#varang x reader

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.”

~~~~~~~~~

Varang emerges from her dark dwelling once the familiar sounds of the Sky People's flying machines draw near. A smirk curling onto her lips, she follows her people out into the open, beyond the remnants of their hometree. They scatter along the barren, ashen field to greet their new allies as their propellers kick up ash and dry winds. Metal suits walk forward and present boxes of weapons, more than the last shipment, while the man who made this all happen walks toward Varang.

The tsahik's gaze softens into her alluring guise while greeting the man she claimed as hers, "Quaritch."

"Another shipment for ya, baby," Quaritch's southern twang tickles her ears as he chuckles, "Since you folks tend to go through ammo like it's going outta style."

Her posture is approving, gazing over his shoulder to watch her people rummage through the storage containers. When her sharp eyes flick back to the colonel, hunger replaces approval, "Come. I have something to thank you."

Without another word, she takes his hand in hers, pulling him back toward the village. Quaritch grins knowingly, his voice playful, "Thank? I wasn't under the impression you were the thanking type."

"Hm." Her smile is sly, like she knows something he doesn't. She pulls back the flap of her yurt to allow him in first, "But you will thank me for this."

He's admiring her body slowly, pointedly unashamed of his open stare. He makes a show of deciding whether or not to follow, but predictably gives in and ducks his head into her 'cozy' abode.

He lifts a hand to pass through the beaded curtain, his nose immediately crinkling when the scent of something potent invades his nostrils. The colonel can point out a few things he remembers from the last time he was here, such as the incense with a hint of spice, the haunting totems carved from nightmares, and the gentle smoke from the firepit at the center. However, his tail stiffens mid-sway when he takes a deep breath and catches an overpowering aroma that immediately brings saliva to fill his mouth.

A quiet noise echoed in his ears, and as he looked down, he realized he was not alone with Varang as she finally entered the yurt. Another female, clearly Mangkwan, was writhing as if in agony on the floor... completely naked. She was making soft sounds, sighs, and moans that implied she was trying to fight something trying to get out of her, curling in close toward the lit fire in the center of the room. The aroma he smelt earlier fills his nose again as she rubs her thighs together like she was relieving a deep ache. The source of the scent.

"Who's this?" He asks.

Varang stands off to the side, inspecting the colonel with eyes glowing from the fire while she extends her arm out to your direction as if presenting a meal to him, "She is Y/n. One of my most strongest of females, and she is in need of your help." 

Quaritch's eyes inspect you thoroughly, a mess of limbs as you writhe on top of Varang's furs, making some noises that sound like an injured animal. Varang clearly has you high on one of her various concoctions of aphrodisiacs, the pupils of your eyes blown wide until the irises are just thin rings. Your panting fills the room, along with the crackling of the fire, your breasts rising and falling with each desperate gulp of air like a bitch in heat.

Once that last particular thought crosses his mind, Quaritch's eyes narrow, flicking back to Varang, where she can see a growing suspicion in his gaze. Her eyes gleam with mischief, swaying her sultry hips as she moves around her yurt, removing her twin blades from her back and setting them aside.

"We do not breed weakness. Only strength. My people do not mate unless I allow it," she explains to the demon, flashing a smile at him from over her shoulder, "Mangkwan children will only be born from two strong parents. Until then, my people prove themselves to me. They hunt, they kill, and only when I am satisfied, they can finally be allowed to breed."

She moves to a bowl nestled close to the fire just at your feet. Cupping it in one hand, she dips her fingers into the contents, pulling them back out to reveal a honey-like substance. Varang marvels at the sticky residue on her fingers, hardly looking away from it as she kneels beside her female warrior, intently watching as she angles the bowl and lets the substance drip out onto your abdomen.

The groan that leaves your throat sparks a sudden hunger in Quaritch's belly, his cock twitching with interest beneath his pants. He watches as you spread your knees further apart, arching your back to allow whatever Varang dripped on you to slide down, slowly, moving like molasses until it mixes in with the slick of your dripping cunt. Once it meets your clit, your hips try to catch onto any form of friction, humping the air while Varang grins like a cat that got the cream. The tsahik draws closer to you.

"Y/n and her family have served me well. Her brother was one of my divers who readily gave his life for our cause. His sacrifice brought my attention to his sister."

Her red hand traces your jaw and runs down your neck, your flesh rising with small bumps that flicker a thin smile on her face, her eyes transfixed on your movements, "Y/n was eager to show her worth, bringing me six Tlalim kuru braids in our last raid. She has finally proven to me that she is ready to mate."

Quaritch watches Varang dip down, swiftly pulling you into a rough kiss, grasping your bottom lip with her fangs and biting down until she draws blood. Your hips jolt from the sting, raising them high in the air, which ensures the Recom gets a nice waft of your arousal. 

Her hand continues down your body, past your chest, your ribs, until she finds the sticky residue on your stomach. Quaritch couldn't help but be transfixed on the sight, watching Varang spread the substance over her fingers and then dip down to push it deep into your cunt.

Your response was immediate, moaning into her mouth while your hands twitched at your sides, debating on where to hold onto. Your tsahik pumps her fingers in and out for several moments, until she feels more than just her thick concoction slicking up her hand.

Varang finally releases your lip, her teeth stained with blood as she tilts her head in Quaritch's direction, flashing that bloodstained smile with giddiness, "And who better to breed her than the sky man who taught us how to make thunder?"

Silence fills the room apart from your labored breaths and the crackling of the fire. Quaritch eyes his woman down with feigned surprise, genuinely impressed, "You folks are into some kinky shit."

"I will give you permission to mate her, Quaritch. All night long," her wispy little giggle fills the thick air, "Pay no mind if she grows limp. The senses can get overwhelming to a female in heat."

Nonplussed, he gazes between you and Varang, "What makes you think I'd be interested?"

Her sharp eyes not-so-subtly flick down to the obvious tent in his crotch before slowly moving back up his body, "Intuition."

Damn. Got 'im there.

His chuckle is a bit breathy already, unable to help it. The scent coming off you was beginning to affect him like one of Varang's drugs. Not one to turn down such a tempting offer, he moves his hands down to unbuckle the belt in his pants, allowing them to drop to his ankles. Varang grins approvingly as her gaze rakes over his form, her tail swaying behind her with interest. Best not to keep the tsahik waiting, Quaritch finishes undressing completely before he crouches down until he's hovering over you and leaning his face into Varang's space.

The malevolent tsahik pulls her hand out of your cunt at this point, causing you to whine from the ache of being empty once more. She brings her fingers to Quaritch's lips, making him taste you. His ears and tail twitch simultaneously from the burst of flavor that pricks his tongue, the taste tangy and sharp, like a juicy, bloody steak. It's strange but not unpleasant, chalking it up to the carnivorous diet of the Mangkwan and the outside substance that mixes with your slick. 

Quaritch licks around Varang's fingers to oblige her before pulling away, "Any rules?"

"Only one," she reaches around his head and makes a point to grip the base of his kuru tightly, emphasizing with a faint snarl, "You are not allowed to make tsaheylu. This pleasure is for breeding only."

"Whatever you say, cupcake."

In the midst of your daze, you're faintly aware of large, alien hands gripping your thighs and using untameable strength to slide you down, bringing you closer to the large mass of heat that looms over you, the air in between suffocating. The same hands push your thighs until they part beneath the weight, going as far as to press your knees so close to your shoulders and leaving the most intimate parts of your body exposed. Shivers run down your spine as the undeniable length of Quaritch's cock presses down against your cunt, grinding up and down a few times to spread your natural lube along its underside.

Quaritch's breath stutters for a moment, not expecting your heat to feel so warm, sparking desire to quickly ignite his arousal further. The honey-like substance that pooled down to your cunt was warm, just barely on the cusp of too hot, likely activated by the fire. Once he focuses on it, he can feel it start to tingle, adding more friction and pleasure between the two of you. Oh, the Mangkwan are definitely kinky.

Knowing there are no limits besides the bond, he doesn't bother containing himself or holding back. Gripping his girth in one hand, he pumps up and down a few times before looking down to lead the tip to where the tingling substance disappears inside you, catching against your entrance. Without ceremony, Quaritch snaps his hips forward and plunges deep inside your depths.

"Ngh-!" You cry out, immediately tensing around him, your body trying to fight back and push him out when pain erupts below your hips. The stretch burns white-hot, keeping you tense without taking a breath. He doesn't hesitate to grind down to fit himself deeper, immediately bumping up against the spongy entrance to your cervix. He fits in every crevice, almost digging in, molding your body around his cock's shape and leaving your thighs shaking around his cradled hips.

"Jesus--" Quaritch exhales sharply, bowing his head until his chin almost touches his chest as he tries to focus, "She's so tight."

"Well, of course," Varang grins, her pupils dilated as she carefully observes the joined pair, "She has never been bred before, and you are not made like any Ash men, Quaritch."

He groans at the boost to his ego, continuously grinding his pelvis right up against your clit, the friction beginning to soothe the burn inside you. Varang's hand moves down until she reaches your breast, pulling one of the nipples taut, and to a point, her expression pleased from the way your back arches to push your chest further into her touch.

"I did not properly prepare her for your size, but she had begged me to keep it that way. She wanted it to burn."

The word echoes in his ear until he can't take it any longer. He pulls all the way out of your cunt, and then slams back in, growling deep in his chest when you clench around him again. Your cries grow louder, eyes hazy and barely peeking out beneath your lids as you writhe beneath him, unsure if the feeling is too much or not enough once he starts to find his desired pace.

Plap, plap, plap. 

Sounds of sweat and skin slapping together fill Quaritch's ears as his quick and steady rhythm has him rising up and grinding down on top of you, his fingers curling roughly into the furs on either side of your head while heat narrows down to one point deep in his abdomen. The colonel looks down to where he's fucking into you, enthralled as your cream and the amber-colored substance fills the room with the most obscene sounds of sticky slick each time his cock disappears between your puffy lips. It clings to his pelvis and thighs in thick strings every time he draws back, leaving the scene before him downright filthy.

"Many of our men try to make up for their size with bone," Varang absently explains while leaning down to pull your neglected nipple into her mouth, the threat of her fangs causing your hips to jolt, meeting Quaritch's mid-thrust and leaving you both moaning simultaneously. 

Varang preens from your shared reactions as she licks over your nipple and presses her cheek to your tit, peering up at Quaritch while her voice drops to something akin to sweet and sultry, "They smooth the bone and pierce it into their flesh, made to leave more pleasurable ridges."

She giggles sadistically, the vibrations reverberating against your nipple, "You would not believe how often the piercing gets stuck inside the female, forcing the mates to stay intertwined for endless time or until they eventually have to come to me for help. I make sure not to let the process of separating them be painless. It is the consequences of their foolishness. At the very least, it ensures that the female is properly bred."

It shouldn't be so seductive, but this was Varang talking, and Quaritch hadn't realized his thrusts were beginning to pick up speed. You whine each time he thrusts back in, bullying his way into your cunt with possessiveness similar to a male in rut.

The Mangkwan tsahik hums with approval, leaning up to bite at his ear, letting her warm breath go down his neck, "But you do not need such trivial objects to pleasure a woman, do you? My sky man. He does not need anything because there is nothing to make up for."

The sudden impact of his hips against yours sends you keening, the barbed tip of his cock beginning to zero in on the little entrance of your cervix, precum soothing the sting. A guttural noise escapes your throat, your hands beginning to claw at whatever you can reach: his hands, his forearms, until they settle on scratching down his abs. Tears prick your gold eyes, smearing the ash paint around them

Quaritch is ramming into you now. Plapplapplap--

Beads of sweat collect in his frown lines, his tanhì flashing bright in tandem with his thrusts, growing faster and faster, ripples and heat running up your stomach in response, elicting soft howls from your lips. Instinct that he didn't know he had told him to stop his pace for a moment to just simply grind down, gritting his teeth as he feels the sensitive tip of his cock incessantly rubbing against the roof of your cervix, the small opening now softened and a bit wider with the help of his precum.  

Gritting his teeth together, the colonel's lips pull back in a deep snarl, "Need to flip 'er over."

Delight sparks Varang's expression, quickly sitting back and admiring her strong man pulling out of your sopping pussy and harshly flipping you over onto your stomach. You make a startled noise before it's cut off by the male pressing you down into the furs with his full weight, his chest rubbing against your back while his muscled arm wraps around your throat and pillows your head in the crook of it. You cough from the pressure on your neck, only to quickly forget it when his cock slides back inside you, eyes rolling back into your head as he mounts you. 

He's not deterred by your screaming, knowing how much you like this angle from the way you squeeze him with each thrust. However, it is starting to ring in his ears, so he tightens his arm around your neck, his cock twitching as you wheeze and choke. His free hand roams down and slides under you, finding your stomach.

Ears pinning back, Quaritch presses his forehead hard against your shoulder blade, "Shit--"

Beneath his fingertips is your skin, roughened by a harsh life of ash and scarification. But underneath that, he can feel it. His cock can be felt sliding in and out of you, forming a bulge to mark how deep he is inside you. The colonel can't help but press his hand against it, groaning loudly when it only adds more pressure.

The pressure leaves you crying and clawing all over his forearm, desperate for some sort of reprieve. Sounds of your pussy squelching as he pistons in and out fill your ears, your walls like suctions trying to pull his cock in further and further. You tail loops around his arm that's pressed against your tummy, breath leaving your lungs as he digs in his knees and drills into you like he's the one in heat.

Varang tilts her head while watching, mischief and sadistic delight all over her face. She leans down close to your face, her thumb brushing a bead of sweat that almost fell into your eye.

"Oeyä tsamsiyu," [my warrior] she coos callously, "Do you wish for him to breed you?"

You cry and hiss, trying to push your rear back against the man pinning you down, "Yes, tsahik. Please let him fill me."

She bites back a grin, "You will continue to serve me?"

"Yes, tsahik, until your fire consumes me." A sharp gasp is punched out of you when Quaritch thrusts particularly hard to a point he pushes you forward, your breasts grazing the ticklish furs beneath you as you jolt. You're panting for breath, practically rambling in your desperation, "I will bear you more strong warriors and hunters. They will feed your flames for all time."

Your vow thrills her immensely, cupping your face in her hand with reverence, "Such devotion should be rewarded."

You whimper with relief, your face burrowing into Quaritch's arm once Varang lets you go. There's a different kind of pressure building deep inside you, ready to burst and run down like hot magma. Quaritch grinds his teeth together, trying to concentrate, his balls tightening up with the threat of release.

Varang's voice suddenly sounds loud in his ear while her hot breath pricks his skin, "Breed her, Quaritch. And do not stop until every drop is seeded inside her."

There's a roar bellowing in his chest, unable to contain it as his orgasm finally washes over him, breaking out into a fresh sheen of sweat, unable to stop his hips from continuously pumping you full of his cum. It flows into your womb in small pulses of thick ropes, flooding your insides and your senses. It's a rush that manages to push you over the edge as well, clawing at the ground while your pussy clamps down around his twitching cock, keeping him locked inside while every inch of your body shakes in ecstasy, your juices running down both of your and Quaritch's thighs. 

Quaritch continues to growl and thrust, both a little sluggish and half-assed now, drawing out the high and the exhaustion. He doesn't stop until you've ridden all the way through your orgasm and grow limp beneath him, your walls finally relaxing to the point he can finally pull out. Your body releases him, and he unceremoniously lets go of your unconscious form, falling to his side, panting for breath, his cock spent between his muscled thighs. Every inch of him is covered in sweat, dampening his hair while he sits up on his elbow.

Varang shuffles down your body, a low hum of approval vibrating in her chest as she finds your used cunt trying to push out white droplets of your breeder's cum, her fingers finding their way back inside you to ensure none of it goes to waste. The sight before her is erotic, to say the least. You, passed out on your stomach, curled into the furs, while Quaritch is still trying to calm his racing heartbeat, chuckling whenever he gets an ounce of oxygen. Varang rubs her own thighs together to relieve some of her own ache.

He wheezes out one of those signature chuckles when he catches her looking at him, "All night long, huh?"

"Yes."

His grin is feral yet exhausted, "I'm gonna need a small respite before the second round."

"Well, then, you can make yourself useful by lying down," Varang swiftly moves until she's straddling his chest, pushing him onto his back without waiting for a reply, her eyes bore a hunger that would make many people think she was out for blood, not for relief, "I will ride your face for my own pleasure until you are ready to flood Y/n with your seed once more."

~~~~~~~~~

A/n: It's been a while! I'm hopeful in keeping this blog alive with Fire & Ash out now. I haven't played From the Ashes yet, but I'm excited to!

MASTERLIST

RULES

Quaritch stares openly. His pupils blow wide when your scent drifts past. His tail tip twitches in slow, predatory arcs. Varang notices everything—the flare of his nostrils, the flex of his fingers around his rifle, the way he shifts like he’s already imagining you under him.

She smiles, sharp and dangerous.

As you pass near the throne, Varang’s hand snaps out and catches your wrist. You freeze, but you don’t pull away out of awe and respect of your Tsahík. The camp quiets instantly.

“Little ember,” Varang purrs with a voice made of smoke and gravel, “our Sky Demon guest can’t stop staring at you.”

You lift your chin, meeting her gaze fearlessly. “Many stare. Few dare touch.”

Varang laughs, low and approving. She pulls you closer until you stand between her thighs. One hand slides up the back of your leg, possessive and firm, while the other gestures toward Quaritch.

“Colonel,” she calls, eyes still locked on you. “Come closer. I want to see if your hunger matches your reputation.”

Quaritch rises, bare feet dusted in ash. He stalks forward, then stops beside the throne, his gaze rakes over you—breasts, waist, the way your thighs press together under Varang’s grip.

“Beautiful,” he drawls, his accent rough with that human edge. “And untouched. That’s a damn shame.”

Varang’s long fingers dig into your thigh, smearing red paint, hard enough to mark yet soft enough to tease. “She waits for something worthy,” she explains, smirking sharply. “Or someone.”

Quaritch steps closer, reaches out, and brushes the backs of his knuckles along your jaw. “You let her touch you,” he murmurs. “Do I get the same privilege?”

Varang answers for you. “Only if I allow it.”

She yanks you down suddenly, pulling you onto her lap so your back presses to her chest, legs straddling hers while the rest of the clan keeps watching and celebrating.

Your ass settles against the heat between her thighs. Varang grinds up once—slow, deliberate—drawing a sharp breath from you.

Quaritch’s tail lashes. His hand slides to your throat—not choking, just holding—thumb pressing over your racing pulse.

“Look at her,” Varang murmurs. “So pretty when she tries not to beg.”

You glare over your shoulder, but the effect vanishes when Varang’s hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding you already slick behind your loincloth. She circles your clit once, twice—teasing—then pushes two fingers inside without warning. You gasp, back arching, head falling against her shoulder.

“There it is,” Varang purrs against your ear. “My pretty little ember… dripping for both of us already.”

Quaritch leans in until his lips nearly brush yours. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he rasps. “You want us to share you tonight? Want me to fuck you while she holds you down? Want to feel us both inside you, stretching that tight little cunt until you scream?”

Your breath hitches. Varang curls her fingers deeper, stroking that spot that makes your thighs shake uncontrollably.

“Say yes,” Varang whispers with a sharp nip to your neck. “Make me proud.”

You look between them—Varang’s cruel smile, Quaritch’s predatory smirk—and the last thread of resistance snaps.

“Yes,” you mewl, breath coming out shaky.

Varang laughs, triumphant, and shoves you forward onto your hands and knees on the furs in front of the throne. Quaritch is already unbuckling his cargo pants, cock emerging from its sheath—long, thick, and slightly curved—as he kneels in front of you.

Varang sits on her haunches behind you, yanks your leather aside, spreads your slick cunt open with rough fingers while you press your face into the furs, shame and molten arousal waging war inside you.

It’s an honor to be chosen by the Tsahík herself; you just didn’t expect her to take you in front of the whole clan.

“Hold still, ember,” she hisses. “We ruin you tonight.”

Quaritch grabs your queue at the base of your skull—firm yet careful—lifting your face to guide your mouth to his length while Varang sinks her elegant fingers back inside you.

Your tail lashes with a soft snarl before you lick at his dripping slit, then suck at the thick tip.

Quaritch exhales through his teeth while the tendons in his neck flex. “There we go, sweetheart,” he groans shamelessly. “Atta girl.”

Two predators. One precious prize.

And you—beautiful, untouched, desired by the entire clan—finally claimed by the only two who are worthy.

The fire keeps burning low yet steady. The feast turns into a ritual of fertility and claiming.

And by dawn, every Mangkwan knows exactly who you belong to.

They don’t see you as an equal to them you’re just their little human pet. Theirs to “love”, use , and toy with.

They do love you just in their own violent ways.

Varang’s love is more violence willing to harm anyone including you if they’re brave enough to step out of line. Her fuse is short when it comes to you she has you on metaphorically (and sometimes literal) short leash.

She is not afraid to show you what she can do. Bring you out to watch as she mercilessly kills. Even making you watch as she slowly cut off another navies queue for trying to help you escape her and quartich. Before handing it to you before deranging you back into the tent to continue to punish you further

Some of the way she punishes you are by tying you to the bed so you can not leave, twisting and breaking things so you can not leave. 

Another way thing she uses to control you is through the syncretic drug she used on miles using it to keep you compliant

She uses her height and size against you. To keep you right where she wants you. (Either in their bed or in their laps).

She also has nicknames for you: pet, human,ember, small flame, slut,and on rear occasions my little love 

She hates seeing you in human clothes preferring you in the tops that she has chosen especially because she has easy access to touch you any way she wants. Mostly treating you like a doll.

She grabs your cheeks roughly in her hand “why do you insist on being such a brat! I will not hesitate brake you and we both know I’ll enjoy every second of it.~”

“Going girl I guess the only way to get you too listen was to fuck you till you can’t even think of disobeying~ maybe I should do this more often~”

Now for miles quartish

Quartish loves like a marine

He is not as bad as varang but only by a little bit he attest treats you somewhat human but again not much

He is still violent. He is not afraid to remind you he’s a marine especially when he thinks you’re misbehaving.

He never lets you out of his line of sight. Or away from his or varangs side.

While varang is the one that primary dose the punishments it doesn’t mean he won’t do them or join in from time to time his punishments aren’t as severe as hers he didn’t break bones but he dose make sure they hurt for less severe punishments like talking back, not listening it’s simple just spanking your ass till it’s bruised andcovered in his hand prints.

While just generally being bratty gets you fucked until you can’t say anything other than his name and you can’t even babble apologies.

Of course for more serious things like you trying to run away from them he mostly leaves that to varang but he helps her by making sure you can’t escape the punishment or pain.

He is also more strict than her by that I mean he has you on a very strict schedule. And he adds up the punishments for every minute you’re behind it.

One of the worst ways he has punished you was by watching him kill somebody who had flirted with you

Some of the nicknames he has for you are: pet, darling, sweetheart, slut again.

The way he controls you is by threatening to let varang deal with you during punishments.

“Yeah good slut~ no you don’t get a break you shouldn’t have gotten smart with me so we’re going until I’m done”

“It’s for your own good doll, you shouldn’t have tried to leave us , it’s funny really were did you think you could run off to there’s nothing here for miles”

Now for both

Both of them do love you in their own sick and twisted ways. They’d rather durn all of pandora down before ever losing you.

And they do have extremely rare moments of softness such as varang giving you something for the pain after punishing you for running away

Giving you gifts and special privileges when you’ve been good or taken a punishment well. Like a new top, new skirt. Exstra time outside (with them of course but still)

Or miles holding you as you fall asleep after some special cardio 

Both of them kissing and praising you after a long day telling you how much they adore you and how much they love you

Miles giving you his coat sometimes to show everyone you belong to them

Them protecting you from anything or anyone that tries to harm you

“You did such a good job pet, took your punishment so well I think that deserves a reward don’t you? My love?”

“ you look so hot in that new outfit we made you love could just take you right here in front of everyone…i just might”

“We’d durn the world for you before ever letting anyone take you from us…even you”

You are, or now were, apart of the Anurai clan. The clan lived up in the bone sanctuaries, past the spirit tree of the forest clans, known for your craftsmanship and intricacy with bone carving. You don’t know what happened, still what had happened for you to have done this. It was a celebration tonight, with one of Polyphemus’ biggest stars would be at its brightest tonight. Everyone was dancing and singing their praises to the stars when you saw two people walk off into the forest. It wasn’t an unusual thing for this type of party but it caught your attention for some reason. So you followed them, Tal’an and Seeva. Tal’an had her pressed against a tree. It didn’t sound nice to you. You saw red. You didn’t know when you grabbed the curved bone blade from your lower back. You didn’t even realized what you were doing until you recognized the feeling of sinking into flesh. It felt just like sinking into an animals flesh, after all. The screams were blocked out as you drove your dagger into him over and over again until he was on the ground and gone. The warm, slick feeling of blood coating your hand was what brought you back. Seeva was knelt on the ground by his body, sobbing over him while begging the Great Mother for help. You just stood there, the blade dropping to the forest floor as the weight of what you had just done hit you. Her screams had led to the clan coming to see what had happened, weapons at the ready, to just see you stood there over a dead body.

“I thought…” was all you could get out before you were grabbed and slammed against the ground with your arms pinned to your back.

You’d killed a man. You’d thought you had done a good thing. You’d blacked out to the point where you didn’t even know why you’d gone so far. With the amount of whispering and gossiping that was floating around as to why you had killed Tal’an was starting to corrode your own memory. Had you flown into a jealous rage? Did the himna, a drug saved for these types of celebrations, do this to you? Did you just want to kill him? You thought you’d done something good. That you were saving Seeva from a predator. But then you become the predator.

Bound by your arms, the next day you were knelt in front of the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik as they exiled you instead of kill you themselves for your crime against the clan. Your pleads and begging went unheard, any excuse was useless as they spared you your life and that should have been enough. They branded you as a murder, so any other clan would see you and reject you for your crime. They pierced a sharp, somewhat thick bone through the middle of the bridge of your nose. Not a warrior like through your nostrils or the bridge between your eyes as an astronomer. They casted you out and you were forced to leave the forest.

You had heard long ago about a cannibalistic clan you lived among the ash of the volcano that erupted many years ago but still active to this day. They cut the kurus off of their enemies as the spoils of war, attacked the wind traders for no purpose other than want and were ruled by a woman who stood as both Tsahik and Olo’eykte. There was a name that had floated around your village as the horror stories were passed from mouth to mouth. Varang. If no one else would take you in as marked as a murder, the Ash clan would accept you.

They let you keep your ikran, a small kind gesture in the grand scheme of things, so the journey was days instead of weeks. Smoke filled your lungs as ash littered the air around you. You’d never seen so much grey before. The forest was so vibrant and full of color and this was the complete opposite. Your eyes took a moment to adjust. The Mangkwan’s village was on the far side of the volcano’s base, far enough for the mountain itself to be a sight instead of a part of the village makeshift itself. You touched down before getting too close, deciding it would be better if you didn’t just show up unnoticed on the back of your ikran, looking as though you were an inbound enemy.

The closer you got to the village helm, the more you saw of these bone totems plunged into the ground and guiding your path. You marveled at them as you passed. You loved bones, learned all about them from a young age, able to identify every part of the skeleton for any type of creature based on its shape, size and the porous nature of the bone itself. So the wind chimes that hung in the leafless trees caught your attention, so much so that you didn’t even see the figures hiding behind them. Your next step was caught by the rock ended rope wrapped around your ankles and sent you to the ground. You groaned at the impact as your ears filled with animal-like clicking and whoops. You were quickly yanked up by two pairs of arms while your head was jammed between a V-shaped stick to keep your head forward and facing straight ahead. The cries of your ikran broke your heart as you worried they would kill her, along with you.

“I have nothing! I have nothing!” You yelled to them as they pulled you along, forcing you to continue walking the path you would have gone on your own. Nobody responded to you though, just pushing forward as they continued to growl in celebration and whoop in announcing their presence at the gates of their village. The entrance was marked with a tall bone made arch with sharp teeth like point carved out to make it look more intimidating. It only elated you, despite the pit in your stomach that they would kill and eat you instead of accept you into their clan as you banked your plan on.

At their people’s announcement, more Mangkwan ducked out of their mauri’s to see what the commotion was. You couldn’t help but let your eyes dart over all of their faces as you almost in awe at their appearances. The red, black and white paint that covered their bodies in varying ways, their various bone piercings, some of which were similar to your own. Some of them were completely bald while others only had a single strip across their scalp shaved. Their skin was also quite different from your own, greying and a more ashy blue form your own which your couldn’t let if it was just from the ash particles in the air or was painted on them on purpose.

They lead you to the largest mauri at the end of the strip of yurt’s the entrance of which was the mandible of a very large creature, most likely an akula. One of the men holding your arms kicked in the back of your knee, forcing you to kneel just as the curtain to the mauri pushed back and out walked her. Varang.

You’d never seen anyone like her. Her long, thin braids were spilt down the middle with a shaved strip down passed the occipital planum, a red painted diamond that ended at the tip of her nose filled the empty space. Her golden eyes were rimmed with black before the edges were sharply painted with a faded white that curved down her cheeks. Your eyes followed the red line from the underside of her own mandible and down to her sternum, her chest was tightly wrapped with a thin piece of black leather with a small bone blade held in between her breasts.

Your eyes snapped back to her own intense set when she spoke, “Who are you?” There was no apparent malice to her voice, nothing you could detect.

Her smile, a smirk, widened as you told her your name.

“And why have to come to us?” As she spoke, she walked over to you. Her steps were slow and precise, it was like she was a thanator stalking her prey, you.

“I am outcast.” You told her, the lump in your throat being swallowed down. When you tried to pull your arm away to show her, the man snarled at you and yanked it further behind your back.

Varang though, hissed at him suddenly snapped her hand out towards the two of them, “Off!”

With a slight startle at the suddenness of their tsahik’s demand, both men backed off and let go of your arms.

“Show me.” She said to you, gesturing to your arms.

You lifted your right arm to her to show her. Red stained, flaking and crusting. You hadn’t washed the blood off from that night, a reminder.

She came close to you, grabbing your forearm and bicep to pull you to your feet as she inspected the stain painting your hand. Then her nose darted to the bone piercing your nose, running her finger over the skin. She was close enough for you to smell her skin, she smelled of root oils and clinging smoke.

“Why did you kill, txeptsyip?” Little fire, she called you.

“I don’t know…anymore.” Without realizing it, tears had started leaking from your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

“Yes, you do.” Varang smiled wider at the sight before leaning forward and running the tip of her sharp tongue from your jaw, up your cheek, collecting the salt staining the skin.

Her eyes traced you for a moment. Your skin was darker than her people’s, a deep, rich blue that she wanted to wreck, unmarked and waiting for her touch. It even tasted sweet underneath your tears. Your eyes were so soft looking to her, a brightness that she hadn’t seen in a very long time. There was something deeper in you that she really wanted to pull out, a deep seated need to destroy the things around you that she had felt herself long ago before she gave into that fire. You had that fire, it was becoming hotter. Varang decided in that moment that she wanted you. You were to be her txeptsyip, her little fire.

“Come.” She said simply, standing up and turning back to her yurt, expecting you to follow at her words. And you did. She held the fabric flap open for you so you could pass, your bodies brushing against each other. The tsahik gave one look to her people for them to go away and leave the two of you alone before going in after you.

Your mouth parted at the inside of her home, decorated with bones and sculptures made of such hanging from the ceiling with a fire pit in the middle.

“Do you make these?” You asked, letting your fingers brush over the work once you ducked passed the beads curtains.

She seemed surprised that you mentioned them, that you asked, not that you saw the expression on her face as you were too busy looking at the direhorse skull in your hand.

Her chin tucked in as she moved past you to her station at the back, answering, “We do, yes. A pass time.”

“It’s beautiful.” You said, turning back to her, studying the ripples in her back as she moved across her space gracefully.

“Sit.” Varang said simply, mixing some at her low table that she was knelt in front of now.

You sat on the plush rug beneath you and watched as she sauntered over with three stone carved bowls in her hands. The tall woman knelt over your legs, straddling them while you just stared up at her. You were so enamored by her entirely that you would have let her do just about anything to you in that moment. She smiled, all of her smiles or smirks seemed to have an edge to them, a cunningness even when her actions were completely innocent seeming. The two of you were practically chest to chest now as you watched her movements. Her fingertips dipped into one of the bowls, coating them in a thin oil which she than rubbed into the palms of her hands. She took your right arm, the one that you used to kill Tal’an, and started to rub away the thin layer of red covering your skin, letting it become a liquid once more and washing it away from your skin. This action was a lot more tender than you expected this woman to be capable of, these people to be capable of before you came here. It was unexpected to say the least. Your arm was clean again with a quick wipe of a rag, the blue was back.

“Do you want the reminder?” She asked, your head snapped up to meet her eyes, golden hue clashing with your green hue.

“Yes.” It came out breathless, completely and utterly enraptured by her.

Her hand dipped into one of the other bowls, one red and one bowl of white body paint, and started to coat your arm in red, all the way up to the crook of your elbow.

She didn’t meet your eyes again, letting them instead fall to your top, the slightly swaying bone carved beads strung along dark brown cord, just barely enough to cover your nipples from sight. A tease, in her mind.

“Now you will always see what you’ve done.” Despite the horror implied by her words, she was smiling widely. Like it was something to be proud of. Maybe it was here, to her.

“Thank you.” Was all you could get out.

Varang scooted a little further up your legs, letting the weight of her fully rest on you now. Three of her fingers dipped into the white paint this time and trailed them down from the underside of your bottom lip to your chin and passed, following the curve of your throat and framing it with the three symmetrical white lines. Her finger pulled away just slightly once she reached the dip of your collarbone.

“Why did you come to me?” She asked finally, looking back into your eyes like she could see into the very fabric of your soul.

“I want to be one of you. A Mangkwan.” You said simply, wanting your eyes to drift away, to not fall deeper into her but couldn’t.

Varang smirked, her now clean fingers once again tracing the piercing through the bridge of your nose.

“You wish to serve me?” Her expression was practically cheeky now when she asked.

“Yes.” You nodded as her fingers trailed down to your lips.

“You want to be mine? My own txeptsyip?”

“Yes, Varang. I’m yours.”

You hadn’t noticed, why would you with this blue goddess on top of you, that her other hand had been leading her kuru towards your own that was lying at your hip.

“You’re mine now, txeptsyip.”

Your kuru’s tendrils intertwined with hers, causing your body to tense up as your eyes closed and a purr like moan at the feeling of your minds, wants and desires meeting each other. Her hand grabbed your chin as your own cupped her jaw and your lips met in an intense, rough way. You were pushed flat on your back as Varang hovered over you. Her canines bit at your lip as she pulled away, just to trail down the side of your neck, getting to the curve where your shoulder and neck met and bit down. You moaned suddenly at the pain, her teeth breaking the skin while your body flooded with the shared pleasure you two were feeling, tail thumping against the ground. Her tongue lapped up the blood from your wound, you could see the red gleaming on her teeth when she pulled away to look you in the eye with a pleased look, her own tail whipping excitedly behind her.

“Mm, yes…we will burn this world down together.”

ఇ She agrees, with a snarl on her face and a twitch in her tail, what kind of person wants to be pricked and prodded by sharp objects and pushed to her limits? her actually. BUT I DIGRESS

ఇ You’re so cute when her and Quaritch dip into the room past the automatic doors. Your pristine white lab coat and the fear behind your eyes with such a powerful woman much taller than you standing only a couple of feet away.

ఇ “She’s all yours sweetheart.” Before everything happened that day, you would’ve thought he was talking to you instead of Varang- but after how much she toyed with you in that room, the line starts to falter.

ఇ She stares with such a stoic face, choosing not to talk to you even when you address her in her native language, trying to help her understand you weren’t here to intimidate her

ఇ oh she couldn’t care less by the way.

ఇ “Do you make thunder?” you tense up before you let out a huff of a giggle

ఇ “No I…I make… science?”

ఇ “You wish to study me?”

ఇ “Correct! I uh..wanted to- I’m interested in how your people adapt to the ash environments. Respiratory tolerance, skin resilience, thermoregulation…” your words trail off as you go on, realizing she quite literally doesn’t understand anything you’re saying

ఇ She scrunches her face up at the unfamiliar words and dismisses you with a flick of her wrist, expecting you to shut the hell up and continue whatever you were going to do to her

ఇ You turn around to face the mayo table, grabbing the pen and clipboard laying there. Varang still looms over you, and you swear you can feel her eyes burning literal holes into your head, and with all thats possible on Pandora you wouldn’t question if a fire started out of thin air.

ఇ She smells smokey, and you note that on your clipboard, it’s already full of questions you had for her before you began the real testing

ఇ You turn back around swiftly and yelp at how close she got, i mean she was literally almost nose to nose with you, why didn’t you hear her move?

ఇ “You are nervous. I hear your heart beating” You absolutely hate how well na’vi can hear

ఇ “You’re just very intimidating.” Varang smiles at this, letting her own tail wrap around her thigh, you stare at her thigh for a while, wondering if the color came naturally or is she just covered in ash, but this observance takes another path for her.

ఇ “Mm.” She hums, unconvinced. “Then continue, little scientist. Hurry with your silly questions”

ఇ You flip between the page with printed questions and the clean page for your answers.

ఇ “How do you..tame the fire?”

ఇ “The fire does not liked be tamed, but it must. I learned the fire.” Basically nothing, great. You sigh and place your clipboard down, instead you ask her politely to sit on the metal table, and she does.

ఇ “Lets move on to the physical exam, can i see your hands?” she rolls her palms out to you slowly, now standing between her spread legs, you grab both of her wrist gently. You can tell there was once red paint here, the stain of it on the tips of her fingers, fading up her arms. You also take notice of the eye in the middle of her palm, your head tilting in curiosity

ఇ “Does the red paint control the fire? What does the eye do?” She laughs before shaking her head, instead yanking her hand away to grab your wrist, swapping positions, stopping you from any further prodding.

ఇ It startles you, but your unanswered questions make you all the less nervous about it

ఇ “How do you feel fire? does it burn? What about in war? How do you keep the flame going when flying?”

ఇ “You do not look like one who studies war, air breather.” The new term makes your eyes widen, giggling at how absurd it sounds.

ఇ “I study survival kinda, I want to know how you and your people have made it this far. How you adapt”

ఇ “Then ask better questions.” Her grip on your wrist tightens, and you almost forget she had you in her grasp, pulling you closer by your hands, face impossibly close to yours “if you wish to survive me.”

ఇ Your breath quickens, and your head dips, not able to meet her eyes, her intense gaze literally enough to make you weak in the knees

ఇ “Look at me.” Your head snaps up, biting your lip to refrain from looking even more nervous than you are “Tell me..do you feel fire here?”

ఇ Her grip loosens around your wrist, but you don’t dare try and run away, instead you freeze when you feel her hands grasp at your tucked shirt, lifting it up to trail a long, slender finger up your abdomen, bringing it back down to tease at your waistline

ఇ Your stomach visibly tightens, and you let out a small sigh, a sound small enough to let Varang know to keep going. Her eyes look around the room, before looking down in between her legs, settling on the metal table that she sits on. Both of her hands now trail up your sides, holding you in place before she pushes you back to allow her to stand. Your eyes follow her every movement, the once purely professional meeting now completely erased from your mind once she started touching you. You’re so easy.

ఇ “Lay down.” A demand so stern you don’t even hesitate before climbing onto the metal table, laying on your back, awkwardly. She laughs lowly before leaning over you from the side of the table, using her hands once again to roam up your body, curious fingers pushing your t-shirt up impossibly further, your abdomen and bra-covered chest on full display.

ఇ Her eyes leave yours once they slip past your pants waistline though, feeling the cotton of your panties against her fingers aggitates her a bit, causing her to scrunch her face up in annoyance, a face quicky turned into pure admiration when her fingers slip further, feeling the sticky wetness seeping through your underwear. She looks at you with an eyebrow raised, pressing her hand against your clit.

ఇ You moan so loud you’re sure the entire RDA heard you, until a large hand reaches up to cover your mouth

ఇ “Varang we can’t- this isn-” Your muffled pleas are cut short

ఇ “Silence! You cannot tell me you don’t want this- want me? I can feel your wetness against my fingers, your little body begging for me.”

ఇ Your eyes roll back at her words, shifting your hips up to meet her hand, a desperate action that leaves you embarrassed. She smiles, moving her hand now to go underneath your underwear, feeling you at the source, eyes widening at how much more wet you feel underneath as she spreads it across your pussy. Her fingers find your clit like a magnet, and you know then and there that it wouldn’t take much for you to cum.

ఇ Her fingers immediately start circling around your clit, and she coos at all the sounds you make, how your hips shift and buck up at the feeling, at how easy it was to get you to this point. You grab at her wrist with your free hand, trying to make her slow down on her fast assault against your clit. She snaps her eyes away from the silhouette of her hands moving inside of your pants and hisses at you. A sound that makes you immediately let go, letting your head collide with the metal table as more muffled pleas and moans come out of your mouth.

ఇ “You are so wet, so beautiful under me, where you belong. Your heat grows, I can feel it.” Her hands continue her assault and your head falls to the side, her hand moving from your mouth and now instead resting on your cheek, fingers still loosley covering your lips, her force forgotten.

ఇ “Varang please!” she shushes you once more, moving both of her hands completely, her hand, once occupied pleasuring you, instead moved to remove your pants. You lift your hips to help her, the scrubs now bunched up at your ankles, shoes stopping them from completely coming off. Even with your pants completely off she doesnt start back immediatley. Slednder fingers move to your bra, completely enthralled by the pretty pattern, but also confused by the contraption, you know getting completely naked wasn’t exactly ideal, so instead you move the bra down, allowing her acess to your chest. Her eyes flutter and she immediatley bends down, mouth and sharp teeth latching over your tit, biting at it softley, but her sharp teeth leave a mark anyway.

ఇ When she lifts her head, she locks eyes with you, hand moving back down to your even wetter state- if thats possible. She smiles again, rubbing slower circles around your clit mocking your every quiet moan with a hum in response, she nips at your collar bone, kissing across your chest. Her finger dips inside of you and your eyes roll back, gasping at the feeling and instinctively clenching around her, trying to keep her inside of you

ఇ “You want all the pleasure, huh? Your greedy body, greedy soul.” You nod slowly, mouth hung open in pleasure as you buck your hips up to meet her hand. She giggles, moving her thumb to rub at your clit and you see literal stars, her pace not letting up at all, precise calculated movements, no sloppiness.

ఇ “‘m cumming!” her other hand moves to cover your mouth again, you struggled the entire time trying to keep quiet just from her playing with you, so why would she trust you to keep quiet during release?

ఇ Her pace remains the same, only now curling her finger against that spongy spot inside you, you go still for a moment, and her eyes flit back to you to make sure you we’re okay- something unusual for her- then with a gasp, you cum, clenching around her finger rhythmically, moaning loudly against her palm, her eyes widen at the feeling of you, almost moaning along with you at the strength of it, she dips her head down, bitting your shoulder- hard, something sure to leave a mark, it makes you moan loud again, orgasm still passing through you and you instinctively put your own hand over your mouth, overlapping hers. You finally come down from your orgasm, breathing hard, but her fingers are still working in you, still rubbing at your sensitive clit.

ఇ “Nononono- Please!” She laughs at your pleas and keeps going, not caring about how sensitive you’ve become, the second orgasm sneaks up on you- yet still wrecking you. Your back arches up and you close your legs around her wrist, stopping the fluidity of her movements while you clench around her for the second time, fearful that if she kept going you might pass out. Finally her hand comes off of you. running her wet fingers up your stomach, a feeling that makes you cringe before she lifts them up, sticking her thumb in her mouth, grinning at the taste.

ఇ “You taste good…worthy of the work.” You’re looking at her, eyes glazed, mouth dry and heart beating fast- fuck that was hot.

ఇ You sigh and plop your head on the metal table, wincing at the pain with eyes scrunched shut, you open them momentarily to lift your arm and look at the digital watch on your wrist, the time completely sobers you up, you shoot up, startling Varang and she looks at you with an eyebrow raised and a confused look on her face, she only realizes what’s going on when you almost trip over your pants trying to stand up, pulling them up your thighs, readjusting your bra, pulling your shirt down and pulling down the collar to look in the reflective steel of the table, noticing the dark purple bruises of bite marks on your shoulder and collar bone.

ఇ “Shitshitshit” Yelping you quickly grab your lab coat on the mayo table and button it up to the very top. With how fast you were moving Varang wouldn’t put it past you that you were some kind of alien yourself. Just on cue you hear a unmistakable pattern of a knock- Quaritch.

ఇ “Come in!” Varang still hasn’t said a word, completely confused as to why you would be so foolish to cover up her marks with that stupid looking long white coat. The door slides open and Quaritch bends at the knees to fit his large frame through.

ఇ “She didn’t give you any trouble did she?” Varang snarls at him, both of their blue forms so different in color, Quaritch much more brighter than her ashy tone.

ఇ “No, no! she was…cooperating” You try and find an excuse as to why your hair might be messed up in the slightest “After some of her own pocking and prodding- human interest!”

ఇ “Right…well- duty calls, misses white coat” You nod understandingly, and Quaritch sends a large thumb behind him, signaling to Varang to leave with him. She does, looking back at you and smiling, waving her fingers at you teasingly.

ఇ “Goodbye…air breather, until we see each other again”

ఇ As soon as you hear the hiss of the door close behind them your whole body relaxes, and you lean over the table, catching your breath from how nervous you were- that could’ve been bad. You scan the table, trying to ground yourself, until you see an unmistakable wet spot smack dab in the middle of it

ఇ “Shit!”

ఇ You go through a whole week later of “research” and sneaky kisses between you and Varang until Quaritch notices, debreifing on the plan to get Jake Sully. You catch Varang in the middle of an interpretation, interrupted by you stepping in the room, clipboard in hand, needing Varang for an actual test. Her eyes immediatley light up and so do yours, waving shyly at her, before realizing where you were and waving at Quaritch and the over na’vi, avatar, and human soldiers.

ఇ Your eyes flit to Quaritch, and he only gives you a crooked grin, eyes looking back and forth between you and Varang.