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normsdaughter-alt · 1 year

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Speak up, Love. - Pt. 1

Miles Quaritch x fem!reader

Summary - Selectively mute!reader is an incredibly important scientist + medic who was killed while tending to soldiers in an active warzone before becoming a recom and getting taken under the wing of renounced colonel, Miles Quaritch.

Warnings - Explicit content, no smut, selectively mute + smart reader, sub reader, mention of blood (he spits blood into her mouth), fighting, alludes to bullying (Lyle to reader, other soldiers to reader), smut in future parts, petnames ‘sweetheart’, ‘darling’, and ‘good girl’ used

WC (wordcount) - ~4.8k (exactly 4790.)

‘"they're simply jealous. Like the assholes earlier. They were jealous of you. I wished to speak to you, whereas I got disgusted by even looking at them."’

——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/—

Colonel Quaritch is wrapping up his orientation speech to the rest of the recoms, yourself included. Amongst the tall blue aliens all of you have found yourselves representing as, you are visibly smaller than most, if not the entirety of the crowd. Even in your human form, you would’ve seemed pitiful compared to them.

It would be easy for anyone here to portray you as inferior to them. You’re not a soldier. You don’t hold the rank they do.

You’re unimportant; simply a medic who was somehow trusted enough by your superiors to be present on a hostile planet, yet idiotic enough to have wound up fatally injured.

Very few, maybe even none, of these people are aware that given the incentive, you could end them without a second thought.

"Ah, Corporal Wainfleet. Good to see you again." The colonel says after wrapping up his speech, looking at the man next to you, Lyle Wainfleet. You've never even made eye contact with the guy, yet he dislikes you.

You’ve heard the way he speaks of you when he assumes you can’t. The way he degrades your work, your intelligence, you.

Lyle nods in respect, shaking Colonel Quaritch's hand as he stands and leaves.

"Ah." The colonel says as he steps to the side, leering over you as you look up from your seat. "Hello." He tilts your head up, his fingers pressing under your chin.

Your eyes narrow, but only slightly. Lyle halts in his tracks. He looks back towards your conversation, as do most of the recoms still in earshot. Hums and Haws start to slip from their mouths.

So, they’ve pinned you as an outsider then.

Corporal Lyle leans his weight onto the foot closest to you. He sucks in a breath. “She’s, um.. That is-”

The colonel leans back on the heels of his boots. He’s looking at Lyle through the corner of his eyes, not bothering to dull his harsh expression.

“I know very well who she is, Lyle.” His voice drawls on the other man’s name, his tongue running over his teeth as his inferior hurries to justify the stuttered attempt of an introduction that Col. Quaritch didn’t want nor need.

"She doesn't speak very often, sir.” Lyle offers finally, a smirk dancing across his lips as he finishes the sentence. “In all honesty, we don’t think she can, except for when she is displaying her quote en quote, ‘revolutionary’, scientific work.”

He laughs. “I think she might be too cowardly to face peoples reactions when she opens herself up to conversations that don’t affirm her high opinion of herself.”

The colonel raises his eyebrows at you, a soft expression of concern, his fingertips grazing your jaw as he turns away. "Hm, Lyle?"

"Yes, sir?"

“It would do you well to mind your own business.”

His eyes flick back down, returning his undivided attention to you, while lowering his voice for just your ears to hear. "Oh, I definitely know who you are. Would you be interested in, well I don’t know, proving your competence to your superior?"

As your eyes widen, you realise that it would probably be in your best interest to respond to him. You ought not to be disrespectful to your superior, so you move to nod in response.

If you speak, you will either embarrass yourself and attract even more attention towards you and the colonel, or you will try and your voice will simply not comply, humiliating yourself in front of one of the few superior officers who has not yet been properly acquainted with you, or your work.

Colonel Quaritch’s fingertips hold you in place, depriving you of a silent manner of response. You can hear his voice in your ears, despite it not leaving his lips. ‘If you want to say yes to me, you have to find a better way to do it.’

You open your mouth, your shoulders shaking in tune with your voice as it fails you. "Y- ye, I.. hm."

His fingers leave your face, taking pity upon you, allowing you the privilege to respond to him without losing any more decency than you have already, which if you consider it, may be statistically impossible.

As soon as he allows you the ability to move your eyes away from his, you do. You glue your eyes to the ground, giving a small nod. Noticeable enough to satisfy him as a response, yet not so frantic as to prompt mocking comments about your enthusiasm.

Muffled snickers make their way to your ears from across the room, and your heart falls. You had assumed that the colonel’s squad of recoms had left the room, or removed themselves from earshot at the very least.

Colonel Quaritch turns to face the group of recoms in the opposite corner of the room, his face twisted in irritation. Clearly, he is a man that doesn’t approve of being interrupted. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" He snarls, his hand resting on your shoulder. The group of eavesdropping soldiers quickly scatter, trailing off in the direction of the mess hall. If they are in search of food, they shall be disappointed. Any leftovers were likely cleaned away a while ago.

"C'mon." He commands, tugging on your shoulder. You stand, finding the height difference between him and yourself impressive. He must’ve been one of, if not the tallest in the room. There must be at least a foot between you. You could probably find his file somewhere, get his exact height. The colonel interrupts your train of thought, placing his hand in a fist around your wrist. It’s gentle, allowing him to have leverage without putting you in pain.

He leads you behind him through the RDA base, drawing attention with every step he takes. While you walk, - he walks, while you get dragged - You attempt to make it seem as if the staring is lost on you, distracting yourself by watching his tail slide along the back of his calf, every so often lifting up and swishing across the front of yours.

On your tippy-toes, you reach out and use your free hand to tap on his, very muscular, upper arm and grab his attention. He wouldn't notice you otherwise, you think. Even if you stood in front of him and stopped him from walking, he would simply shove you aside. The colonel seems to be lost in his own world most of the time. Not in the way you are, though. In a cocky way. He holds himself in a way that says 'I don't care what you think of me. I don't care about you, why should I? Do you care about the roach that crawls over your shoe? About the millions of ants you squash throughout your lifetime? You are nothing but a mere insect to me, why should you matter?'.

He stops in his tracks and turns to face you. If the two of you hadn't already attracted enough attention, you're gaining more by the second. "What is it?"

You raise your eyebrows and point ahead of you, careful not to accidentally gesture towards anyone. Where are we going? You want to know.

"Oh darl, I have heard legends about the way you fight, your insane talent in mere hand to hand combat that most men cannot equal with any weapon known to mankind.. You have no idea what I would've done to get you in the ring. Yet, you - for some reason - opted out of being a soldier.”

You nod with a smile dawning on your face, him slowly matching it with his when he senses the pride that he instilled in you. His grip, almost loosened to the point of letting you go completely, tightens again as you walk towards the gym. A path clears in the colonel’s wake, your eyes facing the floor to avoid accidentally catching anyone else's as you pass. The colonel slows as he notices your discomfort, swapping his grip on your wrist for his arm slung across your waist. You lean into him, as if when you get close enough you can melt into him and disappear.

He pulls you down a hallway with next to nobody down it, "Shortcut. Less stares, if that was troubling you." He glances to the side, giving you his eyes. You nod. You dislike the attention that Colonel Quaritch is drawing to you.

His grip on your waist loosens slowly, and eventually he lets you slip out of his grip and trail a few steps behind, likely because of the severe decrease in crowding around you. You glance up from your feet when the soft thudding of his footsteps disappears, to find that he's stopped in front of a heavy-looking door and is fumbling in his pockets.

You run your eyes over him, zoning in on a shiny ring hooked to one of his belt loops. Hanging from the ring are a few keys, and a square card that gives him access to his room. You presume he's looking for one of the keys that are resting against the fabric of his pants, and remove the loop from his body while he rummages through his pockets.

You take a few steps forward, slipping past the colonel, and kneel down to look at the keyhole. Colonel Quaritch steps towards you in wonderment as you slide in the door’s key. You turn the key in its hole, and receive the affirming click.

You pull the key out and step back to let the colonel open the door, but you forgot he was directly behind you. You falter from the impact of stepping into him, stumbling downwards, but his arms snake around your waist on instinct as your back hits his chest. You let out a sigh of embarrassment.

You try to resume your plan of moving back to the side and following Quaritch into the gym, but his arms tighten around me, holding you in place.

"Not yet darl. How did you unlock that?"

"You were looking for the key, and I saw your keys. I took the keys, then I looked at the keyhole and I matched the key with it. I was right about all of that, so now the door is unlocked. If you would let me g- g, g-"

"Wow. That was a bit of a breakthrough for you huh, sweetheart? That's a lot of words in a short time. Good job darlin.”

You move your hands around funnily to accompany words that will not come out, slipping out of Colonel Quaritch’s arms and turning to face him. The Colonel raises his eyebrows patiently, watching you, slightly amused. He gives you his tablet to type on.

You nod softly, your fingers immediately beginning to type.

'I don't really like speaking. I never have. Eventually I just became accustomed to staying silent. Sometimes I just can’t bring myself to get words out. I find it easy to speak about my intelligence though, except when I feel like I am going to be singled out for it. I like explaining the process of my thoughts. People don't like it when they can't understand things, I like it when I can help them understand.'

When you turn the tablet around to show it to him, he takes a second, making sure to read it carefully and correctly. He doesn't want to miss a word.

"I'm glad you can speak about your intelligence darl. I'm sorry that people single you out for it, they're simply jealous. Like the assholes earlier. They were jealous of you. I wished to speak to you, whereas I got disgusted by even looking at them."

The blood rushes to your face as the colonel watches you carefully, taking you in. He taps the tablet lightly, tilting his head. 'Do you have something to say?'

You take the tablet from his hands, staring at the tablet blankly, before shaking it to erase the previous writing.

'Thank you, Colonel Quaritch.' You type.

"Colonel Quaritch is long. Colonel is fine." He mutters, his eyes on the tablet.

You shake the tablet to erase your writing once again, raising your eyebrows and biting your lip as you type.

'Just colonel?’

"Yes."

You slowly hand the colonel his tablet back as he leads you into the gym. He goes through the door first, capturing any possible attention, dragging it away from you. You follow through after him, glad to find that there's nobody inside.

The colonel grabs your wrist again, and pulls you towards the wrestling ring in the corner. He stops halfway, positioning you in front of a punching bag, and supplying you with a pair of boxing gloves. He stands behind you, the sight of his shadow towering over yours nearly bringing you to your knees with the wish of sinking into the ground.

You pull on the boxing gloves and tighten them appropriately, and stand still while the colonel repositions you. He lays a piece of tape a few centimetres in front of your feet, and you bring a foot forward to rest the tip of your boot against it.

You try to buck out of his grasp when he places his hands on your hips, but he simply pulls you backwards and grips you tighter, fingertips already forming bruises. He tilts your hips at an angle, and promptly releases you. "Sorry, darl, but you have got to be tougher than that."

You nod, quickly and apologetically, while he steps out from behind you. He stands, on the edge of getting in the way, far enough to be safe from accidentally getting wiped out by the punching bag, but not out of reach if you happen to do it on purpose.

'Square up' he gestures, and you follow his command, lean your weight into your toes, and throw a punch. A hard punch. It could've been harder, though. Even so, the punching bag is flung into the air. You step aside as it comes back down, catching it as it swings past you. Having slowed it down, you release it, and let it fall back to its original position.

"Good girl," the colonel snarls, positioning himself behind the punching bag. He takes a few steps back, for his own safety.

You shift your weight ever so slightly, and take a second punch. To the colonel's dismay, you hold back, and the bag doesn't swing into his face.

"Don't do that."

"W-?" You tilt your head slightly

"Don’t hold back on me. I'm strong enough to take whatever you throw at me, darling."

You nod, punching again, as hard as you'll go, so the chain that's hoisting the punching bag doesn't break or come unravelled. The force of falling to the floor usually splits the bag open. It's happened before. Quite a few times actually.

Colonel catches the bag, almost half effortlessly. He throws it back. You punch it once more.

He nods slightly while catching it. "Good job." He passes it back, and you throw another perfect punch.

Catch, throw, punch. Positive affirmation. Repeat, repeat.

The colonel catches, throws, makes his way behind you, distracts you. You step aside, and Colonel Quaritch gets hit square in the chest with a punching bag. He stumbles back and falls to the floor. After giving a small, quiet chuckle, you walk over and kneel next to him.

"Sorry darl, that was my fault.." He winces. You tilt your head softly, giving him a patronising thumbs up. He rolls his eyes, and smacks your hand down. You cradle your wrist to your chest in overly exaggerated pain. "You can punch harder than that. We both know it."

You shake your head, calling his bluff.

"Oh darling. Stop lying to me. I was there. I know what you can do."

You scrunch up your nose, tilting your head to the side in confusion .

"I saw you knock down those punching bags. Every. Single. One. Every time."

Blood rushes to your face again, your cheeks flushing a deep purple.

"Yeah, there you go. You know what I'm talking about. You know you're proud of yourself. You should be sweetheart."

I nod quickly, waiting for him to get to the point.

"You know what I want you to do, darling. You need to punch it as hard as you can, you want to and you know it. You want to break it. Can you do that for me darl?"

You smile through pursed lips, an attempt of hiding your pride in your own strength. You bring yourself to your feet, positioning yourself in front of the punching bag. When you look towards the colonel for his approval, you find his gaze already glued on you. He nods affirmation, and you take a deep breath while getting into position. Shifting your hips, you squeeze your eyes shut. Once you open them, you let out a deep sigh, and throw your fist against the firm exterior of the punching bag.

You step aside, breathing in and out with relief as the bag circles the rafter it's dangling from. The chain, rusted, ancient, and distressed, gets halfway unravelled before snapping off. The bag slaps the floor beside the colonel with a loud thump, and fortunately without splitting.

The colonel rises to his feet, and once you pull off the boxing gloves, he shakes your hand. You gesture towards the ring and he nods once, sharply. Your hair brushes the insides of his thighs as you bend down to retrieve your gloves, and he takes a sharp intake of breath before getting a pair of his own. You slip under the bottom rope, and he climbs over the opposing top one.

You meet in the middle of the ring, and the colonel's voice softly counts down.

"Three, two, one-"

You throw a punch to his chest, and he's forced to take a couple steps back and regain his breath. He doesn't get the chance though, as you throw yourself against the ropes to propel a kick into his stomach.

He coughs softly, spitting a little bit. He places his gloved hands on your waist, and throws you onto the ground. He places one of his feet on your spine to flatten your back, and sends a kick bouncing off your skull. Your gloves reach above your head, grabbing onto his ankle. You tug it, and the loss of balance removes his foot from your back and brings him down to your level.

Jumping to your feet, you force a foot under the colonel's stomach, and flip him onto his back. You bring a knee to his stomach, leaning all your weight onto him. Colonel Quaritch squirms. sputtering, trying to shove you off of him. He eventually topples you, your head slamming against the floor. His feet outstretch, trying to push you out of the ring and onto the ground as he squirms. Once he realises his efforts are going to waste, it's already too late, and you’re straddling his stomach. While you send a punch to his nose, his hands come to your waist, ready to throw you off. You slam one of your hands to one of his wrists, but it's too little too late. The hand you assaulted goes to the ground, but his other one pulls you down with it. He climbs on top of you, making you whimper slightly.

He's crushing you with his weight. You tilt your head back onto the floor and scrunch up your face before you look back up to face him. You take in his features for a mere few seconds before his gloved knuckles slam into your right cheek, the left side of your face landing against the ground so hard that you’re sure there's a black eye forming. A drop of the colonel's blood falls onto your bruised cheek, and you look up to see the blood from his nose dripping into his mouth, and dripping off his face.

"Need a break darling? Too much?" The colonel chuckles, looking down at you condescendingly.

A smile dawns across your face, before you punch him in the eye hard enough to send it spinning for a full 360 in the socket. His smile matches yours, and so does his attitude. The colonel punches you in the chest, making you gasp for air. He takes the chance and spits his blood into your mouth. You gag, choking on his blood, and turn to the side to spit it out. Well, you try to, but his fingers stop you from moving. Before you get the chance to resolve it by just turning to the other side, his hand slips from the side of your cheek to under your chin, holding you in place.

"What a fucking bitch." He grunts with a chuckle, and you shake your head as violently as you can with your face in his grip. "No, darling. You are. Yeah, you are."

You glare up at him, your eyes holding his.

"I knew you were strong, but god, sweetheart. You are fucking magnificent. Swallow." He growls, the familiar snarl you’ve heard him use many times before seeping into his voice, and a drop of blood falls from his philtrum onto your bruised cheekbone.

You gather up saliva to return his blood and spit, but his hand slides over your mouth and forces your head down on the ground as more of his blood drips onto your face.

"Nah, darling. Don't do that." He lets your head come up slightly, just to bring it back down to the ground, somewhat gently.

Your gaze softens as his hardens, and you reluctantly swallow, the metallic taste of blood sticking around as it usually does.

"Hm." He chuckles. "Good girl. Good girl."

You squint your eyes at him in anger, quickly flipping him on his back. Kneeling one knee next to him, you bring the other to his crotch, and strike as hard as you can. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Fi-

He grabs you by your collar and hoists you up to face level, making eye contact with you. He doesn't want you to miss a word he says.

"You cannot win, darl. You're strong. You might be stronger than me. But I am smarter, and I am bigger, and I am faster. I am purely better than you darling, and there is nothing you will ever be able to do about it."

You like the colonel in the ring. He thinks the way you do. He's cockier, yes, but that's because he thinks he can win. And he will. He's like you, you think you can win anything that you want to. You don't think you want to win this.

You don't like most people, but you like Colonel Quaritch. You like the colonel from the hallway, the person who gave you a voice and listened to every word it said. You like the colonel from the punching bag, the guy who fed your ego, was interested in your strength, was cocky enough to stand behind your punching bag. The guy who was strong enough to take it. You like the colonel in the ring, the dickhead who got blood all over you, who thinks he could win if you didn't want him to, who says what comes to mind without hesitating about if it's going to hurt you. It doesn't, by the way. He might be able to hurt you, but his words can't.

He wasn't incorrect, per se. He is smarter than you, but only tactically speaking, your job isn’t to win the war, it’s to make sure he can. He is bigger than you, his height is much, much larger than yours. The span of his shoulders is too. As is the size of his muscles. You don't think he's faster than you, but you’ll get the chance to find out. You memorised his room number. You could challenge him to a race, presuming he has any free time. But he is not using any of his superior properties, he is trying to outdo you in sheer strength alone. He could crush you if he wanted to, squash you like a bug in under a minute without so much as a second thought. But he doesn't know how to. You must show him.

You blink, slowly, encouraging him to make a move against you, give himself an advantage. The colonel looks you over a couple times, analysing your weak spots, questioning how to defeat you. Finding stability by wrapping your hands around the ropes bordering the ring, you hoist yourself up to sit atop them. You bring your hands to your chest, and throw a few weak, less-than-half hearted punches into his.

"Wh.. what are we doing here. Are you bored with this? Are you toying with me? You can punch harder than that. A lot harder than that." The colonel snarls, his frown deepening with each word.

You shrug, your legs growing restless, swinging back and forth, landing soft kicks above his knees every so often. He takes a deep breath, getting increasingly irritated, before pulling off his boxing gloves and lifting you from the ropes to the ground.

"What do you want." He sighs defeatedly, dragging his tablet out of his pocket and handing it to you.

You start to type.

'You can defeat me. I am inferior to you, but for some reason you are trying to outdo me in the area I excel in. I am as strong as you, but you are more tactical. And you are taller, bigger. If you wanted to squash me, you could. If you commanded me to lose, I would. If you had thought for two seconds before pulling out the hotheaded soldier who spewed his hormonal blood-saliva cross contamination into my mouth, I may respect you a bit more. Colonel.'

Once he takes the tablet from your outstretched hand, his eyebrows practically shoot off his face as he reads. Shaking away the writing, he slides the tablet into his pocket before giving you his full, undivided attention, which is accompanied by piercing eye contact.

"Big move, calling me hotheaded, the very second after explaining exactly how easy I would find it to 'squash you' like a bug. Oh and sweetheart," He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning slightly closer to you, as if trying to hear something you were going to say.

"Judging by the way you get all flustered and purple when I lean over you, the way I am now, I figure you shouldn’t be so high and mighty over my 'hormonal cross contamination' being inside of you so much." As he pulls back, one of his hands reaches out to cup your cheek as he tilts his head and examines you. He removes his hand from your face and stands back, semi-weary while awaiting your response.

You extend your hands, asking for help with removing your boxing gloves. You move slowly, to not threaten him or provoke him to lash out violently. He raises his eyebrows, and his fingers go to the velcro on the gloves. You nod, pushing your hands out more "can y- pl-"

"Yes darl. I've got you."

He removes the gloves from your hands, velcroing them together. He repeats the process with his own gloves after picking them up from the floor, then he slips under the ropes and places both pairs back on the stand.

You trail a few steps behind him, like a lost puppy. You figure that now that you’re done with him in the ring, You should feel free to go. You should probably return to your quarters, and stretch and nap or something, on your own. It would be comforting to be alone after having so much attention drawn to you. To go relax in your room, with nobody able to bother you.

But, for some reason, you'd much rather stay here, with the colonel. You find some sense of.. calmness, and pleasure, in following his footsteps, like a ghost indebted to him.

He halts in his tracks, turning around to face you. You tilt your head to the side, questioning his sudden stop.

"Give me back my keys."

Oh. You fish into the pockets of your cargo pants, and retrieve the hoop that has his room card and keys dangling from it, holding it out by gripping his keycard. The colonel snatches it from your hand.

"Why are you still here? What do you need darlin?" He murmurs, hooking the keys back onto his belt loop.

You shake your head, you don't need anything. He nods in understanding.

"You're dismissed." He commands.

You give a small bob of your head in acknowledgment, and return to your quarters.

——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/—

tags: -

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normsdaughter-alt · 1 year

Text

TEND TO MY WOUNDS

based off this request

pair: lo’ak x fem!metkayina!reader

content warnings: smut, penetrative sex, oral sex (m! recieving), fingering, creampie, kissing, explicit content

Lo’ak had always admired the way your hands worked carefully with your remedies, long nimble fingers delicately tending to his cuts and scrapes. The first time you met him was after he had gone too far out the reef, covered in small scrapes and bruises that littered his dark cerulean skin. They were minor cuts, almost too minor to tend to, but you refused to ignore his plea for assistance.

After patching him up he had thanked you, and a few days later the same ritual occurred. Lo’ak had returned to the small space of your hut, newly covered cuts, and scrapes spotted on his flesh.

He must’ve got hurt again. You thought, or at least until it happened again. It soon became a weekly occurrence; he’d come to your hut for assistance, spend time in your company, and then leave. Sometimes you almost found it hilarious, to watch him come up with more obscure reasons for his countless injuries.

You didn’t mind, however, often finding solace in his company. Unlike many others, he would listen to your thoughts, and in turn, you’d listen to his. And no matter how stressful your day had been, the na’vi boy always found a way to make a smile appear on your face. He soon became what you looked forward to throughout the week, so when he arrived at your hut that dark, stormy night, you found nothing odd in his arrival.

The man took a seat next to you, still silent as he analyzed your features. His eyes trailed upon your dark turquoise stripes, uniquely patterned as they ran down your shoulders, all the way under the cloth of your clothes. He unconsciously took a whiff of your scent, so floral and sweet, so distinctly you.

A small grin crept upon his lips which caught your attention. You turned to him, slightly confused as he seemed to analyze you further.

“So, why have you decided to grace me with your presence today Lo’ak?” Your eyes glanced over his figure, finally absent of any unnecessary injuries or bruises. “No new injuries?”

He only hummed in response, still focused on the small movements of your body, the way your hands gripped the soft fabric underneath you, or how your breath hitched when he came closer. No matter how much he tried, there was always something that made Lo’ak return to you at the end of the night, something more than being healed.

“Why are you here?” You asked once more. Lo’ak finally brought his gaze to meet yours, your ears still slightly downturned. Whatever Lo’ak had planned was completely unbeknownst to you.

“I just wanted to thank you. You have healed me over the past few weeks, and I have truly come to enjoy your company.” He started, standing up from his position. It was only then you realized how much he towered over you, your small figure almost many inches shorter compared to his.

He then leaned close, so close that you could feel his warm breath fan over your skin, “But I have another thing I need help with. It’s very important and I think you could truly help me.”

Slowly, Lo’ak backed away, just enough to make the growing bulge in his loincloth visible. It was long and thick protruding underneath the thin cloth, and the expression across his face only made the atmosphere tenser. Your eyes traced its imprint, mouth almost watering at the sheer size.

“Yeah, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” A finger is hooked underneath your chin to bring your gaze back upwards. He smiled at your dazed expression, his other hand palming his member through the cloth. “Use your words baby, I want to hear you say them.”

His words rolled off his tongue like butter, a rousing sound to your inexperienced ears, so much so that you nodded without fully comprehending his sentence.

“Yes, I’ll help you out.” You murmured, earning a pleased expression from the man above you.

Slowly he untied the thin fabric of his loincloth, revealing the length of his thick, girthy cock. It slapped gently against his stomach, almost fully erect in front of your face. You had never seen one before, only heard the rumors from other young Metkayina women in the village, but they didn’t compare. He was a good 13 inches, almost the length of your forearm, and he didn’t even seem fully erect.

A small glance was shot towards Lo’ak, to which he gave a reaffirming nod. Carefully you wrapped your lips around the tip, tongue swirling around his length in a way that made him want to thrust into you more. He restrained himself, however, letting you lead as you took more of his length, almost halfway before you halted.

“Yeah, just like that,” he whispered, the pleasure unimaginable as you let him in deeper, warm lips wrapped around him gently. Lo’ak continued to watch you with adoring eyes, hand gently coming to cradle the back of your head.

What you couldn’t take with your mouth you replaced with your hands, gripping the shaft tight enough to earn an audible groan from the na’vi. You then began to bob your head up and down, your hands repeating their motions, your thumb barely coming to connect to your forefinger.

Lewd, squelching noises could be heard, bits of saliva collecting around your lips, excess dripping down onto your chin. A groan left your throat as he coaxed you deeper, only to suddenly stop all movement.

Quickly he pulled himself from your grasp, still cradling the back of your head as bent down to eye level with your small frame.

“Such a sweet girl, you going to be a good girl for me?”

You nodded once more. Excitement coursed through your veins as he laid you down softly against your cot, hands ghosting over your blue flesh. He marveled at the sight of you, the dips in your waist, the curve of your chest, and the way it heaved underneath his frame.

Lo’ak wanted you squirming by the time he was done with you. A large, firm hand dragged down your abdomen, eyes still glued to yours, watching your every subtle expression. His digits massaged the flesh beside your core, teasing you ever so slightly.

“Lo’ak, please.” Oh, he loved hearing you beg. The bottom of your lip squeezed its way between your teeth as his fingers moved further, right above where you needed him most.

Then it happened. His long, calloused fingers gathered your arousal, thumb circling your clit steadily. Your face contorted in pleasure, eyes opening suddenly when you felt him plunge two fingers inside you. They moved perfectly against you, curling often to meet that spot that made your toes curl.

His movements quickened, urging you to bring yourself to release. Yet, that wasn’t what you wanted.

“Lo’ak, wait—.” You sighed out, using the bit of strength you had to straddle him instead, thighs clenching around the toned flesh of his abdomen.

Your soft hands ran down the flesh of your body, admiring it as if it was a canvas. He was truly beautiful, and you found yourself grateful to be in such a position above him.

The remainder of your loincloth was torn and tossed across the room, eyes still admiring the length of his cock. Dark, purple veins protruded upwards into his mushroom-like tip, bulbous and specked with pre-cum that leaked from the aching tip. He was much bigger than anything you dared to try yourself.

Your hips lifted slightly above his length, slowly sinking until you were at the hilt. A loud groan erupted from your lips, the fullness equally as pleasurable as it was painful against your skin.

Lo’ak gave you ample time to adjust, hands going to cup the sides of your hips as he slowly guided you forward. Once you became acquainted you moved your hips alongside him, your head was thrown back in pleasure at the sensation. With every thrust he managed to reach that spot that made you crumble, muffled whimpers and moans barely escaping your lips.

A few more thrusts and Lo’ak found himself becoming closer, your walls clenching deliciously around his dock as he thrusts faster. You flung your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while your head sank into the crook of his neck. Your chest flush against his, a sight so intimate that he could only kiss at your collarbones, whispering soft murmurs of reassurance.

“Yeah, just like that,” He whispered, thrusts becoming sloppy and uncontrolled against yours. “Hey, where do you want it?”

Your gaze quickly met his once again, “Inside. Please, Lo’ak.”

He couldn’t help but oblige your pleas, the words quickly driving him over the edge as long, spurts of white cum shot inside you. Your orgasm came as well, eyes shut tightly as you held him as close as you could.

After that moment he never wanted to let you go, and he figured those weekly injuries would become much more frequent if they ended like this.

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