hostile. When has Varang ever uttered such words?

You flickered back at him, and he winked. His lips quirked up at your sneer, too-perfect-teeth reflecting the orange of the fire. Like stained blood. Then he drank from his cup, and then lifted up.

You had actually flinched at the movement, cocked your head to Varang in slight panic, but she only laughed. He moved, settling heavy beside her. “Evenin’, girls.” He tipped his head in your direction. You scowled back. “Mhm, not so touchy huh?”

“She does not understand you, Quaritch.”

He paused, cup halfway to his mouth. "Huh." A beat, then that grin widened. "Well. Guess I oughta teach her. She'll be talkin' to human grunts soon enough."

Varang's grin widened. She glanced at you, and you felt the weight of her attention like a hand at your throat. "He says he will teach you the demon language, Y/n." You knew that tone. "Take it."

"But Varang—"

And there it was. 

The shift. The moment her eyes turned sharp and her smile crooked just enough to bare a hint of fang.

Your ears flattened. You looked at Quaritch—that stupid, shit-eating grin still plastered across his face—and swallowed every word clawing up your throat. Barely managed it. 

Varang's fingers—meanwhile, found your hip, she dug in hard enough that tomorrow you'd wear the shape of them in bruises and adorn them like a kiss. That’s all you could do, anyway. She wouldn’t allow for anything else.

You bowed your head before you could stop it, face twisting despite yourself.

"F-Fine."

You turned the glare on Quaritch instead. Poured every drop of frustration and helpless fury into it, let it burn there where Varang couldn't track it. Never at her. Never where she could see. She wouldn't forgive that.

Her grip released. She rose—graceful and already dismissing you. She shoved you toward him with one careless hand. The push sent you stumbling forward before you caught yourself with Quaritch’s bicep.

"She'll do it, Quaritch."

"Atta girl," he drawled around a mouthful of meat.

You hissed at him. “Teylupil,”

.

.

.

Quaritch was everything you'd imagined and worse—arrogant, obtuse, swaggering through life with the blissful ignorance of someone who’d never met a problem his fists couldn’t solve. Worst of all, though? The man was charming, and with the several weeks spent between you two… fond.

You'd never say it aloud. Eywa could strike you down first. His ego needed no more compliments, it was swollen enough to crowd a room. Yet there it was: he made you laugh.

"Aww, c'mon. Like this." His tongue curled with exaggerated precision. "Patient. Pati-eee-nt. Feel that? The tongue goes up, not back."

You mimicked the shape of his mouth, lips pulling awkwardly. "Pati-eee-nt."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. His palm landed twice against your thigh—approving pats. "That's right. Good job."

Your ears flicked traitorously forward. Heat crept beneath your skin as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Varang had never been this patient, this rewarding. Good things from her meant extra morsels of food. But Quaritch kept a pocket full of those wrapped things—candy, he called them, and handed out those small, colorful spheres when you or another na’vi did something good. 

"Patiee-nt. Patiee-nt," you murmured again, testing it.

One brow arched. His mouth quirked. "You're picking up my accent. That's a Kansa's special right there."

"Accent?" The word felt strange on your tongue. Your grasp on this language remained amature at best. You frowned. "Accent... what?"

"What's an accent," he corrected, softening his tone. "What is an accent, you mean, doll."

You tipped your head forward, eyes wide, a question within the angle. Something in that expression pleased him—his thumb caught your chin, tugging playfully. "It's like... hm. Well, not everyone talks the way I do." A laugh escaped him, warm like the sun. "S'funny, actually. You and the other Na'vi pickin’ up my way of speaking. All of you runnin’ around sounding like cowboys. The guys'll lose their minds if they hear you."

"Funny." You paused, tail curling uncertainly behind you. "Not... normal?"

He nodded, something careful entering his expression. "You ever listen to Wainfleet talk?"

"Bald one?"

Quaritch barked a laugh. “Yeah, the bald one. But don't let him hear you say that or he'll yank your tail."

That drew a smile, even if you struggled processing the words.

"Speak—" your tongue was slow and clumsy against the language. "—sloowwwlly." You tapped at your flickering ears. "Hear. Is trying to."

He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. "Yeah, that's right. Alright, I think that's done for the day." He lifted himself up and carefully reached for your hand.

The fourth finger still felt strange against your palm—foreign in the way the knuckle was twice your size. But it was nice, too. Bigger than any of the other males in your clan. No wonder Varang liked holding it. She always liked different.

"You're a quick learner, cupcake. Better than I ever was learnin' Na'vi." His voice carried some old frustration. "My boy, Spider—he tried getting it through my thick skull. An' I could barely string a sentence together."

"Spider. Son." You gave a distant nod. Varang had mentioned him once. He had a son. Wanted him back. No harm to come to him, you remembered that much.

"Mhm." His gaze drifted somewhere past your shoulder, through the woven walls to a place you couldn't follow. For once the mask of bravado slipped, and beneath it was grief of missing someone.

You didn’t really care. That was his business. And yours…

Your lower lip jutted forward in a small pout. Hand reaching out, expectant.

That snapped him back. The grin returned, easier now, and he dug into his cargo pants before pulling out the small bag. "You really like Skittles, huh?" He poured a few into his palm, fingers sorting through the colors before plucking out the red ones. You seemed to really like those. "There you go, little lady."

The taste was different from anything on Pandora, but you liked it. "Mh, good." You nodded. You immediately plopped them into your mouth and chewed. Yum.

He watched you for a long moment—longer than necessary—then bit his lower lip and reached over to tug gently at your cheek. "You're the cutest of the bunch, y'know that? Not so bad when you're like this." His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, voice dropping quieter. "No wonder Varang keeps you around."

"She is, isn't she."

Varang sauntered through. Her body shifted like the dancing of flame, but you knew her enough. You saw her for the fire, not the warmth. You bowed your head and drew your shoulders in. Small gestures for necessary ones.

Varang's mouth was a thin, bloodless line—aimed directly at Quaritch.

She stepped to your side and pressed her hip against yours. You felt the decorative bones pricking your side, stabbing your soft skin. The contact pinned you there while her gaze carved into him. "I told you to teach her."

"And what am I doing?" Quaritch's head canted, dismissive. He wasn't the yielding type.

“Making her weak.”

He scoffed—an amused sound that bubbled into genuine exasperation. His hand found your forearm. “Hm? And how am I makin’ her weak, buttercup?”

Varang hissed.

That surprised you both. 

She hauled you back, fingers tight enough to bruise. "You may see. Not touch." Then she stepped closer to him, and the tension in her shoulders melted into something silk-smooth. Run, Quaritch. You tried telling him with your eyes. You are prey. But Varang had a way about her, captivating.

"Besides," Varang murmured, trailing one finger along the freckles of his throat, "you already have me." her lips ghosted over his pulse, and her fingers trailed down to cup the front of his pants. He hissed, a different one—a pleased one. "Do well to remember that."

She turned then, and the sultriness drained from her the moment her back faced him. Her hands found your arm again and you winced as she dragged you forward. 

You cast one glance back at Quaritch. His face had gone stony.

Her grip on your arm tightened and you winced, allowed yourself to be turned.

"Varang—" you began, stumbling to keep pace.

She didn’t slow. She dragged you into her yurt, shoving you down onto the woven mat with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. Firelight dnced along the walls, casting her in molten gold as she paced before you.

You breathed slowly, words aching to come, yet withheld under her stare.

She paced forward, steady. You lowered your head, looking anywhere but her—the woven floor, the yurt’s wooden beams, the way ash fell between the light. Her fingers found your chin, and forced your face upward. "See me."

You did. You looked up. "I... I do see you."

That made her calm, just a bit. Her heart gentled and her expression softened into something sweet. She tilted her head, studying you with the intensity of someone memorizing a dying lover, before pressing a kiss against your lips. Her eyes never shut. They watched for your reaction, golden and unblinking, and you knew exactly which one to give.

You closed your own eyes, kissing her back, hands gripping her shoulders. Warmth bloomed where skin met skin—hers fever-hot, yours clammy. "You make me weak," she finally whispered against your mouth.

That gave you pause. She either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Varang." You tilted your head up, felt her lips brush underneath your jaw, trailing heat. Your eyes felt particularly hazy—fatigue, pain, something else entirely. She slowly brought her own queue over her shoulder, and your eyes caught the restrictive tie wrapped around the tendrils.

You glanced, freckles flashing in slight embarrassment. "R-Right now...?"

She gave a nod.

You brought your own queue forward with trembling fingers, a headache already forming. She let the tendrils bond together. The both of you shuddered. Her anger crashed over you first—the frequent memory of the volcano. The screams of her mother, the passive voice of her father: “If it is Eywa’s will, Varang… be like your sister, Varang.” Then her hate followed, the taste of salt and rock.

But underneath it lay something girlishly needy, embarrassingly seeking. A vulnerability she showed no one else. Only you were allowed such a look into her soul.

"Hm."

She walked backward then, pulling you with her until she hit the hammock. It swayed under the combined weight as she settled, then drew you into her lap, tugging at your hair. “Shhh,” She cooed.

Varang pressed a hand underneath the wrapping of your top, lifting it to kiss the skin there. You’d pierce your nipples months ago, and the bone that settled between the nubs made her mouth water. “Such fear,” she whispered against your damp skin. “But you love me. I see it. I know it.”

She licked a broad wet stripe across the sensitive areola, then drew the tight bud between her mouth, swirling her tongue around the piercing and faintly tugged. 

You whined, frowning, fingers finding the ridges of her collarbone. "You always question it."

"Naturally." She nuzzled your shoulder, breathing in the ash still clinging to your skin. Her lips switched to its twin, finally fluttering her eyes close to gently suck, saliva coating your breasts. You grinded against her thigh, pressing your face against her shoulder. “Such a needy little thing, come—”

“Tsahik,”

Yepa stood where the privacy cloth was, eyes cast down. He knew better than to interrupt Varang when she kept you to herself. Her eyes sharpened, fingers pausing where they'd been toying with the piercing.  Heat crawled up your neck. You looked away, cheeks burning. 

"Speak." She said.

Her hand drifted lower, tracing the edge of your loincloth, circling just above your mound while her mouth pressed dizzying kisses along the curve of your cheek. "Forgive me, Tsahìk," Yepa murmured. "We've spotted a new caravan. The windtraders."

Varang exhaled through her nose. Her touch stilled. For one fleeting moment, she looked at you—something almost apologetic flickering behind her eyes.

Then it was gone.

You made a soft, plaintive sound, fingers curling around her wrist. "Stay." The word came out smaller than you meant it to, and you hated yourself for it. Varang despised weakness. You were weakness.

She pushed your hand away with her usual ease. "Others hunt the meat you eat, Y/n." She didn't look at you again, said it in a cooing tone that made it all the worse.

You rewrapped your chest with fumbling hands, tail lashing hard enough snap at the air. You shoved past Yepa without meeting his eyes, head bowed low.

Not fair. The thought curled bitter in your head. She could refuse you. You could never refuse her.

Around you, the clan stirred with new activity. Warriors readied their ikran, voices risingto prepare. Blades were sharpened, the new demon-weapons brandished with eager hands. 

You weren't allowed on raids. Varang forbade it.

So instead you sat on the edge of camp and kicked rocks, watching them disappear into the embers of the sun.

"You're not going?"

You froze mid-motion, glancing back.

Quaritch.

Your frown deepened.

"Varang angry," you said quietly. She’s angry, and doesn’t want you near me. Is what you meant to say. But how could you? He was an idiot. Or maybe it was you, for not knowing how to say it.

You moved to walk past him, but his hand caught your shoulder—firm, four fingers pressing and encompassing most of it.

"So?" He snorted. "She throws a hissy fit and what? Law doesn't apply to me."

They do. Your eyes narrowed. You are one of us now. They apply.

But you didn't say it. Instead, you sighed and looked away, fingers tapping absently against the skin where your heart was underneath. "I…" You hesitated. "Weak. Not strong. Varang worry."

A pause.

"Don't tell," you grumbled.

Quaritch gave a slow nod, tail tracing a lazy arc. He leaned forward, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. "You ever use a gun?"

You blinked. "Gun…?"

He lifted one of those compact metal bows from his holster, blocky and compact—nothing like the carved wood your people used. "Yeah. A gun. You've seen Varang use it." He jerked his chin toward the distant yurts. "Come on. I'll show you. Just don't blow my tail off."

Your gaze drifted to Varang's yurt, then skyward where the war party had departed hours ago, her Ska'avum among them. She'd be gone until dusk at least. You pressed your lips together.

"Yes. Okay."

.

.

.

The first shot made you jump, ears pressing flat against your head.

"Yeah! Booyah!" Quaritch's hands landed on your shoulders, shaking hard into your frame. "Clear damn shot. You're a natural at this, kid."

He thrust his palm upward, some human gesture you'd never seen before. 

You stared at it, confused.

Then lifted yours suspiciously, mirroring the angle.

His hand met yours with a sharp smack.

"High-five. Well—high-four," he amended, grinning wide enough to show molars. His palm found your spine, a push that was encouraging and commanding. "Come on. Again. Let's see if it was a fluke."

He was close now. Close enough that if Varang were here, if she saw—

You swallowed the thought. No. This isn't about Varang.

You adjusted your stance the way he'd shown you: shoulders angled, weight forward, breath held. The target swam into focus. You squeezed.

Bullseye.

Your tail betrayed you, wagging before you could stop it—then his hand cracked against your ass and you squealed. "Ngh!" The hiss tore from your throat, glaring at him. You almost forgot he was an asshole first, friend second.

He was already moving past you, plucking the gun from your slack grip. "And she calls you weak." A scoff.  He studied the target, grinning like some prideful mentor. "Feel pretty powerful, huh?"

You nodded slowly, studying the cluster of holes punched through the painted target. When you glanced back, he was counting the rounds with his usual efficiency.

"Think we'll add firearms to your training rotation." He didn't look up. "No point wasting time on that bow sissy-shit when you've got real stopping power available."

You stepped closer, watching his hands work. "What doing?"

"What are you doing," he corrected. "Grammar, kid. Makes me sound like some kind of assh-shat teacher." He whistled. "Anyway, I’m cleanin’ and reassembling. Maintenance. All this volcanic shit clogs the mechanisms. Messes with the equipment."

This was news to you. You paused.  "Varang…knows?"

The question landed betwene you two.

His lips peeled back—too much teeth. "Nah." He didn't look up. "Keep it that way."

A secret. You had a secret now. The thought bloomed warm, and Quaritch must have seen it written plain across your face because he chuckled, low and knowing. "You're a little minx, aren't'cha?"

You didn't know what that was, but nodded anyway.

He dug into his pockets again, fingers closing around the crinkled bag. Your hand shot out before you could think to stop it, palm up, giddy. 

He caught your wrist to steady it—the tips of his fingers padded in callouses. “You’re spoiled, you know that?” He shook the bag near your ear, grinning. "Never had much of a sweet tooth myself. Spider did, though." A pause. His jaw worked. "I traded my good socks for this."

The silence came. Then he pressed the entire bag into your palm, closing your fingers around it like it was something precious.

"Just keep it." It came out rough, almost embarrassed. "And don’t let the others see." He looked away.

You stared at the bag. Bright red plastic stamped with the strange alien letters from his world. Red. Yellow. Orange. Green. Purple. You traced each color with your eyes before lifting your gaze back at him.

You didn't know what you were thinking.

You kissed his cheek.

Quaritch actually stumbled back half a step. His ears snapped forward, eyes gone wide and startled as a spooked hexapede's. Before he could recover, you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. You felt reckless, daring. The power that Varang held, you wield it now.

You skittered backward, clutching the candy to your chest, a shy smile blooming despite yourself.

"Thank you, Quaritch," you whispered.

His lips quirked, just a bit. He tilted his head back, pushed air between his teeth in a low whistle that might've been a laugh. "Yeah," he muttered, but you think it was more to himself than you. "Yeah, alright."

You left then, the bag pressed tight against your chest, tail swaying in wide arcs all the way back to the yurt.

Another secret.

.

.

.

Things were different now. You felt different, you supposed.

This shared secret between you and Quaritch had festered into something physical. It lived in the space between breaths, in the pause before he spoke your name.

And Quaritch? Quaritch was all physical.

You couldn't walk past him without a slap to the rear or a pinch to your side, something too boyish for a man his size (and his age, as you liked to remind him). But there it was anyway, that grin splitting his face, the wink that followed. "That's it, baby girl." The words dripped easy, thick as the molasses you once tasted.

The lessons were no different. Or rather—no different in how he touched you now. Instead of sweet candy he'd nudge your lips apart and kiss.

"Say it. Patient."

"Patient."

Quaritch just grinned against your mouth. "Still got that accent. It's cute." Your eyes fluttered shut. You licked away the chapness of his lips, tasted salt and something faintly bitter.

Evening meals were distant, of course. Formal. When Varang sat beside you, eating whatever meal she'd presented—she’d present a kuru, sometimes several, gifts of power and affection—you'd accept with the usual grace. The usual smiles.

And later, after you'd ignored him through dinner and feigned disinterest, Quaritch would return. That all-too-easy smile waiting for you in the dark.

Varang wouldn't know. You were happy with that.

"Stop moving," you grumbled.

You painted the whites and reds against his face in careful strokes, slapping his hands when they wandered.

"It's damn cold," he hissed. But he remained still, huffing through his nose. The pigment was thick, it had to be. Smelling just a bit of crushed minerals, rendered fat, and berries. You had to change the recipe for him, he sweat too much and smeared it everywhere—too impatient to let it dry.

You rolled your eyes. The two of you were tucked beneath the newly constructed yurt. Varang had moved everyone to the RDA base, and Quaritch had been more than eager to accommodate the clan into the facility's sprawling guts. If he wasn't with her, or the strange pink-skins, then he was with you.

"It's cold because you take too long." You swept your thumbs in parallel lines along his cheeks, forming a sharp V that cascaded down the bridge of his nose. The pattern was traditional, though your hand trembled slightly as you worked. 

You watched him through your lashes, heat creeping up your neck when you realized he'd been staring back. "What?"

Quaritch clicked his tongue, angling his head low. He pressed his cheek against your palm, the paint smudged just a bit, but you didn’t correct him. "Nothin'... just—sweet is all. You're sweet."

Your fingers drifted to your songcord almost unconsciously, tracing the amber bead you'd added most recently. Inside, suspended in golden resin, a single red skittle.

"I didn't think you'd be so sappy," you murmured, a smile tugging at your mouth.

"Sappy? Now where'd you learn that word?"

"Lyle." You said innocently. “The bald one."

Quaritch grinned, and his hand found your back—thumb pressing the base of your tail. "Course it was. The bastard—"

"Do you think I am a fool?"

Your tail went rigid mid-sway, ears swiveling before the rest of you caught up. You turned, careful, already knowing what you'd find.

Varang stood at the threshold, stripped of her usual paint and accessories. She looked exactly as she had when you were both girls and the forest still held its green—Vulnerable.

"Varang," you started, placating. "We were almost—"

A hiss tore from her throat. Her nose wrinkled, lips peeling back from her teeth. "Do not." She lifted one hand, fingers curling through the air in a white-knuckled clench.

You'd never seen her this furious. Not even since—

Your ears flattened against your skull.

"You do not ask permission, sky-man." She began to circle Quaritch now, and her hands drifted to the twin buugeng blades strapped at her hips. 

Quaritch's expression didn't shift. If anything, it settled into something lazier. Bored, almost. He tracked her with his eyes, then let out a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "And when have you?"

He rose slowly, joints popping, and your handprint still blazed red across his cheek.

Varang faltered as she eyed the paint. For just a heartbeat—her brows pinched into something wounded—but then she shook her head, and the mask slammed back into place.

"Seems to me, cupcake," Quaritch drawled, stepping into her space, "that you and I are too similar."

His gaze slid to you.

Then his hands found Varang's shoulders, turning her to face you instead. "She don't seem too concerned." His voice dropped rough, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "And I bet she'd take both of us sweetly. Hm?"

Varang stared. Her expression smoothed into something unreadable, eerily calm, yellow eyes locked on yours.

"Have you two bonded?"

Your stomach dropped. "No. Varang, we—"

"Nah." Quaritch's answer came quicker than yours, easier. "We haven't. You can keep that if you want." His lips grazed the curve of Varang's neck, breath hot against the delicate skin there. His hands slid lower, palms molding to her waist, then dipping to the swell of her hips. "If it makes you feel special."

He grinned.

Varang twisted free in one fluid motion, closing the distance between you in two strides. Her hand fisted in your hair, dragging you close enough that you could see every fleck of amber in her yellow eyes. "You smell like him."

Then she kissed you.

Hard. 

Her canines caught your lower lip, tugging until you tasted copper. A sound escaped you, swallowed just before it turned pitiful..

Behind you, Quaritch shifted closer. You couldn't see him, but you felt the heat of him, the broad wall of his chest almost brushing your shoulder blades. His hand came down heavy on the curve of your ass, grabbing an absolute fistful.

And you, you felt multiple hands now. Varang's fingers worked the braided top, peeling it free until your breasts were bare beneath her palms. They bounced just a bit, purple nipples perking. Behind you, Quaritch's thumbs traced the curve of your ass before lifting the weight of each cheek. He let them plop down, and groaned.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice dropping to gravel. "Won't you look at that." His knuckles grazed the stripes that contoured around the flesh, mesmerized.

Miles…" You turned your head, the syllable half-formed. Instinct seeked his face, but Varang's fist caught your braids and wrenched you back. 

Her teeth found your lower lip.

"Not at him." The growl rumbled against your mouth. "Me."

Quaritch's laugh was low, almost lazy. "Think she likes me better. I ain't so punishing." His palm cracked against your rear—only once, but something purple was already forming. "Say my name again, doll."

"Miles—" But Varang swallowed it, mouth sealing over yours, and she shot him a look that could've drawn blood.

"You ain't playing fair," He had that smile, you knew he did even if you couldn’t see it.

Both hands rose to cradle your jaw, now. Thumbs stroking the jaw where tension pooled. She pressed kisses all over—the corner of your lips, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder where your scent glands were located. Marking you with her own scent.

"If you can only win by fairness," she whispered, lips brushing your shoulders "you are no true warrior."

Then she kissed you again

Quaritch's mouth twitched. Without warning, he hauled you back against him, fingers sinking into your hips, grinding you into the hard line of his pelvis. "So you wanna play like that?"

Varang pulled back with a hiss, chest rising. She looked at you—just once—then stepped forward. She wore seduction in her hips now, curling her lips, tasting her skin. "Only if you think yourself capable."

"Hm. Challenge accepted." His attention dropped to your chest, dismissive for just a moment before he took another look. He pinched a nub. "Fuck, baby girl. You had these the whole time?"

He flicked the other with his thumb, feeling the bone piercing. Your body jerked, a gasp wriggling out. “O-Oh…” His mouth went lower, descending a hot trail while his hands lazily hooked your loincloth to the side. His calloused fingers found your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling.

"Miles, please…" Your head fell forward, brows pinching together, and the sound that left you was barely coherent.

Before you, Varang sank to her knees.

You'd never seen her like this—all that fierce pride folded into something softer, reflective of her soul. Her palms smoothed up your thighs, reverent. When she looked up at you through dark lashes, blinking slow, you blushed.

“You beg for him,” She undid your loincloth properly now, throwing it over her shoulder to the fire nearby. “Now you will beg for me” She simply lowered her mouth and licked—a long, flat, possessive stripe from your entrance to your clit, pushing Quaritch’s thumb aside with the force of it. 

He only grunted. His fingers traced your ribs, mapping each curve, each rise of skin. Up, then down. Feeling. Always feeling. He nudged your legs apart. Varang needed room, afterall.

She took it.

Varang nudged her face, nuzzling the purple flesh and mouthing your pussy. Suckling the flesh. When she looked up, her eyes were hazy with peace—and if you dared to call it—love. You watched her tail sway behind her. A soft huff escaped you.

She spread your pretty pussy lips with her thumbs, then spat. You watched the silver strand descend, sliding down your slit in complete arousal.

“So pretty,” she cooed. “You like this, yes?”

Her finger brisked along the opening, pinching your folds together. They were undeniably swollen, plump. She always liked how engorged they became when you were aroused. Like a dumpling. She thought.

She pressed one fingertip to the left lip, and watched it bounce back. “Varang.” You pushed your hips forward, pouting.

Both chuckled. “What did I say?” Quaritch mused. “Spoiled. Absolutely spoiled.”

He lifted you—just slightly—and chucked his loincloth aside. You glanced down.

Your mind emptied of everything but his cock.

Your hands flew to his forearms, fingers digging into the muscle there just as your legs kicked in a brief instinctive pedal. “Wait—wait!”

He went still, swallowing. “Somethin’ the matter?” He glanced over your shoulder to look at Varang, who now leaned back on her hands, head cocked into something teasing.

He settled you on his thick thigh instead, tracing numbers over your stomach. 

You dragged your gaze back down, helpless. It was… big. Long, thick, veined with ridges that made your mouth water and your lips tremble all the same. The head was a broad, blunt crown, flushed a deep, violent purple, and below, his balls were heavy and full. 

A low, involuntary sound escaped you as you gave a tiny, shameful shuffle, the slick heat of you grinding against the muscle of his thigh. You bit your lower lip until you tasted the copper hint of blood.

“Well… it’s…”

“She’s never taken a man.” Varang’s murmur was matter-of-fact. Her eyes shifted to you, her smile softening.

For once, he seemed surprised. “What? But you and her have—”

“I have never allowed a man to touch her.” Varang’s scoffed, as if the idea was ridiculous. “Any who’ve tried I’ve killed myself.” She leaned forward now, before going on a crawl. Her eyes, now heavy-lidded, inspected his cock. 

She bit her own plump lip, then leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the tip. Her eyes fluttered shut as she did it, and above you, Quaritch hissed—no doubt pleased.

“It doesn’t bite, Y/n.” Varang stroked your trembling thigh, her touch gentling, before she turned back. She opened her mouth, suckling the broad head, wetting it thoroughly, then licked a long, torturous stripe from root to tip. The sound was obscenely wet.

“Ngh, fuck…” The groan was torn from Quaritch’s chest, you never thought you’d hear such a sound from him.

It felt right, strangely.

He buried his face against the junction of your neck and shoulder, his arms locking around you, binding you to the solid wall of his heat. His breaths came in uneven puffs. His large, warm hands splayed across your stomach, fingers pressing in rhythmic, almost absent-minded taps. “Not so much now…” he managed, voice strangled.

Varang only scoffed around him, the vibration earning another jerk of his hips. She bobbed her head, taking him deeper, her cheeks hollowing. “This is not for you,” she shot back, pulling off with a wet sound. “So weak. Cannot even last.”

That earned a guttural grunt. He fluttered his eyes open, the yellow within them hollowed by the black of his pupil.

He turned his head and bit the shell of your ear. “You listenin’ to her?” he hummed. You felt his pout. “So mean to me. But you ain’t, darlin’. You’re good. All good and sweet stuff.” He nuzzled, then placed a softer, startling kiss on your cheek.

You both watched, mesmerized, as Varang returned to her work. Your own hands reached and took what she couldn’t. He groaned then, thighs bouncing, dragging against your clit. 

“Ngh,” You whined.

Finally, she withdrew with a slick, echoing pop. She slowly unraveled her tongue, giving one last lon lick from across his shaft.

“There.” Her cooed. “Nice and wet for you to sit on, my beloved. A proper throne.”

“T_Thank you, Varang.”

You thought it was so strange, how someone like Quaritch could be so… gentle at times. His hands found the back of your knees, planting a squeeze against the delicate hinge. Then, he pressed your cheek against his.

“You ready, buttercup?”

You felt the vibration of his voice against your back, rumbling from his chest to your bones. He was like that, of course—all consuming.

Your eyes found themselves downward before you managed the smallest nod. “Y-Yes.”

It was all he needed. “Good girl.” The praise sent warmth all around your body. “Knew you could.” He pat your thighs.

Then he lifted. It was an easy strength he had, lifting as if it were nothing. He shuffled, bringing your knees to your breasts, cocking his head to the side to see. Instinctively, your hands flew behind you, fingers searching for the anchor of his shoulders.

You felt it first, the wet head jutting against your cunt. The broad slick head grazing your slit, parting it just enough to make it audible. Your pussy clenched, and you drew in your breath. 

“Shh… relax.” He cooed. “I won’t move until you want to.” 

He began the slow work of getting you used to it. His hips rolled in a shallow, circular tease, moving his hips so his dick coated itself with your slick. 

Then, with a controlled shift, he gathered both your knees in the vice of one formidable arm, the other hand wrapping around the base of his shaft. 

A groan, raw and deep, tore from his chest as he notched himself at your entrance.

Varang watched, transfixed at the sight.

He pushed.

The burn was instant.

Your eyes flew wide, seeing nothing and everything. “Big—it’s big, Miles—” You babbled, already trying to claw away.

He grunted, and his teeth found the end of your flickering ear.  “The more you squirm, the more it’ll hurt. Shh… shh, it’ll be okay, sugar.”

You tried to obey—really you did, but you couldn’t help the tears that flowed down in wet fat blobs. “Thats it.” He settled you down slow, inch by inch. “See? Its not so—Fuck!”

Varang pushed your hips down, and naturally you screamed, suddenly impaled. Miles, caught off guard, bucked upward with a startled hiss, his ears pinning flat against his skull. Varang’s giggle was a light, airy thing that quickly boiled over into a full-throated laugh.

“So weak,” she snarled, the sweetness evaporating. She patted your trembling thighs before pushing them wider, folding you open and giving herself a perfect, obscene view of either sex.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Miles breathed.

Your belly was full of him. A distinct, visible bulge swelled at your lower tummy. Your cunt was stretched to a painful pink halo around the thick blue of his cock. You just breathed, glancing down—at her, at him.

“Ngh… j-just go…. Please, Miles.”

The words left you in spent sigh, so fragile.

He shuddered where he held you—and nodded. “Alright, buttercup.” He pressed a single fat kiss to the crown of your head, then moved.

Miles Quaritch did nothing by half-measures. His hands locked around the curve of your hips, fingers biting into flesh as he pulled you down and drove himself up. You swore you could feel the tip bristle against your cervix. 

“Oh… fuck.” The curse was low, a rumble you absorbed through your spine. “So fuckin’ tight.”

The force of him made your world condense to sensation. To the deep, stretching fullness, the slap of skin, the dizzying bounce of your breasts. One of his palms slid up to capture a peak—holding it to a squeeze.

And then, because he relished in it, he buried his face against your shoulder, his breath coming in delicious puffs. You could feel every stifled groan turn into a grunt, only to dissolve into a moan.

He likes this. He likes me. You blushed.

Varang shifted closer. Her cool fingers traced the sweat-slicked tension of his balls, cupping the heavy weight before her tongue swept over your clit.

You squealed. “Oh!” You pressed both hands over her head, eyes wide. 

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice a honeyed smoke against your fevered skin. “So perfect, split open like this.” You heard the rustle of her loincloth, the wet sound of her own fingers working between her legs, the slick rhythm of her thumb on her clit. 

Her moan was low, and the vibration of it against your most sensitive nerve sent pure pleasure tearing through your core.

“I love you—” The confession was a needy thing, meant for both, owned by neither. But they knew, you were sure they did. “I’m…ah…!”

Miles stole most of your speech, dragging your hips to meet his punishing pace, folding your body to fit him deeper. The angle was brutal, perfect. “Fuck. Gonna cum inside this pussy,” he growled. “Gonna flood you.”

Varang’s mouth left you with a soft pop. “No,” she hissed. “You will not.”

He laughed, somehow teasing and joyful…maybe a bit disbelieving. “Fuck yeah, I will. Gonna pump this tight cunt full. Gonna fuck a baby right into her.” He was sneering at her, a direct challenge even as his hips began to lose their rhythm, succumbing to a ragged, urgent pounding.

“Thrones do not talk, Quaritch.”

“T-This one does.” A stutter from him, a victory for her.

You could feel it. The ache of release. His balls drew up tight against you. Varang felt it too. Her hand tightened around a ball sack, vise-like warning.

He hissed. “Agh—Shit! Woman, don’t you—!”

And then you clenched. Not a voluntary act, your inner muscles clenching around him in a series of frantic, milking pulses. 

A broken yelp escaped you as you came, turning liquid and mindless around his huge dick. Now he was trapped: between Varang’s iron hand and your sweet, convulsing vice.

“Ngh—Christ!” His whole body locked, eyes rolling back in a spasm.

Varang moved, she wouldn’t allow him. She hauled you off him, a gasp torn from your lips at the sudden emptiness, and her fist was around him, stroking, pumping, directing. His release shot in thick, pearlescent ropes across her cheek, her chin, the proud arch of her neck.

She blinked slowly, unimpressed. A single, sticky strand dripped onto her collarbone. She caught it on a finger, flicked it away with utter disdain. “You will not get her pregnant,” she stated, and it was final.

Miles was a spent force, chest heaving. He let out a winded puff, then a low, sated laugh. One eye slid open, crinkled with admiration. “You’re evil,” he rasped, pulling your boneless form against his solid thigh. He nuzzled into your hair, both hands coming up to weigh your breasts, holding you to him as if claiming spoils. 

You on the other hand were dazed, trying to remember how to breathe.

Varang scoffed. “Well.” In one smooth motion, she took your wrists, pulling you from Mile’s slackened grip toward her. He yielded with a grunt, shifting heavily on the mat, already feeling exhaustion in his bones.

“Our turn,” Varang said. And she smiled, a true sweet thing.

You blinked. “...Uh… What?”

She laid you back on the woven mat, the fibers imprinting on your sweat-slick skin. Her loincloth fell away. “You haven’t made me come yet,” she pouted. “It’s no fair.”

You offered a weak, sheepish smile. “Let me—Oofmp!”

She pushed you flat, and climbed over you. “Shhh…” Her thigh brushed your cheek, then she settled her weight, the hot, musky scent of her arousal enveloping you. She sank down onto your waiting mouth with a soft, shuddering moan.

Then she glanced over at Miles, already snoring softly. She scoffed, rolling her eyes, and her hips began a slow, commanding grind against your lips.

“Weak.”

you let out a groan of pain, hands digging into the soft flora of pandora as you pull yourself sitting upright. your nightwraith unfortunetly got shot down in the process of the attack on the tlalim clan, by only who you could assume was jake sully, the ‘great toruk makto’. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the thought, everyone across pandora knew of him, the great stories told about a sky person turned na’vi who proceeded to save the whole planet.

the impact of the hit affected your body, making you feel bruised and battered as slowly but surely, you made your way towards the scattered members of your clan who landed not too far from you. varang being one of them.

screams echoed through the forest as fire spewed from side to side, members of the mangkwan clan threw themselves at remainders of other na’vi, which crashed alongside the now alit caravan, piercing some of them with knives. others were forced to perform tsaheylu with varang, a painful process as she wrapped their kuru around her knife and sadistically sliced it, pained screams filling your ears.

you made your way and stood beside riku, varang’s henchman. a tlalim na’vi was thrown at your feet. instinctively, you followed suit and gripped the back of his head, running your hand along the kuru as you pulled the base of it, knife wrapped around it.

the fire burned stronger and brighter, sparks falling from the wrecked caravan. the mangkwan members surrounding you danced and mimicked animalistic noises.

as varang began talking, you couldn’t help but zone out, blocking all sorts of noises out. your eyes focused on a random patch of the forest as you thought you saw a flicker of movement.

the fire burning beside you helped illuminate the surrounding shrubbery and flora as you zoned in on specific bushy area. you hummed in contemplation, pondering on whether or not to investigate what potentially could be nothing.

a small movement in the bush snaps you out of your thoughts as you see a sparkle, reflecting that of fire, in what resembles a pair of eyes.

you let out a hiss as you drop the tlalim na’vi, they’d be delt with by another.

evidently, you were correct, as the figure you thought was in the bush, came to be real.

the dark blue skinned na’vi got up from their crouched position and began to run. you weren’t far behind.

it took a good few minutes of running after this figure before you managed to catch up, lurching forwards and slamming into them, causing a tussle on the grass.

swiftly, you pulled the male to the ground and straddled him as you attempted to pull out your knife from the sheath on your hips but unfortunately got disarmed rather quickly as he threw you onto your back.

“jake sully..” a hiss came from your lips as you barred your fangs.

you lay on your forearms.

the moonlight mixed with the bioluminescent flora bouncing off his face quickly revealed who this figure was.

“don’t sound too excited.” he scoffed as he set up a defensive stance.

you hissed again before standing upright and going for another attack. you lurched forward, going in for a punch to his face. jake barely has time to brace before your fist whistles past his jaw, close enough that he feels the rush of air. he pivots instinctively, grabbing your forearm and twisting, using your momentum against you. you snarl and drive a knee toward his ribs, catching him hard enough to force a grunt from his chest.

“still fast,” he mutters through clenched teeth.

you wrench free and spin, tail lashing behind you as you circle him. the forest hums softly around you, bioluminescent plants lighting the clearing in flickers of blue and green.

‘toruk makto, demon, enemy’ is all you could think, hatred bubbling inside of you.

You rush him again, fingers grazing his shoulder this time. he reacts instantly, shoving you back, feet skidding against the damp ground as he regains his footing. the two of you collide once more, hands locking at each other’s wrists, muscles straining as neither gives an inch.

“you should’ve stayed hidden,” you hiss.

“after what i saw?” jake scoffed, “that’s inhuman!” he yelled at you.

your grip falters for half a second, long enough for him to twist you sideways and drive you both into the undergrowth. the ground slopes sharply beneath your weight, loose soil giving way as you grapple for control.

‘no-’

then.. the earth disappears.

you fall together, limbs tangled, crashing through layers of soft petals and unfamiliar blooms. the impact knocks the breath from your lungs as flowers burst beneath you, releasing a shimmering cloud of spores into the air.

the scent fills your lungs. you cough, scrambling to your feet, only to stagger.

the scent is thick. sweet. wrong.

‘something’s not right’

jake groans nearby, pushing himself up on one elbow, eyes unfocused as the pollen curls around you both. the fight stalls, not from mercy, but from the sudden, dizzying heat flooding your veins.

your legs threaten to give out beneath you. you dig your fingers into the soil, steadying yourself as warmth coils through your body in slow, invasive waves. your thoughts blur at the edges, anger dulling into something hazy and unfocused.

‘this isn’t weakness.’

you grit your teeth. ‘it’s the plants.’

jake drags himself upright a few paces away, one hand braced against the rock wall of the pit. his breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling too fast as his gaze lifts to you, and lingers. something flickers across his face. realisation almost.

“don’t..” he starts, then falters, swallowing hard. “don’t breathe it in.”

too late.

the spores glow faintly around you both, disturbed by every movement. heat pulses low in your stomach, unfamiliar and humiliating, making it harder to remember why you’re supposed to hate him. your tail flicks behind you without your permission.

jake notices.

his jaw tightens as he looks away, forcing himself to focus. “this place,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “it’s.. it’s doing something to us.”

you let out a shaky breath that turns into something dangerously close to a laugh. “you think?” you scoffed in a sarcastic tone.

silence stretches between you, thick and heavy. the pit feels smaller by the second, the air pressing in on your skin. you take a step back, only to hit the curved wall behind you. jake mirrors the movement without realising.

your eyes meet his again, and this time he doesn’t look away. his pupils are blown wide, just as you’d imagine yours are. expression torn between restraint and something far more primal. he clenches his fists at his sides, knuckles whitening.

“this is bad,” he says quietly. “we need to wait it out. not touch. not..”

a wave of heat crashes through you. you let out a pained gasp, hand flying to your chest, as your knees threaten to buckle.

“damn it..” you hiss, fighting for balance.

you stagger forward despite yourself, vision blurring at the edges. jake reacts on pure reflex, catching your forearm to keep you from hitting the ground. the contact is brief but sharp.

you both freeze.

his grip tightens instinctively before he realises, fingers curling around your wrist. you feel the heat of his skin through yours, the sensation jarring and wrong in a way that makes your breath hitch.

jake freezes, breath hitching as he realises what he’s done. you should pull away. you don’t. the spores shimmer brighter around you, responding eagerly, the forest almost listening.

your breath comes too fast. too loud. every sensation feels sharpened to a painful edge, the brush of leaves against your calves, the pulse hammering in your ears. and jake.

you hate that you notice him like this.

the scent of him cuts through the sweetness of the pollen. smoke, sweat, pandora, strong enough to make your head spin. every breath he takes, sounds amplified, the rise and fall of his chest impossible to ignore. his muscles tense beneath your grip, allowing you to feel how strong he really is.

against instinct, your gaze drops.

his pupils flicker, once, twice, to your mouth before he forces his eyes away, jaw tightening hard enough to ache.

“don’t,” he growls, voice rough, warning more himself than you.

another wave crashes through you, sharper this time, and you stumble forward, into his arms practically. jake swears under his breath and reacts without thinking, slamming you back against the curved wall of the pit. his hand comes up, one pinning your wrist above your head, not gentle, not cruel. necessary. whilst the other holds your waist.

too close.

your chest brushes his, heat bleeding between you like a living thing. his hips jerk a fraction of an inch, as if startled by the contact, and the movement sends a jolt through both of you.

the silence is thick.

“this means nothing,” he says immediately, voice ragged, breath warm against your cheek. his grip tightens, more anchor than threat. “you hear me? this is just..” he swallows, “the pollen.”

his gaze drags back to yours, dark and unfocused, like he’s fighting a battle entirely inside his own head. the spores swirl lazily around you, glowing brighter with every shallow breath, every accidental brush of skin.

the tension snaps like a bowstring, one moment you're glaring at each other, the next your lips crash together in a searing kiss. jake’s grip on your wrist tightens, his other hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back, hauling you flush against him. the moment your lips touch, the spores react violently, bioluminescent pollen surges around you in swirling clouds, painting your skin in flickering blue light.

“this means nothing," jake repeats, growling against your mouth, but his body betrays him, his tail lashes out, twining possessively around your thigh. his hips jerk forward, pressing you harder into the wall, and the kiss deepens with a hunger that’s anything but meaningless. his teeth graze your lower lip, sharp enough to sting, and you bite back just as hard, earning a rough groan from him.

the pollen amplifies everything, every drag of his tongue against yours is electric, every gasp magnified. your hands twist free, fingers digging into his shoulders, his braids, anywhere you can hold on as his mouth moves to your throat, his fangs pricking the sensitive skin there. “still hate me?” he mocks, voice thick with hatred yet desire, but the way his hands tremble gives him away.

you don’t answer, you can’t, because his lips are back on yours, swallowing your protests, your pride, everything but the heat coiling low in your stomach.

you can’t help but slowly, torturously grind against him as you indulge in the passionate kiss, wet kisses exchange between you both.

he moans into the kiss, hips grinding against yours in a rough, deliberate rhythm that makes your tail lash against his calf.

“still pretending this means nothing?" you pant against his lips, your own curling into a smirk.

jake’s answer is a growl, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hiking it around his waist as he pins you harder against the wall. the friction is maddening, every rock of his hips drags the hard length of him against you, teasing what you both really want. his breathing is ragged, pupils blown so wide his eyes look near-black in the bioluminescent glow.

“shut up," he snarls, but his fingers are already working at the ties of your loincloth, hands scraping sensitive skin as it falls away. his palm slides over your bare ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and you hiss, arching into him.

“fuck..” his voice cracks when you roll your hips against him, deliberate this time, dragging a ragged moan from his throat.

you can’t help but let a small moan slip from your own lips as the friction between you both stimulates you so well.

“off..” you mumble into the kiss as you reach for his own loincloth, finding the state of undress between you both rather unfair.

“take it off.” you say once more, pulling at the strings as the kissing and grinding continues.

he hums in response, not putting up too much of a fight and reaches down to to pull at the strings of his own loincloth, allowing for it to fall down to the ground.

you can’t help but break the kiss, a string of saliva separating your lips as you look down, in awe almost, at him.

jake let’s out a chuckle as he sees your face, “you like it?” he says with a cocky tone, the smirk on his face only growing wider.

you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t pretty, because holy shit was his cock gorgeous.

your fingers twitch with the urge to touch it, but jake beats you to it, his calloused hand wraps around himself with a rough stroke, making your breath hitch. the sight alone sends a fresh wave of arousal pulsing through your cunt, your tail curling involuntarily around his thigh as if trying to pull him closer. his smirk deepens at your reaction.

“see something you like?” he taunts, voice gravelly with arousal, as he pumped his angry cock. the tip glistening with smeared precum already.

you don’t dignify him with words. instead, you surge forward, capturing his lips in another bruising kiss as your hand replaces his, fingers sliding over his cock with deliberate pressure. the groan he lets out is muffled against your mouth, his hips stuttering into your touch.

you tease him with slow strokes at the base, eventually making your way up closer to the tip. you run your thumb over the slit and watch as jake inhales sharply, his stomach tightening.

“feel good?” you tease into the kiss.

jake’s only response is a growl, low, feral, before he grabs your wrist and pulls your hand off his cock.

you let out a squeal of surprise as he swiftly positions you both onto the mossy ground beneath.

you feel a hand press against the back of your head as he smushes your face into the moss. his other hand reaches down to the dip of your back, pushing down on it, resulting in you arching nicely for him.

he positions himself behind you, grabbing your ass as he kneads it like bread. “look at this gorgeous cunt.” he threw his head back with a groan.

you mewl in response as his curious fingers get the best of him. he ran his fingers over your pussy, spreading your lips apart with his index and middle finger.

“look how wet she is doll.” jake grins as he brung his hand back up, a string of slick following.

you let out a loud moan in response as you look back at him, he uses the same hand and coats his cock in your juices, giving it a few jerks before he slides against your slick heat, teasing, taunting. the head catching on your clit with each rough grind of his hips.

you move back against him, feeling his cock rub against your cunt.

you can feel him almost measuring against your stomach, how deep it’d go inside you.

the answer is very deep.

you look down and see where it reaches up to, just above your navel.

jake’s hand that was pressed against your head, now eases as he reaches for you kuru instead, wrapping it around his hand in a fist as he yanks you up, gently but with purpose.

he brings his lips up to your ear as his chest pressed against your back.

“you’re a fucking slut.. you know that..” he whispered against your ear, followed by a lick as he kissed behind your ear.

you whine at his words, any form of defensiveness is out the window.

“just had to run after me, didn’t you?” he began rocking his hips.

“i bet you wanted this to happen, to have you struggling beneath me.” he murmured.

you shook your head, a whiney “noo..” followed, it didn’t sound very believable even if you attempted.

jake scoffed in return before he unravelled your kuru, grip still tight. he guided it to his own, the tendrils on yours and his both revealed themselves as tsaheylu was formed and you connected with each other.

he let go of your kuru as you bother gasped in pleasure. loud noises emitted from you both as you felt each other in a whole different dimension almost.

your head dropped back onto the mossy ground as he let go.

“liar liar..” was all he said before he angled his hips with yours and slammed into you.

the stretch is brutal, delicious, punching a ragged scream from your lungs. jake doesn’t give you a second to adjust, his rhythm is punishing from the start, each thrust driving you deeper into the bioluminescent petals beneath you. his tail lashes wildly, curling around your thigh to hold you open, to take him deeper.

“Kalweyaveng (son of a bitch) .. j-jake..” you whine, your fingers tear at the moss, knuckles white, as pleasure crests violently.

you instinctively arch even more, slowly matching his thrusts.

he leans over you, fangs scraping your shoulder. “say my name again," he demands, voice raw.

you choke it out, “jake!” as his hand reaches down and begins to circle around your clit. hips snapping harder with each thrust. his breath is ragged in your ear, small groans and moans escape his lips with every clench of your cunt clamping down on his cock.

another hand reaches down, pulling at your top and begins groping at your tits, squeezing them and groping them harshly.

he plays with your nipples, squeezing them and gently pulling at them, adding to the pleasure you’re feeling already.

his fingers tighten around your breast, rolling your nipple between his calloused fingertips until you gasp, your tail lashing wildly against his thigh.

jake's restraint is hanging by a thread, the thin leash of his self-control fraying with every stroke, every breath he’s inhaling, the sweet scent of you mixed with the intoxicating pollen, only drives him deeper into madness. his thrusts grow erratic, his control slipping with each desperate roll of his hips. you can feel him trembling against you, his muscles taut, his tail tightening possessively around your thigh like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“fuck, you feel..” his voice cracks mid-sentence, his lips crashing against the back of your neck, teeth scraping skin as he stifles a groan. his rhythm stutters, hips snapping harder, faster, chasing the inevitable crest of pleasure that’s been building between you both.

you whimper beneath him, nails digging into the moss, the slick sound of skin on skin drowned out only by your gasps and the rustling petals beneath you. every drag of his cock inside you hits just right, sending sparks of heat up your spine. his fingers on your clit don’t let up, circling mercilessly until you’re teetering on the edge.

and then he bites down on your shoulder.

you let out a scream.

the sharp pain morphs into pleasure so fast it leaves you dizzy, your entire body tensing as the coil inside you finally snaps. your cunt clenches around him, milking his cock in waves as you shudder violently, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

jake curses, hips stuttering as your climax pulls him over the edge. his grip on your hip tightens to the point of bruising as he buries himself deep, his groan ragged against your skin. hot pulses of his cum fill you, his cock twitching inside you as he rides out his own orgasm with slow, grinding thrusts.

for a moment, the only sound is your panting breaths and the soft hum of the forest around you.

jake pulls out abruptly, hissing through his teeth at the sensitivity. he collapses beside you, chest heaving, staring up at the glowing canopy above with an expression caught between satisfaction and disbelief.

you stay where you are, limp against the moss, your body still thrumming with aftershocks. the pollen haze lingers, but the urgency has faded.

༻༺

hii! i hope you guys enjoyed reading this! i’m not sure how well written this is as i’ve not bothered re-reading it hahaha, so i’m hoping it doesn’t seem rushed!

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