#jeanbie

When the Omatikaya decided to grant asylum to the select humans who dedicated their lives to preserving Pandora and its people, Tsu’tey had been in recovery and unable to cast a vote. He knew that some of his people had been against their permanent residency here, just like he was and still is, but those few voices outnumbered the majority who no longer had the energy to keep fighting. 

Anyone willing to protect Pandora was a friend to the Omatikaya, and not even Tsu’tey could argue against their efforts in the war. If it hadn’t been for so many of the Skypeople turning the RDA upside down from the inside, then maybe none of them would be alive right now. 

It was a difficult thing, trying to come to terms with his gratitude and his grudges at the same time. But despite everything those Skypeople had done for them, Tsu’tey found himself unable to put it all behind him. He still hated them. He hated them all so much.

The way they walked, the way they looked and smelled… Tsu’tey could rarely stomach being around any one of them for too long. Jake was different — it had taken Jake months to earn Tsu’tey’s respect, to become his equal, but there were still times where Tsu’tey felt that churning, the discomfort of knowing other Skypeople would never truly be one of them. 

The sensation in his stomach curdled and tightened as the Dreamwalkers swarmed the ceremony, smiles on their uncanny faces as the Omatikaya people approached them with hospitality and grace.

This time, it felt different — it felt like shame. Tsu’tey could acknowledge that he was being exceptionally hard on the ones who had stayed. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but it could never bring back what he’d lost. What the war had cost everybody — cost him.

From his sulking ground, Tsu’tey watches as Jake reluctantly unwinds himself from Neytiri’s arms and bounds towards the group of Skypeople. He bows to the humans standing in their shadows, their strange little masks on their faces, and then individually greets the Dreamwalkers like friends, like family. 

Tsu’tey assesses them all with cautionary detail. He even knows a few of them from the war. His eyes jump from body to body; he takes in every accessory hanging from their neck or woven around their arms, and the clothes draped over their frames. Some are decked in RDA gear, a sore reminder of who they really were, whereas some had arrived in Omatikaya garments — likely gifts from the villagers who were more keen than others to build bridges. 

Tsu’tey didn’t care about bridges. If they burned, then he’d watch the flames dance until they flickered into nothing.

The group moved further into the ceremony, slotting in amongst the Omatikaya until Tsu’tey lost sight of them. He tried not to let the idea of them wandering around the village unsettle him and he forced his gaze away and back to the fire. 

The bright orange flames burned into his eyes with a sharpness, but even as he felt the heat drying out his eyes, he didn’t look away. Tsu’tey watched the fire until he saw his own silhouette in the flames; he saw himself moving through the forest on a hunt, dancing on a birthday.

He watched with no expression as his fiery image shifted into one of pure rage; he saw the war again, his body throwing itself into the opened hull of a Skyperson ship. 

Tsu’tey watched unmovingly as he replayed that day, watching him hurl dozens of creatures off the ship to the ground, watching his kuru get caught in the pink clasp of a Skyperson’s hand, the blade slicing through his nerves, the world blurring into a bright white as he felt the wind rushing up around his body, falling, falling…

Tsu’tey suddenly blinks.

His eyes soften as they close, the feeling tightening in his chest like an iron fist. When he opens his eyes again and grimaces, he takes a long second before looking up to locate the reason why he’d looked away in the first place. 

Spinning in loose circles around the flames, right in his line of sight, Tsu’tey lets his eyes fall onto you and the feeling in his stomach vanishes entirely.

For a second, he feels nothing at all. The forest has thinned out to darkness, and it is as if he’s in a small room, watching the world from a window that only looks out onto you.

Then, the feeling returns, changed somehow. Now, in his stomach he feels the knot of hatred loosening into something lightweight and warm, and it takes a few seconds for Tsu’tey to decide that this feeling is actually worse, and he snatches his cup up off the floor and downs the contents with one aggressive gulp.

He knows you — how could he not? Back when Grace Augustine’s school had been running and Tsu’tey had attended a few classes there, he’d seen you around, shadowing Grace as she devoted herself to the children in attendance.

Unlike the other Dreamwalkers and Skypeople, Tsu’tey somewhat tolerated you and Grace. You’d never shown him anything but kindness and care; you came to the school with a rare kind of curiosity and patience that Tsu’tey had never seen in a Skyperson, and thought didn’t exist in anything but the Na’vi. 

Grace was straightforward and methodical, but you were open and carefree, always smiling. Always kind. Always thoughtful. 

Of course, in those early days, Tsu’tey hadn’t been too invested. He had other things to think about, other people to care for. Even now, Tsu’tey could list a hundred people who were more important to him than you were, but that still doesn’t explain the feeling inside of him. Still doesn’t explain why after all this time, he still can’t find it inside of him to hate you. Still doesn’t explain why in this moment, Tsu’tey can’t look anywhere but at you.

With the rusty coloured sheets of fire behind you, coruscating in the Pandora night, Tsu’tey watches as you twist and turn to the music. His gaze is unfocused to a degree — you appear as if you’re staggering, moving with seconds of paused time between each turn. Watching you is an automatic response, not a choice. 

Tsu’tey’s breathing hollows as he stares, the colours of your skin flashing white whenever the light of the fire hits the blue hue at an angle. Your tanhì glows with the same intensity as the forest, mapping out a trail against your skin that Tsu’tey devours from across the clearing. 

Out of all the Dreamwalkers in attendance, Tsu’tey should have guessed that you’d be one of the ones in Omatikaya garments. What you’re wearing is simple ceremonial attire, made especially for the bride’s chosen women.

The fact that Neytiri may have chosen you to join her party doesn’t surprise Tsu’tey in the slightest — even in the days of Grace’s school, she’d been soft on you, and your dedication to keeping the Omatikaya unable to fight safe in the fringes of the forest had only solidified your place within the clan, within Neytiri’s inner circle.

Tsu’tey hasn’t spoken to you since the days following the attack at the school. He’s seen you once or twice, but never spoken. Even now, as he gapes at the sight of you, he wouldn’t know what to say.

The breath leaves his chest in a giant sigh, a weight miraculously lifting from his body as it does. He wants to look away, but he just can’t. Tsu’tey can’t possibly understand why now, all of a sudden, he’s so fixated on you, but then realisation dawns and reaches him with a physical lurch in the gut — in this moment, you look beautiful. You are beautiful, always have been beautiful.

Tsu’tey feels a rising sensation of nausea and guilt when the acceptance of your beauty crosses his mind. He goes back to pretending it’s the alcohol and squints ahead, trying to grimace. Still, while he’s watching you, he can’t do anything but admire you; grimacing and looking displeased is out of the question. 

His body is incapable of producing a look of disgust. He can no longer feel any hatred or distrust swirling around in his heart — all he feels is warm acceptance and the rising buzz of fear. 

Tsu’tey thinks you’re beautiful. You. A Dreamwalker. Alien. 

“Brother.”

Tsu’tey considers it a small act of mercy when Jake appears out of virtually nowhere and drops to his haunches beside him. In his best effort to act natural, Tsu’tey looks over at him with a feigned expression of disinterest, his hairline raising questioningly.

“You should be enjoying your wedding,” Tsu’tey tells him. Valiantly, he doesn’t look back to where he sees you are from the corner of his eye; you’ve circled yourself into the arms of another Omatikaya and he pretends it doesn’t bother him.

“I am,” Jake says, watching the party with a soft smile. A beat of silence passes before Jake’s eyes slide sideways to ogle Tsu’tey, “How come you’re not enjoying it?”

He bristles. “It is fun.”

“Jeez, this is how you have fun?”

Tsu’tey levels Jake a scowl that Jake takes with indifference. 

“If you’re gonna sulk in a corner like this, why’re you even here?” Jake asks, his brows knitted together tightly. If Tsu’tey looks disrespected by Jake’s retort then he doesn’t voice it — it takes him a few seconds to even process that he’s talking to Jake in English, and his scowl deepens when it does. So much is changing around him that it’s hard to keep up.

“It is your wedding,” Tsu’tey states, still in English. It’s Jake’s wedding, and the very least he could do. “So I am here.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Jake’s eyes assess Tsu’tey with a beady look that Grace would’ve been proud of, and when Tsu’tey’s eyes drift back to the fire and the people dancing around it, Jake follows his gaze and finds you. His brows soften and he looks between you and Tsu’tey before smiling. 

“Why don’t you go dance?” Jake suggests.

Tsu’tey grunts his disagreement. 

“Looks like a lot of fun,” Jake continues, playing with his fingers between his legs. His haunches are beginning to ache in this position. “Great music. Great fire. Y/N’s there.”

Tsu’tey’s glower flickers as the light of the fire passes by them. “I see her.”

Jake hums obnoxiously, but when Tsu’tey says or does nothing else, he physically can’t hold back his sigh and lets it go.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asks suddenly, and Tsu’tey looks back at him with slight surprise. “The war’s over, brother. You can be at peace, you can start again.”

“I know,” Tsu’tey replies plainly.

“You don’t have to be so…” Jake pauses, looking for the words, “…so closed off all the time.” When Tsu’tey looks at him, confused, he frowns and puts it into a perspective that Tsu’tey can understand. “I know you are scared of the Skypeople. You should be, you have every right to hate them. But the people who stayed here on Pandora are our allies. They are as much our people as this clan.”

“I hate the Skypeople,” Tsu’tey replies harshly. “They are not my people.”

“You hate all of ‘em?” Jake asks. Tsu’tey stays silent, his eyes flickering to you with a sour expression. He tries to make it look like he isn’t looking at you, trying to find something of interest around the fire that isn’t you or the man who spins you into the arms of Ninat. 

“Y/N’s human too,” Jake says quietly.

Tsu’tey’s heart thuds. “Yes.”

For a moment, Jake waits and watches Tsu’tey’s face as it falls into an expression of extreme study. He is watching you with close interest, his breathing somewhat ragged. Then, Jake speaks again.

“But…you like her, right?”

The steady thud of Tsu’tey’s heart quickens into an erratic hammering.

“…Yes,” he hisses. The words are a release. Tsu’tey feels his body relax like he’s just submerged his body into the morning baths — he blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the weightless feeling washing over his bones, and he frowns.

There’s no possible way for you to have heard them discussing you, but a few seconds later, Tsu’tey stills in place when you look over in his direction, your eyes finding him despite the cloud of darkness encompassing his position.

His breathing becomes more heavy when you smile — Tsu’tey has missed seeing that look of adoration on your face. It’s been years, and it still feels like it did back then, back when he was burying his curiosity beneath his duties. 

How could he even begin to move towards talking to you again, not to mention entertaining the thought of acting on his own feelings for you? The feelings have been buried, stagnant, for so long that he’s actually not even sure if they’re real. Now that his kuru has been severed, Tsu’tey has been acting weird — maybe this is a result of that.

“You could try and dance with her.” Tsu’tey is reminded of Jake’s presence when he speaks again.

Tsu’tey hesitates. “That is not the way.”

“Says who?”

“I say.”

Jake laughs. “Come on, brother. It’s my wedding.”

“I don’t care,” Tsu’tey remarks. 

“If Toruk Makto asked you to dance, you would.”

The glare that Tsu’tey gives Jake is so intense that Jake almost blanches backward. Then the absurdity of the situation settles and Jake grins, resting his hand on Tsu’tey’s shoulder.

“I know why you’re scared,” Jake says, his tone light but nonetheless serious, “and so goddamn stubborn. But…you know, it’s never too late to try. If you try and you can’t, then whatever. But the Tsu’tey I know and respect never backed down out of fear. You never know until you know. Why don’t you just try?”

Tsu’tey breathes slowly, not sure of what to do or say.

“Everything is different, Jakesully. I do not know what to do,” he confesses. “I gave my life for my people, for my Olo’eyktan. I met with Eywa, but now I am here again. I do not know what to do with my life. I do not know who I am without…” He trails off. Jake knows what he means, what he was referring to. After so much loss, Jake knows now how Tsu’tey is feeling.

Jake’s hand tightens around Tsu’tey’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m with you, brother. Together, we can try.” Then, he turns his head to look back to where you are; your eyes are still wandering over to where Tsu’tey is sitting with an uncharacteristic impatience. If Jake were to guess, then you probably wanted to talk to Tsu’tey as much as he wanted to talk to you.

“Now, get up and dance with her,” Jake says as a final order, heaving himself up off his haunches. Tsu’tey looks up as his Olo’eyktan rises and automatically joins him. “As your Olo’eyktan and brother, I order you to dance with her. If you don’t, there’ll be consequences.”

Tsu’tey finds the energy to laugh from his chest, half affronted and half impressed by Jake’s sudden display of authority.

“You are still a skxawng,” he declares as Jake starts to wander off into the party.

Jake looks over his shoulder and shrugs, “Skxawng who can now boss you around. Your fault.”

With that, Tsu’tey watches Jake drift into the celebrations and fade into a blue blur. He is consumed almost entirely by the amount of people now dancing around the fire, including Neytiri and several other senior members of the Omatikaya. 

Now that he’s standing up, Tsu’tey has started garnering attention from others; they look at him cautiously, as if he were a loose cannon about to explode. He understands why — there was nobody else here with as much right to hate the Skypeople as Tsu’tey, and with their eyes on him, the phantom feeling of his kuru feels ten times stronger. What the hell is he doing? He shouldn’t be here.

Before he can even entertain the idea of leaving, Tsu’tey’s eyes find yours again. Stumbling on both feet after being released in a swirl from Ninat’s hands, you stare at him for a moment as your vision focuses and you take the sight of him in.

You haven’t seen him in so long, and yet he looks almost the same as he did before, only more taut and muscular, more defined from the rage of war. And yet, despite all of that — despite the passage of time and the weight of war and loss, you still find the man you once admired, the man you have missed each day that passed without him.

Tsu’tey has to remind himself to breathe when you smile at him widely, eyes widening with recognition and arms reaching out as if calling him closer. If your hands were magnets, then he was the iron being pulled in to you; his feet shift off the soft moss beneath him and towards the fire, crunching over leaves and flowers and dry grass until he is a few inches away from you.

Around you both, the dancing crowd is reduced to stuttering blurred lines of colour. The only constant, clear thing that Tsu’tey can see is you, and now he is up close, there’s no reason to deny the aching feeling in his chest for just how much he has longed to speak to you, or for just how insanely beautiful you look in his eyes.

No words are said as you reach for his forearms, the warmth of your touch the only thing Tsu’tey can feel, despite the pressing heat of the bonfire. 

Being near Skypeople was one of Tsu’tey’s greatest displeasures in life, but with you, everything feels right. He finds the soft outline of his face in your eyes and he blinks, standing still as you move with the music, trying to coax him into moving with you.

Good lord, how is it possible that he likes you so much? It’s been years. How is he able to still see that girl inside of you? How is it that despite everything he stands for, he’s unable to see anything unnatural about you?

When your hands slide down to his, his heart beats so hard in his chest that he’s afraid he might be dying again. Your fingers tighten around his, and with very little restraint, Tsu’tey feels his feet follow you into a dance around the flames, the drums intensifying, his body feeling as if it has been caught by the flames and burned to a crisp. 

His eyes are glued to yours, to the expression of delight and adoration on your face, and for the first time in a long, long time, Tsu’tey feels what he’s been searching relentlessly for.

He smiles, resigning to his heart.

Yes. He’s found what he wanted all along.

“Quiet,” repeats Nanami, his hand clamping back down over your mouth. His hands are so big that they dwarf every feature on your face, but his size never mattered to you — not in that way.

You ought to have been more cautious when proceeding to pursue your father’s best friend. Nanami ought to have been more morally intact when deciding to pursue you, as well; having known you for a good chunk of your life, he knew the ambiguity of this relationship. He knew how it looked, how it would sound if he were to explain it to somebody.

One simple beauty about this whole affair, however, is that he didn’t need to explain it to anybody. These moments were entirely for yourselves. For the last four months it had been as such: stolen, secret moments in equally secretive places.

Nanami shifts; he hoists your legs higher up over his forearms so that the heels of your feet are in the air, determined to stretch you wider to accommodate his size.

By now, you’ve grown accustomed to him. It no longer takes much work to slot himself inside of you. There has been enough practice at pushing himself inside and pulling himself out that the act is second nature to Nanami. Natural, in a way.

And yet, even after countless encounters, after fucking you stupid more times than he can bother to keep count of, the feeling never grows old.

Nanami could shove his cock in your cunt ten thousand times and never, ever get used to how good you feel, how easily you take him, how warm and wet you are before he’s even slid himself inside.

Sinking himself deeper inside of you, Nanami stares down at your face concealed in the dark, searching for your expression drawn out with the pleasure of his performance.

When somebody on the back patio shifts from in front of a light it comes flooding over your face and Nanami’s cock grows extra hard.

There you are.

You whimper against the palm of Nanami’s hand, eyes rounded and pleading like a faun begging for the hunter’s mercy. He refrains from crooning, feeling the desire tingle across his body like electricity.

There’s his wonderful girl.

“There?” Nanami thrusts slowly, feeling you tremble once his balls smack with a light sound against your ass. Your brows arch in contrasting directions and he grins. “Yep. There.”

“Nunnmimmf.” You mumble something behind his hand, unintelligible, barely even audible. It’s a secret language that only you and him can understand.

He cocks his head to the side. “What’re you muttering about?” His hips stagger suddenly with a deep jolt — you think he might have just ended up next to your lungs and you cry out loudly, this time loud enough for Nanami to get goosebumps.

“Mouthy today,” he mumbles, grunting when he pushes himself into you again. “It’s like you want them to hear us.”

No need for elaborations; a chill runs up your body, the thrill of knowing that your parents and their entire agency of friends are just behind your bedroom door, completely oblivious to the fact that Nanami is fucking you relentlessly, possessively.

The mere mention of your parents, even in its ambiguity, sends a rush of greedy shame through your body.

It wouldn’t go down well if anyone were to find out that Kento Nanami was fucking the living daylights out of his best friend’s daughter. The humiliation it would bring upon your entire family should be what puts you off spreading your legs for him, and yet it does the polar opposite.

This older man, the man who you once felt that ditzy shyness around whenever he came to visit, now being your lover? The man who your father trusts like a brother, burrowing between your legs like it’s his destiny to be there? Even just thinking about it leaves you wet and writhing.

It wasn’t always like this, mind you. It took a lot of effort and patience on your part to even get Nanami to look at you as a woman, as a singular being separate from your father. You’re sure that if you hadn’t left breadcrumbs across weeks of allocated time trying to gain his interest, then he wouldn’t be here right now.

So thank God you let your lucky tequila shot lead you into — or rather, onto — Nanami’s lap in your shortest skirt and soaked panties on the day of your father’s biggest promotion to date. Thank fucking God for that.

Nanami feels your wet lips against his hand, the warmth of your hallowed breaths with each thrust he delivers. The mattress sinks beneath you both as he fucks you, Nanami’s knees occasionally hitting the very edge of the bottom of your bedframe.

His shirt bulges around his tensed muscles and your hands smooth across him, marvelling. You know every inch of this man and yet you still look at him like he’s godly, as if being in his presence is impossible.

He grunts with each thrust, shifting the hand from your left thigh to your stomach. Nanami presses down and feels his pride swell when you cry out against his hold. You’re folded up like origami beneath him, and Nanami forgets to breathe for a second as he gorges himself on the picture of you beneath him.

“My gorgeous girl,” Nanami grunts, moving his hand once your legs tremble around him. His forearm straddles your waist as he lowers himself down over you, his hand tightening across your mouth.

Nanami’s eyes bore into yours and his head drops to the side slightly, a small smile on his face.

“My favourite woman,” he murmurs, staring so deeply into yours eyes that it’s almost as if he can see into you, into your mind. A squelch sounds between your legs as he slowly spears himself in and out of you. “Mm. You feel like heaven.”

His praise is like taking a hit of heroin. Making him proud…making him feel good… Those were your priorities at the best of times. And now, your third was keeping him here for as long as you can.

Kento Nanami might be your father’s best friend, but above all else, he was your lover. Your man. Yours.

Nanami’s clasp over your mouth loosens and he puckers your lips tightly. As he leverages his lips over yours hungrily, his eyes flitter from left to right as he scans your expression. There’s a hardness to his gaze that still makes you nervous even after everything he’s done to you.

A noise grumbles deep in his throat before he pushes himself so far inside of you that it actually hurts, and as you whine out suddenly, Nanami’s lips find your own. He kisses you with a gentle ferocity and you drink him up, desperate to be as close and as intimate with him as humanly possible.

“My girl,” he mumbles between kisses, dragging his lips from yours to your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck.

You shakily moan, squeezing your hands around his biceps. “Kento…”

The hand around your mouth squeezes slightly. Something flashes across Nanami’s eyes as they immediately cut to stare at you.

“What did I say about noise?” he asks — no, states. Gone is the voice of wonder and adoration; he’s back to commanding you. His brows raise as if unimpressed. “I said, quiet.”

“...They can’t hear,” you manage to say, despite his iron grip on your face. One eyebrow arches higher on his face and you tighten your legs around him desperately, bowing his body lower over your unbuttoned shirt.

It’s true, anyway. Your parents’ New Year parties are infamous for their loudness and large attendances — every neighbour and their invited guests would pile into your home ready for the ball to drop after midnight.

There’s so many people outside your door that Nanami’s disappearance isn’t even noticeable, which made it so easy for him to lead you by the hand to where he knows your bedroom is, via a specific pathway he’s mapped out and saved in his mind.

The door hidden behind a thin, lacy curtain leading out to the backyard is the only invitation of eyes Nanami left open — just for the fun of it.

“Fortunately for you,” Nanami says. “You’re insufferably noisy.”

“And yet you like me anyway,” you point out, tightening around his cock and forcing a groan of pleasure from his mouth.

Nanami’s groan is loud and open-mouthed. You laugh slightly, swollen with pride, and his eyes flicker down to your shiny lips.

With less ferocity as before, Nanami settles his hand back on your face; his thumb is indented into the hollow of your cheek, his fingers on the other, his palm over your chin. Then, he bows over your face and forces your mouth wide.

“I do,” he mutters softly. Then, he spits. It lands with a sting against your tongue and you blink furiously with surprise, arching yourself up to touch your tummy against his.

When Nanami pulls away, there are tears in your eyes.

God, you love this man.

“I love your dirty mouth,” Nanami goes on, sliding his hand down the length of your body slowly. Both of his hands then settle around your waist and tighten. His hips pull back before pushing back against you, harder and faster, the slap of skin aggressively loud.

You moan out loud, mouth hanging agape. The force of his thrust shifts the hair across his forehead, damp with sweat. His collarbones are glistening in the dim light, the sweat dampening through his clothes.

Fucking you sure as hell takes a lot of work, he thinks, and yet he barely has to try to make you feel good.

Nanami’s rhythm builds slowly, your wetness letting him slide in and out of you with about as much effort as blinking or breathing.

“I love your tight-as-shit pussy,” he continues, his voice low and sultry and somewhat gravelly with the strain on his body that was placed there after twenty minutes of deep, unrelenting sex. Your moans become trembling snippets of noise as he fucks you, the mattress gaining a creak as he slides in and out, somehow going deeper with every thrust.

Nanami closes his eyes and runs his tongue over his lip. It is with every inch of his effort that he doesn’t just cut the prolonged fun short and cums inside of you.

“I love that the beautiful daughter of my best friend begs for my cock every time she sees me.”

You cry loudly, the head of his dick pushing against the spongy walls of your insides. You don’t think he’s ever fucked your pussy like this before, with this much intensity.

Nanami moans deeply, his hands trying to pull you faster against his cock as his hips stagger forward.

“I love this pussy,” he says, his voice strained somewhat. He moans again, shuddering. “I love fucking you.” Nanami angles his face over yours, the tip of his sculpted nose brushing across yours. “Fuck, you are incredible.”

Something unspoken sits there as his face disappears, his head angled downwards as he, out of nowhere, picks up the pace. The words hang on the tip of your tongue like a promise — or a threat.

This man is your father’s best friend. This man is so much older than you.

And you are so fucking in love with him.

If he had more time, Nanami would ravage you entirely. He thinks about it in his mind for a second before he gives up on it; he thinks about wrapping his arms around you and arranging his body over your own. One arm beneath your hips and around your waist, the other snaking up your back with his hand around the side of your face. Nanami, under less risky circumstances, would want to devote himself to the act of fucking you, would take it slow with rousing an orgasm from deep inside you.

But his eyes just caught sight of the time on the alarm clock on your bedside table. 11:50PM. Ten minutes until his disappearance becomes noticeable.

His focus shifts; Nanami lets the fantasy of your parents floating around the house in search of their two missing guests push him to a new limit. His hips jerk forward viciously and you whimper, your knees bent up towards your chest as Nanami rearranges and buries himself deeper — if it was even possible.

The faint smell of sweat and whiskey fills your senses now that he’s closer to you, and you feel drugged off the combination of him. He fucks you intently, in and out, in and out, until it becomes his programmed mission.

The only things in the room are you and him.

The only thing that matters aside from finishing before the final countdown of the year is you.

“Although I could fuck you for hours,” Nanami begins, barely sounding out of breath as he repeatedly fucks himself in and out of your stretched, quivering cunt, “I’m afraid we’re on a tight schedule.”

You try to reply — unsuccessful. All you can produce is a mixture of incoherent nonsense, the language that Nanami can miraculously understand with acute accuracy.

“But don’t worry,” he assures you, pressing a wet and long kiss to your mouth. When he pulls away, it leaves you in a hungry state of agony, “we can pick it up again next year.”

You attempt to laugh, but the noise escapes you in a breathless kind of cry.

“Bet you’ve been waiting all night to use a line like that,” you gasp. The warmth of his cock moves in and out of your pussy with a kind of numbness that has your head reeling. You’re so tight and yet so stretched out that you feel the pressure between your hips releasing, giving in to his movements.

Nanami laughs under his breath, his smile widening. “You know me too well.”

“Mm, that I do.”

He tuts playfully, thrusting extra sharply into you as the numbers flip from 52 into 53.

“And there’s the cockiness that got us both here,” he says, feeling your walls tighten around him in an awfully familiar kind of squeeze. You’re just a few thrusts away from cumming around him. His eyes glimmer as he adjusts inside of you, “Just like your daddy.”

The line. The reminder of your own shame — exactly what Nanami knows you need to bring you over the edge.

A hot flush consumes your entire body in a flash. The knot in the centre of your stomach tightens furiously as he quickens his pace, his grunts in time with each slap of skin. Your hands stretch up to find Nanami’s face, one clawing up at his hair as he lifts himself up on the mattress by his knees and arches over your chest.

The headboard slams against the wall with a dull thud — if not for the music flowing through the body of your house, you think the sound would have echoed halfway down the street. A roar of rambunctious laughter deafens the hallway just as your mouth stretches wide, a chorus of pleasured sounds leaving your throat helplessly.

Beneath you the mattress creaks and Nanami nestles his face next to your ear, each grunt brushing a breath of air down your eardrums, sending a glossy ripple of goosebumps over your body. Your ankles are hooked over one another on Nanami’s back, holding him in place as he roughly fucks you back and forth.

The sound of Nanami fills your ears and you clutch him tighter, desperate to be closer to him.

“Mmhf. Fuck, Kento!”

Your hand immediately rushes to your mouth. Too loud. Too risky. Your face burns with morbidity and Nanami’s eyes bore down on you. His expression is unreadable for a second before the look in his eyes softens.

“Hm?” Nanami looks at you with faux concern. “You want to make noise?”

You say nothing. Only whimper helplessly against your own goddamn hand.

“Did before,” Nanami murmurs gruffly, pressing a kiss to the skin next to your ear, “didn’t you? You were begging to make some noise.”

Your bodies are basically conjoined with how deep he is inside of you.

He sighs into your ear, stroking his hand across your hairline before dropping it down the length of your body.

“Go on, then,” Nanami complies. His teeth grasp against your neck slowly. “Do your best for me, my love.” The noise that rumbles into your skin sounds like a goddamn growl. “Let yourself go.”

Well, if he’s giving you permission…

Taking a fistful of his hair, you push your lower body up the length of his cock, feeling every vein as you slide him inside. You’re positive that you look like a total whore beneath him, fucking yourself on his dick as he chuckles against your neck, clearly enjoying the desperation of your desire.

You know that he thinks your desperation for him is addictive, just like he knows that your desire for him is the same. The impatience of your need for him is growing even as your body grows tired, and Nanami’s pride soars.

You’re so desperate to be with him; it drives Nanami fucking insane.

“Oh my god…Ken…Kento...” Each frantic thrust forces a moan from your throat, and Nanami’s entire body scorches with lust. “Don’t stop… Please, please, please…don’t stop…”

Now why the fuck would he ever stop? He doesn’t bother commenting on that.

With each slap of skin, with every inch of your pussy that Nanami sinks himself into, your voice raises in both octave and volume. He’d happily go deaf from the sound of it, and he actually grins against your neck and finds the willpower left within him to fuck you faster and rougher than he ever has before.

Your head lulls to the side with exhaustion, the pressure growing heavier between your legs. Even as your vision blurs with hot tears, you can see dark blobs of human shapes in the backyard, moving to look at premature fireworks going off down the street.

Your heart hammers in your chest so hard that Nanami can probably feel it. It’s certainly throbbing in your pussy, which you know for a fact he can feel. You know he’s only going so fast because you haven’t cummed yet — there’s no way Nanami would ever allow himself to finish if you hadn’t done so first.

Could one of those silhouettes outside be your parents, searching through a drunken crowd for their absent daughter? You feel the shame and thrill simmer inside of you like meat on a grill. Then, you burn like the hot flame when you blink and see someone’s head turned in the direction of the door separating your ground floor bedroom and the backyard.

Shit. Are they looking at you and Nanami?

“You are fucking divine,” Nanami grunts, all whilst you stare in mortification at the door poorly concealed by your pointless, thin curtain.

Then they move. A glow of purple and teal light fills the sky and their attention shifts to it, the door forgotten about. You and Nanami are once again alone, and once your mind shifts from the stranger to the man who you’ve known for years, who’s cock is so far up your snatch that you think he’ll touch your ribs, and the rush of pleasure hits you like a rogue wave.

“Kento…!”

Nanami hums with satisfaction. His clothes are sticky with sweat against his body. “There we go,” he coos. “There we are, sweetheart. Let it go.”

Fireworks flash across your vision. It’s not even midnight yet; the fireworks are entirely your own, a display put together by Nanami for you and only you. Your legs shake uncontrollably around his body and you cry out so loudly it’s almost a scream.

As the orgasm bursts within you like the explosions of light outside, Nanami shows no relenting; he continues to fuck you quickly and aggressively, forcing your orgasm out with a loud string of groans, the most vocal Nanami has ever been with you before.

Between your thighs, you burn; your muscles feel overworked as if you’ve run a marathon, your body shuddering as you cum around Nanami’s cock. He falters as you squeeze furiously around him, your walls fluttering as they usually did whenever he forced an orgasm from you.

“Mmmf, my word,” Nanami’s voice is a gravelly muffle against your ear. You can feel the curve of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, as he smiles against your skin, “you have enjoyed yourself, haven’t you?”

You can’t even remember how to speak in order to reply to him.

“My turn,” he decides, nipping your ear before moving both of his hands up to the sides of your face and crashing his mouth against yours.

You welcome him in with exhaustion and need, numbed to the way Nanami continues to fuck himself into you until he’s satisfied with the work he’s done on you. At any point now, you’re expecting him to pull out and cover your stomach and chest with his cum — but the empty feeling of his dick pulling out of you never comes.

What comes instead is, quite literally, him.

Five more deep, rough, slow strokes is all it takes for Nanami to find his own orgasm, and once it rips through him, all you can think about is the warmth settling in the pit of your stomach.

Nanami just filled you like a fucking cream pie with his cum, and then the clock dings into the next year and the party screams with joy outside. Nanami moans loudly into your mouth as his cum fills your cunt, his hands trembling as he desperately empties himself into you like his life depends on it.

Your pussy is his, and his alone. And for the first time in the four glorious months of your affair, Nanami has decided to leave you with a reminder of who you belong to.

His muscles tense beneath your hands as you steady your trembling body. Nanami is breathing heavily on top of you, his eyes closed in an almost comatose state.

In attempt to rouse him back to reality, you shift to cup his face with your hands, but even the slightest movement sends a sensitive shiver down Nanami’s spine and he hisses, his eyes widening open as he restarts his brain and enters reality again.

“Don’t. Just—” Nanami starts, his face tightening. “Don’t move just yet.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, eyes searching his face with concern. Has he ever looked so wrecked? “Are you okay?”

Nanami’s eyes flash to yours and he frowns. “I should be asking you that.”

You manage to smile. It’s taking all of your energy to try and catch your breath and steady your heartbeat so that you don’t go into cardiac arrest.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, breathing heavily. “Just…”

You clench naturally and feel his cock still buried within you. How is it even possible that you forgot he was there?

Nanami groans inadvertently, his body shuddering. His eyes close momentarily before he settles the clench in his jaw and relaxes. Then, he looks back down at you and really stares.

It’s impossible to know what he may be thinking. You can hardly think of anything to say, instead letting the fireworks outside fill the silence with bangs and squeals, the neon lights illuminating the side of Nanami’s face. You see the glossy outline of his face, his sunken cheeks, his long nose and stern eyes…and your heart murmurs shyly.

His brows slope up when you blink and look away from him, suddenly self aware of the fact you’re sprawled beneath Kento Nanami, entirely naked, in your childhood bedroom in your parents’ home on New Year’s Eve… And Nanami scoffs.

“Don’t go shy on me,” he says in a low voice.

“I’m always shy with you.”

“You haven’t been shy with me in years,” he points out. “And you weren’t shy when you rubbed your cunt across my crotch four months ago.”

You squirm, “Well…I’m shy now.”

You can still feel the heat of Nanami’s body when he peels himself off you. With his hands flat on the bed on either side of you, he slowly slides himself out of your pussy whilst studying your face intently. You whimper as he removes himself from you, feeling his cum dripping out once he’s no longer plugging it inside of you.

“Well, I suppose it’s nice that you get shy around me,” Nanami begins, leaning back to admire his work. His eyes gloss over you appreciatively; he carefully parts your legs and uses his thumb to pull at your pussy, watching the warm and white ribbons of cum tumble out of you, impressed that he had so much left inside of him to give you.

“Means you’re not getting tired of me,” he finishes.

“Are you being serious?” you reply, hoisting yourself up on your forearms. “You’ll die of old age before I get bored of you.”

Nanami grins with amusement. “Hey, now.”

His amusement is contagious. You’re struggling to think of things to say to keep him here; you know that he needs to get back to the party, to try and act like he hasn’t just fucked his best friend’s daughter. But is it so wrong of you to want him to stay? To just say fuck it and fall into you completely?

You let him rise up from the bed and feel your heart sink with disappointment, as it always does when you both need to return to pretending like this never happened. Nanami reaches for the towel that’s hanging over the back of your desk chair and returns to mercifully clean up his mess.

“It’s not the princess treatment that you’re used to,” Nanami says, his lips quirking with a smile, “I apologise.”

“Time is of the essence,” you reply, taking it from him to avoid the spots that are making you wince. “You should go back to the party before my dad puts out a search warrant.”

He grunts with agreement. Nanami carefully rearranges his attire before deciding to watch you finish up, avoiding his gaze with every dab and swipe.

“And yet I don’t want to leave,” he reveals.

You pause. “I don’t want you to, either.”

There’s a beat of uncertainty before you brave a look at him and feel your body deform into jelly.

“But you have to,” you finish.

“I know,” he sighs heavily, hands on his hips and a look of disappointment fresh on his face.

He hesitates for a moment and you agonise over why. Is there something on his mind? Something that he wants to do, or wants to say?

You feel those traitorous words rise up your throat and you, with great effort, manage to swallow them back down.

Stay. I lo—

Nah. Better not to spoil a good thing with the truth neither one of you wants to address.

Eventually, Nanami straightens up and lifts his jacket from the floor, finding his glasses from the pocket and sliding them back up the bridge of his nose. It’s amazing that it takes such little effort for him to look normal again; you’re sure that you look completely unfixable.

“Well,” he announces, then pauses again. Good lord, he’s hovering, and he almost cringes at himself. Nanami then leans forward and cups his hands around your face, pressing two kisses to your lips before pulling away. His face is concealed in the dark, unreadable. “Happy New Year, my love.”

And then he’s walking to the door and twisting the lock, allowing the throb of music and cheering to enter your room as he opens the door and slips back out into the throng.

Silence settles. Your heart stammers.

A phantom pressure throbs in your pussy and you throw yourself back against your mattress and groan loudly.

For something as simple on paper as fucking your dad’s best friend, it sure as hell is complicated.

BEFORE

⤷ One thing you love about Jakesully now that he’s a part of your clan is that he does not ask difficult questions. He doesn’t pry about who the hell knocked you up - he’s just more than happy to step up and be the baby’s father if it means making you happy.

WHAT NOW?

⤷ Now, you and Jake have to start preparing for a baby.

BABY, I'M YOUR LULLABY (Jake's POV)

⤷ Jake hasn't known you long, but he's known you long enough to know that stepping up to be the father of your child is the right thing to do, especially considering just how much he adores you.

there is no greater joy than leaning back and watching you do your thing. their hands are on your waist, smoothing around your hips and stomach in an effort to distract themselves from simply filling you up and going wild — they love to watch you sinking down on them, your back arched and breasts rising with every rise and fall. they meet your hips by raising their own, finding pleasure in watching your face pull into contorted shapes, hearing the moans and whimpers from your mouth. from down here, they like the control they can have, and on occasion, the submission of doing whatever you tell them to

— levi, armin, porco

BENT OVER

if they can bend you over it, they can fuck you on it. tables, beds, tree trunks, fences, desks, sinks — it’s like they’re trying to fuck you on every possible or available surface they can find. they just love to see the sight of your ass tilted up, hips pressing into a hard surface, legs spread in a desperate attempt to stay upright, all while they drive themselves into you however fast or hard they want to. they can be as gentle or as rough as they want to be; running their hands up your back and between your shoulder blades, or smacking your ass and pulling your hair — everything about fucking you from behind is perfect for them, and by the sounds of things, perfect for you

— eren, floch

[bonus] s4!eren loves to fuck you over a sink or a vanity, anywhere he can pull you back by your hair and make you watch in the mirror. his eyes never leave yours through the glass, his lips whispering the dirtiest things he can possibly think of just to get you to cum around him, to watch yourself unravel in his hands

RIDING THEIR FACE

they are a seat. that’s all they are, all they ever want to be — a seat for their perfect partner. they could spend hours with their tongue up your cunt, hands pressed into your ass or hips as you ride the features on their face. they would happily die of suffocation down here, just as long as you were happy and they got to taste their favourite thing in the world

— connie, onyankopon

GIVING THEM A BLOWJOB

every position is good with their partner, but absolutely nothing beats you on your knees between their legs, their cock in your mouth. a hand in your hair, on your cheek or the back of your neck, they love to watch you take care of them, especially after a particularly long and otherwise bad day. whether it’s simply between their legs as they sit, or as they lie down before bed — or under a desk when there are other people around, nothing will ever top the feeling of your mouth running itself up their dick, or how warm and wet it feels as you take them. 

— ERWIN, bertolt

REVERSE COWGIRL

“comfy, darlin?” with their hands on your hips, they love to help you sink down onto them, using your hips as handles to bring you up and down at whatever pace they fancy. they just love the sight of your face turning back to him with a pleasured look, the muscles in your back tensing whenever he hits that perfect spot up your pussy. seeing you looking like this makes him feel so proud — you’re taking him like its no problem, your ass bouncing on his stomach, toes curling as you set your hands on his legs for balance. he’ll let you take control until you tire, and then the fun can really begin

The new human settlement remained a comfortable distance away from where the resistance was stationed, and yet still all too close for Jake’s comfort. It was an uncomfortable fact that both war parties were in acknowledgement of, but Jake had to guess that it made the Sky People more afraid than the Na’vi. 

It wouldn’t matter how many buildings the Sky People erected, how many roads they paved; Pandora would always be the home of the Na’vi, and their instincts were so attuned to the forests and waters surrounding the ring of painfully ugly architecture that it was no wonder the humans felt the need to turn their city into a fortress, armed with gunships and garrisons. 

Bridgehead City strove to function in a straightforward fashion, and sometimes, Jake had to admit he was impressed by their resilience, their total ignorance of how this world worked and what was waiting for them in forest fringes.

He was surprised that a fray of scientists were even brave enough to conduct manned missions to nearby forests to collect samples, studying while their colleagues destroyed the trees, killed the indigenous.

Having been part of a tight-knit scientist collective himself once, Jake knows not everyone there is a cold-hearted killer, and from what he's heard, not everyone there wants to stain their hands with Pandora’s blood.

But, the Na’vi and their allies aren’t the greatest thing threatening the city. It’s not just by chance that the resistance are hitting goldmines by striking RDA train lines and ships and disrupting resource transportation — Bridgehead City has a mole, and that mole is single-handedly making all the difference between winning and losing the war.

As Jake snaps his hips back upwards, sinking himself further up your cunt, he lifts his eyes to stare with extreme scrutiny at the looming eyesore of a city on the horizon.

Every flicker of light, every shadow of movement, catches his eye, but he knows from weeks of no issue that where he’s currently bending you over a rock is out of sight from the patrolling guards atop the city walls. 

The underground tunnel is manned by several other trusted allies stationed in the city, people you have sworn to Jake he can trust.

The Avatar Program did not cease in its studies and activity when Grace died on Pandora; it simply found itself under new ownership and continued its religious study of Pandora and its people, with a bunch of scientists who care more about peace than a paycheque. 

So far, nobody has given you over, nobody has breached the trust Jake has very nobly put in them — and the guards whose allegiance is aligned with the Na’vi resistance have turned down their weapons and are securing the narrow tunnel that connects the forest to the RDA labs. 

You’ll be fine out here, being fucked by the city’s greatest threat and enemy, and when you’re giving Jake such valuable information, then you can be certain that Jake won’t just kill you where you stand.

There was a time when you thought he might. Back before you even ended up being a hole for Jake to squeeze into, you had offered the olive branch of trust when you’d spotted Jake in the trees assessing the alleged mole who had contacted Norm.

You could have called out to the nearby soldiers, could have lit the fuse for a skirmish, but you didn’t. Instead, you remained quiet, staring at him half-fearfully and half-curiously, until he was satisfied with what he saw and disappeared back into the forest like a ghost.

Now, you’re more lax. There is no argument against you being the resistance’s greatest weapon, their greatest strength and weakness, just the same as there’s no argument against you being ideal for their leader.

Whenever you seek him out, he gets everything he wants: information, assurance, and a hole to fuck and fill.

“When?” Jake grunts, his eyes shifting back to the sight of your back arched up with pleasure.

The rock is rather high, surprisingly flat but still unbelievably uncomfortable, and yet you sound as though you’re being bent over the most comfortable surface in the world.

You don’t hear him ask the question, but you whimper a noise of confusion when Jake pistons back in a bit too roughly, his chest grumbling with a low purr of disappointment.

“When?”

What were you talking about? You fumble out a breathless moan and think — oh yes. The upcoming shipment of mined resources expecting to pass by a potential guerrilla attack line.

“Three days time,” you tell him, wincing when he pushes even deeper into you as a reward for your honesty, your walls clenched unbearably tight around him. He grunts again, pleased. “I heard them say something about midday, but I—fuck! Um, I…it could change.”

“You’re sure?” Jake asks. The resistance has spent weeks living around doubts and chances, but most of your reports have been on the nose when it comes to accuracy, and it’s a point that Jake has fallen reliant on. 

You hear his question and momentarily panic. The last time you were wrong, you paid for it heavily, and were amazed that you could still stand and walk shamefully back down the tunnel that spans for miles back towards the city. You can understand Jake’s seriousness when it comes to your information — his loyalty and determination can’t be faulted, his intensity inspiring, but the last thing you want is to steer him wrong and get people killed. 

It’s not just the lives of the Na’vi on the line. If the RDA were to catch wind of your betrayal, you could safely assume it wouldn’t be a simple dismissal back to Earth. You’d be lucky to be court-martialled — but you can only imagine they would have the most sinister and deserving punishment waiting for you, so horrific that you’d have wished you’d never opened your mouth.

You feel Jake’s hands curve around your waist as if securing you in place, pushing himself all the way inside of you until the wind is knocked from your lungs. At this point, you’ve had Jake inside of you too many times to count, but accommodating him never gets any more comfortable — not that he cares. 

Jake’s feelings for you stop and start with ally, and it just so happens you’re an ally he can use, an ally he can manipulate, an ally he can sink his cock into now that there’s barely any time for him and Neytiri to be alone around their work and their kids.

“I’m sure,” you reply, your voice strained to a point where Jake almost doesn’t know what you’ve just said to him. “They sent me away before I could get a closer look, but it’s a maglev carrying weapon shipments and steel from one of their mines—” Jake’s dick spears up against a soft wall of pudge that makes you groan loudly, and his hand readjusts on your waist, “Gotta be around seven carriages.”

Jake hums thoughtfully, wincing as your cunt clenches around him like a fist. He takes a deep breath and pushes you down gently, mindful of the fact that compared to him you could break with the slightest force. 

“Good,” he mutters, glancing back up at the horizon. Nothing has changed; no lights have ignited, no horns sounding, no eyes looking at him making a mess of one of their own. “Y’know anything about aircraft that day?”

You shake your head between your arms, gaze tucked low as a knot tightens in your stomach. It’s always so embarrassing how many times Jake can make you cum in one visit. By the time he’s pushed out his first orgasm, you’re reaching your third or fourth. 

“Nothin’?” Jake questions. “All you do all day is listen to them talk, and you don’t know anything about what ships they’re flying?”

“Um, maybe Samson ships, or Kestrels, same as always,” you hurry out, desperate to be useful, especially when his hands tighten around you almost threateningly. “Don’t know how many. Three. Four, I dunno—”

Jake grunts again and snaps his hips aggressively into you, your ass slapping against his lower stomach at such a speed that he’s amazed you’re still producing any noises. You always seem to take him expertly, always up for trying your best to keep Jake pleased — he has to admire the level of passion and determination you put into whatever you do. 

He squeezes your waist one more time before relaxing his hands, smoothing one up the length of your back and putting the other down near the curve of your ass. Jake can feel your thighs trembling against him, the hot warmth of your cunt closing tighter around his dick like a goddamn vice, and after one final longing look at Bridgehead, Jake sighs and pats your leg.

“Alright,” he relents, his voice slightly kinder and quieter. Mercifully, Jake moves slower, although staying deep in your stomach as if he intends to watch his dick slip up your throat and out your mouth, and another deep rumble erupts from his chest. “Alright.”

“Mmf, I—” A sudden squeal slips from your mouth when you feel Jake’s cock twitch inside of you, a burst of warmth pooling inside your tummy. Jake groans, stumbles forward almost, and brings his hands back to the bottom of your spine to steady himself as strings of his cum spill inside of you. 

Your chest falls flat against the rock, breasts squished like an airbag as Jake steadies his trembling lower half, his dick still buried inside of you until every last drop of cum is out of his system and coating your inner walls. He breathes heavily through his nose for a moment, his fingers shaking very slightly against your body until he quickly pulls himself out of you as if the thought of being up your snatch for a second longer fills him with disgust.

Once he’s out, you slump with an ungracious grunt against the smooth rock, feeling Jake’s cum drooling down your leg like a running tap; it’s warm and sticky, and very bothersome to clean up when he has very little desire to help you do so.

Jake finally drags his hand up from your lower spine and lets out a tired sigh. It is hard work being the leader of the Na’vi insurgence on top of being a father, a husband and the Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya clan. 

In hindsight, Jake knows that he could very easily send Norm out here to collect whatever information you’ve gathered for the resistance, and he knows that there’s really no necessary need to bend you over any surface and fuck you stupid. But somehow it helps to get it out, to fuck out all of his anger and frustration and stress into something — someone — so willing to be of use to something greater.

Neytiri has told him more than once that the timing is not right, that their time together when they find it should be shared with their family now that any day could be their last. Jake knows that Neytiri will seek him out if she feels the need to fuck, but he also understands her lack of need for it. Neytiri just doesn’t have time anymore.

But your very sudden appearance has become most opportune for Jake when he’s feeling stressed out, and in return for his misguided decisions, he can take back kernels of information about the enemy to help them win the war.

“You could start bringing a towel every time you come here,” you say playfully, your voice still in a low octave, as if you’re afraid of someone hearing you out here. Jake has already patrolled this area several times before coming out to find you — the only things listening or looking are the birds in the trees or the bugs on the leaves. 

You pat at the drying streaks of cum between your legs with a mild cringe. “I hate going back in there covered in this. It’s humiliating enough just coming out here.”

Jake finds himself smiling at that, his hands already fastening the tewng back around his waist. “Be brave,” he tells you, gaze cast downwards to his hands as you turn to look back at him.

The true gravity of your circumstances never sinks in until you meet with Jake in passing, along with the surfacing feelings of fear, guilt and shame. You’ve never once aligned yourself with the bloodthirsty agenda of the RDA, not even when the fleet of exiled humans returned to Earth with horror stories to share. The Avatar Program still sought out peaceful relations with the Pandora Indigenous, and no matter what vile plan the RDA had in store, those following in the admirable footsteps of the humans remaining on Pandora knew where they stood and who they stood for. 

Your volatile position as Charles Stringer’s assistant gave you the opportunity to continue the legacy of the Avatar Program, and could not have come at a more perfect time. It had been sheer luck that you’d found a connection to some of the excommunicated scientists apart of the Na’vi insurgency, and divine right timing that led you to consort with its leader, and each day came with no guarantee for your safety. But the risk was important regardless of how you manoeuvred around it. 

What would be worse? Being caught out as a traitor to the human race by joining forces with the enemy, or being caught out as a traitorous whore letting the infamous Jake Sully fuck you like a toy as a so-called reward for your treachery?

Jake checks over his vest and straightens it out, his eyes finally flickering to find yours in the dull light of the forest. The trees don’t burst or pulse with bioluminescence anymore, no thanks to the artificial floods of light from the city and the painful smog of polluted air and toxins disturbing the will of nature, but Jake can just about see you from his height, peering up at him as you reach for a flimsy leaf to wipe the trickling substance from your legs.

“Are you safe?” Jake asks randomly, dropping to his haunches once he’s confirmed that his armour is on safely. You cringe at the stickiness of your fingers and reluctantly wipe your hands on your jacket, shimmying into your cargos not long afterwards.

“For now,” you tell him. “Nobody knows about anything.”

“You sure?” The last thing Jake wants is the RDA becoming ten times more ruthless after cracking down on the flaw in their regime. He needs you, more than he expected, because without you and your knowledge of every planned schedule the RDA put on their calendars, Jake wouldn’t know where to begin searching for openings.

You fasten the button on the front of your cargos and look back at him. Now that he’s down low, you’re almost eye-to-eye, which is a position that weirds you out, despite the fact that Jake had just been twelve inches deep in your pussy minutes ago. Looking at him so directly makes you feel small, makes you feel vulnerable.

“Positive,” you assure him. “Stringer thinks my one purpose in life is to carry his papers and bring him coffee. Everybody else thinks I’m harmless because I’m an assistant and I wear tight skirts to work, and everyone who I trust is doing their best to fall under the radar.” You sigh with your hands on your hips, bottom lip tugged under your teeth in thought, “It’s surprisingly easy to fool everyone.”

“Stay sharp,” Jake advises, his gaze unwavering as he stares you down. The weight of his gaze is so heavy that you feel forced to look back, finding that he is being as sincere as he can possibly be. “And keep up the good work.”

You bow your head in gratitude. Your last report on a swarm of Samson ships flying through the flux vortex near the base camp for the resistance had been of perfect accuracy — Jake could have given you the moon and stars for the value of that ambush alone.

A low hum of noise makes you flinch and turn back towards the city skyline, meanwhile, Jake chews a frown, grabs his large gun and stands up straight. A dark shadow looms over you, but you’re too busy staring back at Bridgehead, feeling your usual knot of dread tighten. 

“Get outta here, Blue Falcon,” jeers Jake, the sound of his gun clicking making you whip to face him with a long expression. He gestures towards the tunnel entrance with a nod of his head, waiting pointedly for you to finish your frightened observation of him and turn on your heel back to where you belong. 

When your back is turned, Jake is already heading out, stalking carefully and quickly through the ferns and fauna to where his direhorse is patiently waiting for him.

You find, with reluctance, that there are bigger things to worry about than the strong smell of cum over your legs and the sticky feeling between your folds, as you walk towards the heavy metal doors to the tunnel and jump up to glimpse through the barely transparent rectangle of glass looking into the long darkness. 

ch.1 7am ⤷ Jean just really, really, really loves waking up next to you in the morning. ch.2 den of monsters ⤷ Jean and Y/N play Mom and Dad for a little bit. ch.3 pancakes ⤷ Now, his arms are over the top of the covers, his fingers gently lacing with your own, shy, like your first date, the first time he reached for your hand when you were both twelve, getting those feelings ready for the following year: “Cause I love you.”