#peachy writes!

[peachy-posy]

Counting Steps (Vash the Stampede x Reader)

Summary: While traveling with Vash, you get a wound and decide to hide it from him.

A/N: Howdy! This is my first Trigun fic, please be nice hehe. This was originally written with Tri Stamp Vash in mind, but then it turned into me mixing him with 98 Vash, and so now we have this.

I'm considering making a little series about the reader and Vash because I am so whipped for this silly blonde man, the brain rot is insane. If that's something you'd be interested in lmk!

I hope you guys like it <3 ALSO this was cross-posted to my AO3

Warnings: Mild violence, mild blood/injury, fainting

Word Count: 2.5k

This was inspired by this quote from @creativepromptsforwriting: “When were you going to tell me you were bleeding? When you’re already dead?!”

98. 99. That’s another 100 steps. Start over.

You grit your teeth, clutching your side fiercely. Luckily, you are wearing black, so Vash hadn’t seen the sticky, dark stain appear. Your faithful traveling companion walks several paces ahead of you, leading the two of you to a nearby settlement. You couldn’t be that far away now, right? God, you hope not. 

You lose your footing, stumbling briefly before catching yourself. White hot pain shoots through your abdomen, and you can’t stop the hiss that slides out between your teeth. Fortunately, Vash doesn’t seem to be able to hear it over the sounds of the wind. A bead of sweat rolls down your face, and you pause, allowing yourself to pant for a moment. Not for long, though. You have to keep moving.

Counting your steps in increments of 100 has been your method of keeping yourself focused. It was a simple task, something to devote all of yourself to for the time being. If you could keep going, one step at a time, you knew you could make it to the town. 

17. 18. 19. That’s another 20.

Your mind wanders to the very situation that caused you to get an injury in the first place. What a mess today has been. 

You have been traveling with the infamous Vash the Stampede for months at this point. Shootouts and run-ins with bandits and bounty hunters made for another Tuesday. Usually, that was no problem for you guys. You knew your way around a gun and could certainly hold your own, so what the fuck happened today?

30. 31. 32.

The two of you had stopped at a small plant you’d come across while traveling in the desert, thinking it was a good chance to take a breather. Little did you know, you were walking right into a stick-up, with a small group of bandits robbing a family that had stopped there as well. You and Vash stepped in quickly to help, easily incapacitating the bandits. Vash’s attention readily became focused on helping out the family, noticing that the oldest child had gotten a gash on the head.

Allowing Vash to handle the damage control inside, you had stepped back outside to catch your breath. You walked over to the side of the building, leaning against it and resting in the shadow it produced. Out of the corner of your eye, though, you saw movement. Apparently, there was another person involved that had slipped away. You sprung into action, running around the building to where you’d seen the figure disappear. After that, everything happened really fast.

The man was quick, and he lunged at you with startling speed. You were able to dodge the initial thrust of his knife towards your gut, but you didn’t sidestep fast enough, feeling the blade tear a gash into your side. The adrenaline in your system helped you to ignore the pain, and you whipped around, kicking the knife out of his hand and twisting his arm behind his back. Before he knew it, you had him pinned on the ground, arms pulled uncomfortably behind his back. Drawing your small revolver from its holster, you swiftly hit the back of his head with the grip, feeling his body go limp under you. 

After he passed out, the tension left your body and you leaned back with a sigh. It was at this point that you started to feel the sharp, stinging pain radiating from your side. Glancing down with a wince, you moved your jacket aside, laying your eyes on the gash that had been so generously given to you by your friend here. Because you wore your jacket open, it looked like it had blown out of the way and been spared by the blade. So, at the very least, you wouldn’t be spending the evening sewing the jacket up. Your body was a different story, unfortunately.

It was a small, but deep, clean cut. It wasn’t anything worse than what you’ve had before. But, it would definitely need some stitches. You were almost positive you could patch this up with the first aid kit inside. 

You released your jacket, heaving yourself off the ground with some effort, applying pressure to the wound. Once on your feet, you made your way back around front, finding the entrance to the small building. 

Vash was crouched, chatting to the teary-eyed children, calming them down with a practiced ease that came from many years of experience around kids. He smiled at them, and said something that drew a giggle from the children. Their parents watched from nearby with grateful smiles, eventually pulling him into a conversation with them as well. A soft smile formed on your lips, as it often did when you saw him have these types of interactions. 

Your pain brought you back down to reality though, and you grimaced. Your eyes scanned the room for the first aid kit, and you found it lying on a small table. You quietly walked over, and immediately grabbed some gauze to hold against the wound. You sifted through the contents, searching for the thread, knowing you definitely had some. It wasn’t until you remembered that one of the kids had gotten a cut to the head that you turned around, seeing the last of your thread stitched up in a wound already. Vash might be holding onto some more, but even if he were, it likely wouldn’t be enough. 

Well. Shit.

You faced away from everyone again, trying to think of what to do. You were less than half a day’s walk from the next town. You didn’t have any supplies other than some gauze that would help. Telling Vash would worry him, and he’d definitely want to carry you the rest of the way, even though you knew his prosthetic had been causing him soreness recently. 

You were just gonna have to suck it up and walk. You stuffed gauze into your pockets as discreetly as you could, before hearing your name called from behind you softly. You turned your head to the side, heart skipping a beat at seeing those gorgeous blue eyes gazing at you.

“Everything okay?” he asked quietly, concern creasing his brow. You wanted to reach out and smooth your fingers over it, not wanting him to worry about anything. 

Instead, you gave him a convincing smile. “Yeah. I found another guy outside. We should probably tie him up with the others before leaving.” The person running the plant assured you both that they would be fine while they waited for authorities to arrive to take the men away. You made sure your body was angled to where he couldn’t see your bloody hand or the gauze. 

He raised his eyebrows, surprised to have missed one, but ultimately nodded, letting you know he’d take care of it. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mayfly. I’m getting sloppy!” he joked, and you’d giggled in reply, heart fluttering every time he called that. It was just friendly, of course. Because that’s all you were - friends.

That’s another 60 steps. Or was it 70?

You jam your eyes shut, breathing through the worsening pain. You sigh defeatedly. You ran out of gauze an hour ago. The bleeding has slowed, but not fully stopped. Not with all of the pulling from walking. At least the sun is starting to go down, giving you a break from this damned heat. 

You look up, seeing Vash’s back ahead, his red coat blowing gently in the wind. The distance is getting greater between the two of you. You’re starting to regret not filling him in about your situation. After noticing your silence not long into the walk, he’d asked once more if everything was all right. You smiled, told him you were fine, and that you’d tell him later tonight. He accepted that begrudgingly, giving you a Look, but had ultimately given you space.

You stop walking, your breathing uneven and heavy. Your vision wasn’t quite right either… had you really lost that much blood? The chill settling into your bones screams ‘yes’ at you. Vash is getting too far away. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You feel your body trembling, and you close your eyes, a dull ringing in your ears beginning. Your grip on the gauze pressed into your side is getting looser, but you’re starting to care less. It’s not like it’s working anyway.

You are startled out of your thoughts by the feeling of hands gripping your upper arms. You gasp, opening your eyes, struggling to get them to focus for a moment. Once they do, you see Vash in front of you. His mouth is moving, and he looks worried. Oh. They’re his hands, you note, glancing at his arms. 

The ringing in your ears subsides enough that you can hear his voice again. He’s calling your name.

“…you okay? What’s wrong?” He asks, searching your eyes.

“Huh?” You manage eloquently.

He sighs, closing his eyes, but he doesn’t let go of you. “You’ll be the death of me, Mayfly. What’s wrong?” He asks. “I know you said you’d tell me later, and, well, it’s technically later now, so…” he trails off, but his words have an expectant tone to them. This doesn’t really seem to be something he wants to budge on.

Not that you’re planning on withholding what’s happening at this point. You are almost certain you’ll pass out here soon. 

“Um…” you start, averting your gaze. Finally, he seems to notice the way you’re holding yourself. Specifically, the placement of your arm, tucked into your jacket. His expression shifts into something more knowing, and he seems to have caught on. 

He gently reaches down to pull your hand away so he can take a look, but as he does so, your knees buckle and you start a hard fall to the sandy ground. You shut your eyes, waiting for the impact that never comes, as you are wrapped up in a pair of strong arms before falling very far.

You are slowly lowered the rest of the way, and find yourself resting against Vash’s chest on the ground. He’s muttering something under his breath, and you’re murmuring an apology. He pulls your jacket back, sucking in a sharp breath when he sees the bloodied gauze.

“When were you going to tell me you’re bleeding? Once you were already dead?!” He asks, and yeah, you probably deserve that. He’s peeling back the gauze gingerly, scrutinizing the wound, concern etched into his gorgeous face. He’s talking, likely scolding you, but that annoying ringing in your ears is back, so you can’t hear him. You should not be thinking about how pretty he looks right now, but your vision is turning black and you don’t really care anymore. His head turns to face you, his eyes widening. There’s something in his expression you can’t quite identify.

 But everything feels heavy, and you are very tired. You slump into his chest, closing your eyes. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The next thing you know, you are lying in an uncomfortable bed, tucked into itchy, white sheets. You groan, taking in how dry your mouth is and how bad your side hurts. 

Oh yeah.

You open your eyes, sitting up with a gasp. You blink hard to clear your vision, but curl into yourself as pain shoots through your abdomen. You feel a set of familiar hands take you by the shoulders.

“Woah! Take it easy! Just take a deep breath for me, okay?”

You feel one of the hands move from your shoulder to rub your back soothingly, and you look up. Those beautiful blue eyes meet yours, relief flooding his features. Vash murmurs your name with a relieved smile.

“There you are. Are you okay?” He asks softly, gently pushing you to lay back down. You put up no resistance.

“Yeah, just a bit sore,” you manage, glancing down to your wound. You move your hand to touch it, applying pressure experimentally, but he moves your hand away, holding onto it instead. Like a worried friend, you remind yourself. You take a moment to glance around the clinical-looking room, and think you already know the answer, but ask anyway. “Where are we?”

His thumb moves slowly across your knuckles, just like a friend would do. In a friendly way. “The local clinic. We weren’t very far out of town when you passed out. I just brought you here right away. That was last night.” His expression shifts from soft to scolding, and he runs his other hand through his blonde hair. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! Don’t do that again!”

You offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Vash. We’d used the last of the thread for stitches on one of the children, and I thought I could tough it out.”

He stares at you, and you wilt a bit at his hurt expression. “Why wouldn’t you tell me though? We may not have been able to stitch you up right away, but I could have-“

“Carried me into town?” You finish, and he nods. You reach up, gingerly touching his prosthetic arm. His eyes widen slightly, not expecting your touch. “I know your arm has been bothering you lately, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”

His expression softens endearingly once more at your reasoning, the look he’s giving you making you fall in love with him all over again. 

“Oh, Mayfly,” he murmurs, “let me decide what I can handle, okay? It wouldn’t have been so bad.”

You understand, but you also frown a bit at his words, raising an eyebrow at him. “But who looks after you? You have and would push yourself past every limit you have for the sake of someone else.” 

He sighs, but doesn’t deny what you say, either. “How about we work on compromising a bit? We’ll look after each other, and make sure we aren’t pushing ourselves too hard.”

You try to level him with a stare, but end up relenting with a sigh and a smile. “Fine.”

He smiles back at you, mirroring your tone. “Fine.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and it seems like something comes to his mind at that moment. His smile becomes something more like a smirk, and you regard him suspiciously. 

“What,” you deadpan, somewhat dreading whatever he has to say.

He props his elbows on your bed, resting his chin on his hands, leaning forward. 

“Nothing! I’m just flattered,” he replies, and you really, really don’t like the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“By…?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“I didn’t know you thought I was pretty.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. Of course you do. But you’d never just say that.

“Yeah, right.”

“No really! You said so yourself! Remember? Something like, ‘I should not be thinking about how pretty you look-’”

You choke, blushing furiously. Oh my god. Right before you passed out. You must’ve accidentally said that out loud, delirious.

 “I-I did not!” You sputter back, but you know it’s futile. He’s laughing too hard. You hate it, but even now, as he is laughing at you, you can’t help but love the sound of it. You’d do just about anything to keep him laughing and smiling like this.

He pokes your cheek, his laugh dying down. “For the record, I think you’re pretty too. ‘Specially when you’re blushing like this.”

Holy. Shit. 

Never mind. You wish you had bled out.

[peachie5000]

okay so the news about the series possibly having a future is huge but I also do really need to emphasize queerplatonic/aroace lapidot real

[naffeclipse]

Toying around with a sort of Apex Polarity spin involving Sun and Moon and having them as Arctic Fox type of creatures (think werewolf monster body types but fox style) and Y/N is an Arctic Hare-esque humanoid mythical being with white fur and long ears tipped in black. Of course, it's set in the Arctic tundra. Thinking of calling it Of Fox Maws.

You've seen the fox men before. They'll skirt the outsides of the large valley you like to go to gather arctic willow and sedge out of the snow. Their eyes glint in the harsh Arctic light, watching you. You warily tense your legs, always ready to bolt should the two fiends decide they're hungry enough to attempt to chase you down.

You can't trust foxes.

But you always skip away, out of sight and far from the terror of what could easily be your last day. This happens for a season. Sometimes, they attempt to creep closer in plain view but you turn tail and run, ducking behind snowy hills and hiding low until you're certain they're gone.

Once, you were caught off guard in the middle of your foraging. One voice called softly out to you. You jumped back and found the fox men too close, almost within lunging distance—your little heart fluttered as if to take flight and escape—but you ran and ran and ran until you couldn't breathe. Then, you look behind you.

The fox men were nowhere to be found.

One day, you're amid a rocky field of purple saxifrage, happily picking blossoms to toss in your mouth while twisting your long ears this way and that to listen in for any predators or creeping fox men that might try to break your little neck in their vulpine jaws. You never expected the teeth to come from the ground you placed your foot on. A snap of metal. A bone crack. You're bitten by something cold and terrible, and it chains you to the ground. Terrible pain eats your leg as blood, crimson among the snow and rocks, begins to drip down your fur.

You panic. Such is your nature. You thrash and struggle while the metal trap digs deeper into your leg. The safety of daylight begins to fade as exhaustion and fear begin to take hold, and then you see them. Their glinting eyes, their sharp ears narrowed, their fur white and strangely marked with colorful swirls on their underside, their claws scraping over the ground as they come closer and closer.

You cry it in your terror—you could always run before. They talk low and soft to you, one anxiously coaxing you to stop moving, to stop hurting yourself, but you tug and struggle in your wild franticness. The teeth keep biting your leg—you flounder before a set of arms catches you, pinning you down with strange gold and red fur on his chest that warms your deathly chilled body. You scream but another set of hands holds down your caught leg—this one with deep blue and silver swirls in the fur on his chest. You dissolve in the horror of the end that will come from too many jaws—

A musical steel note plays when he breaks the chain in half with his raw strength. You keep thrashing, struggling to get away, but the fox men are too strong, and the one holding you keeps asking you to stop being frightened—they only want to help. The other digs his dark claws into the metal trap and pries it apart as the other drags you out of reach of the contraption maw, and you cry from the pain of it all.

The two begin yipping and fussing. When they press their hands to the bleeding bite mark on your leg, the anguish overwhelms you until all you see is white, then nothing.

They become frantic at your slumped form and all the blood on your silky white fur. Sun takes to your wound and Moon takes you in his arms, and keeping pressure on the strange bite, they carry you back to their den. There, you'll be safe and warm, and there, they can help you with your broken leg.

Hopefully, you won't keep screaming when you wake up. (You will.)

[peachy-keenss]

this two foot tall demonic doll will make you his bitch!

[peachy-puddin-cup]

“She Still Is.” Moonflower Fic

Under the cut is a small Moonflower fic I wrote about Macaque taking Suki under the falls to see the ruins of the old stone palace, with a bonus sketch of the last moment by the pookie @aleiiii 💜

Enjoy!

“Macaque..Are we supposed to be here?” Suki asks as they walk in through the tunnel, leading to the ruins of the old stone palace.

The shadow monkey shrugs. “Probably not.” He yawned as he lead her in.

“This place looks so old..like really old..this Wukong’s old place?” She blinks.

“Yeah sorta kinda..” It was lore anyone would know about the monkey king had they just known that story, but it wasn’t just his home..it was their home. Not that she would have remembered.

“These stones are so smooth.” Suki whispered to herself, feeling the texture of the broken slabs of stone that once rose dozens of feet to sculpt high walls.

“Hm yeah they were.” Macaque shrugs.

Why did you bring her here you idiot!? If Wukong comes around you two are gonna fight and she’s gonna get upset. he thought to himself as he wondered around, but he couldn’t sense Wukong anywhere around here thankfully.

Suki continued to wander further into the structure that had not yet collapse.

“Hey wait up!” Macaque huffed as she wandered further.

“Oh my..” She whispered as she looked over the walls with faded murals.

“Oh..” Macaque mumbled to himself. This room.

Suki stopped at a small section of wall that was mostly covered in vines that she had to pull away to see what was there. “…Oh wow..she’s beautiful.” She whispered as she gazed at the portrait before her.

Macaque glanced over to where she had gone and he let out a soft sigh. The mural she was staring at was her..or at least what used to be her.

“Isn’t she beautiful..?” Suki glanced back to Macaque with a sparkling smile and a wag of her tail.

“Yeah..She was.” His gaze softened to her as he got closer to look at the mural, seeing how the colors had faded with weathering and sunlight. His gaze rested on her, marveling at the mural of her past self.

She still is. he smiled to himself.

[sunnybeewriting]

peachy keen.

Hi guys! So I'm pretty new to writing and this is actually the biggest thing I’ve ever written. I watched The Way of Water when it came out and took an immediate interest in this guy, partially because I thought his character has a lot of potential, and partially because I also thought that he was really hot.

So I decided to set up a series of little works. This one is just sort of a beginning to the Reader’s character and Quaritch, and I do plan on writing more about them in the future with this fic as their base. Maybe do some AU’s, maybe just continue the story from here, maybe lead into the movie, who knows!

That all said, I really, really hope you like it! If you do, please give it a like or a comment!

WORDS: 15,000

WARNINGS: Adult themes and language

peachy keen. Part Two.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your body jerks to a stop just before you can fully trip over your shoelace and faceplant onto the floor. Unfortunately, the leftover food on your plate could not say the same, jostled just enough that it went flying from your hands and onto the tiled floor of the mess hall.

You lean down quickly to clean it up, scooping the food with your fingers and back onto the plate as best you can. You succeed only halfway, goop just smearing across the floor and onto your hand.

You stare at the mess you made, ears and cheeks burning as you hear snickers of cruel amusement coming from some military meatheads a few feet behind you.

You jump up quickly, making sure to avoid your shoelace so you don’t trip on it again and embarrass yourself any further. You hurry to the counter holding the utensils, mugs, and paper towels, tugging several brown napkins out of the dispenser sitting on top. You take a deep breath to calm yourself.

Kneeling down so soon after sleeping for six years in a cyropod made the muscles in your legs and shoulders ache, but you do it anyways. You wipe up the mess as best you can, piling the dirty napkins onto the plate and dumping it all into a nearby trashcan. You wish the ground would swallow you up.

You aren’t usually so embarrassed by such a small mistake, but it had been a rough past couple of days for you. You had landed at Bridgehead City just a few days ago, and you had felt immediately overwhelmed by the extreme size of the fortress.

It took the RDA fifteen years to return to Pandora, but when they did, they made sure to put in roots. Bridgehead City was an enormous structure, constantly building upon itself and hosting thousands of military combatants, engineers, skel suits, construction robots, anything that was thought of to build and maintain humanity’s last stronghold. Every person of every imagined career was here, working as one like bees and ants had once done for their queens a hundred years ago, before they had both gone extinct. 

Bridgehead was terrifying to look at for the first time, seeing in person exactly how far humanity was willing to go to force itself onto another planet. You had noticed that it almost looked like a parasite, contrasting in color and material against the lively, glowing rainforest that surrounded it just past the barren land of the Kill Zone.

The wave of information that hit you the moment you stepped off the ship was almost enough to make your excitement to be on Pandora wither and die, but you held onto it with shaky, desperate hands.

Luckily for you, it wasn’t long before your enthusiasm bounced back and you met your new colleagues. Most of them had been just as nervous as you, clearly uncertain and overwhelmed. Knowing you weren’t alone made you relax just slightly. They were scientists hand-picked by the RDA as test subjects for re-opening the Avatar program, just like you.

None of you were really sure why the program had been stopped in the first place. The RDA was very quiet about what had happened all those years ago, when most of their military and scientists had been sent fleeing from Pandora with nothing but the clothes on their backs and tails between their legs. They refused to issue many statements, insisting that a minor misunderstanding had occurred with the ‘natives’ of the planet, and they’d be back soon enough to continue their mission.

The RDA had stated that the main reason for discounting the Avatar program was because the cost outweighed any benefit. The only reason they were allowing a few lucky souls to come to Pandora as Avatars was simply as a favor to the scientific community, and as a test to see if the Avatar program should be reinstated. Now the main purpose behind the program is to see if it’s worth it for people to be able to travel around Pandora without having to worry about the environmental protection systems, than a way to make peace with the Na’vi.

Most of the scientists in the base were only allowed restricted access to information regarding the past and current situation with the Na’vi, only knowing that The People were no longer accepting of humans on their planet and that the military is now on constant high alert. Most of the remaining records were classified to you, although you did try to learn as much as you could about what was happening on Pandora. Unfortunately, the RDA was very strict with that information, and you never found anything that mentioned the Na’vi or what happened fifteen years ago.  

The ten members of the new Avatar program had been divided into two parts of five, just to make the introductions and sessions easier. You had met your three new acquaintances, eager to make some friends. They had introduced themselves; Emma, a small, shy woman who preferred observing rather than participating; James, a sweet, handsome young man; and David, an older man in his late fifties who seemed a bit too haughty for his own good.

Your group was shown to your individual rooms over on the west side of Bridgehead, far away from the landing pads and ships you had arrived on. Your new room was small and gray with concrete walls and a thin layering of carpet covering the cold floors. You had a small desk that sat underneath a suction-locked window that let you glimpse into an enclosure full of construction robots, but at least the light it let in was nice. There was a simple cot in the corner and a mirror as the only piece of décor on the walls, but it was yours, a place you could call your own.

You had grinned tiredly and fallen face down on your bed without bothering to take off your shoes. You slept for fourteen hours, and when you awoke you felt as though you were rising from the dead, hair wild and mouth fuzzy. After you brushed your teeth, showered, got dressed in clean clothes, and ate food for the first time in six years, you felt like a brand-new person.

And here you are now, in the mess hall, already making a fool of yourself on your second week.

You quickly rush back to your table and plop your behind into the seat you had vacated to throw away your plate, sitting across from Emma and David. Emma is poking at her food, face pale and gloomy. David is almost done with his own dinner, glasses perched on his nose as he reads from a holotablet.

Geesh. These guys certainly weren’t known for being the life of the party back home.

Maybe they just need some more time to adjust? I know I certainly fucking do.

You take a moment to bend down and tie your shoelace, double knotting it, not wanting to cause any more scenes.

When you sit back up in your chair and make eye contact with Emma, your lopsided, embarrassed smile falls from your face when she simply stares back at you, clearly uneasy for some reason you can’t name.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking clumsy. And why the fuck does it look like you’re all attending a funeral over here?” The voice that chimes up behind you lifts your mood exponentially, and you turn around in your seat to greet the approaching form of the last member of your group and your best friend with a happy grin.

You had met Margot a few months before your trip to Pandora when you both attended a required conference that would discuss certain parts of living in Bridgehead. The second you struck up a conversation with her, it was like meeting your long-lost sister. You had instantly clicked, getting on like a house on fire and scarcely spending a day away from each other.

James arrives at the table with her, holding his own plate. He gives you a comforting look, clearly sympathetic to your embarrassment.

“Hey Margot, James! You saw that, huh?” you ask sheepishly, shoulders raising to your ears as you feel a hot flash of mortification all over again.

“Uh, yeah, honey, I saw. I’m pretty sure half the cafeteria watched you nearly eat shit. You need to learn to tie your shoes better, babe.” Margot’s voice is just as loud as ever, and her bright blonde hair and tall figure aren’t exactly subtle, either.

She was the type of person to grab someone’s attention and refuse to let it go, manicured nails digging in deep. Well, her nails used to be manicured. Now they were just as plain as everyone else’s.

She takes a seat in the empty chair next to you, setting her own plate down with a clatter. She untucks her cheap silverware from the napkin and digs into her dinner, eating hurriedly like someone is about to snatch the plate away from her. You had once asked her why she never slowed down to enjoy her food, and she said that with eight siblings if you wanted any food, you needed to eat it like an animal.  

James takes the other empty seat next to you, patting your shoulder twice before saying, “It’s okay, I don’t think that many people saw.”

You smile weakly at his attempt to make you feel better. It doesn’t help much, but you appreciate the thought, “Thanks, James.”

He nods and moves his attention to his plate.

Your table is silent for a few moments, everyone lost in their own thoughts and tasks.

You break the silence when you nervously ask, “So. Anybody else freaking out at the thought of linking up for the first time or is it just me?”

David looks up, paying attention to your words for the first time since you met him. “Well, I’m not nervous because I did all the pre-linking sessions and training years ago.” His nose is practically raised in the air.

You stare at him.

What a fucking douchebag. Who answers a question like that?

“That’s nice. What about you, Emma, are you nervous or excited? How are you feeling?” you ask gingerly, wanting to include her in the conversation. It would be nice to have another friend so that the next few years weren’t miserable.

Emma stares at you blankly, and then whispers a simple, “No.”

You lean back in your seat and deflate. “Oh.”

Fuck it, I tried.

Margot, the smug bitch, is watching you drown in social awkwardness as she happily munches away. You give her a look and a shrug, and she rolls her eyes before placing her fork down on the table. She dabs the corner of her mouth with her napkin, and then says to Emma, “Girl, I absolutely love that bracelet you’re wearing. Where did you get it?”

To your surprise, Emma perks up in her seat, right hand grazing the bracelet she wore on her left wrist. Her face softens, and she says, “It was my mom’s, actually.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. Right?” Margot jabs her sharp elbow into your side, and you hiss but nod hurriedly.

“Yes, that is so sweet! I wear my mom’s wedding ring, actually.” You rub said ring with your hand. Your mood drops a little bit at the mention of your mother, but you shake your head to get back on track. “Makes me feel closer to her, I suppose.”

A small smile pulls on Emma’s cheeks, and she looks down, still rubbing the bracelet. “Yeah.”

You look at her, reconsidering your thoughts about her personality. 

Maybe it just takes a little time to connect, that’s all.

You fiddle with the small, emerald cut ring that you were on the ring finger of your right hand. It had been a piece of jewelry your mother had worn faithfully until the day she died.

When you were a child, around ten or eleven years old, you had asked her why your dad had chosen that specific ring to represent their marriage, out of the hundreds of others he could have.

She was still sick at the time, spending most of her days laying in a hospital bed while nurses bustled in and out. She had lost so much weight that her cheeks were gaunt, and her face and hands were so white they were almost transparent, pale blue veins clear through the skin.

Her lips were pale and chapped, and the dark circles around her eyes were deeply imprinted in her skin like bruises. She looked like a ghost, a fragile, terrifying imitation of the woman who had raised you, a woman who you had thought put the stars themselves into the sky. She was weak, and even before she passed away it was like she was already dead.  

She had gripped your hand as tightly as she could when you had asked that question, sweaty palm squeezing yours to the point of pain in a rare show of strength. She was usually so weak the nurses and you had to feed her by hand as she could barely lift up her arms. She looked you in the eye and pulled you close until your face was right next to hers.

In the croak that had now become her voice, she whispered, “I had asked the same question, years after he had proposed. I asked, ‘Jonathon, why this ring? Why this cut, why this color?’. And he had gripped me tightly and pulled me close and said, ‘Well, my love, it’s the breathtaking green color of your eyes. Your eyes and the ring match exactly, you see. And every time you look at it, you will see yourself the way I see you. Beautiful and bright.’

Tears had filled her glazed eyes, and she whispered to you, “No matter what, when you find the one you love, never let them go. Cherish every single second you have with them, never take them for granted, and make sure that they love you for everything that you are, the good and the bad. It is the purpose of our life. Love. Without it, we are nothing.” Against the tears and the agony that claimed her face and voice, your mother smiled for the first time in years.

Your father had passed away while your mother was still pregnant, killed in an easily avoidable accident. No matter how much your mother loved you before she had gotten sick, no matter how much joy you brought to her life, there was always a deep sorrow and grief inside her that consumed her soul every day.

She never got over your father, never dated or remarried or showed the barest hint of interest in anyone else. When asked why, she said that she had already had the love of her life, and there was no one who could ever compare to even the lingering ghost of your father that seemed to haunt her.

And when the sickness truly hit and reduced her to almost nothing, her anger and bitterness twisted her mind and her love for you into something cruel and abhorrent. 

Even years later you kept her whispered words locked away into the very muscles of your heart. Even though your mother had been sick and weak when she told you these things, it was one of your few beloved moments with her. It had shown you who your mother really was, past all the sickness and malice, who she really was deep in her soul. That she had once loved and been loved.

And now you wear her wedding ring as a reminder of your parent’s love for each other, and how regardless of your mother’s cruelty toward you during the last years of her life, your love for her would never fade.

You’re jerked out of your melancholy thoughts when Margot burps loudly and thumps a fist against her chest.

“Jesus Christ, Margot. Where the fuck did you learn your manners from?” James asks, recoiling in disgust.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m almost done, then we can go check out the linking center.”

You nod eagerly, so overwhelmed with anticipation and delight that your fingers tremor just slightly.

You are so ready to meet your Avatar and link up for the first time, but the thought of anything going wrong makes you restless. You wish you could just get it over with so you could stop agonizing over it.

Margot finally finishes her food and stands up to dump her plate. James does the same, and then all five of you are off, walking down a long hallway with lots of twists and turns. The fluorescent  lights shine brightly on the ceiling, and you can hear the distant sounds of never-ending construction.

Even with all five of you working together to get to your destination, the new buildings are too much for your group and you get lost in the labyrinth of hallways. James even has to ask a nearby custodian for directions once or twice. When you turn a corner, you spot a bathroom sign, and suddenly you have business to take care of. You pat Margot’s arm and point in that direction.

“Hey, guys, I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you there, okay?”

The rest of the group nods, but Margot decides to go with you. You do your business and you’re washing your hands in the sink when Margot makes eye contact with you through the mirror as she washes her own hands.

“I won’t lie, honey, I’m feeling pretty nervous about linking up as well. I know we’ve been through training simulations and have studied and practiced for years, but this is going to be different.” Her face and voice are uncharacteristically serious, and her hands shake just slightly as she pulls a towel out of the dispenser to dry her hands.

You feel a flash of sympathy for your friend, stopping your own drying. You walk around to her and put your hands on her shoulders, leaning your face close to hers.

“It’ll be okay, Margot, we’ve both got this. We just need to do it, and then it’ll be as easy as breathing before we know it, okay?”

Margot nods and takes a deep breath, looking down for a moment. When she looks up she’s much calmer, and her usual peppy attitude is back and shining.

“Thanks, sugar.”

You nod understandingly, releasing her shoulders and knocking her hip with yours as you walk toward the bathroom door. You both step outside into the hallway and continue your way.

“Of course. And besides, I’m just so ready to finally see her, you know? We’ve seen pictures and videos, but actually being there in real life is going to feel so surreal. The Na’vi are just stunning to me. Ooh, I almost forgot!”

You stop walking as you talk, scientist-brain taking over. Margot moves to stand in front of you, crossing her arms over her chest with an amused expression. This was far from the first time you had gone on a tangent.

“I saw someone from the recombinant unit when I was walking around yesterday, and he was fucking huge!”

You’re so busy trying to organize your thought flow into something sensible that you completely miss the approaching footsteps coming from behind you, and the way Margot looks over your shoulder and turns white.

You continue on, oblivious.

“He must have been pretty high ranking because the people with him followed him around like little ducklings. And the blue pigment of his skin was so beautiful. The color contrast of his eyes versus his skin kind of reminded me of a Primula ‘Zebra Blue’, you know, that blue and golden flower that went extinct like a hundred years ago? It was just amazing to finally see in person, and I-”

“Well, aren’t you just a peach?”

The deep voice that comes from behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You whirl around, expecting to come face to face with whomever just spoke. Instead, you come eye level with the belt buckle and zipper of a pair of navy green camo military pants.

Your heart drops to your shoes.

You tilt your head up, up, up, until it’s practically craning backward. The uncomfortable position hurts, but that’s the least of your problems.

Your biggest problem, literally and figuratively, is the cold eyes and carefully amused face of the man you were just talking about.

You open your mouth to speak but words refuse to leave.

Why does this shit always happen to me?

You clamp your mouth shut when no words appear and swallow nervously, and the man notices your tense expression.

He smirks down at you, almost sneering. From the way he towers over you closely, unconcerned with personal space, it’s clear that this man likes to have people’s attention on him, takes pleasure in scaring people with his massive height and muscles.

And his intimidation tactics completely work on you, that’s for sure.

Jesus, look at his hands. He could cover my entire face and upper torso with just one of them!

You want to put as much distance between this frightening man and yourself as possible. But there’s a little voice in the back of your head, a stupid, too-curious little voice, that want you to examine him all the way from the finger pads and palm lines of his hands to the tip of his tail.

He was terrifying, yes, but you are also stunned by the wonderful science and technology that made up his body.

Of course, you’d seen holographs and pictures of Avatars and the Na’vi people, but they could never hold a candle to the real thing.

The navy green tank top, tattoo, and dog tags were all familiar things, but his height and the bright, smooth blue color of his skin were brand-new to you, something you wanted to take a closer look at. His hair was shaved closer to his skull than any other you’d seen, Avatar and Na’vi alike.

His bright yellow eyes sear into yours, and it feels like he is trying to see into your fucking soul.

Your heart rate skyrockets, mortified and thrilled and fearful all at once. The pile of extreme emotions twists your stomach, making you queasy.

Do not fucking puke on his shoes.

The man takes a step back to make room for his massive arm before he lifts it up, clearly holding his hand between you for a handshake. It almost seems as though he is testing your nerve; you wonder how many people had chosen not to shake his hand, too frightened.

“The name’s Colonel Quaritch, pleasure to meet you. What’s your name.” It’s a demand more than a question.  

You look up at his face again before quickly wiping your hands on your lab coat to get rid of any sweat. You grab onto his hand as best as you can with your own, and holy shit.

His hand engulfs your own minuscule one and part of your forearm, his fingers reaching almost all the way to your elbow. And the skin of his hand is surprisingly soft; he doesn’t have as many calluses as you thought a marine would, but that might be because his Avatar body is fairly new. You tell him your name, and say,

“Uh, sorry, sir! I’m a xenobotanist from the science division, I got here about two weeks ago!” Your voice is squeaky and louder than you want it to be, making you cringe. You barely remember to shake his hand as you speak other than simply hold it in your own.

He continues to stare at you, wicked smile only growing when you say you’re a scientist.

“Ah, you tree-huggers are officially back, then. Part of the ‘newly instated Avatar program’, right?”

“Uh, y-yes, sir. That’s us.” You laugh weakly.

He barely twitches the fingers of the hand still holding your own, but the strength that comes from them is enough to make his grip almost painful.

“Hmmm. Well, I’m real curious to see how long you and your friend last before Pandora eats you alive. Just as a friendly warnin’, you should be real careful about what you say and who you say it about ‘round here. Guess I’ll be seein’ you. Peach.”

Your knees weaken and you nod hurriedly.

He finally releases your hand, gives you one last cold, golden look, and continues on his way. His bare arm brushes your shoulder as he passes you, and it’s enough to make you shiver.

He’s gone in just a few seconds, but you stay rooted in your spot, staring at the floor. You’re wondering if he’s going to come back and shank you with the wicked knife you’d seen strapped to his thigh when a hand gently presses against your shoulder.

You leap into the air for the second time that day, hand slamming into your chest and breath coming out in a gasp as you realize it’s just Margot. You’d completely forgotten she was even there, too consumed with the encompassing presence of Colonel Quaritch.

You look at her, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Margot returns your stunned look, face paler than you’ve ever seen it before.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit. You have the worst luck out of anyone I’ve ever met in my entire life. What the fuck just happened?”

You gulp. “I’m pretty sure that a terrifying man who wouldn’t hesitate to gut me overheard me practically gushing about him?”

She nods. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You stand there, practically swaying on your feet. “Oh my god, he fucking hates me! Did you see the look on his face? Oh my god, why is this happening? I’m never going to able to leave my room again!”

You bury your face into your hands, suddenly exhausted. First the mess hall, now this? Why couldn’t you just not embarrass yourself for once?

Margot pats your shoulder as you groan. “There, there. It’s alright, all you have to do is avoid him for the rest of your life. If you don’t, I’m pretty sure the next time you see him he’ll either just ignore you or kill you for saying all that stuff about him, and then you won’t have to worry about it anymore!”

“But I didn’t even mean it in a bad way! I was just describing him, the same way I do with all unknown subjects.”

Margot winces. “Uh, yeah, I would definitely not tell him that.”

------

You feel like whining as you finally continue walking to the linking center. After all that, the excitement you had felt at meeting your Avatar had almost completely disappeared. Now, the only thing you wanted to do was crawl back to your room and hide underneath your blankets forever.

But Margot pulls on your hand and ignores your childish wishes. When you arrive, she practically has to push you into the room.

And then every single thing, all of your hard work, the training, the learning, even the awkwardness of that day, was suddenly all worth it when you saw her for the first time.

She was curled up in the tank, cords attached to her body and eyes moving behind her closed lids. She floated gently around in the liquid that surrounded her, sometimes twitching a limb as she slept on.

You approach the tank, mind blank and mouth dry. As you get closer, you can see the details of her face, your face, just shifted into the feline-like features of a Na’vi.

She stole the breath straight from your lungs.

And that was how you spent the next few weeks, gazing at her slash yourself. Eventually, the time came for the first linkup, and everything went well, just like you had told Margot.

You spent the next month linking into your Avatar and wandering around the facilities, checking your reflexes and consuming everything Pandora had to offer while still in the confined space of Bridgehead City.

The disorientation from linking was enough to make you lay in a cot for an half an hour each time, too dizzy to move much. It’s such a bizarre feeling, suddenly being so much taller than everything else, and you are so much stronger than you are as a human.

It took a long time to remember your strength, and you accidentally put dents into a metal door handle when you grabbed it, squeezing it much harder than you meant to. The tiny little humans helping you gave you a pretty wide berth after that, only approaching when necessary.

You practiced using your new body, walking around without sitting on your long-haired queue or stepping on your new tail, which flailed around with a mind of its own. You liked to press your tongue to your sharp canines and look at the swaying tendrils attached to your hair.

It was an exhausting, thrilling process, and you loved every second of it.

None of the new Avatars had yet to actually leave Bridgehead and go into the forest yet. It would probably take a few more weeks for that to happen, and even then, you would probably only be allowed into the tree line past the Kill Zone.

Still, you eagerly look forward to that day, barely able to contain yourself in your excitement. It’s all you can think of day and night, and even in your dreams. On that day, you would be accomplishing so much more than a lifelong goal.  

Now, your group is relaxing in one of the lounges used for breaks, discussing your experience with linking and Pandora. It was something you’d been talking about for the past few hours, the past few weeks, really. It wasn’t like any of you had very much in common with each other, other than your careers and education, but you were trying to dig a little deeper to learn more about these people.

The only problem was they were more antisocial than not, which was almost to be expected by a bunch of scientists. They were also hesitant to speak much about their past. You were the same way. They probably wouldn’t be here if they had a very pleasant past filled with lots of people they wanted to stay with back home.

You eat the small bag of crackers you’d snagged from one of the vending machines lining the gray walls of the room, hoping that the tiny treat will hold you until your next meal. The chair you are leaning back in creaks dangerously and wobbles, but you hold your precarious position, feet pulled up and crossed on the table in front of you.

Your mind wanders as the chatter of the group drifts in and out of your ears. You think of nothing in particular, dazing out of focus, simply relaxing for once.

That peace is shattered when James leaps from his chair further down the table where he and Emma sit. They’re playing an old-fashioned card game; one you’ve never heard of before. When you asked James where he learned it from, he said his great-grandfather had taught it to him. Something called ‘Go Fish’.

James raises his arms above his head in apparent victory, grinning fiercely.

“That’s round three for me, Emma!”

Emma is giggling behind her hand, cheeks flushed a bright pink. She keeps her eyes on James as he playfully postures at winning, and the sight of her joy makes you grin.

You look across the table at Margot and wiggle your eyebrows. She laughs quietly, nodding in agreement.

Sweet Emma and James. You’re almost surprised that they developed such an obvious, big fat crush on each other out of all people, given that their personalities are so different.

Maybe opposites really do attract?

Whatever the reason may be, you hope your friends find happiness in one another. The world could certainly do with more love.  

Margot scoffs in disgust and curls her lip at her empty plate, apparently already over the tooth-rotting sweetness that was Emma and James.

She throws down her silverware onto the table and leans back in her chair, pout firm on her face.

“The food here is ass! You’d think a multi-trillion-dollar company would be able to feed its employees with something other than more fucking oatmeal. I’m so damn tired of oatmeal! It’s been most of our meals for the past month!”

“The supply shipment is late, you know that.” Is all you say. There is nothing to gain from arguing with Margot when she gets into one of these hungry moods.

“Then they need to make it un-late and bring me my fucking muffins!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that ‘un-late’ isn’t even a word, but I do agree with you. Oatmeal reserves are getting pretty old.”

Margot nods vigorously, leaning forward and placing her hands on the table.

“Coup? Coup? Anybody interested?”

You throw back your head and laugh, “Margot, we’re not going throw a coup just because there aren’t any muffins! I thought you had saved a bunch of snacks the last time this happened?”

Margot deflates. “I ate them all already and the vending machines are out of my favorites!”

“Oh, Margot.”

“I know! Somebody just put me out of my misery.” She plants her face into her crossed arms on the table, moping.

“You know, you always complain about the food here, Margot, but that never seems to stop you from scarfing it down,” James says, putting himself into your conversation. He sits in his chair still, shuffling the deck of cards as he smirks at Margot.

“I have to eat it, it’s the only thing they have here!”

You open your mouth to say something, only to pause when a big blue hand reaches around the curve of the open doorway like something out of a horror movie. You sit there, gaping, as Colonel Quaritch crouches down through the opening and steps into the break room.

Margot, James, and Emma see your startled face and turn to see what you’re looking at. When they see Quaritch, they all lurch out of their seats to stand up straight. The cards Emma and James were playing with go flying all over the table and the ground, and Margot nearly knocks her plate off the table.

Quaritch straightens up and stands, several feet taller than any of you. He rests his hand on the holster of the belt wrapped around his trim waistline and practically cocks his hip as he looks directly at you.

You’re still sitting, cracker packet now crushed to a pulp in your right hand. When he looks at you, you finally jolt up to your feet. You dust off the cracker crumbs from your shirt as best you can, anxiety filling you.

“S-Sir!”

What the hell is he doing here!?

He saunters into the room until he’s standing by the table, just a few feet from you. You crane your head up to look at him, baffled and worried.

“Is there…anything you need, sir?” You can’t help the way your eyebrows scrunch up as you ask, clearly confused.

He stares down at you, head tilting to the side as if pondering something. Eventually, he speaks.

“Walk with me.”

And then he turns on his heel and ducks out of the room as quickly as he had entered. You stand, frozen, turning a bewildered stare to your group of friends. They stare back at you, just as perplexed, until Margot urges you to follow him with a push of her hand on your back.

You get your limbs to move and start walking after him, exiting the break room and finding him waiting. Once he sees you’re following after him, he continues walking down the hallway without a word.

The silence is almost uncomfortable as you walk several hallway lengths away from the lounge to some unknown destination. You’re almost tempted to break it to ask where the hell he’s taking you, but fear of his biting words keeps your mouth shut.

His legs are so long that his stride is practically jogging for you, and you have to speed walk so you don’t get left behind. He notices you struggling but doesn’t slow down one bit. In fact, the bastard smirks meanly at your frustration and funny walking pace.

You scowl at his amusement but refuse to say a word.

Finally, Quaritch stops in front of an enormous metal door, and he takes a key from his pocket and twists it into the lock on the doorknob. He opens it and walks in, and then gestures for you to do the same with an impatient wave of his hand.

You hurriedly scuttle in, freaking out even more. If he’s taking you to his office then he must have something serious to talk about, right? Was he going to punish you for what you said, was he going to yell at you, threaten you? You’re practically sweating, fingers twisting as your imagination goes wild.

You take a moment to break out of your thoughts and look around.

You pause.

You stand in the middle of the room, eyes locked onto one thing and one thing only: the large bed laying flush up against the corner of the space.

Who keeps a bed in their office? Is the first thing that comes to your mind. Confusion rushes through you and you look around the room, taking in the closet doors, the large desk tucked into the corner across the room parallel to the bed, the empty walls just as barren as your own room.

Your own room.

Ohmygod I’m in his room. Why would he bring me to his room!?

You whirl around, and Quaritch is standing so close to you that your face nearly smacks into his crotch.

You leap backward with a yelp and jump when Quaritch barks out a loud, unfriendly laugh and then sneers at you.

“I would’ve taken you to my office before, but it seems I don’t have one of those anymore. So, this’ll have to do.”

Confusion layered with frustration comes back to you, and your eyebrows furrow. “Do for what, sir?” You barely remember to tack on the ‘sir’ at the end of your sentence.

His face suddenly breaks out into a sharp-toothed grin, and he leans back, smug once more. You were really starting to get tired of that expression.

“I have a… proposition, for you.”

You barely refrain from turning a wide-eyed, horrified look at the bed.

Under any other circumstance, if a man had taken you to his bedroom and said he was propositioning you, you would be real worried. Red flags would pop up in your brain, mind demanding you flee fast.

But these aren’t normal circumstances, given that one of his arms alone is almost as big as your body. And you didn’t really get the impression that was something he was looking for right now, so you shake your head to get rid of any crude thoughts. You refuse to lower your guard, though, still uneasy.

“Uh, a proposition, sir?”

“Yes. You see, I’m under the firm belief that to destroy your enemies, you have to think like ‘em, be like ‘em. Kill like ‘em, eat like ‘em, shit like ‘em, that sorta thing.”

He takes a step closer and you take one back.

“And if I want to have even a snowball’s chance in hell of finding Jake Sully and the rest of the natives, I’m going to need to put myself in their shoes, metaphorically speaking. But most of the people here are military, marines, people with no knowledge of the Na’vi except how best to kill ‘em.”

“So. Who best to teach me how to be Na’vi other than one of the soft-hearted, limp-dicked scientists who just eats up Na’vi shit like it’s Mamma’s home-baked cookies?”

His yellow eyes burn into yours.

“One specific little scientist came to mind, you see, when I was thinkin’.”

You knew it was coming, but that doesn’t stop you from blanching. You shove a finger in your chest and point at yourself like an idiot.

“Me?”

Quaritch finally leans back, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, you.”

You sputter, mind going a thousand miles per hour.

“But-but, I’m not even an anthropologist, sir! I study foreign plant and-and animal life! Emma, she is the one in anthropology, you should talk to her!”

Quaritch scoffs.

“Emma Rodrigo can barely string a sentence together without pissin’ her pants, let alone teach me to do anythin’.” He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles bulging. His wicked teeth glint in the fluorescent lighting as he grins.

“Nah, I think it outta be you. Peach.”

Shit, shit, shit!

I was right, I should have just gone to my room and never come out.

“But-”

“You can say no, ‘course. This ain’t an order.” The look in his eyes says otherwise. If you decline, you’re sure you’ll either be cleaning toilets for the rest of your life or found dead with his knife in your gut. There is no going easy with this guy.

You gape at him, dumbstruck by the bizarre turn your day had taken. You had hoped you would never have to see this terrifying man ever again, fully prepared to cower and duck out of every room you saw him in. Now, he was asking you, of all people on this base, to teach him?

While this guy had the height and look of a Na’vi, he seemed to utterly despise everything about them. Was it even possible for him to learn anything about the Na’vi, their culture and their language, for it to really make a difference in whether he found them or not?

You weren’t even good at teaching! You were far better at learning and observing than educating people, and you had never been interested in changing that. Could you really teach this guy anything? Was he even capable of learning?

Your face hardens as you realize you’re faced with no other choice but to accept.

I guess we’ll see.

“You know, if you’re too chicken-shit to help me out, I could always get-”

“I’ll do it.” Your voice comes out firm, as confidently as you dared to speak to him.

“…oh?” He raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. And skeptical, the asshole.

You nod your head, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You are nervous, yes, but it had been decided. There was no going back now.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Yes. I’ll teach you everything you want to know about the Na’vi. But I-I also want something in return.”

His eyebrow raises higher.

You muster all the courage and audacity you can find in your body. Admittedly, there isn’t much, but you scrounge up enough to say the next few words aloud,

“In exchange for teaching you, I want you to teach me how to fight. I need to be able to protect myself when I’m out in the forest collecting samples, and I would ask one of my friends, but they can barely handle butter knives. And you are obviously…”

You eye him from top to bottom, eyes lingering on his massive arms before you can stop yourself.

“…capable.” You finish lamely, swallowing. You refuse to back down though, tilting your chin up and keeping eye contact.

Quaritch grins slowly.

“Well, little Peach, you certainly have bigger balls than I thought! It’s a deal-”

You hold your hand out for a handshake, palm open.

“To make it official.”

Quaritch glances down at your hand and then at your face, expression unreadable. And then, slowly, he reaches to grasp your hand and most of your arm once more. He pumps your entire arm down three times, eyes never leaving yours.

If you dared to think it, you might have thought he looked almost…impressed.

You clear your throat, face on fire. “So. When would work best for you, for our lessons?”

“…0500 every day for the next two months outta do it.”

Your eyes widen in horror, mouth dropping open all over again in protest. You barely keep yourself from grasping your chest in shock.

These military guys, did they never learn how to fucking sleep in!? That’s so damn early!

His sneering smirk returns to his face at your reaction, “Come on, Peach! Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ll tell me everything I need to know about the tree-fuckers, and I’ll teach you how to take a fist to the face, that sound good? About two hours each, four hours in total every single god-damn day. Good? Good.”

You sputter, hardly believing your ears. “Four hours every day? Don’t you have better things to do!?”

“Nope. My entire purpose for existing is to capture the traitor Jake Sully and end this war once and for all. With your help, I might actually be able to do that, which means that your time is now my time. Got it?”

You nod, queasy. It seems like all of your bravado from earlier had fled, leaving you with only the shakes and a bad feeling in your stomach.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl, Peach. Knew you had it in ya’!”

He claps your shoulder, and even through your shirt you can feel the warmth leaching off his hand and into your own skin.

The grin he wears makes you shiver, and you suddenly feel like prey that had just been caught by a predator, sharp teeth sinking into your neck and bleeding you dry.

He leads you to the door of his bedroom and practically tosses you out, done with you now that he had gotten what he wanted. He barely gives himself a chance to say, “See you bright an’ early tomorrow morning, Peach!” before he is slamming the door in your gawking face.

You stood outside his door for a few moments, simply processing. Eventually, you’re able to make your feet unstick from the floor and you wander back to the break room in a daze, mind clouded.

I can’t fucking believe that just happened. This is going to change my entire schedule for the next few months! Jesus Christ.

You practically stumble through the hallways toward your destination. Once you reach the door to the break room, you lean your arm against it and press your forehead into your arm. Your eyes close, and your heart jackhammers in your chest.

I don’t there’s anyone in my entire life who has ever made me as nervous as that guy. Holy shit.

You take deep breaths, trying to relax your muscles and get some air into your lungs. It takes a few moments, but eventually you’re able to get your heart rate down to a steady pump.

You lick your lips, suddenly parched.

When you lean up from your perch against the door and open your eyes, you can see the faint form of your face shining up from the metal of the door. Your pupils are blown, eyes still wide, and your cheeks are red.

He is seriously the scariest motherfucker I’ve ever met. And now I’m going to have to teach him things! I don’t know how I’m going to do it without passing out a few times, ohmygod. This is going to be miserable.

You swallow as best you can with a dry throat and shakily reach up to fix your messy hair, smoothing down flyaways. You straighten your shirt, crack your neck, and plaster a calm smile onto your face.

There’s no reason to let them know how terrified I am.

You open the door to the break room and step inside, ready to answer any questions they must surely have, and…

The room is empty.

You deflate, hand rubbing down your face and feeling embarrassed.

Of course they wouldn’t wait, we have a linking session in thirty minutes…that I am now late for. Fantastic.

------

You spend the rest of the day completely distracted, too worried about what might happen the next morning. It even took longer than usual for you to link into your Avatar, and when you were finally able to get outside, you had to answer to the swarm of nosy scientists you called your friends.

They were just concerned, you knew, but you didn’t like having to relive the entire stressful event down to the last detail. Still, you gave in and spilled, telling them about Quaritch’s ‘proposition’ (ha!) and leaving out the part where he had taken you to his bedroom.  

They had all given you looks that ranged from horrified -Emma-, sympathetic -Margot and James-, and utterly uncaring -David-.

You start drinking from your water bottle franticly after you tell them everything, feeling anxious all over again.

“Well, maybe this won’t be such a bad thing,” Margot says, expression turning contemplative. All members of your group are sitting outside around a creaky wooden table in your Avatar forms, enjoying the fresh, sweet air and the bright light of Pandora as the rays warm your cyan skin. When you tilt your head back to let it shine on your face, it almost feels like home had been before the pollution clouded the sky.

Your hearing in this form is incredibly sensitive, and it hurts to hear the loud, never-ending beeping and rumbling of production taking place. It had taken you weeks to spend much time outside, and even then, you still sometimes have to put your hands over your big pointy ears when the sounds become too overwhelming.

Margot curls her large fingers underneath her chin and props her head up in her hand, “I mean, you’ll learn to protect yourself, so there’s that. Also, um…” She looks at the rest of the group mischievously, and they all get questioning looks on their faces.

She clears her throat and leans in closer to you. She puts a hand in front of her mouth, blocking it from the others, and whispers into your ear,

“I really, really wouldn’t mind getting to see how big his dick actually is and maybe you’ll get a chance.”

You choke on the water pouring into your mouth, spraying it all over the table you are sitting at. The liquid gets caught in your throat, causing you to cough painfully.

“Oh my god, Margot!” you screech, still coughing into your elbow and voice coming out scratchy. Your watery eyes glare at her over your arm.

Margot shrugs, “What, I was just saying what we were all thinking. He’s the biggest guy here, which has gotta mean something, right?” She wiggles her eyebrows and grins salaciously, and you bury your face into your arm.

“If he ever heard you saying anything like that, he would put his knife straight through your face without even hesitating!”

“I’ll let him put something else in my face if he wants.”

“Margot!”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed that Colonel Miles Quaritch was a beautiful man. It would be impossible, really. Despite the sneer he always seemed to have on his face, the deep cyan of his skin, his wide, golden eyes, and his tall, broad frame were enough to make anybody swoon.

And his feline features weren’t the only thing that made him attractive. You could see his beauty in his long-fingered and broad hands, in his high cheekbones, in the curve of his lips even when they were curled up in disdain. 

It wouldn’t surprise you to learn that a lot of people thought he was attractive just because of his attitude, either. Back home it seemed that everyone was interested in the cocky, proud, manly posturing that Quaritch seemed to like to do.

But despite how pretty he may be, he was also absolutely, shit-your-pants terrifying, and an asshole, which was enough for you to keep it in your pants. That, and the fact that he hated your guts.

“Trust me, Margot, I’ll be too busy trying not to piss him off again to see how big anything is.”

Great, now I’m thinking about his dick.

Margot rolls her eyes but leans back in her seat and drops the subject, “Your loss, then.”

James strikes up a new topic, just as embarrassed as you, and you slouch gratefully back into your seat, glad that the interrogation is over.

It’s nearing darkness by the time you all finish your linking sessions, and the group shuffles their way back into the sleeping center for the Avatars. You move over to your assigned bed, crawling under the soft sheets and sighing deeply.

You lightly traced your right-hand index finger over the smooth skin of your left arm, causing goosebumps to rise. It was still so strange, being able to actually feel with a body that was yours but not, having so many new features that you still have to adjust to even weeks later. Having a whole-ass tail, being several feet taller than any human alive, having super strength, hell, even being blue was still just totally fucking weird.

You lay back into the cot and attempt to clear your mind from any thoughts, but it was just as hard as it had been when you had linked earlier. After a few minutes, you are finally able to silence your mind and drift off just enough for the link to become secure and for you to wake up in the gel link bed, back in your human body.

By the time you walk to your room, you are bone-wary, almost stumbling on your feet. You dread the coming morning, and the only thing you want to do now is turn off your brain and rest. Your shoulders hurt from the stress of the day, and when you finally unlock your bedroom door, take off your clothes, shower, and brush your teeth, you’re practically hunched over.

You shuffle under the covers once again, and you’re unconscious before your head can fully settle onto the pillow. 

------

Your eyes pop open, arms and legs flailing wildly in your sheets as you struggle to reach over to your alarm clock to silence its screaming. When you finally smack it, the crack of your hand connecting with its durable metal makes your palm sting angrily.

You let out a hoarse groan, cradling your hand to your chest as you flop down onto your bed. It had barely felt like you had gotten a wink of sleep last night, too busy thinking about your approaching morning with Quaritch. Scenarios ranging from you accidentally stabbing him to him purposefully stabbing you ran through your head, keeping you awake after only a few hours of rest.

Eventually, you stop your moping and reluctantly pull yourself out of your bed, eyes blearily glaring around your room.

It’s still a gray and sad little space, your room, but you had placed the small number of personal items you brought with you to Pandora throughout it. The one picture you had of your parents sits framed on your desk, along with your holotablet.  

The few items of clothing and the two pairs of shoes you owned were put up in your closet haphazardly, and your hygienic amenities were scattered across the small bathroom connected to your room.

Your room and areas beyond it are all so generic and boring, which is why you spend most of your time either with your group or outside in your Avatar, being able to run around and feel. And once you were finally able to leave Bridgehead, your life would start, and it wouldn’t matter what your room looked like.

You tiredly get dressed and brush your teeth and your wild hair, putting it up into a simple ponytail to keep it out of your face. Once you’re suitable, you head out and lock the door behind you, placing the key in the right pocket of your jeans.

The hallways are quiet for once, and even the incessant roaring of construction has stopped. You walk down the softly lit hallways to the mess hall, unreasonably jealous of the people who get to sleep in their beds.

Most of the lights are off when you walk in, but to your surprise, there are a few people sitting down at a table already eating their breakfast.

Guess my assumption about the military was right, they really don’t know how to sleep in.

To your delight, there is a light amount of muffins and bagels laid out on a table nearby, but the most important thing was the coffee pot next to them.

Looks like the shipment finally came in. Margot is going to piss her pants.

You gladly snag two muffins with napkins and two small cups of coffee, heading right back out the door to the hallway with a friendly smile to the person walking in. They look blankly back at you, but you don’t mind as you stuff a chocolate chip muffin into your mouth as you walk.

You shuffle the remaining muffin and cups into your left hand and elbow crook, grasping the cold metal handle of the glass door that leads into the center with your right hand. You can see a head of black curls poke out from the side of a monitor, followed quickly by a scowl and a pair of eyes glaring blearily at you as you walk in.

You wince. “Morning, Tom. Thanks again for doing this, I really appreciate it.”

Tom had been the unlucky soul you had asked to help link you into your Avatar every morning for the foreseeable future. He had balked when you had asked, saying “Hell no!” before the words were fully out of your mouth. You had leveled him with your best begging look and offered to pay for six of the ridiculously expensive books you know he liked to read coming in on the next supply shipment.

He grouchily agreed to the deal but demanded you bring him breakfast every morning. You had accepted with a pleased smile.

Tom rolls his eyes and snatches the cup of coffee from your hand when you offer it. You’re about to warn him about how hot it was when he gulps half of it down. You watch, halfway impressed and halfway feeling the pain for him in your own throat.

“Let’s get started, then.” His voice is even more crackly than yours is this early.

You nod hurriedly and take one last sip of your coffee before you reluctantly set it down on the table. You walk over to the link bed and crawl in, and Tom pulls the cover down over you. You settle in, closing your eyes to clear your mind.

------

“There ya’ are, Peach! I was startin’ to think you’d chickened out on me.” Quaritch’s loud voice startles you out of your sleepy trance, and your head snaps up from where it is laying against the metal table you are sitting at.

The asshole looks as awake and lucid as usual, not a hint of tiredness on his face. He grins nastily when he sees your sleepy expression.

“We didn’t agree on a place to meet up, sir.” You are barely able to cover your yawn with a hand, and you stand with a grimace.

“That is true. From now on, we’ll do our lessons in Courtyard Six. Try to keep up.”

He turns and walks away, clearly expecting you to follow. You hurry to catch up with his long stride, but it’s much easier to do in this form. He’s almost ten feet tall, but your Avatar is eight and a half feet tall, and you are able to lengthen your stride to match his pace. Your shoulder width and muscles are still much smaller than his, but you imagined most were.

As you step in close to him, your nose twitches, and you realize something that almost makes you trip.

Quaritch smells really, really good.

You lean in closer to him and inhale discreetly, deeper than before, and, yep, that scent is definitely coming from him.

It is such a rich scent, a strange combination of rainwater, black coffee, and something smoky, like a campfire.  

The smell is so strong that it feels like a physical mist floating its way through your nose and ears and into your head. Your mind goes fuzzy, as if suddenly stuffed with cotton. Your lips and fingertips tingle. And to your absolute horror, you can actually feel your mouth start to water.

It’s just such a lovely scent.

Do you think he’d be okay with it if I pressed my nose into his neck to smell him better-No!

You try to break out of the mist, shaking your head to get rid of the images of licking up his neck, tasting his skin, the way his head would tilt back and you would be able to feel his rumbling groan spread through his chest pressed up against your own and-

Stop it! Jesus Christ, don’t even think about it!

This is just a completely normal physical reaction, right? Maybe, but it wasn’t like this with the other guys!

In front of you, Quaritch’s footsteps stutter to a stop for a split second before resuming. It’s barely a pause, but it’s enough to make you snap out of your thoughts and look up at him. When you do, you notice the slight twitching of his own feline-like nose.

Is he smelling the same thing?

He turns his head around slightly to look at you, and you make eye contact with him just enough to notice his pupils are blown out, consuming most of his iris.

My eyes are probably no better, you think, before ducking your head to watch your feet as you walk.

Quaritch stares at you for a moment and then turns his attention back toward the path, and you do the same. You discreetly rub at your sensitive nose, trying to get his fantastic scent out of your head. A few moments after you do, Quaritch rubs at his own nose.

It doesn’t work, but by the time you reach the courtyard you’ve already gotten a little used to it. Thankfully you don’t feel as lightheaded anymore, but you have no idea if it is going to come back.

You notice that the sky has begun to lighten up as Quaritch unlocks the chain-link gate leading into the yard. Not that you really need any light, what with being able to see in the dark and all.

 He stops once you enter and closes the gate behind you, and you can immediately tell why he had chosen this courtyard out of all the others. It was hidden behind a big wall of concrete that had no windows, so nobody could see you from inside the building, and it was positioned all the way in the back of the court section, meaning it was far more remote and private than the others.

Probably doesn’t want his tough guy image to be hurt when people saw him learning about the Na’vi and chatting with a little scientist, the prick.

The enclosure is a simple little area with a small basketball court, a tetherball pole, and a metal table. Nothing special, but it would be perfect for your lessons. 

He turns around to meet your eyes, and you still have to tilt your head back to return his yellow gaze. The bioluminescent markings on his face glow brightly.  

“You wanna go first, Peach?”

You swallow nervously but nod, “I’ll go first. I thought a lot about what our first lesson was going to be last night.”

You drop down onto the soft faux grass that covered the courtyard, legs crisscross applesauce in front of you as you avoid sitting on your flicking tail. You look up at him expectantly when he continues to stand.

Quaritch looks at the table sitting just a few feet away and shrugs. He plops down onto the grass hesitantly and crosses his legs in front of him the same as you. Now that he’s actually here, all the plans you made completely leave your brain, and you mind turns blank as you struggle to come up with something to say. You both sit there in silence for a few moments before he says,

“So are you actually going to say anything in this lesson or what? Usually I can’t get you quacks to shut the fuck up-”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just trying to figure out where to start. Um…” Your brain flashes to what Quaritch had said when he started this whole thing, wanting to learn more about the way the Na’vi think, what’s important to them, how they work.

“Okay. Well, I guess the first place to start would be at the very beginning. Millions of years ago, when-”

Quaritch interrupts you with a loud groan, throwing his head back in exasperation, “I’m not askin’ for a history lesson here, Peach. Just tell me about them now, how they operate now, in this time, not millions of years ago! Jesus Christ, you pretentious assholes always have to drag things out-”

“Okay, alright, I’m sorry! Um, so the most important thing to know about the Na’vi is their connection to nature, their connection to Eywa. You’ve heard about Her, right?”

You continue to speak when Quaritch nods. “Right, well, She protects the balance of life here on Pandora, and the Na’vi love Eywa, the Great Mother. All things on Pandora are connected to each other through Eywa; you, me, plants, animals, you name it. Life and the forest are sacred to them because it bonds them to Eywa. They can actually speak to Her, and there are places like the Tree of Souls and the Tree of Voices that are sacred to them. They connect all the Na’vi to Eywa and to their ancestors, and they can actually hear the voices of past living people, isn’t that amazing? Are you with me so far?”

Quaritch nods again, surprisingly quiet. In fact, it’s probably the longest you’ve ever seen him be silent. His face is carefully blank, eyebrows furrowed with some unnamed emotion as he listens to you speak.

And that’s how the next two hours go, you talking and Quaritch listening with rapt attention. You had no idea if what you were talking about was anything Quaritch wanted to hear, but he didn’t interrupt you other than to ask a rare question.  

About an hour in you stood up and stretched, bones popping and limbs aching from sitting on the ground for so long. Your ass was practically numb, and your left leg was stinging with pins and needles. You put your hands on your hips and looked down at Quaritch, who remained sitting on the grass.

For the first time ever, you were actually the one towering over him, and the thought made you grin as he looked up at you.

It seemed he could tell what you were thinking, because he scowled and pulled himself up on his feet, looming over you once more. He stretched his long arms above his head to get the blood flowing back in, groaning just like you had a moment ago.

You paused your own movement, gaze lingering on the way his strong muscles shifted underneath his pretty blue skin. They bunched up as his arms flexed, and your mouth turned dry.

Your eyes flickered over them for a few moments and then shifted to his face. Your stomach swooped low as you realized he had caught you looking, and you stared at him in mortification as his sneering, arrogant smile returned full force to his face. He looked so smug.

You had no idea your Avatar could even blush from embarrassment, but your cheeks burned all the same. You hurriedly turned your gaze away from him entirely, eyes squeezed shut.

He let out a low, unpleasant chuckle, clearly taking immense pleasure in your misery.

Asshole!

You stood for a few more minutes, back facing him as you pretended to examine the sky with incredible interest, waiting for your blush to fade and your stomach to settle. Eventually, you both sat on the grass once again, and you resumed your speech.

You talked about all things Na’vi related, from their connection to Eywa to what they wore, what they ate, their ceremonies, anything that popped into your head that you felt was important to mention.

In the grand scheme of things, you weren’t able to cover very much ground before your two hours were up and your lesson ended for the day.

By this time, Pandora’s light has returned from the eclipse, shining down brightly on both of you.

“So, how did I do?” you dare ask Quaritch.

“Well. Now I know what a Na’vi eats for breakfast, so. That’s something.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands, “I’m sorry, you said you wanted to know what they ate and everything! I promise we’ll eventually get into the more interesting and important things.”

Please don’t put me on toilet duty. I can do this!

Quaritch sighs, but says, “Don’t worry, Peach. We’ll get to the juicier parts someday. Learning to be one’s enemy is a long process, after all.”

He smacks his thighs, and the sound makes you jump, face moving away from your hands. Your nerves reignite in your stomach all over again as you realize it is now time for your lesson.

Why did I ever ask him to do this!? I should never have said anything, now I’m going to be Quaritch’s punching bag for the next few months! Idiot!

A sharp-toothed grin stretches over Quaritch’s face, and he leans in until he’s right in front of you, face close to yours. His yellow eyes bore into yours, and you can see your own terrified expression reflecting right back at you.

“Time for me to teach you, Peach.”

------

 “Alright, Peach. You know how to handle a knife?”

You think about it and shake your head.

“…Okay. Do you know how to throw a punch?”

Again, you shake your head.

Quaritch curses and takes a step back, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the middle finger of his right hand between them as if praying for patience.

Both of you are standing in the middle of the small basket court, facing one another. You refuse to feel embarrassed by Quaritch’s reaction to your fighting skills, or lack thereof.

Not everyone can be a terrifying killing machine, asshole!

Quaritch seems to get the patience he was asking for, straightening up with a sigh.

“Back to the basics, then. Jesus.”

He steps up to you and places his warm, large hands on the bare skin of your shoulders. He shuffles you over closer to him, and you go willingly, body tense.

“First step in learning to defend yourself is to not be a pussy.”

Wow. Wonderful advice.

“You need to be firm in your stance and your attack, else your opponent will just be able to knock you off your feet before you can even land a hit. And if your limbs are loose, you’ll lose your balance and go flying just from your own force. Keep your core tight.”

He places a large hand firmly against the bare skin of your stomach and you suck in a surprised breath. His touch tingles through you in a way you’ve never felt before, and you look up at him with wide eyes.

He jerks his hand back and clears his throat. He walks around toward your back, and you can see the veins in his arm shift when his hand flexes by his side.

“When you throw a punch, you need to keep your wrist straight and fully extend your arm each time. Make sure you step like this,” he demonstrates, “and pull your arm like this.”

“Keep your thumb behind your index and middle fingers but out of your fist, don’t stick your pinky out, and you want to hit your opponent with these knuckles right here. Got it?”

You nod slowly, making a fist following his instructions with your right hand. He nods once and then moves in front of you. He lifts his hands in the air, palms facing outward.

“Hit me.”

Already? But I barely even- alright, you know what, I don’t even care anymore.

You shake out your arms self-consciously and try to position your body in the way he had shown you. You pull your arms up, hands folding into fists, stance widening, and you lash your arm out at him with all the strength you can muster.

Your right fist smacks against his open palm with a satisfying thwack, and you grin, tossing your arms above your head at your success.

“Your form was good, Peach, but your fist felt like getting hit with a bug. You need to work on your strength, build up your muscles and your core. Try again.”

You nod, arm flying out and hitting his palm once more.

“No, you need to keep your arm tucked in, not flying out like an idiot bird with a broken wing. Again.”

You hit his hands over and over for the next half an hour as he corrects your form and stance. As he said, you need to build your strength up in this new body, but this was a good start. He has to get in pretty close once again to show you how to move your body, but other than he seems to keep his distance.

You know, this isn’t so bad!

You hit him again a few more times before he nods, satisfied, and drops his arms.

“Now you know how to hit somebody hard, Peach. Always go for sensitive places, like the nose, groin, ears, eyes, kidney, wherever you can reach. Got it?”

You lower your own arms, panting. Reaching out to punch him hadn’t taken much movement from your arms, but doing it over and over again for half an hour made them ache terribly. You struggle to catch your breath.

It had been embarrassing, admittedly, the first few times. You had felt shy and scared all at once, unsure of yourself and uneager to be anywhere near Quaritch, let alone close enough to touch him.

Then you’d lost most of the fear the second time he had lightly smacked your cheek when he got through your defensively positioned arms. They were pretty much love taps, practically pats, but it had lit an angry fire in your stomach. Your uneasiness turned to determination to land at least one hit on him, and you forgot all about your trepidation and that this was Quaritch you were tussling with.

From the way he had grinned and curled his fingers in a ‘come-hither’ gesture, that was probably what he had been trying to do.

He also probably just liked hitting you, the dickbag.

Quaritch nods, and you fully expect him to end the lesson early for the day. What you weren’t expecting was for him to reach down and pull a massive knife from its sheath on his right thigh, bringing it up toward the light for examination.

You lean back quickly, ears flicking to the sides of your head in alarm. You had thought your punching lesson had seemed tame for him! It really wouldn’t surprise you if he decided you needed a lesson on keeping your guard up and lunged at you.  

He won’t stab me, he won’t stab me, he won’t stab me, he won’t stab me-

“This here’s a bowie knife, seventeen inches of serrated steel strong enough to cut through bone.”

He waves it around carefully, smirking at your wide-eyed look of terror.

“And this…” he leans down to put the knife back in its sheath before pulling out something else from a different pocket on his right leg, “This is your knife.”

The little knife is comically small in his giant hand, more of a switchblade than anything else.

“That’ll be the knife you use for the next week at least, so don’t lose it.”

You pluck it from his hand gingerly, fingers folding around the base as you bring it up to your eyes for closer inspection. It looks bigger in your hand than it did in his, and you can see his initials, M.Q, engraved on its tiny metal handle.

Why the hell would a guy as big as Quaritch even need a knife this small? Does he use it as a toothpick?

Nonetheless, you’re glad he didn’t give you anything bigger to use for your first time. You weren’t sure you’d be able to handle it without stabbing yourself.

He shows you how to hold it, how to slash and stab, the proper way to stand and lunge with the little blade.

After another half an hour, he nods.

“Alright, now I want you to try me.” He says, pulling his arms up close to his chest and goading you on once again with a ‘come at me’ curled hand gesture, cocky smirk in place.

You balk. “You want me to charge at you with a knife already? We just got started!”

“Yep, sure did. What, you think you could actually touch me, let alone hurt me with that little thing? Ha!”

You wince. That’s a good point.

You do what he taught you to, adjusting your grip on the blade and positioning your body and feet into the dirt, tightening your core. You take a deep breath, strengthen your muscles, and then leap with a cry.

Quaritch shifts out of the way of your knife quicker than you had yet to see him move, simply stepping to the side with an unsurprised expression.

You go sailing past him, war cry turning panicked. You drop the knife and jerk up your arms to cover your face, turning away and squeezing your eyes shut.

Just as you start tilting toward the dirt, a hand grips the back of the collar of your shirt and pulls you upright before you can even realize you aren’t falling anymore. You remained positioned for impact, hands still in front of your face to cushion your fall even as you stand on your own two feet.

You open your eyes and blink, hands patting down your front as if to make sure no injury had been done to your person.

Quaritch lets go of your collar, knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“That was fuckin’ pathetic! It was like a wet paper bag was throwin’ itself my way. And where the hell did you learn to cry out like that, ‘cause it was fuckin’ embarrassin’.”

You pay no attention to his harsh words, still stunned you hadn’t face-planted into the dirt for once.

You look up at him, starry-eyed.

“That was amazing, Quaritch! You moved so fast I could barely see you! Have you always been that quick or is it new? Could you teach me how to dodge like that?”

He stares down at you, ears flicking back against the sides of his head. An odd expression crosses his face, almost as though he was taken aback by your wonder.

He clears his throat awkwardly, turning to the side to avoid your strong eye contact.

“That doesn’t matter, not with that pathetic performance. You need ta’ be firm, like I said, and not throwin’ your weight ‘round like a pussy. Come on, do it again.”

You reach down into the dirt to pick up your little knife, and you lunge at him again. He dodges all the same, but you surprise the both of you when you don’t stop, turning around and slashing in his direction.

Of course, the blade doesn’t even touch him, but it’s the thought that counts.

He grins at you, “There you go, Peach! Way to show some initiative, I’ll make a fine soldier out of you yet. Let’s go again, come on.”

And that’s how you end your morning, trying to stab Colonel Miles Quaritch with a knife the size of one of his fingers. You’d have never thought this was where you would be when you met him all those weeks ago, but hey, if learning from him would one day save your life, you’d do it gladly.

By the time two hours have passed, you’re sweating and panting for breath, hands on your knees. Your body was still new, and you hadn’t been in it long enough for you to get past light jogging and reflex training. Honestly, the fact that you were able to do all that moving without collapsing was a god-damn miracle.

You were so much faster in this form, so much more flexible and stronger. Still, that held no comparison to the trained, experienced combat vet you were practically playing with. Because that’s what this would be called, not fighting or even training. It was like playing tag or a slapping game, cause that’s all that happened for the entire lesson.

Quaritch, the fucker, doesn’t have a drop of sweat on him. His chest rose and fell evenly, and he rested one of his hands on the gun holster he had wrapped around his hips.

“You good, Peach? Not going to puke, are ‘ya?” You’d be flattered by his concern for your well-being if it weren’t for the mean, amused tone layering his voice when he spoke.

You stay bent over for a few more moments as you struggle to catch your breath. Eventually, you’re able to rise fully upright. You answer his question, even though you know it was rhetorical,  

“I-I’m good, I think.”

Just as you finish your sentence, your stomach growls angrily, as though enraged at being denied sustenance.

Ugh.

If you weren’t exhausted and beyond caring about what Quaritch thought of you, with your floppy, sweaty form and shitty punches, you would have been embarrassed. Now, though, the only thing you do is pout. Now, you were just a little pissed and tired at getting your ass thoroughly kicked for two hours.

“I’m hungry, can we be finished for the day?”

Quaritch rolls his eyes, unimpressed, but relents.

“Yeah, Peach, we’re done. Let’s get goin’.”

You grin, relieved, and your energy returns just slightly at the thought of lunch. You bound to his side, and he leads the way out of the courtyard and into the space beyond.

The day is in full swing, scientists, soldiers, robots, and trucks all bustling around Bridgehead as you follow Quaritch close on his heels to the mess hall.

You pass by all the tiny little humans, most of whom don’t even spare either of you a glance. Either because they were used to seeing ten-foot-tall Avatars walking around or because they were too busy to give a shit. Probably both, really.

You both have to duck as you walk through the doorway, Quaritch much more than you. You walk over to the table where you had snagged the muffins for breakfast earlier that morning, grabbing three of the sandwiches that were there now instead.

Quaritch grabs six of them, piling them all onto his plate.

You’ve just started scarfing yours down when a large hand whips out across your back, slamming into you. You inhale instinctively and start choking on your food, struggling to breathe. You turn around, fully ready to smash your sandwiches into the face of whichever fucker did that when you see Quaritch’s walking away, waving the spare hand not holding his food up behind him.

“See you ‘round, Peach.”

Oh. Well, at least he said goodbye.

You drink from the water bottle you’d snagged from the mass hall and eat your sandwiches as you walk to the showering station for Avatars. You stay under the pounding warm water longer than you probably should, enjoying the way it soothes the ache in your tense arms and shoulders.

After you’re done washing away the sweat and grime, you head back to the Avatar resting area, ready to be in your own body.

It had taken you a while to learn how to hold onto the brain link connecting your bodies; the first few weeks were the worst when you were learning to hold it longer and longer. Sometimes it would break, and you would slam back into your human body with a gasp, disoriented and head pounding.

Now, though, you were much better at holding onto the link for longer periods, even if it still gave you a headache.

You settle back into the pillows, closing your eyes and letting your mind go blank.

------

When you wake up in your human body, it always feels stuffy, not right, like you’re being squeezed into a tube. Your mouth is always cottony, too, and even though your body was simply laying down like you were asleep, your bones always ache when you get up as if you’ve been doing jumping jacks for however long you were in there.

You step out of the link bed, stretching your arms above your head and groaning. Tom is no longer in the linking center, but you didn’t expect him to be when there were others milling about who could watch over you.

You stand up and wobble a little bit, dizzy. Once it passes and you’re sure you can walk without smacking into anything, you make your way back toward your room, fully intent on sleeping for the rest of the afternoon before the conference in the evening.

Just as you leave the linking center, Margot runs into you, hair wild and eyes a little bit crazy. She grabs onto your shoulders, shaking you back and forth lightly. You let her do whatever she wants, beyond caring.

“How did it go? Did he yell at you, did he flirt any? Ooh, did he smack your ass-? Hey!”

You shake her hands off, walking past her with a roll of your eyes.

“Jesus Christ Margot, you really need to get laid.”

She groans, following after you with quick steps, waving her arms around as she says, “I know! There’s just no one I’ve seen that I’m interested in, so I have to live through you and your sexy romance with Colonel Quaritch-”

You halt, turning around to grab her shoulders. You’re the one shaking her back and forth this time.

“Listen, Margot, there is nothing going on with Quaritch and me at all, nothing sexy, nothing flirty! We literally just met like two days ago, and he’s hated me ever since! Now stop saying stuff like that, or he’s going to overhear us, again, and kill us both. Okay? Okay.”

Margot whines, “Oh, but maybe there could be! If you were just a little less uptight and he was a little less homicidal, you guys could totally get together. I mean, you can’t deny that he might be interested, right? I totally saw the way he was looking at you yesterday!”

“Yeah, he was looking at me like he wanted to wrap his hands around my throat.”

“Kinky.”

“No, Margot, not kinky! More like murderous! You’re starting to sound crazy, Margot, you’ve gotta do something before you start humping anything that moves.”

Margot blushes, finally feeling some sort of shame, and she nods, “Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just so pent-up, honey. Ugh! Okay, I’m going to try to relax somewhere, get outta my head for a little bit. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

You pat her shoulder and say, “See you then, Margot.”

She gives you one last smile before she’s off, bounding down the hallway. You shake your head in fond exasperation, now even more tired than before, and walk back to your room. You adored Margot, loved her, but sometimes her exuberance made your head pound.

You unlock your door, kick off your shoes, and toss yourself onto the unmade sheets of your bed. One last thought floats through your mind just before you drift off to sleep.  

Maybe mornings with Quaritch won’t be as bad as I thought.

peachy keen. Part Two

[bberetd]

= Miraculous Shelter =

It’s been a while since I’ve written a proper story, so I’ve decided to come out of retirement with my faves!

Thank you @peaches2217 for helping me out with writing, @vulpixfairy1985 for giving me inspiration from your drabbles, and @silenzahra for keeping me motivated ♥️ you’ll also see some elements from your bookworm hc post, and @itsavee4117 from your Luigi artist hc post ;)

@kelbreyworshipper @supergay-64 @pepperycar @pinkcreamypeach @wahooitsamee and anyone else, hope you enjoy!

Here are some doodles to go with it! The cake in the drawing is the one Luigi and Peach make for Daisy in the story, and then on the right, I was too lazy to draw the Toad-equivalents of Sarasaland (2 brain dead to come up with name) 😭 so imagine them looking like the children from the Grinch movie.

[bunnyisintrouble]

I don't know how many more I can take 🥀❤️‍🩹

[neapolitanupsidedowncake]

how mha characters would propose! Or just ask you out on a first date? 💗💗💗 Also I love ur blog sm its so cute!

BNHA BOYS PROPOSING 💖 gn!reader 💌

content warning: fluff, multiple char. x reader, mentions of wine

DENKI

i think from the first month or so of your relationship together he was thinking "im so gonna marry them 💖" but waited about 4 years or so into dating

he's really nervous about proposing 🥺😭

he wanted to make it special for his precious bean 💞

he asked kirishima and sero to help give him tips 😂

on the day he decided to propose he came to your house early in the morning so he could take you to a nice valley range

you guys just hang out at like 5 in the morning alone on top the pretty little hill he chose just talking about your life and some interesting things you saw recently

when suddenly (he was waiting for the perfect sunrise moment) he told you to follow him then close your eyes

he took you to a flower field nearby, knelt down and pulled out a pretty ring box (😭🥺) tells you to open your eyes!!

and it's just the cutest and nicest thing you've ever seen, and he tells you he loves you so much and he wants to spend eternity with you forever and ever 💗💗

IZUKU

this man goes all out!! and on your anniversary too!

on the day of your third anniversary, izuku is so excited and nervous because he really wanted to make a proposal special for you, his adorable little bean &lt;;/3

he researched a LOT, and even finds out what knee to kneel on (left knee)

he dresses rather nice, debating for about thirty minutes with himself to dress more casually than a three piece suit, settling on wearing a beige sweater you gave him for his birthday.

he even asked his mom about tips, 💓 asking where some places would be nice to go to

he told you he wanted to meet at a shopping place for you to have some fun, then visit a park with pretty flowers

he takes you shopping for your anniversary gift for the day, and the whole time he holds your hand, thinking on how lucky he was to have you.

when it actually comes the time when you go to the park (the place he chose to propose) he's a little sweaty, nervous, and he fears you might just reject him

so when he suddenly, abruptly gets down on one knee (in his panic on his right knee), that wasn't his intention (he planned to do it in front of a pretty tree) but he's doing it

he's crying a little bit, and he starts off by saying that he loved you since he first talked to you in high school. he has a velvety ring box open, and he asks you "will you stay with me forever y/n?"

after you say yes, he's the happiest man in the world, crying, and he squeezes you in a tight hug 🥺💗💗 (in front of a park bench)

SHOTO

after about 3 years of dating, to propose, this guy makes a candlelight dinner for you two at your guys' house!!!!

fuyumi is so excited when she finds out because she LOVES you!!!

he asked his brother, natsuo if that was really cheesy or not, he said yeah, but he did it anyway.

he asked one of your friends secretly to take you out on the day he planned it all out, so it was a surprise for you

he made a meal you both liked, and he got fancy expensive candles and lit it with his fire a few minutes before you got home.

he even put some red rose petals around and on the table 💗💗

he makes sure to dress fancy, and for once even messes with his hair a little bit to make a nice style!

when your friend takes you home, you see the candlelight dinner, with the rose petals, and fancy wine and your soon to be fiancé in a nice suit 🥺💌

he walks you to the table and pulls your chair out for you (gentleman!!) and asks you how your day was with your friend.

you guys talk for a while, and after you both finish eating, he walks to your chair, kneels down, and pulls out an expensive looking ring box from his pocket.

in the soft candlelight, he says, "y/n, my love for you grows more and more every day, and I would be so lucky if you felt the same way. will you marry me?"

after you say yes, he fits the ring on you and decides to slow dance w you with some soft music in the back (🥺😭💗💗)

a/n: (lmao i think i changed the tense of the verbs like 3288432x but wtv lol) i like this prompt, it's really cute, and i love seeing cute proposals or hearing about them it's just too sweet yk? 🥺💖💖 i chose some of my favorite bois, i hope these reach your expectations anon!! so sorry for the long release date 😭

[peachy-posy]

Ride This Out - Vash x Reader (Chapter 3)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ MINORS DNI

A/N: Last chapter!!! It's literally pretty much all smut lmaoooo Thank you for reading along <3

Chapter Tags: Makeup Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Finger Riding, Mild Breeding Kink, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Inside

Word Count: 5.4k

AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

When you wake up, the room is dark. Dim moonlight filters softly into the room, illuminating the small quarters. 

You sink further into the warm mass you’re pressed against, trying to align your body to fit more snugly against his sleeping form. 

Your lover has one arm snaking around your waist, hand splayed on your hip. Sensing your movements, he begins to stir softly, a quiet groan escaping his lips. His fingers twitch as he wakes, and he tightens his arm around you as he blinks open his turquoise eyes. 

He smiles sleepily, free hand coming up to your face, brushing a loose strand of your bangs behind your ear. You smile back, leaning up to give him a sweet kiss. You feel him smile against your lips before drawing back. 

“Sleep okay, love?” His voice is charmingly gravelly from just waking up. 

A soft snort escapes you as you nod. He still sounds mostly asleep. “Not as good as you, I don’t think,” you joke. 

A grin adorns his face as he nods in agreement, drawing you closer to his warm body. 

You glance over to the window, a sigh escaping your lips. “We really overslept a bit, huh?”

Vash laughs, shrugging. “Ah, who cares. That was the best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

You lie together comfortably, his fingers running through your hair, scratching your scalp. Despite the peaceful atmosphere of the room, your mind is racing, your earlier conversation situated at the forefront of your thoughts.

“I meant what I said earlier,” you murmur against his chest. 

“I know,” he replies quietly. 

Biting the inside of your lip, you press forward. “I really am sorry… I never want you to be hurting alone.”

He says nothing for a moment, silence settling into the room like a thin layer of dust. Fear that you’ve somehow said the wrong thing begins forming in your chest, and you swallow thickly in an attempt to soothe it. Just as you’re about to start over explaining yourself, he speaks. 

“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” he remarks, a wistful smile on his lips. “I… I don’t deserve someone to share my hurt with.” He pauses, eyes somewhat glazed as he gets lost in his thoughts. “I don’t deserve you.”

Your chest twists painfully, his words causing you to feel ill. You refuse to allow him to keep thinking of himself this way. Hastily pushing yourself into an upright position, you turn to face him. His eyes are wide as you level him with an intense stare. 

“I don’t want to hear you say that ever again, Vash! You deserve the world . I’ll try to give that to you for as long as I live.” You pause briefly, trying to shift your tone into something more tender. “I’ve never met anyone as selfless, and kind, and brave, and sma-“ your words die out, interrupted by him surging forward, lips capturing yours in a desperate, passionate kiss. 

Initially, the shock of the kiss has you stiff, but you find yourself quickly melting into him.

He pulls back, ending the kiss as quickly as it started. You stare at him, a feeling of breathlessness in your chest.

“I love you. God, I love you so much.” The words fall from his lips so beautifully, and you waste no time in stealing another intense kiss. He reciprocates it immediately, hands raising to cup your jaw. 

“I,” you gasp, managing to pull away for a moment before his hands draw you in again roughly. The kiss is wet and rushed, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You pull back again after a few seconds, lips close enough to still be grazing his, breathing out, “love you.” He surges forward, desperately seeking out your lips as if he needs them to survive. 

Without interrupting your kiss, you swing your knee over his hips to straddle him. He leans back in a fluid motion, pulling you with him to the mattress. Using your knees and forearms to support you, you hover over his pelvis and lean over his chest, deepening the kiss. Your bodies rock together sensually as his tongue slips past your lips, drawing a soft moan from your chest.

His hands trail roughly down your body, possessive as he squeezes and claims you. They eventually come to rest on your hips, gripping them as his pelvis bucks slightly against you. The feeling is electrifying, and you grind your clothed sex down on him in response, drawing a groan from him. Heat rushes through your core as you feel his hardened member, aching with want. 

Just as you’re about to see if he wants to go further, he draws back, letting his head rest on the mattress, cheeks flushed. The otherwise quiet, dusty bedroom is filled with the sounds of soft panting.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, his eyes hooded with lust. “I’m being selfish… I wasn’t even considering the fact that you got injured today. You’re probably still sore, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

You gaze at him for several long moments, his thoughtfulness making you feel both touched and impatient. “Vash, I’m fine. What I am is extremely pent up, though, so I would really appreciate it if we could take care of that.” He blushes slightly, and you can’t stop the smirk that pulls at your lips. “In fact, I’m hoping I’ll be sore if I play my cards right.”

A giggle falls from your lips as he gapes at you, eyebrows raised in surprise. It’s not long before he too eventually snorts, giving into laughing along with you. 

“Unbelievable!” He chides, giving you a playful poke to your side. “I was worried about you, and here you are, only one thing on your mind!”

You blush, grinning down at him. “Well, I’m not alone in thinking about it.” A purposeful shift of your body on his pelvis effectively proves your point, putting pressure on his hardened length. The sensation draws a pleasured groan from him, and your grin widens. 

He swallows thickly. “I guess it has been a little while.”

That could be the biggest understatement of the year. Traveling in a group doesn’t exactly allow many opportunities for intimacy. Many nights have been spent under the stars in the desert, unable to do more than share chaste kisses and a sleeping bag. 

“All right,” he sighs. “But you’re gonna have to keep it down for once, because these walls are pretty thin,” he warns teasingly. 

You regard him with a playfully scandalized expression, mouth open, a smile threatening to betray your rouse. “ For once? You’re so full of it!”

He grins at you, snickering softly and murmuring a not-so-apologetic sounding apology. Cupping the base of your head, he pulls you down for a kiss. You smile against his lips, your fingers hastily working to remove his shirt. 

Once it’s been slipped over his head and tossed aside, you sit back up, eyes shamelessly roving over his figure. He is a vision of beauty, his defined muscles lightly flexing as you graze your fingernails across his skin. The soft touch has him gasping, his own hands sliding up and down your sides. 

When you two first got together, he was incredibly self conscious about his body. All intimacy involved his shirt remaining on, which was perfectly fine with you. You wanted him to be comfortable and to be able to fully enjoy himself, and were happy to build up his confidence slowly. 

He finally showed you his shirtless form after months of gentle reassurances and confidence building, and you traced your fingers delicately over his scars with tears streaming down your cheeks, babbling that you couldn’t understand how so many could hurt him this way. 

You’d felt terrible afterwards. He had to comfort you when he was in a very vulnerable state. You apologized profusely, vowing to him that you would take every bad and painful touch his body had ever been scarred with and replace it tenfold with a gentle and loving one. 

And you spent as much time as you could fulfilling that promise. 

You begin peppering kisses all over him, wanting to claim every inch of his skin with them. Keeping your touch featherlight, you graze every ridge and valley on his abdomen, absolutely relishing the pleasured sounds you’re able to pull from him. Your mouth works its way down his body, taking time to give every scar you can see attention with your lips and mouth. His breath catches when you give a few quick sucks to his nipples, teeth just barely scraping against them. 

Your body is situated right atop his still covered cock, the pressure on it constantly fluctuating as you shift and move. The way he sounds as he’s panting and moaning lights a fire in you, smoldering and building with every passing moment. You find yourself struggling to not grind against him to soothe the tingling heat in your core. 

You kiss and nip slowly down his stomach, your own body scooting down in between his legs, your head finally reaching his pants. Your eyes flick up at him through your lashes, and the look on his face goes directly to your cunt. He’s already wrecked and you’ve barely touched him—his chest is rising and falling in quick, uneven pants; beads of sweat are accumulating at his hairline, rolling slowly down his face; his cheeks are flushed with arousal.

His cock is painfully hard: you don’t need to remove anything to tell that much. You’re glad he’s wearing a pair of loose, gray sweatpants, because they’re much easier to remove than his normal clothes. 

With nimble fingers, you slide his pants and underwear off, tossing them aside haphazardly, eyes trained on his thick length. 

You glance at him through your lashes again. “So hard already, baby,” you murmur, lightly gripping his cock and giving it a slow stroke.

He moans deliciously, his head tilting back into the pillows. “You’re gonna kill me, Mayfly,” he mumbles, the back of his hand covering his eyes. 

You grin, giving him a firmer stroke. The moan he lets out makes you squeeze your thighs together, seeking any relief for your aching, wet sex. 

You go down on him eagerly, taking the tip of his thick cock into your mouth, moaning as you suck and lick the head and slit. A shaky, breathy moan escapes his lips as his hands grasp at the sheets, and you start pumping his shaft with your hands while focusing on the bulbous tip with your mouth and tongue. 

You sneak an occasional glance at your lover while you suck him off, unable to keep your eyes off him for long. He has his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, his mouth open as quiet, lewd whimpers and groans spill from his lips. His hips twitch involuntarily as he loses himself in the wet heat of your mouth. 

He begins to thrust up into you as his pants and moans become more noticeable, but you hold him down by the hips, removing your hands from his cock, rubbing placating circles against his hip bone. Just as he’s beginning to make noises of protest, you take him completely into your mouth, his tip touching the back of your throat. The strangled cry that leaves his throat spurs you on as you begin bobbing up and down in earnest, sucking and hollowing your cheeks. 

He cries out your name, one of his hands covering his mouth to try and stifle his moans. His other hand is gripping the sheets, holding them so tightly his knuckles are white. 

“Oh, f-fuck, yes, just like that baby,” he babbles, his words muffled around his hand. He starts jerking his hips into your mouth again, and you let him this time, swallowing around his cock as he fucks your mouth. 

You begin to notice his body tense up periodically, and based on the noises of desperation falling from his covered mouth, you know he’s getting close. 

Deciding to try and push him over the edge, you take him deeper into your throat, but he cries out once more, gasping, “Baby, baby, wait-wait!” As you register his words, you begin easing up, but he grabs your head urgently and pulls you off his throbbing cock, his hips jerking forward reflexively. 

You look up, furrowing your brow, eyes watering and wet lips parted and swollen. He’s sitting up, hunched over, panting and trembling. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck and along his collarbone, and the sight of him this way makes you want to step back in and finish the job.

You scold yourself mentally for being distracted and horny, trying to reign it in to make sure he’s all right.

“Everything okay?” Your voice is slightly hoarse as you rub a hand soothingly along his thigh. You move to sit up on your knees, resting in between his parted legs. 

He looks out of it, and it takes a moment for your question to register. With a reassuring nod, he runs a hand through his sweat slicked locks, putting his free hand over yours with a breathless chuckle. 

“Yeah, yeah, more than okay—I just don’t wanna cum yet, s’too soon,” he mumbles, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. 

A delighted grin forms on your lips as you lunge forward and pepper kisses on his nose and cheekbones. 

“Aw! Such a thoughtful partner I have!” You praise happily, somewhat teasing. 

When he looks at you, his eyes darken, prompting you to swallow thickly as arousal tingles in your core. 

A soft huff of laughter escapes him, and he murmurs, “Actually…” Leaning forward, his voice lowers as he speaks into your ear. “I only wanna cum inside you. It’d be such a waste going down your throat.”

You choke on air, anticipation swirling in your gut. You have no idea where that suddenly came from, but it would be a lie if you said it didn’t turn you on. You know your face is bright red, because when he leans back to look at you, he can’t hold back his laughter at your expression. Your face feels even hotter as you look away from him.

“Sorry, sorry… too much?” He finally manages, his hand coming up to brush a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Um… actually…” you bite your lip, eyes trained on anything other than him in the moonlit room, feeling uncharacteristically shy. 

He absolutely glows with excitement.

“Mayfly!” He gasps, his tone playfully scandalized. “Did we just find a new kink?”

You hide your flaming cheeks with your hands, fingers spread across your eyes. In your embarrassment, all you can manage is a high pitched, “Mhm!”

He coos playfully, reaching for your wrists. “C’mon, don’t hide. It’s okay! It’s hot!”

Tugging your wrists away from your face, he plants little kisses on your cheekbones, ceasing only when you meet his eyes again.

A pleased grin is plastered on his face as he releases your wrists, drawing a huff of laughter from you. As he reaches forward to pull you in by the base of your neck for a soft kiss, you feel the tension melt from your body. 

Feeling reassured that you’ve recovered from your slight embarrassment, his hands drift, grazing down to the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping under the fabric to feel your heated, sweat-slicked skin. Reaching down after him, you lift your shirt off easily, tossing it aside. His hands slide up your body sensually, snaking around your back, seeking out the clasp of your bra. With practiced fingers, the clasp is freed, and you let the garment slide down your arms, flinging it haphazardly. 

A moan spills from your lips as his calloused hands cup your breasts, fingers gently pinching your hardened nipples. You feel heady with lust and anticipation, your pussy throbbing. 

You rest your forehead against his own, sharing his breaths, relaxing into him as you feel one of his hands ghost down your belly. Your eyelids flutter shut as his hand trails further down, slipping into your pants and underwear, prompting you to part your knees. 

Vash’s lips latch onto your neck, sucking and nipping the sensitive flesh as his fingertips reach your soaking folds. A pleased groan rumbles from his chest as he feels your wetness, dipping into your cunt to spread the fluids towards your throbbing clit. A shaky, wanton moan tumbles from your lips, his touch electric on your aching sex. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs against your neck breathlessly, finger dipping back into your hole. 

“Vash, please,” you whine, shifting to get his finger closer to your swollen clit. 

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, his finger finally sliding to where you want it. Your body jolts as he starts rubbing small circles into you, his movements somewhat restricted by your pants, but still effective in sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He curses under his breath as lewd whimpers escape you, pitched and desperate. 

Hastily pulling your remaining clothes off, you shudder as he increases the pressure on your clit once he has more room. You’re so wound up you know you won’t last long like this, and he seems to know this too. 

The sparking pleasure from his finger eases up gradually, leaving you breathlessly reeling. You feel his finger slide down your folds, dipping slowly into your cunt. You whine as he sinks it into you, resisting the impulse to squeeze your thighs together. The small intrusion of his finger feels like sweet relief, and you find yourself quaking when he’s knuckles deep. 

You feel his long finger curl, pressing onto the plush walls of your pussy with a teasingly slow pace. Pleasure jolts in your core and you groan lasciviously, feeling his pulsing finger quicken its pace. 

It’s not long before he is relentlessly fingering your g-spot, slipping another finger into your wet hole. You grind your clit into his palm, desperately seeking out friction.

Your body feels like a live wire, core thrumming with pleasure. Your breaths are coming in short pants, and your forehead has dropped down to rest in the crook of your lover’s shoulder, where he’s babbling praises into your ear. 

‘So good for me, you’re taking me so well, so tight.’

Your hips start rolling, and you moan Vash’s name with tears in your eyes when his fingers hit just right.

“Right there?” He asks breathlessly. 

You nod vigorously, gripping onto his bicep to ground yourself. He watches you with wide eyes, completely transfixed, and makes no move to stop you from taking your pleasure. 

You let yourself get lost in the heat that’s buzzing deep inside you, head thrown back and eyes closed, riding your lover’s fingers with pitched moans. With every roll of your hips, Vash’s palm rubs into you, the friction sending jolts of ecstasy through your body.  

Vash’s other hand creeps down his own body, and he starts to fuck his fist slowly as he watches you. He stares, entranced as your eyebrows furrow, and can feel your walls begin to tense sporadically on his fingers. He slips a third finger into your heat and you gasp in response, hips stuttering momentarily as you adjust. 

The pleasure that has been steadily building is beginning to reach its breaking point. Every brush of his fingers against your g-spot sends you hurdling closer to your climax. As much as you’d like to have that release, you don’t mind to edge yourself a bit, wanting to reciprocate the thoughtfulness your partner showed you. 

“Mmm, baby, ‘m close,” you mumble, huffing for breath as sweat rolls down every part of your body, hips steadily rolling to a stop. You lift yourself gingerly, beginning to scoot back to let Vash’s fingers slide out of your throbbing cunt, but cry out in surprise when you feel his hand grasp your hip, pushing you back down on his digits harshly. His fingers push hard against your g-spot, sending delicious sparks of ecstasy through you, teetering dangerously close to the edge once again. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to gain some control, trying to breathe through the orgasm that is threatening to overtake you.

You open your eyes to ask Vash what he’s doing, but the words die on your tongue when you see him. He’s watching you, completely captivated, panting and sweating, cock strained and hard. He has an intense look on his face.

“Who said you should stop?” His voice is low, and you swallow thickly. His fingers twitch in you, and you squirm slightly, swallowing a whimper. “I want to feel you come on my fingers.” 

Before you have a chance to mumble out a reply, he curls his digits inside you, and you cry out in bliss. He fingers you roughly, sparks of hot pleasure shooting into your belly. You’re worked back to the edge swiftly, gasping desperately, walls tensing on his long fingers. He leans forward slightly, face close to your ear. 

“C’mon Mayfly,” he breathes, giving you a wet kiss right under your jaw. You feel him suck and nip at your sensitive skin, shuddering from all of the sensations assaulting you. He shifts up, lips right on your ear. Fingers relentless inside of you, you feel tears prick at your eyes. He brings his palm closer to your heat, grinding it against your clit. “Come for me, you’re so close.”

That’s all you can take: you throw your arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as you are thrown over the edge with a strangled cry. Your orgasm is one of the most intense you’ve ever had, the unshed tears from earlier spilling over your lashes as your body goes rigid. He continues to fuck you through it, praising you as he feels your walls clamp down, fluttering sporadically, fluids gushing around his fingers. Your body is wracked by aftershocks of pleasure, and you gasp against him each time. Eventually, the waves begin to fizzle, and you slump against him as stray tears roll down your cheeks.  

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing the side of your head.

You whimper as he withdraws his slicked fingers, arms still wrapped around his neck to anchor yourself from the intense pleasure you’re still coming down from.

Despite the mind blowing orgasm he just gave you, that tingling, hot sensation of unadulterated want can still be felt in your core, and you know you could do another round. 

His hand strokes up and down your spine, his touch brimming with love and care. A few moments pass before either of you speak again, allowing you to collect yourself. 

“Can you keep going?” He asks softly, kissing that same spot on your head. Even though he hasn’t cum, there’s no pressure in his question. There never has been and there never will be. He only wants to continue if you do.

You smile weakly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “‘Course I can. What do you take me for?”

He chuckles softly, gently wiping the remnants of a tear off your cheek. “You’re insatiable.”

You blush, but laugh along with him, giving him a small, affectionate kiss on the nose. “Hey, I tried to stop. I think you’re just into it.”

He grins, and your heart skips a beat. “Guilty as charged.”

After giving you another few moments to recover, Vash guides you gently back onto his hips, laying down with his back on the mattress. You straddle him, and he places his large hands on your hips. You smile warmly, taking in his visage laying under you. 

“You’re stunning,” you whisper, lovingly stroking his forearms at your sides. 

He blushes, and your smile brightens. “I could say the same thing. I’ve got a pretty good view from here,” he replies, his thumbs stroking the plush flesh around your hips. 

Lifting yourself onto your knees, Vash reaches down to guide himself into your sensitive heat. 

It’s been a while for you both, so the stretch to accommodate his member straddles pleasure and pain. You balance yourself using his chest, slowly lowering yourself onto him. You’re half tempted to just throw caution to the wind and bottom out now, despite being oversensitive. 

“Don’t - ah - don’t rush, Mayfly,” he chides, sensing your impatience. 

“‘s taking too long,” you mumble back, closing your eyes as you concentrate. His grip tightens on your hips to control your descent, his breathing quick. 

When you finally bottom out, you both let out a deep exhale, taking a moment to get adjusted. You feel so full, the burn from stretching not quite gone, but dissipating steadily.

After remaining seated for a few moments, you try an experimental roll of your hips, deciding both the sensitivity and stretch is bearable. Vash sucks in a sharp breath, and you take it as a cue to keep going. 

You start at a steady, but slow pace, mostly grinding at this point. It’s not long, though, before you raise yourself up and sink back down, a breathy moan of Vash’s name on your tongue. Setting a languid pace, you bite your lip as he moans wantonly. His thick cock twitches inside you as you ride him, your walls clenching on him sporadically. 

“Oh, god you’re tight. Fuck.”

Soon, the slow pace isn’t enough, and you begin bouncing on his hips, his cock spearing deep into you, sparks of pleasure shooting into your core. His hands grip your inner thighs, thumbs resting in the divet connecting your pelvis to your thighs, head tilting back into the pillows, eyes closed. His swollen lips part as soft groans and pants of your name spill from them. 

“Like that, god yes,” he mutters, his hips starting to thrust in tune with your movements. 

You throw your head back as his thrusts become more forceful, less controlled. You feel so deliciously full, the burn from the stretch completely gone. His grip on your thighs tightens, and he starts pulling you down harder, driving a pleasured cry from your mouth. Your eyes flit down to where you’re joined, watching as he snaps his hips upwards, his muscles flexing as he moves.

You are taken by surprise when Vash’s grip on your thighs moves abruptly to your waist, and he rolls you over, switching positions. Now looming over top of you, he thrusts his cock into you at a punishing pace. You gasp, the pleasure building in your core dizzying. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, your body folding as he fucks into you. The new angle has you seeing stars, each thrust hammering your g-spot and causing a wet squelching noise.  

In an unfortunately timed moment of self-awareness breaking through your haze of lust, you realize just how loud you two have been this whole time: the lewd slapping of your sweat soaked bodies, the old bed creaking and scraping the floor, the wooden headboard hitting the wall repeatedly, the breathy ’ ah’ that spills from your lips with every thrust, the heavy panting and groaning from your lover. Your face turns beet red, but you can’t stop the keening noise you make at a particularly deep thrust. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, mortified that half the inn probably knows what you’re doing. 

“What’s wrong?” Vash manages, unrelenting in his pace. 

“We, ah, I just realized, mm…” your words fail you for a moment, toes curling as he bends you further, trying to get closer to hear you better. “We’ve been so, ngh, loud,” you finally get out, face turning impossibly redder. 

The smug look that overtakes his features makes you wish you’d kept your mouth shut.

“I warned you earlier,” he pants, but seems all too pleased about the noise. Biting your hand, you attempt to stifle the noises you’re making, though you know it’s far too late to care. He gets a mischievous kind of look in his eye, and before you know it, his hand snakes down between your rocking bodies, fingers deftly brushing against your oversensitive clit. 

All hopes in preserving your dignity are out the window. 

A cry of his name pours from your lips, lost in the intense sensations overtaking your body. Your walls clench down on him, causing him to groan loudly, hips stuttering for a moment. 

“C-close, close, mmm! ” you babble desperately, gasping, feeling the pleasure in your core winding up tighter with every toe curling slap of his hips. 

“M-me too, Mayfly,” he pants, his pistoning hips becoming more erratic. He increases the pressure on your clit, tightening the coil in your core. 

His ministrations bring you to your climax, a strangled moan tearing from your throat, your whole body going taut as you peak. The aftershocks of pleasure follow, hitting you in waves, your tightening, fluttering walls sending Vash closer to the edge. You feel his thrusts stutter. 

“In, cum inside, please,” you beg, voice pitched and desperate as you toss your head to the side. 

He curses under his breath at your erotic display, sweat dripping down his body. He manages one final thrust, pushing his cock in as deep as he can with a stuttered groan as his seed spills into you. The warm feeling of it filling you up extends your orgasm slightly, your cunt milking his throbbing member as much as possible. Vash grinds his hips into you, chasing the last waves of his pleasure as the remainder of his seed spills into you. 

The blonde collapses onto the mattress after letting your legs fall from his shoulders, trying to land mostly to your side. 

You’re a mess of heaving, tangled limbs on a bed. Both of you pant heavily, sweat drenching your bodies, his softening cock still inside you as your combined fluids start trickling from your puffy, sensitive hole. 

After several moments spent catching your breath, you curl into him, wrapping a leg around his own. You hear him huff a bit of laughter, pulling you closely against him. He presses a kiss into your hair, and you gently trace patterns with your fingernails on his back. 

You break the comfortable silence. 

“I think… that may have been the best sex we’ve ever had.”

He snorts, his hand coming up to scratch your scalp softly. “I think you’re right. Not sure why though.”

“We were extremely pent up,” you point out. He hums in agreement. “And I’ve heard makeup sex is better than regular sex.”

Your statement takes him by surprise, a snicker finally escaping him following a beat of silence. You grin against his chest, pressing a kiss to the sweat-covered skin in front of you. 

“Are you saying we should argue more and have sex less?” He asks, teasing. 

“Hey, if it works, it works.”

He chuckles, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. You sigh into it, feeling your body melt. 

“I love you,” you murmur softly against his lips. 

“I love you too, Mayfly,” he replies, giving you another soft kiss for good measure. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The following morning, you and Vash walk alongside Wolfwood to a nearby restaurant, seeking out some breakfast before getting on the road. 

You had been worried sick that everyone would shoot dirty looks at you and your partner following your late-night activities; Wolfwood especially, since you’ll be stuck with him and his teasing long-term. It seems as if you’re in the clear, though, because you haven’t heard a word all morning. 

After sitting at a small table at the restaurant, Vash takes your hand, holding it softly. You shoot him a quick, tender gaze before Wolfwood clears his throat.

“Y’know guys, I’m just so glad you were able to make up. You had me worried.”

“Oh yeah, I meant to thank you!” Vash exclaims suddenly, glad to have remembered. “Thank you for being there for her yesterday. We really owe you,” he finishes, his voice earnest. You smile pleasantly, taking a sip of water.

Wolfwood waves him off. “Think nothing of it, friend. Always glad to help.”

A beat of silence follows, and he adds nonchalantly, “Y’know, I should be thanking you.” 

You and Vash exchanged puzzled glances, before he asks, “What for?”

Wolfwood shrugs, plucking a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, lighting it swiftly. “It was just so thoughtful to loudly make sure everyone at the inn knew you guys made up. You two are just constantly thinking of others.”

[peachie5000]

Luke's personal narrative running through his head throughout abyss kills me though. Because once he gets over the hurdle of actually self-actualizing its already when he's found out he isn't real and has done irreparable things to the world that he knows he won't be forgiven for. Truly a doomed existence and thats BEFORE multiple different characters and events start implying he should kys for the greater good.

He only understands the value of his life once he realizes that he can't live!!! I go insane!!!!

[pexchys]

"your dirty little secret" Al-Haitham x gn!Reader

cw: semi-nsfw, a little angst, secret relationships, lowk toxic reader, drunk mentions, somewhat unrequited love

Al-Haitham walks past you, his boots clicking against the grand Akademiya halls

He barely notices you, his face as stoic as ever

But you know he's frustrated

You know he's dying on the inside.

You've been avoiding him like the plague, until it's three in the morning, drunk at the tavern, stumbling away from Nilou, Cyno and Tighnari, making your way to his home

Just like you did last night

When you knocked on the door, your face flushed and your eyes wide as Al-Haitham greeted you before you gently grabbed his face and brought him close to you

He paused before wrapping his strong arms around your waist, kicking the door closed as he pushed you against the wall, desperate as he kissed your lips, before moving down to your neck

You gasped, arching your back to give him more access as he continued to press kisses down to your collarbone, before he led you into his bedroom

"You're drunk," he muttered in between kisses and soft bites, laying you down on your back

You stayed quiet, choosing to run your fingers through his gray locks and nudging him closer to you, wrapping your legs around his hips

And when the morning came, he was still asleep with evidence all over his chest of what you did hours before

And when you wanted nothing more than to sit there and study his face, memorizing the arch of his nose and his quiet breathing pattern,

The way he so many times tried to spend a wholesome night with you,

You grabbed your clothes and left.

Gone.

Like every time.

He was falling in love with you, you knew that.

You could see it in the way he stared at you when you laughed,

Or when his demeanor slightly shifted when you flirted with Dehya

Or joked with Kaveh.

You wanted to love him back.

But that would be impossible.

So for now, he'd be your dirty little secret.

Inspired by Artemas's "dirty little secret"

[peachy-panic]

BBU: Hollywood

This idea took root and wouldn't let go. Can't say for sure if this will be A Thing, or just a one-off teaser of a thing, but here it is nonetheless.

WARNINGS: BBU, implied noncon, implied noncon drug use, the fucked up film industry

“Cut!”

He doesn’t realize the cameras have stopped rolling until the shrill ring of the bell jolts him back into his body, and out of the one he’s been inhabiting since the last call of action. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink for a few moments, still caught in the blurry line between characters. Sometimes it takes a few seconds to remember which mask he's wearing.

There is a flurry of movement around him; PAs rush past, murmuring into their headsets, toting plush robes and glass bottles of sparkling water. Hair and makeup swoop in to invade everyone’s space, making their minute adjustments before rolling begins anew. 

When he returns to himself, Henry's cheeks are cold with drying tear tracks, and his heartbeat pulses lightly in his lips. 

His scene partner is already turned away, her attention attuned to the phone in her hand while a woman with frizzy hair attends to her smudged lipstick. Distantly, Henry knows if he touches his fingertips to his own mouth, they will come away in the same shade of red. Seconds ago, they were locked in an embrace, their tears mingling in the neckline of her silk gown, whispered words of affection spilling between them, and now Henry doesn’t exist. He won’t again until the cameras are pointed at him. Only then does he become alive.

A cold, acrylic nail hooks his chin and turns his head. His personal makeup artist is a woman named Kat in her late thirties with a sleek, blonde bob and smile lines around her eyes. She’s worked on every one of Henry’s films, and she has never spoken to him directly. On instinct, Henry lets his eyes fall shut, slipping back from the surface as she goes through the familiar routine of touching him up. 

From behind the wall of his own little world, he allows himself the indulgence of tuning into the conversations around him. A couple of new production assistants—not much older than him—talk about the food truck that production ordered as an end-of-week treat. (This doesn’t apply to Henry. He is on a strict diet of kale and boiled chicken while he's filming. He is always filming). The wardrobe team talks about grabbing a drink at Stanley’s after wrap today. (He knows that Stanley’s is everyone’s favorite spot because it’s less than a mile from the studio, but he’s never seen it for himself). The assistant director comments on her third cup of coffee of the day. (Henry wishes he could ask for some).

The voices fade and flutter until one cuts through the rest.

“One last take, and we’re calling it, David.”

Henry opens his eyes, and Paul stands directly in front of him.

His sleek, black suit stands out among the crew's workwear, and probably costs three times as much combined. It’s hard not to notice the ways everyone’s demeanor changes the moment the Executive Producer steps onto set. In a way, it’s almost reassuring to know Henry isn’t the only one who shrinks in this man’s shadow. But that’s where the commonality ends. They may fear him, too, but at the end of a fourteen hour day, they are not the ones who return home to Paul Maxwell’s bed. 

“Our star needs to be red-carpet ready in an hour-thirty.” Though he’s addressing the director, Paul stares directly into Henry’s eyes. “Be sure that he is.”

He doesn’t need to nudge the makeup artist away so much as she instinctively pulls back when Paul lifts a large hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Henry’s jaw. Henry keeps his eyes where they’ve been beckoned and pretends not to notice the assistants in his periphery who duck their faces away from the display of ownership. Paul’s thumb swipes across the corner of Henry’s mouth, taking with it a smear of Eliza Darling’s expensive lipstick. Then, wordlessly, he releases him. 

There’s a renewed sense of urgency as Paul retreats from the chaos, but also one of relief that comes with the last shot of the day—for everyone except Henry. 

He was up before the sun, and he knows he’ll be out long after it has set. The worst part about interior days: he doesn’t get to see daylight once. Normally, even the call of his Keeper’s bedroom feels like a reprieve after this many hours of shooting. But tonight, his previous film is set to premier on the other side of Los Angeles, and there is no premier without Paul Maxwell’s shining star.

More importantly, there is no after party without him.

There is no time for exhaustion, not for him. When the caffeine pills have run their course, he’ll be given something stronger, and he’ll take it. Whatever it takes to get through the night that will inevitably become a very long weekend.

“You heard the boss,” David says, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Let’s make it a good one. Clear frame.”

The makeup brushes make a few last frantic swipes across his skin before they scurry away. Liza Darling tucks a blonde curl behind her ear and presses her phone into a nameless PA’s hand. Henry closes his eyes and slips into another man’s skin.

People tell Henry all the time that he’s lucky to lead the life that he does, in his position. It is only in these fleeting intervals of fiction between reality that he might just agree with them.

For the next three minutes, he does not have to be Henry, nor is he the boy with the name from a life he is not allowed to remember. For the next three minutes, he is Brock Layton: twenty-three, rich, and madly in love. 

For the next three minutes, he is as free as he’ll ever be again. 

“Sound speed,” the mixer calls out, raising the boom pole over his head. 

“Rolling,” camera echoes back. 

“And, action.”

[peachypede]

Some MTAS Owen Relationship Headcanons

He loves making you food, but he especially loves you being the first to try out his new recipes. Seeing your face light up when you like his food makes him happier than you can imagine.

He mentions that he wants to name a dish after you. You end up having an appetizer, a main course, and a dessert that are all titled “Y/n’s Favorite ��️”

Because of his work, he doesn’t wear cologne very often other than when he’s going on dates with you. He comes home smelling like the good food he makes, though. (and he has some of that good natural man smell)

Obviously he's a jewelry guy with those chunky rings he wears, (that he probably has to take off when cooking at the saloon) and one of his love languages is gift giving, so he loves to shower you in jewelry, too. He makes an effort to know your favorite metal, gem, and type of jewelry like rings/necklaces/earrings/etc and he gets you what you like. If you don’t have a preference, he’s really good at determining what would look good on you. Seeing you wear what he bought makes him swell with pride. If you want to match with him, he gets flustered.

He has lots of pictures of his family in his house and when you start dating him, pictures of you slowly start showing up, too. Then, if you have children with him, he takes so many pictures of all of you. Your living room, bedroom, and kitchen all have pictures of your family on the walls.

[hold-him-down]

ok ive perused the febuwhump list and picked out my favorites which one do we want the top most?

[sunnybeewriting]

peachy keen. Part Two

Wow! Thank you all so, so much for all the likes and comments on last chapter, I was blown away! Every time I get a notification that someone liked or commented on something I’ve written I get giddy, so thank you! And I read everyone's comments and they were all so sweet!

Someone actually posted fanart of peachy keen!! I nearly died when I saw it, so thank you again to @desertrose244 for making that, it’s wonderful. And I’m sorry this chapter took so long, classes got me all kinds of messed up. So without further wait, peachy keen. Part Two!

peachy keen. Part One

WORDS: 9,000

WARNINGS: Adult themes and language

“Bitch, you better wake the fuck up right now.”

A hand whacks you on the back of your head firmly and you are jerked right out of your hazy sleep state. You let out an embarrassing snort as your head lurches up from its position of laying on your arms crossed over the table.

Your eyes squint tiredly against the bright light of the room. For a brief moment, your fuzzy mind struggles to remember where you are, until you realize that you’re still sitting in the break room.

“The time?” you slur out as you straighten your back in the chair. You lean backward, arms stretching out above your head, and strong relief fills you as several pops resound in different places. You groan loudly at the feeling, and blood rushes back into your body parts as you shift them. Hunching over in a chair for a half hour to try and get as much rest as you could had not been a good idea.

The sharp scent of something chemical makes you wrinkle your nose, and you look over to your left to see where the odor is coming from.

Margot sits beside you, humming softly and painting her nails a pretty light pink color. The little bottle of nail polish she is using cost her a lot of money to buy from the supply shop, given that nail polish was a rare find in Bridgehead. Granted, it wasn’t like there were a lot of military personnel or scientists who were fist-fighting over nail polish, but still. Margot had insisted it was completely worth the price, although you had definitely seen her lip wobble when she had looked at the dent in her wallet.

Margot had lasted almost two months before whining about missing her pretty nails, and the next day she caved and forked over the big bucks to get the tiny little bottle. Now, she likes to joke that it’s her most prized position (it wasn’t really a joke).

You yawn, then press your lips together as your right hand rubs at your eyes to help wake yourself up.

“What’s the time, Margot? Why did you even wake me up?” your tone is almost a whine as you question your friend, ready to throw a fit if she says she only woke you up because she was bored.

Luckily for Margot’s physical safety, she has a fairly good excuse.

“We’ve got that meeting with the new team leader, Amanda What-the-fuck-ever, in ten minutes.” Margot rolls her eyes as she carefully paints a strip of polish on her left index finger, tongue sticking out in concentration.

You snort softly at Margot’s clear disrespect toward a woman neither of you had even met, but you couldn’t really blame her. Your own feelings about this mystery lady were mixed as well.

Two months into being in Bridgehead, Amanda Hall was assigned as the field team leader of the new Avatar Program by the RDA. Her job is essentially to connect the members of the program to the important people in the company. She is the one to handle any concerns within the group, any issues with military personnel, any special reports about discoveries on Pandora, shit like that.

She also apparently did data work, collected samples, and would go out into the field with your team whenever the RDA finally chose for that to happen.

All that would be fine and dandy if it weren’t for the gossip from the other Avatar team, who told Margot that this lady was essentially here to report all matters of the program and its members to the RDA. Every slip-up, every boo-boo, every time someone sneezed out of turn, she would be mentioning it to the same higher-ups who would be deciding whether to disband the program or not.

This was very unpleasant news to all of you, given that your entire purpose on Pandora is to be an Avatar. The program was already in a precarious position, being that it was still in the testing stages. If it got disbanded because of whatever Miss Hall said, you’d all be completely fucked.

So yeah, none of you were exactly fond of her, too worried that she might very well ruin your lives.

Margot blows on her finished nail, holding it up closer to her face for careful inspection. Once she’s satisfied, she carefully screws the lid of the nail polish shut and gently places it into the right pocket of her light blue windbreaker.

She rises from her seat to check her reflection in a small, circular mirror on the grey wall of the break room, fixing her hair and smoothing down her clothes.

You watch her, not even bothering to do anything to fix up your own appearance. You’re certain your hair is slightly mussed and your clothes are wrinkled, but you’re beyond too tired to really give a shit.

You hadn’t slept well the past two days, too concerned about the rumors of Miss Hall. You have no idea what you would even do if the program went tits up, no idea what would happen to you or your friends.

Would you be shipped back to Earth, as if you were an unwanted toy the RDA no longer wanted to play with? Would you be forced to remain in miserable Bridgehead, doing nothing but look at samples for the rest of your life? As a xenobotanist who thrives on nature and color and unique things, that would be one of the worst things you could ever think of happening to you.

All the terrifying possibilities swirled around your head, digging so deeply into your brain that you were beginning to dream about it.

So yeah, you were stressed and unable to sleep, which made you exhausted and anxious. These past few days had been nothing but a vicious circle of misery for you.

Margot’s hands pause as they fluff up her hair, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. You stare back at her, too spent to even muster up a fake smile.

She turns away from her reflection, walking over to your slouched form and taking your hands in hers. You stare up at her with watery eyes, and she squeezes your hands tightly and says,

“Oh, honey. You don’t have to be so worried about it, it’ll be okay. The RDA spent billions on our Avatars, they’re not going to throw them away so easily, alright?”

You nod shakily, deep down knowing that she was probably right. Still, it was hard to shake the fear from your heart, the cruel little whispers of ‘but what if?’ refusing to let go.

It wouldn’t even be failing to reach a lifelong goal that would bother you so much, wouldn’t even be the years of school and training and sleepless nights that would all have been for nothing if the program was discontinued.

It would be failing to keep the promise you had made to your mother as she lay on her death bed that would be the worst of it.

Oh, your sweet, vicious mother. Once so kind and caring toward you as a child, she turned spiteful once her mind and body began to weaken. Bitterness and regret seeped into her heart and turned it as dead and cold as her husband, and the name-calling, the pinching, and the ugly insults began by the time she was confined to her hospital bed.

For five years you stuck by her side through it all, through the malice and the failed treatments and deterioration. You stayed by her side even when your aunt on your father’s side offered to take you away, because she was your mother, and you would love her always. Even on the bad days when she couldn’t even remember who you were, you stayed with her.

Through all the nastiness and difficulty, your mother’s true person would shine through sometimes, like when she told you about your father, when she made you promise to follow your heart and never let anyone or anything get in the way of your dreams. Those were the moments you stayed for.

And so, even the mere thought of letting her or yourself down, of failing to keep your promise, scared you to death.  

You shake your head, pushing the ugly thoughts back into your mind so you could focus on kind, lovely Margot.

It’ll be okay. You’ll see.

You swallow thickly, squeezing Margot’s hand tightly in your own.

“I know, Margot, I’m okay. I just need a little time to adjust, that’s all,” you smile shakily at her, and she looks at you, eyebrows furrowing with concern even as she smiles back.

“Right. Right, honey,” she tears her eyes away from you to glance at the clock, eyes widening when she sees the time, “Oh shit, sugar! We gotta go!”

Margot pulls you up from your chair by the hands she was still holding, and you sway dizzily as blood rushes back into your head. You barely have time to pull on the tennis shoes you had kicked off underneath the table before she’s tugging on your hand and you’re out the door.

“Margot, slow down!” you laugh quietly as you almost trip over the shoes not quite pulled over your feet correctly, and it feels so, so good to laugh again, even if it is just slightly. You hadn’t realized it’s been days since you felt genuinely well.  

Margot glances back at you, grins, and picks up her pace. Before you know it, you’ve reached the conference room, and you drop Margot’s hand and kneel to fix your shoes properly. Then you finally find the motivation to put your hair into a ponytail, straighten your clothes, and take a few breaths to calm your nerves.

Once you are ready you nod at Margot, and she nods back before opening the glass door to the room.

Inside is a long, metal table surrounded by ten chairs, along with an enormous whiteboard, several holotablets, and other various fancy-looing equipment.

David is already sitting in a chair closest to the door, posture straight as he reads from a tablet. He looks up eagerly when he hears the door open, and his overwhelmingly saccharine sweet smile drops fast from his lips when he sees that it’s just you and Margot. He scowls deeply, rolls his eyes, and points to his wristwatch like the little prick he is.

You resist the urge to childish stick your tongue out at him, but only just.

Probably got here an hour early, the teacher’s pet. What a weirdo.

You and Margot reluctantly take seats across from him at the table. It had been very tempting to sit all the way in the back of the room, as far away from David as possible, but that definitely wouldn’t have been seen as very professional by your new team leader. And, god help you, you did want to make a good first impression.

Hopefully that doesn’t make me as much of an ass-kisser as David.

You turn to look at him just as he takes a pocket mirror out of his pants, checks his reflection, and then positions himself in his chair so he’s the first one Miss Hall will see when she walks into the room.

Yeah, nope. Jesus Christ, David.

Barely a minute passes before Emma and James walk just in time, giggling quietly and blushing. They take a seat across from one another, James sitting by you and Emma sitting by David. They grin across the table, clearly amused about some private joke only they know.

It’s so cute, but it also kind of makes me want to puke.

You tear your eyes away from them in hopes that no longer looking at such sweet affection will help your stomach settle. They were awfully charming, but also gross if you looked at them too long.

You know, I wonder if employee relations are something Miss Hall will report to the higher-ups?

You turn to tell Emma and James they should probably keep their affections discreet whilst in the company of Miss Hall from now on. Just as you open your mouth to speak, the woman in question finally walks through the door.

The first thing you notice about her is her hair, bright red and pinned up into a smooth bun. She’s a tall, slender, strict-looking woman with young features, and while she does look stern, she also has a small smile on her lips as she looks around the table and introduces herself,

“Hello, everyone. My name is Amanda Hall, I’m the new Avatar Program team leader, which means that I will be overseeing any concerns you have and guiding you through our travels in Pandora. From here on out, if you need something or would like to speak to the RDA, you will do so through me and me alone. Do you have any questions?”

Your lips thin but you shake your head, and all members of your group rise from their seats to shake her hand in greeting, all smiling as pleasantly as they can. You notice that David is the first in line to introduce himself, and he eagerly shakes her hand and lists off all of his titles when he tells her his name.

Ew.

You’re worried your small smile might look more like a grimace than anything else when it’s your turn to greet her, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she slips her cool, smooth hand into yours. She looks at you, and her smile doesn’t seem to reach her eyes as she says,

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor…?”

Miss Hall trails off and you tell her your name. She nods her head in understanding and then shakes your hand in three perfunctory pumps before releasing you.

The next two hour is almost mind-numbing as Miss Hall talks about her new role in the science division, what she expects from you, all other mundane things that almost bore you to tears. Just as sound becomes muted in your ears and your vision begins to blur as you drone out, Miss Hall mentions something that quickly snaps your attention back to her.

“…and so, your group will be cleared for field-work within the next week or so, and you’ll be able to begin your jobs at Bridgehead in earnest, as well as-”

You gasp, “They’re finally letting us out?! In the next week?”

Miss Hall looks startled as she says, “Oh, well, yes, in the next week or so. Given that it’s been almost two months since you arrived, it’s about time you are able to do what you came here to.”

You slump back into your seat, mouth open in shock and joy. Your thoughts run wild as you realize that in a week's time, you will be in the wilds of Pandora, actually able to touch and observe and collect alien plant life. You’ve been waiting for this exact moment for years.

I can’t fucking wait!

Miss Hall smiles slightly when she sees your stunned face and then goes on to talk about her education. You don’t even bother trying to listen, simply too busy thinking to pay attention. By the time the meeting is over, you mindless shake her hand again and walk out the door with Emma, James, and Margot.

David had neglected to leave with you, staying behind to spend a few more minutes speaking with Miss Hall.

Better her than us. He’s probably sucking up for a promotion or some shit.

As you all wander back to the break room in a daze, you realize that you aren’t the only one stunned by Miss Hall’s announcement. All three of your friends look pale and glassy-eyed, and poor Emma is destroying her fingernails as she picks at them while biting her lip anxiously.

Since Pandora is a dream come true for you, it’s always been difficult for you to remember that it’s not a safe place, not an easy walk in the park, and that you could die out there. You just get so lost in your own head, so busy thinking about all the scientific possibilities that you forget the danger that may be lurking. Your one-track mind is a dangerous flaw of yours, and you hope it doesn’t get you killed someday.

Once you all reach the room and sit down, everyone has some color back in their cheeks, and James has grabbed one of Emma’s hands to stop her from hurting herself. You sit in silence for a moment before Margot breaks it,  

“I still don’t like her,” she huffs, arms crossed over her chest as she practically pouts in her chair.

You roll your eyes, having seen that coming from a mile away. Ah, classic Margot. Once she made up her mind about someone or something, it was incredibly difficult to get her to change her opinion.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Emma says quietly. Over the past month since your group really came together, Emma had opened up more and more until she was able to hold full conversations without freezing. You had once thought that her dreary attitude was because she was an unhappy person, but it turns out she’s just painfully shy.

James certainly helped with bringing her out of her shell; his caring attitude and cheerfulness are good for her.

You take a deep breath and agree with Emma, surprising yourself when you say the words aloud,

“You know, I don’t think having her as a team leader will be as bad as I thought. I think she’ll help our team more than hurt it, but we should still be careful with what we say and do around her for the next few months, just in case.”

Margot sighs but nods, uncrossing her arms from her chest.

“Yeah, okay, that’s probably for the best. I guess she didn’t seem that bad. She had pretty hair,” she mumbles the last part, and to your utter bewilderment, Margot tucks her hair behind her ear and actually blushes.

You gawk at her; it was incredibly rare for Margot to turn red, and it usually only happened when she was extremely angry or embarrassed. She hadn’t even blushed when she got super drunk at the bar downtown, took off her top, and climbed up on a table to dance around. Well, she tried to dance, but the only thing she succeeded in doing was falling off the table and throwing food and drinks everywhere.

You had tried to get her top back on and get her off the table but were fairly drunk yourself, and you failed terribly. When she went flying off the table, she kneed you right in the face, and you had to walk around with a black eye for two weeks.

Yeah, defiantly not either of our best moments.

But even when you had told her about it the next morning, hungover and miserable, she still hadn’t tinged red even a little bit at the fact that she’d shown her tits to an entire bar full of people. She had just waved her hand indifferently and asked if you got any good pictures.

So, it was defiantly bizarre to see her blush now for seemingly no reason.

Huh.

Margot catches you gaping at her and blushes even more before clearing her throat and turning her attention on you. She smirks mercilessly, eyes gleaming, and says,

“You know, I was surprised you even gave her your real name, I was half expecting you to tell her to call you Peach.”

Now it’s your turn to burn scarlet, and you shrink back into your seat with a flustered, “Margot!”

She laughs at your squeaky reaction before saying, “What? I’m just saying, Colonel Quaritch is always calling you that, and I’ve never heard you tell him to stop, soooo.” She wiggles her eyebrows and jams a sharp elbow into your ribs.

You wince, one hand reaching up to grasp where she hit you as you say, “Uh, yeah, I’m not going to Quaritch of all people what he can and cannot say, and you wouldn’t either. He could call me much worse names, so I’ll take Peach any day, thank you.”

“And I can’t believe you’re still going on about this!” you scoff, annoyance tinging your voice.

“Oh, come on! You guys spend so much time together-”

“Yeah, for lessons. During which he knocks me around for a few hours, so yeah, I can certainly say that we are, at best, acquaintances.”

“But you have such good chemistry-”

“Ha! Margot, you and David have more chemistry than Quaritch and I.”

Margot blanches and leans away from you, disgusted at the thought of such a thing, “I can’t believe you would even say something so horrid!”

“Well, it’s true!”

Margot lunges from her chair, jabbing an accusing finger in your face as you lean back, “Lies! I know for sure that you want to do the hanky-panky with him!”

You shake your head, amusement bubbling up in your gut and making you laugh as you say, “Hanky-panky? Are you fucking eighty years old, what’s the matter with you?”

To both your utter delight and disgust, Margot rolls her hips in a way she must think is provocative, but it mostly looks like something in her body is broken and she’s struggling to stand upright.

You burst out laughing and shout, “Jesus Christ Margot, what the hell are you doing?”

“Come on, I know this what you want to do with Quaritch-”

“What, roll my hips in a way that makes it seem like my spine is shattered to get him to sleep with me?”

Margot falters and stops wiggling around to say, “Is that really what I look like?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, okay, fine!”

She sits back in her chair with a pout but leans forward, and her green eyes bore into yours, “But my point still stands. You know, you’re starting to be like those little ducklings you had talked about seeing him with that first time, always following him around.”

You groan, “Ugh, Margot. You know what, I’m not even going to worry about it anymore. If you want to be lost in your delusions, you do that. I’m going to go to bed because I actually have something important to do in the morning.”

You pat your thighs and stand from your chair as Margot boos and shouts, “You grandma!”

“Goodnight, Margot,” you say, still absolutely tickled at Margot’s ability to bullshit even herself. You pat her on the shoulder as you walk past her to the door, and she smacks you on the ass and says, “Night, bitch.”

You barely remember to say goodnight to Emma and James, whom you had honestly forgotten were still even in the room.

They jumped slightly when you called out to them, having seemingly forgotten you and Margot’s presence as well, even with the way you had been so loud.

You shake your head fondly as they guiltily say goodnight, and you’re out the door.

You spend the journey back to your quarters thinking about the past month you’ve spent with Quaritch.

Your relationship with him, if you can even call it that, has grown from distant to something more of an…understanding. A mutually beneficial, symbiotic agreement. He’s still a massive prick, always poking and jabbing nastily, always quick to make fun.

He's still likely to smother you in your sleep if you do or say something bad enough, but he isn’t as terrifying as he was when you first met, that’s for certain.

You’re not sure if it’s simply the result of spending four hours every damn day for a whole month in his company, or if he chose to be less frightening on purpose. Either way, that all-consuming terror you felt in the first week of meeting him has faded into faint uneasiness.

And it was hard to stay so scared of him all the time when he did almost, dare you think it, nice things.

Like that one time, just a week ago, when he had been teaching you different ways to hold your blade so you could better attack someone instead of just defending yourself.

Quaritch had stood close to you, and even through the stifling, humid heat of Pandora, you could feel the heat coming off him. His bare arm brushed against yours gently as he moved from your right side to stand in front of you, and he lifted the little knife he had given you three weeks ago.

As he had warned you to, you’d kept good care of; you didn’t want to give Quaritch any other reason to dislike you, and losing the knife he entrusted into your care would worsen his feelings toward you for sure.

So, you kept it on you whenever you were in your Avatar form, nice and safe tucked away in your right short pocket. Sometimes, whenever you were distracted, you’d find yourself stroking over the M.Q engraved on the handle, thumb roving over the groves. It was sort of comforting, in a way you couldn’t describe. You probably just liked the texture.

“Alrigh’, Peach. Your defense with this puny little thing has been adequate at best, but it's good ‘nough for now. So, we’ll be moving on toward something a little bit more fun,” he grinned unpleasantly, head tilting to the side, “your offense.”

You swallowed uneasily but nodded.

Can’t be any worse than before, right? You had naively thought.

You were really, really fucking wrong.

Five minutes in, you figured out that Quaritch is a fucking monster at defense. You’d known this to some degree, just because this was Quaritch and he’s good at everything when it comes to combat, but trying to even touch this guy with your knife was utterly impossible.

No matter how fast your feet moved, no matter how much your muscles burned, no matter how hard you tried, Quaritch is bigger and better than you’ll ever be. You could see it in the way he moved, the ease of which he ducked and weaved around your inexperienced blade. He had a smug look on his face and his lips were curled up in amusement as he played around with you like a cat with a mouse.

Someday, you might get jealous of his skill, of his ferocity in combat. Now, though, watching him just made you feel in awe.

Embarrassingly, you can’t help but think he’s stunning when he moves like that. Maybe in the future you’ll actually get to see him against a real opponent, a real warrior who knows what they’re doing. You have no doubt that Quaritch would give them hell.

You leapt at him one more time in a last-ditch attempt to cut him, and he surprised you by not immediately dodging as he had done the past few minutes. Instead, he simply stays still as you run at him.

You tried to slow down once you realized he wasn’t going to move, but it was too late. He stepped slightly toward you and stopped your body’s momentum by splaying a huge hand across your upper chest and pushing you back with barely any effort at all.

You went flying backward, ass landing hard on the ground with a grunt.

Ow!

You groaned as you struggled to stand back up and Quaritch offered no helping hand, not that you had expected him to. Instead, he crossed his bulging arms across his chest, smirked, and said, “Well. You weren’t as pathetic at offense as I thought you’d be.”

You scoffed, eventually able to stand back up and dust off the gravel that clung to the fabric that covered your ass, “I was ridiculous, I didn’t even manage to make contact.”

“Well, that’s just ‘cause you ain’t pissed enough. You gotta think of me as some sorta son of a bitch you despise, someone you hate. Really let it provoke you, feel the hate in your blood and let it guide you until you kill em’. Then you’ll be golden.”

You considered his words thoughtfully, wondering who the hell you could ever hate so much you could brutally kill them.

Quaritch sighed when he saw the questioning look on your face, one large blue hand resting on the thick belt wrapped around his slender waist. He reached up to rub at his jawline as he rolled his eyes at your naivety, and then he said, “Look, Peach, there’s gotta be someone you don’t like-”

“David!” you blurt out, remembering how irritated he’d made you the past week with his stupid little comments and snotty attitude, “I really, really fucking don’t like David. If you think I’m a priss, you’d hate David if you ever met him.”

“…Alright, David it is, then. Come on, get ready to come at me again, and this time don’t be such a pussy about it. Remember what I taught you and think about whatever it is about this poor David bastard you hate so much.” Quaritch spreads his legs into a wider stance, long arms deceptively relaxed at his sides as he waited for you to come at him.

“The guy’s a douchebag, always rambling on about how he’s better than everyone else. He’s a real stuffy, know-it-all science puke. You know, your favorite type of person.”

You flashed him a sharp-toothed grin and he smirked back, wide golden eyes grudgingly amused.

“He once told me that it would be highly unlikely that you would be able to teach me anything. I really wasn’t sure if it was a dig at your teaching skills or my intelligence. Probably both, knowing him.”

Quaritch’s eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened as he said, “…Interesting. Might have to meet this David guy some time.”

You grinned at the thought of massive, terrifying Quaritch looming over a tiny, frightened David, grinning down at him evilly. That might finally be enough to deflate David’s ego, though it was David. Who knows, he’d probably be delusional enough to think Quaritch was talking to him out of respect or some shit.

I would literally fucking pay to see that happen. Quaritch would eat him alive.

“Alright, I’m ready, let’s go again.”

You spent the next thirty minutes pathetically struggling to hit him, and you didn’t make contact even once. You came close a few times, but you never actually touched the bastard.

And thinking about how utterly irritating David was didn’t even help! As much as you disliked the guy, you really couldn’t develop enough anger to want to kill him, even if it wasn’t real.

Maybe throttle him or duct tape his mouth shut, but to kill? That wasn’t you; you just didn’t have that sort of determination or ferocity in your heart. Maybe one day, but certainly not now.

It seems Quaritch could see that because he sneered at you before sighing and coming to a stop.

“Jesus Christ, alright, this isn’t working. We gotta figure somethin’ out, ‘cause at this rate you’re just going to hurt yourself by flailin’ ‘round like that. Goddamn.”

You stopped when he did, panting, face flushed and sweaty. You winced at his words but admit defeat by nodding your head in agreement.

Quaritch propped both his hands on his hips as he considered you for a moment, eyes flicking over your body. He checked the watch on his left wrist and then said,

“Well, Peach, we only gotta few minutes left and I’m fuckin’ hungry, so let’s call it a day. I’ll see ya nice and early morning tomorrow on time, you hear me?” He gave you a look, and you internally rolled your eyes even as you nodded understandingly.

It was one time you’d been five minutes late to meeting up with him, weeks ago, and he’d never let you forget it. Tom had woken up late, so you’d had to wait to link into your Avatar. You were only a few minutes late, but Quaritch had been a grumpy little bastard about it the entire morning.  

He was fucking relentless, and now every single time at the end of the lesson, he always has to say some little thing about it, because it’s Quaritch. Why ever waste an opportunity to be a dick?

“See you tomorrow, sir.”

Quaritch gave you one last look, golden eyes stern, before turning around to head back toward the gate of the courtyard.

You watched as he went, hands distractedly reaching for the sheath of your knife so you could safely put it away.

You gazed at the thin, green fabric of his tank top that stretched taught over his broad shoulders and muscled back, eyes lowering down to take in his slender waist wrapped in his belt.

And then your eyes went lower, and you made a daring observation that shocked your world, an observation you would have never dared to even think a mere few weeks ago.

Miles Quaritch has a fantastic ass.

You blushed strongly even as your head tilted to the side, eyes locked on his camo-covered ass as he practically struts his way to the gate. Your mouth parted gently before you bit softly on your bottom lip.

I’m mean, really, he’s goddamn packing it away down there. Is there any part of him that isn’t fucking attract- mother fucker!

You yelped as stinging pain ripped through your senses, concentrated strongly on the palm of your right hand. You dropped your knife on instinct, looking down hurriedly to see what the hell was hurting so bad.

You hissed lightly, shocked, when you saw the angry, bright red cut on the upper part of your blue palm, already weeping blood profusely. Your tail flicked irritably behind you, ears lowering on the sides of your head.

No fucking way, you absolute dumbass.

You’d been so distracted with checking out Quaritch’s ass that you had accidentally cut your palm open with your own knife while trying to sheath it.

“Mother fucker!” The words burst out of your mouth before you could stop them, tingling pain finally pushing its way through your surprised brain and throbbing from your palm all the way up your arm.

Blood slowly dripped on the concrete of the courtyard as you grasped your right wrist with your left hand, gasping softly.

I have to get to the medical center, Jesus Christ, why the hell does it hurt so much!?

You’d just started taking steps toward the gate, eyes locked on your bleeding palm when you heard stomping footsteps approaching fast. Before you knew it, camo-covered legs were in your peripheral vision.  

You looked up at Quaritch’s irritated and baffled face, his eyebrows furrowed as he snagged your wrist and yanked your arm up to his face to closer inspect the bleeding wound on your hand.

“Jesus Christ, Peach, the fuck did you do? I left you alone for two seconds!”  

“I-I know, I know! I was just trying to put it back into its sheath and-and I must have not been paying attention and it-” you stuttered, mind franticly trying to come up with an excuse to say instead of why you’d been so distracted.

There was no fucking way you were ever going to tell Quaritch you’d actually injured yourself because you were preoccupied with checking out his ass. Your pride and dignity would never make a recovery.

He interrupted you before you could finish, gripping your wrist tightly as he hissed, “Yeah, I can see that. Fucking hell, I should just start callin’ you clumsy instead of Peach. Let’s go.”

Quaritch lowered your arm from his face, scowling deeply, his own ears flicking angrily.

He began walking with your wrist still in his grasp. He tugged on your arm when you remained rooted to the ground, and you stumbled after him.

“U-Uh, hey, where are we going?”

“To the medical center, you idiot. It doesn’t look too deep but you’re going to need to get it cleaned. Hurry the fuck up, let’s go.”

He marched you out of the courtyard, through the bustling area of soldiers and across Bridgehead, all the while still holding onto you.

Every now and then he’d shorten his long, angry stride to take a look at your hand, and every time he did, the scowl on his face grew. His sharp teeth were clenched angrily as you walked on.

You didn’t say a word, too embarrassed and in pain, even as you struggled to keep up with his aggressive pace. You winced every time a gust of air blew across your open wound and made it sting even more. Every time you winced, Quaritch’s grip tightened.

Eventually you made it to the med center, and Quaritch waltzed through the doors with zero concern or hesitation. He tugged you upfront to stand beside him and finally released his grip on your wrist.

Ten or so tiny little humans wearing exo-masks and white sanitary gear bustled around the near entrance of the center, but none took any notice of the two giant blue Avatars standing in front of them, too busy with their own tasks.

When none of them looked up from their work after two seconds, Quaritch lost his minuscule amount of patience and barked,  

“Hey!”

You jumped slightly, not expecting Quaritch to shout, and every person in the immediate vicinity froze, heads snapping up and around to you and Quaritch. His deep voice almost echoed in the ensuing silence as any other sound stopped.

You wanted to shrink away from their stares, to just go back to your quarters and take care of your wound by yourself. Quaritch must have sensed your uneasiness and desire to bolt, because he firmly placed one large hand on your bare back, fingers splaying out across your sensitive skin.

You jumped again at the unexpected feeling of his skin against yours and tensed, mouth parting to gasp before you choked it down.

Quaritch’s hand was so big that his thumb brushed up under the loose fabric of the training crop top you wore, and goosebumps erupted across your body as you involuntarily shivered at the feeling.

You could feel the pads of his fingers against your skin, and it felt so strange (good).

“If any of you busy fuckers wouldn’t mind takin' a moment to check out this girl here, I would greatly appreciate it.” Quaritch’s deep voice boomed across the silent room, clearly irritated and sarcastic.

He sneered at them all, and then lifted an eyebrow when everyone remained frozen, “Well?”

One brave little human finally managed to unstick their feet from the floor to approach you and Quaritch slowly, as if you were both wild animals that might attack her at any moment.

They come close enough that you can tell it was a woman, even through all the bright white gear she wore. She was short, stout, and stern-looking, with grey hair pulled up into a tight bun.

She tilted her head up to meet Quaritch’s fierce yellow gaze firmly, and you almost raised your eyebrows in surprise when she refused to look away from his angry glare, her back straight and gloved hands folded in front of her.

Jesus Christ, this lady has some serious balls, you had thought incredulously.

“What’s the problem, sir?” she asked, voice coming out polite but stiff.

Quaritch had seemed startled for about half a second, then he narrowed his eyes once more and said, “This idiot sliced her hand open.”

He nudged you strongly with the hand on your back and you took a stumbling step forward, looking down at her small face and sheepishly raising your right bloody hand. It had stopped bleeding so much a few minutes before you had entered the center, but it was still a gross-looking mess.

“Uh, yeah, I’m sorry, I did do that,” you said sheepishly, apologetic.

The lady didn’t seem remotely bothered by the blood, though, and she simply sighed before guiding you over to a nearby cot with a white privacy sheet away from the entrance of the center.

You walked over willingly, careful not to jostle your hand. The stinging had faded slightly now that you were inside, but it was far from numb, and you didn’t want to make it hurt even more.

As you walked over to the tent, Quaritch left your side without your notice and wandered somewhere out of your viewpoint without a word.

You turned around to say something to him, and only then did you even notice he was gone.

Oh, you had thought, he could have at least said goodbye.  

The lady introduced herself as Doctor Miriam as she moved around your cot to grab various medical supplies. She asked you some questions, like how and when you injured yourself, and with what.

You sheepishly told her that you had been distracted when you had cut yourself, and your hand drifted down to your pocket to grab your knife to show it to her.

Your heart dropped to your shoes when you were met with nothing, and you tensed in alarm before immediately slouching when you realized you had dropped it in the courtyard.

You’d have to go back for it once this was done, but you’d much prefer that than it being lost like you had thought it was when you hadn’t felt it in your pants. Quaritch would have killed you.

All in all, the process for healing your hand was a simple one; Doctor Miriam cleaned your palm, removed the gravel, smeared a clear gel on it, and wrapped the upper part of your hand with a simple white bandage.

“Luckily,” Doctor Miriam explained, “the cut is shallow enough that it didn’t sever any of the nerves in your hand. It’ll be healed by tonight because of the medicinal properties in that healing gel, but be careful not to squeeze anything too tight. You don’t even have to wear the bandage for more than a few hours.”

You thanked her profusely and apologized again for causing her trouble, and she simply waved her hand, patted you on the back firmly, and guided you back toward the entrance of the center.

You stepped outside back into the light of Pandora, so ready to go back to the Avatar center to take a shower and get back into your own body after such a tiresome ordeal.

You’d barely taken a few steps before Quaritch rounded the corner of the building, stepping into your viewpoint.

You jerked to a stop, wondering what the hell he was still doing here.

He headed toward the entrance of the med center in long strides but stopped when he saw you standing outside. He changed his course of direction to you and reached you in a scant few seconds.

“I thought you were gone?” you asked, bandaged hand raising to shield your eyes from the bright light as you looked up at him.

Quaritch grabbed your wrist once more to examine the handiwork of Doctor Miriam. Apparently satisfied, he dropped your arm a moment later, and you let it go limply back to your side, still waiting for an answer.

“Noticed you left my knife in the courtyard, and I don’t like leaving my shit where others can take it,” he said, and lifted up your knife to your view.

“Sorry, sorry, I was just about to go back for it!” you exclaimed, hand reaching out to grab it from his own.

Quaritch pulled his hand back before you could take it, scoffing loudly before he asked, “What, you think you can just leave my shit laying around and then just take it back?”

He took a step closer to you, face lowering down to yours to look you firmly in the eye. He glowered at you, yellow eyes burning as he said, “Don’t do it again.”

You wanted to scoff at him and say, ‘Well, I was a little distracted by all the blood pouring from my hand!’, but you bit your tongue. It would just result in an argument you would never win.

“Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

He glared at you one last time before dropping the knife into your hand. You took it gratefully, and as you tucked it into the pocket of your pants, you noticed that he had cleaned it of your blood. 

“And the next time you handle that knife, Peach, do your best not to slice open your own hand. Jesus, you gotta be the clumsiest brainiac I’ve ever met.”

You winced, suddenly feeling a hot flash of embarrassment all over again at the thought of your accident. You shuffled awkwardly and cleared your throat before you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, and you said, “Thanks for your help, sir. I really appreciate it.”

Quaritch sneered down at you, ears flicking as he sniffed derisively and said, “You’re damn right you’re thankful,” and then he stormed away as quickly as he had arrived.

You had watched him go, and it wasn’t until later that night as you laid in bed staring at the ceiling that you realized how surprised you had been that Quaritch had even bothered to take you to the center.

For all the cut had hurt like a bitch, it was far more superficial than life-threatening. Quaritch had been able to tell that the moment he had looked it at, but he still stayed with you to take you to the center. And he hadn’t even complained about it once while you were walking, which was a goddamn miracle for Quaritch.

And there was that other time a few days into the first week of lessons when you had neglected to eat much of breakfast, nor much of dinner the night before. While that would have been fine to do in your human form, your Avatar needs a massive amount of nutrients and calories to survive. Since you were working yourself to the bone every morning for the past week, it was a very dumb move to forget to eat two meals in a row.

You had gone out one morning to meet Quaritch and had felt fine through his Na’vi lesson, and it was only during your own combat session that you began to weaken.

You were thirty minutes in, clumsily dodging Quaritch’s hits when black spots began to cover your eyes. You stumbled to a stop, panting and dizzy, and your limbs felt much heavier than before. Your arms lowered from where they had been positioned defensively in front of you as you struggled to stay upright, swaying unsteadily on your feet.

Quaritch paused in his own movement, his fists lowering down in confusion as his eyes flickered over your face before he said, “You good, Peach? You’re lookin’ a lil’ green for such a blue girl-woah!”

Your vision faded, sounds muting out as you felt your body slacken. Just as you began to tilt backward, Quaritch lunged forward and caught your limp form before you could hit the ground.

It took a moment to come back to reality, to claw your way out of the darkness as the harsh buzzing in your ears lessened. You slowly moved your fingers and legs as feeling came back to them, and you realized distantly that your upper body was laying down across something firm and covered in soft fabric.

 A deep voice began to filter into your ears as you kept your eyes closed, still not fully conscious.

“Hey, Peach? Peach, you wuss, you went and passed out on me, wake up.”

You groaned as a hand began to lightly smack your right cheek, slowly blinking open your eyes.

For a moment, the only thing you could see was fuzzy blue, until Quaritch’s upper body and face became clearer. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, lips curled in light amusement, but you felt more than saw his shoulders become less ridged when you met his eyes.

You swallowed, mouth dry, and whispered, “Oh. Did I pass out?”

Quaritch barked out a ridiculing laugh and said, “Yeah, sweetheart, you sure did.”

“Oh,” you said again, still stunned. It wasn’t the first time you’d fainted, but the empty and dizzy feeling never got easier.

You swallowed again and realized just how thirsty you were. Your stomach growled furiously, and all of a sudden you were starving.

Didn’t even think about eating, you realized, beyond disappointed in yourself for not taking proper care of your Avatar. 

You moved your shoulders to start lifting yourself up from the ground, before you realized with disbelief and humiliation that you weren’t laying on the hard ground, but rather your upper body was mostly in Quaritch’s fucking lap.

No wonder I had been able to smell him so well, I’m practically on top the poor guy!

You blinked and lifted your head up, your face coming closer to Quaritch’s own, close enough that you could see the small flecks of brilliant green in his bright yellow eyes. More embarrassment flashed through you even as you subtly inhaled his intoxicating scent, made more overwhelming and mind-numbing by your proximity to him.

You wanted to scream and bury your face in your hands. Not only had you passed out like an absolute pussy for such a stupid reason, but Quaritch had actually had to catch you like you were some prissy damsel in distress. Honestly you were surprised he had even bothered to prevent you from falling, let alone bothered enough to cradle you in his lap until you had awoken.

Probably just pitied the stupid, clumsy girl who couldn’t even take care of herself, you thought bitterly, lips thinning.

You sniffed quietly as you met his eyes, your own golden eyes flicking between his as you said, slightly breathlessly, “Thanks for catching me.”

He looked back down at you blankly, eyebrows furrowing for just a moment and ears flicking back on the sides of his head before he scoffed and said, “Fuck, Peach, I just didn’t want you to bust your head and get blood all over my courtyard is all.”

You saw his muscled biceps suddenly flex with tension and realized you had about two seconds to get yourself off his lap before he tossed you away, curious generosity swiftly revoked.  

You tensed your core to sit upright quickly, and once you no longer felt dizzy, you shifted your hands to support yourself. Your right one went to press a palm down firmly on the ground, and once you began to lift yourself up all the way, your left hand moved to place itself better. That would have been fine if Quaritch hadn’t still been sitting there, waiting for you to move so he could get up.

Your hand landed just on the right side of his crotch, pinky finger brushing gently against something really fucking big by the cold zipper of his pants.

Oh.

Your stomach exploded with butterflies before sinking violently like a stone in dread as you realized exactly who you were practically fondling.  

You gasped loudly, head whipping downward in wide-eyed horror to confirm your terrified thoughts, and, yep, that was your hand full on Colonel Quaritch’s lap, just an inch away from earning you a horrifying phone call from the human resource department. If Quaritch didn’t rip your arms off and strangle you first, that is.

You jerked your hand away as fast you could, face and ears already burning. You franticly started lifting yourself away so you can give him more space, and you turned to look at him so you could furiously apologize and beg for your life.

Quaritch snatched your wrist in a bruising grip before you could fully pull away and tugged you angrily back into his body space. You hit the ground hard on your knees, wincing, kneeling in front of his sitting form. You didn’t even have time to pull away or straighten up before Quaritch is shoving his furious face close to yours, tail flicking furiously behind him.

And you couldn’t help but distantly think, this close to his face and eyes, he really is fucking pretty.

“You,” he hissed, bright yellow eyes enraged and narrowed as they flickered across your own wide ones, “need to watch you put your fucking hands, sweetheart, before you start something you can’t finish.”

“Sorry, sorry!” you squeaked, heart pounding in your chest with all sorts of emotions, “It was a slip of the hand!”

Quaritch growled, baring his sharp teeth slightly before tossing you your wrist back to you. You scrambled up and away from him quickly, taking several steps to widen your distance, chest heaving.

Quaritch rose as well, glaring at you one last time before turning on his heel and walking right out of the courtyard, fists clenched and tail still flicking angrily behind him.

As you squint worriedly after him, wondering if this was the end of your brief partnership, you could see the slight hint of a pretty purple on the back of his neck and the tip of his ears.

It was an accident, you wanted to shout after him, but somehow you don’t think it would help any.

Jesus Christ, I think my heart is about to explode.   

The morning after that whole thing had been unnerving, with Quaritch still grouchy and you still embarrassed. It was a little awkward when you began Quaritch’s Na’vi lesson, but by the time it was your lesson, you were back to inelegantly moving around and Quaritch was back to kicking your ass.

Now, every morning since your fainting spell, Quaritch will ask, “You sure you won’t pass out again, princess?”, or “Sure hope you snagged some grub, Peach”, always smirking callously and teasing you whenever he gets the chance, the dickbag.

You can’t really blame him, though; you really, really didn’t want another crotch-grabbing incident. Knowing your luck, you’d do something even worse, like full-on fondle him or trip and land face-first into his lap.

So now you make sure to take proper care of your Avatar, always eating and drinking enough and listening to the signals your body gave you. It had been massively dumb for you to not do that in the first place, but now you’re going to make sure it is your top priority.

As you finally arrive at your quarters, you conclude that you are far from friends with Quaritch, if that was even a possibility for him. In fact, you don’t think he even had any friends.

Sure, he was the commander of the Recombinant Unit and everything, and those guys fucking worship him, but it didn’t seem like it was the same as actually being friends who care about each other.

You get ready for bed, mind consumed with thoughts of Quaritch, and you can't help the thought that pops into your head as you shuffle around your room.

You know, I don't think I would mind all that much being friends with him.

Peachy Keen. Part Three.

Tagging: I'm sorry, I did my best, for some reason it wouldn't let me tag everyone!

@kristennero @silverhowe @creativityleftthechat @nissilou

@x-maladaptive-daydreams-x @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

@rdeville @anxiousraindrop5299 @floufli @rax-raxus

@nanamislut321 @perseny @gremlinfuck @e1d0lonk3k

@iwillnotexplainmyself @mxddymay @coffinbeananteiku @j-ang-0

@myxwallz @rowdy-00 @tmblrsexyw0man

@tohellwiththedevill @arsen-the-vamp @babyduk213