Avatar One-shots

The forest was thick with the warmth of summer rain, and the village buzzed with quiet after a long day. Fires were dying down, and most of the clan had tucked into their tents. But not Jake.

He sat on the edge of his platform, one foot braced on the ledge, the other dangling off as he ran a sharpening stone along his blade, trying—and failing—not to think about her.

Anya.

She had that grin. The kind that made your gut tighten and your thoughts go sideways. And the worst part was? She had no idea. No idea that the way she leaned too close when she laughed, or the way her fingers brushed a little too long when she handed off supplies, set something on fire deep in his chest.

He wasn't stupid. He'd seen Tsu'tey watching her too. Hell, they'd been dancing around it for years—both pretending they didn't notice the other staring whenever Anya walked past in nothing but a water-slicked chest wrap after training. Neither of them said a word. Not because they weren't aware—but because they both knew it would only take one moment to crack whatever fragile truce existed between them.

And Anya? She was a storm wrapped in bare limbs and braided hair, utterly unaware—or maybe just uncaring—about the chaos she left behind.

Jake remembered the first time she crawled into his tent, smirking, soaked from rain and flushed from training. No words. Just heat. Hands. Skin.

And it kept happening.

She'd vanish for days, then return like nothing had passed between them. A teasing smile. A kiss on the throat. Her thigh sliding across his hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. No strings. No questions. Just pleasure.

But Jake was starting to want the strings.

What he didn't know—what he'd never guess—was that Tsu'tey wasn't just looking anymore.

He'd had her too.

A few nights back. Rougher. Fiercer. Not like Jake's slow worship—Tsu'tey claimed her like she was already his. And she let him.

Not out of love. Not out of loyalty. Just... because it felt good. Because Anya didn't believe anyone truly wanted her for more than what she could give. She didn't see the way both men looked at her like she hung the stars.

And neither of them knew the other had already crossed the line.

Yet.

——

The metal whispered against stone as Jake dragged the sharpening tool down the blade's edge again, more out of habit than purpose. His jaw was tense, brow furrowed, and he was trying not to think of her.

Which, of course, meant he thought of her more.

The heat of the forest breeze did little to cool his skin, and he didn't look up when he heard soft footsteps padding across the platform behind him. He knew who it was without even needing to check.

"You're gonna grind that thing down to a toothpick," came her voice—silky, amused, dangerous.

He didn't answer. Just adjusted his grip, kept his eyes fixed on the blade.