(Twilight what I would wear if i were Bella's older sister)
Jacob x OC fic based on the tiktok trend from a little bit ago where you make outfits and write a little blurb on that outfit. We're going to speed run the first movie and then go on to the second one so we can move onto him as a wolf. Bella and Jacob are 18 in their senior year of high school in the bulk of this story and OC is 20 because of being held back as a kid for plot reasons.
~Description: Being Bella Swan’s older sister was never supposed to change anything. Not with Charlie. Not with school. And definitely not with Jacob Black. But suddenly, Bella is everywhere. In the halls at school. In Charlie’s life. In Jacob’s conversations. And no matter how hard you try to pretend it doesn’t bother you, you can feel things shifting underneath your feet. Jacob starts keeping secrets. Bella starts falling in love. And you start realizing that maybe the worst kind of heartbreak isn't losing someone completely. Maybe it's standing right beside them while they slowly choose someone else. Or maybe you're just dramatic. Probably both.
✧─────────────────────✧
We start spending more time in Jacob's garage. Honestly, it's weird. But nice weird I guess.
Bella is clearly doing much better. She's talking again, smiling sometimes, actually leaving the house without Charlie looking like he's about to cry from relief. The annoying part is that apparently her version of getting better involves clinging to my best friend.
Not that I can blame her.
Jacob is easy to cling to. He's warm and funny and always seems to know exactly what to say when someone's having a bad day. Still, every now and then watching them together gives me this weird little pinch beneath my ribs. Nothing serious. Just enough to make me notice it.
I care more about Bella feeling better than whatever weird vibes are happening between her and Jacob.
Mostly.
Today we're all hanging out in the garage. Bella is perched on the hood of one of the motorcycles while Jacob works on something beneath it. I'm sitting on the floor sorting through tools and trying not to get grease on my jeans for once.
The garage door is open, letting in the cool ocean air and the distant sound of waves.
Then Embry and Quil walk in.
Actually, swagger in.
The second they spot us their faces light up with identical expressions.
Oh no.
"No," I say immediately.
"I didn't even say anything yet," Quil protests.
"You were going to."
Embry points between Bella and me. "Fair."
Jacob groans from somewhere underneath the motorcycle.
"What do you two want?"
"We have a very important question," Quil announces.
"It's not important," Jacob says.
"It is to us."
Bella immediately looks entertained.
That's never a good sign.
Quil gestures dramatically between the two of us. "Which one are you dating?"
The garage goes silent.
Jacob's head immediately smacks against the underside of the motorcycle.
"Ow!"
Bella bursts out laughing.
I just stare.
Embry is trying and failing not to grin.
Jacob slides out from beneath the bike looking deeply offended. "Neither."
"Really?" Quil asks.
"Yes really."
Quil points at me. "You spend all your time with her."
Then he points at Bella.
"And now all your time with her."
Bella raises a hand.
"In his defense," she says, "he's actually never dated either of us."
"Thank you," Jacob says.
"Which honestly makes this way weirder."
"BELLA."
She laughs harder.
Quil looks between the three of us. "I'm even more confused now."
"You should be," I mutter.
Jacob grabs a rag and throws it directly at Quil's face.
I should be laughing.
Normally I would be.
Instead I find myself looking at Jacob.
Then at Bella.
Then back at Jacob.
Because for some reason the question is still bouncing around inside my head.
Which one are you dating?
Neither.
Obviously.
The answer should make me feel relieved.
Instead it just leaves that strange little ache beneath my ribs.
✧─────────────────────✧
I've taken to sleeping in Bella's bed.
Which is weird.
Not because we're sisters. Well, sort of sisters. Whatever we are.
It's weird because I used to spend all my nights with Jacob.
If you'd asked me a year ago where I'd be sleeping, the answer would've been obvious. Sneaking out to La Push, climbing through Jacob's window, curled up in his bed while he talked about absolutely nothing until one of us fell asleep.
Now I'm here.
Curled up beneath a pile of blankets in Bella's room.
And honestly?
I'd rather be here.
Because Bella needs someone.
The nightmares started not long after Edward left. At first they happened once a week. Then twice. Then almost every night.
Most nights she doesn't even remember them.
I do.
Because they wake me up every single time.
Tonight is no different.
The scream tears through the darkness so suddenly that I nearly fall out of bed.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Beside me Bella jerks violently beneath the blankets.
"No-"
Her voice sounds strangled.
Terrified.
She's kicking now, tangled in the sheets, breathing hard like she's running from something.
Or someone.
"Bella."
Nothing.
Her eyes are squeezed shut.
Tears streak her face.
"Bella."
I sit up immediately and grab her shoulders.
She's still trapped somewhere inside the nightmare.
"No!"
The scream echoes through the room.
My chest physically hurts hearing it.
"Bella wake up."
Nothing.
She's shaking.
Actually shaking.
So I do the only thing I can think of.
I pull her into my arms.
"Bella."
I hold her tightly against my chest.
"It's okay."
Another strangled sound escapes her.
"Bella wake up."
Then suddenly her eyes fly open.
For one awful second she doesn't recognize where she is.
Or who I am.
Pure panic fills her expression.
Then reality crashes back in.
The panic turns into exhaustion.
Her body goes limp against mine.
The bedroom door bursts open.
Charlie.
Of course.
He's breathing hard, hair sticking up in every direction and still wearing the same flannel he fell asleep in downstairs.
His eyes immediately find Bella.
Again.
The realization lands heavily in my chest.
Because this isn't unusual anymore.
Charlie doesn't even ask what happened.
He already knows.
Another nightmare.
Another sleepless night.
Another reminder that Bella isn't okay.
"Bellabell?" he asks carefully.
Bella just nods weakly.
Charlie lets out a breath.
The kind of breath people take when they're relieved something isn't even worse.
He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed.
For a moment nobody speaks.
The rain taps softly against the windows.
Bella's breathing slowly evens out.
I keep one arm around her shoulders.
Not because she asked.
Because she never asks.
Because she leans into it anyway.
Eventually Charlie rubs a hand across his face.
"Want me to make some tea?"
Bella shakes her head.
"Hot chocolate?"
Another head shake.
Charlie looks helpless.
I know the feeling.
Because I don't know what to do anymore either.
I don't know how to fix this.
I don't know how to fight something that only exists in her head.
All I know is that every night she falls asleep terrified.
And every morning she wakes up exhausted.
Bella rests her forehead against my shoulder.
A movement so small I almost miss it.
But it makes my throat tighten.
Because a year ago Bella would've never done that.
A year ago we barely knew each other.
Now she's the first person I check on every morning.
The last person I say goodnight to.
My sister.
Not because we're related.
Because she's mine.
And she's hurting.
Charlie eventually stands.
"Yell if you need me."
Neither of us answers.
He leaves the door cracked open anyway.
The hallway light spills softly across the floor.
Bella stares at the blankets for a long time after he's gone.
I don't push.
I've learned not to.
If Bella wants to talk she'll talk.
If she doesn't, no amount of asking will change that.
So instead I brush a piece of hair behind her ear.
"You wanna tell me about it?"
She shakes her head.
Figures.
"You know eventually I'm going to start charging you for emotional support."
A tiny huff of laughter escapes her.
Barely there.
But enough.
I smile.
"There she is."
Bella rolls her eyes weakly.
Then settles back down beneath the blankets.
I lay down beside her.
The room goes quiet again.
For a while I think she's fallen asleep.
Then...
"Kylie?"
Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"Hm?"
A long pause.
"So many people leave."
The words hit me like a punch.
I stare at the ceiling.
Because suddenly I understand.
Not everything.
But enough.
Mom left.
Edward left.
People leave.
And Bella's terrified everyone else will too.
I reach across the space between us and grab her hand beneath the blankets.
She squeezes mine immediately.
Hard.
"I'm not going anywhere."
The answer comes automatically.
Without hesitation.
Without thought.
Because it's true.
Bella doesn't say anything.
But she doesn't let go of my hand either.
And neither do I.
Outside the rain keeps falling.
Inside the nightmares wait for another night.
But for now she's here.
For now she's safe.
And for now that's the best I can do.
✧─────────────────────✧
So Bella and Jacob took the bikes out without me.
Without me.
The betrayal is actually unbelievable.
I've spent weeks helping fix those stupid motorcycles. Weeks sitting in Jacob's garage getting grease under my nails while Bella learned how to ride. And then the first real ride they take?
Without me.
Rude.
I hear the engines before I see them.
I'm sprawled across the couch flipping through channels when the familiar rumble reaches the house. For a second my face lights up automatically.
Then I remember I'm annoyed.
The front door opens.
Bella walks in first.
And immediately every ounce of irritation vanishes.
"What happened?"
Bella freezes.
There's a giant gash on her forehead.
Blood has dried along her hairline and streaked down the side of her face.
Not enough blood that she's actively bleeding anymore.
Enough blood that my stomach drops straight through the floor.
"Jesus Christ Bella."
"I'm fine."
"No."
"I'm okay."
"No."
I stand up so fast I almost trip over the coffee table.
"Why are you always injured?"
Bella sighs dramatically.
"It looks worse than it is."
"That sentence should be printed on a t-shirt at this point."
The screen door opens behind her.
And Jacob follows her inside.
My brain immediately derails.
Because Jacob is shirtless.
Shirtless.
Why is he shirtless?
Where is his shirt?
Did shirts become illegal?
What happened?
I stare.
Then immediately look away.
Then look back.
Because holy fuck.
When did that happen?
I knew he'd gotten bigger.
I knew he'd gotten stronger.
I've watched him casually lift motorcycles around his garage like they weigh thirty pounds.
But this feels different.
Jacob turned eighteen and apparently woke up one day looking like he wrestles bears recreationally.
His shoulders practically fill the doorway.
His arms are ridiculous.
And don't even get me started on the abs.
There are entirely too many abs happening right now.
I hate it.
Not because they look bad.
Quite the opposite.
That's the problem.
"Oh."
The word escapes before I can stop it.
Jacob looks confused.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Everything.
Jacob narrows his eyes suspiciously.
Bella actually snorts.
Traitor.
I point at her forehead immediately.
"Don't laugh. You're bleeding."
Bella touches the cut automatically.
"It's really not that bad."
"It is literally on your face."
"I fell."
"Onto what?"
"A rock."
I stare at her.
"A rock."
"Yes."
"Just one rock specifically?"
Bella rolls her eyes.
Jacob is trying very hard not to laugh.
Again.
Traitor.
I grab Bella's wrist and drag her toward the bathroom.
"We're cleaning that."
"I'm fine."
"We're cleaning that."
"I don't need..."
"We are cleaning that."
Jacob follows us inside.
I pull out the first aid kit and start aggressively searching through it.
Bella hops up onto the bathroom counter.
Jacob leans against the doorway.
Still shirtless.
Unfortunately....Fortunately?
I am trying very hard to be normal.
It's not working.
"Hold still."
Bella winces as I start cleaning the cut.
"Ouch."
"Good."
"You're enjoying this."
"A little."
She laughs softly.
A real laugh.
Not one of the tiny polite ones she's been doing lately.
An actual laugh.
The sound immediately catches my attention.
Because lately Bella's been happier.
Not completely.
Not fixed.
But happier.
The nightmares still happen.
The sadness is still there.
But she's smiling again.
Leaving the house again.
Living again.
And somehow a lot of that seems connected to Jacob.
The realization makes me glance toward him.
He's watching Bella carefully.
Not in a weird way.
Not possessive.
Not romantic.
Just...watching.
Making sure she's okay.
Like he's been doing it for years.
Like he can't help himself.
And Bella looks calmer when he's around.
Safer.
A weird little feeling twists beneath my ribs.
Not jealousy exactly.
Something stranger.
Like the world shifted while I wasn't looking.
Bella notices me staring.
"What?"
I blink.
"Nothing."
"Liar."
I ignore her completely.
Instead I finish bandaging her forehead before stepping back to admire my work.
"There."
Bella hops off the counter.
Jacob immediately reaches out to steady her.
The movement is automatic.
Neither of them even seems to notice it.
I do.
And suddenly something clicks.
Oh.
Oh.
Not oh in the romantic sense.
Just...
Oh.
Whatever weird thing happened while I wasn't paying attention, these two found something in each other that nobody else could give them.
Bella spent months feeling like she was drowning.
Jacob somehow taught her how to breathe again.
The realization settles heavily in my chest.
Not painful.
Just...different.
Bella bumps her shoulder lightly against mine.
"Thanks."
I look at her.
Really look at her.
The color in her cheeks.
The spark back in her eyes.
The fact that she's actually standing here laughing after months of barely existing.
And honestly?
Maybe I can forgive the motorcycles.
Maybe.
I point at her forehead one last time.
"If you come home bleeding one more time I'm wrapping you in bubble wrap."
Bella grins.
Jacob finally laughs out loud.
And for the first time all day, I find myself laughing too.
✧─────────────────────✧
Time alone with Jacob has been virtually nonexistent lately. Between Bella, motorcycles, school, and whatever weird stuff is going on with the tribe, of which I barely get to see anymore, I feel like I barely get him to myself anymore.
So before I can overthink it, I grab his wrist.
"Come on."
Jacob looks confused. "What?"
"You're not getting grease and road dirt all over my house."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good. Then get upstairs."
Bella immediately starts laughing.
"Are you kidnapping him?"
"Mind your business."
I drag him upstairs before either of them can argue.
The second we get into my room I shove him toward the bed and close the door behind us.
Jacob catches himself with a laugh.
"You're weird."
"Yeah, yeah."
I lean back against the door for a second.
The room suddenly feels smaller with him in it.
More familiar somehow.
"I think I have one of your shirts somewhere."
"You have one of my shirts?"
"I have several of your shirts."
Jacob looks entirely too pleased by that.
I immediately turn toward my closet.
The room fills with the familiar scent of him. Motor oil. Forest air. Sweat.
Actually...I wrinkle my nose.
"You need a shower."
Jacob gasps dramatically.
"Wow."
"You smell like a mechanic."
"I am a mechanic."
"You're also a biohazard."
He laughs.
Lucky for me, Charlie built me an en-suite bathroom years ago after I hit puberty and started monopolizing the hallway bathroom every morning. Which may have made him late for work a couple of times.
I point toward it.
"Jacob, get your ass in the shower while I look for your clothes."
He stands.
Then walks past me toward the bathroom.
The brush of his arm against mine is brief.
Entirely accidental.
And somehow my brain decides to short-circuit over it anyway.
What is wrong with me?
The bathroom door shuts.
I stare at it for a second.
Then immediately turn back toward my closet.
Focus.
Clothes.
Find clothes.
Totally normal activity.
A few minutes later I find a t-shirt and pair of sweats he'd let me borrow a bit ago. They smell like his bedroom tied up in my body oil.
I set them aside.
Then get distracted.
I "forget" to give them to him. Listen I don't know what's happening but is it wrong to appreciate my best friends body? Oof probably.
I'm just sitting on my bed thinking.
Thinking about Jacob.
Which is apparently a dangerous hobby.
The shower shuts off.
A minute later the bathroom door opens.
And there he is.
Hair damp and pushed back from his face.
Towel hanging low on his hip bones.
Water still clinging to his shoulders and slowly making it's way down his abs.
My brain immediately exits the chat.
"Where are my clothes?" he asks, one eyebrow lifting.
I blink.
Right.
Clothes.
Those.
"I found them."
"Then why don't I have them?"
Good question.
I stand quickly.
Too quickly.
Almost trip.
Recover with what I hope is dignity.
There is no dignity.
Only panic.
I grab another towel from beside the bathroom door. We're almost chest to chest.
"You still have to dry off."
Jacob stares at me.
I stare back.
The silence stretches.
I run the towel across his chest and we stare really intensly for a moment.
I can smell my shampoo on him, and a very dangerous thought enters my brain.
He smells like me now.
Oh no.
No no no.
Absolutely not.
I know where this road leads.
I don't want to walk down it.
Because the second I acknowledge what I've been avoiding for months, everything changes.
Jacob reaches out and catches my wrist lightly. It was low...Like making its way down his abs low. Oops.
The movement snaps me out of whatever spiral I was disappearing into.
His expression is amused.
Concerned.
Fond.
All at once.
"Ky."
"Hm?"
"I think I'm dry."
I immediately step back.
Fast.
Very fast.
Like someone caught me committing a crime.
"Right."
I grab his clothes and shove them directly into his chest.
"There."
Jacob laughs.
The sound bounces around my room.
"You okay?"
"No."
His eyebrows shoot up.
I point aggressively at him.
"Stop flaunting your abs at me."
His grin widens.
"I wasn't."
"How'd you even get those anyway?"
"Work."
"Yeah sure."
Jacob laughs again before disappearing back into the bathroom to change.
The door closes.
I stand there for exactly three seconds.
Then immediately throw myself backward onto my bed.
The ceiling stares back at me.
I stare back.
My heart is beating way too fast.
This is bad.
Very bad.
Because I've spent months telling myself that weird feeling in my chest was jealousy.
Or loneliness.
Or fear of losing my best friend.
And maybe some of it was.
But lying on my bed now, listening to Jacob move around in the next room, another possibility settles into my stomach.
A much more dangerous one.
"...Oh."
The word slips out into the empty room.
Because suddenly everything makes sense.
The jealousy.
The hurt.
The way seeing him again felt like finally breathing after being underwater.
The way I always look for him first.
The way I miss him.
Not just when he's gone.
All the time.
Oh.
Oh no.
I bury my face in a pillow.
I'm so fucked.
✧─────────────────────✧
Bella is finally talking again.
Not just talking.
Planning things.
Which is honestly more terrifying.
Because now she has decided that all of us are going to the movies.
By all of us, I mean me, Bella, Jessica, Mike, and whatever poor unfortunate soul Bella decides to collect along the way.
Including Jacob.
Mostly because I decide Jacob is coming whether he wants to or not.
"Why?" he asks while we're standing beside my El Camino after school.
"Because."
"That's not an answer."
"It absolutely is."
Jacob narrows his eyes.
I narrow mine back.
Eventually he sighs dramatically.
"Fine."
Victory.
...Just Mike Showed up.
It's me, Bella, Mike, and Jacob. Boy am I glad I grabbed Jacob.
The movie is terrible.
Actually terrible.
Not in a fun way either.
Just boring and gross.
People are getting dismembered every fifteen minutes and somehow there's still no plot.
I hate it.
Mike looks like he's trying very hard to enjoy it.
Bella is having the time of her life.
Which honestly concerns me.
I glance over at her during one particularly disgusting scene.
She's completely focused.
Entranced even.
Who is this woman?
What happened to my sister?
Meanwhile Jacob is sitting beside me looking deeply unimpressed.
"This is awful," I whisper.
"It's so bad."
"Thank you."
Our shoulders bump. Ordinarily, during a movie, Jacob and I would have moved the armrest to lie on each other.
Which was normal.
Now it feels charged, and I don't know if I can get myself to do it. It feels wrong, a friendly gesture feels like more than that to me, and thats unfair to him.
Bella immediately shushes us.
Traitor.
A few rows ahead Mike suddenly stands up.
The poor guy looks green.
Actually green.
"Uh oh," I whisper.
Mike practically sprints toward the exit. A second later the theater doors slam shut behind him.
Silence.
Then Jacob stands. My stomach immediately drops. Because I've seen that look before.
The tense shoulders. The clenched jaw. Something's wrong.
"Jake?"
He doesn't answer.
Bella notices too.
Her entire expression shifts.
The amusement vanishes instantly.
Jacob is already heading toward the exit.
Bella immediately follows.
"Jacob."
Nothing.
The theater doors swing shut behind them.
I stare for approximately three seconds.
Then groan.
"Well now I have to follow them."
Outside the theater the cold air hits immediately.
I spot Bella and Jacob halfway down the sidewalk.
They're arguing.
Actually arguing.
Jacob's shoulders are rigid.
Bella looks frustrated.
And for some reason they're standing way too close.
I speed up.
Just in time to hear-
"You're lying."
Bella folds her arms.
"About what?"
"About what happened."
My eyebrows shoot up.
What happened?
To who?
What are we talking about?
Bella glances around quickly.
"Lower your voice."
"No."
"Jacob..."
"No."
Oh.
He's mad mad.
The kind of mad where his entire body looks wound too tight. Bella notices me approaching and immediately looks relieved. Which is suspicious. Very suspicious.
"Kylie."
"Nope."
I point between them.
"You don't get to use me as a distraction."
Bella actually looks guilty.
Interesting.
Jacob turns away abruptly.
Like he's done with the conversation.
Or trying very hard not to say something else.
"Jake."
Nothing.
He starts walking.
I grab his arm automatically.
The second my hand closes around his skin I nearly yank it back.
Holy shit.
He's burning up.
Not warm.
Not Jacob warm.
Burning.
Like he has a fever.
"Jesus."
Jacob freezes.
My eyes widen.
"Jake."
His jaw clenches immediately.
Uh oh.
"You're hot."
The second the words leave my mouth I want to launch myself into traffic.
Bella's eyes go wide.
Jacob's eyes go wide.
My eyes go wide.
Wonderful.
Fantastic.
Perfect.
I immediately correct myself.
"Temperature wise."
Neither of them says anything.
I can physically feel my soul leaving my body.
"Your skin is hot."
Somehow worse.
"Like a fever."
There.
Normal.
Recovered.
Absolutely nailed it.
Bella outright laughs.
Traitor.
I smack Jacob's arm.
"Seriously."
For a second something complicated flashes across his face.
Something almost worried.
Then it's gone.
"I'm fine."
"You are literally on fire."
"I'm not."
"You kind of are," Bella says.
"Thank you."
Jacob glares at both of us.
Then immediately looks away.
Weird.
Very weird.
Everything about the tribe boys has been weird lately.
"You're hiding something."
Jacob groans.
Bella looks away suspiciously.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Before I can interrogate either of them further, Jacob starts walking again.
✧─────────────────────✧
Jacob hasn't been responding to me.
Again.
And ain't no way we're doing this again.
No.
Absolutely not.
I already survived one Jacob disappearance.
I'm not doing a sequel.
So Bella and I decide we're going to see him. By we I mean I show up in Bella's room and announce we're leaving. Bella doesn't even argue.
Which honestly should've been my first warning sign.
It's pouring rain by the time we climb into her truck. The windshield wipers are working overtime while gray clouds swallow up the entire sky. Neither of us talks much on the drive. Mostly because we're both annoyed. Though apparently for very different reasons.
The second we pull into La Push I know something's off.
Jacob is already outside. Waiting. Like he knew we were coming. The truck barely stops before Bella is opening her door.
I climb out after her. And immediately stop walking.
What.
The.
Hell.
His hair is gone. Not completely. But gone enough. The long hair I've been yanking on and braiding and threatening to cut in his sleep for years,(as a joke I love his long hair), is gone.
Now it's short. Really short. I hate it. Actually no.
I don't.
Which is worse. Because somehow it makes his jaw look sharper. His shoulders broader. His entire face older.
Unfair. Completely unfair. Then my eyes drop lower. And things somehow get worse. He's shirtless.
Again.
Why is he always shirtless now? And wet. Rainwater slides down his chest and shoulders while his stupid new tattoo sits on one shoulder.
I blink.
A tattoo. A dumb looking tattoo. A very dumb looking tattoo.
I stare at it. Then at him. Then back at the tattoo.
"Absolutely not."
Jacob actually looks offended.
Bella ignores both of us completely.
"Why haven't you been answering me?"
She speaks first. Oh.
We're starting here.
Immediately.
Great.
I fold my arms and step back slightly while they launch into an argument.
Or whatever this is.
Honestly after about thirty seconds I stop paying attention.
Not intentionally.
My brain just gets distracted.
Because first of all, Jacob has apparently been hanging out with Bella without me.
Repeatedly.
Which I only learned because Bella casually mentioned it on the drive over like it was common knowledge.
Apparently they've been working on motorcycles together on their own.
Talking.
Meeting up.
Having entire conversations.
Without me.
So that's great.
Love that.
Second of all, their argument is weird.
Really weird.
They're standing way too close.
Talking way too intensely.
Interrupting each other every five seconds.
Honestly it sounds less like a fight and more like a breakup.
Which would make sense.
Except they're not dating.
As far as I know.
Hopefully.
My attention drifts back just in time to hear...
"Why are you doing this?" Bella demands.
Jacob looks away.
His jaw clenches.
Then he says, "Because I'm not a nice guy anymore."
Silence.
I stare at him.
Bella stares at him.
Rain pours around us.
And then...
I snort.
I can't help it.
The sound escapes before I can stop it.
Because that is genuinely the cheesiest thing I've ever heard in my entire life.
Jacob's head immediately snaps toward me.
"What?"
I gesture vaguely.
"That."
"What?"
"'I'm not a nice guy anymore.'" I mimic dramatically. "Who says that?"
Bella actually looks at me like my head's chopped off.
Traitor.
Jacob glares.
I keep going.
"No seriously. That's what villains say right before they get defeated by friendship."
His glare deepens.
"My Jacob could never not be good."
The words leave my mouth casually.
Automatic.
The way they've always felt.
Because it's true.
Jacob Black is a lot of things.
Stubborn.
Annoying.
Dramatic.
A menace.
But not bad.
Never bad.
For a second nobody says anything.
The rain falls.
Bella goes oddly quiet.
And Jacob just...
Stares at me.
The amusement drains from my face slowly.
Because something shifts.
His expression changes.
His eyes lock onto mine.
Really lock onto mine.
Like he's seeing me for the first time all over again.
The air suddenly feels strange.
Heavy.
His nostrils flare.
I blink.
"...Jacob?"
His entire body goes rigid.
I scrunch my eyebrows together.
Confused.
What is happening?
Bella looks confused too.
Actually no.
Bella looks horrified.
Which is significantly worse.
"Jake?"
His eyes never leave mine.
For one bizarre second everything feels frozen.
Nobody moves.
Nobody speaks.
Then Jacob turns.
And runs.
Not walks.
Not storms off.
Runs.
Into the woods.
Gone in seconds.
I stare after him.
The rain soaks through my jacket.
My brain struggles to catch up.
✧─────────────────────✧
Jacob has been MIA.
Again.
Seriously.
Again. He ran off into the woods and what...fell in a hole?
You can't keep doing this to me, Jacob.
The first few days I try to be reasonable about it. People get sick. People get busy. People have lives outside of me.
Apparently.
But by day four I'm pacing around my room like a crazy person.
By day five I've called his house enough times that Billy probably recognizes the sound of my voice before I even say hello.
Everything was fine.
Everything was finally fine.
I got Jacob back.
Bella was doing better.
My car was almost done.
For one brief shining moment I thought maybe the universe would stop throwing things at me.
Then whatever happened at the movies happened. And we yelled at each other out in the rain.
Jacob vanished into the woods.
And now we're here again.
I flop backwards across my bed and stare at the ceiling.
Ever since Bella showed up everything has been changing.
I love her.
I really do.
But fuck man.
Nothing stays still anymore.
Jacob disappeared.
Then he came back.
Bella became my sister.
Edward left.
Bella fell apart.
Jacob got weird.
Everyone keeps having secrets.
And every time I think I've figured out the rules, somebody changes them.
My phone sits beside me.
I stare at it.
Then grab it.
Again.
The number practically dials itself at this point.
The phone rings.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then-
"Hello?"
Billy.
I immediately sit up.
"Billy."
A sigh.
The kind adults make when they're about to deal with nonsense.
"Hey kid."
"Where's Jacob?"
Silence.
Interesting. Very interesting.
I narrow my eyes at absolutely nobody.
"Billy."
"He's sick."
I pause.
"Sick?"
"Yep."
"With what?"
Another pause.
Long enough to be suspicious.
Then-
"Mono."
I blink. Mono? That's it?
All this drama because he has mono?
Actually that tracks.
Jacob would absolutely turn a normal illness into a full-scale disappearance.
"Mono?"
"Doctor says he needs rest."
I stare at the wall.
Then at my phone.
Then back at the wall.
Because honestly?
That makes sense.
He's been acting weird.
Running hot enough to cook breakfast.
Randomly disappearing.
Okay.
Fine.
Mono.
Reasonable.
Except...
I've taken care of him every single time he's gotten sick since we were kids. Every time. The flu. Food poisoning.
That one time he ate something questionable at a bonfire and spent three days complaining about it.
Every single time.
Also what was he doing out in the rain...That had to have made it worse right?
"Can I come see him?"
Billy is quiet.
Too quiet.
Suspiciously quiet.
"I don't know if that's a good idea."
"Why?"
"Because he's sick."
"That's how being sick works."
Billy sighs.
"Kid."
"No."
I sit up straighter.
"Mono is shared through bodily fluids."
The silence on the other end becomes deafening. I continue anyway.
"It's not like he's gonna kiss me."
Dead silence.
Absolute.
Dead.
Silence.
I blink.
"...Billy?"
A noise escapes him.
A strangled noise.
Like he's actively choking on a laugh.
Oh.
Oh no.
Wait.
No.
That's not what I meant.
"That's not what I-"
Billy is definitely laughing now.
"Oh my God."
"Stop."
"I'm not saying anything."
"You are laughing."
"I am."
I drop my head into my hands.
This is a nightmare.
An actual nightmare.
Eventually Billy manages to recover.
Mostly.
"Look."
His voice softens slightly.
"I know you're worried."
The embarrassment fades immediately. Because I am worried. More worried than I want to admit.
"Then let me see him."
Another pause.
"He needs rest."
"Billy."
"He really does."
I groan dramatically. The sound echoes through my room.
"You're both impossible."
"That's probably true."
I sigh.
Then softer.
"Is he okay?"
The question slips out before I can stop it. Because that's the real issue.
Not mono. Not the phone calls. Not the frustration. I just want to know he's okay. Billy's answer comes immediately.
"Yeah."
My shoulders relax. Just a little.
"He's okay."
Not perfect. Not enough.
But okay. And right now I'll take okay. After we hang up I stare at my phone for a long moment.
✧─────────────────────✧
Guys, did Tumblr always have a block limit, or have I just been writing really short fics until now? Oopsies again ran out of room but this was supposed to be with what came out yesterday. hehe hope you enjoy. She'll finally know the truth next part.
Tag list:@loversonne @mrsabbotthankya @bearballerina44 @louisianalady @samuelseoswife @tcapter @uhhitaintme101
(Twilight what I would wear if i were Bella's older sister)
The first in my Jacob x OC fic based on the tiktok trend from a little bit ago where you make outfits and write a little blurb on that outfit. We're going to speed run the first movie and then go on to the second one so we can move onto him as a wolf. Bella and Jacob are 18 in their senior year of high school in the bulk of this story and OC is 20 because of being held back as a kid for plot reasons.
~Description: Being Bella Swan’s older sister was never supposed to change anything. Not with Charlie. Not with school. And definitely not with Jacob Black. But suddenly, Bella is everywhere. In the halls at school. In Charlie’s life. In Jacob’s conversations. And no matter how hard you try to pretend it doesn’t bother you, you can feel things shifting underneath your feet. Jacob starts keeping secrets. Bella starts falling in love. And you start realizing that maybe the worst kind of heartbreak isn't losing someone completely. Maybe it's standing right beside them while they slowly choose someone else. Or maybe you're just dramatic. Probably both.
Bella has been, for lack of a better word, cagey lately.
More than usual. Which is saying something because Bella Swan has always treated conversations like she's being interrogated by the FBI.
Ever since she started dating Edward, she spends practically all of her time with him. Which would be fine. Honestly. I know couples are annoying. I know teenagers in love are somehow even worse. If she wants to spend every waking second staring dreamily into Edward Cullen's weird golden eyes, that's her business.
The problem is she keeps coming home hurt.
At first it was little things. Scrapes. Bruises she couldn't explain. Dirt on her clothes. She'd brush it off with some vague excuse and I'd let it go because Bella has always been accident-prone. The girl can trip standing still.
But lately?
Lately it's getting ridiculous.
Tonight is the final straw.
The front door opens sometime after dark while I'm sprawled across the couch pretending to watch TV. Charlie's asleep in his chair already, the television casting flickering blue light across the living room while rain taps steadily against the windows.
I glance up automatically when Bella walks inside.
Then I sit bolt upright.
"What the hell happened to your arm?"
Bella freezes immediately.
A massive gash runs down the length of her forearm, partially hidden beneath her jacket sleeve. The fabric is stained dark around the edges. Not enough blood to be actively dangerous but enough to make my stomach twist.
Bella immediately pulls the sleeve down farther.
"Nothing."
I stare at her.
"Nothing?"
"It's fine."
"Bella."
She sighs heavily like I'm being unreasonable here.
"I'm okay."
I stand up so fast the blanket slides off my lap. "That is a giant gash on your arm."
"I'm fine."
"You are actively bleeding."
"I'm not actively bleeding."
I point aggressively at her arm. "You literally are!"
Bella glances down.
"...Barely."
I make a strangled noise.
Sometimes I genuinely think Bella was built in a lab specifically to test my patience.
She starts trying to move past me toward the stairs and I step directly into her path.
"No."
"Kylie."
"No. Sit down."
"I'm tired."
"Sit."
Bella rolls her eyes but eventually drops onto the couch with all the enthusiasm of someone heading to their execution.
I disappear into the bathroom and return with the first aid kit a minute later.
The second I sit beside her she immediately tries to pull away.
"Stop being dramatic."
"I'm not dramatic."
I give her a look.
Bella has the decency to look slightly embarrassed. The cut looks even worse up close. Angry and red against her pale skin. Not deep enough for stitches, probably, but definitely deep enough that I want to punch someone.
Specifically Edward Cullen.
"Where did this come from?" I ask while cleaning it carefully.
Bella stares at the wall.
"Bella."
Silence.
"Bella."
"I'm fine."
I nearly throw the antiseptic across the room.
"That is not an answer!"
She finally looks at me then. Her expression softens slightly.
"I know."
"Then answer the question."
"I can't."
My jaw clenenches immediately.
There it is.
The thing that's been driving me insane for months now.
The secrets.
The half answers.
The weird looks shared between Bella and Edward whenever someone asks a normal question.
I finish wrapping her arm in silence, irritation simmering beneath my skin.
Because today wasn't just any day.
It was her birthday.
Her eighteenth birthday.
Charlie spent all week trying to pretend he wasn't emotional about it. He bought her gifts. We got a cake. I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out what to get her because despite everything she's become one of my favorite people.
And she chose to spend the entire day with Edward.
Which, okay. Fine. Whatever. That's what people do when they're in love.
But she came home injured.
Again.
The second I finish tying the bandage I sit back and cross my arms.
"Next time I see Edward I'm throwing a fit."
Bella groans immediately.
"Ky."
"No. I'm serious."
"You can't throw a fit at my boyfriend."
"I absolutely can."
"You absolutely can't."
"I am your older sister. It's literally my job."
Bella actually laughs a little at that.
I point at her arm dramatically. "Look at this!"
"I'm looking at it."
"You're lucky I'm looking at it because apparently you weren't."
Bella shakes her head, smiling despite herself.
For a second things feel normal.
Then her smile fades slightly.
And I realize she's hiding something again.
Something big.
Something that keeps following her home in the form of bruises and cuts and mysterious explanations.
I look down at the fresh bandage wrapped around her arm.
The irritation is still there.
The worry is bigger.
Because as much as Edward Cullen drives me insane, as much as I don't understand whatever weird thing is happening between them, Bella has become my person these last few months.
Jacob is gone.
Bella stayed.
And if someone keeps sending my sister home injured, eventually I'm going to stop asking nicely.
✧─────────────────────✧
For a girl who I would have never considered my sister before now, I have grown really close to her.
Like really close.
Somewhere between movie nights and late-night drives and me bandaging mysterious injuries she refuses to explain, Bella became family. Not because we're related. Not because Charlie wants us to be.
Because she chose me.
And I chose her.
Which means I'm the first to notice when something is wrong.
Today at school the Cullen table is empty.
That's pretty routine. It's sunny outside, which means none of the Cullens showed up. They have this weird habit of disappearing whenever the weather gets nice, which should probably be more suspicious than everyone treats it. Instead people just shrug and move on with their lives.
Forks is weird like that.
The cafeteria is louder than usual today. Sunlight pours through the windows in a way that almost feels unnatural after months of rain, catching against tabletops and making everyone seem more awake than normal.
Bella and I sit together at lunch like we always do now.
At some point that became our thing.
I don't even remember when it happened.
One day she was the awkward girl Charlie brought home and the next she was stealing fries off my tray while complaining about biology.
She's picking at her food absentmindedly when I notice it. Not the empty Cullen table. Her. The way she's looking at it. I follow her gaze automatically.
The table sits abandoned near the windows, untouched except for the sunlight stretching across the surface. Normally Bella would glance over every now and then when Edward wasn't here. Maybe smile at some text message. Maybe stare into space dramatically while thinking about him.
Today is different. Today she keeps looking. Like she's waiting for something. Or someone. My stomach twists slightly.
"Bella."
No response.
She's still staring.
"Bella."
"Hm?"
"There are no Cullens over there."
That finally gets her attention. She blinks and turns toward me.
"What?"
"You've looked at that empty table like fifteen times."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
Bella rolls her eyes immediately but there's no real annoyance behind it. I narrow mine. Something's wrong. I can feel it. Not because she's saying anything. Bella rarely says anything when something's bothering her. But because I know her now. I know the difference between her normal awkwardness and whatever this is.
This is worry.
The kind she tries to hide.
"Did you and Edward fight?" I ask.
"No."
Too fast.
"That wasn't suspicious at all."
Bella sighs heavily.
"We didn't fight."
"But?"
"No but."
I stare at her.
She stares back.
Then immediately looks away first.
Aha.
"There is a but."
Bella groans and drops her forehead onto the table dramatically.
I smile despite myself.
"Talk to me."
"It's nothing."
I snort.
"You know that's the exact phrase people use when it's definitely something."
Bella lifts her head slightly and fiddles with the edge of a napkin.
For a moment I think she might actually tell me.
Instead she shakes her head.
I hate when she does that.
The whole Cullen family has infected her with their weird secretive nonsense.
"Fine," I say eventually. "Keep your secrets."
Bella smiles faintly at that but it doesn't reach her eyes.
And that's what really worries me. Because Bella has spent months looking happier than I've ever seen her. Even with all the injuries. Even with all the weirdness. Whenever Edward's around there's usually this softness to her. This certainty. Today she looks scared. The bell eventually rings and we gather our things. Bella is quieter than usual walking through the hallways. Her shoulders are tense. Her gaze keeps drifting toward the parking lot windows every time we pass one.
Like she's expecting something. Or dreading it. By the end of the day I've convinced myself I'm imagining things. Maybe she's just tired. Maybe she's stressed.
Maybe I'm becoming overprotective.
✧─────────────────────✧
I'm inside watching TV, Charlie once again asleep on the couch.
Honestly, I spend a lot of nights with Charlie now that I'm not talking to Jacob.
At first it happened accidentally. I'd come downstairs because I couldn't sleep and find Charlie halfway through some terrible cop show, and eventually I'd just sit down and watch it with him. Now it's become routine. Dinner. TV. Charlie falling asleep before the episode ends. Me pretending not to notice.
It makes him happy.
Which makes me a little less sad.
I don't understand how Jacob has managed to stay away for so long.
That's the part that gets me.
I miss him every day. Every single day. There are moments where I still grab my phone to text him before remembering we're not talking. Sometimes I'll hear a motorcycle and my heart jumps before my brain catches up.
But Jacob? Apparently he's fine. Apparently he's perfectly capable of pretending I don't exist.
The thought still stings.
A laugh track from the TV fills the room while rain taps softly against the windows. Charlie snores lightly beside me, one arm hanging off the couch while his head tilts at an angle that's definitely going to hurt tomorrow.
I snap a picture of him because blackmail is important.
Then the phone rings.
Charlie jerks awake so violently I burst out laughing.
"What?" he grumbles immediately, reaching for the phone with all the grace of a hibernating bear being poked awake.
I grin. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."
He ignores me completely and answers the call.
"Hello?"
I turn back toward the TV, only half listening. Charlie gets calls all the time. Usually work-related. Or Billy. Or somebody needing help with something.
Then Charlie sits up straighter.
His entire expression changes.
"Where?"
I glance over.
Charlie is fully awake now.
"...We're on our way."
My stomach immediately drops.
He hangs up and is already moving before I can ask a question.
"Charlie?"
"Stay here."
That's never reassuring.
"Charlie."
He doesn't answer, already heading for the front door.
The door slams behind him.
I stare after him for a second before muting the TV.
The house suddenly feels too quiet.
Ten minutes pass.
Then fifteen.
I spend the entire time anxiously pacing the living room.
Because nobody says stay here before leaving unless something is wrong.
The front door suddenly bursts open.
And Charlie comes barreling inside.
Carrying Bella.
Fully unconscious Bella.
My heart stops.
"WHAT HAPPENED?"
Charlie barely looks at me.
"I don't know."
Which somehow makes everything worse.
Bella hangs limply in his arms, her dark hair falling across her face while Charlie rushes toward the couch. She's pale. Too pale.
My hands immediately start shaking.
"Charlie what do you mean you don't know!?!??"
I've never seen Charlie this panicked before.
He lowers Bella carefully onto the couch while I drop to my knees beside her.
"Bella?"
Nothing.
"Bella."
I gently shake her shoulder.
Nothing.
My chest tightens painfully.
Then movement outside catches my eye. I glance toward the still-open front door. A figure is walking away down the driveway.
Tall. Broad shoulders.
Shirtless. Sam Uley.
I blink.
What.
The.
Hell.
Sam disappears into the darkness before I can process why he's here. Or why he's shirtless. Or why he apparently delivered my unconscious sister to our house.
I slowly turn back toward Bella.
"What is happening with her?"
Charlie doesn't answer because Charlie clearly has absolutely no idea either.
Bella groans softly then, finally stirring slightly. Relief crashes through me so hard I nearly fall over.
"Oh thank God."
Her eyes flutter but don't fully open.
Charlie kneels beside us immediately. "Bella?"
She mumbles something unintelligible.
"Kid you're scaring the hell out of us."
I sit back slightly, trying to calm my racing heart.
Because seriously.
What is happening with her lately?
First Edward disappears and Bella spends months acting like she's been personally cursed by the universe. Then she starts getting hurt constantly. Then she starts sneaking around. Then she starts hanging out with Jacob's increasingly weird friends.
And now she's being delivered unconscious by a shirtless Sam Uley.
A shirtless Sam Uley. At night. To my house.
My life has become absurd.
Bella shifts slightly on the couch and Charlie immediately fusses over her again.
I cross my arms and stare at the ceiling.
I know this has something to do with Edward.
Maybe not directly.
But every weird thing that's happened in the last year somehow traces back to Edward Cullen.
The teen angst radius around that man should honestly be studied by scientists.
Because somehow my sister has gone from awkward honors student to mysterious unconscious girl being carried into the house by shirtless tribal members.
And nobody will tell me why.
At this point I'm about three bad days away from kidnapping both Bella and Jacob and locking them in Charlie's living room until they start explaining things.
Because whatever secret everyone is keeping?
It's officially getting on my nerves.
✧─────────────────────✧
Bella isn't speaking.
To anyone.
Not Charlie. Not me. Not her friends. Nobody.
The house feels haunted lately.
Charlie walks around with this constant worried crease between his eyebrows while pretending everything is normal. I keep finding him standing outside Bella's bedroom door like he's trying to decide whether or not to knock.
He always walks away eventually.
And Bella just...exists.
That's the only word I can think of for it.
She's here physically. She comes downstairs sometimes. She eats when Charlie practically forces her to. She goes through the motions.
But it's like the actual Bella left months ago and forgot to take her body with her.
The worst part is nobody knows how to help.
Not Charlie.
Not me.
Definitely not her friends.
Though somehow her friends have become my friends now.
I don't know when that happened.
Maybe because somebody had to keep showing up when Bella stopped. Maybe because Jessica refuses to take no for an answer. Maybe because Angela is genuinely one of the sweetest people on the planet.
Whatever the reason, they're waiting for me downstairs tonight. Another movie. Another attempt at pretending we're normal teenagers.
I'm pulling on my shoes when I glance down at the oversized jacket hanging off my shoulders.
Jacob's jacket. I'm wearing Jacob's jacket.
Not because I miss him. Absolutely not.
Definitely not because it still smells vaguely like motor oil, wet earth, and cedar and whatever detergent Billy uses.
Definitely not because sometimes I pull the sleeves over my hands and it feels like being hugged.
Nope.
It's warm.
That's it.
Just warm.
I stare at myself in the mirror.
"...You're pathetic."
The mirror offers no defense.
With a groan I head upstairs toward Bella's room before leaving.
The door is already open.
My chest immediately tightens.
Bella sits exactly where she always sits now.
Beside the window.
Watching the rain.
The gray light filtering through the glass makes her look almost ghostlike. Her skin is pale and damp, dark circles carved beneath her eyes. She's lost weight too. Enough that her sweaters hang loosely from her frame.
The sight of her still catches me off guard every time.
Because this isn't Bella.
Not really.
Bella used to laugh at my terrible jokes.
Bella used to steal fries off my plate.
Now she just stares out windows.
"Bells?"
Nothing.
I step farther into the room.
"Your fan club is here."
No reaction.
"Jessica threatened to drag me out of the house by force if I canceled again."
Nothing.
I sit down carefully beside her bed.
The silence stretches.
Outside rain taps softly against the glass.
Bella doesn't even blink.
My throat tightens painfully.
"Come with us."
Nothing.
I force a smile anyway.
"Seriously. Angela's coming."
Silence.
"Mike too."
Nothing.
"Actually never mind that probably made it worse."
For a second I almost think I see the corner of her mouth twitch.
Almost.
I lean forward slightly.
"A distraction would make you feel better."
Still nothing.
Not even a head shake.
Not even a look in my direction.
Just empty silence.
The kind that makes my chest ache.
Because Bella's not ignoring me.
That would be easier.
She's just...gone somewhere I can't reach.
And no matter how hard I try, I can't follow her there.
I swallow hard.
"Charlie misses you."
Nothing.
"I miss you."
The words come out quieter than I intended.
Bella's fingers tighten slightly against the blanket in her lap.
That's it.
That's all I get.
A tiny movement.
But at least it's something.
I stare at her for a long moment.
Then I do the only thing I can think of.
I stand up.
Walk over.
And wrap my arms around her.
At first she doesn't react.
For one awful second I think she might not hug me back at all.
Then slowly, weakly, her arms lift.
Barely.
But enough.
I bury my face against her shoulder and squeeze tighter.
"Come back okay?" I whisper. "Whenever you're ready."
My eyes sting.
I hate that.
I hate feeling helpless.
I hate watching people I love hurt when I can't fix it.
Jacob.
Bella.
Maybe that's the real problem.
Maybe everyone I love keeps disappearing.
Eventually I pull away.
Bella still hasn't said a word.
But for the first time all week she isn't staring out the window anymore.
She's looking at me.
It's only for a second.
But it's enough.
I force a smile.
"I'll bring you popcorn if you decide to rejoin society."
Nothing.
But her eyes soften slightly.
And somehow that feels like a victory.
So I leave.
Pulling Jacob's jacket tighter around myself as I head downstairs.
The smell of cedar follows me the whole way.
And for the first time in a while, I realize Bella and I are grieving the same thing.
We're just grieving different people in different ways.
✧─────────────────────✧
It's Jacob.
He's actually here.
Standing right in front of me.
For a second I genuinely think I'm imagining him. That maybe I've finally lost it after months of missing him.
But no.
There he is.
His bike is parked beside him, one hip leaning casually against it. His helmet rests beneath one hand where he's keeping it balanced on the seat. The afternoon light filters through the clouds overhead, catching against his skin while the familiar shape of him punches all the air from my lungs.
I haven't seen him this close in months.
Not really.
Not since everything fell apart.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
His hair is longer now. He's taller too somehow.
Or maybe I just forgot what it felt like standing this close to him. Then his eyes find mine.
And suddenly I remember exactly why this hurts so much. Because Jacob has always looked at me like that.
Like I'm important.
Like I'm worth looking at.
Like he can see straight through every stupid defense I try to throw up.
His eyes practically beg me to talk to him.
To look at him.
To see him.
Well it's too fucking late for that.
I have plans.
With a boy.
A boy whose name I definitely know.
Absolutely.
One hundred percent.
The longer I stare into Jacob's eyes, however, the harder it becomes to remember it.
Was it...
No.
I had it earlier.
Definitely.
Jacob pushes off his bike.
My stomach immediately drops.
He's walking toward me.
Oh no.
No no no.
I react like a deer in headlights.
Completely frozen.
And Jacob, being the opportunistic menace that he is, immediately takes advantage of that.
He wraps his arms around me.
Oh.My.God.
The second he touches me every ounce of anger I've been carrying around gets shoved violently to the side.
Because I've missed this.
I've missed him. I've missed the way his arms feel around me.
The way he always wraps himself around me completely like he's trying to shield me from the entire world.
I've missed how warm he is.
How safe he feels.
My body relaxes before my pride can stop it.
I hate that.
I hate how easy it is.
My face presses against his chest and suddenly my eyes start burning.
No.
Absolutely not.
I am not crying.
I am definitely not crying over Jacob Black.
His arms tighten slightly.
"Hey," he murmurs softly.
And somehow that's worse.
Because his voice sounds relieved.
Like he missed me too.
The tears come anyway.
Traitors.
I bury my face harder into his shirt.
Neither of us says anything for a second.
I can hear his heartbeat.
Strong. Steady. Familiar.
God I've missed him.
Eventually he pulls back just enough to look down at me. His hands stay on my shoulders.
"Come with me."
I blink.
"What?"
"Hop on the bike."
That's it.
No explanation. No details. Just that.
Typical Jacob.
I should say no. I absolutely should. I have plans. Somewhere. With someone.
Probably.
Instead I find myself staring at him for another second before nodding. Because maybe I'm weak. Or maybe I just want an excuse to hold onto him a little longer.
Probably both.
A few minutes later my arms are wrapped tightly around his waist while his motorcycle rumbles beneath us. The second we pull away I squeeze a little tighter than necessary.
Jacob doesn't comment on it.
The ride is quiet. Not awkward. Just quiet.
The kind of silence that only exists between people who've known each other forever.
The forest blurs around us in shades of green and gray.
Towering trees stretch overhead while sunlight slips through the branches in fractured beams. The smell of damp earth and cedar fills the air.
Birds call somewhere above us. A river rushes nearby. The world feels strangely peaceful.
Like it did before.
I rest my forehead lightly against Jacob's back. For the first time in months I don't feel lonely.
I swear I'm supposed to be somewhere right now. Someone's expecting me. But every time I try to remember, my brain immediately decides it's not important.
Eventually the bike slows.
Jacob turns into the familiar driveway beside Billy's house.
My stomach twists unexpectedly.
Because this used to be home.
The garage door is already open.
Jacob parks the bike.
I climb off.
And immediately forget how breathing works.
"Oh."
The word escapes me before I can stop it.
There, sitting in the middle of the garage, is the most beautiful car body I've ever seen.
I walk toward it automatically.
Slowly.
Like if I move too fast it'll disappear.
A 1964 Chevrolet El Camino.
My heart nearly stops.
She's gorgeous.
Not perfect.
Not even close.
The paint is rough.
The body needs work.
The interior is practically nonexistent.
But none of that matters.
Because underneath all of it?
She's a dream.
I circle around it once.
Then again.
Running my fingertips lightly across the metal.
"Jacob..."
My voice comes out almost breathless.
He shoves his hands into his pockets awkwardly.
Something he only does when he's nervous.
Which immediately gets my attention.
"I've been working on it."
I look up.
His eyes stay fixed on the car.
Not me.
"I know I screwed up."
The words come out quietly.
Honest.
Painfully honest.
"I know I hurt you."
My chest tightens.
Jacob swallows.
"I wanted to explain everything."
"You didn't."
"I know."
"You disappeared."
"I know."
I hate how quickly the hurt comes back.
How easy it is.
"You let me think you didn't care."
His jaw tightens.
"I cared."
"Could've fooled me."
Silence.
The garage suddenly feels smaller.
Jacob takes a slow breath.
Then finally looks at me.
"I've been working on this for you."
My eyes flick back toward the El Camino.
Then back to him.
"I wanted us to work on it together."
The sincerity in his voice almost breaks me. Almost. Because months of hurt don't vanish that easily. No matter how much I want them to.
I look away first.
"I can't forgive you yet."
The words hurt.
Mostly because I can see they hurt him too.
But they're true.
Jacob nods slowly.
"Okay."
No argument.
No excuses.
Just acceptance.
Which somehow makes it worse.
A few seconds pass.
Then he steps closer.
Carefully.
Like he's afraid I'll run.
His hand disappears into his pocket.
And when it comes back out my heart immediately stops.
The bracelet.
The one he made me.
The one I threw at him.
The one I haven't stopped thinking about since the second it left my hand.
Jacob takes my hands gently.
The familiar metal settles into my palms.
Cold.
Solid.
Real.
For a second neither of us speaks.
"At least take this."
His voice is barely above a whisper.
I stare down at it. The tiny charms. The amber flower. The star. The infinity engraving. Every piece of our childhood sitting in my hands.
Waiting.
My throat tightens painfully. Because putting it back on feels like forgiveness. And I'm not ready for that.
Not yet.
But giving it back feels impossible too.
So I stand there holding it while Jacob watches me quietly.
And for the first time since he came back, neither of us knows what happens next.
✧─────────────────────✧
Okay.
It didn't take that long.
I forgave him.
Not immediately. I'm not that pathetic.
I made him suffer for at least twenty minutes...Maybe thirty.
And to be clear, I'm still going to bring this up every single time I need to win an argument for the rest of our lives.
Twenty years from now we'll be eighty years old arguing over something stupid and I'll still be like "remember when you disappeared for months and emotionally devastated me?"
So really, he's never living this down.
But I forgave him.
Because the second I saw him again I realized something.
I need him.
Not in a dramatic world-ending way.
Just...Jacob shaped spaces exist all throughout my life.
And everything feels wrong when he's not there to fill them.
Eventually we end up in his room.
My room.
Not technically.
But close enough.
I drop onto his bed with a dramatic sigh and immediately realize how much I've missed it.
Which sounds ridiculous.
But I've spent more time on this mattress than some people spend in their own bedrooms.
Movie nights.
Late night conversations.
Falling asleep accidentally while Jacob rambled about engines.
This room holds half my childhood.
The familiar smell of motor oil, laundry detergent, and Jacob surrounds me instantly.
And for the first time in months I feel like I can breathe properly.
Jacob sits beside me.
Close enough that our shoulders touch.
Neither of us seems interested in moving away.
"You're staring," he says eventually.
I blink.
Apparently I've been staring at him.
Oops.
"I was making sure you're real."
He laughs softly.
The sound hits me right in the chest.
God I missed that laugh.
"You're such a weirdo."
"Yeah well."
Silence settles comfortably between us.
Not awkward.
Never awkward.
Just easy.
Like slipping back into your favorite hoodie after months without it.
I twist the bracelet around my wrist absentmindedly.
The bracelet is back where it belongs.
And somehow that makes me emotional again.
Which is embarrassing.
"So," Jacob says carefully. "How's Bella?"
The question immediately wipes the smile from my face.
Jacob notices instantly.
"Bad?"
I sigh.
"Bad."
His shoulders tense slightly.
I stare down at my hands.
"The other day Charlie threatened to send her back to her mom."
Jacob's head snaps toward me.
"What?"
"Yeah."
I stare down at my hands, twisting the bracelet around my wrist.
"The thing is..." I trail off. "She didn't actually want to go."
His brow furrows.
"Charlie was yelling. Bella was stuttering. It was a whole thing."
I let out a small humorless laugh.
"And then she just blurts out that she has plans with me and Ashley all week."
Jacob blinks.
"What?"
"Exactly."
I point at him.
"Because she did not have plans with me and Ashley."
A tiny smile tugs at his mouth.
"So what happened?"
"I lied."
His eyebrows lift.
"You lied?"
"I saved her life."
Jacob laughs.
I shove his shoulder.
"She looked so panicked Jacob. Like genuinely panicked. So I just jumped in and agreed." I mimic my own voice dramatically. "'Yep. Tons of plans. So many plans. We're booked solid.'"
The laugh fades from his face as I continue.
"It worked."
The room grows quieter.
"Charlie backed off."
"But?" Jacob asks softly.
There's always a but.
I swallow hard.
"But I don't think she's actually getting better."
The words sit heavy between us.
"It feels like..."
My throat tightens.
"Like she's waiting for something."
The words come out quieter than I intended.
"Or someone."
Immediately Edward's face flashes through my mind.
The way Bella still looks at the woods sometimes. The way she still gets this distant look in her eyes when she thinks nobody's watching. The way every smile feels just a little forced.
"I don't know." I shake my head. "Maybe I'm wrong."
But I don't think I am.
"I don't know what to do anymore."
The confession comes out smaller than I intend.
Because I don't.
Bella's become one of my favorite people...Somehow.
My sister. My actual sister. And watching her disappear piece by piece feels awful.
"I keep trying."
My throat tightens.
"I keep trying to make her laugh and she just..."
I trail off.
Because suddenly I'm crying.
Again.
Fantastic.
Love that for me.
Jacob doesn't laugh.
Doesn't tease me.
Doesn't tell me to stop.
He just opens his arms.
And that's all it takes.
I practically launch myself at him.
The second his arms wrap around me I completely fall apart.
Months of loneliness.
Months of missing him.
Months of worrying about Bella.
All of it comes crashing out at once.
I bury my face in his shoulder and cry.
Not pretty crying either.
Actual ugly crying.
The kind that makes it hard to breathe.
Jacob just holds me tighter.
One hand rubs slow circles against my back.
The other settles in my curls.
Careful.
Always careful.
"I missed you," I whisper finally.
The words come out muffled against his shirt.
His arms tighten immediately.
"I know."
"I was so mad at you."
"I know."
"You suck."
A laugh rumbles through his chest.
"There she is."
I smack his shoulder weakly.
Which only makes him laugh harder.
And somehow I start laughing too through the tears.
Because of course I do.
Because Jacob has always been able to pull me back from the edge.
Eventually the crying slows.
Then stops.
But neither of us lets go.
I stay curled against him with my head tucked beneath his chin while his heartbeat thumps steadily against my ear.
Safe.
Familiar.
Home.
For a long time neither of us says anything.
We don't need to.
Because I think we both understand something now.
Some people become so woven into your life that losing them feels like losing a piece of yourself.
And maybe that's why forgiving Jacob wasn't actually difficult.
Staying angry was.
I lift my head slightly and look up at him.
"I'm still bringing this up whenever I need leverage."
Jacob groans immediately.
"Oh come on."
"Nope."
"Ky."
"Nope."
"I apologized."
"You emotionally abandoned me."
"It was one time."
I point dramatically at him.
"See? You're already minimizing my trauma."
Jacob laughs so hard he nearly falls off the bed. And honestly? That's probably the moment I know I made the right choice. Because for the first time in months, everything feels normal again.
✧─────────────────────✧
The movie sucks.
Not because it's actually bad.
I couldn't tell you if it's bad.
I haven't paid attention to a single second of it.
Jessica is crying beside me over some romance plot while Bella stares blankly at the screen like she's trying to solve a math equation hidden inside the movie.
I mostly spend the entire time watching Bella.
Which sounds creepy.
But after months of worrying about her, it's become a habit.
She's been talking more lately. Smiling occasionally. Showing up when people invite her places.
Enough that everyone thinks she's getting better.
I don't.
I think she's pretending.
And tonight is proving my point.
The second the credits roll Bella is already standing.
"Bathroom," she mutters.
Jessica stretches dramatically. "That movie emotionally devastated me."
"It was literally a romantic comedy."
"It was art."
I roll my eyes while we make our way out of the theater.
The streets of Port Angeles are crowded despite the late hour. Neon signs reflect off wet pavement while people wander between restaurants and shops.
For a few minutes everything feels normal.
Then Bella stops walking.
I almost walk into her.
"What are you doing?"
She doesn't answer.
She's staring across the street.
My stomach immediately drops.
Because I know that look.
That distant look.
The one she gets right before she does something insane.
Following her gaze, I spot a group of bikers standing near their motorcycles.
Absolutely not.
"No."
Bella starts walking.
"No."
Faster.
"BELLA."
She ignores me.
Jessica blinks in confusion. "What's happening?"
"I DON'T KNOW."
Bella crosses the street.
I immediately sprint after her.
Because apparently this is my life now.
Running after my self-destructive sister.
The traffic light changes while I'm halfway across.
A car horn blares.
I nearly eat shit on the curb.
Somehow I catch myself before face-planting into concrete.
"Jesus Christ!"
Jessica is yelling behind me now too.
Bella doesn't even look back.
The bikers notice her approaching immediately.
And instead of acting like normal people confronted by a random teenage girl, they start talking to her.
Which somehow makes me even angrier.
I finally catch up just in time to hear Bella asking about motorcycles.
Motorcycles.
Motorcycles.
The thing Charlie specifically hates.
The thing Bella has literally never shown interest in before.
One of the bikers grins.
"You wanna ride?"
"No."
The word flies out of my mouth instantly.
Bella ignores me.
Again.
"I'm serious Bella."
She looks at me.
And for one second I see something weird in her expression.
Not excitement.
Desperation.
Like she's chasing something.
Before I can figure out what, she climbs onto the back of the motorcycle.
My jaw drops.
"BELLA SWAN."
The motorcycle roars to life.
Jessica looks horrified.
I look homicidal.
And then Bella disappears down the street.
My sister.
My stupid.
Idiotic.
Wonderful sister.
Has just ridden away with a complete stranger.
I stand there staring after her.
Speechless.
Jessica slowly turns toward me.
"Should we call the police?"
"Charlie?"
"Absolutely not."
Because Charlie would actually die.
The next ten minutes are the longest of my life.
Every horrible possibility runs through my head.
Kidnapping.
Crash. Murder. Organ harvesting. I don't know. I've watched enough crime documentaries. Jessica paces. I pace.
Then finally...
The motorcycle returns. Relief crashes into me so hard my knees almost buckle. Bella climbs off looking completely fine. Completely. Fine. I storm toward her immediately.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
Bella blinks. Jessica joins me.
"YOU LEFT."
"WITH A STRANGER."
"ON A MOTORCYCLE."
Bella looks genuinely confused by our reactions. Which somehow makes me even angrier.
"I'm fine."
"That is not the point."
"It literally is."
"No."
I point dramatically at the biker.
"That man could have murdered you."
The biker looks offended.
Good.
Bella sighs.
"I just wanted to try it."
"No."
"What do you mean no?"
"I mean no."
Bella rubs her forehead.
"Kylie."
"No. Explain."
She opens her mouth.
Pauses.
Then immediately starts making excuses.
Bad excuses.
Terrible excuses.
The kind that don't even sound believable while she's saying them.
"I just wanted to see what it was like."
"What?"
"I don't know."
"What does that mean?"
Bella throws her hands up.
Jessica looks back and forth between us like she's watching a tennis match. I narrow my eyes. Because she's lying. Not about riding the motorcycle. About why. There's something she's not saying.
Again.
Always.
And suddenly I'm exhausted. Because I'm tired of chasing her. Tired of watching her throw herself into increasingly dangerous situations. Tired of feeling like she's standing on the edge of something and refusing to tell anyone what she's looking at. Bella's expression softens slightly.
"I'm okay."
The anger drains out of me all at once. Because I guess she is. She's standing here. Breathing. Alive.
"You're an idiot."
Bella almost smiles.
"I know."
I pull her into a hug before I can stop myself.
Mostly because if I don't hug her, I might strangle her.
And honestly?
I'm not entirely sure which option she'd prefer.
✧─────────────────────✧
We're in Jacob's garage working on my beautiful car.
And yes. My car. Because at this point she's more than basically mine.
The '64 El Camino sits in the center of the garage looking better every single week. The paint is coming together. The body work is almost finished. The engine is finally starting to resemble an engine instead of a pile of expensive problems.
She's gorgeous.
I've spent so much time here lately that my hands are permanently stained with grease. Not that I mind.
Because Jacob is here.
And things are normal again...Mostly.
I tighten a bolt while Jacob rambles about something involving carburetors that I stopped understanding ten minutes ago.
"Are you even listening?"
"No."
He laughs.
I grin.
Life is good. Then we hear an engine. Both of us glance toward the driveway. A familiar red truck rolls into view.
Bella.
My entire face lights up immediately. Because despite all the stress and worry and chaos, seeing Bella actually leave the house feels like spotting a unicorn in the wild.
"She's alive," I whisper dramatically.
Jacob practically drops the wrench in his hand.
Oh no.
No no no.
I know that look.
His entire face brightens.
Like someone flipped a switch.
And suddenly I'm having war flashbacks to last year.
Please tell me we aren't doing this again.
Please tell me we aren't backsliding.
But despite the immediate jealousy trying to claw its way into my brain, I'm genuinely happy to see her.
She's out of the house.
She's wearing actual clothes instead of pajamas.
This is progress.
Bella climbs out of the truck.
Then opens the bed.
And reveals two motorcycles.
I blink.
Jacob blinks.
"What?" I ask.
Bella smiles slightly.
"I found them."
"Found them?"
"They need work."
Jacob is already moving toward the truck.
Traitor. I follow behind him. Because absolutely not. Bella leans against the side of the truck while Jacob looks over the bikes.
"I was wondering if you'd help me fix them."
Jacob's face breaks into a grin.
"Seriously?"
And there it is. That look. Bella's staring at him like he's the answer to every question she's ever asked. Like he's the first good thing that's happened to her in months.
And honestly?
I get it.
I really do.
Jacob has always been good at putting broken things back together.
Cars.
Motorcycles.
People.
But it's still throwing me off.
I reach over and lightly grab his arm.
Just enough to remind him I exist.
Nothing.
His eyes remain completely fixed on Bella.
Excuse me?
Hello?
I am right here.
Jacob steps toward the truck.
Then grabs one of the motorcycles.
And lifts it.
Not part of it.
Not one end.
The whole damn motorcycle.
By himself.
I stare.
Bella stares.
The bike shifts easily in his hands as he lowers it onto the garage floor.
What.
The.
Hell.
Since when was he this strong? I knew he'd gotten bigger. I knew he'd been spending more time with Sam and the others. But this is ridiculous. Jacob reaches for the second motorcycle and does the exact same thing. Like it weighs nothing. Like he's moving a chair.
Bella blinks.
"Jake..."
He glances up.
"Yeah?"
"You're like...buff."
I almost choke.
Oh my god.
I want to smack her. Not because she's wrong. She's absolutely right. Unfortunately. But because the way she says it makes something irrational and possessive immediately flare up in my chest. Jacob scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. Actually embarrassed. Which somehow makes it worse.
"I guess."
"I guess?" Bella repeats.
I point aggressively.
"Can we focus on the fact that he just picked up an entire motorcycle?"
"Thank you," Jacob says.
"No. This isn't a compliment. This is a concern."
Bella laughs.
An actual laugh.
Not one of the tiny polite ones she's been giving lately.
A real one.
And for a second both Jacob and I go quiet. Because we've missed that sound. Bella notices immediately. Then gets embarrassed. Then immediately stops laughing. Which somehow makes me want to cry. Jacob notices too. His smile softens.
"Let's get these things inside."
Bella nods.
And for the first time in months, she looks excited about something. Actually excited.
I glance between the two of them.
Bella smiling. Jacob smiling. The motorcycles. The garage. The sunlight coming through the open door. And suddenly that weird feeling in my chest eases. Because maybe this isn't backsliding. Maybe this is healing. Maybe Bella isn't staring at Jacob because she's replacing Edward.
Maybe she's staring at him because for the first time in months, she finally found her way back to something good. Still. If she calls him buff again, I'm throwing a wrench at her.
✧─────────────────────✧
Guys I met the limit oops.
Tag List: @loversonne @mrsabbotthankya @bearballerina44 @louisianalady @samuelseoswife @tcapter @uhhitaintme101
(Twilight what I would wear if i were Bella's older sister)
The first in my Jacob x OC fic based on the tiktok trend from a little bit ago where you make outfits and write a little blurb on that outfit. We're going to speed run the first movie and then go on to the second one so we can move onto him as a wolf. Bella and Jacob are 18 in their senior year of high school in the bulk of this story and OC is 20 because of being held back as a kid for plot reasons.
~Description: Being Bella Swan’s older sister was never supposed to change anything. Not with Charlie. Not with school. And definitely not with Jacob Black. But suddenly, Bella is everywhere. In the halls at school. In Charlie’s life. In Jacob’s conversations. And no matter how hard you try to pretend it doesn’t bother you, you can feel things shifting underneath your feet. Jacob starts keeping secrets. Bella starts falling in love. And you start realizing that maybe the worst kind of heartbreak isn't losing someone completely. Maybe it's standing right beside them while they slowly choose someone else. Or maybe you're just dramatic. Probably both.
✧─────────────────────✧
It hurts me to call this girl my sister. She was born two years after me, Charlie took me and ran away six months into her life. My mom had been gone only a year before Charlie suddenly moved my one-year-old self in with this new woman. Their romance had been a whirlwind, all rushed smiles and reckless decisions, which quickly resulted in a child and Charlie once again running. He isn't the greatest man, not by a long shot, but he's the only father I've ever known, and I wouldn't change a thing.
Charlie and I escaped to Forks and became quickly acquainted with the tribe there. I didn't go to school for a while, instead I ran with the children of the tribe, my bare feet caked in mud and sand as I chased after them through the forests and along the beach. I listened to their stories, spent nights by their fires while smoke curled into the cold air and elders spoke in low voices that made every legend sound real. Forks became home before I even realized it had happened.
When Jacob was born my little two year old brain knew instantly we were going to be best friends. Jacob and I were drawn together quickly, as soon as he could walk he stuck by my side. Everywhere I went there he was trailing after me with scraped knees and messy hair, his tiny hand always grabbing onto mine or the hem of my shirt. We continued like that for years, practically inseparable. Charlie eventually decided I should at least go to high school and enrolled me. It just made it so I had to adjust what hours Jacob and I spent together.
The night before Freshman year there I was curled up beside Jacob in his bed.
“I'm not sure I want to do this Jacob,” I say to him, turning my face in his direction. We're so close we're sharing the same air, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. The room is dark except for the dim moonlight creeping through his window. His hand reaches behind him and pulls out a box.
“I made you something,” he says softly. He reaches for my wrist and draws it to his chest. “Close your eyes.”
I see him break into a huge grin before complying, shutting my eyes. With them closed I start to hear every breath and movement. The shifting of the sheets. The faint jingle of something metallic, some piece of jewelry brushing against itself. Cold metal envelops my wrist and a gentle smile starts to bloom on my face before I even see it.
“Ky you can open your eyes now,”
A chuckle escapes me as I open them. He's looking at me with puppy eyes, clearly hoping I like it. The chain sits on my wrist. It's a bike chain, converted into a charm bracelet. Little welded charms make up most of the band, a star, a flower in amber, a heart, a chain link. All things reminiscent of our childhood spent together sit there wrapped around my wrist. On the inside of the amber charm set in metal is a J and K sitting in an infinity loop engraved carefully into it.
“I love it,” I almost cry as I pull myself into his chest. I feel him relax the second I do so, his arms wrapping around me automatically like they always have. His heart thumps against my cheek, steady and warm beneath my skin.
Change is hard. I never asked for change, I don't want change. I want to stay right here with my best friend.
Ever since then, it seems I haven't been able to catch a break.
✧─────────────────────✧
It's Senior year. Or it's about to be, and for some god-awful reason, Bella is coming to live with us. For how long, I don't know. I wasn't told. Nobody really tells me anything anymore, they just expect me to adjust around it. I'm being driven back to my house to meet up with her in the truck Jacob and I have been working on together that is apparently for Bella. The same truck we spent months covered in grease fixing up together, the same truck I held flashlights for while Jacob cursed at rusted bolts and laughed when we both ended up stained in oil.
I'm trying my hardest to whisper yell at him but I'm very sure Billy can hear me from the car behind us. Another tribe member is driving him in another car and I have a feeling it's because they could sense my annoyance with him from a mile away.
“I just don't understand why this girl you've seen like every now and again over the years gets this car that you and I have been working on together,” I say to him, gripping onto his arm as he drives down the damp road toward my house. “Like seriously Jacob, this was our thing.”
Even as I reprimand him he has this gentle smile on his face, like he's in on some secret I don't know about yet. “Ky I need you to trust me ok, I promise it will make sense soon.” He turns to me for a second, projecting that soft smile in my direction and I flinch dramatically, pouting at him.
My pouting only makes him smile more and he reaches over to pat my head.
I groan immediately. My hair is curly and he knows I hate when anyone touches it. “Jacob!” I whine, instantly turning to make sure he hasn't frizzed it up in the tiny mirror attached above the windshield. He tries to stifle his laugh and absolutely fails.
I turn my glare back at him as he pulls into my driveway, tires crunching against gravel. The clouds above Forks are heavy and gray, making everything look dim and wet. He pats my head one more time before hopping out of the truck.
“Jacob Black!” I yell after him with a groan, fixing my hair again before climbing out myself.
And then I stop.
He's hugging her. Like hugging her. Lifting her into the air hugging her.
It tugs at me somewhere deep in my chest, sharp and ugly and unfamiliar, and I'm not sure what to think about it. I've never seen him greet anyone like that besides me. For a second I just stand there staring while Bella laughs awkwardly and he sets her back down.
“Hi Bella,” I say finally, reaching out my hand to this girl I can't help but feel is going to be the start of the ruin of my life.
She does this weird tucking of her hair behind her ear and mutters hi really quietly, barely meeting my eyes. It kind of throws me off. Before she got here I decided I was going to be a good big sister, or at least try to be, but I'm realizing this might be difficult. She's hard to read. Quiet in a way that makes me feel loud just standing next to her.
Jacob starts talking to Bella and he shows her the truck and says it's hers now and she gets so excited. It's probably the most emotion I've seen her express in a long while. Her whole face lights up for a second and she runs her hand along the side of the truck like she can't believe it's real. She's kinda blasé on the day to day, always looking half asleep or half somewhere else, but right now she looks genuinely happy.
She hops in the truck and I stand there having to listen to Billy yap about how Charlie is so excited Bella is here, how the house finally feels complete again, how Charlie's been smiling all week waiting for her arrival.
I'm starting to feel a little invisible and Bella has only been here for a couple hours.
✧─────────────────────✧
I've snuck out tonight like always. I'm pretty sure Charlie knows at this point, Billy probably tells him every time and Charlie just pretends not to notice because at least he knows where I am. Or who I'm with.
The night air in Forks is cold and damp against my skin as I climb through Jacob's window. The second my feet hit the floor I hear his laugh from across the room.
“You know the door exists right?” he asks from where he's sprawled across his bed.
I roll my eyes dramatically as I shut the window behind me. “And ruin my mysterious entrance? Absolutely not.”
Jacob grins at me, wide and easy like always, and pats the spot beside him on the bed. I sit at the edge instead, curling one leg beneath me while he immediately starts rambling.
“Bella's actually really cool,” he says. “Like way cooler than I remembered.”
I stare at him flatly. “You've known her for like twelve seconds.”
“That's not true.”
“Jacob, you saw her every couple of years when Charlie and I were forced to host her some summers.”
He ignores me completely. “She's just...different now. She's quieter than she used to be.”
“She barely talks.”
“Yeah but not in a bad way.” He shrugs, leaning back against his pillows. “I don't know, she just seems kinda sad sometimes.”
Something twists unpleasantly in my stomach at the softness in his voice.
“Oh my god,” I groan dramatically. “Are you in love with my sister already?”
His eyes widen immediately. “What? No!”
“You are.” I point accusingly at him. “I know that look. That's your weird little savior look.”
“I do not have a savior look.”
“You absolutely do.”
Jacob laughs, throwing one of his pillows at me and I barely catch it before it smacks me in the face.
“You're jealous,” he says teasingly.
I gasp like he's mortally wounded me. “Jacob Black if you replace me with Bella Swan I will actually pass away.”
“You're so dramatic.”
“And you're obsessed with a girl who mutters two words every hour.”
He laughs harder at that, head tipping back slightly, and despite myself I feel myself smiling too. That's the annoying thing about Jacob. I can come in here irritated and somehow ten minutes later he's got me laughing again.
Still, he keeps talking about her. About how she looked excited over the truck. About how he thinks she's trying hard to fit in here. About how quiet people are usually more interesting once you get to know them.
Eventually I groan loudly and fall sideways across his bed. “Jacob please talk about literally anything else before I throw myself into traffic.”
He snorts. “You're impossible.”
“And yet you adore me.”
“Unfortunately.”
I kick him lightly in the side and he grabs my ankle dramatically like I've severely injured him.
“Tell me about your day,” I say instead, softer this time. “Tell me something normal.”
His expression shifts immediately, gentler now, and he starts talking again. About Embry nearly dropping an engine part on his foot earlier. About Sam yelling at Jared for eating the last leftovers at Emily's. About how Billy made him reorganize the garage for the third time this month.
At some point I end up curled against him without really thinking about it. My head rests against his chest while he talks, his voice rumbling softly beneath my cheek. His hand absentmindedly plays with my curls, gentler this time, careful not to tangle them.
The room is warm. His blankets smell like detergent and motor oil and cedar. Outside rain taps softly against the windows.
I should feel calm. I always feel calm here.
But my brain won't stop turning.
Bella.
The way he smiled at her today. The way he talked about her tonight. The way his face lit up while he rambled on and on about every tiny thing she did.
I hate how much I noticed it.
“—and then Quil almost backed into the garage door,” Jacob laughs softly.
I hum like I'm listening but my chest feels tight.
Because things are changing again.
First Bella comes back. Then Jacob gives her our truck. Then suddenly all anyone can talk about is Bella Bella Bella like she's always been here instead of dropping into our lives out of nowhere.
And the worst part is I don't even think I'm mad at her.
I think I'm scared.
Scared that one day I'll walk into this room and it won't feel like mine anymore. Scared Jacob will look at someone else the way he's always looked at me. Like I'm his first choice.
His hand brushes over my hair again. “You're quiet,” he murmurs.
“I'm tired.”
It's a lie. He knows it too. I can tell by the way his fingers pause for half a second before continuing.
“You know you're stuck with me right?” he says softly, almost amused. “Bella showing up doesn't change anything.”
My throat tightens painfully because he says it so casually, like it's obvious. Like he couldn't even imagine a world where I wouldn't be beside him.
I press my face further into his chest so he can't see my expression.
“Good,” I mumble. “Because if you replace me, I'll murder you.”
Jacob laughs quietly, the sound vibrating beneath my cheek. “Deal.”
✧─────────────────────✧
Showing up to school sucks. It always has.
Forks High is all gray walls, flickering fluorescent lights, and the smell of wet jackets that never really dries out. Everyone looks half asleep all the time because apparently the constant rain drains the life out of people. Or maybe that's just this town.
I haven't made many friends over the years. Not real ones anyway. Most people know me as Charlie Swan's weird daughter who disappears to La Push every second she gets. And honestly? They're not wrong.
I'm just glad I can go back to Jacob at the end of the day. That's what gets me through most of this. Knowing once school ends I can leave all these fake smiles and awkward small talk behind and go sit in Jacob's garage while he rambles about engines for three hours straight.
Bella walks beside me awkwardly through the parking lot, her shoulders slightly hunched like she's trying to disappear into herself. Charlie made me drive with her this morning which already put me in a bad mood because apparently now I'm responsible for her social survival too.
The second we walk through the doors it's like blood in the water.
“Bella!”
Jessica Stanley appears out of nowhere, practically materializing beside us with Angela and Mike trailing after her. I blink at them in confusion because I've literally had classes with these people for years. Jessica borrowed pencils from me twice last semester. Mike copied my chemistry homework once.
And yet somehow I'm suddenly invisible.
“Hi,” Bella says quietly.
Jessica immediately hooks her arm through Bella's like they're lifelong best friends. “Oh my god everyone's been dying to meet you.”
I stare at her flatly.
Everyone's been dying to meet you.
Um...rude.
“Good morning to you too Jessica,” I mutter.
She startles slightly like she forgot I existed. “Oh! Right. Hi Kylie.”
I narrow my eyes at her as we walk down the hall. Bella glances at me awkwardly like she doesn't know whether to apologize or laugh.
Jessica immediately launches into a school tour despite the fact that I literally know where everything is already.
“That's the gym, the cafeteria obviously sucks, Mr. Varner smells weird—”
“I've gone here since freshman year,” I interrupt dryly.
Jessica waves me off. “Yeah but Bella hasn't.”
Mike Newton keeps staring at Bella like she's some rare woodland creature that wandered onto campus. It's honestly kind of embarrassing to watch.
“You'll love it here,” he tells her quickly. “People are really friendly.”
I snort so loudly Angela tries not to laugh.
Bella looks overwhelmed already. Her eyes keep darting around the crowded hallway while Jessica continues talking at rapid speed.
And then they all stop walking at once.
“The Cullens,” Jessica says dramatically.
Of course.
I swear this school talks about the Cullens more than actual celebrities.
Bella follows everyone's gaze toward the cafeteria entrance and there they are sitting together like always. Beautiful in a way that doesn't even look real. Rosalie looks like a model carved out of ice. Emmett is huge. Alice is tiny and pixie-like. Jasper looks uncomfortable just existing. And Edward Cullen—
Well.
He looks like the type of person people write poetry about.
“They're all adopted,” Jessica whispers to Bella like she's revealing classified information. “Dr. Cullen moved here with his wife a few years ago.”
“They're weird,” Mike adds immediately. “They don't really talk to anybody.”
I cross my arms, already bored of this conversation because it happens at least twice a month anytime someone new notices them.
Jessica keeps going anyway. “The blonde one's Rosalie. She's with Emmett. Alice is with Jasper. And Edward—”
“—is mysteriously single despite every girl in school being obsessed with him,” I finish for her.
Jessica glares at me. “You say that like you're not curious too.”
“I'm not. He looks sickly.”
Bella keeps staring at them though, specifically Edward. There's something strange about the way he looks back at her too. Tense almost. Like he's uncomfortable.
Weird.
“Anyway,” I interrupt before Jessica can start reciting Edward Cullen's entire biography, “some of us actually know where our classes are.”
Jessica rolls her eyes dramatically. “You're no fun.”
“Thank you.”
Bella laughs quietly beside me for the first time all morning and honestly? It surprises me a little.
The rest of the day drags painfully slow. Teachers keep introducing Bella to classes like she's a foreign exchange student and not just Charlie Swan's other daughter. Every person we pass wants to look at her, talk to her, ask her questions.
Nobody notices me standing right beside her.
By lunch I already feel exhausted. Bella sits across from me picking at her food while Jessica and Mike continue interrogating her about Phoenix.
“You must hate the rain,” Mike says.
Bella shrugs slightly. “It's not that bad.”
I let my head fall onto the cafeteria table dramatically. “Please save me.”
Bella snorts softly into her drink and for a second I feel weirdly triumphant about being the only one making her laugh today.
Still, the second the final bell rings relief crashes through me so hard I could cry.
Because now I can leave.
Now I can go back to La Push. Back to Jacob. Back to somewhere that actually feels like mine.
✧─────────────────────✧
Bella was almost in a car accident.
A fucking car accident.
I got rudely awakened from my zombie walk back to the car by someone yelling Bella's name, which sent me into a panic.
By the time I get outside the parking lot is chaos. Students are crowded everywhere, teachers yelling at people to back up while police lights flash across the wet pavement. The smell of gasoline and burned rubber hangs thick in the cold air.
And in the middle of all of it is Tyler Crowley's van absolutely destroyed against another car.
My stomach drops instantly.
“Bella?” I shove past people, my heart pounding painfully hard in my chest. “Bella!”
Then I see her.
Standing.
Completely fine.
Edward Cullen is beside her looking tense as hell while Bella looks pale and shaken but otherwise unharmed. Which makes absolutely no sense because the side of Tyler's van is crumpled inward like a soda can.
The dent in the parking lot beside Bella is massive. The angle is wrong too, like the van should've crushed her.
But she's fine.
Actually fine.
“What the hell happened?” I breathe, grabbing Bella by the shoulders immediately and looking her over frantically for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
“I'm okay,” she says quickly. Too quickly. Her eyes keep flicking toward Edward. “I'm fine.”
Tyler looks seconds away from throwing up. “I couldn't stop,” he keeps repeating. “The ice...I couldn't stop—”
Teachers start ushering everyone away before I can ask more questions. Bella gets dragged toward the nurse's office despite insisting she's uninjured and Edward disappears almost immediately, moving so fast through the crowd it feels strange somehow.
Everything about this feels strange.
By the time we get to the hospital Charlie is fully in dad panic mode. He's pacing aggressively through the ER while Bella sits on one of the beds looking annoyed more than injured.
“I told you I'm fine,” she says for maybe the fifteenth time.
“And I told you you're getting checked anyway,” Charlie snaps immediately.
I sit beside Bella with my arms crossed tightly over my chest while she keeps insisting she wasn't hurt. Which she objectively wasn't. Not even a bruise.
That should make me feel relieved.
Instead it's making me feel insane.
Because I've seen the van.
Dr. Cullen walks in a few minutes later looking calm and polished like always. Too calm honestly. Most ER doctors don't look like they stepped out of a magazine.
“Bella,” he says gently while checking her chart. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“No dizziness? Headache?”
“No.”
Charlie runs a hand through his hair anxiously. “She keeps saying Edward saved her somehow.”
Bella immediately sits up straighter. “Because he did!”
Carlisle's expression barely shifts but something flickers in his eyes for half a second. “Traumatic situations can distort memory,” he says carefully. “Your mind fills in blanks during moments of stress.”
Bella looks irritated instantly. “That's not what happened.”
I glance between them slowly.
Everyone is being so weird.
Bella keeps insisting Edward got to her impossibly fast. Charlie looks confused. Carlisle keeps smoothly redirecting the conversation every time she brings it up. And Edward himself hasn't shown back up once.
It's starting to piss me off.
By the time we're finally leaving the hospital Bella is still muttering angrily under her breath about nobody believing her. Charlie goes to deal with paperwork for a minute which leaves me alone with her in the hallway.
“You're seriously okay?” I ask quieter this time.
Bella sighs. “Yes.”
“But?”
Her eyes flick around the hallway before she leans closer slightly. “Edward was across the parking lot.”
I blink. “Okay?”
“And then he was suddenly next to me.”
“People run fast when someone's about to get hit by a car.”
“No,” she says firmly. “You don't understand.”
Before I can answer, Edward suddenly appears at the end of the hallway like he materialized out of thin air. Bella notices immediately. Of course she does.
“Wait,” she says quickly before hurrying after him.
I narrow my eyes instantly and follow at a distance because absolutely not.
Bella catches him near the stairwell and grabs his arm lightly. “How did you do it?” she asks immediately.
Edward's entire body goes rigid.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yes you do.”
I try to listen harder as they move farther down the hallway but their voices drop too low to make out clearly. All I catch is Bella sounding frustrated and Edward sounding...panicked almost.
They're so weird.
Edward keeps glancing around like he's afraid someone will overhear them while Bella refuses to back down. The tension between them feels sharp enough to cut through.
Eventually Edward walks away abruptly, disappearing down the hall before Bella can stop him again. She stands there for a second looking frustrated before turning back toward me.
I grab her arm immediately and pull her off to the side.
“You need to stay away from him.”
Bella blinks at me. “What?”
“Edward Cullen.” I lower my voice. “He's weird Bella.”
She crosses her arms defensively almost instantly. “You're basing that off one conversation?”
“I'm basing it off literally everything.” I gesture vaguely. “He acts sketchy, his whole family acts sketchy, and now you're in the hospital talking about him like he performed superhero stunts in the parking lot.”
“And you sound obsessed with a guy you barely know.”
Her expression hardens slightly at that.
I sigh and rub my forehead. “Look, maybe I'm wrong. But something about him feels off and I don't want you getting wrapped up in whatever his deal is.”
Bella's quiet for a second before muttering, “I can handle myself.”
I stare at her for a long moment.
That's the problem.
I think she actually believes that.
✧─────────────────────✧
We're surfing.
Well, they're surfing. Bella's weird little friend group from school is out in the freezing water trying not to drown while I sit on the beach wrapped in a hoodie watching them struggle. Forks kids have this obsession with pretending hypothermia is a personality trait.
I'm only here because they gave me a ride to La Push. The second Mike Newton heard Bella wanted to come to First Beach he practically tripped over himself offering. I tagged along because honestly any excuse to get out here is worth it.
The beach smells like salt and driftwood and wet sand. The sky is gray enough to blend into the ocean completely, waves crashing hard against the shore while wind whips my curls into my face.
Bella sits beside me on a log wrapped in a blanket looking freezing.
“You know,” I say while watching Mike wipe out dramatically for like the fifth time, “I think watching them fail is actually more entertaining than surfing itself.”
Bella snorts quietly. “I think you're right.”
I grin triumphantly. “See? You're learning.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I already know who it is before checking.
Jacob: u here???
Me: Unfortunately
Jacob: wow rude
Me: Come save me from suburban white boys trying to surf
Not even ten minutes later I hear the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle approaching down the road near the beach.
Bella looks up first.
Jacob pulls up onto the sand wearing that stupid easy grin that somehow gets bigger the second he spots us. His hair is longer now, frizzing slightly at the ends from the humidity, and he looks unfairly good leaning against his bike.
“You know,” Bella says immediately as he walks over, “this is starting to feel like stalking.”
Jacob laughs loudly. “What, you think I just magically knew you'd be here?”
“Honestly? Maybe.”
It's clearly a joke. I know it's a joke.
But something about hearing her tease him like that tugs weirdly in my chest anyway. Like suddenly there's this thing between them I wasn't part of.
I hate how much I notice that lately.
Jacob walks straight toward us, bumping his shoulder lightly against mine first before looking at Bella. “Ky texted me.”
“Traitor,” Bella says dryly.
“Absolutely,” I answer proudly.
Jacob drops down into the sand beside us, long legs stretched out easily while he starts rambling almost immediately. He asks Bella how school's been and she starts talking about Edward within maybe thirty seconds because apparently every conversation in her life somehow loops back to him now.
I throw my head back dramatically. “Oh my god please develop another interest.”
Bella nudges my shoulder with hers. “You're so supportive.”
“Thank you.”
Eventually the three of us start walking down the beach while the others stay in the water. The tide curls around our shoes as we move closer to the cliffs, wind loud enough that Bella has to tuck her hair behind her ears every couple seconds.
Jacob starts telling Bella stories about the tribe, half teasing at first before slipping into that softer storytelling voice he always uses when he talks about Quileute history.
“My tribe descended from wolves,” he says casually.
Bella looks immediately intrigued. Of course she does.
“And the Cullens?” she asks quickly.
Jacob kicks at the sand. “Enemy clan.”
I glance at him sideways because technically he's not supposed to tell her any of this, even if it's just the watered down stories we grew up hearing as kids around bonfires.
He shrugs slightly at me like it's fine.
“They're supposedly cold ones,” he continues. “The old stories say they drink blood.”
Bella goes weirdly quiet at that.
I roll my eyes a little. “We literally got told these stories when we were like six.”
Jacob grins slightly. “Still good stories.”
Bella keeps asking questions though. Specifically about Edward. Every question somehow circles back to Edward Cullen.
“Wait so your tribe really believes the Cullens are dangerous?”
“Well—”
“And the stories specifically mention them?”
“Bella,” I interrupt lightly, “you know these are basically supernatural campfire stories right?”
She barely even looks at me. “Still.”
Jacob keeps answering her instead, completely focused on her now while they walk slightly ahead of me.
I stare at the back of his head in disbelief.
Excuse me?
I try jumping back into the conversation a few more times but every single thing somehow turns into Bella and Edward again.
It's driving me insane.
Finally I speed up a little and shove myself physically between them.
“Jacob.”
“Hm?”
“Ride me back on your bike.”
He blinks at me. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
Bella looks amused immediately because she absolutely knows what I'm doing.
Jacob scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean sure but—” He looks toward Bella. “Did you drive here or do you need a ride too?”
I actually gape at him.
Then before he can keep talking I grab both his shoulders dramatically and physically steer him away from Bella toward where his bike is parked.
“Okay!” I announce loudly. “We're leaving now.”
Jacob bursts out laughing while stumbling along with me. “Ky!”
“Nope. You talked about Edward Cullen for like an hour. You lost privileges.”
Bella laughs behind us and I refuse to turn around because if I see her smirking I might actually combust.
Jacob is still laughing by the time we reach his bike. “You're jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“You literally dragged me away.”
“Correct.”
He shakes his head with this ridiculously fond smile while handing me his spare helmet. The second I climb onto the bike behind him I wrap my arms tightly around his waist out of habit, pressing my face briefly between his shoulder blades as the engine rumbles beneath us.
Jacob glances back slightly. “You good?”
I don't answer for a second. Just hold onto him tighter.
Because lately it feels like every time Bella shows up I lose a little more of him.
And I don't know what to do with that feeling yet.
✧─────────────────────✧
Bella has been nonstop with the Cullens lately.
Every conversation somehow circles back to Edward. Every time she's home she's either sneaking out, staring at her phone, or daydreaming like she's somewhere else entirely. Charlie keeps pretending not to notice but I do. I notice everything.
And now she's disappeared.
Again.
Charlie thinks she's with friends. I know she's with the Cullens. Specifically Edward. Because apparently she's physically incapable of staying away from that family for longer than twelve minutes.
Normally I'd just roll my eyes and move on with my life. Bella is weird, the Cullens are weird, whatever. But Jacob is acting insane about it.
So now here I sit on the edge of his bed while he paces around his room like a caged animal. Rain slams hard against the windows outside, the whole house creaking softly under the storm while Jacob runs both hands through his hair for maybe the hundredth time.
“I know she's with them,” he mutters. “I know she is.”
I blink at him. “Okay? Well duh who else would she be with?”
Jacob stops pacing long enough to look at me incredulously. “Ky this is serious.”
“No, you're making it serious.” I throw my hands up. “Yeah the Cullens are weird and creepy and freakishly pale but Bella is clearly special to them so maybe calm down.”
His jaw tightens instantly. “You don't understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I can't.”
I stare at him flatly from the bed. “Jacob that's getting really old.”
He starts pacing again instead of answering me. His movements are sharp and restless now, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“Something's wrong,” he says finally. “I can feel it.”
I groan loudly. “Oh my god you sound insane right now.”
That makes him snap his head toward me immediately. “I'm trying to protect her.”
“From what?” I stand up now too, irritation finally boiling over. “Edward Cullen being emo?”
“Ky.” His voice comes out sharper this time. Warning me.
“No seriously Jacob, what is your issue with him?” I step closer. “Because every time Bella's around him you act like she's walking toward her own funeral and nobody will actually tell me why.”
He looks away immediately.
And somehow that's worse.
“You know something.”
Silence.
“You do,” I push harder. “And instead of acting like a normal person you're stomping around growling at everyone.”
His head snaps back toward me. “I'm not growling.”
I almost laugh. “Jacob—”
“You need to stop defending them.”
The room goes quiet instantly after that.
Rain pounds against the windows. Somewhere downstairs I can faintly hear Billy's TV playing.
I cross my arms tightly over my chest. “I'm not defending them.”
“Yes you are.”
“No, I'm defending Bella.” My voice rises now too. “Because whether you like it or not she's happy around them.”
“She doesn't know what they are.”
The words hit the room hard.
I blink slowly. “...What?”
Jacob immediately looks like he regrets saying it.
“What are they?” I ask carefully.
He shakes his head. “I can't tell you.”
I let out this sharp frustrated laugh and step back from him. “Then stop acting like I'm stupid for not understanding!”
“Ky—”
“No.” My throat feels tight suddenly. “You don't get to shut me out and then get mad when I don't magically know what you're talking about.”
His expression shifts slightly at that. Softer for half a second. Guilty maybe.
But then he hardens again.
“You need to leave.”
The words knock the air out of me.
For a second I honestly think I heard him wrong.
“What?”
“You should go home.” He won't even fully look at me now. “I can't do this right now.”
My chest tightens painfully.
Because Jacob has never asked me to leave before. Not once. Even when we fought as kids we'd eventually cool off and he'd throw snacks at me until I laughed again.
But now he's standing there looking tense and angry and closed off like he can't even stand being near me right now.
All because of Bella. Because of the Cullens. Because suddenly there are secrets bigger than me sitting between us.
Something hot stings behind my eyes immediately and I hate it. I hate that he can still hurt me this easily.
“Fine,” I snap.
I rip the bracelet off my wrist before I can think better of it. The cold metal catches briefly against my skin before I throw it hard at his chest.
Jacob catches it automatically, pure reflex, but the second he looks down at it his entire expression changes.
Regret flashes across his face instantly.
“Ky wait—”
But I'm already gone.
I shove past him, down the hallway, out the front door and straight into the freezing rain.
Water immediately soaks through my clothes and curls my hair tighter around my face but I barely notice. I just keep walking. Fast enough that my boots splash through puddles along the road back toward Forks.
My chest hurts.
Not because we argued. We do that sometimes.
But because for the first time in years it felt like Jacob chose someone else over me.
First Bella.
Now whatever secret he's keeping.
I wrap my arms tighter around myself as rain pours down around me in sheets, cold enough to sting my skin. Behind me I hear the distant roar of a motorcycle engine starting up.
I don't turn around.
Because if Jacob catches up to me right now I might actually cry.
✧─────────────────────✧
Spending time away from Jacob hurts more than I thought it would.
Not in some dramatic world-ending way. It's quieter than that. Worse somehow. Like something important has been carved out of my daily life and now everything feels wrong around the empty space it left behind.
My routine is gone.
I used to wake up, drag myself through school, then immediately leave with Jacob afterward. Either he'd pick me up on his bike or I'd head to La Push and spend the evening tangled up in whatever chaos him and the boys were causing that day. Even silence with him felt easy. Familiar.
Now school just...ends.
And I realize I don't actually have anyone else.
Forks High somehow feels even grayer lately. The fluorescent lights make everyone's skin look sickly and exhausted while rain taps endlessly against the windows. I barely pay attention in class anymore. My grades are slipping. Teachers keep asking if I'm okay with those fake concerned expressions adults get when they don't actually want the answer.
I spend lunch alone most days now.
Bella used to sit with me sometimes before all this. Before Edward Cullen swallowed her whole.
Because now they're official.
Official official.
The whole school is obsessed with it too. Jessica Stanley nearly combusted from excitement when they showed up together for the first time. Mike Newton looked like someone shot his dog. Angela just looked confused.
I mostly felt tired.
Edward is around constantly now, hovering beside Bella like a ghost attached to her shadow. And honestly? He somehow looks even paler and sicker than normal lately. Which is impressive considering the guy already looked one strong gust of wind away from death.
Still, Bella looks happy.
Really happy.
So I try not to judge it too much even if every instinct in my body still screams that something about him is wrong.
I haven't gotten the bracelet back.
Part of me regrets throwing it at him instantly. Another part is stubborn enough to think he deserved it.
School lets out slowly that afternoon, students flooding into the parking lot beneath heavy clouds and steady rain. I pull my jacket tighter around myself while heading toward the front steps, already mentally preparing for the miserable walk home.
Then I hear it.
A motorcycle engine.
My heart jumps before I can stop it.
I turn so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
Jacob pulls into the parking lot on his bike, rain dampening his hair while the engine rumbles loudly beneath him. The second I see him something in my chest lights up painfully fast. Relief. Excitement. Hope.
I knew he'd come apologize.
Of course he would.
This is Jacob.
I start walking toward him automatically before he even fully parks. My stomach twists nervously while a hundred thoughts race through my head at once. Maybe he'll explain everything. Maybe he'll hand me the bracelet back. Maybe he'll tell me he's sorry and things will go back to normal.
But then Bella appears beside me.
And Jacob's eyes go directly to her.
Not me.
Her.
The excitement inside me crashes so fast it almost physically hurts.
“Bella,” he says immediately while climbing off the bike. His expression is tense again, serious in a way that instantly makes Bella straighten too. “My dad says you should break up with Edward.”
Well.
I guess we agree on that.
Bella looks irritated instantly. “Excuse me?”
“I'm serious.” Jacob glances around the parking lot like he's checking for something. Or someone. “You need to stay away from him.”
I stand there awkwardly beside them feeling stupid now. Like I imagined that moment earlier. Like I made up the part where I thought he'd come for me.
Bella crosses her arms. “You don't even know him.”
“I know enough.”
“Jacob—”
“No Bella listen to me.” His voice lowers urgently. “The Cullens are dangerous.”
There it is again.
That same look in his eyes from the night we fought. Fear mixed with anger mixed with something else I still can't name.
Bella looks stubborn immediately. “I'm not breaking up with him.”
Jacob clenches his jaw hard enough I can see the muscle jump.
And then finally—finally—his eyes flick toward me.
Just one glance.
Brief.
Unreadable.
Then he's turning away again, climbing back onto his bike before either of us can stop him.
“Jacob!” Bella calls after him.
The motorcycle roars loudly as he pulls away into the rain.
And that's it.
That's all I get.
One glance.
I stand there staring after him while rain soaks slowly through my jacket sleeves. Bella looks frustrated beside me, probably already thinking about Edward again, while my chest feels hollow in this awful aching way I can't escape lately.
Fuck this.
My life continues like this.
Quiet.
Lonely.
Every day starts bleeding together after a while. Wake up. School. Watch Bella disappear further into Edward Cullen's orbit while Jacob disappears completely out of mine. Go home. Repeat.
The only thing that's changed lately is Bella and me.
Somehow, in the middle of all this mess, we've actually started getting closer. Maybe because we're around each other constantly now. Maybe because she notices when I'm upset in that quiet way she notices most things. Or maybe because she's lonely too, just differently than I am.
We spend more time together now. Watching movies sprawled across her bed. Sitting in silence while she reads and I scroll through my phone. Late night drives when neither of us can sleep.
It's...nice.
I didn't expect it to be.
And somehow we end up at prom.
I almost don't go. Honestly I probably shouldn't have. The idea of standing around watching couples sway under fairy lights sounds like actual torture. But Bella asks me quietly one night while we're eating takeout on her bedroom floor and I can't really say no to her anymore.
So now here I am sitting on Bella's bed while she gets ready in front of the mirror.
She's beautiful tonight.
Not in some intimidating untouchable way. Softer than that. The warm yellow bathroom light catches against her skin while she struggles with one of the straps on her dress, dark hair falling down her back in loose waves. She keeps smoothing her hands over the fabric nervously like she still can't believe she's actually going.
“You're staring,” she says with a small laugh.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “You just clean up nice.”
Bella rolls her eyes at me through the mirror. “You say that like I normally look terrible.”
“I mean.”
She immediately throws a makeup brush at my head and I laugh, ducking out of the way.
For a little while it feels normal. Easy. Just sisters getting ready together. Bella talks nervously about Edward while I help zip up the back of her dress and try not to think too hard about anything else.
My curls are behaving for once, falling naturally around my shoulders instead of exploding outward from the rain like usual. My dress is dark green, the fabric soft and fitted around my waist before falling loose toward the floor. I even bothered with makeup tonight, though I kept it simple.
Still, standing beside Bella makes something ache in my chest unexpectedly.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
Bella notices immediately because somehow she always does now. “He might still come.”
I hate how quickly my heart reacts to that.
“He's not coming.”
“You don't know that.”
But I do.
Deep down I do.
Still, when we pull up to the dance I catch myself scanning automatically anyway. Looking for a motorcycle. Looking for Jacob.
Nothing.
The dance is set up in this huge garden attached to the event hall, pathways lined with flowers and glowing lanterns while fairy lights hang everywhere overhead. In the center sits this white gazebo wrapped completely in warm twinkling lights, music drifting softly out across the garden while couples dance beneath it.
It's honestly beautiful.
Painfully beautiful.
The second we walk in people start staring at Bella and Edward. Because apparently Forks High has nothing better to do than obsess over their relationship.
Edward is waiting near the gazebo looking annoyingly perfect in his suit, pale skin almost glowing beneath the lights. The second Bella sees him her entire face softens in this way I've started recognizing lately.
And Edward looks at her like she's the only person here.
I suddenly feel like I'm intruding.
“You look beautiful,” he tells her quietly once she reaches him.
Bella practically melts.
I force a teasing smile. “Okay well that's my cue to disappear.”
Bella immediately looks guilty. “Kylie—”
“Go be disgustingly in love somewhere else.”
Edward actually laughs softly at that while Bella rolls her eyes and hugs me quickly before letting him pull her toward the gazebo.
And just like that I'm alone again.
I spend the next hour pretending not to be pathetic.
I wander through the garden slowly while music drifts around me. Couples dance beneath the fairy lights while groups of friends crowd around tables laughing loudly. Jessica gives me this weird pity smile at one point that almost sends me into cardiac arrest. Mike Newton awkwardly offers to dance and I fake needing a drink to escape.
Eventually I end up sitting on the stone steps near the gazebo, knees pulled to my chest while I stare out toward the parking lot beyond the garden gates.
Waiting.
Like an idiot.
Every pair of headlights makes my stomach twist for half a second. Every distant engine sound makes me look up hopefully before disappointment crashes back down again.
Maybe he'll come late.
Maybe he'll finally talk to me. Maybe he'll apologize. Maybe things can go back to normal.
Behind me soft music plays while Bella and Edward dance beneath the gazebo lights. Through the open space between people I can see Bella smiling up at him, genuinely happy in a way she wasn't when she first got here.
And suddenly the loneliness inside me feels unbearable.
Because Jacob used to look at me like I mattered most. Like I was the first person he'd search for in a room.
Now I don't even know if he misses me.
The night drags on painfully slow. The air grows colder while mist settles over the garden flowers and dampens the edges of my dress.
He never comes.
Eventually I stand up quietly and smooth my hands over my skirt before slipping away from the dance alone.
Nobody notices me leave.
Not even Bella.
✧─────────────────────✧
Ok, guys, here's all the build-up for the first movie, and next, we're going to move onto the really meaty stuff. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged!
Hey guys I’m kindof burnt out for avatar rn so I’m gonna take a tiny break but there was a tiktoktrend a while ago that was basically self insert what I would wear/do in this universe and I wrote a self insert for Jacob and I’m gonna make it into a full fic! What do ya’ll think anyone wanna be tagged?
~Warnings: mentions of death and near-death experience, survivor’s guilt, emotional trauma, possessive/protective Neteyam, canon divergence (Neteyam lives), mutual pining, slow burn
~Description: ~Neteyam Sully was supposed to die.
He knows it. The clan knows it. Eywa knows it.
Instead, he lives — and something inside him doesn’t.
You miss him.
You noticed it right away. He was distant.
Aloof.
Depressed.
It wasn’t sudden. Not enough for anyone else to question. But you felt it immediately, like a shift in the air before a storm.
He would swerve out of the way as you walked towards him, striking up a conversation with whoever was closest and wasn’t you. His voice would lift just slightly, like he was trying too hard to sound normal. Like he was performing distance.
You crave him.
You had come to lean on his presence. It had slipped into your life so naturally you hadn’t realized it was happening until it was gone.
You want him near you. You want his smell, his touch, his affections. You want him wrapped around you, steady and grounding and always there.
But he’s gone.
Not truly gone. Not dead. Not lost.
Just not yours anymore.
________________________________
It was agony to do the right thing.
He thought he was doing the right thing.
He repeats it to himself the same way he repeats everything else, quiet, constant, like a rule he cannot break.
He still kept those pestering, demeaning men away from you. He still picked up tasks so you wouldn’t have to. Still watched from the edges. Still made sure nothing touched you that shouldn’t.
But he stopped touching you.
Stopped standing beside you.
Stopped letting himself exist in your space.
And in doing so, he freed up your time.
In freeing up your time, he opened the door for the Metkayina to court you.
Your father started sending men your way. Many warriors attempting to impress you with pretty words, strong tails, and big muscles. They spoke loudly. Confidently. They filled space in a way Neteyam never had to.
He watched from a distance.
Assessed them.
Measured them in silence.
None of them did all he did for you.
None of them noticed the small things. None of them anticipated your needs before you spoke. None of them watched you like you were something to protect, not something to win.
They are inadequate.
It settles in him, sharp and certain.
It’s been a month.
A month without your smell. Your touch.
A month without you.
You had grown cold towards him.
That’s what he had wanted.
That’s what he told himself.
You started entertaining these men. At first, politely. Then more easily. To the point that they started to come back. To the point that they expected to.
He would constantly have to watch you with the same couple of men.
Watch as they fawned over you.
Watch as they fought for your affections.
Watch as they leaned too close. Spoke too softly. Laughed too easily at things that weren’t funny.
He watched the gifts he wove for you, the ones you had worn daily without fail, slowly get replaced by jewelry and weavings from new men.
One piece at a time.
Like he was being peeled away from you.
He felt so alone.
It sits heavy in his chest, deeper than the wound ever did. Quieter, but worse.
Not at the edges. Not in the distance. Not watching. Not near.
Gone in a way that felt wrong.
You decided to give these men a chance.
Maybe one could live up to him.
Maybe one could feel like him.
Maybe that was the problem.
It didn’t work.
Every touch feels wrong.
Every glance feels empty.
Every gift that isn’t from him feels like something you have to pretend to appreciate.
You try. You really do.
But it never settles.
It never feels right.
Your light starts to fade.
You notice it slowly. In the way you laugh less. In the way things feel heavier. In the way your patience wears thin by the end of the day.
You once found happiness in everything. Brought a little light to everyone. It came easily. Naturally.
The only person that gave you light back is now gone.
And no one else knows how.
You sit, dejected, in your marui.
The woven walls feel smaller than they used to. The air feels still. You spend less time outside recently. It was hard to be happy all the time. To do others’ work for them. To pretend you are important as the youngest daughter of Tonowari.
To pretend you don’t feel the absence of something you never even named.
He comes to you then.
Your father.
“It is time,” he says.
His voice is not unkind. Not forceful. Just firm in the way leaders are when something has already been decided.
He’s invited other clans. He’s invited his own warriors.
They will come.
They will stand before you.
They will be judged by you.
You had completed iknimaya ages ago. Proved yourself. Earned your place.
It was time.
You would choose a mate.
And you would get the next bead on your songcord.
One that was long overdue.
Your fingers curl slightly in your lap.
"Ok"
___________________________________
They come in waves.
Metkayina in all shades of blue.
From clans nearby and far off.
Some you recognize, some you pretend you do.
The marui are fuller than you’ve ever seen them. Voices overlap, laughter rises and falls, the ocean air feels thick with expectation.
You put in more effort.
Your father asked you to dance, to hunt, to fish, to swim.
To show these men you’re strong, even as a later born child.
You do it.
You do all of it.
On stage you swirl, spin, drape, flow. Move like the ocean around you. Your body bends and follows the rhythm you’ve known your whole life. You feel the sand crunch beneath your feet, grounding you, keeping you steady.
The beads on your weaving clink as you sway.
He made them for you.
Everything you wear, he made for you.
Your fingers brush against them mid-turn, a subconscious reminder. A tether.
You’re calling out to him.
Begging him to see you.
He does not.
___________________________________________
You’re there. He can't take his eyes off you.
You’re up there dancing in garments he made you.
You’re up there begging for him to save you.
The fanfare around him has been overwhelming.
The noise. The people. The constant talk.
Hearing these men here talk about you only makes him miss you more.
It sits wrong in his chest. Twists.
They speak like they know you.
Like they need you.
Like they deserve you.
He walks and fills his plate, barely looking at what he takes. His mind is elsewhere. Always elsewhere.
He’s going to make any excuse to sit close and watch you dance.
He knows it’s unfair to be upset.
He started it.
He created this distance.
He told himself this is what was right.
But he can’t help it.
He sits so close to you. Close enough that if you misstep, if your foot lands wrong, you could kick him.
He almost wants it.
Almost craves even a touch from you that causes him harm.
At least you would have touched him.
His eyes don’t leave you.
Not once.
________________________________________________
It starts as murmurs.
Low voices behind him.
A group of men, gathered just far enough to think they aren’t heard.
One of them laughs.
“You see her? Tonowari’s daughter.” Another hums in agreement. “Strong alliance,” one says. “Strong blood.” Then another voice, sharper, more amused. “And a pretty one too. That is a bonus.”
Neteyam’s grip tightens around the edge of his plate.
They keep going.
“I wonder if she’s got anything behind the smile,” one says, tone lazy. “Not that it matters." A chuckle. “Doesn’t have to. Just needs to sit there and look pretty.”
More laughter. “Watching her pretty facial expressions as I fill her up over and over. Watching her stomach swell with my children. That's all I need her for.” Agreement ripples through them. Nods. Grins. Casual.
Like it’s nothing.
Like you are nothing.
Neteyam goes very still.
Something cold settles in him.
Not sharp.
Not explosive.
Just… final.
He sets his plate down slowly.
Stands.
No one notices at first.
He walks over, calm. Controlled. His expression unreadable.
He stops beside the one who spoke the most.
“Come with me,” he says quietly.
The man barely has time to react before Neteyam’s hand is on his arm, firm, unyielding.
They step away. Out of sight. Out of earshot.
The moment they’re alone, it happens.
The punch is fast.
Clean.
It lands hard against the man’s face, snapping his head to the side.
He stumbles, curses, swings back.
They scuffle.
Sand shifts under their feet. Breath turns sharp. Hands grab, shove, strike.
Neteyam doesn’t hold back.
Doesn’t think.
He moves like he was trained to. Precise. Efficient.
It doesn’t take long.
He gets him in a headlock, arm tight around his throat, forcing him still.
The man struggles, choking slightly.
Neteyam leans in, voice low, deadly calm.
“You will not speak about her like that.” The man laughs weakly, trying to play it off. “She’s meant to be chosen, is she not? That is the point of this.” Neteyam tightens his hold. “She is not something you get to use.”
Silence.
Heavy.
The man stills.
Neteyam’s voice drops further.
“If I hear you speak about her like that again, I will do more than this.”
It isn’t a threat thrown out in anger.
It’s a promise.
He lets him go.
The man stumbles forward, catching himself, breathing hard, shaken now.
Neteyam knows it would wound the man's pride to reveal that an Omitikaya brought him to the ground.
Neteyam doesn’t look back at him.
He doesn’t need to.
He stands there for a moment, chest rising and falling, something settled deep inside him.
Clear.
Certain.
He tried to step back.
Tried to let you choose.
Tried to do the right thing.
But this…
This is what happens when he isn’t there.
When he isn’t beside you.
When he isn’t yours.
His jaw tightens.
No.
He won’t let this happen.
He won’t let them near you.
He won’t let them touch you.
He won’t let them think they can have you.
Not like this.
Not ever.
He makes the decision then.
He will fight for your hand.
And he will not lose.
___________________________________________
You go to bed drained.
You watched Neteyam watch you.
You watched him disappear into the crowd and not come back.
You thought he might stay. He made such a statement sitting so near you. You hoped this was a step forward.
You suppose it wasn't.
The night was long.
Men constantly pulling you to walk to them. Their hand resting on your lower back, almost respectful, but definetly daring.
You felt grimy.
As night fully fell and you tossed and turned you made a desision.
You trecked out into the night. Into the forests behind the ocean villiage. To a natural warm pool flowing in from ocean vents. It was clear and comforting.
Slowly you slip off your garments. they clink to the forest floor.
You slip into the water and dive under feeling your muscles relax.
You let yourself float your chest open to the air, your head resting buoyant on the water. The forest echoes around you. Song cherps and shrieks echo, and the sound of the beach waves nearby almost lulls you to sleep. It's the calmest moment you've had since Neteyam.
You start to think of your life that way. Before Neteyam. After Neteyam. It makes your soul sink. Your heart feels cold and empty without him.
You suppose your faather did this to help. He must've known, to some degree, your need for that male. That male who left you high and dry. You know he wanted to help fill that void, to bring back his happy cheery bright daughter. But every glance, every converstation had without him just made your worse.
You hear a crunch then and freeze sinking down so only your eyes poke over the water.
___________________________________________
He had been watching you.
He hadn't really meant to. He snuck out to listen to the calming noises from the forest. To clear his head. To get away from the noise of celebration and expectation and everyone looking at you like something to be won.
And he saw you.
Moonlight filtered through the trees in broken pieces, silver against the dark water. The air was damp and warm, filled with the sound of insects and the soft movement of waves against stone.
He watched as you shed your weavings.
Slowly. Casually. Unaware.
He watched the moon glint off your curves and drip down your body, accentuating every dip and curve. Water kissed your skin as you stepped deeper into the pool, your body glowing beneath the pale light. His skin flushed purple as he watched, knowing he should turn away.
He can't.
His chest rises slowly. His breath catches. Something heavy settles deep inside him.
He watches you float in circles. The water carries you gently, your hair spreading around you like ink, your eyes closed as though this is the only place you can finally breathe.
He had always craved you, but seeing this opened something inside him he had never thought of before.
He had been drawn to your energy, your warmth, the way you carried light even when the world tried to take it from you. But seeing you, floating there, exposed to the world, soft and trusting and completely unaware of him watching...
Something inside him snaps into place.
He wants you.
Body and mind.
Every piece of you.
You're his.
He'll show you.
He makes his decision then and steps out of the brush.
The leaves shift beneath his feet, quiet but enough for your ears to twitch toward him. Your eyes open slowly, immediately finding him standing there at the edge of the water.
He watches you relax and slip slightly lower in the water, enough that he can see your bare shoulders and nothing more.
He wants so much more.
Your eyes question him. He had been distant for so long but now he's sought you out in your most vulnerable time.
The moonlight catches his face now that he's closer. You can see the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion in his eyes. Something desperate sits beneath his skin.
He can see then your body isn't the only thing exposed.
Your energy is raw and fraying.
You're in pain.
He caused that.
Guilt twists inside him so sharply he almost stops moving altogether.
But he continues to walk forward, not bothering to shed his tweng. He wades in towards you, the water ripples and splashes as he descends. The water climbs slowly up his body, soaking the fabric clinging to his skin.
You think you would tense, would turn away.
You don't want to scare him off.
You want him to stay.
He's next to you now. You can feel the warmth from his body now radiating in your direction. Even surrounded by cool water, he feels warm. Solid.
Safe.
“I want to be yours,” he says, meeting your eyes with such intensity it almost steals the air from your lungs.
There is no hesitation in him now.
No distance.
No pretending.
You don't freeze, you don't tense.
Everything inside you releases.
The ache in your chest loosens all at once, sudden and overwhelming.
He reaches his arms out and you relax into him instantly, like your body had been waiting for this.
“I am already yours,” you say, echoing his sincerity.
Your voice cracks slightly at the end and his expression softens immediately.
He needs you close.
Closer than you are now.
He lifts your body, tugging you to him tighter. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist beneath the water as his arms secure themselves around you like he's afraid you'll disappear if he loosens his grip.
His head moves to rest in the crook of your neck.
He breathes you in deeply.
You smell clean, like a combination of ocean and forest, a combination of him and you. Saltwater and damp earth and something underneath that is entirely yours.
His eyes close.
For the first time in months, he feels calm.
Tears are running down your face as you hug. Warm against his skin. You finally feel him again. His touch all around you, overwhelming your senses.
You missed this.
Missed him.
Missed being held like he never wanted to let go.
You want him to claim you.
Fully.
You want everyone to know.
But he pulls away.
Not far. Never far.
He doesn't set you down, just moves his face from the crook of your neck to gently kiss your forehead. His lips linger there for a moment, soft and reverent.
“I will claim you properly. I will win clan favor and honor you,” he says, pulling back to meet your gaze.
The seriousness in his expression makes your chest tighten.
He means it.
Every word.
You groan slightly at the fact he's going to make you wait, but you understand he wants to do this right.
A quiet laugh leaves him then. Small. Breathless. The first real laugh you've heard from him in a long time.
His thumbs brush against your sides beneath the water absentmindedly, like he simply needs to feel that you're still there.
He stands there holding you a while longer.
The water moves gently around your bodies. The forest hums quietly around you. Somewhere above, the moon watches through the trees.
He's made his decision.
He will make everyone understand that you two deserve each other.
Between two worlds (Jake Sully x Reader AFAA) Part five
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four
I just started a new job guys! Sorry it's been a while I hope you're still along for the ride!
~Word count: ~3.6k
~Warnings: mentions of death and grief, emotional trauma, mild swearing, No use of Y/n, canon divergence, mutual pining, eventual smut
~Description: ~You're a marine biologist studying the tolkun. They had been experimenting on the genes of the classic avatar to manipulate it into one more suited to the water. The base is far enough away from the civilizations that they don't bother it, but they are able to examine their culture. This is a fic where Neytiri died at the same time as Neteyam. So most of it is the same; Jake is just mourning his mate as well as his son.
Weeks go by.
You make no progress. You thought you would.
The days blur together, one folding into the next, marked only by tides and training and the quiet, aching awareness that you are still standing in the same place you started. Watching. Waiting. Trying.
Kiri, Tuk, and Spider welcome you now, affectionately.
It is easy with them.
Too easy.
Their laughter fills space you did not realize was empty, their hands tugging at yours, their voices constant and bright. They do not question you the way the others do. They do not look at you like you are something to be measured or weighed.
They just accept you.
It feels strange. But you welcome it...As much as you can.
Jake grows colder each day, focusing on some game plan he won't talk about rather than his family or the issues left behind. You watch it happen slowly, the shift almost unnoticeable at first, then undeniable. He is always thinking, always planning, always somewhere else, even when he is standing right in front of you.
You thought you had made progress.
You thought you had begun to connect again.
You guess you were wrong.
As he grows distant, you grow guilty.
Your goal had been to escape humans using you, and now you feel like you're using this family. The thought settles heavy in your chest, impossible to shake. You take their kindness, their trust, their space, and give them what in return? Half-truths. Careful omissions. A presence that is not fully yours.
Spending time with the girls and Spider is bittersweet.
They see you.
They want you to be a part of their family.
Some part of you feels like they needed someone new to help them get over the loss of their mother and brother. The absence lingers in everything, in the quiet pauses, in the way certain topics are avoided, in the way Tuk sometimes goes still for no reason at all.
You hope to help instead of hurt.
Even if you are using them.
Either way... You have not slept.
Not really.
You passed out once, and the experience of a trigger forcing yourself back into the small, fragile human body almost broke your mind. The sensation still lingers, sharp and wrong, like being crushed into something too small to hold you.
You noticed the scientists have you hooked up to a feeding tube and an IV.
You guess they were worried they would lose their only Avatar driver just when it was getting good.
You do not say anything to them.
You link straight back into your avatar body and promised yourself not to sleep again.
As you sit with the kids, watching them draw in the sand, watching Tuk splash in the shallows of the water, sunlight catching in droplets as she laughs, you still, and you think you are hallucinating.
You think your name is being called.
Over and over.
Soft at first, then louder, insistent.
You blink a couple of times, trying to silence the delerium.
It does not stop.
Instead, a hand clamps around your shoulder and you yet again almost jump out of your skin.
You turn.
It is Jake.
He is saying something, but the words blur together, your mind lagging behind your body. Both of his hands are on your shoulders now, steady, grounding, holding you in place.
His face is flexing and contorting with…concern?
You don't know why. But his expression elicits something inside of you that flutters and warms.
His expression is strained, sharp, frustrated, something tight in his jaw, something unsettled in his eyes.
When you wake up, you think you are hallucinating again.
The world comes back in fragments, light too bright, sound too distant, your body heavy and uncooperative beneath you.
You think you see Norm above you.
He's not looking at you, instead focused intently on the equipment, hands moving quickly, adjusting something you cannot fully see.
Tilting your head slightly, you see an IV in your arm, cords stuck to different parts of your body, running across your skin, connecting you to machines that hum softly around you.
They are muttering something to each other in hushed, concerned tones.
Jake’s voice is lower now, controlled, but you can hear the tension in it. Norm responds quickly, words clipped, focused.
The Tsahìk is sitting at your side, humming softly, her eyes closed. Here arms hover over you, gesturing in circles.
The sound is low and rhythmic, something ancient and grounding, vibrating gently through the air.
You reach your hand out, slow and unsteady, and set it on her knee.
Her eyes slowly open.
Her facial expression relaxes the moment she sees you.
“They are awake,” she says, then stands to leave, nodding once before stepping out of the marui.
Three heads whip in your direction at once.
They start fussing over you immediately, talking over each other, voices overlapping in a way that feels almost suffocating after the quiet.
You recognize Norm.
You recognize Jake.
There is another man there too, sitting slightly back, holding a tablet, eyes flicking between you and the data in his hands.
“You passed out,” Jake says when they finally pause.
“I did…but, I didn’t go back,” you say.
You start to sit up, instinctively, needing to feel it.
Jake presses a hand to your chest, firm, pushing you back down.
“I told him,” Jake says.
You freeze.
The words hit harder than anything else.
“We found a way to block the trigger in the system that sends you back, we’ve been deliberating over it for weeks, we worried it would have massive side effects. It still might.”
Your heart starts to melt.
Slowly.
Painfully.
He was not ignoring you.
He made you his problem.
He spent all this time trying to help you, trying to solve something you had yet to even ask him to fix.
Tears start to spill down your face before you can stop them.
You sit up anyway, ignoring the protest of your body, and hug him.
Instinct.
Appreciation.
Something deeper you cannot name.
He grunts a little at the sudden contact, caught off guard, but gently pats your back, awkward but not pulling away.
You hear your name come from Norm’s mouth and you turn.
Joy overtakes you at seeing him.
A friend.
A big brother, even.
Alive and real and here.
He had come in his human body, and the difference in size is suddenly obvious as you clutch him tightly, your arms wrapping around him without thinking.
He groans slightly, saying, “I missed you too but you’re going to kill me if you keep this up”.
You release him and giggle a little.
“Sorry.”
Norm is the only human left you might be able to consider a genuine friend.
He starts rambling immediately, words spilling out fast and unfiltered.
Asking you questions.
When did this issue start to happen?
It always had.
Has it gotten worse?
Quickly, but you have grown more used to it.
Have you tried anything to solve it?
Nothing at all.
Had you told anyone?
No.
That is when you tell him the whole story.
Everything.
The experiments. The switching. The pain. The silence.
He sits in shock.
Norm won't stop staring at you.
Not in the clinical way the others used to, not like you are something to be solved, but like he is trying to reconcile what he is hearing with what he knows should be possible.
His hand drags down his face slowly.
“This is…” he starts, then stops, shaking his head. “This is completely unprecedented.”
The word hangs heavy in the air.
Unprecedented.
Unorthodox.
Cruel.
All of it sits there between you, undeniable now that it has been spoken out loud.
Jake shifts beside you, arms crossed, watching Norm carefully, like he is waiting for something solid, something actionable.
Norm exhales sharply and straightens, slipping back into something more focused, more controlled.
“Okay,” he says, quieter now, thinking out loud more than anything. “Okay, so the pain has something to do with the transition, the system is pulling you back before your neural link stabilizes fully, it’s basically ripping you between states. There are many tests that need to be run to actually determine what specifically is causing the issue, but that might just end up being cruel and unusual punishment.”
He gestures vaguely toward the equipment around you, then toward you.
“And now that we’ve blocked that trigger…” he trails off again, eyes flicking to the screens, to the readings still running.
“We don’t know what that’s going to do long term,” the other scientist adds, finally speaking up, his voice cautious. “We’ve stopped the automatic recall, but the system wasn’t designed to hold indefinitely without cycling.”
Norm nods once, jaw tightening.
“But it’s working,” he says, more firmly now. “You didn’t get pulled back. That alone means we’re on the right track.”
You sit there, listening, trying to keep up, trying not to let the hope build too quickly.
Because hope has always come with consequences.
Norm looks back at you.
“We're thinking about relocating your human body,” he says, more directly now.
The words hit differently.
Relocate.
Not monitor.
Not contain.
Move.
“Somewhere safer. Somewhere closer to…where we can monitor you're health,” he gestures around, meaning the clan, the water, the life you’ve chosen.
“But first,” he continues, holding your gaze, “we need to make sure this blockage holds. Right now it’s…temporary at best. If it fails while you’re out here, you could get pulled back without warning. Or worse, you could get stuck in between.”
A chill runs down your spine.
You know exactly what that would feel like.
He keeps going.
“And even if it holds, your body still needs support. Nutrition, hydration, neural stability. We’d have to build something transportable. A system that can stay attached to you, keep your human body alive and your mind anchored in the link without needing a full lab.”
He glances at the other man, then back at Jake.
“That’s not something we can just throw together overnight.”
Silence settles again.
Heavy.
Measured.
Jake’s jaw tightens, but he does not interrupt this time. He is listening, really listening, the way he does when something matters.
Norm softens slightly when he looks back at you.
“We’ll do it,” he says. “We’ll figure it out. But it’s going to take time. Testing. Making sure we don’t make it worse.”
Your hands curl slightly in your lap.
Time.
You have lived your entire life being told to wait.
“For now,” Norm continues gently, “all we can do is monitor you. Make sure the block holds. Make sure there aren’t any immediate side effects.”
You nod slowly.
You understand.
You hate it, but you understand.
Jake shifts beside you again, quieter now, something less tense in his posture than before. Not relaxed, not even close, but not pushing you away either.
Norm reaches out, squeezing your shoulder briefly, grounding.
“We’re not leaving you like this,” he adds, softer. “Not anymore.”
Something in your chest tightens at that.
Not anymore.
It feels fragile.
It feels dangerous.
It feels real.
The other scientist begins packing things up, the hum of equipment slowly lowering as systems are adjusted, readings logged, data stored away for later.
You had hoped something would shift after earlier, that maybe things between you would soften, that he would come find you, say something, anything.
He doesn’t.
The rest of the day he spends anywhere but near you.
You need to move on.
He has his reasons.
You repeat that to yourself enough times that it almost starts to feel true.
Spending your nights in the same marui as the rest of the Sully clan is mostly nice.
It has been, at least.
There is a rhythm to it, bodies settling into hammocks, quiet voices fading into the sound of the ocean, the shared warmth of a space that is lived in and real. It has started to feel…safe.
Tonight might be different.
And that worries you.
While you have been spending time with the children, one has still eluded you.
Lo’ak.
He spends his days far out in the water or with Tsireya, always moving, always somewhere just out of reach. When he is in the marui, he is quiet, closed off, eyes sharp and guarded whenever they land on you.
You finally had moved your cot away from the corner.
It felt like progress.
The next thing you saw was Lo’ak storming away, jaw tight, shoulders rigid, disappearing out into the water without a word.
With one problem close to being solved, this feels like the next on the list.
You have noticed, every so often at night, he would wander out.
Quietly.
Alone.
And you decided tonight you would follow him.
You spend the rest of the day resting like Norm said.
Laying in your hammock in the shared marui, staring up at the woven ceiling as shadows shift with the light outside, your body still heavy, still recovering in ways you do not fully understand.
Ronal checks on you a couple times.
She does not say much.
She never does.
But her presence is steady, her gaze sharp and assessing, hands occasionally brushing over your arm or your shoulder, checking without asking.
It is touching to know she considers you someone she is in charge of.
She is not quite affectionate, but she is not cold either.
There is something else there.
Measured.
Careful.
You feel she might pity you.
And that is good enough for you.
As the sun sets, everyone slowly piles in, the marui filling with quiet movement, soft voices, the familiar settling of bodies finding rest.
As the dark fully settles, the ocean outside glowing faintly, you see Lo’ak sneak out.
Silent.
Quick.
You wait only a second before slipping out after him.
Quietly.
At least ten feet behind, using your previous training, stepping where he steps, breathing when the water moves, letting the night cover your presence.
You follow him along the shoreline, past the soft wash of waves, until he stops.
You watch as he kneels at an unsettled patch of sand.
The ground there is disturbed, uneven, like something has been buried and unearthed more than once.
He starts digging.
His movements are rough at first, then more careful as his hands close around something beneath the surface.
He pulls it free.
A broken bow.
It is beautiful.
Worn, but intricately made, carved with patterns you recognize from the forest.
You recognize it instantly.
His mother’s.
He pulls it close to his body, clutching it like it might disappear if he lets go, and begins to hum.
You recognize the song.
The mourning song.
The same one you heard Jake sing.
His voice is quieter.
Unsteady.
His body starts to shake.
Small at first, then stronger, his shoulders curling inward as he folds into himself, pressing the bow against his chest like it might hold him together.
You cannot just watch.
Slowly, carefully, you step forward.
You kneel behind him and drape your body around him, gentle, not trapping, just there.
Warm.
Present.
His shaking pauses.
He tenses immediately.
His head turns sharply, eyes flashing, body starting to straighten as he shoves at you.
“My whole family is gone,” you say gently.
The words land between you before he can fully push you away.
His eyes meet yours.
Really meet yours.
“Earth is dying, as it does famine and disease take over. I became a scientist to fix it, I threw myself into my work. Slowly my family died off. All that was left was my younger brother before I took off into space. I wanted to make a world he could live in. Now I might never know if he’s still alive. I’m all alone. But you aren’t.”
You see it happen.
The shift.
The anger rising fast.
Hot.
Sharp.
He spends some time yelling at you.
The words come fast, messy, tripping over each other.
You don’t know him. You don’t understand how he feels. You don’t understand what it’s like to watch people die in front of you.
Each sentence hits like a wave.
He calls you a liar.
He calls you selfish.
An imposter.
The words are meant to hurt.
And they do.
But you do not interrupt.
You do not fight him.
Slowly, tears start to run down his face.
He tries to hide them at first, jaw clenching, shoulders tightening, but they come anyway, cutting through the anger.
He starts confessing.
Voice breaking.
Saying it is all his fault.
That he went back.
That in doing so he got his brother, and in turn his mother, killed.
The words come out uneven, like they have been sitting inside him too long, festering.
He feels alone.
Because his father can't even look at him.
Can't speak to him like he is his son instead of just a warrior in a platoon.
He doesn't want to be here.
He cannot stand being alive when half of the people he loves are dead or hate him.
The admission hangs heavy in the air.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
You hug him then.
Fully.
Wrapping your arms around him, pulling him in, grounding him the way no one else has.
And he begins to cry.
Really cry.
His body is tense, rigid under your hold, like he is still trying to fight it, still trying to force the tears back.
But they come anyway.
Shaking.
Breaking through him.
You are probably one of the only people he has said all this to and not gotten anger in return.
You let him yell.
You do not yell back.
You do not correct him.
You do not leave.
And something in him needed that.
You break away from him slowly.
Carefully.
Then.
You help him silently re-bury his mother’s bow.
Your hands move together through the sand, smoothing it over, pressing it down carefully, respectfully, like the act itself matters just as much as what is being hidden beneath it. He lingers for a second after it is covered, palm resting flat against the ground.
Then he pulls back.
As you walk back side by side, the distance between you small now, he starts talking.
Quiet at first.
Then more.
He tells you stories about his mother.
About his brother.
His voice shifts as he speaks, the sharp edges softening, grief still there but no longer suffocating him. He talks about how similar they are, how Neteyam carried himself like Neytiri, how he listened, how he never had to be told twice.
How his father probably favored Neteyam since he was a reflection of his mother.
There is no real bitterness in it.
Just something quiet.
Something tired.
He tells you things you cannot help but laugh at, small moments, childhood memories, things that feel normal in a way that almost hurts to hear. You laugh together, softly, the sound strange after everything that just happened.
You try to stifle it as you enter back into the marui.
The space is dim now, filled with the slow, even rhythm of breathing bodies at rest. The woven walls glow faintly from the ocean outside, shadows shifting gently across the ceiling.
You climb back into your hammock carefully, easing yourself down so you do not wake anyone.
The fabric cradles you, familiar now, warm.
Your body finally feels heavy.
Not wrong.
Not forced.
Just tired.
As you listen to everyone’s breathing even out around you, the quiet settling in like a blanket, your mind starts to slow.
The tension drains.
Your eyes close.
Just as sleep begins to take you, you feel it.
A hand on your back.
Warm.
Solid.
Then hot breath near your ear.
Close enough to make your skin prickle.
“Thank you”
A voice you know.
Jake’s.
Soft.
Barely there.
It sends a small, unexpected warmth through your chest.
You blush slightly, even as your body gives in to exhaustion.
And this time, you let yourself drift off to sleep.
Thank you! Lo'ak genuinely just needed someone to listen to him, and I don't have the heart to make Jake seem as heartless as he did in the movie. He'll still treat him coldly as needed for plot but we'll see that he's hurting too, (and call him out when he goes too far). I hope you're enjoying and let me know if you want to be tagged!
Can someone teach me how to put those cute little page breaks in, please, please, please? Guys, here's a little mini something something for all the Neteyam lovers.
~Word count: ~1.7k
~Warnings: mentions of death and near-death experience, survivor’s guilt, emotional trauma, possessive/protective Neteyam, canon divergence (Neteyam lives), mutual pining, slow burn
~Description: ~Neteyam Sully was supposed to die.
He knows it. The clan knows it. Eywa knows it.
Instead, he lives — and something inside him doesn’t.
He knows that. Deep inside it continues to haunt him. Thank Eywa he’s alive, that his family doesn’t have to deal with another loss. He’s grateful. But something inside him did die.
He repeats it to himself every morning, I am alive, I am safe, I am with family.
Sometimes he says it out loud. Sometimes it sits heavy in his throat, unsaid but present, like the scar that aches when the weather shifts.
He feels trapped in a space unfamiliar to him after his fall. They hadn’t been with the Metkayina long before he fell, and now it feels like the great divider of his life.
Before the gunshot.
And after the gunshot.
Before, he knew who he was.
He was supposed to take over the clan from his dad. He was trained from very young. That was all out the window now. He wants to throw himself into that training, feel like himself again. Feel strong again. Useful again. But the war would not stop. The tension never lifted. They would not go back. The ocean never truly quieted. All he could do was find moments of silence and try to live inside them.
And then there is you.
Loud. Giggly. Happy. Everything he can’t find in himself to be anymore.
You glow and it lights up everyone around you. Even when you’re quiet, there’s something warm about you. Something steady. People lean toward you without noticing they’re doing it.
He starts becoming your shadow.
You don’t notice at first. He simply is nearby. You see him in the corners of rooms, at the edge of feasts, his eyes always on you. It was sweet, he was learning the ways. That’s all you thought. The Omatikaya boy watching, learning, adjusting.
Slowly he starts to get closer.
He would insert himself without asking. If you needed to carry anything, it was out of your hands before you could even speak. He wasn’t a shadow anymore. He’s ever-present.
He helps with the kids of the tribe. He helps you gather. Carries anything you’ve hunted back to the clan before you even sling it over your shoulder. He walks beside you in the water without making it obvious. Always just close enough.
He thinks you are the strongest warrior he’s ever known.
You’re always calm, always happy, always loving. You speak gently but people listen. You laugh easily but never carelessly. Being by your side, that quiet part of him that died with the bullet to his side starts to come back to him. It’s small. Fragile. But it’s there.
Spending more time around you, though, he starts to notice things.
You smile too wide towards the end of the day. Your shoulders drop when you think no one is looking. Metkayina males would ask you to do things for them and you would just bite your tongue and nod along.
You pick your battles.
You aren’t happy-go-lucky. You’re intelligent. You create happiness. You build it carefully, like a shelter, and invite others inside. You find it in things many wouldn’t bother to notice.
He sees the effort now. The quiet strength it takes.
He wants to help. Wants to make sure you never feel the way he does on his bad days. The way he feels when he wakes in the early light, memories of pain and blood and loss flooding his dreams.
Your face is the one thing that keeps the pain at bay.
And he wants to be the same to you.
He decides then.
He will be your rock. He will get you to lean on him. He will be yours. Yours alone.
It isn’t possessive in his mind. Not sharp. Not greedy. It feels steady. Certain. Like something he was always meant to do. Like protecting his family. Like breathing.
You don’t notice at first.
He starts making it apparent to the other Metkayina. His tail finds its way around your leg when you aren’t paying attention. Loose. Casual. Like it just ended up there by accident. If you notice, he simply laughs it off, flashing that soft, boyish grin that makes it hard to question him.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all.
But others notice.
They see how he stands closer now. How his shoulder almost always brushes yours. How he answers dumb questions directed at you before you can speak. How his eyes follow anyone who lingers too long in your space.
He intercepts those males who are always trying to shirk their duties off onto you.
Before they can even ask, he steps forward.
“I will do it.”
Simple. Calm. Final.
He does them instead. Carries what they should carry. Fixes what they should fix. Volunteers before they can open their mouths.
You’re proud of him.
Proud he’s healing. Proud he’s functioning in the tribe. Proud he’s smiling more. You think this is him finding his place. Finding purpose again.
You don’t realize you’ve become that purpose.
Next, he starts to ask for your help.
He wants you to teach him how to weave. He sits close when you show him, knees bumping yours, tail flicking in quiet focus. His fingers are clumsy at first, too used to weapons, to reins, to bows. But he listens carefully. Watches you like every movement matters.
Whatever he makes, though, he simply gives back to you as thanks.
“This is yours,” he says, pressing the finished piece into your hands before you can refuse.
You laugh. Tell him he should keep it. He shakes his head.
“I made it for you.”
Like that explains everything.
He wants to learn to cook next.
He hovers beside you while you work, asking questions he probably already knows the answers to. Watches how you measure without thinking, how you move like you’ve done this your whole life. When you go to taste it, he doesn’t hand it to you.
He feeds you straight from his own hands.
You freeze for half a second, surprised, not uncomfortable, just caught off guard. His fingers are warm. His eyes locked on your face, searching for your reaction like it matters more than anything else in the world.
“Well?” he asks quietly.
It’s good. Of course it’s good.
You tell him so, smiling, and something in his chest settles. Like a knot loosening.
Unconsciously, you start to shift towards him yourself. Your tail is too thick, being Metkayina, to wrap around him, but you always lean in his direction. Your body language is always open to him.
When he's not there you think of him. He would like this rock. Maybe I can teach him this weave. I think he would like the taste of this. I should gather more of this herb in case he wants to remake that dish I taught him.
His presense grows without him needing to do much about it.
He's touchy, you're touchy back.
It's natural.
It all halts one day.
You’re at a fire pit and a member of the clan comes up to you. She enquires about you finding a mate soon. You are a child of Tonowari. You will not be tsahìk, but you would be useful in other ways, made more so by having a mate.
The fire crackles softly between you. Voices hum around the circle. Someone laughs behind you. The smell of roasted fish hangs warm in the air.
You pause for a second.
You hadn’t thought of anyone.
Not seriously. Not in that way. Your life feels full already, duties, family, the clan, the ocean. The idea of adding someone into it feels distant, like something meant for later.
Neteyam is unnaturally still beside you.
He had walked away for a moment to grab you both food and comes back to this line of questioning. The woven tray in his hands doesn’t move. His ears tilt forward just slightly. His tail goes rigid behind him.
He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t speak. Just listens.
The woman keeps talking, gentle but persistent. About how strong alliances matter. About how the people notice things. About how many young warriors would be honored to stand beside you.
Your stomach twists a little.
Neteyam steps closer without meaning to.
He wants it to be him.
The thought lands heavy in his chest, sudden and undeniable. He wants you to see him that way. Wants to be the one who walks beside you not just out of habit, not just out of choice, but because it is his place.
But he could back off.
The thought tastes bitter.
Only if your mate could do everything he does for you and more. Only if they could keep you smiling the way he tries to. Only if they watched you the way he does. Only if they caught the small things, the tired looks, the quiet sighs, the way you carry too much without complaint.
Or else he would have to pick up the slack.
And if he has to do that… then he should just be your mate, right?
His jaw tightens slightly at the logic of it. It makes sense to him. Feels obvious. Simple.
His hand brushes yours as he finally crouches beside you again, setting the food down between you. He doesn’t pull away right away.
You say nothing in response. You give her a smile, bright and fake, and dismiss her by turning fully to Neteyam, who has brought you food.
“Thank you,” you say instead, like the conversation never happened.
He hands it to you carefully, watching your face more than your hands. Searching. Waiting. Your fingers brush when you take it and he feels it all the way up his spine.
You don’t mention the question. Don’t joke about it. Don’t complain. You just start eating, quiet for a moment, staring into the fire like the answer might be somewhere in it.
Neteyam sits beside you, closer than usual, thigh pressed lightly against yours.
You start telling him about your day. Laughing at your own stories. Half of which he was present for. He doesn't care. He listens with the ghost of a smile on his face and his thigh against yours.
Between two worlds (Jake Sully x Reader AFAA) Part four
Part One Part Two Part Three
This Chapter makes me think I need to add a forced proximity tag haha. Hope you enjoy!
~Word count: ~3.6k
~Warnings: mentions of death and grief, emotional trauma, mild swearing, No use of Y/n, canon divergence, mutual pining, eventual smut
~Description: ~You're a marine biologist studying the tolkun. They had been experimenting on the genes of the classic avatar to manipulate it into one more suited to the water. The base is far enough away from the civilizations that they don't bother it, but they are able to examine their culture. This is a fic where Neytiri died at the same time as Neteyam. So most of it is the same; Jake is just mourning his mate as well as his son.
There you are, standing on the beach, trying to defend yourself to the clan.
The sand is cool beneath your bare feet, damp from the tide, clinging to your skin as if even the shore is reluctant to let you go. You can feel eyes on you from every direction, heavy and sharp, curious and suspicious all at once. The murmur of the clan presses in, low voices overlapping, a wall of sound you can’t quite make out but feel all the same.
Then there he is, marching up with a vengeance, shoving through the gathered bodies like the ocean parting around a rock.
Jake Sully doesn’t look at you at first. His jaw is tight, shoulders rigid, his stride purposeful and angry. You recognize that look. You’ve seen it on soldiers before, on men who think they’re walking toward a problem they can eliminate.
“Jake Sully, do you know this Na’vi?” Tonowari says, confusion clear in his voice as his gaze flicks between the two of you.
“They are no one of consequence, and they are leaving now,” he says, already reaching for you, his hand firm as he starts to usher you away.
You won’t stand for this.
He doesn’t get to choose. Tonowari and Ronal do.
You step out of his grasp, the sudden movement sharp enough to draw a few gasps from the crowd. His fingers brush empty air, and the tension spikes immediately.
“I am a scientist. I am here to help and protect what humans have destroyed,” you say, forcing the words out evenly, trying to project confidence you don’t actually feel.
Your heart is hammering. Your mouth is dry. You’re very aware of how small you feel standing here, alone, but you keep your spine straight anyway.
Tonowari goes still, his expression thoughtful as he glances toward Ronal.
Ronal glares at you.
“You seek to ‘protect’ what your people have destroyed,” she says, the sneer unmistakable, her lip curling as if the words themselves taste foul.
“They are not my people. They see me as a test subject, not a person. I do not care for them, and they only wish to possess me.”
Your voice shakes despite your effort to steady it. Ronal’s features soften just a touch, the sharpness in her eyes easing as you continue. You explain to them what you explained to Jake. How they experimented on you. How they chopped off two of your fingers as a child, while you were awake, so the pain would force the body’s healing response to activate faster. How you lived two lives that feel separate from each other but are forever intertwined, neither one fully your own.
The beach grows quiet.
Ronal and Tonowari listen. Ronal’s face continues to soften as she takes you in properly now, really seeing you. She sees your pain. Sees that the humans were cruel to you just as they were cruel to her people.
Tonowari keeps looking between you, Jake, and Ronal, clearly weighing the consequences of every choice. As you’re speaking, Ronal lifts her palm.
You stop.
You dare not take even a breath.
“If you are to stay here, you must prove you are different, prove you can learn.” She looks you deep in the eyes. “Can you do that?”
“Yes,” you say, the word coming out breathy, fragile.
You can’t believe it.
You did it.
“You will stay with the others like you. Jake, take them to your marui.”
You turn your face and see Jake stiffen. Sweat runs down his brow, and his fists twitch as he clenches them. He looks like a warrior ready to pounce.
She turns on her heels and walks away, disappearing toward what you assume is the Tsahìk tent.
Your thanks die on your tongue as Jake’s hand clamps around your arm, his grip bruising.
“Tonowari, they will only bring more hurt to the clan. They cannot stay,” he says, his voice as hard as the pressure digging into your skin.
“My mate has spoken,” is all Tonowari says before gently patting Jake’s shoulder and following after Ronal.
Jake starts silently tugging you through the village.
You barely resist, too overwhelmed to do much more than stumble along behind him. Your gaze darts everywhere as you finally enter the village you’ve dreamed of, always just out of your reach.
The murai arch overhead, their structures both sturdy and fluid, shaped as though grown rather than built. Sunlight filters through their woven canopies, painting the ground in shifting patterns that ripple with the breeze.
The air smells of salt, living water, and something faintly sweet you cannot name.
It is beautiful.
Achingly so.
For a moment, you forget the pain in your arm. Forget Jake’s anger. Forget the humans waiting behind you.
You have never felt closer to where you were meant to be.
Jake finally stops, turning toward you with an expression carved from equal parts fury and exhaustion.
“You just don’t know when to quit,” he mutters.
Pulling into his, now also your, Murai you see them.
The structure feels lived in, warm in a way you’re not used to. Woven fibers creak softly as you step inside, the water below reflecting faint bioluminescent light up onto the curved ceiling. It smells like salt, like home, like something you’ve been chasing without realizing it.
The infamous Sully children.
A small girl ducks behind another girl, this one older, taller, with dark hair and features that stop you dead in your tracks.
She looks achingly familiar.
Your breath catches before you can stop it.
You step forward without thinking, too fast, too close, and gently grasp her face, tilting her head side to side as if confirming something fragile might vanish if you look away.
This is Dr. Grace Augustine’s child, you know it instantly.
The realization is immediate, bone-deep. It feels impossible and inevitable all at once.
You didn’t know where Grace has been but you know she can help you, you also selfishly miss her.
Miss Grace. Miss her voice, her sharpness, the way she saw you when no one else bothered to. This feels like touching a ghost.
“You look just like your mother,” you say in almost a reverent whisper as you step back to look at her.
Your voice comes out softer than you intend, like speaking too loudly might break the moment.
“You knew my mother?” She says this with a slight gasp.
Her eyes widen, something fragile flickering there, hope and fear tangled together.
“She is the greatest scientist I’ve ever worked with, where is she I’d love to speak with her.” You say with an excited grin.
She steps back her features falling, “She’s dead.” She almost whispers it but you catch it.
The word lands heavy. Final.
For a moment everything goes quiet, the Murai fading to a dull hum as the weight of it presses down on you. The loss of someone you knew, someone you admired, someone who treated you like a mind instead of a specimen. The loss of one of the only people who could have helped you with your issue. The last thread of certainty snapping.
The practical loss hurts almost as much as the emotional one.
You swallow it down.
You have had too much practice at that.
Still, when you look at her, you see the immense grief in her eyes, the kind that settles early and never really leaves. You recognize it too well.
It mirrors something in you, raw and unhidden.
You take a knee so you are face to face with her, lowering yourself deliberately, making yourself smaller, less threatening.
“What’s your name,” you say with a gentle smile.
“Kiri,” she mumbles.
Barely audible.
“Well Kiri, you are just as beautiful as your mother, and I’m sure just as smart,” you say, trying to get her to meet your eyes, trying to give her something solid to hold onto. Trying to pass something on. Something Grace would have wanted her to hear.
She looks at you then, really looks at you, studying your face the way children do when they are deciding whether someone is safe.
After a moment she uncrosses her arms and gives you a small smile, tentative but real.
She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, the little girl runs up to you with a grin that seems entirely unaffected by the tension in the room.
“I’m Tuk,” she says.
“Hello Tuk, you are also very beautiful,” you grin as she hangs off of you, all limbs and laughter and warmth.
Her weight is grounding. Easy.
A boy walks in then, a human boy with blue stripes, and behind him you see the other Sully boy.
The shift in the air is immediate.
“Dad who the fuck is this,” the Sully boy says as soon as he spots you.
The words land sharp and unapologetic.
You stand and reach out a hand on instinct, the same gesture you have used a thousand times in labs and briefing rooms, an offering of neutrality.
He walks right past you.
“Who is this and why is she here,” Lo’ak marches straight up to his father.
“Woah woah, I don’t want her here either Lo’ak, Towanari requested we take her in,” Jake says, and you freeze.
Some part of you hoped he would be happy you were here.
Or at least neutral.
Or just…not this.
Or that the conversations you shared, the honesty, the strange understanding, had meant something.
You feel something break inside you. The moisture from the ocean on your skin no longer feels cooling. It suffocates you and presses in on your body and in your lungs.
You wonder whether the secret conversations in which you both shared worries and deep fears meant anything to him.
Your face wants to fall, instead, you plaster on a smile, muscle memory taking over. The muscles of your cheeks fighting back.
“Well Jake, Lo’ak, you’re stuck with me now whether you like it or not, we can be professional or just ignore each other, I would prefer the former but it’s up to you.”
Your smile drops immediately after. The tense muscles unable to hold onto the lie any longer.
You stand there with a stone cold professional stare, walls snapping back into place.
Then you turn back to the girls.
A real grin stretches across your face.
“Can you girls show me around the village, might as well start learning early.”
Kiri and Tuk smile and grasp your hands, pulling you out of the Murai, their worlds tumbling over each other as they talk about all the things they are going to show and teach you. Their voices overlap, excited and bright, a flood of sound that fills the hollow spaces inside you.
You turn your face one more time to look back.
Lo’ak’s face is twisted with frustration as his father most likely tells him all the necessary details like a war commander.
Your day is long, but rewarding.
The girls first help you learn to free dive.
You are not the worst at it. Training to work in the primarily water-filled parts of the planet meant you had taken a couple of courses in your human body, but your avatar body is something else entirely. Your lungs hold air for far longer, the slow release of breath as you descend becoming almost unnecessary the more times you dive.
Muscle memory translates surprisingly well.
Your avatar body is amazing.
It listens. Responds.
The water feels like it is made for you.
After a while of diving and gathering, Tuk drags you to shore. She wants to show you how to weave.
She says your clothes are too plain.
She’s not wrong.
To be fair they’re woven from manmade materials instead of the living breathing threads of Pandora.
You let her scold you for it. A smile fights its way on your face as you watch her little face scrunch in mild anger.
You spend the rest of the day with the girls on either side.
They don’t let you drift.
They talk constantly, about home, about how they ended up here, about Neteyam and Neytiri, about the rest of the stubborn males left behind. It is nice to have constant chatter around you. Your heart feels full, being accepted by these two girls, especially knowing you will never see Grace again, but you carry a part of her with you.
You listen more than you speak.
It’s nice to have constant chatter around you.
Nice not to think.
Eventually the eclipse comes and the girls bring you back to the Marui.
The light shifts, the world dimming into blues and purples.
The boys are already in their hammocks.
They don’t look at you.
A hammock has been moved to the very corner of the room and you know that’s yours.
They do not trust you.
They may never trust you.
You accept it. for what it is.
You help Tuk into her hammock, tucking her in carefully. You give Kiri a hug and thank her for being so welcoming. Then you stride to the darkest side of the tent and lay down.
Your eyes close, but your mind refuses to follow.
Opening them you stare at the dark corner you’re in.
Shadows stretch and breathe. The air stale and lacking of warmth.
You don’t want to sleep, you don’t want to go back to your frail body, you don’t want to see the scientists ever again.
The thought alone makes your stomach twist.
If it was possible to move your body to a new location you would.
Disappear. Run.
But the only people who could help you wouldn’t, and you know that, and that hurts.
More than you let yourself feel.
You sit up, deciding sleep will not take you.
Not tonight.
Climbing out you silently creep to the edge of the dock outside the Murui and dangle your legs in the water.
The cool shock is grounding.
Beneath you is a rainbow of bioluminescence.
Living light.
You watch small schools of fish-like creatures swirl around your legs before swimming away.
Unafraid.
The ocean is calming, but grief tends to stick.
It always does.
Slow silent tears run down your cheeks.
Uninvited. Unstoppable.
Your face is still, but they won’t stop coming.
You don’t wipe them away.
You’re alone again.
That truth settles heavy.
You thought you would be seen in this family of stragglers.
Recognized.
You were wrong.
The realization stings.
The last spark of hope dies in you.
Quietly.
You’re trapped, again.
Just a different kind of trap.
One that almost fooled you.
The thought settles heavy in your chest as you sit on the edge of the dock, legs dangling uselessly over the water. The night air is cool against your skin, the ocean below alive with soft pulses of bioluminescence that bloom and fade with every small movement. It should be beautiful. It should be calming.
Instead, it feels like a reminder of everything you cannot escape.
“Not tired?”
You jump out of your skin as you hear Jake’s voice behind you.
Your heart slams painfully against your ribs, breath hitching as your shoulders tense, fingers curling instinctively into the rough weave of the dock beneath you.
“Why does it matter, you don’t have to worry about me killing you in my sleep if I’m out here. That is why you stuck me in the corner right? Tactical planning”
The words spill out sharp and defensive, edged with something brittle and ugly that you do not bother trying to hide.
Your defenses rise immediately, creating a wall.
It is easier to snap, easier than continuing to cry and letting him see just how vulnerable you are, hunched over the water with tears still threatening to spill. Anger is safer. Sarcasm is safer.
The walls hurt to put up.
They always do.
The first person to have an honest conversation with you in years is someone who despises you. Someone who sees you as a risk, a liability, something that could hurt his family if left unchecked.
Yet he spoke so honestly to you the first time you met.
The memory stings now. It makes your chest ache.
So, the walls must stand.
They have to.
You hope he is here to tear them down.
You know he isn’t.
He sits beside you then.
Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, but not touching. The dock creaks softly beneath his weight, the water lapping quietly below. You brace yourself, waiting for the jab, the reprimand, the dismissal.
It does not come.
You thought he would jab back, he doesn’t bother.
That surprises you more than anger would have.
“I’m also not the best at sleeping, marine thing, want to make sure my family is safe,” he says, staring out into the water.
His voice is low, steady, not defensive. Just honest.
“You don’t have to worry about me. Jake the big strong warrior, Toruk Makto, used to be marine. I’m just a scientist. A small unimportant creature in a world full of important ones like Toruk Matkto. A scientist who will leave and never come back if you ask me to.”
You say it staring at your feet in the water, watching the glow ripple around them, distort them, make them look like something unreal. Your voice is quieter now, exhaustion seeping through the cracks in your defenses.
He looks at you then.
Really looks at you.
Not past you. Not through you.
“You would give up that fast?”
The question catches you by surprise. There is no accusation in it, only curiosity.
You turn to see his face, brows drawn together, eyes searching yours.
“Jake, I gave up years ago, I didn’t come here thinking it would work out. I came here because it was the only thing I could do. I lost my will when I lost my bodily autonomy. The minute they forced me back and forth no matter the pain, no matter how fucked up it is to be a child as a full human adult. I knew it was over.”
Your gaze never leaves him.
You need him to hear your words.
Really hear them.
You need someone. Anyone. To feel your words, to understand the pain you have grown numb to through repetition and survival. You feel like, if anyone, he really might be able to understand.
Jake inhales slowly, a confused look crossing his face.
You pause. He might’ve understood too much.
He seems to have caught something, his marine instincts kicking in, picking apart everything you said with surgical precision.
You still, heart pounding.
Tracing back through what you just said, repeating it in your mind, you cannot fathom what minute detail he might be latching onto.
“It was painful to switch back and forth?” he asks, quiet, probing.
“Um…yes?” you say. Emotionally is what you meant…
“Emotionally or physically,” he says a little louder.
Your face says it all.
You did not realize you had revealed that much. You did not realize you had revealed anything at all. Sure, you had thought about telling him someday, or telling him just enough to bring you to his unknown base of scientists, but you did not think saying this little would make it so apparent.
“It physically hurts to go back and forth?” he repeats.
“Um…yeah actually, pretty badly,” you fold instantly, tension draining from your shoulders as the truth leaves you exposed.
“It shouldn’t,” he says.
“Yeah no shit I know that,” you respond weakly.
“Does your team know?” he continues, relentless now.
“No…kinda…it doesn’t matter Jake they won’t care,” you say, exhaling sharply.
He grabs your shoulders then.
Sudden. Firm.
“I need you to tell me everything, be very specific.”
“Um why,” you try to shake off his grasp but it is firm. He is starting to get your hopes up and that is dangerous territory.
“I’ll talk to some scientists, to Norm, I can bring you to him,” he says. He sees something he can fix, and he is latching onto it.
“You know Norm?” you say.
He freezes and repeats the same thing back to you, “You know Norm?”
“Of course I know Norm, he was the batch ahead of me, he was like my…boy scout big brother or whatever… I don’t know if he’ll remember me.”
Jake finally smiles.
And you cannot help but grin back, rather confused, something warm and unfamiliar flickering in your chest.
“I’m going to radio Norm in the morning,” he starts to stand, but you grab his arm.
Instict giving you pause.
“Maybe don’t say my name just yet?”
He looks confused by your request, then simply nods.
He has welcomed you in, sort of.
You are a problem.
A problem that can keep his mind off the other parts of his life. A problem he can actually solve rather than run from.
You are about to say something when you hear it.
Loud beeping.
Wrong.
After a moment, you hear someone seizing.
You and Jake dash back to the Marui.
The human boy, Spider, is in his hammock, seizing. The battery on his pack is dead.
The kids are frantically looking around for what you are sure is a backup mask or battery.
Scanning the room, your eyes catch something glinting in a half-shadowed corner by your hammock.
Without thinking, you dash over and grab it.
It is exactly what they are looking for.
You rush toward the boy and replace his mask, making sure it pressurizes properly and suctions to his face to stimulate airflow.
He takes a deep breath then.
The sound is loud in the quiet space.
His eyes stare up at you. At first he looks confused. And then just grateful.
He reaches out and pats your arm with his own.
You smile and step back, allowing the rest of his family to crowd in and make sure he is okay.
They are a sweet family.
Something in you wishes to be part of it.
You do not let yourself hope.
Hope is weak.
Instead you make a game plan.
_____________________________________________
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Between two worlds (Jake Sully x Reader AFAA) Part three
Part One Part Two
Hey Guys! I'm back to school but I don't have classes on thursdays so I will most likely start updated every other thursday!!!
~Word count: ~3.7k
~Warnings: mentions of death and grief, emotional trauma, mild swearing, No use of Y/n, canon divergence, mutual pining, eventual smut
~Description: ~You're a marine biologist studying the tolkun. They had been experimenting on the genes of the classic avatar to manipulate it into one more suited to the water. The base is far enough away from the civilizations that they don't bother it, but they are able to examine their culture. This is a fic where Neytiri died at the same time as Neteyam. So most of it is the same; Jake is just mourning his mate as well as his son.
The knife is gone from your throat.
Instead, you are tied, rope pulled tight around your wrists and torso, pinned against the back of the boat with nowhere to move. The weave presses uncomfortably into your spine, damp and cold, the gentle rocking of the water making the situation feel unreal. Jake kneels on the other end,he looks like like he hasn’t decided what to do with you yet.
He looks tired.
Not just angry. Not just wary. Mostly tired.
The kind of exhaustion that settles deep into the bones, that comes from carrying too much for too long. His shoulders are tense, but they droop slightly, like even holding himself upright is work. He drags a hand over his face, breathing slow, controlled.
Then he looks at you again.
Up and down. Slowly. Carefully.
“Your avatar is… strange,” he says at last.
His voice is low, not accusing, but not gentle either.
“At first glance, you read Metkayina,” he continues, eyes sharp as they trace you. “Your skin tone’s right. Your build’s right. Strong limbs, built for the water.”
His gaze lingers, narrowing as he looks closer.
“But then I started noticing things,” he says. “Your tail’s thinner than it should be. Longer. Not made for speed underwater, more like balance jumping through trees. And the fins on your arms…” He tilts his head slightly. “Too small. Like they were forced to grow that way.”
He exhales through his nose.
“Close,” he mutters. “But not exact.”
You swallow, the rope biting into your wrists as you shift slightly.
“I’m not with them,” you say quickly. “We left a long time ago. Before you even got on this planet.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
“There’s just a small base,” you continue. “Me and a few other scientists. We were studying the Tulkun. That was the goal. Communication, intelligence, social bonds. To do that, we needed an avatar that could exist with the Metkayina without causing harm.”
You hesitate, then push on.
“We didn’t have real Metkayina genetic data,” you admit. “So we manipulated what we had. Adjusted it. Watched it carefully.”
Jake’s eyes flick back to your face.
“The avatar, we had to keep taking it in and out of stasis. Checking it at every stage. Making sure the altered genes were developing properly.”
Your voice softens.
“When I first entered it, the body was a child . I wasn’t. I was already grown. They monitored me constantly. Every phase. Childhood. Adolescence. Adulthood. I lived through all of it consciously.”
You let out a slow breath.
“We didn’t know what the RDA was going to do to the Tulkun back then. Not at first. And when we heard what you were doing with the clans… when we realized you were fighting back… we cut communication.”
His jaw tightens.
“They’ve mostly forgotten about us,” you add. “Only the higher ranks knew what we were doing. And once you became a problem, we weren’t important anymore.”
Jake steps closer.
His eyes drop to your hands.
“These scars,” he says quietly, nodding to where your missing finger should be. “Did they do that?”
“Yes.”
You don’t sugarcoat it.
“They removed them during adolescence. They said it would help me blend in.” You swallow. “They had to do it while I was awake. While I was in the body. They needed the natural healing response to activate correctly.”
His fingers twitch at his side, all five on either hand in tact, marking him as forever alien.
“I’ve lived two lives for so long,” you continue. “Human and Na’vi. They treat my bodies differently. It just makes the divide worse. I don’t really understand time anymore.”
You meet his gaze.
“I’m not truly human, Jake. And I’m definitely not RDA.”
There’s a long silence.
Finally, he starts untying the rope, rough and conflicted, like he’s arguing with himself through every knot. When your wrists are free, he straightens abruptly.
“Go,” he says. “I can’t… I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Just don’t come back. "You’re floundering like a kid out here. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”
You stare at him.
“That’s it?” you ask. “You really think sending me away fixes anything?”
“I’m not doing this again,” he snaps. “I’m not bringing another unknown into the clan. Not after…” He stops himself, jaw clenched. “Eywa doesn’t send signs anymore. Not for me.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” you say sharply. “I’m not asking you to believe in signs. Or destiny. Or whatever you think Neytiri believed in.”
His head snaps toward you, fury in his eyes hearing her name from your mouth.
“I’m asking you to think.”
“You think I don’t?” he fires back. “You think I haven’t thought myself sick trying to protect what’s left?”
“You’re protecting ghosts,” you say. “And you’re doing it alone.”
He stiffens.
“They took Jake Sully in once,” you continue, voice steady but fierce. “Not only because Eywa chose him, but because he learned. Because he listened. Because he fought for his place.”
“That was different,” he says immediately.
“Was it?” you challenge. “Or did someone take a risk on you when you didn’t deserve it yet?”
His silence is answer enough.
“I can help,” you say. “I have information. I know how they think. And if you send me away now, you’re wasting that.”
Jake looks at you like he wants to argue.
Like he wants to walk away.
Like he’s terrified you might be right.
“I need to think about this,” this is all he says before dismissing you.
With a sigh, you hop off the boat and head back toward the base. The water around you is warm, glowing softly beneath the surface, bioluminescence blooming with every movement you make. It lights up the night in gentle blues and greens, alive and beautiful.
It betrays how you feel inside.
Still, it brings you comfort.
You know you have to tell them. You know it has been too long since you last recorded a proper video log. You keep pushing it away, letting the days blur together. That is a problem for tomorrow.
Tomorrow always is.
Waking up is agony.
Pain runs through your limbs, sharp and pulsing in a way that makes your breath hitch. What is usually dull and distant now feels immediate, overwhelming, like your body is protesting the separation more loudly than ever before.
You groan, reaching one hand weakly out of the link chamber, fingers curling as you gesture for water.
The scientist nearest to you moves quickly, pressing a cool glass into your hand along with a couple of pain relievers.
Lara.
She has always been good to you. For the longest time, she saw you as you, not just the avatar or the project attached to it. You were around the same age, and she was young enough when everything started that she never developed the strange, half-maternal instincts the others did toward the gestating body.
“Thanks,” you murmur after swallowing the pills and draining the glass.
“Of course,” she says easily, smiling as she reaches out a hand to help you up.
You take it, stifling another groan as you rise to your feet. The room tilts for a moment before settling.
“You haven’t done a video log in a while,” she says gently. “I think it might help.”
You meet her eyes, skepticism clear on your face.
She just shrugs, already turning away.
You knew this was coming.
Lara had been a friend once. Now she is who they send to make sure you comply. The realization sits heavy in your chest. You really are alone here.
Jake Sully’s face flashes through your mind, the raw grief in his eyes as he sang into the waves. The sound of it lingers in your head. You feel drawn to him in a way that makes no sense, like he would understand something about you that no one else ever has.
With a sigh, you give in.
You record the log.
You should be sleeping. You are exhausted, barely holding yourself upright. That is how it slips. You ramble, words tumbling out without their usual careful filtering. Jake Sully this. Jake Sully that. You finally met him. You talk about the water, about the song, about how lost he looked.
You do not stop yourself.
You finish the recording and go straight to bed, unaware of what you have just given them.
You're shaken awake.
Hands on your shoulders, fingers pressing too firmly, voices too close and overlapping. Your heart jumps as you bolt upright, breath sharp and uneven, the room spinning as sleep fractures into panic.
Lara is there.
Smiling.
Too brightly.
The rest of the scientists stand clustered around your bed, bodies forming a loose semicircle, faces intent and expectant. No one looks surprised that you’re disoriented. The room feels suddenly too small, the air too thin, like it’s being pulled out from between them. They’re holding things, tribal clothing folded with careful hands, woven wraps, fresh fruits beaded with condensation, sealed flasks of water.
Things your avatar would need if headed outside.
If headed to them.
“We need you up,” someone says, already stepping closer. “We need you ready.”
“For what?” you ask, your voice rough with sleep, throat dry and aching.
Lara exchanges a glance with the others before answering, her smile never quite fading. “We have to celebrate,” she says, carefully. “And then, we think it’s time you speak to the Metkayina directly.”
The words don’t land right.
“What?” you say slowly, the fog in your head sharpening into something colder.
“You’ve been observing long enough,” another scientist adds, impatience bleeding through their tone. “This is what the avatar was bred for.”
Your stomach twists, a slow, sickening pull.
Something is wrong.
They usher you out of bed before you can protest, hands guiding at your elbows and back, steering you down the corridor toward the main control room. No one answers your questions directly. No one holds your gaze for more than a second or two. Their excitement buzzes under their skin, thick and contagious, but it makes your chest tighten instead of lift.
They begin gathering more supplies. A large waterproof duffle is thrown onto the floor, its sides bulging as various random items are shoved inside. Cables, scanners, ration packs, things no one really needs all at once. It’s almost bursting at the seams.
Your fellow scientists gesture you toward a long table covered in human delicacies you don’t get to see often anymore. Cheeseburgers wrapped in paper gone translucent with grease. Fries piled high and steaming. Hot dogs lined up neatly. A giant white-frosted cake sits in the center, untouched, pristine.
Being so far from the main base, you haven’t had anything like this in a long while.
It doesn’t comfort you.
It makes you extremely suspicious.
And then you see it.
Your video log is pulled up on one of the screens.
Paused mid-sentence.
Your breath leaves you in a quiet rush. You remember what you said, soft and unguarded, words slurred with exhaustion. Talking about Jake. About the way he sings, low and broken, like he’s holding himself together by habit alone. About how he looks like someone who has already lost everything and keeps going anyway.
You feel cold.
That is when it clicks.
They aren’t asking.
They are using you.
You are not a liaison. You are leverage. Proof of concept. An experiment that finally worked.
Your chest tightens as the truth settles in, heavy and suffocating. You are not human here. Not really. You are a body they designed, a bridge they want to cross without consequence.
You step back.
“No,” you say quietly, the word barely more than breath.
They barely hear you.
You step away again, then turn and practically run toward the communications room. No one stops you. They’re too hyped, too busy reveling in what they think is coming, in the fact that their experiment finally paid off.
Rushing into the com room you gather portable radio equipment, which is tapped into the RDA system subtily enough they don’t even know you’re listening. This is your in, the thing you can offer, protection in knowing what’s coming.
You gather it in your arms and dash to your room.
Back in your quarters, you move fast, heart pounding so hard you feel it in your ears. You grab what you can with shaking hands. Portable scanners. Early-warning devices. Anything that might detect movement in the water, anything that could give the Metkayina even a moment’s notice.
You pace as you work, breath shallow, muttering to yourself.
“What do I even say,” you whisper. “To Ronal. To Tonowari. How do I explain this without sounding like—”
A distant sound cuts through the hum of the base.
A vibration ripples through the water beneath your feet, so deep and powerful you feel it in your bones before you hear it. You know where it came from instantly.
You know what it came from.
Your blood runs cold.
You rush outside just in time to see it breach too close to the reef. A tulkun’s massive body breaks the surface awkwardly, restrained, a large buoy keeping it half above the water. It thrashes weakly, movements uncoordinated, wrong.
You hear it echo again, it’s practically screaming in pain for help.
There is shouting in the distance.
Shouting rises in the distance. The Metkayina respond fast. Spears flash in the moonlight. Ilu scatter as the water churns, the clan converging in a desperate attempt to help the beautiful creature.
But not before damage is done.
The Tulkun goes silent, stranded on the beach, away from it’s pod.
It dies, alone and in pain.
You feel it’s loss rack through you.
You stand frozen, watching the water settle, knowing with absolute certainty that this will not be the last time.
They are coming.
And if you don’t speak now, if you don’t warn them properly, more will follow.
You grip the equipment tighter and turn back toward the sea.
You know where you need to go.
As you exit your room, Lara intercepts you.
She steps into your path too smoothly, like she’d been waiting.
“Heading out without tasting your cake?” she asks lightly, glancing back and forth between you and the rest of the scientists. They look confused. Worried.
They think you might run off.
They can’t know you are doing exactly that.
“Keep it cold for me, will you?” you say, forcing a small smile. “I’m eager to head out, show that I can be useful.” As you speak, you gesture toward the window, toward the water beyond the glass.
Toward the mourning Metkayina gathered below.
They move slowly, reverently, guiding the tulkun’s body back toward open water, toward where it can rest in the arms of the Great Mother. The glow of the sea seems dimmer around them, subdued, as if the ocean itself understands loss.
Lara follows your gaze. Her smile falters for just a moment before she nods. “We’ve packed offerings for you to bring,” she says, gesturing toward the large duffle waiting nearby.
With a practiced smile, you grab the bag and drag it toward where your avatar is resting.
You’ll grab it now.
You’ll discard it later.
Once you’re free.
Once you’re out of here and among the clan, you don’t know how long you can go without switching back into your human body. The thought claws at you, sharp and panicked.
You’ll stay awake as long as possible to stay away from them.
From the people using you.
The people who don’t see you as Na’vi nor human.
Just a tool.
Quickly, you pack the radio equipment and other devices into a small waterproof backpack, checking seals twice with trembling fingers. This is all you need. Everything else is noise.
You’re ready.
As you lay back into the link pod, the familiar coolness wrapping around you, your thoughts race. You rehearse words in your head, arguments and pleas layered over one another.
What you’ll say.
How you’ll convince them.
You know what you can ask.
You hope Jake won’t interject.
You just hope they’ll like what you’re offering in return.
The link connects.
You stifle your cry of pain.
Everytime you link it gets harder.
Your limbs are on fire, tiny pins prickle behind your eyes.
You still, let the pain wash over you.
Then.
You open your eyes.
The body that has always felt like home feels more like a cage now, limbs heavy with urgency, skin humming with borrowed life. You grab the supplies and slip out through the hatch, movements quick and purposeful.
A group of ilu drift.
Yet, they don’t pass you.
They slow, hovering nearby, curious eyes tracking your movements.
“Thank Eywa,” you whisper under your breath.
You sink into the water and float closer to them. They don’t scatter like normal. No sudden flicks of tails, no sharp turns away.
Slowly, gently, you raise a hand toward the nearest one.
It cocks its head, studying you.
You know what you must look like, some odd Metkayina figure weighed down with human-made luggage, out of place even in your own skin.
You drop the big duffel behind you on the platform and adjust the backpack on your shoulder.
The ilu inches closer.
Holding your breath, you reach out and try to pet its head.
It freezes.
For a long, terrifying moment, neither of you move.
Then it accepts your touch.
You exhale shakily.
Taking the win, you lift your kuru slowly.
And bond.
The connection blooms gently, careful and curious. There’s confusion there, a sense of unfamiliar thought patterns brushing against instinct, but also warmth. Welcome.
“Let’s go,” you whisper.
Together, you make your way toward the village.
Seeing the village up close is mesmerizing. The marui rise gracefully from the water, woven and curved like living things. Soft sand beaches glow under the bioluminescence, clear rippling water brushing against the shore in quiet rhythms.
A large Metkayina approaches you.
You know who this is immediately.
“I see you,” you say in their language, bowing your head.
He cocks his head slightly, studying you.
“I seek uturu,” you add, your head still bowed.
“Lift your eyes,” he says.
Slowly, you do.
“What’s with everyone seeking uturu these days,” he mutters, clearly not meant for your ears.
You bite back a laugh despite yourself.
“Why have you come?” he asks, directly now.
“I want to learn your ways. I want to help. In return, I seek shelter…a place to be safe.” You try to sound confident, but your voice betrays you, trembling with anxiety.
“Are you not of a neighboring clan?” he presses. “Has your village been burned? You rode an ilu here. What do you mean, teach?”
The questions come one after another, sharp and relentless.
Your offering might not work.
You might have to reveal all your cards.
That thought terrifies you most of all.
“I am not from near,” you say carefully. “I bring gifts. Things I found in old RDA bases, things that can warn you of danger before it happens.” You gesture to the bag on your back.
He looks at you then.
Really looks at you.
His gaze sharpens.
He knows.
He absolutely knows.
You’re fucked.
“We do not touch metal, friend,” he says slowly. “You should know that...Maybe you have lost the ways. Maybe you are right to seek guidance.” As he speaks, more of his people begin to gather around you, a loose circle forming in the sand.
Then.
Ronal strides across the sand.
Tsahik.
The crowd parts instinctively for her, bodies shifting, whispers dying the moment she steps forward. She doesn’t speak at first. She just looks at you, sharp eyes dragging over every inch of your body with practiced precision.
Then her hands are on you.
Not rough. Not gentle either. Clinical. Assessing.
She circles you slowly, fingers brushing along your arms, pressing into muscle, tracing the lines where fins meet skin. Her touch lingers there longer than comfortable, thumb rubbing at the smaller membranes as if weighing their usefulness.
“These are wrong,” she murmurs, not to you, but to herself.
Her hand slides to your shoulder, then down your side, palm flattening briefly over your ribs as if feeling for structure beneath the skin. You hold your breath, terrified that she might feel something that doesn’t belong.
She moves behind you.
Your tail is next.
She grips it firmly, lifting it slightly, testing the weight, the flexibility. Her brows knit together as she runs her fingers down its length, noting how thin it is, how it tapers differently than it should.
“Too long,” she says quietly. “Too light.”
Your pulse roars in your ears.
Ronal releases your tail only to step back into your space, her hands rising to your face. She tilts your chin upward without asking, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her eyes flick between yours, sharp and searching, as if expecting to find something else staring back.
She leans closer, examining the bridge of your nose, the shape of your jaw, the subtle angles that don’t quite match.
Her fingers move to your ears, tugging one gently, checking the cartilage, the curve.
Then your hands.
She takes one, turning it palm up, her thumb pressing against each finger in turn. One. Two. Three. Four.
She pauses.
Your heart stops.
She flips your hand over, checking again, then repeats the process with the other. Satisfied, or at least momentarily appeased, she lets your hands drop.
She circles you once more, slower this time.
Her gaze sharpens as it drifts toward your upper arm, toward where the faintest scar hides beneath the glow of your skin. Her fingers hover there for half a second too long.
You pray.
She withdraws.
“You are odd,” Ronal says at last, straightening. Her voice carries easily across the gathered crowd. “Different.”
She studies you one final time, head tilting slightly, as if rearranging pieces in her mind.
“What is your parentage,” she asks, “and what clan claims you?”
Silence stretches.
The air feels tight, heavy with expectation.
You open your mouth.
Nothing comes out.
And then the sound of rushing footsteps cuts through the moment.
Between two worlds (Jake Sully x Reader AFAA) Part two
Guy's I just downloaded the Frontiers of Pandora game and am so amped to play it. Also, just rewatched AFAA by myself in 3d this time. So ridiculously beautiful.
Part One
~Word count: ~2.6k
~Warnings: mentions of death and grief, emotional trauma, mild swearing, No use of Y/n, canon divergence, mutual pining, eventual smut
~Description: ~You're a marine biologist studying the tolkun. They had been experimenting on the genes of the classic avatar to manipulate it into one more suited to the water. The base is far enough away from the civilizations that they don't bother it, but they are able to examine their culture. This is a fic where Neytiri died at the same time as Neteyam. So most of it is the same; Jake is just mourning his mate as well as his son.
Waking up human is always hard.
Your limbs feel heavy, like they are filled with sand instead of bone and muscle. Your head is fuzzy, thoughts slow and sticky, as if you are moving through them instead of thinking them. All of your senses are dulled and dampened. Today is worse than usual. Switching back last night is physically painful in a way you are not used to, a deep ache that lingers in your chest and behind your eyes, and you do not know why.
It is something you should bring up to your coworkers.
You are not going to.
They would make you stop. They would pull you back, slow the process, ground you in this body for longer than you can stand. You cannot stop. You need to go back. You need to be Na’vi. Existing in the small, fragile body of a human feels like punishment. A curse. The bane of your existence compared to the overwhelming, intoxicating relief of being in your avatar.
Before you can return, the tests come first. They always do.
Needles prick your arms. Lights flash in your eyes. Cold instruments press against your skin as you are poked and prodded from every angle. After all these years, you feel less like a colleague and more like a project, or worse, a child being monitored. You are not sure which is more demeaning.
You go through the motions anyway. You laugh at their jokes. You crack small comments to lighten the sterile tension of the medical procedures. They smile back at you, fond and familiar. You want them to still see you, the you from before the avatar. The you who studied beside them, who debated theories and worked on the very body you now crave to stay inside.
But that person feels distant.
You do not feel like them anymore.
You are not sure you feel like a person at all.
The moment they tell you that you are cleared, you slip into the pod as quickly as you can. You barely wait for them to finish their instructions. You are desperate to be back in your body.
The link engages.
Pain explodes through you.
It is worse than the night before. White-hot and blinding, tearing through your chest and spine. You let out an involuntary groan, sharp enough that they almost stop the transfer. You refuse to let them. You cling to the sensation until it breaks.
Your eyes open.
The sea stretches endlessly in front of you, blue and alive. You are lying on a cot inside a barren medical room, but even here, surrounded by stale equipment and dull metal, everything feels sharper. You see more. You feel more. Your body hums with awareness.
This is the real you.
Before anyone can stop you, you slide off the cot and push through the door, stepping out onto the dock-like porch that extends over the water. You inhale deeply. Salt, kelp, wet stone, life. The sound of waves fills your ears, steady and grounding, sending calm through every muscle.
The pain fades into nothing.
Your goal today is simple. Find an ilu.
With one, you could explore farther, dive deeper, truly move through the water the way you are meant to. No one is going to teach you, and from what you have observed, ilu are among the gentler creatures to bond with. A flying mount would be ideal, but that would require help, and that is a thought for another day.
For now, find an ilu.
It should not be that hard.
It is.
Hours pass. Every ilu you approach spooks or slips away before you can even attempt to bond. Eventually, the scientists step outside and signal that they need samples, as well as something edible. You do not mind. That part of the job is always your favorite.
Not the figuring out what is safe to eat.
But the exploration.
You dive into the depths, weaving through coral groves and sunken structures. You carry a strange bow you once found underwater, broken and abandoned. You fix it as best you can. It works, barely, but it is enough for small prey.
Color surrounds you as you swim. Light fractures and bends, scattering across coral and fish alike. You spot something that looks edible and follow it carefully. It darts ahead, weaving through the hollowed remains of a wreck that is unmistakably human.
You slow, lift your bow, and take aim.
The creature pauses.
You fire.
The shot goes wide. The recoil sends you drifting backward, and before you can correct yourself, you collide hard with something solid.
You squeal underwater, losing most of your air in the shock. You spin, bow raised defensively, heart pounding.
It is Jake.
He is holding large crates you immediately recognize as RDA weapon containers, heavy and cumbersome. His hair floats in pieces around his face, and the light catches on the star-like markings across his skin, making them shimmer as he moves. Your eyes track him instinctively, taking in the long lines of his body, the tension in his muscles as he holds himself steady against the current.
You lock eyes.
He looks surprised. Sad. Curious.
You point upward. He follows your gesture, then looks back at you, head tilting slightly. You point again and start moving, not waiting to see if he follows.
You need air.
You break the surface and gasp, lungs burning. You are farther from the reef than you intended. Your bag bobs beside you, filled with shells, coral fragments, and plant clippings. A moment later, another head breaks the surface.
Jake.
Beside him floats a small boat, weighed down with weapons.
You stare at each other. Neither of you speaks. He turns away first, clearly not viewing you as a threat, and begins hauling the crates onto the boat. You swim closer, curiosity getting the better of you, peering inside.
Firearms. Too many of them.
You almost ask why before realizing you have no idea if you are meant to know what those are.
You swallow the question.
“What are you doing out here?” you ask
instead.
“Collecting,” is all he says continuing to pick apart what he’s found in the crates.
The boat rocks gently as you pull yourself up beside him.
The woven craft is sun-warmed and slick with seawater, rough beneath your palms. For a brief moment, you are acutely aware of how close you are to him, of the way his presence seems to take up space even when he is still. Jake does not move to help you, but he does not move away either. He simply watches, eyes tracking you with an intensity that feels practiced rather than invasive, like a soldier
assessing terrain.
Water streams down your arms and tail, dripping between the planks and back into the sea. You steady yourself, settling near the edge, keeping a careful distance. The crates behind him creak softly as the boat shifts, their weight pulling the vessel lower in the water.
“What clan are you from?” he asks.
His voice is calm, measured. Curious, but cautious.
“Ta’unui, It’s not too far away,” you reply. You school your expression into something neutral, something unremarkable. You have learned how to do that well.
He studies you for a moment longer than necessary, head tilting slightly as if the answer confirms something he already suspected. “Thought so,” he says. “I been lookin’ for you all mornin’, actually.”
That catches you off guard. Your tail flicks before you can stop it.
“Hard to ask around for someone when all you got to go on is ‘that Na’vi with the captivating eyes,’” he continues, a faint hint of humor ghosting his tone. Not a smile. Just the suggestion of one.
Your ears twitch. This was not how you imagined this interaction going. You had not imagined it at all.
He shifts then, reaching down to lift one of the crates and wedge it more securely against the side of the boat. The muscles in his arms tighten with the effort, tendons standing out beneath blue skin. You look away quickly, focusing instead on the water lapping against the hull.
“Seen these before?” he asks, lifting the lid of a crate.
Inside, metal gleams dully. Shapes that do not belong in this world. Guns. Too many of them.
Your chest tightens.
“The RDA are comin’ back,” he says, quieter now. “People keep thinkin’ it won’t happen again. They’re wrong.”
He hands one to you without ceremony.
It is heavier than you expect. Awkward in your grip. Four fingers instead of five change everything, the balance unfamiliar and wrong. You turn it over slowly, feeling the cold metal against your palm, the weight of it dragging your arm down. You are too aware of how easily you know this shape, how instinctively your hands want to adjust.
Jake watches you closely.
Something flickers across his face before he reaches out and takes it back. “Yeah,” he mutters. “That figures.”
He gestures toward the bow strapped to your side. “Your speargun’s busted.”
You bristle immediately. “I snapped the thread underwater. Had to make do.”
Not entirely a lie. Not entirely the truth either.
He crouches slightly, reaching toward it. “Tension’s off. Slightly too loose, and you’re fightin’ the recoil instead of lettin’ it work with you.”
You shift back instinctively, but he is already reaching for your hands, movements slow and deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you want to. His fingers close around yours, warm and firm, guiding rather than gripping.
“Like this,” he says softly.
He adjusts the threading, showing you how to redistribute the tension. His hands brush against a scar where your finger should be.
You flinch.
He freezes instantly and pulls away, palms lifting in a wordless apology. “Just tryin’ to help.”
“Well maybe you shouldn’t be so handsy with someone you just met,” you snap, tail lashing once behind you.
He studies you, eyes narrowing slightly. Not angry. Thinking.
After a beat, he exhales. “Fair enough.” Then, quieter, “Want some help huntin’? I could use the distraction.”
You hesitate only a second before slipping back into the water.
“Well,” you say, already diving, “are you coming?”
The water closes over you like an embrace.
Jake follows.
Underwater, everything changes.
Sound dulls, replaced by the steady rush of blood in your ears and the distant song of the reef. Light fractures into ribbons, dancing across coral and stone. Jake moves with practiced ease, powerful strokes carrying him effortlessly through the current. He stays just behind you at first, not crowding, letting you set the pace.
You glide through coral arches and narrow channels, tails flicking to adjust direction. Fish scatter at your approach, flashes of color darting between shadows. Jake signals for you to slow, tapping two fingers together and pointing ahead.
He cups his hands and makes a low, resonant sound, a vibration more felt than heard. The water seems to respond to it, rippling outward.
A school of fish shifts, curious.
You watch him, mirroring the sound. The vibration hums through your chest, strange but grounding. The fish circle closer this time.
He gestures, showing you how to angle your body, how to let the current carry your scent away instead of toward them. You adjust, heart pounding as the prey drifts within range.
You fire.
The shot is clean. The fish jerks once, then goes still.
Jake’s approval is subtle. A nod. A slight widening of his eyes.
You move together after that, falling into an easy rhythm. He signals dangers before you see them, guiding you away from sharp coral and territorial creatures. You learn quickly, adapting your movements to match his. When you miss, he does not comment. When you succeed, he lets you feel it.
At one point, you get distracted chasing each other around the reef. You turn a corner to hide in a small gap in the coral. Before you can, Jake catches up to you and tugs at your tail. You smile and whip around to smack him in the arm, but instead freeze. A larger predator looms above you two. Without thinking, you make a classic military gesture telling him to turn around slowly because there’s something on his tail. Jake shifts in front of you swiftly, spear raised, body angled protectively. The creature veers away.
He turns to look you in the eyes. his hand instictlivly finds his way to your waist, keeping both of you stready in the current. His hands are rough and giant and spread warmth across your side. His eyes are that of a man haunted, a man who promised to keep his family safe yet failed over and over. He’s a man terrified of injury being caused to anyone near when he could prevent it. You signal you’re ok and he nods gently dropping the hand on your side.
You immidietly miss the contact.
You dive deeper, the pressure building as the light dims. Jake keeps pace easily, unbothered by the depth. He points out a narrow trench where fish often hide, motioning for you to wait while he circles around.
You hold your breath, heart thrumming, as he disappears into shadow.
Moments later, he emerges on the other side, making the same low call. The fish scatter straight toward you.
You strike again. And again.
By the time you surface, your bag is heavy, muscles aching pleasantly from the exertion. The sun has shifted, casting the water in warmer hues. Jake hauls himself onto the boat first, then turns, offering you a hand without comment.
You take it.
“You said you’re from the Tawkami clan?” he asks, helping you sort through the food piled between you. Fish are laid out carefully, shells clicking softly as he moves them aside, methodical even now.
“Hm… oh, yeah. Like I said, it’s not that far away.” Your focus stays on your hands, fingers busy separating edible cuts from what needs to be discarded. You do not look up. You do not notice the shift in his posture.
“So that’s next to that small RDA base around the corner?” he asks, his tone deliberately casual, almost lazy.
“No, that’s on the other side of the reef,” you reply without thinking, words coming easily, automatically. Your attention is still on the food, on the repetition of the task, on anything but him.
He stills.
The water around the boat goes unnaturally quiet, as if even the waves are listening.
You still too.
The realization hits you all at once, sharp and breath-stealing. He intentionally said the wrong village. Worse than that, he asked you in English. And you answered in perfect English. You did not hesitate. You did not stumble. You did not question it.
And somehow, impossibly, you just confirmed there is an RDA base nearby.
Your stomach drops.
In less than a second, movement blurs behind you. A strong arm locks around your shoulders, hauling you back against him. Cold bone kisses your throat as a knife presses just beneath your jaw, sharp enough that you feel the promise of blood without it breaking skin.
“What are you?” Jake growls into your ear, his voice stripped of warmth and patience, all soldier now. “And why did the RDA send you?”
His breath is hot against the back of your neck, each exhale controlled and measured. You can feel the tension radiating off him, coiled tight, ready to snap.
Your own breathing turns shallow and uneven, heart hammering so loudly you are certain he can feel it through your back.
The ocean rocks gently beneath you, uncaring, as the space between hunter and prey disappears completely.
Guys it's been a long long time. I'm so sorry about that. I've gotten a little more used to using tumblr and have some other fics going that you should check out. This one's going to be a little shorter but hopefully ya'll are still here! Little overlap because it's been a while:
~Description: Paris didn’t just lose a hero—it lost its balance.
Part one Part Two Part Three Part Four
A soft glow envelops Adrien’s form. His wounds begin to heal, the tears in his suit mend, and the once broken state of his body starts to restore itself. His chest rises and falls a little stronger, his breathing steadier. Her heart dares to hope.
She stands, glancing toward the destruction the Akuma left behind. The damage is still everywhere—more innocent lives in danger. With a flick of her wrist, she starts to head off in the direction of the chaos, ready to finish this once and for all.
But just before she reaches the corner of the street, she stops.
Her legs feel heavy. She looks back at Adrien. Without thinking, she crouches back down beside him. She shouldn’t do it. But her hand moves before her mind can stop it.
The ring.
She grabs it.
And as her fingers close around the familiar piece of jewelry, he fully de-transforms, his civilian clothes replacing the suit he once wore.
Ladybug lifts him carefully, cradling his body in her arms with surprising gentleness. Her breath is shaky but determined as she heads back toward where they last saw Luka.
When she finds him, she hands Adrien off to him, a weight lifted from her own chest, but the weight of the battle still lingers.
“Alright, time to wrap this up,” she mutters to herself, cracking her knuckles as the adrenaline surges through her once more. Her yo-yo swings in the air, and she summons a pair of fighting knives, their blades gleaming with lethal intent, connected by a chain at the bottom.
"Let’s go,” she says under her breath, her voice low and determined.
Ladybug launches herself back into the chaos, boots hitting the pavement in a sprint as the Akuma barrels through another cluster of stalls. Fabric tears, metal screeches, glass shatters—every sound grates against her nerves, fueling the fire already burning in her chest.
She doesn’t hesitate.
With a sharp flick of her wrist, one blade flies forward, the chain whistling through the air before wrapping tight around the wrecking ball’s handle. The impact jerks her forward, feet skidding across the street, but she plants herself and pulls hard, redirecting the swing just enough that it smashes into an empty fruit stand instead of a crowd scrambling nearby.
The Akuma roars, dark energy crackling along its arms as it yanks back. Ladybug is ripped off her feet, airborne for a breathless second before she twists, releases one knife, and uses the momentum to flip over its head. She lands behind it in a crouch, immediately rolling as the wrecking ball crashes down where she’d been a moment earlier, splintering the pavement.
She’s already moving again.
The second blade sinks into the Akuma’s shoulder plating, sparks flying as she uses the chain to climb, boots pounding against its back. Up close, she can see the source of the corruption pulsing through the object clutched at its chest—distorted, vibrating with raw emotion.
Anger. Hurt. Humiliation.
Ladybug grits her teeth.
“Enough,” she mutters, more to herself than to it.
The Akuma reaches back blindly, fingers grazing her leg. She kicks off its spine, flipping backward as she retracts the blades midair and lands hard, rolling through the impact. The ground trembles as it turns to face her, eyes blazing, wrecking ball already swinging again.
This time, she runs straight at it.
At the last possible second, she dives low, sliding beneath the arc of the weapon as it whistles overhead. She slashes upward, the chain wrapping tight around the Akuma’s torso, binding its arms for just a moment—but that’s all she needs.
She yanks, hard.
The Akuma stumbles forward, off balance, and Ladybug uses the pull to vault up, planting both boots against its chest. With a sharp twist, she rips the corrupted object free, landing in a roll as the Akuma freezes mid-step.
The dark energy collapses inward, the massive form dissolving into smoke and light, leaving the trembling civilian behind, dropping to their knees.
Ladybug doesn’t waste a second.
“Time to de-evilize.”
She releases the object, cracks it cleanly with a final strike, and the butterfly flutters free—purple, trembling, lost.
“No more evil doing for you, little akuma.”
The yo-yo snaps out, capturing the butterfly in a burst of red light. She whispers the familiar words, releasing it purified into the air, watching as it disappears into the sky.
Silence settles slowly, broken only by distant sirens and the soft crackle of settling debris.
Ladybug exhales, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline drains from her veins.
She raises her yo-yo one last time.
“Miraculous Ladybug.”
Red light floods the street, sweeping over broken stalls, shattered pavement, torn fabric—everything knitting itself back together in seconds. The market is restored, whole and vibrant once more, as if nothing had happened.
As the magic fades, Ladybug turns, her gaze immediately snapping back to where she left Adrien.
Luka is still there, steady, protective, Adrien cradled carefully against him.
Good.
Another fight is done for now, Paris is safe.
That has to be enough.
She glances down at Adrien once more, making sure his chest still rises and falls evenly, then reaches for her earrings. Red light flickers, fading, and her suit melts away, replaced by her civilian clothes once again.
“How’s he doing?” she murmurs, turning to Luka as she kneels beside the couch, fingers automatically finding Adrien’s pulse.
“He’s fine,” Luka says gently. “Your Lucky Charm healed him. I think he’s just… out now.”
She nods, more to herself than to him, and rises to her feet, already turning as if she expects Luka to follow. There’s only one place she can take him, one place that feels even remotely safe.
Her loft.
The walk back is quiet. Luka trails his bike behind them, guiding it with one hand while keeping Adrien steady with the other. Carrying an unconscious person on a motorcycle would’ve been impossible anyway. This is slower, but safer.
She hums softly as they go, barely aware she’s doing it, a melody from one of Luka’s new songs, the one he’d played for her not long ago. It loops in her head, grounding her, keeping her from thinking too hard about everything that just happened.
The door to her loft is, unsurprisingly, still unlocked.
Luka nudges it open with his foot and carefully lowers Adrien onto the couch. They both linger there, hovering close, sitting on either side of him, unsure of what comes next. Technically, he’s fine. Breathing. Warm. Alive.
They just need to wake him up.
And figure out an excuse. Why he’s here. How they found him. Why nothing about this feels simple.
“I took it,” she says quietly.
The words barely carry, but they land heavy. A confession. One she hadn’t planned to make, one she knows she shouldn’t have, and one she has no idea how to fix.
Luka looks at her then, really looks at her.
“Why?” he asks, voice calm but piercing, eyes searching straight through her.
She has no answer.
All she can do is shrug, shoulders tight, throat burning as she stands abruptly, turning away before the tears can fall. She moves toward the kitchen, opening the freezer and pulling out a tray of ice, hands trembling just slightly.
Maybe the cold will wake him up.
Maybe it will wake all of them up.
Because once Adrien opens his eyes, she has no idea what will happen.
Adrien stirs first.
It’s subtle at first, a twitch of his fingers, a faint crease forming between his brows. She notices immediately, ice bowl still clutched too tightly in her hands, knuckles white. Luka does too. They both freeze, like movement alone might shatter something fragile.
Adrien exhales sharply and blinks, eyes unfocused as they track the ceiling above him.
“…Ow,” he mutters.
Relief crashes through her chest so hard it almost knocks the breath out of her. She’s at his side in a second, kneeling, setting the ice down on the table with shaking hands.
“Hey,” she says softly. Too softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
His gaze flickers to her face, confusion settling in slow and heavy. “Why does it feel like I got hit by a truck… and then another truck?”
Luka lets out a quiet huff, the sound halfway between a laugh and a breath of relief. “Guess that means you’re alive.”
Adrien turns his head slightly, squinting. “Luka? What are you, why am I here?”
There it is. The moment she knew was coming.
She opens her mouth, then closes it again. The lie forms quickly, too quickly, she's gotten too good at lying and it makes her sick.
“There was an akuma attack near the market,” she says. “You got knocked out when things went south. We couldn’t just leave you there.”
Adrien frowns, clearly trying to piece it together. “I remember… noise. Screaming. Something heavy swinging—” He winces, hand lifting to his temple. “And then… red.”
Her heart skips. Just once.
“Red?” Luka repeats casually, but his eyes flick to her, sharp despite the relaxed tone.
Adrien shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge the thought. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m mixing it up with a dream.”
“Probably adrenaline,” she says quickly. Too quickly again. “You passed out hard.”
He studies her for a moment longer than necessary, green eyes lingering on her face like he’s searching for something he can’t quite name. Then he nods, easing back against the couch.
“Guess I owe you both,” he murmurs. “Thanks… for not letting me die in the street.”
The words hit harder than they should.
“I’m gonna call my driver,” he adds after a beat, pushing himself upright.
She notices it immediately, his hand drifting toward his finger out of habit.
He knows.
She can feel it, the moment of realization hitting him. His hand pauses, curls slightly, then drops. For a second he turns back toward them, mouth parting like he’s about to ask something, anything, but whatever thought crosses his mind, he swallows it.
Instead, he pats his pockets in visible distress before pulling out his phone and turning away.
Only then does Luka speak.
“You want to explain now,” he says quietly, “or later?”
She stiffens.
They move into the kitchen, just far enough away that Adrien won’t hear. The loft feels different in the low light—smaller somehow, heavier. She leans against the counter, arms folding tightly across her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together.
“I didn’t have time,” she says. It sounds like a defense. Maybe it is. “He was hurt. I panicked.”
“You took it anyway,” Luka replies.
He knows. He knows that wasn’t the whole reason, and he isn’t willing to call her out on it with Adrien still here.
Her throat tightens. She looks down at her hands, still faintly trembling. “I thought if I didn’t… if I hesitated...”
“You chose for him,” Luka says gently. “I get why. I really do. But you still chose.”
Silence stretches between them, thick and uncomfortable.
“What happens when he wants it back?” Luka asks. “Or when he needs it?”
She doesn’t answer. She can’t.
“You can’t keep thinking you can do everything on your own,” he continues softly, reaching out to rest his hand on her arm. “You’re going to need help.”
She hisses sharply at the contact.
Her bruises didn’t heal. She used her lucky charm too early—too focused on Adrien, too desperate to make sure he was okay to notice the damage to herself. Or to the surrounding areas still torn apart outside.
There’s a crew for that, she thinks dimly.
If not… I’ll start one.
“You take it,” she blurts suddenly, fingers tightening around Luka’s wrist where his hand meets her arm. “Be my Kitty, I trust you.”
Her voice sounds wrong, too raw, too desperate. Wounded in more ways than one.
She knows he’s going to say no.
And he does.
He’s had the snake miraculous. He knows too much. He knows what it costs.
She nods once, the movement stiff, and sinks back into the couch like the weight finally caught up with her.
This would be easier if I could erase memories.
The thought barely forms before she shoves it away. That would be too far. She knows that. She has to know that.
She watches Adrien from across the room as he finishes his call, his fingers flexing restlessly at his side, like something is missing and his body hasn’t accepted it yet.
She doesn’t know what to do.
And no matter what choice she makes, she knows it’s going to be messy.
Just learned I could put images in!!! This one's a little shorter. If you're from my TikTok, leave a comment below! I have one of those "what I would wear if I" stories, so if anyone is interested in my handle, let me know. Most likely, I will be turning that into a full fic once I have time.
This is set in the second movie, about a month before Jacob first changes. Jacob and you are 18 in this, I always thought it was weird he was 16.
~You move to Forks for your dad's job and quickly get pulled into Bella Swan’s orbit. One ride to La Push changes everything, even if neither you nor Jacob understands why. (Imprinting)
“…Can I pet it,” you say, snapping out of your moment of stupor.
He huffs, clearly annoyed at you calling his wolf form “it,” but he steps forward anyway and leans his head down toward you. A giant grin spreads across your face as you reach for him. Your hand runs along his face, to his ears, along his back. You dig your fingers into the thick, coarse fur, feeling the softer undercoat beneath. It’s warm and solid and grounding. You could take a nap like this. His wolf would be the nicest pillow you could ever lay on.
“It’s official. You’re mine. I’m claiming you,” you say into his fur, not even sure if he can hear you.
He stiffens slightly at your words and lets out a gentle growl before lowering himself to the ground. The sound vibrates through you.
“A man and a puppy is a perfect two for one deal.”
You finally step back from his giant form and take him in again. He grunts at being called a puppy, but you can tell he isn’t upset with you. Not really.
“I think I can get used to this,” you say, rising back to your feet, a large grin spreading across your face. At this point you can’t doubt what’s right in front of you, so why try. You could keep this secret. No matter what he was yours now, which made this secret yours as well. And you would keep it. Just like you’re keeping him.
A stray thought gnaws at the back of your mind.
Is he going to tell Bella. Is everything going to go back to the way it was before. She would rip him from your hands if she could. You saw the way she looks at him, yearns for him. She wants him to be hers and only hers. You’re not sure you could live with yourself if that happened, and that thought scares you more than the wolf ever could.
You need him. On a molecular level. That’s not something you’re ready to come to terms with.
His wolf form rises, muscles shifting and stretching as he pulls himself to his full height. He towers over you, massive and powerful, making you feel small and suddenly fragile. Insignificant.
You always feel insignificant.
He tilts his head, almost sensing that something is wrong.
You turn on your heels and run.
The earth beneath your feet tears apart as you sprint, damp soil clumping and flying behind you. You hear boys whooping and laughing in the background. They’re probably teasing Jacob for you running off. Something in your chest aches and for a second you want to turn around and scream at them.
But the thing clawing its way out of you is louder than that.
So you keep running.
You make it to your Chevy and tear out of there. Gravel crunches beneath the tires, the sound mixing with the rush of blood in your ears as your thoughts spiral out of control. You don’t know him. You don’t know anyone. You don’t even know yourself.
You only know you don’t belong here.
You drive and drive, nowhere and everywhere all at once. You don’t care. You just can’t be there. You can’t keep looking into eyes that glow like they know you and crave you. The windows are down, cold air rushing in. You’re not sure if you’re crying or if the wind is forcing tears from your eyes. Either way, liquid trails down your face.
Eventually you stop at a cliff.
You get out of the car and sit, letting your legs dangle over the edge. If your dad saw you, he’d yell. He always tried to keep you safe. Right now, you don’t think you can find it in yourself to care. You need the cold air whipping past you to ground you.
Gravel crunches behind you.
You whip your head around.
It’s Jacob.
You don’t know how you didn’t hear his bike. It’s dark now. Your mind must have wandered away from your body long enough to miss the sun setting. The sea below looks like obsidian, reflecting fractured light.
Jacob moves toward you slowly and you stop him with a glare. He lifts his hands like he’s approaching a wild animal and starts speaking gently.
“I know this is a lot to take in, and barely knowing me this might be more than you signed up for. I care for you. I would do anything for you. If that means you want me to turn around right now and never talk to you again, I would. It would hurt. But I’d do it for you.”
He kneels in front of you to meet your eyes.
“It could also mean you and me sitting here. Talking it through. Letting me hold you while your mind wraps around everything you’ve learned. Letting me take care of you.”
His voice softens as he speaks, his eyes holding more warmth than you’ve ever seen from your own mother.
You don’t want him to go. You never did.
You don’t care about the wolf. You care that he might still choose Bella. Because who are you really. Not his childhood friend. Not his childhood crush. Not even someone he grew up bumping into in town. You’re nobody. Another number that won’t stay on the town residency board because you’ll be gone just as fast as you came.
You turn to tell him something. Anything.
But you turn too fast.
Your brain doesn’t catch up in time.
Wind whistles. Pressure builds in your head. There’s nothing beneath you but freezing air and the incoming sea.
You close your eyes, take your last breath, and wait for the ocean to consume you.
Jacob doesn’t think. He doesn’t hesitate. His body moves before his mind can catch up, flinging itself off the cliff the moment he sees where you disappeared into the waves. The jump is dangerous. He’s watched the others do it a hundred times, laughing and shoving each other, showing off with flips and reckless dives. There are rocks below, jagged and unforgiving, especially impossible to see at night.
None of that matters.
What matters is you.
The fall feels endless. Wind tears past his ears, his stomach lurching as gravity drags him down. The second the icy sting of the ocean slams into him, his eyes fly open, already searching. Salt burns his throat. The water is dark, unnervingly still beneath the crashing surface, heavy and cold around him.
He dives deeper.
The waves above thunder against the rocks, but down here the water pulls and swirls, dragging at his limbs. He spins, heart hammering, lungs already screaming for air. Then he sees you.
You’re thrashing weakly now, movements sluggish and uncoordinated. One foot is wedged between two rocks, trapped. Your arms flail uselessly as panic takes over. He can tell instantly that you’re running out of air. Terror claws through him.
He swims harder, every stroke burning, time stretching painfully thin. You’re so close, yet impossibly far. Just a little closer. Please. Please.
Then you stop moving.
Your body goes slack, sinking slowly like the ocean is claiming you piece by piece.
“No,” he thinks, raw and desperate.
He doubles his efforts, muscles screaming as he reaches you and yanks your foot free from the rocks. He wraps an arm around your waist and kicks upward with everything he has left. His chest feels like it’s going to burst by the time he breaks the surface, gasping violently as he hauls you with him.
He doesn’t waste a second.
Jacob drags you onto the rocks, scraping his knees and palms raw as he pulls your limp body clear of the water. You’re cold. Too still. Your lips have a faint blue tinge that makes something inside him fracture.
“Hey. Hey, stay with me,” he mutters, voice shaking despite himself.
He tilts your head back, clears the water from your mouth, and presses his ear to your chest. Your heartbeat is there, faint but present. It’s enough to keep him moving.
He starts CPR.
One hand on your sternum, the other steadying himself on the slick stone, he counts under his breath, pressing rhythmically, desperately. He leans down, breathes into your lungs, tasting salt and seawater and fear. Again. And again.
“Come on,” he pleads softly. “You don’t get to leave. Not like this.”
Your body jerks suddenly and you cough violently, water pouring from your mouth as you gasp for air. Jacob lets out a broken sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and immediately rolls you onto your side, rubbing your back as you keep coughing.
You turn your head to face him, eyes glassy, confused, alive.
Relief crashes into him so hard his hands shake.
“This isn't how I thought we'd have our first kiss,” he says, breathless, trying to sound light even though his heart feels like it’s still free-falling.
You’re shivering as he takes you back, clinging to his body like he’s the only solid thing left in the world. His body has almost dried off on it's own. His skin radiates heat, unnatural and comforting all at once, seeping into your bones and slowly easing the violent tremors wracking your body. Your fingers curl into his shirt without you meaning to, knuckles white.
“I did not think that was how my night was gonna go,” you mumble, tucking your face into his arm.
He lets out a quiet huff, half disbelief, half breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
When he pulls up at the edge of the reservation, the engine cuts and everything goes quiet. Rain ticks softly against the metal, steam still rising faintly from his skin. He turns in his seat to face you fully.
“You gonna let me talk now?” he asks, a slight grin tugging at his mouth, though his eyes are serious. Careful.
You nod.
He shifts closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s afraid sudden movement might spook you. One hand comes up, hovering near your arm before settling there gently, thumb brushing warmth into your cold skin.
“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he says quietly. “Not of this. Not of me. I know it looks like something out of a nightmare, but I swear to you, I would never hurt you. Ever.”
His jaw tightens as he says it, conviction threading every word.
“I’m here for you,” he continues. “Not because I feel like I owe you something. Not because you almost died. I’m here because I want to be. Because I need to be.”
That word lands heavier than the rest.
You swallow, staring at the space between you instead of his face. Your voice comes out small when you speak.
“I’m not scared of the wolf,” you admit. “I’m scared of everything else.”
His brows pull together immediately.
“Like what.”
You finally look at him then, really look. His eyes are softer now, dark and steady, waiting.
“Bella,” you say. The name tastes bitter. “I’m scared you’re gonna tell her. Or that you already have. Or that one day you’ll wake up and decide this was just…temporary. That you’ll switch up and go back to her.”
Your chest tightens as the words spill out, faster now.
“She’s been in your life forever. I’ve been here five minutes. She looks at you like you’re the answer to every question she’s ever had. And I don’t…” You shake your head. “I don’t stand a chance against that.”
Jacob stills completely.
Then he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, hands clasped tightly together like he’s grounding himself before he speaks.
“That’s not going to happen,” he says, firm. No hesitation. No doubt. “I’m not telling Bella. And I’m not choosing her over you. Ever.”
You scoff weakly. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can,” he says, turning to face you again. His voice lowers, something deeper threading through it. “Because it’s not possible.”
You frown. “What does that mean.”
He exhales slowly through his nose, eyes flicking away from yours for just a second before coming back. When he speaks again, his tone is careful. Guarded.
“There are things about this that Bella doesn’t know. Things she won’t know. And even if she did, it wouldn’t change anything.”
His hand lifts, hesitates, then cups your cheek gently. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, wiping away cold tears you didn’t realize were still there.
“What I feel for you isn’t something I get to turn on or off,” he says quietly. “It’s not just a choice. It’s not a weak crush. It’s not history or habit.”
Your breath catches.
“It’s permanent.”
The word settles between you, heavy and terrifying and strangely comforting all at once.
“I don’t disappear tomorrow,” he continues. “You don’t get replaced. You don’t lose me to someone else. Not now. Not ever.”
Your heart stutters painfully in your chest.
“I don’t know how to be okay with needing someone like this,” you whisper.
His thumb stills on your skin, his forehead leaning gently against yours.
“Then don’t be okay with it yet,” he murmurs. “Just let me be here while you figure it out.”
You collapse completely into his arms. For a while, you both just sit, listening to the rain pinging against the roof of his truck.
Tag list:
@scuzmunkie @snugglebug-mj @blobsblobican
New long form fic incoming!!! Unpopular opinion but I love his dreads.
Part two
~Word count: ~4k
~Warnings: mentions of death and grief, emotional trauma, mild swearing, No use of Y/n, canon divergence, mutual pining, eventual smut
~Description: ~You're a marine biologist studying the tolkun. They had been experimenting on the genes of the classic avatar to manipulate it into one more suited to the water. The base is far enough away from the civilizations that they don't bother it, but they are able to examine their culture. This is a fic where Neytiri died at the same time as Neteyam. So most of it is the same, Jake is just mourning his mate as well as his son.
You are there before the battle.
You are there after it, too.
The destruction and death scattered across the land tear you apart from the inside out. Broken Marui, scorched ground, and bodies left behind burn into your memory in a way no data log ever could. When you came to Pandora, it was never meant to end like this. You are here to observe, specifically to study the tulkun, to understand their intelligence, their social bonds, their culture, and the way they coexist with the Metkayina. That is the purpose you arrive with. That is the reason you were sent.
But money-hungry individuals quickly twisted your work into something else. They barely acknowledge the complexity of Tulkun communication or the depth of Na’vi history tied to them. They don’t care about language, lineage, or kinship. All they see is what can be harvested, what can be sold, and what can be turned into power. Your research, meant to protect and preserve, becomes a blueprint for exploitation.
You sort of grow up with the sea.
it feels like your entire life is spent switching in and out of a rapidly aging avatar, constantly monitored to ensure the altered genes develop properly. Your human mind struggles to reconcile the existence of two bodies. They age separately. They absorb completely different environments. One belongs to steel walls and recycled air. The other belongs to open water and endless horizons.
The avatar body is your access point to the world. Without it, you are confined to a floating lab that was meant to be temporary but slowly becomes permanent. Even freedom has limits, though. The base needs power, clean, renewable energy that won’t further damage Pandora. Ocean turbines become the solution, generating enough energy for you and your four other team members to operate and breathe freely.
You are the one who installs them.
With the base positioned far outside the reef, maneuvering the surrounding waters is extremely dangerous for any human. Strong currents, unfamiliar depths, and predators make even short excursions a risk. But you don’t have to worry about that. You exist in an avatar bred specifically for these conditions, an unusual hybrid, designed to survive where humans cannot.
Most of your life is spent aboard ships. You don’t remember Earth at all. What you do know is that you exist in two bodies. One is trapped in a small lab, sustained by machines. The other is free, able to swim, explore, and live. It has never been difficult to know which one you prefer.
You have two childhoods.
They don’t happen at the same time, but your brain stores them as if they do. When you first enter the avatar body, it is six years old. You, however, are already an adult in your human body. Being mentally grown while inhabiting the form of a child is deeply unsettling. Your thoughts don’t match your movements. Your instincts lag behind your understanding. It creates a strange disconnect, almost forcing a kind of regression as your mind adapts to the body rather than the other way around.
Monthly check-ins become routine as the avatar ages at an accelerated rate, one month for every two avatar years, until it eventually reaches full maturity. It is an odd process, one you don’t believe could ever be replicated successfully. But for you, it works.
Your avatar body is not quite Omatikaya, nor fully Metkayina. You have the long limbs of the forest people, but your musculature and nearly fin-like arms are designed for the water. Your tail is thin and elongated, built more for balance than speed underwater. Star-like dustings scatter across your skin, reminiscent of the forest clan, but everything else reads Metkayina. You think you could blend in, at least to some degree.
They removed the extra finger during adolescence.
It is an obvious outlier, and with how much you already stand out, they convince themselves it will help you fit in better. Even though you are not born into this body, you feel the absence immediately. The scar where the finger once was lingers like a phantom ache, making you feel more separate than before. The opposite of what they intend.
But none of that matters anymore.
What matters is that you no longer have a mission, only information. And information is power. You know what the bases are doing; somehow, they have yet to cut your connection to their computers. You know what they are planning. You can help the Na’vi if you can find a way in.
And you already know how.
Jake Sully.
You arrived at the base before he ever did. You hear the stories as they circulate, how he learns their ways, how he trains, how he earns the trust of the Omatikaya and becomes one of them. You watch it unfold from a distance, long before the war forces him into legend. Then he went and did it all over again with the Metkayina.
He is your opening. You are certain of it.
Convincing the other scientists is another matter entirely. In your human body, you are not much younger than them. But they see your avatar as their child. They raised you. They protected you.
And that makes reasoning with them far more difficult than it should be. But you have your ways.
Your nightly routine begins the same way it always does.
You swim as close to the reef as you dare without being noticed, careful to stay just beyond the glow of woven lights. There, you linger, floating and watching. A few Na’vi remain awake at this hour. Some work quietly in the shallows, hands moving with practiced ease as the waves curl around them. Others simply exist in the water, letting the tide carry their thoughts.
Occasionally, a mated pair sits together at the edge of their marui, bodies leaning toward one another, foreheads nearly touching. They do not speak. They do not need to. Their minds drift together, flowing as naturally as the sea beneath them.
You ache for it.
For that kind of belonging. For that kind of connection to the clan, to the earth, to something that is not observation or distance.
Tonight, something is different.
At the very edge of the village, a lone figure sits with his feet in the water. His posture is tense, shoulders slightly hunched, as if the ocean itself is the only thing holding him upright. You hear him before you see him clearly, a low, broken hum carried on the breeze.
You recognize it immediately.
It is a mourning song.
Something flares inside your chest, sharp and unexpected. His face is hidden in the shadows cast by thick, braided dreadlocks, but the sound of him is unmistakably distressed. There is weight in every note, grief pressed deep into the melody. You do not know him yet, not really, but something in you pulls toward him all the same.
For once, you give in.
You move along the edge of the reef, slow and careful, letting the water carry most of your weight. The waves lap gently against the coral walls, rhythmic and steady. You guide yourself with one hand, fingers trailing through the water as you drift closer, listening.
The song grows clearer.
It is beautiful. Aching. But that is not what stops you.
It is the language.
This is not a Metkayina song.
It is a song of the forest people.
Your breath catches.
This is Jake Sully.
Not just a name whispered through the base or passed between scientists with fascination and caution, but him. The one who learns their ways. The one who becomes one of them. The one who carries war and loss in his bones.
Everything crashes into you at once. This is not how this is supposed to happen. You have plans, careful ones. You are supposed to think this through, decide what you will say, how you will approach him, how to keep yourself safe.
You begin to turn away, preparing to disappear back into the dark water.
“Who’s there?”
His voice cuts through the night.
It is rough and worn down to something raw and unguarded. The sound of it sinks into you, heavy and intimate. You can hear the aftermath of tears in it, the gravel, the depth, the quiet break beneath the strength. You freeze where you are, heart pounding.
You want to hear him again.
Being careful to maintain the proper accent, you respond softly.
“I was listening. I did not realize how close I had gotten.” Your voice is quiet, barely carrying over the waves. “Your song is beautifully tragic.”
There is a pause.
You expect him to turn fully toward you, to question you further, but instead his shoulders rise and fall with a slow breath. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower, steadier than before, though the strain beneath it remains.
“It is not meant to be heard,” he says. “But… I guess the ocean does not keep secrets.”
He shifts slightly, one hand braced against the woven edge of the marui. The water ripples around his calves. He does not look at you.
“They are songs I learned from her people,” he continues. “From the forest. Songs for the dead. For those who do not return.” His gaze drifts back to the water, unfocused, as if he is seeing something far beneath the surface. “All I can do to help is fight. I keep diving through the waves searching for weapons in the destruction and instead seeing them there, just around the hull of a fallen ship.”
His voice tightens on the last words.
You remain still for a moment, letting the water hold you, before slowly swimming the rest of the way to the edge of his marui. The woven fibers brush against your forearms as you rest there, close enough now to feel the warmth radiating from him. When you lift your head, your eyes meet his.
The war lives there.
It is etched deep into his gaze, a constant storm he cannot escape. He does not blame himself, not truly, but he needs to. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, in the tension running through his shoulders. The warrior in him fights endlessly to take control, to push him forward, to force him to keep moving, keep planning, keep attacking. Anything is better than stillness.
Something about the two sides warring inside him resonates with you.
“Sometimes I feel trapped,” you say quietly. “Like no matter what path I take, it is the wrong one. I find myself needing to blame someone else and myself at the same time. But sometimes…” You hesitate, then finish softly. “Sometimes there is no one to blame.”
The ocean hums quietly around you.
Slowly, without thinking too much about it, you lift your hand and rest it against his knee, partly submerged in the water. The contact is light, tentative.
He flinches instantly.
His reflexes take over as his hand snaps around your wrist. For a split second, his grip is firm, automatic, the response of a soldier who has survived too many close calls. Then he realizes what he is doing.
His hold loosens immediately.
You realize he is not hurting you. He never meant to. His hand trembles slightly as he releases you, fingers lingering for half a second too long before pulling back. He looks startled, almost ashamed.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
You shake your head gently. “It is alright.”
He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. Up close, he looks exhausted. Not just tired, but worn down to the bone. Like something inside him has been pacing a cage for too long with nowhere left to go.
“I do not know how to stop fighting,” he admits. “If I stop, I think I will fall apart.”
You nod, understanding more than you want to.
“Maybe fighting does not always mean attacking,” you offer. “Maybe sometimes it just means surviving the night.”
Jake looks at you then, really looks at you. There is no answer in his eyes, only the quiet recognition of someone who knows exactly what you mean.
After a moment, you pull your hand back and ease away from the marui.
“I should go,” you say softly.
He does not stop you.
You slip back into the water, letting the sea close around you, and swim toward the distant silhouette of the ship. The sounds of the village fade behind you, replaced by the steady rhythm of your own breathing. When you reach the docking bay, you guide your avatar body into its restraints, the familiar hum of machinery surrounding you once more.
You settle in, letting the link connect. It's hard going back. It almost hurts, but you do it anyway. You are not Metakayina, not even Omatikaya, you're just a small human.
My coworkers brought up Avatar fanfiction today. They said lowkey they understood why people write it. They said the didn’t like the ears tho. I love the ears, I love the way the show what they’re really thinking and paying attention to. Also said they didn’t really like the tail. But that tail wrapping around your leg so they can feel even closer to you. She said the four fingers were weird but four fingers are more than enough to fill you up when they’re that big.
Tall Avatar hiding their emotions from this little human they’re not supposed to like. Their ears flick in there direction more often then they should picking up on their conversations when they should be focusing on something else. Their tail betrays them whenever they’re around, weaving and revealing how excited they are to talk to them. Same when they’re not around, thrashing around and wondering where they went especially in moments of danger. They’re so big they can pick you up and bring you wherever they want at a moments notice. Everyone has a size kink. Those big fingers are perfect for stretching you out. You know it can’t fit all the way but you’ll damn well try. Using their first language when their mind is running fast thinking about how fucked out or cockdrunk you look underneath them and they just started. The pet names from their native language feel more thoughtful and caring than anything we could come up with. But even just the way they say baby, with all of the weight in the world behind it. Because you’re they’re everything.
Just Finished Avatar Fire and Ash and omg that was crazy. I’m thinking of writing some Avatar fics but I have some others in progress so here’s a poll.
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
pixelskylines
gummygunk