Writinglove

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

You and Fezco are sleeping in bed when you’re both woken up by somebody knocking on the front door. It’s loud and aggressive. Whoever it is, it can’t be good…

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

“What the fuck?” Fez grumbles.

“Is it the cops again?” you groggily ask, rubbing your eyes open.

The police raided Fez’s home a few nights earlier. You, Fez and Ash had to flush everything down the toilet. Fez believes that Nate Jacobs was the one to tip them off and plans on dealing with him soon enough.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

Fez uses the remote to turn on the TV, which is connected to the security cameras outside his home. His body tenses up when he sees who’s at the door. It’s Mouse and his lackey Custer.

Fez abruptly springs to his feet and grabs a handgun out of the drawer of his bedside table. He checks to make sure it's loaded. Your eyes widen.

“Fez, what’s going on?” you sit up in bed.

“Mouse is here. I gotta handle this. Just don’t leave my room,” he tells you.

“But-”

“Baby, I’m not fuckin playin’ with you right now. Stay right there and don’t make a sound,” Fez orders.

There’s a quiet urgency and seriousness in his voice. He sounds anxious, almost panicked. Your boyfriend is usually so calm and laid back. You’ve never seen him like this before.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Without another word, Fez leaves the room and slams the door shut. He goes to the living room and quickly hides his handgun in between the cushions of the couch. Ash waits by the door.

“Aiight, let ‘em in,” Fez nods to his brother.

Ash opens the door. Mouse and Custer walk in. Ash remains by the stairs, keeping an eye on things from the background. Custer stays in the back, near Ash, while Mouse joins Fez in the living room.

“The fuck you doin’ here man? It’s the middle of the night,” Fez sighs.

“I heard you got raided,” Mouse shrugs.

“But they ain’t find nothin’ though. Ain’t got shit on me,” Fez brushes him off.

“Let’s hope not…”

Mouse quickly scans the room.

“Anyone else here?” he asks.

“Nah man,” Fez shakes his head, “Just me and Ash.”

Mouse nods to Custer.

“Search the place.”

Fez’s stomach drops.

“Yo! Yo, hold on man,” Fez anxiously inches forward.

Mouse suddenly puts a gun to Fez’s jaw, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Where the fuck you think you’re going?”

“Fuck,” Fez mumbles under his breath.

You’re sitting on Fez’s bed hugging a pillow when you hear footsteps approaching outside the door. You instinctively know that it’s not your boyfriend.

“Shit,” you curse to yourself.

You look around the room, trying to find a place to hide. The closet is full of Fez’s clothes, you couldn’t get in there if you tried. Under the bed might be a tight squeeze but it's your best bet. You stand up and are about to get under the bed when the door suddenly opens.

You gasp as a strange man barges into the room. Before you have the chance to scream, the man covers your mouth with his hand and grabs you by the waist. He drags you out of Fez’s bedroom and down the hall to the living room.

“C’mon now y’all, chill!” Fez attempts to de-escalate the situation.

You struggle in the man’s arms and scratch his face. In retaliation, he slams you against the wall and puts a gun to your head.

“Ahh,” you wince in pain.

You see your boyfriend across the room. His eyes widen. He’s trying to keep a cool exterior but you can tell he’s shook on the inside. Standing next to Fez is a dude with a couple of face tattoos. You’ve never met him but you’re guessing that’s Mouse. He has a gun on your boyfriend’s chin.

“Thought you said no one else was here. Who the fuck is this bitch?” Mouse angrily questions Fez. He moves his gun away from Fez and points it towards you.

“Yo chill! That’s my girl. She ain’t involved in my business,” Fez explains.

Mouse looks you up and down, smirking to himself. The only thing you have on is a pair of underwear and one of Fez’s t-shirts. You feel totally exposed right now and wish that you were wearing more clothes.

Mouse walks away from Fez and approaches you. Custer pushes you towards his partner. Fez impulsively takes a step forward before Custer turns his gun on him. Fez puts his hands up in defense.

“Just let her go back to bed, man. She’s got nothing to do with this shit,” Fez tries.

Mouse ignores Fez and puts his hand out, “Well hello there. What’s your name?”

“I…I…” you nervously look at your boyfriend, unsure what to do.

“Don’t look at him, look at me. What’s your name?” Mouse raises his voice when he repeats the question.

Fez gives you a reassuring nod. It’ll be alright, baby. Just be chill. You take a deep breath to calm yourself down.

“I’m Y/N,” you quietly answer.

You reluctantly put your hand out to shake his.

“Nice to meet you, Miss,” Mouse takes your hand and kisses it.

You try to pull away but he keeps a hold of your hand.

“How ‘bout you sit with me for a bit?”

Mouse snakes his arm around you and leads you over to the couch. While this is happening, Fez briefly meets Ash’s eye. Ash looks like he’s about to go off. Fez subtly shakes his head warning his brother not to try anything.

Mouse pulls you down onto the couch and keeps his arm wrapped around you, forcing you to sit next to him. Fez sits down on the couch across from you. He wants to be on your level and close to the gun he left in between the cushions.

“Do you know who ratted you out?” Mouse asks Fez.

“Nah,” Fez lies. He doesn’t want Mouse to go after Nate because he’d rather deal with that asshole himself.

“What about you, Miss?” Mouse uses the tip of his gun to brush some hair away from your face.

You timidly shake your head, “I don’t know.”

Fez keeps his eyes locked on you and the gun in Mouse’s hand. You’re so terrified that you can’t even look at Fez. You keep your head down and arms crossed protectively against your chest.

“You gonna be able to get me my money?” Mouse keeps questioning Fez.

Mouse rubs your thigh with his gun. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, prompting Mouse to tighten his grip on you. You whimper in his grasp.

“You know I’m good for it,” Fez tensely replies.

Fez rests his hand on the couch gun. He’s so tempted to grab it and fire off several rounds at Mouse. But that creep is holding you, it’s too risky.

“You better have it before we come around again,” Mouse warns Fez.

Fez slowly nods his head. He only has a couple of days before Mouse comes back for his monthly drop-in, which means he doesn’t have a lot of time to come up with a plan. He’s gonna need to think fast…

“Cuz if you don’t, I’m gonna have to find another way to get my money. I know some sick people that would spend a lot of money for your girl,” Mouse snickers.

A chill runs down your spin, causing you to squirm in Mouse’s arms. Fez tightens his grip on the couch gun. He squeezes his other hand into a tight fist to help control his anger. It’s not really working…

You can cut the tension with a knife. And then-

Mouse finally lets go of you and rises to his feet. You remain frozen on the couch, fearfully avoiding eye contact.

“We’ll be back at the end of the week,” Mouse tells Fez, then turns to you, “Hope to see you again soon, Miss.”

And with that, Mouse and Custer walk out. You stay still until they leave the house. As soon as you hear Ash close the door, you rush out of the living room.

“Y/N…”

Fez follows you down the hall into his bedroom. You sit on the foot of his bed and bury your head in your hands. Your boyfriend sits down beside you.

“Are you okay?”

You shake your head and look up at Fez with tears in your eyes.

“Please don’t let that guy sell me…”

Fez’s heart sinks from his chest. Even though he’s used to this type of shit, you’re definitely not. He hates that you were forced into the darker side of his life tonight.

Fez pulls you into a hug.

“Baby, you know I ain’t gonna let that happen,” he reassures you.

“But how? You don’t have any product to sell. How are you gonna get all that money?” you cry.

“Don’t worry, ma. I’ll figure it out,” Fez says softly.

But your parents still refused to let you leave and insisted it was for your own safety. You spent many nights on the beach daydreaming of making friends and exploring Awa’atlu, wishing you were free to do what you wanted.

His free hand feathers down your arm, “What are you doing back? I wasn’t expecting you for two more days.” 

Neteyam has been off training with his father and brother. Not only was his father your clan’s Olo'eyktan, but Neteyam would be next in line as the eldest son. So taking these training sessions seriously was crucial to his future. 

“We finished early, but we go back out tomorrow. I needed to see you.” 

You smile at his endearment. 

“Let’s go, I want to go to Utral Aymokriyä,” he tells you suddenly.

“Right now?! It’s nearly eclipse,” but he drags you out in the absence of concern. 

— 

“Ma ‘Teyam! The sun has already set. Your father will kill us— you if he determines we are out here.”

“You worry too much, yawne (beloved).” 

“You are not worrying enough,” you huff, as he slows both of you to a stop, once you have reached your destination. 

The Tree of Voices is a magnificent sight, but at night, you marvel at how Eywa could have created something so beautiful. Watching as the willow tree glows its breathtaking purple hue. Surrounded by glowing green cherubs. Against Neteyam, his green eyes glimmer softly, as does his skin. 

He sits on his familiar spot, resting against a rock facing Utral Aymokriyä. He tugs you down with him, placing you against his toned chest. A teasing smirk on his face as he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. 

“You have training tomorrow with your father. I don’t want to be the reason—“

Neteyam can’t help but grow irritated (in a loving way, of course) at your worrisome ways. He hasn’t seen you in a week, since training with his father and younger brother becomes more frequent and tiresome. He just needed this moment to relax, and who better to do it with than his yawne.

He cups your jaw gently, silencing you in the moment, tilting your face to him. “I have not seen you in what feels like forever. Let yourself be the reason I am happy and easy. Hm?”

You smile shyly at his admission. Letting yourself relax in the arms of Neteyam entirely. 

“I have missed you.” He murmurs, the pads of his thumbs running over the apples of your cheek. 

“So have I. More than you know.” You reply, placing a hand behind his neck. Watching as his eyes become heavy lidded, inching his face— more so his lips— towards you. 

In a blink, Neteyam wraps another arm around your trim waist, pulling you even closer. And his lips latch on top of yours in a rush. 

“Neteyam,” you gasp, your hand squeezes his arm as he trails kisses down the side of your neck. 

“Y/n,” he groans against your pulse point before he fastens your lips with his, cupping the back of your head. 

It’s scandalous and a little degenerate to do what you do at such a sacred site. Neteyams kisses only grow fervent at the sounds you emit. The way you grip his arm or allow your tongue clash with his, just as he’s taught you. 

— 

Neteyam laughs at your joke, his lips never far from your temple. Your hands swim together in the air gently. 

“How are singing lessons?” He asks, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. 

Inwardly, you shudder at his affection. But the way the tips of your ears flicker gives you away. 

“It is alright. My mother believes I will be just as good as her one day, maybe even better when I master my breathing.” 

Your mother, Ninat. 

“You will be. You are.” Your Neteyam assures you with conviction, his fingers dropping yours to grasp your chin. 

“Thank you, ma Nateyam.” 

You kiss his swollen lips, cupping his face in your palms. Lost in anything and everything him.

Yet, the sound of a clearing throat causes the two of you to jump away. Your hands drop from Neteyam’s face. Your fingers covering your lips as if it could hide what the two of you had been doing, at the sight of your clan’s Olo'eyktan: Jake Sully. 

Lo’ak stands at his father's side. A guilty look on his face. He had no choice but to snitch. His father was a convincing man. 

“Dad—“

“Neteyam. You should’ve been home by eclipse, what are you doing out here— never mind, don’t answer that.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We have training tomorrow morning, did you forget?” 

Neteyam rises to his feet, lending a hand to you. 

“I didn’t forget. It is my fault. I— I lost track of time.” 

Your stomach stirs at the sight of an intimidating Jake Sully. Your tail tucked low and ears pinned back. 

Jake sighs in reply. “Lo’ak, See to it Y/n gets home safely, and make your way back home quickly. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir.”

You look up at Neteyam in question, but when he squeezes your hand and nods softly. You know to follow his father’s orders. 

“Make sure she gets home safe.” Neteyam calls after your retreating figures.

“Yes brother.” Lo’ak replies exasperated as if he didn’t already know it would be his head if anything were to happen to Y/n.

“Goodnight, Y/n.” Jake smiles, bowing his head curtly. 

“Have a goodnight Mr. Sully. Goodnight Neteyam.” You reply, waving as you follow closely behind Lo’ak. 

When the sound of their footsteps is no longer heard, Jake can’t help but let out a short, frustrating sigh.

“What’s going on with you son. I can expect this behavior from your brother, but you? You’ve been slacking.” 

“I’m sorry, dad,” Neteyam can’t help lowering  his head at the disappointment he’s embarked on his father. “I’m trying to learn to balance it all. I barely get to see her.” He raises his head once again. 

Jake sighs again, unsure of what to say. How to fix this without coming off a complete jackass. Anything pertaining to his kids’ romantic lives was usually appointed to their mother. He wasn’t hopeless, but Neytiri was far better off. 

But he knows one thing. With the love he feels for his mate, he’d never want to get in the way of whatever it is between you and his son. 

“We’ll figure out a compromise. How does that sound?” Jake slings an arm around his eldest, letting a hand rest on top of Neteyam’s head. 

“Thank you, dad.” He smiles, throwing an arm around his waist. 

“Let’s head back, your mother is worried sick.” He kisses the top of his head and the two trek home. 

—

In the beginning, his fixation is driven by aggravation and fury. After the destruction of Hometree, the People move as one to a spot just south of the Well of Souls and set up a temporary encampment there. When the humans that remain after the RDA have left his planet are invited by Jakesully to their new settlement to spend time with them in a show of tentative co-operation, Tsu’tey spends the whole time scowling in your direction. Jakesully had proven himself a good leader and has earned Tsu’tey’s respect, which is perhaps the only reason that he initially accepted the presence of these Sky People in their new home. Even with his reluctant acceptance, he meets the tiny demons with suspicion and hostility. You, especially.

You infuriate him. Too small, terribly soft and squishy, unable to hold a bow or wield a spear or do anything useful. You came here with the rest of the Sky People, but you are not a warrior like Jakesully. Instead you spend all of your time reading books and studying the plants of his planet. But you don’t even study them in any useful way! You sketch them and take notes, and make frequent exclamations about how wonderful it all is, but you don’t do anything useful, at least as far as Tsu’tey can see.

It had taken him a terribly long time to realise what was happening. 

In the beginning, his eyes had cut towards you with animosity and mistrust – your interest in the plant life and the world around you had seemed so odd after the destruction the rest of your people had caused, and he watched you intently for any signs that you meant to cause harm to the People. But those signs never come.

You were polite, interested in his culture, and awed by nature and Eywa all around. You even learned the language of the People, though admittedly with a heavy accent. It’s… more endearing than it should be.

It takes a while for him to realise that he’s watching you far more than he watches the other little demons that study his people. It gets even worse when you decide to practise your clumsy language skills with the clan – somehow, it leads to you targeting him. Not even his fiercest scowls seem to discourage your attempts to converse with him, and soon he finds himself honestly looking forward to seeing you, to speaking with you.

It is an illness. Some sort of infection that has taken hold in him since his injury in the war against the Sky People. That can be the only reason that he is more preoccupied with you than with the very real mating prospects he has among the People.

He has come to terms with it. At first, he kept his shameful little fixation to himself, but he’s never been the most subtle of men. Others soon notice the direction of his stares, the amount of time he spends with you, the way his ears flick and his tail coils whenever he’s around you. 

Everyone, it seems, except you.

“Hello, little demon,” He murmurs as he approaches you one afternoon, his tail coiled low around his ankles.

You’re sitting close to the edge of the forest, beside one of the large anìheyu plants. All your silly little notebooks are surrounding you, and though your head is ducked as you sketch its likeness in your book, you look up when you hear his voice.

You laugh at his customary greeting, as unbothered by his gruff demeanour as ever. He is grateful that you are not offended; he has never been good at being soft, though he tries.

“Hey, big guy.” You call back, a wide smile beginning to spread across your face. “What are you up to?”

Tsu’tey’s fingers twitch. Your face may be alien, but your features are not so dissimilar from that of the Na’vi. He finds you… attractive, in your own way, though it pains him a little to admit it.

“I wished to join in on the hunt today,” He murmurs as he comes to a stop in front of you, “But Mo’at has forbidden it.”

He is still recovering from his wounds, and he has found himself with an enormous amount of free time to spend; courtesy of Mo’at, who has been borderline vicious in her vehemence that he rests from his duties to heal. It stings his pride, but he respects the Tsa’hik too much to question her orders.

Your eyes drop to his battle scars, and he finds himself flexing subconsciously under your gaze.

“That’s probably fair, right?” You ask, tilting your head. “You’re still healing-”

“I am still strong.” He interrupts, a little more forcefully than he had intended to. It’s important that you know that.

You just smile, little white teeth poking out as you bite at your lower lip. “I know that.”

That pleases him, and he rolls his shoulders back before sinking down into a crouch in front of you. Your eyes dart from his face to his torso to his legs and then back up again, and he feels his stung pride inflate under the weight of your shy gaze.

“I will not join the rest of the warriors on their hunt,” He murmurs, his gaze resting on your face as he tries to read every expression that flickers across it, “But I still wish to go on a hunt of my own. You.. are welcome to join me.”

You are difficult to read. You do not respond to his more coy flirtations; you never seem to notice when he communicates micro-expressions, his ears flicking back or the playful movements of his tail. And yet you perk up at his invitation, your eyes bright and interested as you carefully set your notes aside.

“Really?” You ask cautiously, your eyes flickering towards the longbow resting across his back.

When Tsu’tey just nods, you shove yourself to your feet with an eager little laugh. It feels like a weight is lifted off his shoulders at your acceptance of his offer – though he manages to keep his expression neutral, he can’t control the anticipatory little flick of his tail.

This is an opportunity he is eager to take advantage of; as he leads the way into the forest, he makes a point of keeping you in his sights at all times. You’re so small and useless, and it’s good to feel as though he can protect someone after his close brush with death.

Marching through the jungle is slow-going. You insist on stopping several times to peer at some of the plants that you’re curious about, and Tsu’tey just stands and waits each time. He wants to display his patience, though it’s admittedly never been one of his strongest virtues.

“Come, small one.” He says, his tail flicking impatiently even as he tries to accommodate your curiosity. Patience, he thinks to himself. 

“What is this?” You ask in your broken Na’vi, your accent heavy and clumsy.

Tsu’tey’s ears twitch. He likes the sound of your stupid accent more than he should.

“Utral utu mauti,” He murmurs, stepping closer to you before saying in his own accented English, “Type of fruit tree.”

You make a soft sound of understanding, before nodding. “I’ve read about these! They grow utumauti fruit, right?”

Tsu’tey hums confirmation, though he’s not looking at the plant. He’s too busy watching your face.

“Come,” He murmurs, “You will watch me hunt.”

The two of you continue on through the jungle. Tsu’tey tracks prints, and you watch him. He adds more flourishes to his tracking and stalking than are entirely necessary; he is hyper-conscious under your curious eyes. 

You are so much smaller than him, barely reaching his navel, so he keeps his pace slow and even to ensure you can keep up with him. 

When the two of you finally catch up to a wild yerik, luckily separated from the herd, Tsu’tey feels his heart beating eagerly in his chest. This is a chance to display his physical prowess. To prove that even injured, he is a fearsome warrior and hunter.

Your eyes are trained on him as he nocks an arrow and prepares to loose. Your gaze trails along his bicep and his chest, and he feels his pride flare all over again. When he looses the arrow, it finds its mark with ease.

He leaps from the cover of the trees and rushes to the fallen animal, snatching his knife from his waist and bending by the yerik’s head to murmur the customary words of thanks before ending the creature’s pain.

Cautiously, you step out after him and stare with wide eyes.

“Wow,” You murmur, stepping close to him. “It’s so big.”

The yerik is not so large or impressive as other prey, such as a talioang, yet your awe pleases Tsu’tey greatly. He can’t suppress the smug expression that grows across his face as he secures his prey with a rope to prepare to haul it back to the village. 

He pauses halfway through tying a knot around the yerik’s middle so that he can look up to you, a self-satisfied sort of lazy smirk curling around his mouth. “I told you I am still strong.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of your mouth, and you avert your eyes all of a sudden. You’re staring down at your feet, your fingers fidgeting together, but he can see that your mouth is smiling.

“Yes,” You say quietly, “Very strong.”

That night, Tsu’tey’s catch is prepared and roasted over the cook fire alongside the catch from the larger hunt. The village is alight with celebration – the People sing and dance, children running around screaming with laughter and younglings leaping about together. The light-natured atmosphere is infectious, and  Tsu’tey finds himself feeling more cautiously upbeat than he has in a while now.

“I should probably head back to the science outpost,” You mention at some point as the village fills with laughter and chat and the smell of succulent meat cooking. “I don’t want to intrude on-”

“Stay.” Tsu’tey interrupts without thinking.

You pause, obviously surprised. He’s been most outspoken about how the small demons should not be allowed to intrude upon the People’s customs or private rituals. No doubt you’re confused by his sudden change of heart – he can’t explain it himself.

But you agree, a tentative smile blooming across your face.

Tsu’tey is not oblivious to the glances that the two of you get as he settles next to you – you’ve chosen to sit a little bit away from the large fire around which the rest of the tribe gathers. No doubt you feel self-conscious of the fact that you don’t belong here, but Tsu’tey is feeling bold tonight. He is content as he settles next to you, despite the curious glances he receives from his People.

In his hands, he carries two portions of yerik meat from his kill wrapped in a leaf – it is a wholesome, healthy meal, and he hands a portion to you with a pleased flick of his tail.

You accept your portion politely, but he notices that you don’t immediately move to eat it. Instead, you spend a moment peering at it as though inspecting the meat carefully.

The longer you go without trying the food he has caught for you, the more antsy he becomes. He bites into his own dinner, casting frequent sideways glances your way as he chews. Was it not cooked to your taste? Did you not like the way it was wrapped in the leaf? Was it the meat itself that was the problem? Perhaps you didn’t even like yerik meat. Was this your way of turning him down?

“You do not like it?” He asks at last, unable to contain himself any longer.

You look up at that, apparently a little startled. “No! I mean, yes! I like it just fine!”

And yet, you haven’t touched it. 

Too late, Tsu’tey realises that you’re still wearing your strange face covering that you need to breathe. Ah, how foolish of him. You aren’t able to take it off to eat.

Embarrassed now, Tsu’tey feels his ears flatten back. It was an obvious oversight on his part, a stupid mistake. How could he not have anticipated this problem? Such a mistake makes him look inconsiderate.

“Ah. Your face covering-” He begins, but he doesn’t get the chance to finish.

“No big deal!” You blurt hastily, sitting up straighter. 

You’re so much smaller than him, dwarfed by his stature as you blink up at him. The size difference is going to Tsu’tey’s head – he can’t stop looking at the way your much smaller hands are wrapped around your food, at the way you’ve pressed a little closer to him.

He watches as you rip some of the meat out with your fingers, before taking a deep breath. You push the mask up for just a second, just long enough to push the food into your mouth before quickly reattaching the mask over your face again. Through the strange clear material protecting your face, Tsu’tey watches as you chew. The sight settles something inside of him, and some of the tension leaks out of his shoulders as he watches you eat his offering.

He’s not the only one watching you eat. The sight of him offering you food, and of you accepting it, has caught the attention of several members of the clan. The connotations are obvious, whether Tsu’tey chooses to think about them or not – if the sight of one of the clan’s foremost warriors participating in tentative courtship rituals with a Sky Person is shocking or disturbing in any way, they hide it well. It’s mainly surprised curiosity in the eyes of their observers.

“It’s good.” You murmur, sending him a quick smile. “The spices are different from anything I’m used to – it’s interesting.”

Tsu’tey’s tail lashes with gratification, satisfied with your acceptance of his advances. He should have known you would be interested in the spices used to cook the food, too. You’re such a curious little thing, always wanting to learn more. Your intelligence is commendable, and sets you apart from the rest of the tawtute.

You take another few bites of food, stuffing little handfuls under your mask quickly before replacing it back. Tsu’tey feels his chest puff the more you eat, his pride assuaged by the sight.

“You are hungry?” He asks, ducking his head a little closer to you. “You would like more?”

“No,” You murmur, but you give him a soft smile to soften your refusal. “Thank you. This is plenty.”

Tsu’tey settles back, his tail flicking in contentment. You may be a little demon that came from the sky, but having you sit huddled at his side eases the knot in his stomach that’s been present since his injury. He tries not to think too much about it.

A quick glance around shows that the eyes that had been watching them have shifted away, and he relaxes a little further. It’s mortifying enough to be offering such advances to a tawtute without the eyes of the clan watching.

You cough, and clear your throat. The sound draws his attention back to you, his eyes flickering carefully over your face. You appear a little flustered, and his brow draws down in a frown.

“What is wrong?” He asks carefully, narrowing his eyes as he watches you.

“Nothing.” You say hastily, but he sees the way you shift next to him. Your expression has changed a little, but he can’t quite interpret it. You lack the long ears and tail of the Na’vi, and so he finds it difficult to analyse your micro-expressions, but even still he can tell that something has changed.

“Tell me.” He demands, shifting to face you head on. “I will fix.”

You smile at him again, but this one seems more forced. It’s almost a grimace. Your hand moves to your stomach, and he follows the motion with a frown.

“It’s nothing, I just…” You wince. “It didn’t occur to me before, but.. I’m not sure how well humans can digest Pandoran meat.”

Tsu’tey’s frown only deepens. “I do not know this word. Digest. What does it mean?”

“It-” You begin, but you cut yourself off as an odd tremor moves across your face.

In a move that startles him into rearing back, you leap to your feet and make a run for the woods. It only takes a moment for Tsu’tey to recover from his surprise, and then he pushes himself up to his feet too. Ignoring the heads that have turned in his direction thanks to the commotion, he takes off after you.

It doesn’t take much effort to catch up to you, considering the difference in the size of your legs. You’ve only just managed to reach the treeline before falling to your knees, and by the time he catches up to you, you’ve torn your breathing mask off to allow you to retch into the vegetation.

Tsu’tey’s ears flick back, watching uneasily as you vomit. He has never been very good at providing comfort, but he reaches out to touch your shoulder all the same.

You retch again, then fumble to put your mask back on so you can breathe.

“Oh no, don’t look at me,” You practically wail, ducking your head down so he can’t see your face. “This is so humiliating.”

“What is wrong?” Tsu’tey asks insistently, lowering himself to crouch beside you as his tail twitches anxiously. “I will call for Mo’at-”

“Don’t you dare!” You gasp, reaching back blindly to grab at him even as you gag again. 

Tsu’tey bares his teeth in frustration, growing increasingly more restless. He hates feeling helpless, and he doesn’t understand what is happening with you. “You are sick.”

“No,” You gasp. The worst of the gagging seems to be over, and you push yourself back to sit clumsily on your behind. “No, it was just… I don’t think Pandoran food is compatible with human digestive systems.”

His tail flicks again as he watches you, growing uneasy. “What does this mean?”

“I can’t eat the same food as you.” You say, before ducking your head and groaning a little as another wave of nausea hits you.

Tsu’tey goes still, watching you close your eyes and wince. The food he had provided you with has made you ill. Humiliation settles low in his stomach. So this is why you were reluctant to try it – you were unsure if it was safe for you to eat.

His attempt to impress you has ended up making you sick. The only thing that saves him from total disgrace is the fact that you’re very visibly flustered and apologetic about it.

“I’m sorry,” You insist, clearly mortified as you raise your head to squint at him through streaming eyes. “Really, it was very nice-!”

 His ears twitch low and his tail wrapped tightly around his leg in contrition. “I did not know-”

“I know you didn’t,” You interrupt hastily. It’s clear that you feel thoroughly embarrassed about the situation – you can hardly meet his eyes. “Please, don’t worry about it.”

Your reassurance helps, but only slightly. He still feels entirely humiliated, and he watches with dismay as you finally push yourself to your feet.

“I think,” You begin without making eye contact, “That I should probably get back to the outpost.”

His stomach plummets, and his pride with it. This has gone so terribly wrong. He’s not even really sure what he was trying to do here – what was he even thinking? 

“Yes.” He says stiffly. “You should.”

Your expression shifts a little, and you nod. The air between you both has changed slightly; gone was the easy camaraderie that you have both worked so hard on for the past few months, to be replaced with an awkward tension.

“I’m sorry,” You say again, your voice low and embarrassed. “I.. the meat was very nice. Thank you. I’m sorry about… you know.”

That… is slightly more promising. 

Tsu’tey stands, then reaches down to offer his hand to help you. For a moment, you just stare at his outstretched hand as though you can’t figure out what he’s doing. He draws on his patience, and is rewarded for it when you reach out and take his hand, allowing him to guide you back to your feet. Your palm is warm and dry against his, your hand so small and soft that he gets momentarily distracted.

You smile at him again, and finally this one seems more genuine, though it’s a little abashed. Tsu’tey’s ears flick towards you cautiously, testingly, and you keep smiling.The knot in his stomach loosens a little.

“Come on, Birdy. You know I’m right.”

Birdy.

You had Soap to thank for the name. ‘Snipers and birds both shit on people from above’. It wasn’t creative and honestly you could have thought of one hundred better names to offer, but once Ghost started addressing you by Birdy, it was set in stone.

When you said nothing, he continued.

“You can’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag,” he scoffed, swallowing a snort when your eyes widened. “Sniper’s need to defend themselves too, Birdy. You learnt that the hard way, remember?”

How could you not?

The knife wound had healed but the memory of it had not. Images of the hooded man wedging a blade into your shoulder flickered across your vision. Fists bearing down onto your jaw. Fingers wrapped around your throat.

A chill skittered across your skin.

“So, what’s your suggestion?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

When the corner of Price’s mouth quirked upward, you’d already begun to regret asking.

“Simple, really.” He shrugged, “someone’s gonna train ya.”

Your stomach dropped and a cold shiver traced the length of your spine.

“Who, Sir?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Ghost’s not here. Everyone’s on leave.”

Price smirked.

“Not everyone.”

___

You felt nauseas.

Anxiety had your stomach in a death grip, and it was all you could do to not throw up. Pacing up and down the gym mats, you tried to cool your nerves.

There was only one person that had remained a complete anomaly to you and now he’d been given literal permission to beat the shit out of you.

Training.

You remembered what they loved to call ‘training’ at your old unit. You’d never been the fastest or the strongest, that was not your job. You were the one who could take make an impossible shot a kilometre away, but that’s not what ‘training’ entailed.

Your body ached at the memory.

There was a small noise by the doorway and your body stiffened. He was letting you know that he was there, his equivalent of a knock.

You both knew that he could have had you on your back whenever he pleased.

“König.” You acknowledged him as confidently as you could, turning to face the beast head on.

The giant stood in the doorway looking like the fucking bogey man himself.

“Birdy,” König inclined his head. Those dark, watchful eyes observed you from beneath his hood, taking in your visage. Heat licked the back of your neck and you began to sweat under his gaze.

He was clad in his usual getup from the waist down, the tactical cargo pants and the hefty boots being his barracks favourite. It was the hoodie that had caught you by surprise, you’d seen it a few times in passing, but up close it rendered you breathless.

“I didn’t realize you were staying with the 141,” you said, swallowing nervously as he stepped into the room, ducking his head to avoid hitting the frame above.

This was a sick, sick joke.

“My transfer was approved,” was the only explanation that he offered you.

You knew, logically, that what had happened between the both of you had been a misunderstanding. It was a communication failure on behalf of the brass that had almost gotten you killed but the idea of working with him, training with him, made your stomach drop.

König’s hands got to work removing his gloves and the memory of those fingers wrapped around your throat made you flinch.

You’d set up a sniper’s nest atop the rooftop, watching the entrance of the building the 141 was infiltrating. They were going to flush out the target and send him running right into your line of fire.

No-one had been informed of KorTac’s involvement.

You’d heard König before you’d seen him, the dismantling of your trip mine giving you enough indication to roll onto your back to investigate. By then, he was already upon you.

You’d kicked the rifle from his hands but that was where your advantage finished. He’d dragged you by your ankles from your weapon, straddling your flailing body as he got to work. The knife he’d brandished stabbed into your flesh violently, and at first, you’d thought he only punched you.

Until the searing hot pain bloomed across your body and blood sprayed across his hood.

Those emerald eyes were wild and hard as he gripped your face over your balaclava. You couldn’t think to react, dizzied by the agony of knife he twisted into your skin. His palm covered the entirety of your features, fingers tight against your temples as he pulled your head forward then smashed it back into the concrete.

You thought your skull had exploded.

Fists ploughed into your jaw but it was as though you were numb now. Finally, his fingers were drawn to your throat, squeezing tightly as he leaned in. The cloth of his hood brushed against your battered body, filling the space between you as his lips pressed against your ear.

“Your fight is finished,” he hissed heatedly. Then König pressed down into your skin.

You don’t remember what happened afterward. You knew that he’d been called off by his chain-of-command just in time to stop himself from ending your life, but that was according to Soap.

You were in a coma for two weeks.

It took you months to recover.

And only once you came back to work, fit to fight and ready to go, had you discovered that König had applied to transfer into the 141 shortly after the incident. KorTac had offered him up to fill in your position while you recovered.

Not only had the bastard nearly killed you but he’d taken your place.

Now that you were back, he would lose his place as a sniper and be back to running with the team on the ground.

König watched you carefully from where he stood.

“You’re my instructor,” you said plainly, stating the obvious. “Price made you my hand-to-hand combat trainer.

“Ironic, isn’t it,” his voice came quietly from beneath the hood, a small snort following in suit.

You would have laughed had you not been so fucking terrified. You were about to take your place back on the team, a position this giant clearly wanted and now he was given the chance to put you back into the hospital with no questions asked.

You wouldn’t be able to do anything against him. König was a mountain of a man, a force to be reckoned with, and while he tried to make himself as disarming as possible it was implausible to hide that frame.

“Did you want to get started?” König asked, leaning his hip against the table beside him. He was so casual for someone who had nearly killed you.

“No,” you said simply.

“Are you not up for this?” König ventured carefully, pushing off the bench and taking a slow step towards you. Your heart thrashed against your ribs at his approaching figure and you forced yourself to stay still. “You still have bruising-“

“That’s what happens when someone shatters your fucking face, cunt,” you snapped, casting your gaze from his. You were hoping that he wouldn’t bring it up, everyone had danced around your condition for so long. No one spoke about how fucking ugly you looked as you tried to recover.

“It was an accident,” his voice was hard, almost bewildered at your sudden aggression. “We both paid the price for someone else’s mistakes.”  

“Don’t talk to me about paying the price, you fucker,” you snapped, shoving against his chest. König yielded a step and it infuriated you even further to know that he’d allowed it. “You got the fucking job you wanted, you got the transfer you wanted, you got the training you wanted. Didn’t you?”

“Yes, but-“

“You wanna know what I got?” You snapped, shoving him harder this time. König’s eyes narrowed and he snatched your wrists, holding them against his ribs to stop your assault. You continued anyway, walking his body backward until his heels hit the wall. “I got put into a fucking coma.”  

König’s gaze softened, his chest heaving beneath your hands. You could feel his heart pounding beneath your fists, you could hear his breaths grow ragged.

“I know,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on your wrists. “I was assigned to watch over your bed for those two weeks."

You stared at him for a long moment, sniffling and gasping for air after your rant. König lowered his head and his grip loosened.

“What I did to you…” he trailed off, unable to meet your gaze. How ugly must you have become that he couldn’t withstand looking at his own handiwork?

You turned around, hiding the hot tears forming along your lashes. You were so fucking ashamed by the terror gripping your throat, embarrassed by how much your image affected you. You hated feeling disgusting. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you at all times it was suffocating you, they gawked and stared and whispered about how your 'pretty face was ruined.'

You began to understand why people wear masks.

“You ruined me,” you rasped. “And I couldn’t do anything to stop you.”

König was silent from behind you, mulling over your words. You couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your outburst. He had stabbed you, shattered your skull, broken your nose and jaw and nearly snapped your neck- he deserved to listen to you yell at him at the very least.

Fingers slid over your shoulders, slowly turning you around to face him. You tugged against his hold half-heartedly, vision swimming beneath never-ending tears.

“Look at me, Birdy.” His voice was soft and pleading, his hand slowly moving to cup your bruised jaw. You froze as he manoeuvred you, forcing you to face him square on. König slowly lowered himself to rest a knee on the ground, leaving him still taller than you but closer to eye level.

With the hand that was free, he reached for his hood. You swallowed nervously as he carefully pulled it from his head, resting the cloth on his upright knee.

Dirty blonde hair lay splayed across his forehead, the length curling by his ears. Dark brows framed the emerald gaze that watched you intently, taking in your visage as you observed him. All of him.

The scars caught your attention.

Winding from his upper lip, across his eye and leaving a line through his brow, the winding length of damaged skin presented itself. There was another scar along the bridge of his nose that travelled across the width of his cheekbone and into his hair.

“Do I…” König trailed off, full lips parting as he mused over his next words. You stared in awe at the innocence of the freckles smattered across his features. “Are you afraid of me?”

You said nothing for a long moment, mesmerized by the features of a man that had haunted your thoughts for months. He’d been the centre of your existence for so long, the reason you ached and the reason you’d bled. König had plagued your every waking moment ever since the incident, and now he knelt before you. He was on his knees baring his vulnerabilities to you, knowing you could destroy him with it.

“Of course,” you whispered; your voice shaky as you met his gaze.

König’s expression became pleading, “then let me teach you how to beat me.”

His thumb lightly caressed your purple cheek, brows furrowed as he took in his handiwork. “Let me pay for what I’ve done by teaching you how to never let it happen again. And when you finally beat me, revenge will be yours and you may do as you wish.”

“Anything I want?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.

A wry, sad smile pulled at the corner of König’s mouth.

“Anything, mein vöglein.”

My little bird.

____