Hi, I'm Anna, 20 and currently in my second year of uni.
So, this is my masterlist and I will be updating it as frequently as possible with whatever fics I write.Hope you enjoy my chaos.
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Summary: You decide its time to tell your mates you want to start trying for a baby. Now does that mean you aren't scared shitless, no absolutely not. But your world finally has peace and you want to enjoy that peace with your mates and with your future family.
AN: Hey guys! I'm kinda sorta back from the dead. Now i dont have an excuse for being gone. Nothing bad happened i just... had really bad writers block and no motivation. BUT i want to open my requests for any characters you see on my masterlist. I will eventually make a post on my preferances on writing but if you any requests please dont be shy and send them over. It might take a little time because Im going back to uni in a week but i will try my best. I hope you like this one. Its short and it definitely took me forever to write but thats okay. Its lightly edited but anywho. Enjoy my little cuties
~anna
Now, we’ve all been together for quite a while, and the clan was beginning to wonder when their leaders would start expanding their family. Well not actually the clan, more like Mo’at was wondering. Not that she would pressure us in any way, but you've been thinking about children for a while now, and frankly you feel as though you are ready to have tiny feet pattering around our home.
To say you were scared to mention anything was an understatement. Why? You may be wondering? Well, because my beautiful, handsome and amazing mate, Jake, has always expressed his doubts about being a good father. He somehow has this notion that everything he has gone through won’t make him a good father. Which you don’t believe is true, but I realise he probably has a lot of guilt surrounding the war and how many people he was responsible for. He doesn’t want to fail as a father.
We may have won the war, but Jake feels as though he still failed because of the lives we lost. Even when ‘Tiri reassured him he was a great leader and no one blamed him for how things happened. But your mate was as stubborn as a nantang hunting its prey.
Although you knew there might be some resistance from Jake, it was worth having the conversation with them in order to gauge if we would ever have a family in the first place.
You sat in the kelku doing the finishing touches on dinner, waiting for your mates to come back from their daily tasks. The flap on the entrance of the kelku opened as ‘Tiri and Jake walked through it. You look up and smile gently at them. “Yawne have you been inside all afternoon?” ‘Tiri asks as she gently sit beside you and starts playing with your braids.
“Yes tiyawn I have, but only to prepare dinner for all of us. I wanted tonight to be special.” You say softly, casting your eyes downward, shying away from your parters, in embarrassment. You can’t explain why, but you suddenly feel foolish for preparing all this so that you can have this conversation with them, and your mates seem to notice. They exchange a look that you can’t decipher, as you feel ‘Tiri readjust he3rself next to you to make room for Jake.
Jake sits beside you and takes your hand into his, “Baby, what’s going on, hmm? Why do you look as though you’re scared to say anything?” he whispers gently into your hand as he brings it up to his lips for a gentle kiss.
You shake your head lightly, your other hand playing nervously with ‘Tiri’s fingers. “Nothing is going on, I’m just nervous because I wanted to talk about something important with you both… if you’re willing to hear me out.” You whisper to them.
They move closer to you and smile at you, “Of course baby, you can talk to us about anything.” Jake says to you. Your lips curve up into a small smile as you stretch over the vey you were cooking for dinner. You pick up the tiny wooden figure that you had been carving out of wood. You had finished it yesterday evening, as a gift to your mates to tell them about your hopes for the future.
You wanted the discussion to have a slow start, explain your feelings and why you were ready to start a family with the two na’vi who were your everything, but the minute you opened your mouth all that came out was, “I want us to have a baby.” Your eyes flutter closed as you realised that you might have just started this conversation off with the stupidest line ever, Jake’s eyes widen and ‘Tiri’s smile widens so much her canines poke at the sides of her lips.
“Baby, I’m not opposed to starting a family, at all, but may I ask if there is any specific reason that you’ve been thinking about this?” Jake asks, as you lower back down and put the little wooden figure of the ikran you carved down into his hand. “I feel that I want to start our family now. I am ready and I am hoping from the sound of what you are saying that you to…?” You whisper slowly.
“Yawne if a family is what you want then we are ready for it. Aren’t we Ma’Jake?” ‘Tiri says to you both. You giggle nervously and exhale through your mouth as the excitement begins to take over for the planning you will all have to do to prepare for this moment.
You squeal and jump into their arms, “Ohhhh, thank you my loves. I know this is going to be scary but I cannot wait to be the mother of our children. And when ‘Tiri gets pregnant we also need to plan every little thing, no stone will be left unturned for her pregnancy either.” You giggle into her shoulder softly.
“We know this must have been very scary for you to bring up to us yawne, but can I ask why you were so scared?” ‘Tiri questions softly. You huff softly to yourself and take Jakes’ hand gently, “I know Jake has had some apprehension around starting a family, and before you say anything I know it’s not because of us. I just didn’t want to bring up the conversation to…. Abruptly and then you guys might have gotten upset with me.” You say quietly, looking down at Jake’s hand in yours.
Jake pulls you forward by your hand, falling into his lap you gasp, “Jake!”. “Baby, I want you to know that you never, ever, have to feel scared to talk to me about anything. I want this for all of us, and yes, I was scared. No, I am still scared, but I know I have my two wonderful and beautiful mates to tell me everything is going to be alright. I will always come back to you two. Always. No matter what. Don’t forget that.” He says as he looks at the both of you with pure love and adoration in his eyes.
‘Tiri leans her cheek against his shoulder and takes your other hand in hers. “We know Ma’Jake, we know. And we love you for that” She whispers into his shoulder. You all lay together for what feels like forever, whispering sweet nothings and plans for your future into each other’s skin. The air settling into comfortable silence as you guys cuddle while dreaming about your family that is soon grow just a little bigger.
I hope Georges engine spontaneously stops working tomorrow. I hope Lewis and Charles get back what they deserved because this decision to not investigate is absolutely outrageous on all counts.
Content Warnings- Violence, Gore, Torture, Illusions to Suicide, Reader's Mental Health isn't goodAttempted Assault, Character Death. This chapter gets pretty dark, so please take care while reading.
Chapter Summary- The Calf Communion is meant to be a time to celebrate. But this year's communion will be a time for war, and maybe a time for justice.
wc- 13.6k
Previous Chapter
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Time seems to stop when you see the knife in Jake’s hand move to slit Spider’s throat. You collapse to your knees when you see Jake’s figure make a stabbing motion before kneeling down to hold what you can only assume is Spider’s corpse.
How could he?
Spider is like your child. And he just killed him. Didn’t even have the courage to discuss it with you. He obviously discussed it with Neytiri, probably long before this incident. So why didn’t he talk to you, too? Are you not trustworthy?
Who are you kidding? You know you’re not.
You’re a liar.
A cheater.
He knows. He must know. That’s why he couldn’t trust you enough to tell you about this.
You don’t hear anything; you can’t hear anything besides the erratic and labored breaths you’re taking as you clutch onto your spasming heart.
“MaSyulang, get up, please.” You can barely hear Neytiri over the deafening ringing in your ears. You don’t even react as she pulls you over to the surely gruesome sight. “MaJake! MaJake!” Neytiri’s voice is breathless, not from physical exhaustion—no, she’s far too fit for that—but from mental and spiritual anguish.
When you both collapse in front of the pair, you keep your eyes shut. You couldn’t bear to see the corpse of a child you cared for lying in his killer’s arms. You can’t. What will you say to the children? To Lo’ak? To Kiri? Will you lie to them and spare Jake by telling them that the Mangkwan killed him? Or will you tell the truth and have them hate Jake for the rest of their lives?
Suddenly, you feel a hand reach out to your face and use its thumb to wipe away your tears. It’s small. Too small to belong to your mates. Too small to belong to a Na’vi.
Your eyes snap open to see Spider looking right at you, and a weak smile covers his face as Jake holds him protectively. Your body moves before you can even think, and you pull Spider into a protective embrace. You aren’t able to say anything; you just keep holding onto him.
He’s alive!
Neytiri rustles beside you and lifts one of her hands to rest on Spider’s cheek. “I see you.” This gesture is deeply profound, coming from Neytiri. She’s always been distant towards the humans that remained on Pandora; you were her only exception. So seeing her accept the boy you’ve grown to care for over the years warms your heart. Although it quickly cools when you look at your husband.
How could he?
“Whatever happens, it won’t be this way,” Jake says, looking at Neytiri first and then at you.
“Then we will find another way.” Neytiri says resolutely.
Jake pulls Spider and Neytiri into his embrace, but when he tries to do the same to you, you dodge his touch. Instead, opting to glare at him. His ears fall flat, and an uncomfortable expression dawns on his face; he knows he was wrong.
“Baby, I—Look—” Jake tries to speak, but you raise your hand to him with your palm facing him, a typical Na’vi gesture for rejection. You’re furious right now, and you know that if he continues to speak, you will say something you’ll regret, although it’s obvious that he’s never had that concern.
“We should get going. There may be some stray Mangkwan trying to follow us. We’re in no shape to fight.” You say only to Neytiri, completely ignoring Jake. Neytiri nods in agreement, and you stand up alongside Spider and guide him to Sa’ata. You can feel Jake’s eyes burning holes in the back of your head, but you pay him no mind. The only way you’re able to feign sanity is by pretending like he doesn’t exist.
How could he? How could he do this to you? Ever since the RDA came back, he’s consistently put your thoughts and opinions on the back burner. He only consults Neytiri. He treats you like you don’t matter, despite all the sacrifices you’ve made. Unconsciously, one of your hands drifts to your abdomen.
The baby.
It should bring you joy, but you can’t muster that emotion. Every emotion is swirling in your body except happiness. You’re already a terrible mother. Neytiri was ecstatic each and every time she found out she was pregnant, so why can’t you? She had that maternal love instantly, and here you are defective and disgraced. You can’t do anything right.
You’re a failure.
A bad mom.
A bad wife.
A disgrace—No.
You cannot start down that rabbit hole, not again, not now. You’re pregnant, even though it’s early; you’re still very much pregnant. You can’t get stressed. Anxiety and high emotions will only cause problems, and you’ll feel worse if something happens to the baby because of you. Stay calm, you must stay calm. You must push down your emotions. You have to push them, deep, deep down.
“Y/N, are you okay?” Spider’s hesitant question startles you, and you realize that a lone tear is trailing down your eye. You quickly put on a brave face and blink the tear away.
“Yeah, I’m just happy that you’re okay.” It’s the truth, a half-truth, but still the truth.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The flight back to Awa’atlu is tense. Even though he’s right behind you, trying to make conversation, you ignore Jake as if he’s nothing more than an annoying bug buzzing by your ear.
“Mommy!” You hear the cries of your youngest as she runs up to you as you get off Sa’ata. A trail of fat, wet tears flows down her face as she does so. You immediately bend down to her level and scoop her up into a warm embrace. “I-I was so scared, sa’nu. Neteyam told me to stay strong—I tried, I really did, but I was still scared.”
You gently shush her and rub soothing circles across her back. “I’m sorry, ma’ite, I didn’t mean to scare you. You’ve been so brave.”
Your eyes scan over your other children, and your ears fall flat when you realize your youngest son isn’t there. “Lo’ak isn’t back yet?” There’s no point in your question; you already know the answer, especially when they both refuse to look you in the eye.
“Baby, we should meet with Tonowari and Ronal.” You continue to ignore your husband, instead deciding to focus on your kids, much to his displeasure. “Neteyam, take Spider and the girls and go back to the marui.” Being the obedient son he is, Neteyam quickly follows Jake’s order.
“C’mon, baby, we need to discuss what we’re going to do to protect the tulkun.”
You angrily stand up and glare at your husband. “Oh, so now you care to discuss things with me.”
“Don’t be like that, baby. You know I value your input.” Jake tries to reach for your hand, but you slap it away.
“You value my opinion? That’s the funniest shit I’ve heard you say in a while.” You scoff and the former olo’eyktan.
“MaSyulang, we do value—”
You raise your hand up to Neytiri, interrupting her mid-sentence. “I’m mad at you, too, Neytiri, and I’m not in the mood to listen to more lies. I’m going to bathe, and I want you both to leave me alone. I don’t care what you decide to do; it’s not like my opinion ever mattered.” You turn to find a nearby spring to wash off the grime from the previous night, but you feel a hand tightly grip your wrist.
“Baby, just come with us. You should be there.” You hate how sincere he’s sounding. You hate yourself even more for letting your heart soften just a little.
You shake him off. “Toruk Makto knows best.” You know it’s a low blow. You know how Jake feels about being Toruk Makto. You know the guilt and pain he carries because of that title. You know you shouldn’t have said that, but a part of you doesn’t care. You want to cause him to feel just a fraction of the pain he’s caused you.
Just ahead of you, you see the hulking form of the Olo’eyktan and his heavily pregnant wife quickly making their way to you. “Jakesully, I thought the demon ships carried you away. How did you return?” Tonowari asks.
“There’s no time for that. Brother, it pains my heart to say this, but there is going to be a massacre. The Sky People are coming to hunt the tulkun, all of them, during the calf communion.”
You see panic flicker in Ronal and Tonowari’s faces, but that’s quickly replaced with determination. “The pink skins bring nothing but death and destruction, but even this is a new low.” Ronal’s teeth grind against themselves as she seethes with rage. “To needlessly and excessively hunt during such a sacred time, I do not have the words to describe the depravity of the demons.”
Although Tonowari appears much more composed compared to Ronal, you don’t miss the slight tremors in his hand as he grips his staff. “How do we stop them, Jakesully?”
“Isn’t it obvious. Jake flies Toruk, and we gather the clans once more. Toruk Makto appears during times of Great Sorrow. This is a time of Great Sorrow.” You state bluntly.
At this point, it doesn’t matter if Jake doesn’t want to fly Toruk again or not; he must do it regardless. Jake grimaces at your statement while Tonowari nods in agreement.
“She is right. You must fly Great Toruk once more.” The olo’eyktan reaches out to firmly grasp Jake’s shoulder. “Where is Toruk, Jakesully?”
“I don’t know, but I have to find him quickly.”
“Connect to the Spirit Tree, Jake. The Great Mother will show you the way.” Neytiri says, resting her hand on Jake’s other shoulder. Your husband nods in agreement, and the trio goes off to the Spirit Tree, but not before Neytiri realizes that you’re not following. “Are you not coming, maSyulang?”
“Just go. Don’t worry about me.” Your tone comes off harsher than you intended; even Ronal is surprised as she raises a hairless brow. Neytiri looks a little hurt but decides not to push it and continues to the Spirit Tree.
Ronal continues to look at you with suspicion, like she can tell that something is wrong, but chooses not to say anything at the moment.
“Tsahìk, can you examine me?”
“What is the problem?”
You look around; there are too many people around, and you fear that you’re still within earshot of your mates even though they’re barely within eyesight.
“I would prefer to discuss this in private… please.” Ronal continues to look at you with suspicion but leads you to the healing marui nevertheless. When you reach the marui, Ronal gestures for you to sit on the woven mat.
“What is wrong with you?” Ronal asks bluntly. “What is so wrong with you that you want to be in private, away from your mates?”
You look around the mauri nervously, subconsciously biting your lip. Why is it so hard to say it now? Is it the fear of this feeling like reality? Who knows. But you have to get over it.
“Can you see if I’m pregnant?”
Ronal looks at you, surprised. “You've yet to be in this body for even a full cycle; what makes you think you’re with child?”
“I was told…last night.” You don’t have the courage to look at Ronal after your confession comes out meekly.
“I see…” Ronal trails off, unsure as to what to say exactly. “Well, I cannot verify if what the demons said is true. I’ve had plenty of overzealous couples come to me right after mating, asking about a pregnancy to know that it’d be too early to tell; only Eywa knows.”
You should’ve known better. Of course, it’d be too early to tell without the advanced scans and tests the RDA has. You already know the truth. So why does it matter whether Ronal confirms it or not?
Ronal picks up on your mood rather quickly. Although it’s not like your body language and face show anything besides worry and fear.
“Most mothers are excited when they find out they’re pregnant. You are not.” It’s not a question; it’s a statement.
“I’m just confused. I came to terms with never being pregnant since humans and Na’vi can’t have biological children together. I was okay with that. I have children whom I love more than anything in the world; it never mattered to me that they didn’t come from my womb.
“But now, after one morning, I’m pregnant. This is the worst time this could’ve happened. I’ve nearly died twice in less than a month, we’re on the brink of war with not only the RDA but a Na’vi clan as well, and worst of all, Jake's and my relationship has never been worse. I should be happy, but I’m not.”
Even though you’re not looking at her, you can feel Ronal’s eyes focusing on you; it’s making you feel a little exposed, and your tail curls around you as you try to close your body off. It’s like she’s looking right through you, all your fears and insecurities. It’s like she’s seeing you.
“I take it that your mates don’t know about this- the pregnancy or your fears?”
Your eyes widen in panic at the mention of your mates. “Please do tell them!” You blurt out.
“This isn’t something you should keep from your mates. They have a right to know.” Ronal’s tone is reminiscent of a mother scolding a petulant child.
“I will, just not right now.”
“I don’t think you understand how import—”
“It is you who doesn’t understand!” You take a moment to collect yourself. “Now is not the time to tell them. Besides the fact that we’re going to war, we agreed that Tuk would be our last kid.
“Not to mention that it’s still so early that anything could happen. Where I came from, women were miscarrying left and right to the point where the government had to step in so it didn’t lose too many workers.
“I could miscarry at any moment, and I couldn’t live with myself if they got happy about this pregnancy only for me to lose it. So please, let me wait for the right moment to tell them.”
The tsahìk looks like she wants to tell you off more but decides against it. “Is there anything else you need from me?”
You think about it. You’ll need some plants for when you ultimately see him again. You know your way around toxic and poisonous plants from your time with Mo’at, but that was the forest, and now you’re on an island. Who other than the tsahìk would know the local flora and all its possible uses?
“No.” Ultimately, you decide against asking her. She’s already suspicious of you, and there’s no way she won’t question you for wanting to get hold of poisonous plants. You can’t risk her telling Jake or Neytiri and having your plans fall apart. You doubt if they’d understand and support you in this endeavor.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
When Jake found out about Toruk’s location, it was all hands on deck. Everyone who could join did. Jake even managed to get in contact with some of the other Avatars at High Camp and ask them to meet at the rendezvous point with the Omatikaya warriors. All the children joined as well, much to Jake’s disapproval. All the children except one, Lo’ak.
As Jake climbs up the mountain, you can’t help but let your mind drift to your youngest son. Is he okay? Has he eaten? Did the other children find him? You want nothing more at the moment than to hug your son. You’ll hug him so tight that he’ll whine about being squished, and then you’ll scold him like never before because how could he worry you like that? Especially after Kiri told you about his attempt. You just want your son back.
The loud squack of Toruk breaks you out of your daydream. He truly lives up to his name—“Last Shadow”— as he glides down, blocking the sun so that the only thing you see is his shadow.
The Na’vi around you look up with astonished gazes plastered all over their faces, but you can’t blame them. Toruk Makto is one of the most important figures for the Na’vi; so to not only live during the time of Toruk Makto but to see him in action must be something so utterly profound for them.
You feel a small hand wrap around yours; you know it’s Tuk, and you just know that she’s grinning ear to ear to see her father ride the Great Toruk. “It’s Daddy!”
The debris that Toruk kicks up as he lands causes a few of the Na’vi to shield their eyes, but Neytiri simply closes her eyes and takes in the moment. She’s always loved Jake being Toruk Makto.
You feel the grip on your hand tighten once Toruk finally lands and lets out his last roar. Even though her father is riding this majestic creature, Tuk is still a child, and it’s only natural for her to be frightened by seeing a predator this large up close. To soothe your baby, you pick her up without even being asked, and hold her close. You know she’s in no danger, but calming her down hurts nobody.
“Toruk Makto!” Tonowari shouts before he kneels as a sign of respect. The other Na’vi quickly follow suit.
Jake gets uncomfortable with the gesture real quick. “Please stand up.”
Jake, Neytiri, Tonowari, Ronal, and Tarsem form a little circle while you stay away with the children. The pain of so easily being left out has dulled. You’ve always been the unimportant one.
“Go now to the clans within a day’s ride and tell them Toruk Makto calls to them.” Even from a distance, you can see and hear when Jake has to force himself to say those last five words. It’s obvious that his mind has drifted back to the battle that happened almost two decades ago. You know the guilt and sorrow he carries from being Toruk Makto. “And you tell them, the day has come.”
Without delay, the Na’vi split themselves into groups to find as many neighboring clans as they could. From the forest to the sea, all clans would be asked to join the battle. Everyone else has already left, and all that’s left is your little family of 7.
“Neytiri, Jake, you both should take the children to High Camp; the ikran have flown with too much weight on them for too long, so I’ll make my way back on my own.”
Neytiri scrunches her hairless brows in confusion at your suggestion. “No, it’s too dangerous, tìyawn.”
“We’re going to war tomorrow; it’s already dangerous!” You counter.
“Us going to war is exactly why you shouldn’t be wandering around the forest alone.” Jake’s comment causes you to roll your eyes.
“I’m not some helpless child. I know how to navigate the forest. I’ve done it for over a decade; I can do it again.” Neytiri tries to grab your hand as you speak, but you avoid her touch. The action clearly hurts her, so you have to harden your heart to pay her no mind.
“Baby, you’re our wife; we can’t just let you put yourself in unnecessary danger.”
You glare at Jake, and you feel your fingernails dig into your palms. You want to yell at him, and you almost do, but then you remember that your children are sitting on rocks not too far from you. You won’t cause a scene, not in front of them.
“You are lucky the children are here, or else I’d tear you a new one.” You hiss at your husband. In the end, you end up on Sa’ata with Neytiri, Tuk, and Neteyam.
“Ma’itan, how is your wound?” You ask Neteyam after gazing at his bandaged skin for a while. Mo’at will definitely be able to treat him better once you reach High Camp.
“It’s still itchy, but not as much as before.” Your eldest answers honestly.
“I’m sure your grandmother will be able to make something to help you.”
For the duration of the short flight, you make small talk with your children. You avoid talking to Neytiri. You hope the kids don’t notice the tension in your marriage, but your children are sometimes too smart for their own good, so it’s likely that they’ve picked up on the tension. But thankfully, neither one of them asks about it, and you make it to High Camp with no problems.
“Grandmother!” You hear the excited little voice of Tuk as she immediately runs to her grandmother the second you help her off of Sa’ata. The other children follow suit.
“You both should hurry to the other clans. There isn’t much time.” You say flatly, avoiding eye contact. “Fly safe.” Even if you’re upset with them, you still wish them well, but you don’t give them time to respond before walking off to Mo’at and the children.
When you make your way to your mother-in-law, you greet her with the traditional ‘I see you’ gesture. “Ma’itetsyìp, how are you?” The tsahìk asks with a warm smile on her face.
“I’m well, Mo’at.” It’s the most generic answer you can muster up. Sometimes you would confine in Mo’at, but now is not the time. Mo’at knows you and can tell that you’re not being honest, but she doesn’t push it.
“Where is Lo’ak?” Mo’at asks, causing the other children to stiffen and nervously look around at the mention of their brother.
“We don’t know; he ran away a few days ago.” You answer honestly. “Some Metkayina children went after him, but we don’t know where they are either.
Mo’at takes a moment to take in the information. “He will be alright. He is a strong and stubborn child. Eywa will watch over him.” Mo’at’s words seem to comfort the children.
“Matsahìk, can you watch the children? I have to do something.”
“I’ll gladly watch my grandchildren; I’ve missed them so much.”
“Sa’nu, where are you going?” Tuk asks.
Before you could answer your daughter, you hear a loud squack before you feel yourself being knocked to the ground, only to see magenta scales with orange and yellow accents. “Srenton’ong!” You shout in glee at seeing your bonded after being apart for weeks. “I’ve missed you too! Lemme see your wing.”
When you stand up, you begin to examine Srenton’ong’s wing. There’s only a faint scar from where he was shot. Tears start to form in your eyes when you can see that your bonded is okay.
“Sa’nu?”
You were so caught up with Srenton’ong that you nearly forgot to answer Tuk’s question. “I need to find something, ma’ite.”
“Can I come?”
“I’m sorry, Tuk. But you need to stay here.” Tuk pouts a little but immediately perks up when Kiri asks her to help rebraid her hair.
It doesn’t take long for you to pack a small bag full of equipment from the lab, ready to begin your plan for revenge.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Your time learning about Pandoran plants has finally come to bare fruit. You know exactly what you’re looking for; txumtsä'wll, the baja tickler.
It’s as dangerous as it is vital for life on Pandora, and that danger is exactly why you need it.
The typical neurotoxins in Na’vi arrows aren’t going to be enough to sedate another Na’vi. Even if it could, the Na’vi wouldn’t create something to cause pain and distress to another.
“Sreton’ong, down there I see it!” You say, pointing down to a familiar clearing near a river.
Sreton’ong lands effortlessly, and once he does, you unlatch your pouch from his saddle. “Stay here; no matter what happens, do not get close to me.”
Your ikran lets out a dissatisfied grumble and side-eyes you with both sets of eyes. “Don’t give me that look.” You rub the top of his head to soothe him. “If something goes wrong, I need you to stay safe so you can get help.”
He chirps once again, still not completely okay with the plan. “Besides, I don’t know what I would do if something bad happens to you.”
After appeasing your bonded, you cover your face with a mask and cautiously make your way to the poisonous plant.
The plant is simple: extract the toxic liquid inside the plant and dip an arrow tip in it.
The only problem is that the plant could spew toxic gases at any moment, and if it doesn’t release gas, your extraction process could change the pressure inside the plant so much that the entire plant explodes. Needless to say, both options are less than ideal.
Nevertheless, you cautiously make your way to the large plant. Over the years, you’ve learned the basics of plant sampling and all the skills that come along with it. However, you’re not a xenobiologist by trade; you’re an anthropologist and a linguist. This is more Norm and Grace’s frontier, so your methods are less than perfect, but hopefully it’ll suffice.
You meet a bit of resistance when you attempt to stick the needle into the tough skin of the Baja Tickler. Sreton’ong makes sure to let out an audible grunt as if to say that this is a bad idea and that you should stop while you’re ahead.
You ignore the little nagging feeling in your gut and continue to insert the needle into the plant, this time with a little more force than you intended.
It’s faint, but you can hear a whistle sound come from where your needle was inserted. It’s like when you slowly release the air out of a balloon. All you can do is pray to the All Mother that you will remain safe in this endeavor.
It seems as though your prayers were answered, as you can see tiny drops forming through the tube that’s connected to the needle.
Drip by minuscule drip flows through the tube into your jar. It’s a painstakingly slow process. Even after nearly ten minutes, you’ve barely collected even a milliliter of liquid. Although you don’t need much, you still need enough liquid to dip one arrow. Since this is going to take a while, you decide to multitask.
Your hunting knife was confiscated by the RDA when you were captured, so you’ll need to make a new one before the calf communion. Normally, you’d take great pride and care in crafting your hunting knife, but there is no pride to be had in this knife’s creation.
There will be no artistry, no care; all that matters is that you have something sturdy enough and that it causes that creature pain.
That will be its only purpose.
You scour the nearby riverbank for potential materials. Rocks, crystals, wood, just about anything could work. After some time, you find the perfect material. Well, more like you nearly tripped over it. A viperwolf tooth.
Sharp and sturdy, it’ll be the perfect thing to make your knife out of. After another brief period of gathering some wood, vines, and a rock, you make your way back to the Baja tickler to monitor the liquid flow as you work.
Using the knife, you begin chipping away at the tooth. Over and over, you smash the rock onto the tooth, creating jagged serrated edges. It’s not pretty, but you manage to shape the blade so that it’ll easily pierce into the flesh but will tear at the flesh coming out due to the way you carved the edges. When you finish securing the blade to the wood with the vines, you gently remove the needle from the baja tickler once you’ve collected enough liquid.
After getting far from the Baja tickler in case of a retroactive explosion, you take an arrow from Sreton’ong’s saddle and carefully dip the arrowhead into the toxic liquid.
The setup for your revenge is now complete.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Awa’atlu is buzzing with life now that several clans, both forest and ocean, are here prepared for war. Many new faces have joined alongside many old. Around midday is when every warrior has gathered around the cove to listen to the game plan.
“Alone we are weak, but together we are strong.” Jake begins, walking in front of the crowd to make sure everyone can get a glimpse of him. “One arrow will snap. But many arrows together cannot be broken. We cannot be broken!” Jake yells, throwing a bundle of arrows into the air. The crowd follows suit. Ululating, cheering, and brandishing their own weapons in the air.
“Some of you have fought the Sky People before; some of you haven’t. The Sky People are a threat that can be dealt with. You do not need to fear the metal birds they fly. Cautious, yes; afraid, no.”
At the mention of the Sampsons and Scorpions of the RDA, many of the Na’avi shiver.
“The wings are the weak spot. A well-placed shot or even a boulder will take the creature down.”
“And what of their metal fish, Toruk Makto?” The Ta’unui Olo’eyktan asks.
“The ones above the water are easy to deal with; there is minimal protection for the Sky People. It’ll be easy to land a hit. Aim for the whirling tail of the metal fish.”
Jake goes on and on about how to fight the Sky People. They’re the easy target, but they’re not going to be the main enemy.
“I’m going to be honest, the biggest challenge we face is not the Sky People, but rather other Na’vi.” A chorus of gasps echoes from the crowd. “The Mangkwan are probably the most experienced fighters on Pandora because of their constant raids. Any advantage we have against the RDA does not exist against the Ash. This will be the fight of our lives.”
The Mangwan are definitely a major threat. There’s no guarantee that they’ll show up, but the little that you know about General Ardmore leads you to believe that she would not be keen on allying with hostiles. While Ardmore would be against it, what’s stopping Quaritch from disobeying orders and bringing the Mangkwan?
Quaritch seems to be going rogue, and he appears to know the bloodthirsty tshahìk intimately, so the chance that the Mangkwan don’t show up is practically zero. As bad as it sounds, you need the Mangkwan to show up. Where the Ash are means Quaritch is nearby, and if Quaritch is nearby, so is Wainfleet.
That thought consumes your mind for the remainder of the day. Even through what may be your final communion with Eywa, even through the war festival, your mind stays focused on your plan.
What you’ll do when you see him. How you’ll make him suffer. Nothing else plagues your mind. Sleep even evades you as night comes.
The entire night you’re in a weird limbo between sleep and awake. Perhaps it’s the anxiety of what you’re going to do today that is preventing you from fully sleeping. Because you’re not fully asleep, you easily feel your husband’s hand placed on your shoulder, gently trying to wake you.
“What do you want, Jake?” You ask groggily.
“Tonowari has reached out to the elder Tulkun; we’re about to leave to ask them to help us in the fight. You should come.”
You scoff at him, eyes still closed. “You’re only asking me to come because I called you out on always excluding me. You’re only asking me so things can go back to normal.”
“Baby, I am sorry. I’m trying to make things right by doing the things I should’ve always done.” He uses his hands to gently tilt your head towards him, and you finally look at him. “Please let me do right by you.” Your heart softens at his sincerity. Anything can happen today, and despite all the hurt you feel, you can’t bring yourself to stay this mad at them when there’s a real possibility that you won’t see them in this life again.
“Okay.” Is all you say as you carefully move your arm from underneath Neteyam’s head.
Outside the marui, Neytiri, Tonowari, and Ronal are already waiting in the water on their mounts. Ronal and Neytiri are even on the same tsurak since they’re faster than ilu’s, and Neytiri doesn’t know how to ride one yet.
“You have yet to learn the way of water, so you should ride with Jakesully. There are some txampayse nearby for you to use.” Even though Tonowari speaks like it’s a suggestion, you know it’s not, so you get on Jake’s tsurak after he’s called it.
As your small group travels the short distance to the meeting point with the tulkun elders, you begin to feel your heart start racing. Normally, the beautiful scenery of the warm dappled light of the early morning sun dancing beneath the waves would calm you down. But today’s not a normal day. In just a few short hours, you will end a nightmare that has been plaguing you for far too long. It’s not long before you reach the meeting area. As Jake helps you onto the small rock, you can see the shadows of the tulkun elders beneath the waves.
You know the tulkun get big, but seeing how the great expanse of just their heads dwarfs you never fails to mesmerize you. If you were still in your human form, you’re sure you’d be no more significant than plankton to them. You can clearly tell which one is the Matriarch. She’s by far the largest and has the most ornate piercings and tattoos compared to the others. You all take a respectful kneel in front of the matriarch.
“Great Matriarch, wise elders, the Sky People are coming.” Jake begins with Tonowari acting as a translator. “Here, today. Right now. To kill our tulkun families. I beg you, fight with us.”
You’re unable to read the matriarch's expression upon hearing Jake’s request, and you’re definitely unable to understand her response, but thankfully you have Tonowari.
“She says, We respect Toruk Makto, but our ways are ancient.” The Matriarch speaks once more; the echoes of her words send ripples throughout the open ocean. “We believe that killing will only bring more killing, in an endless expanding spiral.”
Unsurprised, yet disappointed with the response, Jake rises to continue speaking. “Hear my words. The Sky People will never stop. Not until the last of the tulkun is hunted.”
After Jake’s words, all of the elders begin to whistle and smack their fins in rapid suggestion. Initially, you think that Jake’s words have upset them, but then you see it. To your left, you see a small group of tulkun juveniles entering the council with na’vi riding them.
“Lo’ak.”
You breathe out in relief at the sight of your son. Sure, his once blue skin is a burnt shade of purple, but he’s standing with all limbs intact as Payakan guides him in front of the Matriarch. It takes all of your strength not to run over to him and suffocate him in a hug.
“Lo’ak, what’re you doing? You can’t be here.” Jake scolds Lo’ak and walks up towards him, but you hold him back.
“I am Brother of Tulkun. I have the right to speak.”
“Lo’ak speaks the truth. You must listen.” Tsireya backs him up, doing sign language as well.
The Matriarch speaks once more, catching everyone’s attention. “She says, his brother is outcast. You have no standing here.” Tonowari makes sure to look Lo’ak in the eye as he translates the last part.
“If he is outcast, then I am outcast.”
“And I am outcast.”
“Daughter, silence.” Ronal tries to scold her daughter, but all that earns her is a glare from said child.
“No! You will never see me again!” Tsireya’s words are like a knife to Ronal’s heart. She’s left speechless with wide eyes and sadness plastered on her face.
“And I and my brother are outcast.”
“Aonung!” You can practically see an aneurysm forming in Tonowari’s brain.
“And we are also outcast.”
There is a brief pregnant pause. Everyone is staring at each other, saying nothing. The tension is so thick, it could be cut with a knife. That is, until the Matriarch speaks once more. “She says, you may speak.”
“Hear my words. My brother went back to his birth clan to defend them. But they were wiped out by the demon ships. Only Ta’nok survived because she fought back. Come forward.” Lo’ak gestures to a figure behind you, and it’s not long before you see who it is.
The scene in front of you is horrible. Words can hardly describe. A tulkun, no bigger than Payakan, is covered in scars, and her body is littered with metal harpoons that are embedded deep within her skin. There’s even one where her eyes would be. Several chunks of flesh are missing from her sides, her crest, and her fins. To say she was mutilated is an understatement. Only a monster could harm an innocent creature in this manner. Even a palulukan shows more mercy. The sight causes your knees to go weak; you would’ve fallen if it weren't for Jake holding you up. If you’re feeling this much pain, you can only imagine how Ronal and Tonowari feel, as they have a profound respect for and connection with the tulkun.
“Ta’nok says, I speak for the dead mothers and the dead calves. I speak for my people and all our songs. Gone. Forever.” As Tonowari translates, tears begin to brim in his eyes, and he sniffles, holding back the pain.
“She says, I am the last, the blind witness to our end.” You wipe away your own tears looking at Ta’nok. How could anyone be so cruel? You look over at your husband with red-rimmed eyes; he looks as stoic as ever, but you know that it’s just a front; he’s feeling as much pain as you are right now.
“Ta’nok says, The Tulkun Way must change. Payakan shows our path. We must fight.”
“We must fight!” Lo’ak yells, echoing Ta’nok’s words.
The Matriarch says very little before she and the other elders return to the water.
“What did she say?” Jake asks.
“They will decide.” Ronal replies
You can only hope that they will change their ways and fight alongside you.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“Lo’ak, you call out to your son when you finally arrive back at Awa’atlu. He tried to run off the moment you all reached the village, but there’s no way you’d let that slide.
With his tail tucked between his legs and his ears pinned to his head, he makes his way to you all.
“What the hell were you thinking, boy, running off into the middle of the ocean without a word?” Jake scolded as soon as your son was in earshot.
“Lo’ak, you had us so worried.” Neytiri adds.
The boy avoids looking you in the eyes as he speaks. “I had to; none of you would’ve understood.” His tail whips around behind him in agitation. “Payakan was unfairly ostracized. None of you understand what it’s like to be alone, to have no one; I had to go to him. You would’ve stopped me.”
Jake opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it. “Lo’ak, come with me.” Your voice is soft yet stern, and it’s what makes your son finally look at you.
You gesture for your son to follow you. “I will handle this, trust me.” You say to your mates.
The walk is spent in silence as you gather your thoughts, and Lo’ak doesn’t know what to say. Once you reach a secluded area on the island, you turn to face your uncharacteristically quiet son.
There’s a moment of silence before you pull him into a crushing hug. The tears you’ve been holding in.
“You scared me half to death, Lo’ak.” You hold his head closer to you. “I was so worried about you.”
With shaky hands, your son reaches out to hug you back. “I’m sorry, Mom.” He confesses.
You nuzzle your cheek against his head, inhaling his scent. “I feared the worst, but I prayed that it wouldn’t happen.” Fearing to jinx it, you don’t bother explicitly saying what you thought. You both know what you’re referring to anyway.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but I had to go. Payakan needed me.”
You pull away from your son to look him in the eyes. Your hands are resting protectively on his shoulders. “I’m not upset at you for going to Payakan. I’m upset because you left without a word.”
“I was scared Dad was gonna stop me if he knew.”
Your eyes soften at his confession. “Sit with me for a moment. You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to, but I need you to listen.”
You both sit side by side on the pale yellow sand. Lo’ak curls his tail around his legs as he pulls them up to his chest.
“I know you and your father don’t always see eye to eye, but everything he does is out of love; you know that, right?”
His silence stings your heart. You never want your kids to think that any of their parents doesn’t love them.
You pull your son into a side hug, letting him rest his head on your shoulder as you both look at the ocean.
“Your father loves us dearly; that includes you too. He’s just terrible at showing it sometimes.
“Now don’t take this as me justifying his behavior, but I hope to at least explain it. A lot of his decisions are made out of fear. Fear of harm coming to us. Fear of losing us.
“In his head, it’s better for us to be mad at him because that means we’re okay and safe.” You blink back tears as you think back to the pain you felt when Jake made the unilateral decision to leave you behind all those months ago. “He’s lost a lot in life and feels a lot of guilt. If something happens to any of us, he’d never forgive himself.”
Lo’ak pouts and furrows his brows in the same manner you’ve seen your husband do when he’s frustrated. “But that doesn’t explain why he treats me like shit.”
You choose to ignore his cursing. “I’ve told you that you are like your father, haven’t I?” Lo’ak nods. “Well, he sees it too. Just in a different light.
“Instead of seeing his caring, playful, and protective side in you, he sees a version of himself that he hates in you. He sees an impulsive and reckless man who started a war and got people killed.
“He’s afraid that you’ll turn out like him. He doesn’t want you to carry the burden of countless lives dying from your actions as he does. He doesn’t want you to make the same mistakes as him.”
Lo’ak lowers his legs as he takes in your words. “He acts as if he hates me sometimes.”
You pull your son in closer to your embrace. “He doesn’t hate you; he’s just scared and shit at properly expressing his emotions.”
For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, listening to the gentle crash of the waves.
“I know you feel alone sometimes, like you don’t belong. I’ve felt that way for most of my life, especially while on Earth.”
Lo’ak’s eyes widen at your words. Normally, you’d avoid talking about your time on Earth. You’d give vague answers or only mention the training for the Avatar Program. So, for you to volunteer this information was shocking.
“I was all alone. I had no parents, siblings, or cousins. Not even a single friend. I could’ve died, and no one would’ve noticed, let alone mourned for me.
“There was a time when I felt so alone that I thought about giving up on life; having a friend during that time would’ve meant the world to me.”
You lower your head just enough to look at your son. “If you told me that you wanted to go to Payakan, I wouldn’t have stopped you. I know how important it’s to have someone by your side. I’d fight with your father if I had to.”
You press a kiss on his forehead. “So next time you’re feeling like this, come talk to me. I’m your mother, and I’ll always be there for you.”
Lo’ak doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans into your entrance, nuzzling his body against yours.
He won’t admit it, but you can hear the faint sound of sniffles coming from him when he smooshes his face against your shoulder.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
As the hours tick by, you can feel that the RDA is close by. Theoretically, you’re ready. You have plenty of arrows, including your poisoned ones, your bow has been tightened, and your knife sharpened. By all means, you’re as physically prepared as you can be.
“My Love, can you come here please?” You turn around to see Jake and Neytiri nearby with bowls of paint in their hands.
“Baby, I know that things have been strained between us, and we’ve done some things that we regret.” Jake speaks to you softly as soon as you arrive. “I hate that there’s not enough time for us to fix it, but I don’t want us to go into battle with you thinking that we don’t love and respect you.”
Neytiri uses her free hand to intertwine it with one of yours; you don’t avoid her touch. “MaSyulsng, I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.”
You start to feel tears forming in your eyes. Your emotions are confusing and contradictory. Despite everything, you still love them.
“I know you both love me. I’m only upset because I love you and you love me. If I didn’t love you both, I wouldn’t care.”
Jake reaches over to wipe away some of the tears that fell from your eyes. “I promise that if I survive this, I’ll do everything I can to fix my wrongs.”
You grab onto the hand on your face, nuzzling your cheek into his palm, looking at your husband with teary eyes. “Don’t talk like that, Jake; we’ll get through this. We always do.”
After that, your lovers begin decorating your body with paint. White, yellow, and teal patterns fill your lithe blue body. Due to wearing one of Neytiri’s tops that covers your chest and neck but not your back, the two of them spend most of their efforts on your face, back, and arms. The three of you remain in silence for the duration of the painting. So much needs to be said, so much wants to be said, yet nothing is said.
When they’re done, you cover your hand in the remaining teal paint and overlap your handprint with Jake’s on Neytiri’s chest. You’ve done this many times, yet you take a moment just to stare at it. Normally, your handprint would be significantly smaller than Jake’s; it would look as if a child had placed their hand on Neytiri. But now your handprint isn’t much smaller than Jake’s, and it takes up much more space over her heart.
“May Eywa guide us to safety and victory.” You say a small prayer for comfort. “We should find the children; it is almost time.”
There aren’t many places inside the little cave for the children to be, so it doesn’t take long for you to find them. As soon as Tuk sees you, she runs up to you with her arms open, hoping you’ll pick her up, which you do.
“I’m scared, mama.”
Her tiny, shaky voice makes part of your heart crack. She should have to experience this. No child should have to go through what she has.
“I know maTuktirey. I know. It’s okay to be a little scared.” You press a kiss to the top of her head as she begins to smush her face into the crook of your neck and cling onto you like a baby syaksyuk. “It’s okay to be scared, but we have to be brave. Remember, strong heart, no fear.”
Still holding Tuk, you look at your eldest daughter. “Kiri, come.” You shift Tuk so that she’s resting in one hand so you can use your other hand to wave her over. “You too, Spider.”
As much as you’d hate to admit it, this could be your last hug with your kids, so you want to soak in the moment for as long as you can. That thought makes you want to cry, but you hold it in. Your children are being strong and hiding how terrified they are, so you have to muster the strength to show that you’re okay.
“Do not leave this cave unless you absolutely have to, and if you do take an ilu and get as far away from here as fast as you can, please. My heart won’t make it if something happens to you guys. I love you all so much.” You kiss each of their foreheads once before you reluctantly put Tuk down to go to your sons, who are standing in front of your mates. As you’re walking up, you see Jake hand Lo’ak a gun. Like his father, Lo’ak was more skilled with guns, while Neteyam preferred a bow like Neytiri.
“I’m riding with you?” Lo’ak’s eyes light up just a little.
Jake shakes his head and shuts down that thought quickly. “No, I need you here. I can’t do this without knowing you kids are safe.” Just as quickly as excitement had covered his face, so fast did disappointment paint it. “You both need to keep your posts no matter what.”
“Lima Charlie, sir.” Your boys say in unison.
Before walking off, Jake removes his spare magazine to hand it to Lo’ak. Although he’s rough around the edges and can be a hardass at times, it’s little moments like this where Jake shows his care.
“If we do not return, you take Spider and the girls, and you go as far and as fast as you can.” Neytiri says before rushing off, knowing that the RDA is near.
You reach out to cup both of your son’s cheeks and caress them gently with your thumbs before leaning down to press a kiss onto their foreheads as well. “Stay safe and stay together. I love you both with all my heart.”
Once again, you have to leave your children. Knowing that you’re doing this for your children doesn’t make the task any easier. One wrong move could leave your babies without one of their mothers, or worse, harm could befall them. This is for them, and if you have to sacrifice yourself for them to experience peace and safety, then you’ll have to.
Srenton’ong waits for you on the pathway. As soon as you make tsaheylu with him, he squacks and flies up to the ambush point in the surrounding floating islands.
Srenton’ong finds a spot to perch on nearby Jake and Neytiri. Looking around you, there are probably hundreds of Na’vi warriors hidden in the rocks with you, and that’s not counting the ones in the water. You pray to Eywa that the souls who will return to her die quickly.
You can feel your heart rate accelerating each minute as you hear the loud, metallic sounds of the RDA convoy draw closer and closer.
“Hold.” Jake commands.
Beneath you, you can already see the RDA entering the water to engage in a massacre. Soon, you see a sight that both delights and saddens you. Large tulkun elders launch themselves from the water to slam their heavy bodies onto the RDA ships. It’s great to have more allies in a fight. But it saddens you that these peaceful creatures had to abandon their ancient vow of pacifism to save themselves from extinction because of humanity’s greed.
“NOW!”
Chaos ensues as hundreds of Na’vi warriors ambush the RDA from the skies and sea. Even though Toruk is the only one able to throw the aircraft around, the other warriors are still able to attack the ships. Explosions and screams—from friend and foe—fill the cove.
You show no mercy to the RDA personnel. You might be a subpar warrior, especially after not being in active combat for over a decade; you’re still in your Avatar body. You have the size, strength, and durability of the Na’vi. Your arrows are still able to pierce the hearts of the pilots in the cockpit even if you’re not as skilled as Jake or Neytiri. The humans are not the primary threat, and you know it’s only a matter of time before the real threat shows up.
“Jake, Mangkwan!” Neytiri shouts through her comms.
Just past the mountain peak that hugs the setting sun perfectly, you can see several trails of smoke flying towards you and the distant yips of your biggest foe.
The Mangkwan have the same size, strength, and durability as any other Na’vi. They have the same agility on their ikrans. But worst of all, they are probably the most experienced clan when it comes to combat due to all their raids, and now they’re likely all equipped with firearms and explosives.
While the RDA will kill you just to get you out of the way, the Mangkwan take pleasure in causing their victims the most amount of pain. From their weapons designed to cause as much pain as possible to their suicidal battle tactics, the Mangkwan live to cause pain and suffering to those around them.
As soon as the Ash arrive, bodies start dropping out of the sky from the onslaught of bombs being shot. The sound of gunfire comes from every direction, and it is almost impossible to tell where exactly it’s coming from. Dodging the bullets and bombs takes all of your focus. Because you weren’t able to train Sreton’ong for this type of combat—like Neytiri did with Sa’ata—you can feel him beginning to panic a little through the bond. You’re beginning to panic a little too; you’ve killed so many, and now you’re out of normal arrows. But you have to stay strong. Strong for the moment when you’ll get justice.
“It’s okay, maSreton’ong, everything will be—Ack!” You feel Sreton’ong suddenly twist in a different direction while you scream out in pain as you feel a familiar, burning pain. Despite the all-consuming pain wracking through your body, you quickly realize that it’s not coming from you; it’s coming from the bond, which can only mean one thing.
“Sreton’ong! No!”
Sreton’ong has been shot. He’s been shot several times right near his lungs. The pain is too much for him to stay airborne, so the both of you are taking a sharp nose dive towards the wet rocks below you.
Despite all the pain you’re experiencing, you’re not worried about it. Your pain isn’t as significant as your bonded’s. Your only concern is trying to help Sreton’ong slow down so he doesn’t hurt himself further by crashing face-first into rock. But your attempts are futile. He’s losing so much blood and doesn’t have the strength to even attempt to level himself out. Each second, you’re getting closer and closer to the ground, and you’re running out of ideas. Eventually, you accept that you’re going to hit the ground with your ikran.
That is, until you feel a sudden sense of relief and the wind blowing in a different direction. You’re no longer in pain. You’re no longer in pain! Just before you crash into the water, you see Sreton’ong falling to the rock you were originally supposed to be on. He broke the bond and threw you into the water!
The sounds of the carnage occurring above come to a sudden silence once you’re submerged in the dark, cold water. Sreton’ong, you have to get back to Sreton’ong.
The war going on around you becomes nothing more than background noise. The bitter cold water piercing through your skin doesn’t faze you. All that’s in your mind is your ikran.
Your mind has to be playing tricks on you. Sreton’ong wasn’t shot. He’s okay. Right? Eywa loves her children. Eywa will provide. Eywa will help. She has to.
You can’t reach the rock quick enough. The sight before you will haunt you for the rest of your life. A trail of fresh blood leads your eyes towards your bonded lying in a pool of his own blood; the infrequent heaves let you know that he’s still alive.
“MaSreton’ong!” You scream out, tears flooding down your face.
When you kneel down and rest his head on your lap, there’s no doubt about it; he was shot. Several bullet wounds litter his chest; one even hits his operculum, but due to the angle at which he was hit, it wasn’t enough to mercifully kill him; rather, it’s making him suffer unnecessarily.
Sreton’ong’s eyes are looking weakly at you. It’s like he’s trying to fight off the eternal sleep. You reach behind you to grab your kuru and connect it with Sreton’ong’s. “Let me share the pain with you.”
The moment your kurus are connected, the pain wracks your body. You feel the familiar sting of bullet wounds littering your chest. You feel like one lung has collapsed while the other is steadily filling with blood.
“It shouldn’t have been—It was meant for me. Why would you risk your life for me?” You manage to choke out through tears. You know that if you noticed the bullets flying towards you, you would’ve used your body as a shield, but he shouldn’t have done that—never him. “I just got you back, I—I can’t lose you. I see you, maSreton’ong. You have to stay with me.”
With the little strength he has, he nuzzles his head on your still flat stomach. It takes you a moment to realize what his gesture means, but when you do, your eyes go wide. “You know?”
He makes a low grumble noise, as if he’s saying yes, before his head goes limp and his eyes close.
Your trembling hands gently tap his face. “Sreton’ong?” No response. You shift his head side to side, looking for any sign of life. “C’mon Sreton’ong, please wake up! Eywa, please wake him up!” You know your prayers are futile. You can feel it through the bond— well, more like you can’t feel anything. You know it, but you cannot accept it.
He’s with Eywa now.
That realization causes a violent tremor to rattle your body as you let out a blood-curdling scream. Your wails pierce through the air. The wails of mourning echo throughout the battlefield. You’re reduced to a weeping mess, cradling Sreton’ong’s lifeless body in your arms while rocking back and forth like a mother would do to calm a crying child.
Why Eywa? Oh why? Why couldn’t it have been you? Why did it have to be him?
Time becomes an illusion. All you can do is cry. You’re crying so much that it’s hard to breathe. You’re practically hyperventilating.
“Well, isn’t this a pretty sight to see?”
No.
No.
No.
Eywa, no.
Even in your despair, you’ll always hear that voice. It haunts you.
With a tear-stained face, you look up to see the ghost of your past and the demon of your present. He’s walking towards you as if he’s leisurely promenading by a serene lake and not a graveyard that’s collecting bodies with no mercy. Strangely, you cannot see him holding any firearms.
Instinctively, you reach for your bow in preparation to nock the arrow. This is your one shot. You have to hit him. You only have one arrow left. You have to attack now. If he gets too close, you’re done for. At best, you’re a mediocre long-distance fighter compared to other Na’vi. You stand no chance at winning against a military-trained, sadistic maniac.
You reach for the special arrow tucked in a pouch on Sreton’ong’s saddle only to panic when you realize that it’s missing. Panicked, you scan your surroundings to see where the arrow could’ve fallen when Sreton’ong crashed, praying to Eywa that it didn’t fall into the water.
You spot it. Thankfully, it’s not in the water, but it’s in the second-worst position it could possibly be. It’s halfway between you and Wainfleet.
It’s now or never. Desisively, you unsheath your hunting knife and make a dash for the arrow. Just as you’re about to pick it up, you feel a heavy boot stomp onto your forearm; you can’t help but howl in pain.
“You cry out so prettily.” He leers over you with a lecherous smile, grinding his boot further into your arm. “I didn’t think I’d see you in all this chaos, but your cries led me right to you.” He flips you on your back, one of his hands gripping your wrists while his knee stabs into your stomach. With his other hand, he reaches out to cup your chin, but you manage to bite down on his finger so hard that it bleeds before he can touch you.
“Get off me, you fucking per—” A crisp slap echoes through the night. It was so forceful that your head snapped to the other side, and you even had a faint taste of copper in your mouth. You don’t get much time to process the fact that he slapped you before he digs his grimey fingernails into the skin of your cheek, forcing you to look at his eyes that are devoid of any ounce of humanity.
“You’re testing my patience. I’ve been nothing but nice to you. I gave you pleasure, I let you see your little boy toy, and I was even going to let you keep your bastard, and what did that get me? Some disobedient whore who needs to be punished.” His knee digs further into your stomach.
Despite the pain, you still struggle in his hold. Wriggling and kicking as much as you can, but it’s useless; he’s like an unmoving wall.
“How shall I punish my bitch?” He drawls on, gliding one of his hands down your body. His hand lingers far too long on the bottom of your top, right where your breast is, before continuing down your body and then punching you square in the stomach, causing you to curl up in pain. A sadistic grin forms on his face. “Yeah, this will do.”
Wainfleet launches an avalanche of punches on your stomach. You try to cover your stomach, but that doesn’t work. That is, until you manage to squeeze your knees between a gap he leaves when he winds up to punch you once more. When you bring your knees up, you shove them right up against his lower jaw— knocking his shades off in the process—which causes him enough pain for his grip on your wrists to loosen just enough for you to scuttle across the ground away from him.
Unfortunately, you don’t get far enough away from him before you feel his heavy boot kick you right in the middle of your spine.
“You think you can run for me bitch? You’re mine.” He squats down to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your neck up, and then smashing your face into the rock. “I was your first cock, you’re my property. And I’m going to show you what happens to sluts who disobey me.”
He leers over you once more before raining down kicks all over your rapidly bruising body. Your back, your ribs, your sides, occasionally your head, and especially your stomach, no part of your body was safe.
Each blow to your body causes you immense pain. A rib is likely cracked if not broken. At some point, you start coughing up a little blood. The metallic taste is all you can taste, and it’s not long before it mixes in with the tears streaming down your face. The pain is so intense that at some point you can no longer make any noise. Your voice is so hoarse from all of your crying.
You try to shield your stomach, but it’s of no use. All it leads to is your hands stinging in pain. From all the abuse your body has suffered, you feel like there’s warm liquid pooling between your thighs.
But in spite of the pain, you slowly inch your way to the arrow. Luckily, Wainfleet is so consumed with inflicting as much harm as possible on you that he doesn’t register you moving to the arrow. Your body is so weak and sore, but you keep going, and soon enough you reach the arrow.
You angle your body just enough to hide it, waiting for your perfect chance to strike as he continues his assault on your body. You’re so exhausted, both mentally and physically, but you have to stay focused on your goal. You must strike when the time is right. And thankfully, that’s sooner rather than later.
“You’re taking your punishment well.” He crouches down, whispering in your ear before licking and biting the tip. Not yet. “Maybe I should give my bitch a little treat for taking her punishment so well.” His hot breath suffocates you as he traces his chapped lips from your ear to your jaw to your cheek until he lingers far too close to your own. The bile rising in your throat is nearly impossible to contain at the thought of him trying to steal something so intimate from you. The moment before your attack seems to happen in slow motion. You wait until there’s barely a centimeter between your lips before you finally attack.
With all the strength you have, you shove the arrow right into his eye. His screams are like music to your ears. You wish you had a camera so you could play back this moment over and over again. You keep your eyes on him, wanting to commit his pained expression to memory.
Even though he’s in pain, he still finds the strength to wrap his hands around your throat, cutting off your airflow, but you don’t care; you continue to smile and laugh maniacally. “You fucking bitch! I’m going to kill you!”
His hands squeeze harder and harder around your throat, adding to his collection of bruises on your body. Regardless, you keep hold of the arrow, shoving it deeper and deeper into his eye. Blood pours out of the wound, covering your face and chest with the red substance. You pay no mind to it. The smile plastered on your face isn’t that of a sane person. But that doesn’t matter to you, not at this moment.
The Golden Rule: treat others the way you want to be treated. The time for retribution has come. He gets off on the suffering of others; it is time for him to get a taste of his medicine. You will reciprocate and multiply his cruelty.
Your laughing grows louder when you feel his grip on your throat gradually loosen. The poison coursing through his veins is working. He’s too far in his blind rage to realize that he no longer has the upper hand. Now is the time for your revenge to go into full effect.
Kicking a man in the balls when his are inside his body doesn’t elicit the same pain response as kicking one who has his on the outside, but because he’s so weak, he falls all the same.
“What the fuck did you do to me bitch?” He barks, his hands trembling as he’s unable to sit up.
You ignore him for a moment as you leisurely walk over to pick up your knife. You’d never think about using this knife on another living soul. That would be cruel. This knife was made just for him. The sharp serrated edges are perfect. The knife will go in cleanly, but the same cannot be said for when it comes out.
“There’s a fast-acting paralyzing poison coursing through your veins. You won’t be able to move for a while, but you’ll feel everything that’s about to happen—I made sure of that.” You muse as you casually draw patterns on his neck using the tip of your knife.
“Get that thing away from me, you bitch! You’ll regret—” You don’t let him finish his sentence before landing a crisp slap right across his face and then yanking his jaw towards you, digging your nails into his face like he did to you earlier.
“You’re my bitch now. And bitches don’t speak; they bark. So go on, bark.”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes at you. “You’re fucking crazy; I’m no bitch, and I’m certainly not barking for you.”
You smile. He thinks this is a joke. That’s good. This’ll be no fun if he’s obedient right off the bat. But still, you gave him an order, and he disobeyed; he must be punished.
Calmly, you adjust yourself just a little from your squatting position beside him to get a better angle on your target. Without a word, you take your knife and cut his pinky finger clean off. Well, clean wouldn’t be the word to describe it.
Strings of flesh crudely keep the finger attached. Bone can be seen at the joint area where you cut. Blood quickly oozes out of the severed appendage.
Wainfleet’s mouth gapes open as he silently gasps in pain, his eyes nearly bulging from his head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You bitch—”
Another finger.
“I’m gonna kill you!”
And another.
Third time’s the charm. He stays silent this time. Probably in too much pain to form words. It’s his own fault, really. He’s an adult, not a child; you won’t repeat directions. He still hasn’t fully obeyed you, so you move your knife to sever his index finger. The moment the blade nears the join, he panics.
“W-wait! Please don’t! I’m sorry!” Still not the right sounds, so you continue what you were doing. The second the blade touches his knuckle, prepared to slice, he finally swallows his pride. “Woof! Woof! Woof!” Satisfied with his newfound obedience, you decide to let his recent transgressions slide just this one time; it’s not like it’ll save him anyway.
You grin mockingly at the groveling man beneath you. “See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it? If you listened the first time, I wouldn’t have had to punish you.” You coo, dragging the knife’s tip at his knuckle. “Are you sorry?”
The poison doesn’t let him, but you can tell that he’s trying to nod frantically. “Yes! Woof, woof! I’m sorry! Woof.”
You laugh hysterically at his pathetic state and dig the knife into his skin, but only enough to leak some blood. “No, you’re not sorry. You’re not sorry at all.”
You crawl over to his lower half. “But don’t worry; sorry will be the last thing you feel, alongside pain and fear.” And with that, you make a strategic slash across his pants, and you keep going until his pants and underwear are nothing but shreds and his groin is exposed.
“You always told me that pain is pleasure; well, I’m about to make you feel the most pleasure you’ve ever felt.”
You can see it in his eyes: he’s terrified of you, and he’s powerless to do anything. He can’t even crawl away.
Your knife trails around his closed, dry slit. It’s a delicate area for any male, especially Na’vi males. The slit is sensitive, and according to Jake, the dick hiding inside is ten times more sensitive compared to a human one. It’s not something that should be forcefully pried open. But that’s not something you’ll care about for Wainfleet.
“No! Please don’t!” He screams out as your knife pokes itself into his slit, forcing out his dick. When your knife doesn’t cut it, you take a scrap piece of cloth, wrap it around your hand and forcefully rip his pathetic puny penis out.
“You take so much pride in this little thing.” You squeeze on it, causing him to yelp out in pain. “I wonder what you’ll do when it’s gone.”
Before he can even plead for mercy, you take your knife and begin sawing off the grotesque appendage. You could go fast, but slow draws out the pain. He can’t even scream at this point. His body convulses at each slice, unable to do anything else.
Once it’s finally removed, you lean over and shove it into his mouth with a sickening grin. “You’re gonna bleed out soon; I should hurry up.”
You crawl back to his upper half, tapping the bloody knife on his kuru. He barely has the strength left to even look at you in terror. But you know that he knows what you’re about to do next.
“This cut shall be in the name of my brother, Tsu’tey te Rongloa Ateyitan. You shall feel the pain you caused him.”
You yank his kuru and press the blade against the sacred body part. “By my hand, I shall grant you a fate worse than death.” With that pledge, you slice through his kuru.
His body seizes, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. He’s not dead, though; you can tell from his hollow, ragged breathing. Good. You still have a lot more in store for him. But seeing your tormentor in this state, you can’t help but maniacally cackle at his suffering.
Unconsciously, you rub your bloodied hands over your face, smearing pain and blood everywhere, but you don’t care. The scared eighteen-year-old girl is finally getting her justice. Nothing else matters.
“Two hundred and sixty-three.” You whisper, leering over his face. His mouth gapes open as blood pools in his mouth, but he’s still alive. “You will pay for your sins two hundred and sixty-three times. I will cleanse the world of your existence.”
You hover over him in a straddle-like position. One knee anchored onto the ground while you dig the heel of your foot into his elbow. You can hear a faint crack from beneath your foot.
“Go to hell.” You say, eerily calm, before you drive your knife into his other eye. Blood sprays everywhere, and his once loud screams have been reduced to low muffles, but he’s still alive, for now.
Adrenaline surges through your body as you rain down lethal stabs anywhere you can, each one being just as strong as the last. No part of his body is safe. You stab his face, neck, arms, chest, thighs, everywhere. You stab everywhere.
One. For Sylwanin.
Two. For Sreton’ong.
Three. For you.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Two hundred sixty.
Two hundred sixty-one.
Two hundred sixty-two.
Two hundred sixty-three.
The final stab lands where his heart is—was. His face is caved in, sliced beyond recognition. Bloody stab wounds litter his body. Parts of his skeleton are visible in some areas due to some chunks of flesh being pulverized. Holes litter his abdomen so much so that some of his intestines are leaking out. Outside of his blood-soaked clothing, he’s completely unrecognizable. He was long gone before even a quarter of the wounds appeared.
He’s long gone.
He’s gone.
It’s gone.
Gone.
That thought brings a genuine smile to your face. The demon is gone. You killed it. It can’t hurt anyone anymore. It can’t hurt you anymore. The only remnants of its existence are its clothing and the blood painting your body. It’s gone. You’ve purged the world of a great evil.
“Jake, I’m down.” You hear Neytiri’s voice coming from your comm that’s still secured safely on your neck.
The sound of your wife’s tired voice snaps you out of your daze, and you’re brought back to reality. You’re still on an active battlefield; bullets and bombs are flying everywhere. You were so out of it that you were unaware your breathing sounded like you had just run an ultramarathon, and your heart was practically pounding out of your chest.
“Get to safety. Do not attack. We’re done.” Jake’s barely able to speak, as you can hear him trying to catch his breath. “Y/N, are you there?”
You didn’t realize that your hands were all of this death and destruction; it can’t be for nothing. This can’t be the end. “I’m down too.”
“Get to safety, please, baby.” You can hear the relief flood through Jake at the sound of your voice.
“I will go to the children. Stay safe, my loves.”
You glance down at your blood-covered hands and the knife they carry. You carry a weapon fashioned in the style of your enemies. Pain and suffering were the goals of this knife; it is not a proper Na’vi weapon. Oh, how far you’ve fallen.
Despite how low you’ve sunk, regret isn’t something that you feel. Even if you got to go back in time, you would still kill him in the same manner. The only thing you can even think of potentially regretting is not doing it sooner.
Surprisingly, the little area you’re in has no immediate danger; it is devoid of life outside of you and the two bodies near you. That is, until you hear panting coming from the ocean and see someone clutching their chest as they try to reach the shore.
“Tsahìk!” You yell as you jump back into the frigid water to help pull Ronal out. The rhythmic crashing of the ocean waves does little to help you get the tsahìk onto land.
When you finally get her out of the water, you gasp in horror to see a projectile from a speargun is stuck right above where her heart would be. You rest her as carefully as you can onto the rock. “Tsahhìk, I’ll be right back.”
You rush over to Sreton’ong’s corpse and carefully reach over him to grab your pouch that’s attached to his saddle. There’s not much in there; you doubt there’s anything truly useful, but maybe it’ll help. Just before you go back to Ronal, you go back to the water and rinse off as much blood as you can from your hands.
“That blood…” Ronal barely manages to gasp out through her pain.
“It’s not mine.” You take a cloth from your bag and make a makeshift pillow; it’s not much, but it’ll bring her some comfort. The oils and salves in your bag will do little without the ability for you to safely remove the projectile. A wet rock in the middle of a cove during an ongoing battle isn’t exactly the most sterile environment to perform surgery. “Do not worry about me. Worry about yourself. You—”
“I’m dying.” Ronal says through the pain.
“You’ll be okay. We’ll find some help.”
“Why must you and your wife always argue?” Ronal scolds as you put one of her legs on top of your thigh so you can examine her protruding belly. “I am dying. But first I will push out this baby.” She speaks with the determination only a mother can.
You know in your heart that there’s not much you can do for her in this state, but you can do something for her child. “Push tsahìk, push.” You coax her as she experiences pain you cannot fathom.
You were there for the birth of each of your children. Alongside Mo’at, you helped deliver each one. Childbirth isn’t something new to you. But this is different.
She must have been in active labor for the entire day since you can already see the baby’s head crowning. You hold onto Ronal’s hand as she continues to push. “You’re doing great, just one more push.”
With the last bit of her strength, Ronal manages to push her baby girl out. As soon as the baby is out, you place the baby on her chest and connect their kurus. The first bond a child should experience is from their mother, and this baby girl deserves that too, regardless of the circumstances surrounding her birth.
Ronal removes the little baby from underneath her neck to get a good look at her. “She is Pril.”
You look down at the precious newborn resting in her mother’s embrace. “Pril is a good name.”
“You will protect her?” Ronal asks, her voice no louder than a whisper.
“Yes.” There is no waver in your voice; you will protect this baby no matter what.
It seems as though your confirmation of care was all Ronal needed before she let the eternal sleep welcome her. Her arms go limp, and you have to quickly reach over her to keep Pril from falling.
The first cries you hear from Pril is when she felt her mother die through the bond. You gently detach their kurus, and you bring Pril up to your chest so she can feel some warmth. Your heart goes out to the baby, who met and lost her mother in the span of less than two minutes. This will be the final time you allow yourself to shed a tear; your emotions are no longer your priority; this baby is.
You dump everything out of your pouch and gently place the baby inside. “Your name is Pril. Your mother was powerful; you will be powerful too.” You say as you tightly secure the pouch across your body.
“Mrs. Sully.” You hear a familiar voice call out.
Insinicively, you pick up your knife before whipping around, baring your fangs. You’re outnumbered; two Mangkwan, plus Varang and Quaritch, is a recipe for death.
“Mommy!” Tuk screams as Varang holds one of her dual blades to her neck while Quaritch holds her in place.
“Tuk!”
A/N- I'm so glad that I finally finished chapter 7. Life has been a lot lately, so finding the time and energy to write has been a struggle. To make up for the long wait, I wanted this chapter to be long and juicy. I hope it was well worth the wait~
MASTERLIST ᯓ★
author’s note: hi angels, i’m slowly crawling my way back into the writing flow and sorting through my terrifying 40+ request pile (send help, or wine). thank you for being so patient with me while i took a little break!! this is pure smut, i hope you LOVE it <3
pairing: lewis hamilton x reader
wc: 3.2k
summary: after a chaotic, delayed flight leaves you spiralling and dangerously late for a high-profile charity gala, lewis hamilton is the picture of calm composure... until the moment you step out of the shower in nothing but a robe. seven days apart has tested his patience, and the usually collected man is desperate, needy, and willing to beg for just a few stolen minutes with you. what starts as sweet reassurance quickly turns into something far more sinful, proving that even when the world is waiting, lewis only has eyes for you.
warnings: explicit smut, mdni, titty fucking, spit play, oral sex (m & f receiving), dirty talk, needy & desperate lewis, praise kink, light switch dom/sub undertones, cum swallowing, established relationship. lewis is both incredibly sweet and filthy.
The suite door clicked shut behind you with a finality that did nothing to calm the storm in your chest. Your flight had been delayed by nearly three hours. Turbulence, mechanical issues, and a gate change that felt personally engineered by the universe to ruin your night. Now you were catastrophically late for the charity gala, the one Lewis had been committed to for months. Your hair was a mess from the recycled plane air, your skin felt gritty, and every second that ticked by ratcheted your anxiety higher.
Lewis, by contrast, looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread as usual. He sat on the edge of the king-sized bed in a tailored black suit that hugged his shoulders and tapered perfectly at the waist, the crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar just enough to reveal the smooth column of his throat and the tattoos you loved so much. Diamonds glittered across his neck. One ankle rested casually on his knee, phone in hand as he typed something. When you burst in, suitcase wheels clattering and breathless, he glanced up and his whole face softened.
“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured, voice low and warm. He set the phone aside immediately and rose, crossing the room in seconds. His hands cupped your face with infinite gentleness, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. His eyes flitted over your face, cataloguing how you were feeling before he even had to ask. “Breathe for me, you're okay baby.”
“I’m so sorry,” you blurted, already shrugging out of your jacket. “The plane...customs...everything. We’re going to be so late, Lew. They’re probably already seating people and I still look like I’ve been dragged through a wind tunnel and I need to shower and do my hair and makeup and—”
“Shh.” He pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose. “Not your fault at all, sweetie. We’ll just be fashionably late, yeah? It’s fine. I already sent a message, we’re not the guests of honour. No one’s going to riot if we arrive after the first course.” His dark eyes held yours, steady and reassuring, always grounding you naturally.
But beneath that serenity he brought to you so easily, you caught the flicker of heat, restrained but unmistakable. He wet his bottom lip with his tongue as his eyes dragged over your every feature. He hadn’t seen you in seven long days. Seven days of races, meetings, and time zones keeping you apart.
You tried to smile, but the panic still buzzed under your skin, overstimulated and frayed. “My hair is going to be impossible. And my dress is wrinkled and—”
“No no no, stop spiralling. You’re always perfect,” he said simply, helping you pull off your joggers with careful fingers. His touch lingered though, like he couldn’t help himself, the tips of his fingers gently grazing the back of your thighs, up until he gave your ass a gentle squeeze.
You opened your mouth to tell him off...but before you could he gave you a cheeky grin and let go of you with a wink. “Go shower, sweetie. I’ll sort your dress. Take as long as you need.”
You didn’t. You took eight frantic minutes. Scalding water, frantic scrubbing, a quick wash of your hair that left it dripping down your back as you wrapped yourself in the hotel’s thick white robe. When you stepped back into the bedroom, steam curling around your ankles, Lewis was exactly where he’d said he’d be: back on the bed, your evening gown draped neatly over the armchair, already steamed and ready to go. He’d dimmed the lights slightly. The city glittered beyond the windows, but his gaze was locked on you. You could feel his eyes like a gentle caress down your sides.
He looked hungry.
Not obvious. Never obvious with Lewis. But it was there in the slight parting of his lips, the way his fingers flexed against his thigh, the subtle shift in his posture as he took you in. You knew he was obsessed with you like this. Bare faced, damp-haired, smelling of your favourite shower gel. A week apart had clearly tested him more than he’d let on during your late-night calls.
But you were late. Ridiculously late. So you turned and started sifting through your bag, ignoring how he shamelessly adjusted himself in his trousers.
“You’re staring,” you said, voice still tight with residual stress as you hunted for your makeup bag.
“Can’t help it.” His tone stayed soft, but there was a restless edge underneath. “Missed you, baby. More than you know.” He patted the space beside him on the bed. “Come here for a second. Let me help you calm down.”
You hesitated, glancing at the clock. “Lewis, we really don’t have time—”
“Oh come on, beautiful. Please…two minutes,” he coaxed, a charming smirk tugging at his mouth. You rolled your eyes at him, but that only spurred him on more. He reached out and grabbed your hand, gently tugging you towards the bed.
When you sat, he pulled you gently between his spread thighs, your back to his chest. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to him. His lips found the damp curve of your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses that made your pulse quicken. The heat of his tongue over your skin left you defenceless in seconds. “You’re so tense, angel. Let me take some of that weight, yeah?”
His hands smoothed up and down your arms, then slipped beneath the robe to cup your shoulders, thumbs working into the knots with practiced care. Every touch was reverent. Every breath against your skin was warm. You couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through you, or the goosebumps surfacing your skin. He wasn’t rushing anything, yet you could feel him growing hard against the small of your back, the rigid length of him pressing insistently through the fine wool of his trousers. He didn’t grind against you yet, he simply held you, breathing you in, letting the evidence of his need throb quietly between you.
“Lewis…” Your voice wavered, you were aiming for protest, but it came out more as a sigh. The panic of being late was still there, fluttering wildly, but his presence was slowly muting it, replacing it with a different kind of heat.
“I know, I know,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. One hand drifted higher, palming the soft weight of your breast through the robe, thumb circling lazily over your nipple until it peaked. You melted further back against him, and you could feel his smug smile against your ear.
“We’re late. You’re stressed. I’m being selfish.” He lets out a low, self-deprecating chuckle. “But fuck, angel… a whole week without touching you. Without tasting you. I’ve been thinking about this body every night. Been saving myself for you…” His other hand slid down, parting the robe just enough to expose the valley between your breasts. He groaned softly, leaning forward and pressing his face there, inhaling. “Just need a little taste. Please.”
You glanced toward the mirror across the room, your hair was still soaking wet, no makeup, robe slipping off one shoulder, and you felt the familiar spiral of overwhelm rising again. You were so embarrassingly late. “Lew, we don’t have time—”
He shifted you effortlessly in his lap so you faced him, straddling one of his thighs. The movement made the robe fall open completely. His suit jacket was still on, the contrast between his polished elegance and your near-naked vulnerability made your stomach flip. His brown eyes were dark now, pupils blown wide with want, yet his voice remained achingly sweet.
“Please, baby… please.” The words came out ragged, desperate. His hands cupped your breasts, lifting them, thumbs stroking reverently. “Just let me feel you. I’ll be so quick, I swear. We don’t even have to– just let me fuck your tits or something…anything….” He looked up at you with raw hunger wrapped in devotion, pressing hot, open kisses along the inner curve of one breast. “Please… please, baby, please. I’ve been so good. Missed you so fucking much.”
His hips rolled subtly beneath you, his bulge straining against his zipper.
You were helpless and you knew it. Watching him be reduced to breathless begging because he’d been without you for seven days was enough for you to give him anything and everything he wanted.
The panic had burned away, leaving only raw, humming need in its place. Your fingers gripped his braids, just enough to tilt his head back. His eyes fluttered, dark and glassy with want as you cupped his jaw in both hands, thumbs stroking the sharp line of it. You held him there for a few long seconds, watching as his chest heaved, as his eyebrows furrowed in desperation. And then you crashed your lips to his.
He moaned into the kiss like a man starving, the sound vibrating straight through you. His tongue met yours instantly, hot and slick and desperate, sliding deep with no hesitation. The kiss was wet, open-mouthed, breathless. He tasted like mint and longing and love. One of his hands gripped your hip, massaging the soft flesh whilst anchoring you on his thigh, while the other stayed devoted to your breast, kneading the soft weight, rolling your nipple between his fingers until you whimpered against his lips.
When you finally pulled back for air, a thin string of saliva connected you for a second before breaking. Lewis chased your mouth, panting.
“Baby…” His voice was shaky, low and rough. “Please. Please let me have you. I’ll be so quick, I swear. Just need to feel you around me. Been dreaming about you every night” His forehead pressed to yours, eyes pleading. He was fixated on your tits, one hand still playing with them as he begged. “Please, please, love. I’m aching so bad it hurts. Let me fuck them. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise. I’ll spend hours between your legs if you want. Just—please.”
You brushed your thumb over his swollen bottom lip, and he kissed it reverently. Automatic devotion. He knew how to get what he wanted.
“Lay me down, Lew.”
Relief and fresh hunger flashed across his face. He lifted you effortlessly, laying you back against the plush bedding with the same care he’d use handling something fragile. Lewis rose onto his knees between your spread thighs, still fully dressed in his sharp black suit. His hands shook slightly as he undid his belt and zipper, freeing his cock.
He was rock hard, thick and flushed dark at the tip, already leaking just from the kisses you'd given him. You watched, mesmerised, as he wrapped a hand around himself and stroked slowly, eyes devouring every inch of your body splayed out for him.
“Fuck… look at you,” he breathed. Obsession dripped from every word. “My beautiful baby. Missed this body so much. Missed you.” He leaned forward, pressing the thick head of his cock against your lips just enough for you to taste the salt of him, then pulled back. Instead, he slid his thumb into your mouth. You sucked instinctively, tongue swirling around the digit, and Lewis’s eyes rolled back, a broken groan tearing from his throat. He kept working himself, mouth parted and panting, eyes locked on the way you were sucking his thumb.
“Shit—baby. I love it when you do that..”
He pulled his thumb free with a wet pop, then gathered spit in his mouth and let it drip down onto your breasts in a warm, obscene trail. He spread it with the head of his cock, painting your skin, before pressing your breasts together himself. The first slow slide between them dragged a guttural moan from deep in his chest.
“Oh my god… yes.” His hips rolled forward, eyes fluttering. “So soft. Perfect—fuck, they’re perfect for me.”
You held yourself for him, pressing your tits tighter around his length as he began to thrust. The slick, rhythmic sound of skin on skin filled the suite. Lewis’s head tipped back, braids falling messily around his face, jaw slack with pleasure. Every few strokes the flushed head of his cock nudged up toward your collarbones, shiny and leaking.
“Talk to me, Lewis,” you whispered, desperate and aching for more. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Like heaven,” he gasped, eyes locking onto yours again. “Better than heaven. So fucking good, baby. Missed how good you make me feel. Only you, angel. You’re so pretty down there… letting me use you when we’re already late. Such a good girl for me.”
You smiled, wicked and soft, and when his next thrust brought him close enough, you leaned your head forward and dragged your tongue across the tip of his cock. Lewis’s hips stuttered hard.
“Fuck—!” His voice cracked. “Baby… oh shit, do that again. Please.”
“You taste so good, baby,” you murmured, licking him again on the next upward glide, savouring the taste of him. “Mmm… so fucking good.”
“Oh my god– thank you, baby… fuck yes, don’t stop—please.” The begging was back, raw and needy, each word punctuated by a desperate thrust between your breasts. His rhythm grew faster, more erratic, you wished you could see the muscles in his abs and thighs flexing. Sweat glistened at his temples. The polished man sat on the bed when you’d arrived was gone, only this desperately in love man remained. You loved watching him dissolve into this version of himself.
He was getting close. You could see it in the way his eyes kept rolling back, the way his grip on your breasts tightened, the filthy stream of praise and pleas falling from his lips.
“Gonna come so hard for you,” he growled, voice dropping into the dangerous register it did when he was close. “Look at me, baby. Gonna swallow it all for me, aren’t you? Want me to cum down your throat, don’t you? Want to drink every drop while I’m still wearing this fucking suit?”
You moaned around the head of his cock on the next lick, eyes watering with how deep you took him when he pushed forward. The dirty talk sent another rush of heat through you as you nodded eagerly.
“Yes—please, baby, open your mouth,” he begged, stroking himself fast now, the wet head slapping against your tongue. “I’m so close. Please let me fill that pretty mouth. Been saving it all for you. All week. Fuck—take it, baby. Take it—”
His whole body seized. With a deep, broken groan that echoed off the walls, Lewis came hard. Thick, hot pulses spilled across your tongue and down your throat. You swallowed around him, sucking gently, milking every last drop as he shuddered and cursed beautifully above you. His hand stroked your hair through it, tender even in the middle of his orgasm, whispering shaky praises between gasps.
When he finally pulled back, spent and trembling, he collapsed beside you and immediately pulled you into his chest. His suit was rumpled now, tie askew, braids fallen out of his hair tie. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, completely unbothered that he could taste himself on your tongue.
“God, I love you,” he murmured, voice soft again, that angelic sweetness returning in full force. “Thank you, baby. You’re incredible. Always make me feel so good.”
You let out a breathless laugh, glancing down at the glossy mess painted across your chest and collarbones. His release and spit glistened on your skin, warm and obscene against the soft light of the suite. “I’m gonna have to shower again, Lew…”
He giggled, a low, boyish sound that melted into something almost guilty. He actually looked a little sheepish as he bit his lip and surveyed the evidence of his desperation. “Shit. Sorry, baby.” The apology was genuine, but his eyes still held a spark of satisfaction, dark and possessive. “Couldn’t help myself. You looked too good like that.”
Before you could swing your legs off the bed, Lewis caught you gently by the waist and pulled you back down, rolling you beneath him with effortless strength. The weight of his body settled over yours, the fabric of his suit whispering against your bare skin.
“You’re not showering yet,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Not until I’ve taken care of my girl.”
His lips trailed lower—slow, worshipful kisses down your throat, over your sternum. You shivered beneath him, fingers threading back into his braids as he hummed in quiet appreciation.
“Lew… we really are so late—”
“Shh. Two minutes,” he promised, though the wicked curve of his mouth suggested it might stretch longer. “Just let me taste you. I’ve missed this pussy all week. Let me make you feel good, baby. Please.”
He didn’t wait for another protest. Sliding down your body with fluid grace, Lewis settled between your thighs, pushing them wider with gentle hands. He pressed a soft kiss to your inner thigh, then another, working his way inward until his breath ghosted over your soaked core. A low, appreciative groan rumbled from his chest.
“Already so wet for me,” he murmured, almost awed. “My perfect girl.”
Then his mouth was on you. Hot, slow, and devastatingly skilled. His tongue flattened against your clit before circling it with lazy precision, sucking gently as two fingers eased inside you, curling at the exact angle you loved so much. The wet sounds of his devotion filled the room, mingled with your soft gasps and his quiet, hungry moans. He devoured you like a man savouring his favourite meal after starving for days. Long, luxurious licks followed by focused suction that had your back arching off the bed.
One of his hands reached up to intertwine with yours, holding it tightly against your stomach as the other worked between your legs, stroking the perfect spot inside you with every thrust of his fingers. He never rushed. Even now, with the clock ticking, Lewis took his time, lavishing you with love and filthy praise between kisses and licks.
“That’s it, baby… let me hear you. Fuck, you taste so sweet. Missed making you fall apart for me.”
Your free hand tightened in his braids as the pleasure coiled tighter, hips rolling against his talented mouth. He groaned in encouragement, the vibration sending shivers up your spine. When you finally came, it crashed over you in deep, shuddering waves, his name spilling from your lips in a gasped moan. Lewis stayed with you through every pulse, licking you through it until you were trembling and oversensitive, only pulling back when you gently tugged at his braids.
He crawled back up your body, face flushed, lips shiny with your arousal, and kissed you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was slower this time, full of love, gratitude, and quiet promise.
“There,” he whispered against your mouth, smiling his soft, boyish smile again. “Now we can both shower. Quickly.” He pressed one last kiss to your forehead. “Though I wouldn’t mind being a little later if it means getting to do that again.”
You laughed, breathless and glowing, and let him pull you toward the bathroom, his hand warm and steady in yours. The gala could wait another ten minutes. Nothing mattered more to him than this.
gif from @/lewgifs on X MY GOAT
(tags: @70srogertaylor @forzalewis44xo @mikaissance @saintslewis @liveloungeharry @knowinglewis @palefacestudentlove @nebulastar @determinednot2fall @wetweathermilton @vintagesoul-01 @scenesofobx @nebulastarr @magnificentlyrainythunder)
Warning: Dirty talk, rough sex, dom/sub undertones, oral sex (m. receiving), spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (wrap it people!), creampie, public sex (kinda?), very soft humiliation
Words: 10600+
Notes: I present to you the second story of the Greek mythology series! I think I’ve come to the conclusion I like writing rough sex (sue me).
For any new readers - this story is part of a mini-series! Each member has their own story - you don’t have to read each one to understand the general plot. Story order: A Taste of Honey (Jung Hoseok), Teach Me (Kim Namjoon), Flutter (Kim Seokjin).
I hope you all enjoy the story and thank you for all the support - don’t forget to leave a like, comment, or reblog <3
Masterlist ︳Prologue
❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤
You were everything Namjoon sought after; sexy and intelligent. He watched the way you balanced on your tippy toes, ass sticking out as you placed the dusty books back in their spot one by one. He licked his pouty lips, a grunt leaving him as his hand brushed his growing bulge. He could already see it, the way you squirmed underneath him, your moans. You were stuck up, always acting better than everyone else, but not anymore. He was going to teach you a valuable lesson; you may be the boss of this library but he was the boss of you.
Teach Me ︳Final
No amount of words could describe the distaste and annoyance on your face as Athena patted your shoulder with a taunting grin. Eyes narrowed, nose scrunched up as your lips pressed together out of pure revulsion.
Warning: Dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (fem. receiving), multiple orgasms, virginreader, public sex, unprotected sex (put a sock on it people!), creampie
Words: 10500+
Notes: It’s all done! HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL. You requested a smut for your birthday, and I deliver~! I hope you all enjoy the story, I can totally see this becoming a mini-series for all of the members. Let me know what you guys think! Thank you for all the support and don’t forget to leave a like, comment, or reblog <3
EDIT: So I decided to make this into a mini-series for all of the members! You guys said you’d be interested, so lets do it! Story order: A Taste of Honey (Jung Hoseok), Teach Me (Kim Namjoon), Flutter (Kim Seokjin).
Masterlist ︳ Prologue
❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤
The Greek Goddess, Aphrodite, wanted nothing more than her favourite honey-nymph to experience the power of love. So after pulling a few strings, the Goddess promises Demi-God, Jung Hoseok, an offer he can’t refuse; “Sweeter than sweet.” he purred into your ear, your cheeks flushed watching the way he licked his fingers with delight, “Oh little bumblebee, you’re going to be my breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the rest of my life.”
A Taste of Honey ︳Final
Cheeks flushed, jaw to the ground, and eyes as wide as a deer – to say that you were out of place would be an understatement and a half.
The twinkling stars and moon didn’t stand a chance against the illuminating torches that were scattered throughout the clearing. Women and men dancing to live music, a few animals watched from the trees – seemingly entertained at how drunk Gods can be from the renowned wines Dionysus provided to his guests.
Synopsis: You realise you might want more with Lewis, prompting you to have a serious but loving conversation about whether you might be in his future because you know he doesn't date seriously.
Authors note: Hi my lovely little beans! I'm back with a quick one shot. To be completely honest I've been so stumped with writers block and so busy i haven't had time to write, so please forgive if its not great. I'm so happy to be back with this one. Also please forgive any errors, i didn't edit this whatsoever soooooo be kind. and if there are any mistakes please tell me. Please enjoy and I hope you like it. ~anna
The rain pattered onto the tarmac of the paddock as you watched Lewis from the back of the garage. Your relationship wasn’t public yet, but people would speculate because you both are celebrities and artists in your own ways.
You decided to come out to his race this weekend and support him because your schedule hasn’t been open for a long while and you wanted to show your appreciation by coming to support your lovely boyfriend… well actually you don’t actually know if he is your boyfriend.
Now you haven’t slept together, but you’ve been on lovely dates, and you’ve kissed and made out but you are not the type of women who gives herself to someone before she’s 100% sure… The problem is that you are sure but now it’s Lewis, that’s making you question whether this is the relationship you think it is.
You know the women you are you know your values and what you want… but with Lewis, he makes you question if he wants those things with you. It’s been 4 months of being spoken to like a girlfriend and you think it’s time that he actually asks you the right way and if he has no intention of doing that… well then you will have to let Lewis go. Although the thought makes you feel queasy and makes your heart ache in ways you haven’t ever felt before, you can’t help thinking if this is what is meant to be happening right now. You questioning if Lewis is the man, you want and gathering the resolve to have that difficult conversation with him.
You look at him as he speaks to an engineer, the way he pays attention to everything they are saying, the way his face lights up when the engineer says something he is super happy with, his subtle smile when he catches your eyes from across the garage, the way the light catches his piercings. Everything about this man screams that he is meant to be yours, but you know one thing for sure. If Lewis isn’t ready to have this serious conversation, you’ll know that you aren’t the women he wants.
Time skip
You get comfortable on the hotel couch as Lewis finishes his shower. You hear the water stop running and mentally prepare yourself for the conversation you are about to have with the man you want to be your boyfriend.
Lewis walks out of the steaming bathroom, the steam creating a warm pocket of air as he strolls towards the bed in his underwear. He puts on a pair of sweats before turning to look at you and says, “Baby, is everything alright with you? You were so quiet on the way back and you haven’t even asked to eat anything. You never miss out on room service.” His voice holds slight confusion.
You wring your hands together and open your mouth to reply, but your voice decides to stop working. You clear your throat and slowly blow air out of your mouth, “I’ve been thinking about my future – no our future and, before you panic, please hear me out and think about this and if you don’t want to say anything right now that’s perfectly okay. I just want you to know where I stand about us.” You say quietly. He looks into your eyes and nods gently, his forehead wrinkling in slight confusion.
“I know you don’t do serious relationships, and I knew that from the beginning, but I want you to know that I want one. Now I want you to know that I like you a lot, and when I say a lot, I mean enough to sit down and have this serious conversation knowing I might be risking what I have with you. I don’t know what you want and I am not asking you to tell me immediately what you want. This is me just… opening up to you and telling you the truth, because I know I want more with you and I hope I am that women for you like you are that man for me…. Is that it? I think that’s all I have to say for now… I’m unsure because of how nervous I am right now.” You say, as you rub your sweaty palms on your legs to ease your nerves slightly.
Your eyes go back and forth between looking down at your legs and up at Lewis’ face. You can’t seem to hold eye contact, so you stick to looking down before you burst into tears prematurely.
When you look up again, Lewis is slightly smiling and shaking his head at you. “Honey, I know I probably haven’t been the best with… well us lately but I want you to know that I am all in. Being with you these last few months have been the most… peaceful that I have been in a very long time. And I know what everyone says about me, ‘He’s so old now, he should be settling down.’, ‘Lewis Hamilton is washed’, ‘Why is he always trying to show off? It’s time he stops playing around and finds himself a real woman.’. All these things are meant to hurt me but, I find some truth in them. I want you to know that I am not telling you I want to be with you because of these comments, I am telling you this so that you know I have changed. I want to be your person, through all the bad, the good and the content. No matter what life throws at us I want to be able to support you in any way that you need from me and vice versa.” He whispered to you, gently taking your hand into his.
You look into his warm eyes, as the corners crease from his gentle smile beaming at you. You giggle lightly and take his face into your hands, leaning in gently as your lips meet in a gentle peck. You pull him closer, putting your hands around the back of his neck. His lips tasting of his evening tea and sugar, melting on your lips as you deepened your small but passionate kiss. Your heartbeat fluttered in your ears as you slowly realise what this means. You pull back lightly from Lewis and look at him, “So does this mean we are officially together now?? No more questioning and mixed signals?” You whisper against his lips.
He nods gently and he takes your hand and guides it to his chest, on the side where his heart would be. You feel the flutter of his heart beneath your fingertips, “My heart beats this fast for you and only you. No one is going to change that.” He stated gently. His eyes shining as he proclaimed his heart to be yours and yours alone. You lean forward and whisper against his lips, “Then know that my heart will always be yours as long as your heart beats for mine.” You exclaim lightly.
You cuddled on the couch like that for hours, ensuring you both knew that you were serious about this development in your budding relationship. Knowing no one can steal this feeling from you is what you thought before falling asleep on his chest, hearing his heartbeat in your ears as your lullaby before peacefully falling into dreamland.
Content Warnings- Violence, Sexual Assault, Rape (not in detail), Suicidal Behaviors/Thoughts, Non-Consensual Medical Examinations, Reader disassociates a lot, Lyle Wainfleet deserves his own warning
Chapter Summary- Your husband is on death row, and for the sake of your family and The People, you let yourself be prisoner to the RDA. This night will forever change you.
wc- 8.2k
Previous Chapter
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The ride to Bridgehead City is long, far too long. The roaring sounds of the Samson’s engines almost drown out the chorus of celebration coming from the Sec-Ops personnel, almost. Even through all this noise and chaos, silence surrounds you and Jake. He hasn’t said a word or moved a muscle since you both boarded the Samson. It’s like he’s either deep in thought or dissociating. You can’t blame him, though.
You both know that he’s about to be executed. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Knowing that he’s giving up his life for a gamble must be weighing heavily on him. You don’t know how he does it; how he manages to stay calm and collected in dire situations. You know that if Jake weren’t right here beside you, you’d be a panicking mess. Even with him beside you, it’s taking all of your effort not to have a panic attack. You cannot show fear.
You want Jake to hold you, to assure you that everything will be alright. But you know that won’t be the case. He can’t hold you; the handcuffs prevent that, but even if they didn’t, there’s no way the Sec-Ops are going to allow it to happen. The only thing you can do is subtly touch his tail with your own. Only then does he look at you.
Fear and worry mar his face, but you can still see traces of love swirling through his eyes. He’s as scared as you are; he’s just better at hiding it. In this helpless situation, there’s only one thing you can think of doing.
I love you
You mouth those three words to him and wrap your tail tighter around his, knowing that this may very well be the last time you’ll be able to show him affection. It may be the last time you can tell him. In a rare moment of vulnerability, you can see some tears begin to prick Jake’s eyes, but just before he can mouth the same words to you, you’re interrupted by men in skel suits yanking you out of the Samson.
You were so preoccupied with your thoughts and Jake that you didn’t even realize you made it to Hell on Pandora, Bridgehead City. There are far too many fluorescent lights for your comfort; they’re far too bright. They’re unnatural. Camera’s flash in sporadic bursts as gaggles of humans crowd the barricade to catch a glimpse of Jake. The ground is cold and hard; it feels as though every bit of your warmth is being drained by the metal flooring. You’re no stranger to metal, but this is different. Bridgehead is a fortress of metal and death. No life besides humans exists within the walls, and even outside, there’s nothing but decay. The All Mother isn’t here. They’ve killed her presence.
“Jake! Y/N!” Your head snaps over to the sound of Spider’s voice. He’s kicking and thrashing, trying to escape the grips of the people holding him hostage, but it’s of no use; there are too many of them. Instinctively, you try to run after Spider, but the soldiers quickly pull you back and tighten their grip on you. There’s nothing you can do but helplessly watch the boy be dragged away into a medical van as he cries out for you and Jake.
A large vehicle drives up to you, and out comes a woman in a skel suit. There is no doubt in your mind about who this is. General Frances Ardmore. You’ve seen her face on screens when she first arrived on Pandora and threatened the lives of everyone in Hell’s Gate if they didn’t surrender. She is on your ever-growing hitlist.
“Mission accomplished, General. Jake Sully. Toruk Makto himself.” Quaritch says confidently with the Crazy Lady by his side. “I even got a special traitor as a gift, his wife.”
Ardmore looks you and Jake up and down before, like you’re nothing but pests, before walking to Quaritch. “It’s not enough for you to hand out guns, you gotta bring hostiles inside the perimeter.”
“What is she saying?” The Crazy Lady asks Quaritch, most likely prepared to fight if she didn’t like what Ardmore was saying. But Quaritch calms her down.
“Not hostiles. Allies. General Ardmore, I’d like you to meet Varang, tsahìk of the Mangkwan.” Even though she cannot speak English, upon hearing her name, title, and clan, Varang straightens her spine even more, exuding a fearless aura.
Tsahìk? You wonder what kinds of things could have happened in their lives for the Mangkwan to turn out the way they did. How could a tsahìk blatantly reject Eywa and be so violent?
“Let me make this clear, General hoochies, I want every one of these savages escorted off my base asap. Including your little girlfriend.”
Quaritch steps up to Ardmore. Even in her skel suit, Quaritch is still significantly taller than she is, but she shows no signs of backing down. “Don’t be a jackass, General. Take the win.” Quaritch turns to the crowd of onlookers, throws his fist up in the air, and shouts, “We got him, people.” The crowd of humans breaks into cheers, and the camera flashes increase exponentially. Left with no other choice, Ardmore steps in front of you and Jake for a photo op.
Afterwards, Quaritch takes Varang’s hand and leads her through the crowd. As much as you’d hate to admit it, Varang is incredibly smart. You know she has no idea about what’s happening, but she knows that now is the time to be confident and show no fear. “Take him to the cage. Bring that one to the white coats, I want some tests run.”
With just one command from Ardmore, you and Jake are separated. Knowing that this may be the last time you see your husband alive, your eyes stayed focused on him. Even though it’s hurting your neck, even though your eyes are straining, you keep looking at him because losing him is going to hurt worse than this. Even as you turn the corner and you’re no longer able to see him, you keep your eyes trained on the last spot that you saw him, that is, until someone slaps you in the back of your head.
Upon impact, you swerve your head in that direction and hiss at whoever had the audacity to hit you. And of course it was Lyle Wainfleet. He has the gall to have a prideful smirk plastered all over his face. “You’re a fiesty one now. Don’t worry, I’ll train you on how to behave again.” It takes all of the strength out of you to not bite off his fingers when he dares to run his fingers through your hair.
“Go to hell, Wainfleet.” That seems to set him off, and in front of the other Sec-Ops personnel, he grips your cheeks painfully tight in one hand, something he used to do frequently. It used to terrify you when he’d get physical like this, so much so that you’d quickly back down. But now, you have to keep your fear from resurfacing; you cannot give in; you must stay strong so as not to revert to your scared eighteen-year-old self.
“You’re mine now, Princess. You’ll want to start behaving, your little boy toy can’t save you.” His lecherous grin is even more grotesque than you remember.
“He is my husband. Even in death, he will be my only husband.” You rip your gaze away from him to stare at the empty metal hallway with your head held high. Wainfleet chuckles to himself as if he’s amused by your behavior. No doubt he thinks this is a game of cat and mouse where he’ll ultimately and unconditionally win.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The lab at Bridgehead feels more sterile than the one you’re used to at High Camp. Perhaps it’s because maximizing profits and pain is what leads the research here. They force you at gunpoint to strip and wear the bleak medical gown. Even at gunpoint, there is one item you refuse to part with, your songchord. Anyone who tried to take it from you nearly got their hands bitten off, so they reluctantly let you keep it. But you are quickly muzzled afterwards.
When you’re escorted to the testing room, your heart breaks at the sight of Spider. He’s hooked up to machines, strapped down, and forced to run on a treadmill. “That boy is a child, and you’re treating him like an animal.” Spider attempts to turn his head to see you, but the machinery keeps him from looking. But you catch a glimpse of his eyes, pleading for you to help him. You wish you could, but you’re as powerless as he is at the moment.
“Mind your own business, traitor.” A soldier in a skel suit grunts out while smacking the back of your head with the butt of her gun.
The next thing you know is that you’re strapped down onto a gurney. For minutes, maybe hours, you really don’t know, you’re poked, prodded, stuffed, and jabbed more times than you could count. The whole experience was dehumanizing, and you had to zone out for your own sanity. Being held down against your will brings too many bad memories. Eventually, they give you a break; you’re still tied down, but at least now you can focus on other things, such as Parker Selfridge talking to one of the scientists.
“I don’t care how it works; I care if you can replicate it.” Parker says, interrupting the scientist in front of him. Even after all these years, he’s still the exact same.
“Theoretically, it is possible, we’d need quite some time to run experiments, and that could take—”
“How much is it gonna cost?” Classic Selfridge, impatient and only caring about money and quotas. His bluntness leaves the scientist a little stunned.
“Well, it’s hard to say so early. But if I had to guess, early versions may be just as expensive as Avatars.” Parker looks visibly annoyed by that answer. “But overall, it could be cheaper considering there’d likely be significantly less personnel and equipment involved.” That answer seems to relax Parker a bit.
“And what about that one?” He asks, gesturing to you.
“By all accounts, she’s healthy. Although there are some signs of superficial cuts healing.” The male scientist says while he looks through the sheets on his clipboard.
“That’s good and all, but what of her reproductive system?” Parker asks impatiently. Your reproductive system? What could they possibly want to know about that? Of all things, why care about that? Unless…
“Everything seems to be in working shape. Besides the lack of menses and the potential for a heat cycle, it matches a healthy human female. But there is one thing…” The scientist draws out before leaning close to Parker’s ear. “It appears that she’s already pregnant. The scanners show that she’s a week or two at most.”
Pregnant?
Pregnant!
How can you be pregnant? They’re lying. There’s no way you can be pregnant. You can’t be. You can’t be. Two weeks pregnant? How is this possible?
Two weeks ago was the Battle at Three Brothers. Two weeks ago, you almost died. Two weeks ago, your very not pregnant human body did die. And two weeks ago, you had sex once. Just once. Jake only came inside you once. Just one lust-filled mistake, and now you’re pregnant. You’ve always wondered what it’d be like to give Jake a child from your own body; Neytiri has done it three times, and if you’re honest with yourself, you were a little jealous since that was something you thought you’d never be able to do. You were okay with not being a biological mother, you love your children unconditionally, and it doesn’t matter to you that you didn’t birth them. But now, now you’re pregnant.
Normally, that would put a smile on your face; you fantasized about this for years. But now, all you fear is utter dread. You’re a hostage, likely to be used as breeding stock for whatever evil plans the RDA has concocted. And your husband is set to be executed very soon.
If your hands weren’t bound, one would have slowly made its way down to your flat stomach at the thought of Jake. His baby is inside of you, and you cannot be happy about it. How can you be? You don’t even want to tell him. You cannot let him die thinking he failed to protect not only you but also your future child. It’d kill him to know. It’s killing you to know. You’re too early for anyone to catch a change in your scent. Only the RDA’s advanced scanners could pick it up. You always dreamt that. You’d find out that you’re pregnant from one of your mates noticing a change in you, and you all being overjoyed. But that dream has been cruelly stripped away from you.
“Would you like us to induce a miscarriage?” The scientist asks nervously. Your eyes go wide at the question. You’re having conflicting thoughts about the pregnancy, but that certainly doesn’t mean that you’d be okay with them taking that choice away from you and ending your pregnancy. No. No. No. They can’t. You’ll escape with Spider before they can even prepare a syringe.
“That won’t be necessary. It’s good for us that she’s got a head start on this. Now we won’t have to wait on the bald one to get the job done.”
Get the job done? They cannot be referring to what you think they are. They don’t have to wait for you to get pregnant, and apparently, that’s a good thing? And they wanted Lyle to get the job done, as in impregnating you.
The more you think, the more erratic your breathing and heartbeat get. You cannot let him. You cannot have his children. You will not let him touch you. Just the thought of his hands on you makes you want to puke. He’s vile. He’s repulsive. You cannot let him defile you, not again.
You need to leave. That was always the plan. But now, you need to leave before your baby can be born. You cannot let them experiment with the last gift Jake gave you. No. No. That cannot happen.
“Subject’s heart rate is sporadic. Shall I prepare to sedate her?” Another scientist asks after she reads your vitals.
Parker’s eyes widen, and he whips over to the female scientist. “No! We don’t know how that stuff is going to affect the fetus. I need healthy children.”
You cannot let the RDA use your child as a tool. You will not. You’ll find a way to escape. You have to.
The lab is so quiet that you can hear each step Selfridge takes, and you know when he’s near the door. Now is your time to strike.
“Parker, do you remember me?” Parker stops dead in his tracks and has a befuddled expression painting his face as if he never bothered to learn your name. “You remember me, don’t you, Parker. Although I’m sure you probably wouldn’t recognize me in this form.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“You probably wouldn’t remember my name, but I was Grace’s assistant teacher when she was at her school. And after the school, I was still always by her side. I remember you once referring to me as her little shadow.” As you speak, a small glimpse of realization pops up on the jaded executive administrator’s face. “Yeah, you remember me, don’t you. Well, I want you to do me a favor.” The man is stunned and silent by your audacity. “I want to be with my husband tonight.”
Parker stands with his hands on his hips, mouth agape, as he stares at you lying on the gurney. “Uh— No.” The jaded man scoffs at you.
“Parker, you have separated me from my family, you are going to execute my husband, and you’re going to use me as breeding stock for my rapist; all I ask is to spend my husband’s last night with him. You’re a smart man, Parker; surely you can spin this positively to the media. ‘RDA shows humanity to traitor.’ It’d be good optics for you.”
Parker says nothing, but you know him. He’s all about profits and optics. You know he’s never going to pass up a chance for good optics. You know he’s considering it even though he leaves the room without saying anything.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The scientists continue to prick and prod you for what feels like hours, but really, you have no idea how long it’s been before you’re unceremoniously shoved into a holding cell. It’s bare, sterile, and cramped. The fluorescent lights shine down on you constantly, and every single corner of the room is brightly lit.
Even the air feels like punishment. You have no proof of it, but you’re sure they’ve increased the oxygen levels in your cell. Not enough to cause any damage, but just enough to keep you uncomfortable. But at least they let you put on your original clothing back on.
You have nothing besides your songchord to keep your mind occupied in your prison. Each bead tells a story. Each bead keeps you grounded. Your family is everything to you. You had no one on Earth, no one who cared about you or your well-being. But now, your absence causes heartache. Thinking of them causes heartache. It’s bittersweet. They’re both your greatest strength and greatest weakness. And now there’s to be a new addition to your large family, but you’re the only one who knows about it. Will you ever get a chance to tell them? Will you be able to add their birth to your songchord?
“You’ve stayed hidden.” Your gaze is directed toward the reinforced glass wall of your enclosure as General Ardmore approaches. “With all the intel we had on Sully, nothing indicated that he kept a whore.”
“I am his wife!” You snarl, baring your teeth at the four-star general, but she just smiles condescendingly as if she intended to get under your skin. “Do not call me a whore. He is my husband.”
The General eyes you up and down from where you’re crouched. “Selfridge says you want to spend the night with Sully.”
Just the way she speaks down to you grates on your nerves. Every time she opens your mouth, you just want to smack her upside her mouth. “Is a wife wanting to be with her husband before he dies shocking?”
“You trying to tell him about the bun in the oven?”
You scoff at the woman in front of you. What does it matter to her? “No.”
“Why not?” She asks curtly.
“I love my husband, and he loves me. I cannot let him die thinking he failed me and our child.” Your hand instinctively moves down to your stomach as you speak. “He will do everything he can to get me to escape. There’d be so much death and destruction, but I’m pragmatic; I know it’d be highly unlikely for us to succeed, so I cannot risk it.”
Ardmore hums as if she approves of your answer before turning her back to you to leave the area. Just before she does, you see her nod to someone just outside of your view.
Much to your dismay, Wainfleet appears in front of you with a Na’vi-sized jumpsuit in his hand and a nefarious grin on his face. When he unlocks your cell, you don’t run; what would be the point? But you do shrink further into your corner, wanting to put as much distance between Lyle and yourself as possible.
“Looks like you get to see your little boy toy after all, Princess.” Lyle licks his lips as he throws the jumpsuit for you to put on. “You’re lucky I’m not a jealous man. If I were, I’d punish you for wanting to see another man.” Your skin crawls as he licks his lips while you put the jumpsuit on. It’s so bad that you can’t even face him anymore, opting to turn your back on the man. “But it’s okay, baby, after tomorrow, you’ll be all mine. I’ll even be nice and let you keep that bastard of yours; it’ll be outnumbered by our babies anyway.” As he says that, you suddenly feel him press his protruding crotch against your butt while his hand caresses your stomach.
Instinctively, your elbow juts out to hit him in his stomach. While you’re sure the action didn’t hurt him, it stunned him enough to the point where his grip loosened just enough for you to escape his grasp and press yourself against the far side of the wall.
“Do not touch me!” You scream at the recom. “I will never have your children! I’d rather die than let you touch me!” Your heart is pounding, and you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down, but it isn’t working.
The wall is too hard. Why can it be plush so you can hide inside of it? So you can hide from that predatory gaze you’re all too familiar with. Anger clouds Lyle’s face, and he storms over to you. Before you know it, your head is forced to the side, and you can feel a burning, throbbing sensation creep up on your cheek. Lyle traps you between the wall and him. His fingers dig into your cheeks as he yanks your head forward to force you to look at him.
You can’t cry. You won’t cry. You can’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you afraid.
Lyle’s eyes flicker down to your dry, parched lips. “I’m an impatient man. Behave.” He takes you by surprise and forces you into a kiss. You hate it. His touch, his smell. Everything about him is repulsive. When he presses his bulge against your thigh, you freeze momentarily.
No.
That is enough to snap you out of your trance. You try to wiggle away from him, but his grip on you is too strong. You don’t let that deter you. Your once unmoving lips move to bite him, hard. And your hands claw at his face. Both actions draw blood, and he releases you,
Before you can celebrate your freedom, his hands find their way to your neck. You claw at his arms, demanding to be let go, but your fire is quickly smothered as he cuts off your airways. You can feel your strength leaving your body as he glares at you with a type of predatory glare that you’ve yet to see from him.
“You’re starting to piss me off bitch!” His spit reeks of alcohol as it lands on your face. “You’re mine now bitch! Do you understand? Mine!” The angrier he gets, the tighter his grip on your throat becomes. You’re getting lightheaded as the seconds go on. “You’re not gonna see your little boy toy if you keep pissing me off.”
Your eyes widen at the mention of Jake. You have to see him. It’ll kill you not to see him. Your panic brings delight to Wainfleet’s face. “Yeah, that’s right. General says you’re mine to do whatever I want with. I’m the one allowing you to see him. Me! If you don’t behave, then you won’t see him.”
The tears you fought so hard to keep at bay finally escape. You have to see Jake. You know that what comes next is a pain you haven’t physically experienced in years.
“Take your punishment like a good girl.”
.
.
.
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
There are thirty-six white tiles on the ceiling above you. You’ve counted them. Seventeen times. You’ve counted them seventeen times. There’s not much to focus on in this room. You have the choice between ceiling tiles and the faint buzzing sound of machinery. Counting ceiling tiles is more interesting.
You have to have a body, but you do not have to exist in it. Not now, you don’t. You can’t. You’re somewhere else. You keep your mind busy, you keep it absent while your body exists. You might be there, but your mind isn’t. It’s too busy counting ceiling tiles and memorizing every corner.
One
Two
Three
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
You’re tainted. Weak. How could you let another man into you? How can you go to your husband with another man’s grime caked onto your skin? How could you? You had to. You wanted to see your husband. Selfish. That’s what you are. Jake deserves better than you.
“Hands against the wall!”
A man in a skel-suit shouts, and you’re suddenly brought out of your thoughts, and you remember where you are. Jake stands up and does what the guard says, glaring at him until his eyes soften and widen when he realizes that you’re here.
When the reinforced doors seal behind you, both of you stare at each other as if you’re unable to believe what you’re both seeing before you run into each other’s arms. The tears you’ve been holding back come flooding the second you feel your husband’s arms wrap around you.
“Baby, I—What are you doing here?” His voice cracks.
“I convinced them to let me stay with you until…” You drag out your sentence, unable to bring yourself to finish it. You don’t want to think about the inevitable. You just want your husband. The two of you fall to your knees, arms still firmly wrapped around each other. The world beyond your embrace ceases to exist. All you care about is your husband. Nothing else matters.
“Baby, are you okay? You smell like him.” Jake’s voice is laced with anger and worry as he glares at the man who’s the source of much of your trauma. “Did he touch you?”
He did.
But Jake can’t know about that. You hate to lie to him, especially after agreeing last night that you both would open up and communicate more. But he can’t die with this regret. You won’t let him.
“No, he hasn’t. The RDA modified the Na’vi DNA in the recoms so they can project their pheromones farther and more intensely. It’s probably a way to help them exert control.”
Lies.
Jake’s mouth opens as if he wants to say something, but no words come out. You intertwine your fingers with his and kiss his knuckles. “I’m alright, Jake. I’ll be alright.” You rest your head on his shoulder.
“Don’t lie to me, y/n—baby. Please. Please don’t lie to me.” His voice cracks, and his grip on your waist tightens. “How can you be okay here, baby? Away from Neytiri; from the kids.” His knees give out, and you both end up kneeling on the hard metal floor. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry. If I were a better man, a better husband, then you would be here. You wouldn’t be near that man. I should’ve—”
You cut his tangent off by pressing your lips against his. The kiss is short. Too short. It’s not enough. There’s not enough time.
“Jake, I love you. I don’t want a better husband because I have the perfect husband for me, and that’s you.” You take his hand and place it over your heart so he can feel it beat. “My heart only beats for one man. I’m here because I want our family safe. Me being here isn’t your fault.”
Jake internally scoffs at your attempt to soothe him. “How is it not my fault. If I hadn’t become Toruk Makto, then none of this would’ve happened.” Jake looks down at his feet, refusing to maintain eye contact with you.
You lean down to his level, forcing him to look at you. “Baby, I know you don’t see it, but you becoming Toruk Makto was the best thing you’ve done. Without that, we might not even have a family to protect.” Both of you sit, and you rest his head on your collarbone. “The RDA was going to attack with or without you; sooner or later. Eywa calls upon a Na’vi to ride the great Toruk to guide and give hope to The People.”
“If I weren’t Toruk Makto, then the RDA would have no reason to come after us.”
Your hands find their way to his cheeks, and you use your thumb to softly caress his blue skin. “Jake, even if you never became Toruk Makto, even if HomeTree never fell that day, the RDA would still come after us.” None of this is his fault. You wish he could see that.
Suddenly, you feel a strong pair of arms wrap around you, and you’re now on Jake’s lap. “I never had a purpose in life, never a reason to keep going. But I finally found it in you. In Neytiri. In the kids. I have something to protect, and I’ve failed—I’m a failure.”
Even with your hands holding his face up, his eyes still try to avoid your gaze. “Look at me, maJake. You aren’t a failure.” He tries to slink away, but you don’t let him. “You are not a failure. Our family is safe. You have kept us safe, Neytiri is safe with the kids. I’d have been here with or without you. We’ll be safe, I promise you. You see this?” You pull your kuru over your shoulder and show him the wiggling tendrils at the end. “I promise you that one day I’ll escape and I’ll visit you every day.”
“We don’t have much time left, let’s not spend the night in sorrow. Let’s let our last moments be joyful.”
Time became an illusion. The crowd of spectators never dissipates, but neither of you cares. This is your final night together, and all that matters is him. You spend the time in his arms as you reminisce about your favorite memories.
“Remember when Neteyam and Lo’ak were obsessed with earth music? They wouldn’t stop singing the same four songs for a week!”
You feel Jake smile from his spot behind you as he thinks back on the memory. “I never thought that Lo’ak would be a talented singer.”
Your short burst of giggles is interrupted when the door to the cage suddenly opens, revealing Quaritch. Your ears pin themselves to the sides of your head, and you can’t help the hiss that leaves your lips as you bare your teeth at him. He pays you no mind.
“End of the line, Jake. Zero six tomorrow.” The colonel announces once the door closes. “Varang wants your heart. But we’re going old school. Firing squad. Selfridge says it’s a better optic.”
Jake’s grip on your waist tightens. “You be a good dog for the suits.”
Quaritch shakes his head and walks to the two of you before kneeling down. “It’s not about them. It’s about me and you. It’s about a marine who betrayed my trust. About the men and women I lost.”
Jake finally removes his head from the crook of your neck to look at Quaritch. “Dead man’s memories.” Surprisingly, those words seem to get to Quaritch as he looks slightly taken aback momentarily. “Miles Quaritch is gone. You’re free.”
You want to scold Jake for trying to start a heart-to-heart with Quaritch. In blue skin or pink skin, the Miles Quarotch before you is the same man from sixteen years ago.
“There is a world out there. There’s things the big suits would never understand. The Na’vi call it ‘kame’, to see.”
The colonel’s frown deepens. “I know the word.”
“Then learn to see!” Jake shoots back before bringing his kuru to his front. “Connect to something greater than you—greater than anything you’ve ever known.” His free hand gently rests on your shoulder, and he subtly pulls you closer to his chest. Your glaring at Quaritch when your husband does that. You won’t let this man disrupt your peace with your husband. “I see this world. See yourself.” Jake’s tone is so soft as he tries to get through to the colonel, although you’re sure he’d have a better chance at success talking to a brick wall.
“I’ll see you at zero six.” Quaritch says sternly before he gets up to leave the cage, leaving Jake feeling disappointed.
You lean your head down to rest it on Jake’s shoulder. Your tail slithers between you both until it finds a comfortable place around his waist. “Don’t take it to heart, Jake. It’s impossible for that man to See. No matter what he looks like now, he’s still the same man from before; they all are.”
“He’s been here for months, and he still can’t See.” Jake groans out in frustration.
“A man who refuses to turn on the lights cannot see.”
More time flies, and the RDA is even kind enough to feed you both unidentifiable sludge. Neither of you eats it. At some point, you end up between Jake’s legs with your back pressed up against his chest with his kuru draped over your shoulder while you gently stroke it up and down.
“Remember, when we visited the Resistance HQ a little while after they rescued the Sarentu?” Jake gives a small hum of acknowledgment. “Well, did you see the way So’lek looked at Tamtey. He’s totally into them!”
Jake looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “What’re you talking about? He looks at Tamtey the same way he does the other Sarentu.”
“No, he looks at Tamtey with love in his eyes, I can tell.”
“You couldn’t even tell that Neytiri and I liked you until we were about to mate.” Jake quips playfully.
“That was different! Plus, it’s easier to see when other people like each other.” You pout. Jake leans over to kiss you, but just as his lips are about to press against your cheek, a loud thundering sound booms behind you. Instinctively, Jake moves you behind him as you both watch as several towers explode in a blinding orange light. Just as fast as the explosions come, you see a shadow of an ikran fly above and scratch the top of the cage.
“Jake!”
Neytiri? Neytiri! What is she doing here?
The crowd of onlookers immediately panics, and it’s utter chaos as they all run away from the explosion and the spraying bullets, but you pay them no mind. You only pay attention to Neytiri as she expertly evades the bullets.
“Jake, it’s Neytiri!”
“I see that.” Jake says, while his grip on your waist tightens protectively.
Behind you, you hear a crash and see one of the screens fall down as a giant bulldozer plows through the area. You start to worry when you notice it making a beeline for the cage.
The armed men in skel-suits wave their hands in the air to try to signal to the person driving the machine to stop, but their attempts are futile.
Like idiots, the shoulders try to shoot at the zakru-sized machine as it raises its arms. Jake keeps you behind him as you both press yourselves against the walls of the cage. Jake covers your body with his to protect you from the shattered glass when the bulldozer breaks the cage.
“Come on, baby!” Jake holds onto your hand as he leads you underneath the bulldozer’s arms as it backs up. The soldiers quickly begin shooting when they realize what’s happening, but it’s useless when the arms go down.
The space beneath the bulldozer is barely high enough for you to walk comfortably. “MaJake, what’s going on?” You ask, unintentionally holding onto Jake’s arm tighter than before for comfort.
“I don’t know, baby, but this is our chance to escape.” Jake keeps you close while you both crouch underneath the bulldozer. When the bulldozer finally stops, you’re able to get out to see that it’s stuck; the sides are blocked off by the exploded debris.
“Jake! Jake!” You hear a man shout from underneath the hatch. Who is he? He’s not one of your own. The man runs to both of you. “This way! This way!” You both follow the strange man’s lead. Is this even a good idea? He did free you from the cage, but he’s also an unknown man affiliated with the RDA.
“Ian Garvin, marine bio.” You’re confused as to why the man suddenly introduces himself, considering the situation you’re in. “Gotta say, I’m a big fan of everything you’ve done. I’m a little awe-inspired right now. The way that you—”
“Shut up!” Jake whisper hisses at the man, and you all hide behind some pipes. “What’s the plan?”
The man gestures around him. “This is as far as I got.” He says, completely out of breath from the brief amount of running.
Jake purses his lips into a thin line. “Well then, there’s no plan; just Neytiri.” Honestly, Neytiri isn’t the worst plan. Although you hate the idea of your wife putting herself in grave danger trying to rescue you both.
Everywhere you go, there are soldiers and AMP. Suits patrolling. Your heart is practically leaping out of your chest from the anxiety. “Stay close to me, baby.”
The three of you stop behind some pillars as an AMP suit wanders around the dark room. “Why are you doing this?” Jake asks the out-of-shape marine biologist.
“There’s gonna be a massive tulkun hunt, the day after tomorrow. They’re hitting them with everything we’ve got.” Ian says breathlessly.
“The calf communion.” You whisper in disbelief.
The man nods as if to confirm what you said. “You’ve got to stop them. You’re the only one who can.”
Ian eventually leads you both to an area outdoors. There are fewer places to hide, and Scorpions are hovering above.
“Baby, take off that jumpsuit, we’ll be harder to spot.” Jake says as he quickly removes the bright orange suit.
“We’re big and blue, Jake. I we’re not that hard to spot.” You say while you remove the itchy polyester fabric.
When you remove the fabric, the scratches and beginnings of brusies that litter your skin are visible to Jake’s eyes. “Baby, what happened?” Jake asks as his hands traces one of the brusies around your neck.
Your hands rest over his and you give him a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing maJake, they just had the restraints far too tight when they were running the tests.” From Jake’s expression you can tell that he doesn’t fully believe you. “Let’s go we shouldn’t stay here long.”
As you keep running, you end up in another open-air area. You hear the sounds of a Scorpion nearby, you manage to get behind a bright yellow construction vehicle, but just as Jake and Ian are about to, the Scorpion begins spraying bullets. Jake manages to get to your side, but Ian isn’t so lucky.
“Go! Get out of here!” Jake shouts at the frightened man.
You and Jake are stuck behind the vehicle as the Scorpion pilot continuously sprays bullets at you both. You see a way to escape, but there’s no way you can safely get there.
“Hey, remember me?” Your ears perk up at the familiar voice. “That’s right, assholes, I don’t need this!” You peek from behind the vehicle to see Spider throwing his mask onto the ground. How and when did he get here? “What’re you gonna do? You gonna shoot me? You’re not gonna shoot me! You know you can’t!” Spider taunts the pilot as he slowly walks backward to you and Jake. “You can kiss my ass!”
“Spider, what’re you doing here? It’s too dangerous!” You try to scold the boy, but he pays you no mind; instead, he pushes you and Jake, encouraging you both to run.
The young boy uses himself as a shield by staying close to you. He even holds onto your tail. “Stay close to y/n!” Jakea shouts as he speeds up. The ground is a little slippery, and as you run for your lives, Spider’s grip on your tail loosens, and he falls down, although he still tries to keep up. “Stay with her, boy!”
“Spider, get on my back.” You bend down, and with no hesitation, Spider jumps on your back. It’s strange being able to carry the boy on your back once more. When he was younger, you could do so, but as he got older, he became too big and too heavy.
The light being emitted from the Scorpion is blinding, and Spider has to squint when he looks behind. “He’s coming back around!”
Goosebumps form on your skin when you get the sneaking suspicion that the RDA may no longer care about keeping Spider alive as long as they can kill Jake. You know that Parker would never take the risk, but Ardmore would.
You all end up in a dead end with the Scorpion hovering above. There’s nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. You’re trapped in a metal coffin.
Just as you believe that this is truly the end, the Scorpion goes down in a fiery blaze. Jake uses his body to shield you and Spider from the debris. Soon, you hear the sound of an ikran landing, and you all turn to see Neytiri, covered in the markings of the Mangkwan.
“MaJake!” Neytiri gestures with her head for you all to get onto Sa’ata.
“Neytiri!”
“Baby, I don’t know whether to kiss you or yell at you.”
You can see Neytiri quickly glance at Jake’s lips before moving back to his eyes. “You waste time.” Spider wastes no time as he’s already on Sa’ata. Soon, you and Spider are sandwiched between Jake and Neytiri as you take off.
Neytiri expertly weaves through the burning city, avoiding Mangkwan and Scorpions alike. Just so Neytiri can focus on flying, you grab onto her bow, prepared to shoot anything or anyone that threatens you. It’s your only weapon. The bow is far too heavy for Spider, and Jake is more comfortable with guns, so you’re the only one with free hands skilled enough to use it.
As much as you’d love to see Bridgehead completely destroyed, this is only a rescue mission. You don’t have the personnel or equipment to reclaim this land for Pandora. One ikran, three na’vi, and one human teenager won’t be enough, so evading conflict is the best course of action.
Just as you’re about to exit the borders of the Bridgehead, a lone Mangkwan raider pops out of the woodworks on her ikran with a rocket launcher in hand. As you draw back the bow, the raider releases her rocket. Neytiri dodges the rocket, which gives you the perfect shot of the raider. You let go of the arrow and pray to Eywa that you don’t hit the poor ikran. Luckily for you and the ikran, the arrow hits the raider square in her heart, causing her to unceremoniously fall off her ikran and onto the polluted ground beneath you.
“My love, what are you doing here?” You ask your wife.
“I thought about a life without you both in it, and I realized I couldn’t. I couldn’t lose either one of you.” Neytiri’s confession brings tears to your eyes. You can’t imagine a life without her either.
Jake’s hands rest on the sides of your shoulders, gently rubbing up and down. “You’ve been through a lot, baby. You should rest.”
At the mention of sleep, a deep yawn takes over your body. “I’m fine, Jake. You were the one on death row, not me. You should sleep.”
Jake pulls you closer to his chest and presses a kiss over one of the bruises on your neck. “You know I can’t sleep until I know both of my girls are okay. Sleep for me, baby.” As much as you want to stay up and stay alert, your body betrays you, and you can feel exhaustion taking over.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“Wake up, baby.” You wake up groggily to the sound of Jake’s voice and him gently nudging you awake. The sun is already out, and you’re at some random river in the forest. Where are you?
“I gotta take a huge leak.” You hear Spider announce while Jake helps you off of Sa’ata. “You guys landed just in time.”
While Jake and Neytiri walk to the side—far enough away to where you can’t hear anything unless you strain— you follow Spider to the river. You bend down to look at your reflection in the clear stream.
Whore.
That’s what you see. Just a few hours ago, you let another man inside of you, and for what? Jake’s alive. He’s alive, you’ll see him again. So why did you let that man onto you?
Dirty.
The water is calling your name. You want to be clean again. You need to be. You can still feel his touch. It’s everywhere. It’s repulsive. Why did you let him do that to you? How could you betray your mates like that? The water is clean. It’ll make you clean again.
“Good idea, drink first, then piss in the stream.”
The sound of Spider’s voice snaps you out of your trance just as your fingertips graze the top of the water. What’re you doing? You’re not alone. You can’t let those thoughts consume you. Not again.
“Spider, how are you feeling?” You ask, crouching beside the teenager. “Did they hurt you?” You reach out to touch his head, but he dodges it. He used to be so touchy, but ever since the war, he has avoided touching. You know that even if he denies it, you know that the RDA has something to do with it.
“I’m fine, this thing is just itchy.” He says, tugging at the zipper of his jumpsuit. “They didn’t even put a fly in this thing! That’s just stupid.”
You smile softly, deciding not to push the subject. Not right now. “It is itchy, let’s get it off you.” You help the boy out of the poor-quality fabric. “That’s much better, the Spider I know doesn’t wear pants.”
He laughs and turns to you. “Are you hungry? Cause I’m starving.” His ability to act like everything’s fine both impresses and worries you. Has your bad habit rubbed off on him as well?
“Did they not feed you?” You ask worriedly. Spider was a high-value asset for them; surely, they’d feed him something.
“Quaritch tried to give something called a cheeseburger. But it didn’t look like real food, so I didn’t eat it.”
You snort inwardly at the thought of Quaritch giving a teen who hunts and forages for his own food some highly processed garbage. “You’re right, that probably wasn’t real food. They probably 3D printed it or something.” Spider looks at you in horror at the mention of 3D printed food. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be able to find some fruits nearby.”
“Spider.” Both you and Spider turn to look at Jake. “C’mere.”
Something feels off, but you and Spider walk to Jake. “What’s going on?” The boy asks cautiously, but Jake doesn’t answer. Instead, he places his hand on Spider’s shoulder.
“Just come with me.”
“Where are you going, Jake?” You ask.
Jake continues to guide Spider further into the forest. “I just need to talk to Spider, privately.”
Why does that sound so ominous? Your mind isn’t in its right state right now; you’re probably just overthinking. A lot has happened to Spider in a short period of time, and it’d make sense that Jake would want to talk to him about it, and it’d probably be easier for Spider to open up if it’s just him and Jake. But what you can’t stop thinking about is the look on Neytiri’s face. It’s not like her.
“Yawne, is everything alright?” Neytiri doesn’t answer you. Instead, she crouches down at the riverbank and begins frantically splashing water all over her face, panting and crying as she does so.
You quickly kneel beside her and rest one of your hands on her back. “Neytiri, what’s wrong? Please talk to me.”
She keeps splashing water on her face and rubbing it. The paint on her face begins to turn into a muddy mess while the red pools in the water like blood. You know these motions. Desperately using water to cleanse something deep inside. It’s not just about being physically clean, about cleansing the sin out of you.
Neytiri looks down at her red-stained hands. “W-we have to stop him.” Stop who? Stop him from what? Neytiri looks at you with a tear-stained face. “He’s going to kill Spider.”
Kill Spider?
Your body moves before your brain can fully process what she just told you.
Please, Great Mother, please, don’t let me be too late. That’s all that runs through your brain as you sprint through the forest. How could he even think of killing Spider? How could he not even talk to you?
They couldn’t have gone far. You’re following their scent trail, but it feels like you’re going nowhere; every centimeter you run feels like a mile. In the far distance, you can see the silhouette of Jake with his right arm raised and a knife firmly in his grasp.
“Jake, no!”
That blood-curdling cry is the only thing you’re able to release.
You’re too late.
A/N- I was making myself sad writing this chapter. Reader is going through the wringer, and unfortunately for her, I have more planned for her. It's gonna be a while before there's some more fluff.
I WILL EAT THIS SERIES UP IN WAYS YOU CANNOT IMAGINE. THE ANGST IS JUST SO GOODDDDDD. THE PLOT IS JUST MWAH. GIMME A THOUSAND IF THIS AND ID BE SO HAPPY.
CONTAIN: MDNI, face riding, post break up, real soft dirty talk, reader is lowkey cheating on her arranged husband with sir Lewis…, fingering, quick self breast play, praising, oral f/receiving, spanking…?
A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a week now. Also been pretty inactive cuz I went through a weird ass break up, and work has been draining me so, so much lately. But anyway hope you guys will like it 🫶🏼
Masterlist
“Oh fuck—”
You gasped, grinding your wet cunt agaisnt Lewis’s face, tongue buried inside of you. His beard tickling the inside of your thighs, while your hands grasped at the headboard like your life depends on it.
“So good…” he mumbled against you, latching at your clit feverishly, your clear nectar dripping down his chin and face in the most messy way possible.
You rocked your hips more, wanting to feel every inch and friction of his tongue inside of you. His face buried between your thighs as he licked slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerve, and then without a warning he tongue-fucked you again… and this, three times in a row.
Your legs were already shaking from the pleasure. “Fuck it— can’t believe I haven’t had any of this for three months” you whined, tilting your head back while your fingers played with one of your nipples, thumb and index rolling against the soft bud, adding more stimulation.
“You’re the one who left—” he groaned, before leaving a little smack on your right cheek. “You left me for this bastard, thinking he’d please you like I do” he spat, before planting another smack on your ass.
“Fuck— he couldn’t even fuck me like you do…” you whimpered, feeling close to your highs. “Oh this tongue—oh gosh, I had to think of you to climax…fuck— I really messed up” you hisse before pulling at his braids, always keeping him closer.
His nose shimmed in, rubbing against you while his finger joined the party, gently parting your lips before inserting one digit inside of you, pulling it in and out of your soaked cunt, the squelching sounds were the only audible thing in the room, beside your moans and shared breaths.
“Fuck this pussy was made for me—knew it since the day I met you..” he groaned out before adding his tongue again.
“I shouldn’t have left you for him Lew—it was so stupid of me” you admitted, almost riding his face like you’d usually do with his cock.
“He promised me marriage, a futur together you know. That’s what my family wanted for me” you moaned, clenching your tights. “It didn’t made me happ—fuck just like that Lew !”
He smirked against your pussy, doubling his efforts, you could feel that heat in your lower abdomen flowing inside of your body, begging for release. A release that Lewis was about to give you.
“Then come for me baby… lemme give you what he can’t, alright ?” He mumbled gently, kissing your inner thighs before slipping his finger in you again.
“Fuck-fuck-fuck !”
“I’m coming— Lewis” your forehead rested on the headboard as your orgasm took over you, feeling your muscles clenching around his tattooed finger.. feeling that familiar sensation you were used to.
“You did so good” Lewis praised, kissing gently your leg, as you catched your breath. You pulled away from him, a long string of spit connected his mouth to your wet pussy, making you roll your eyes of pleasure just by the obscene sight of it.
He pulled you down against him, kissing you deeply, his tongue fighting with yours, letting you taste yourself. The sweat clinging on your body molding with his, while his thumb caressed your back, grounding you gently.
You leaned into him, whispering softly “I missed you so much” before pressing a kiss to his neck on that exact spot you knew always made him weak.
“Miss you too darling…” he murmured, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing lightly as he kissed you again. His voice dropped a little “don’t… don’t ever leave me again please”
“You know if it was up to me I would have stayed.”
His eyes searched yours as he exhaled. “I know but I can’t stop wanting you” The mix of guilt and desire tangled in the air. A short silence hung, broke by the soft breaths of you two.
“I’m here now, I just—it’s not the way I wanted it to be. And I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you from the beginning.”
“It’s fine, just stay with me for tonight at least, even if you’re going back to him… I’ll make love to you all night, just to remind you how good it is”
“Fuck—yes please,” you whispered as Lewis grabbed your hips, pulling you closer before your lips met his again, knowing you’ll both have a long night in front of you before you’d eventually return to your stay at home husband.
Story summary: Y/n wakes up in Hometree, ready to be guided beside Jake into a new lesson from Neytiri. She realizes quickly just how much she misses her old life.
Author's Note: I know the Pa'li scene is technically later into Jake's journey, but I moved it to be earlier :)
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The Na'vi wake up early. Some earlier than others, before light reaches across the horizon. But most awake just before sunrise. Their bodies accustomed to the rise & fall of their sun.
Neytiri wakes just before the sun peaks out from the edge of the skyline. You were still Fast asleep; your body was playing catch-up with the amount of work you put it through.
She had shared a laugh with you when Jake struggled to climb into the basket-style hammock the night prior. In just a short amount of time, she seems to have bonded with you; she doesn't trust you yet. But there is an easy flow of existence between you two.
You awake to a couple of thumps on your hammock. The vibrations of the movement force you to wake.
“Time to get up,” you hear Neytiri's voice.
You groan with faux annoyance, “5 more minutes,” you roll over onto your stomach, facing her, eyes closed.
“Don't make me come over there,” she replies in a chastising tone.
You peek one eye open & look at her face.
She has her head down in a scolding manner, her gaze pointed at you intensely.
You stare for just a moment longer, considering whether she would actually force you out of your bed.
God, you didn't realize how much you missed this.
You know you shouldn't be this comfortable in a place that is not home to you, but this is nice.
You'll keep looking for an out, the right time to leave. For now, you settle on enjoying the ride.
Snapping out of your disassociative state, you roll over on your back & sitting up. Staring up, down & around you at the remaining Na'vi that are last to rise.
It felt weird to wake up with no weapons in your immediate reach. You were so used to sleeping with your knife that you instinctively went to reach for it before realizing you didn't have it. It was down there, in the communal area.
“Y/n” Neytiri calls out gently
You hum an acknowledgement, looking over at her.
“Where did you get your bow?” She asks curiously
You look at her sleeping cell, then yours, your eyes slowly darting around, “I made it. Out there,” you motion with your head. “I had nothing. I had to make something, & I couldn't make a gun. So…”
Her question doesn't seem to come from judgment. The insecure part of you is saying that she is going to critique your carpentry skills.
“Your bow is good, you will use it in my teachings,” she compliments you
You look up at her with a small hint of surprise on your face. In the past 12 hours, you have felt more than you have in almost 2 years. A simple compliment from a total stranger has baffled you.
Thankfully, when an avatar or Na'vi blushes, it is hard to see.
You feel heat rise up to your cheeks, “thanks,” you tear your gaze from her & stare at your hammock bed.
You can't help the small upward tick of your mouth from forming.
There is the silence again.
It's comfortable. It doesn't feel like a moment to force words. There is thought put into the words before they are said out loud.
You glance over at Jake, who you assume is still resting in his human form. Leaving his avatar unlinked in this hammock.
“God, how long does Sleeping Beauty take before he wakes up?”
“Sl-e-eping beauty?” Neytiri tilts her head at you, stressing out the syllables of the word inquisitively.
You let out a little laugh, shaking your head at her confusion “Sleeping Beauty's a princess. She falls asleep for a long time cause she was under a curse.” You look at her face that is turning into curiosity, “it's just a story though.”
“How does she wake?” She asks, now genuinely interested.
“A handsome prince charming comes along & wakes her up with a kiss.”
You can see the gears turning in her head.
This woman would have a field day with old Disney movies.
Speaking of the devil.
You sense movement behind you. Jake is slowly sitting up from his resting form.
He looks around him at the mostly empty hammocks, “How long have you guys been up?”
You look over at him, “Well, we were being kind by waiting for you,” you reply, holding back from any insults or snarkiness.
The extra sleep you got has definitely put you in a better mood.
“How kind of you,” He replies with a small smile, stretching his arms above his head & stretching his neck.
Neytiri gets up & climbs down gracefully without a word. Expecting you two to follow.
At least she gave you the courtesy of having some extra time to wake up properly before climbing down.
Due to your time in the forest, you can navigate the hammocks & the descent fairly easily.
Halfway down, you check on Jake behind you. He has some struggle comparative to your performance. You continue, shaking your head, & letting out a little laugh.
Once down on the next level, you look out at the communal area. It is buzzing with life. The Na'vi are prepping what they will need for the day. Some are starting on their crafts, others are preparing to leave for a hunt. A few are eating in the common area.
The Na'vi don't follow a strict meal program. They eat when they feel like it & when it is available. So much different than Earth. Humans liked a strict meal time, & the food was slop. It was never enjoyable or appreciated.
You are grateful that Neytiri does not mention the human concept of breakfast, as you are still satiated from your feast yesterday afternoon.
She guides you over to the area that stores weapons & personal items.
Neytiri pulls out her bow & arrow along with yours. With the two so close together, the differences are noticeable. Her bow is neat & polished, with excellent craftsmanship. It looks traditional. Yours is slightly smaller; it's made of some wood you foraged from the forest a while back, and it's seen better days. Best of all, it performs well enough.
She hands you your weapon & you harness it to your back.
She doesn't give you your knife. That level of trust has not been established yet.
“Why does she get a bow?” Jake watches the two of you settle your bows. Poor thing, he feels left out.
“She has proven herself in front of Ewya,” she looks from you to Jake with a small smirk.
Oh, she is using you to get to Jake. Not that you're complaining.
“Ya, you hear that. Cause I know what I'm doing.” You tilt your head up at him in an egotistical bragging way, “Leave it to the professionals.”
He mimics a talking mouth with his hand to your face, like a child, “ya, ya.”
“Be nice to your elders.” You step closer to him, “I've been an avatar a lot longer than you. You are simply a baby learning how to walk for the first time.” You squint your eyes at him playfully.
He looks at you with a smirk, returning the playfulness in his demeanor & tone. His eyes pass quickly to Neytiri behind you, then return to you. “I've heard that one before,” he lets out a small laugh.
You look behind you at Neytiri, who gives you a small smirk before steeling her face back to neutral.
“You play too much,” she looks at both of you before walking off to the exit of hometree. Her professional energy returning.
“She ain't mad at just me this time,” Jake speaks up, walking behind her path
“Speak for yourself. I think she likes me better,” you give him a smug grin before jogging to catch up with her.
Jake scoffs in response before following your pace.
It's been less than a day & you already feel more at home than you ever did alone in the forest.
___________________
Neytiri guided you through the forest. Teaching Jake & you how to gracefully jump, leap, & navigate while reducing the risk of injury.
She was teaching Jake, as he does not know the forest. You had an easier time catching up & made far fewer mistakes than him due to your experience. Although you were not as graceful as Neytiri, you weren't as clumsy as Jake.
Just before reaching your destination, which had direhorses you jumped from the large roots of trees through the hills of rocky terrain.
In front of you is Neytiri. You look behind you just in time as Jake misjudges & understepped before hitting a tree root. He trips & falls flat on his face.
Neytiri & you falter for just a second. You stop & laugh at him as he lifts his head up & wipes the first from his face. He wipes the dirt from his tongue with one hand, making a disgusted face at the soil in his mouth.
You look at Neytiri & see she is quietly laughing with you. Although she is not as obvious as you are with your bullying at jake.
At this point, your stomach hurts from laughing so much. You're folded over with one arm on your stomach & the other on your knee, “you just- ate shit,” you say between laughter.
“I know, I felt it,” he shouts back from his spot, a little bit of embarrassment creeping through. He gets up & carefully trudges near you & Neytiri.
“Well, you almost made it, kid,” you jokingly reply.
Neytiri can't help but keep that smile on her face as she chooses to continue making her way forward toward the small spot of open land.
You & Jake carefully follow behind your guide.
When you reach the spot. Neytiri stops just before the land opens wide. It’s beautiful. It's equivalent to a small stream or creek on Earth; there is a small body of water & and an array of vegetation that the fauna of Pandora is utilizing.
You're reminded of your wife.
Every time you see something as beautiful as this, you can't help but think of her & her expertise.
You have been blinded for the very short time you've known Jake & Neytiri. The small voice in your head starts creeping back up. Reminding you of your grief & fears. The ghosts of your past find you even in the busiest times.
Neytiris voice breaks you out of your daze, “come”
You smack Jake on the arm to break him of his own dissociative state.
He shakes his head & looks to you, “ladies, first,” he waves you forward
You take the offer, but not before flipping him off.
The two of you stand slightly to the right of Neytiri, who is petting the horse-looking creature in front of you.
Jake reaches his hand out & repeats her petting action. The horse adjacent acts slightly startled, & you back up just a few steps. Your deeply rooted survival skills are forcing you to make space.
“easy boy,” he calms the creature. Jake glances back at you & he must see the apprehensive energy radiating from you.
“This Pa'li is female,” Neytiri corrects him
“Easy girl,” he reaffirms her. He looks once again at you, “You sure you don't wanna go first?”
You shake your head, & motion for him to proceed “ladies first.”
He doesn't respond & shakes his head in disbelief at your quick remarks. His nerves are as obvious as yours.
You watch from your spot as Jake awkwardly mounts Pa'li & you have to refrain from making any comments on his skill.
Neytiri says something in her native language that you can't understand. You assume she is calming her with the way she speaks. She looks to Jake & tells him to stay.
Even if Jake wanted to move, you don't think he could. He didn't even know what he was doing.
Neytiri walks to the other side & looks to you, waving you to follow her to the other Pa'li on the right of Jake.
Standing between you two, she calmly pets the creature as you jump & mount its back. You hardly struggle as your avatar's body is used to this form of calisthenics.
You can't help but give a cocky smile at Jake, which he responds to by rolling his eyes.
She turns toward Jake & passes one of the pa'li's antenna to jake who guides his queue to conjoin.
You watch from your spot as Jake's pupils dilate & his breathing changes.
You could run right now. Slip out in this second-long moment of distraction. Run as far as you can & never look back. But you can't find it in you. Blaming it on the curiosity you feel, you remain in your mounted position.
“This is tsahaylu -- the bond. Feel her heartbeat, her breath. Feel her legs.” Neytiri is guiding Jake through the emotions, maintaining eye contact with him.
Jake closes his eyes & nods; you can see, even from your outsider point of view, that Jake is connected to the creature. A deeper understanding between the two is being established.
He smiles in amazement, opens his eyes to peer at Neytiri, awaiting the next instruction.
Despite being trapped in your avatar body for almost 2 years, you have never linked your kuru to anything. Not a plant, person, or animal. This was never covered in basic training for the Avatar program. You always knew that the Na’vi could bond to their world, understand each other far deeper than any human bonding techniqe. Grace had told you years ago that if you were to remember one thing, it's to protect your queue; that’s it. You never had the time to focus on the joys of being an avatar. Too deep in hell to consider the possibilities of living.
Neytiri orders Jake to stay, & he looks at her with that glazed over dopamine high appearance.
Neytiri guides her eyes to you & holds up your Pa'lis antenna, “your turn,” she gently advises you.
You take a deep breath, grabbing your queue from behind your head. You lead your braid to the antenna in front of you & gently lead it to connect.
Both tendrils are wiggly & squirmy, as if they know of each other's proximity, they seek out each other.
Once they meet, you gasp, & the beast stomps lightly as the bond is established. You hardly notice Neytiri is still there as you & the beast are sharing the connection.
You feel what she is feeling, you see glimpses of her past & her personality. You know she sees & feels you; your past experiences, your fear, your nerves, everything.
The creature slightly bows her head in submission once the shock of the bond has tamed down.
You take a deep breath, re-stabilizing yourself & looking at Jake.
He gives you a knowing smile, as he had just shared the experience moments prior, “amazing, isn't it?”
You can't even find the words, so you settle on nodding your head at him, returning your attention to Neytiri.
She beams back at you. Approving of your reactions. Then she looks to Jake, as she instructs him on the next step, “You may tell her what to do.” Neytiri places her hand on Pa-li’s chest, “ inside.” “For now, say where to go.”
Jake looks up & out in front of him, “forward,” he raises his hand out.
You watch as the animal launches forward with Jake in tow. The speed was rapid as he is tossed off the side & his face met the dirt for the second time today.
You & Neytiri spectate as he lifts his head & regains his balance. You share a set of giggles at his fall.
Your nerves calm slightly from watching Jake hit the earth.
Suddenly, you watch as two Na'vi ride past you on their own transportation. The one you recognize. He's the one who knocked you unconscious outside of Hometree.
He gives you a dirty look as he rides past you towards Jake.
You don't want to stay this far from them, so you decide it's now or never; you point to where Neytiri has brought his horse to Jake while being taunted by the warriors. “Take me to them,” you gently instruct the creature, praying that the mental instructions through the bond clarify the speed you are trying to set.
She sets off in a gentle trot, not nearly as fast as Jake had gone.
Your ride settles next to Jake as you observe their interactions.
“You should go away,” the warrior says to Jake
“ nah, you'd miss me,” Jake snarks back. “I knew you could speak English”
You watch the tension between Jake & the warrior build. They are not on friendly terms whatsoever.
The warrior turns to Neytiri & they speak in their native language.
Your attention is splitting between watching Neytirti & the warrior & Jake. Who is wiping more dirt from his tongue.
You refrain from rolling your eyes as you continue observing the warriors & Neytiris body language. You can sense that the conversation is slightly tense. Neytiri is not nearly as worked up as the other guy.
In the midst of their conversation, the man glances at you while talking in a language you don't know.
You had a sneaking suspicion that he is insulting you. But you had no way to prove it with his words, which you do not understand.
You can tell that your captor does not think of you as much of a threat. He acts more like he is annoyed with you. He looks at you like he's about to roll his eyes, and he looks at Jake like he wants to box him. You definitely have a favorable position compared to Jake.
Neytiri appears to be growing tired of the conversation as she slaps the flank of his horse to send him off.
You watch as the pair ride away with no more words to be said.
“Who was that?” you question, your eyes still stuck in the now-empty forest.
“Tsu’tey,” she looks up at you as you narrow your eyes towards the spot he had disappeared from, “he is harmless…to you.”
You listen to her words & let out a scoff, “Right…if you call knocking me out & holding me captive harmless.”
“You were uninvited, in our home,” she points out.
You look to her & it clicks. The clan didn't invite you when you first met Neytiri. She did; she put her neck on the line to extend a thread of kindness.
But why?
She gives you a knowing look & returns her attention to Jake, “again.”
Jake breaks your trance from the forest as he exclaims, “showoff”
You look down at him with a small smile, “it's not showing off, if I'm just naturally that good.”
He shakes his head, ignoring your ego as he remounts his ride.
Time seems to pass fast as you spend hours watching Jake fall off his horse. This was cheap entertainment for Neytiri & you.
You spend almost all day with Neytiri teaching Jake & you how to bond with the animals of Pandora & practicing agility. It was more like Neytiri teaching Jake. You were at an intermediate level & he was a beginner in his first class.
She showed you both how the forest protects & guides you. Advising not just on how to navigate, but also what vegetation is safe to eat while traveling & clean drinking sources.
Their water collection techniques were way better than the crap you were doing just days prior. The tree-like plant Neytiri called ‘paywll’ naturally collects water & acts as a portable source of consumable liquid. You were used to boiling streams & rationing your water. It tasted like shit, but you were settling for survival. Now, you are living, & it stirs up your conflicted emotions on what you should do & where you should go.
Before any of you knew it, the light was fading from the sky. It was time to head back to Hometree.
The day's events were light work compared to what you have throughout here, but your mind was unwilling to shut down.
Once the three of you made it safely to your individual hammocks, you stared up at the tree above.
It's easy to forget about your problems during the day when you have something to keep you busy, distract you. But when the light dims & the external noise quiets down, those thoughts & emotions creep back up.
Your mind torments you as your thoughts drift from today's activities.
The beauty of this place was unreal once you started to see it. To really see it, not just exist in it.
That's what motivated Sara to become an xeno botanist. She saw & appreciated this place for what it was & how it came to be. She had a deep respect for Pandora.
In just one day, you were starting to understand what this place was like for her.
You feel the grief starting to settle in your chest.
The silence in the area is forcing you to think & process emotions you have been repressing during your time out there.
A single tear falls down your right eye, & you quickly wipe it away. Sniffling to clear your nose, & at least trying to prevent a full-blown breakdown in front of the large group of sleeping Na'vi all around you.
You breathe in deep through your nose & exhale, an attempt to regulate your breathing as well as clear your head from the grief.
Your mind slowly drifts to thoughts of your human body & where she is.
Turning your head to Neytiri, you see that she is fast asleep. Curled in on herself, similar to a comfortable kitten.
You turn your head to Jake, checking if he is asleep & unlinked from his avatar.
You find that he is still awake. Staring above him with one arm on his stomach & the other propping up his head. You hope that maybe he was so lost in thought that he didn't hear your little sniffles & pathetic miniature breakdown.
Persisting, you let your curiosity get the best of you & you ask him a question he might be able to answer, “Jake?”
“Hmmm” he hums in acknowledgement, looking over at you.
His eyes are clear from sleep or haze. He is aware & as insomniac as you are. You're pretty sure he heard you moments prior. But you glaze past it.
“What” you sigh before asking, “What happened to my human body?”
You feel like a little girl asking if she can buy a candy bar from the grocery store. You can hear the confidence that is lost in your voice; a voice that is normally so self-assured & mature that now sounds so small.
He turns his head more towards you, involving himself further into conversation. “Grace said you went into cardiac arrest a couple of months after you were out here…you died.” “The RDA says you killed yourself that day.”
That day is the date of your wife's death & the start of your new life.
You look at his face, scanning for any sign of a lie. But you don't find any. His words seem truthful; you can't help but believe him.
“Does she talk about me?” you whisper, not just for respect of the Na’i sleeping around you, but also out of apprehension. The small part of you can't resist asking your self interested question.
You wonder if you were just a forgotten soldier left to rot in a pauper's grave. Rolling on your side to face him, you cushion your head with your arm.
He follows your actions, lying on his side, mirroring your position. “Sometimes. Grace doesn't like talking about you too much. She gets emotional about it.” He pauses before continuing, “They have a photo of you in your uniform in the break room. They put your dog tag in the frame.” “Parker tries to take it down every chance he gets, Grace wont let him.” He lets out a small laugh at the memory of Grace smacking his hands away from the frame.
“That’s how you knew who I was?” you respond, putting the pieces together.
“Ya,” he replies, simply staring back into your soul.
His eye contact is strong, but gentle. You struggle to maintain this level of vulnerability.
You think carefully before choosing your next question: “Does Grace know?” You reference that if Grace knows you are mysteriously conscious in your avatar, with your human body being dead.
“I haven't told Grace about you,” He whispers back.
“Good. Don't. Its not the right time,” you reply firmly.
He doesn't press you; he doesn't ask any questions. Any questions he could ask were too personal. And you silently thanked him for it.
Your curiosity extends to learn more about Jake: “How did you end up here?” You redirect the conversation.
“My brother died. He was an avatar.” he takes a deep breath, his eye contact never missing a beat, “so I filled in his shoes, so to speak.” he let's out the breath that he didn't know he was holding.
Jake is opening up to you in this moment. You guys aren't close, but it's only fair for him to answer your questions since he knows far more about you from hearsay.
There is only one right thing that you can say in that moment: “I'm sorry for your loss.”
He lets out a laugh that was more like a huff of air, “Don't be. You didn't know him, & we were two totally different people.”
“I can still be sorry. You don't know me.” Your tone is warning, your defensive walls coming back up after a brief moment of vulnerability.
“Youre right. I don't.” He whispers back, “So tell me about you?”
“Haven't you heard everything from the RDA?” You question protectively.
“Ive heard what they told me, I want to hear from you.” his question is not striking to be from a place of malice, more as a harmless investigation. Intending to know more about what he got himself into. He is using you as a clue to his future in the Avatar program.
“All I can tell you, Jake, is don't trust Quartich.” You warn him, “he will stab you in the back & leave you high & dry if you piss him off.”
Your stern look falls on blind eyes as he seems to attempt to comprehend what you are saying. You are fairly positive that Quartich & Jake have met; seeing as Jake is ex-military, you were almost certain of the lies Quartich has recited to him. The lies he has crafted about Sara, & her manner of death.
Jake has probably already been manipulated by Quartich; he's just too stupid to see it. You see yourself when you see Jake. Ex-military, doing what you're told, following the chain of command. You were once in his shoes, and by the time you realized Quartich was full of shit, it was too late. You pray to whoever is out there that Jake can see through it & save himself in time.
In honor of Sara's memory, no more people should die because of one man's ego.
When he opens his mouth, he speaks the question he has been dying to ask: “He said you murdered Sara.” He is apprehensive when he utters those words, “Did you?”
You respond with a glum tone in your voice, praying that he at least trusts your warning, “No.”
His eyes search yours; you two are evaluating where you stand with each other. Despite his childish & cocky behavior, Jake doesn't seem to be a bad guy. Your shared oaths as soldiers make it easier to establish this sense of camaraderie.
He looks innocently at you, presenting himself as open & honest as you ever have seen him, “I trust you.” He replies, just barely audible.
“No, you don't…not yet.” You give him a solemn look, “Goodnight, Jake,” you signal the end of this open conversation.
“Goodnight y/n,” he maintains eye contact before closing his eyes, facing his body toward you.
You roll over onto your back, continuing to stare at the interior of Hometree until you feel exhaustion overtake your consciousness.
Guys I just ate this shit up so hard. I need more so bad. It's like drugs to me at this point. I need to get back into my writing avatar stuff. I miss this world so much. Thank you so much for taking me back to the joy I feel for this world.
Pairing: eventual Jake Sully x Avatar! Reader x Neytiri
Story Summary: Y/n was an ex- Avatar driver soldier for the RDA; contracted for a combat position as an avatar, she was the first one to do so. Until she was framed for her wife's murder, who was an xeno botanist avatar. Y/n was sent out to Pandora with no weapons, water, food, or shelter; left as an experiment to see how long an avatar can survive alone. Almost 2 years later, Jake & Neytiri stumble across her remarkable survival. As Jake & Neytiri fall in love, Y/n finds herself in the middle of the love triangle.
Story summary: Neytiri & Jake welcome Y/n to Hometree. Y/n gets her first real meal in weeks; with her newfound clarity due to her satiated hunger, she fights with the part of herself that wants to run away. Leave Hometree & never come back, but the people have expected her to live & learn as one of them.
Warning: mentions of scars & battle wounds
Author's note: This chapter lays the groundwork for the first real integration of Y/n into the clan. Next chapter is gonna be so gooddd.
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You are sat in the common area of the hometree on the bare floor. The part you assumed was used for communal feasts. It remains empty right now, as it is late afternoon for the Na'vi & there is no feast planned for tonight.
Neytiri is just behind you in a space that is reminiscent of a human kitchen. It holds specialized tools & a dedicated open public space for the clan for a clean preparation of meals.
She is silent as she prepares a plate for you. Whatever it is you'll take, you are in no position to be picky right now. Normally, you would prefer not to have a stranger behind your back, but Neytiri has not proven herself to be that way, & you are just too exhausted to care if she was.
You’re sitting with your knees to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around your blue shins. Looking around you at the massive interior of Hometree. It's a large structure from the outside, but even more spacious inside. The Omatikaya clan are creative architects & interior designers. Just from what you can see, they have levels & dedicated areas like a house.
This place is so different from the way you have been used to living for the past 2 years.
Jake is on your right, stealing glances at you when he thinks you aren't looking. You know he is; you can feel his eyes on you. He thinks he's being sly when he quickly turns his head away from you the minute you look his way. Or when he twiddles with his thumbs, stealing a glance up & over at you.
He keeps doing it, even when he knows you caught him. He just looks away and then does it again moments later.
Right when you are about to confront him, Neytiri swings back around. She holds the prepared plate as she gracefully sits next to Jake. You three form a semi-circle with an equal safe distance from each other.
Neytiri hands out a plate in front of you. You don’t even truly look at what it was. It was the first real meal you had in front of you in weeks.
Picking up what you assume is Pandorian fruit, you shove it in your mouth, not questioning what exactly it is.
With the kindness that she has bestowed upon you, you feel the need to express your gratitude.
You secretly pray she didn't poison your food.
“Thank you,” you say, looking at her; your words mumble with the mouthful of food.
Neytiri can't help but giggle a little at your reaction. Jake is smiling at your slobbish behaviour, shaking his head.
They sit in silence as they watch you clear your plate. You are grateful for the absence of conversation; your brain couldn't handle forming a sentence right now when your only thought is that of a caveman. Food.
Shoving the final piece of your meal in your mouth, the plate is clear. Not a drop of juice or crumb is left.
Neytiri reaches out, silently asking to take your dish.
You nod, handing her the Navi dishware, “thank you…again,” you sheepishly thank her.
She bobs her head in acknowledgement before stepping up to clean up the area behind you.
You take in a deep breath & stare at the empty spot Neytiri left, then look to Jake. He has that smart ass smirk on his face. His fangs peeked out from his lips.
He laughs at you, quiet enough that Neytiri doesn't hear it.
You whip your head towards him with an annoyed look, “What are you laughing at, asshole?” you snap.
He pauses his laughter & leans in slightly towards you, as if sharing a secret, “You got it bad.”
Your ears go downwards & your tail whips once angrily behind you, “I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.” You look away from him & pick nervously at your fingernails, “I was hungry, she fed me, that's it.”
He leans in just a couple of inches closer, & your attention goes back to him, “You really are military,” he says matter-of-factly, “you got a dirty mouth, you know that?”
If you didn't know any better, you would say this guy is getting cheeky with you.
Before you can start & finish this fight, Neytiri returns to her spot
Jake leans back away from you. Acting like he wasn't just inciting a reaction from you.
If it wasn't the RDA that is the reason to run away, it's going to be this man & his childish behavior.
You go back to picking at your fingernails & rubbing over the lines & scars on your fingers in a self-soothing manner. Your vision continues to glide around the room, Neytiri, & Jake. You can't focus on one thing for long before something else catches your attention.
The comfortable silence creeps back into your shared space. You really should leave now, get back to your shelter, & continue your meager existence alone in the forest.
In only a matter of an hour or two, you realized just how much you missed having a conversation with a living being. Being around others, a group. Even if they hated your existence. It is nice, but it is not safe. You don't need to protect your feelings; you need to survive. That means getting further away from here.
“Thank you for the food, but I have to go,” you say, preparing to stand
“Where are you going?” Neytiris' voice has a twinge of disappointment.
The question makes you pause. What do you say, home? Your treehouse isn't home. Away? Her people just accepted you; they are expecting you to live with them. She is expecting you to stay, even though you did threaten to kill her just yesterday.
Somewhere deep inside, a part of you wants to stay, to indulge in community & the knowledge of the people. To be somebody again.
Somehow, you can't find it in you to say no to that piece of yourself.
Instead, your mouth opens & closes as you look at her before settling on an answer, “I don't know, I can't stay here.” You break her eye contact, looking around at the massive tree you are sitting in.
Jake speaks up, “They can't see where the avatars are from here. They lose signal a couple miles out from Hells Gate,” he reassures you without the cocky tone he had moments prior.
He knows.
You stare back at Jake. In that moment, you know that he knows you have been avoiding the RDA all this time. Staying just outside their perimeter, but not too far away. You've been within arm's reach the whole time.
You're skeptical of him, to say the least.
You're still unsure of what to say or do.
Neytiri is practically begging you to stay.
“If you wish to stay here, you will learn the ways of my people,” Neytiri breaks the silence, “ you will look like my people,” she gestures to your mended cargo pants & t-shirt.
You nod sheepishly. This is uncharted territory for you. You don't even know what you are accepting.
She stands up, waving you to follow. You do as instructed, as does Jake. Following the teacher, as he is just an overconfident student. A class clown.
Jake walks beside you, following in line behind Neytiri. Some of the passing Navi give you dirty looks, & they give the same to Jake. Their look of disapproval is non-discriminatory to you & him. Whereas you are fighting the urge to hiss & protect yourself, Jake waves at them & smiles. He acts completely clueless to their distaste. Whether he is just that stupid, or he is killing them with kindness, you don’t know.
You two follow her to another communal area where she pulls two pieces of textiles from a rack & hands them out to you. Thankfully, the space is empty, the lack of judgement let's you relax your shoulders slightly.
You inspect the clothes in your hands & realize they are traditional clothing of the clan. It appears to be hers as they are similar in texture & style to the clothes she is adorned with right now.
She holds up the large piece of fabric in front of you and shows you how to tie it securely. You watch observantly, not missing a detail. It would be incredibly embarrassing to be naked in front of her & asking for help dressing yourself.
There is so little fabric she holds in her hands compared to what you are wearing right now.
You nod once at her, & turn your eyes to Jake “You wanna turn around?” You snap at him with a sarcastic tone in your voice.
“Jeez, I didn't know they invited a nun to stay in their house,” Jake responds with a roll of his eyes, but he does turn around. It seems he cant be respectful without making quick remarks first.
Neytiri follows Jake's action out of respect for your human modesty, turning so her back faces you.
Despite their bodies being angled away from you, you also turn your back to them. Looking over your shoulder every so often as you undress yourself to make sure they are not looking.
It takes you a few minutes to figure out how to put these items on. Once you figure it out, you realize just how exposed you are. Your ass cheeks are on full display, and the beaded, woven top hardly conceals your breasts. The worst part is that all of your scars are visible. Particularly the ugly twisted one on the left side of your midsection. An arrow once resided in its spot. From one of the many times you almost died on Pandora.
You shouldn't be nervous; you don't even know these people, not really. Jake knows of you. But he doesn't know you. Neytiri is basically a stranger to you, & you to her.
You don't know where to put your hands. You try to cover your breasts to maintain some modesty. But it's a losing battle. You don’t have enough hands to cover everything you want to hide.
Your shoulders are high & tight as your arms rest at your sides. You shrink inwardly slightly, letting out a shaky breath, you exclaim, “ok, I-im done.”
They both turn around slowly, as though they were attempting not to scare you away.
You scan their faces for their reactions. You see their eyes filtering over your body, your legs, torso, chest, & arms.
You have never felt more judged than right now.
You can see the pity on their face. You hate it.
You hate this feeling.
You hate feeling weak.
The look on their faces proves that they see you that way. Both their eyes are wide, mouths open in shock at the torture your body has endured.
Jake's eyes are stuck on the scar that lies on your torso. He is assessing the age & severity of your past injuries and guessing what could have caused the damage.
Neytiri does a visual scan of your entire body with her mouth open. She takes note of your insecurity & steels her face, looking in your eyes with vulnerability.
She smiles lightly, sensing your discomfort. “My people do not have shame,” she states calmly.
You straighten your back a little, trying to regain your confidence, “I don't have shame. I'm just not used to being so…exposed.” You struggle to find the right word, “besides, these happened a long time ago,” you brush off the nonexistent dirt on your palms on your legs.
Jake tilts his head at you, “they dont look that old to me, honey.”
He lets out the pet name, but you glaze over it. Focusing on what truly matters.
“How would you know?” You ask defensively
“I was a marine,” he quips back
So that's why you recognized his skill back in the forest. That explains his childish antics & cocky attitude. He wasn't a scientist; he was just another soldier.
He knows more about you than you know of him. Or so you think.
“Whatever, it doesn't matter.” You shake your head, hoping to switch the conversation. “What do I do now?”
Neytiri steps forward, placing her hands on your shoulders, “I will show you where you will sleep.”
She turns confidently, walking away & out from this space into the open area where hundreds of hammocks swing above your head.
You pause your pace to look up at the hundreds of staggered hammocks, “How the fuck do we get up there?”
You don't really have a fear of heights, but this was on a totally different level of climbing than what you taught yourself out there.
Neytiri stopped to turn around & watch your dumbfounded expression, she lets out a huff of air that resembles a small laugh at your reaction, “Watch what I do.”
She starts her ascent up a round staircase-like incline around the walls of the tree. You follow her steps with Jake taking the lead in front of you.
She is agile & graceful as she hops along the perimeter before making it to a row of hammocks. Hopping from branch to branch, then reaching her sleeping area, the furthest on the right. “Your turn!” She calls out, trying to inspire some motivation.
“Watch me,” Jake claps your shoulder at your apprehension.
He leaps across, following Neytiri's actions like it's an Olympic-style agility course. However, he has a heavy foot & he almost falls once or twice.
“See? It's that easy,” he plops down hard on his bed, sitting up to look over at you.
“Can't I just sleep on the floor?” You call out
“Make the jumps, as I showed you.” Neytiri inspires your courage
“Shit,” you look down. Its a far fall if you miss a step. “OK, yeah, you got this,” you whisper to yourself.
You jump before your mind can change. Your feet move better than expected, your balance is maintained as you reach the hammock in between Neytiri & Jake.
Your feet touch the woven netting & it is firm. The bed does not swing or feel flimsy, which calms your anxiety. You sit down immediately, taking a breath & stretching your legs.
“Show off.” Jake scoffs from your right.
Neytiri ignores his immature comment, instead holding her attention on you, “Rest. You will need it for tomorrow.”
You nod at her instructions, “Thank you.”
She nods in reply & lies on her back, wrapping some of the woven bed over her.
Lying back & looking up from your bed, you stare off, starting to get lost in thoughts. With one arm cushioning your head.
“How did you learn all that out there?” Jake turns his head towards you.
“I had to. I didn't have a choice.” You responded truthfully
“yeah, but how did you lear-”
“No talking. Sleep only” Neytiris voice is stern as her eyes remain closed.
He utters not a word, listening to her demand as he turns his head back to the sky & closes his eyes reluctantly.
You assume he will be unlinking soon, leaving his avatar as dead weight.
Jake talks big shit, & acts overconfident at times, but you are starting to see through his facade that he is just as lost as you are.
I literally only finished reading this chapter now because I've been so busy BUT OMG. IM SO EXCITED FOR THE UPCOMING CHAPTERS. I'm always eating this series up.
Summary: Pandora does not reveal itself all at once. First it offers wonder. Then fear. Then the unsettling sense that something vast is looking back. When a mission into the forest goes wrong, survival becomes a matter of instinct, chance, and the sudden arrival of a warrior who should have left them to die. But after that night, nothing feels accidental anymore. Not the forest. Not Neytiri. Not the way Eywa seems to linger at the edges of everything.
Taglist : @coconuthoneyandjaguars
Wc: 4976words
Days stop feeling separate after a while.
At first, you still measure time by link sessions, by whether you wake in your human body aching with absence or in your avatar body already half-alert to the sounds of the tree around you. After some time, though, the rhythm changes. Morning becomes whatever light touches Hometree when Neytiri decides you and Jake have rested enough. Night becomes whatever hour finally drives the two of you back toward the sleeping platforms after training, hunting, mistakes, laughter, irritation, and all the strange fragile things beginning to grow in between.
That is how life thickens around you.
Not with declarations. Not with sudden transformation. With repetition. With being made to do the same thing until your muscles understand it before your mind catches up. With Jake falling out of trees less often than he did at first but still often enough to keep you entertained. With Neytiri correcting the same flaws until she no longer has to touch your arm, your shoulder, your wrist quite so long to make you understand.
You do not notice when it starts feeling normal.
That is what makes it dangerous.
Training deepens once Neytiri decides neither of you is going to fall off every root bridge in the forest.
It gets harder after that. Less forgiving. Less about simple balance and more about instinct, timing, and the things no one human ever learned because no human body was built for them. You and Jake stop being taught like clumsy children and start being pushed like students whose teacher has finally accepted that they may be worth the effort after all.
That change matters more than Neytiri would like to admit.
The mornings begin with endurance. Climbing. Running. Holding impossible positions on branches slick with mist until your muscles shake and your pride does the rest. Jake complains through most of it, which only gives Neytiri more reasons to make him do things twice. You complain more selectively, usually only when your body has already decided it is going to obey and your mouth is left to manage its own irritation.
“This is excessive” Jake mutters one morning as the two of you cling to opposite sides of a massive root while Neytiri watches from above with infuriating calm.
“You say that every day” you answer, breath measured despite the burn in your arms.
“Because every day she finds a new way to be cruel.”
Neytiri crouches and taps the root with the butt of her knife. “If I was cruel, I would leave you here until dark.”
Jake tips his head back to glare at her upside down. “You say things like that and expect us to like you.”
Neytiri’s mouth almost twitches. “You are still here.”
“That’s not proof of anything.”
“It is proof of your stupidity” you say.
Jake twists his head enough to look over at you. “You are literally hanging beside me.”
“And yet somehow still more dignified.”
Neytiri does laugh then. Very quietly. But the sound is enough to go through you like a small, clean blade, because she does not give it easily and because something in you has started listening for it without permission.
Other lessons are subtler.
Neytiri teaches you how to read disturbance in leaves after something has passed through them. How to listen for the change in bird sound when a predator is near. How to breathe without announcing irritation. How to become still enough that the forest stops reacting to you as interruption and begins, occasionally, to tolerate your presence.
Jake learns all of it in the most Jake way possible. He gets things wrong loudly, then gets them right with startling speed, then ruins the moment by looking proud of himself in a way that demands immediate correction. You learn in a quieter line. You absorb, repeat, refine, and then once you have something, you hold it so firmly that Jake starts making offended noises every time you outperform him at a new task.
“You are impossible” he tells you one afternoon after Neytiri, with grave reluctance, admits that your tracking line was cleaner than his.
You straighten from your crouch by the disturbed moss and brush your hands off on your wrap. “And you are impossible when you lose.”
“I don’t lose.”
You look at him. Then at the trail sign. Then back at him.
Jake crosses his arms. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m wrong.”
“You are wrong.”
“That’s your opinion.”
Neytiri steps between both of you before the exchange can become a proper argument and points at the trail again. “Again” she says. “Both of you. From the beginning.”
Jake groans. You do not hide your satisfaction.
“Insufferable.” He says, pointing at you this time.
You smile with all the serenity of a saint lying through her teeth. “That sounds like jealousy.”
He opens his mouth. Neytiri flicks him sharply on the side of the head before he can answer, and you have to look away so she will not see the grin break properly across your face.
That same growing ease does not belong only to the three of you. It begins, slowly, unwillingly, with Tsu’tey too.
His hostility toward Jake remains fierce because Jake keeps earning it in fresh ways. That is almost a language between them now: challenge, refusal, irritation, survival. With you, though, the line keeps changing. It is not friendship. Not yet. At first it is simply a lessening of open contempt. Then it becomes evaluation. Then correction. Then something more meaningful than he would ever call kindness.
It starts in practical ways.
Tsu’tey stops making every instruction sound like a threat. He still speaks sharply, but the edge shifts. When you handle a spear badly, he shows you why instead of only telling you that you look foolish. When you position your weight wrong on unstable roots, he taps the place your balance failed and says, in clipped Na’vi “There. Feel it before it moves.” When you manage something well, he does not praise you, but he no longer behaves as if your competence is a personal insult.
That matters more than praise would have.
The first time you and Tsu’tey hunt side by side without Jake and Neytiri directly between you, the whole thing feels like a test no one bothered to explain beforehand. A small party has gone out before dawn, and the forest is still damp with the kind of coolness that vanishes after sunrise. Tsu’tey moves ahead with the absolute certainty of someone born to every inch of the path. You fall in behind, alert and silent, careful not to crowd him and equally unwilling to lag.
At some point during the track, the prey veers sharply. One of the younger hunters reacts too slowly and nearly breaks formation. Tsu’tey turns on the boy with immediate irritation, but before he can fully reposition the line, movement in the brush shifts wrong. The animal cuts where Jake would probably have blundered into it and where the younger hunter almost does instead.
You move first.
It is not elegant. It is not meant to be. Your body goes from stillness to violence in a single clean break, intercepting before the charge can become a maiming. Your knife flashes. Your shoulder takes impact. You recover low, almost on all fours for one impossible second, and drive upward with enough force to turn the animal aside.
When it is over, your breathing is rough and your pulse is beating so hard you can feel it at the base of your jaw. Tsu’tey is looking at you with a new expression entirely. Not surprise. Something more severe than that. Recognition, perhaps, of the part of you that does not look civilized in a fight.
“You go strange when you kill” he says later at the river, while blood washes from your hands in dark threads.
You glance over. “That a complaint?”
“It is an observation.”
Water moves silver over your fingers. The younger hunter, now safely embarrassed and alive, keeps his eyes on the opposite bank. Tsu’tey remains where he is, close enough that the words do not need to be repeated.
“I do not stop when I should” you say after a moment.
Tsu’tey studies your face as if checking whether you understand yourself properly. “No. You stop when there is nothing left to kill.”
It should sound like condemnation. Somehow it does not. It sounds like he is telling the truth as he sees it and respecting you enough not to lie.
You lift one shoulder. “It keeps people alive.”
“Yes” he says. Then, after the briefest pause “It does.”
So does the first time you see, really see, the shape of what stands between him and Neytiri.
It is not flirtation and less tidy than tenderness. It lives in history, duty, expectation, shared roots, and the kind of understanding born from being made in the same world under the same laws. You notice it one evening after the communal meal, when most of the clan is gathered in the softer hours after work and before full night.
Neytiri is speaking with Mo’at and two other women near one of the central roots. Tsu’tey returns from a conversation with the hunters and stops at her side without ceremony. He says something low in Na’vi. Neytiri answers without turning at first. Then she does turn, and for one quiet second their foreheads almost touch in the old familiar way of people whose closeness does not require performance.
There is no great tenderness in it. No softness meant for an audience. It is simpler and more dangerous than that. Belonging. History. The shape of a future other people have assumed.
You understand immediately why it hurts.
Not because you had any claim on Neytiri. Not because she has misled you. But because seeing that bond forces you to admit that whatever is growing in you is already tangled in laws and loyalties older than your arrival. Tsu’tey is not just a warrior watching her. He is part of her life in ways you cannot compete with and would not have the right to if you could.
Jake sees it too.
You know he sees it because his whole body stills while pretending not to. He is talking to one of the boys over some question about traps and then suddenly is not really talking at all. His eyes flick toward Neytiri and Tsu’tey and away again. The line of his mouth hardens, then loosens, then hardens again. He does not have the words for what is happening inside him any more than you do, but that does not stop it from happening.
Later, when the meal ends and the dishes of woven leaves and carved bowls are being carried away, the tree shifts into celebration almost without transition.
It begins with drumming.
Not a formal ceremony. Not one of the sacred rites Neytiri and Mo’at guard with that fierce inward seriousness that still makes you feel like an intruder if you stare too long. This is communal. Lighter. People laughing, talking, moving. Someone starts a beat on stretched hide. Another joins. Children run in circles until older siblings pull them back. The whole platform seems to loosen into motion.
You sit for a while with Jake beside you and watch.
“That looks dangerous” he says, eyeing the dancers with the suspicion of a man who knows joy often ends in humiliation.
“It’s dancing, not war.”
“Sometimes those are the same thing.”
You snort softly. “Only for you.”
Neytiri appears in front of the two of you before Jake can think of something more ridiculous to say. She has a look on her face that means her patience is already thin and your response had better be correct the first time.
“Come” she says.
Jake looks over his shoulder as if there might be some other target. “Who, me?”
Neytiri’s expression becomes deadly flat. “No. The tree.”
You laugh before he does, and that is mistake enough. Neytiri’s eyes shift to you next. “You also.”
Jake points at you immediately. “See? She wants you humiliated too.”
“She wants you to stop speaking, you say.
Neytiri reaches down and catches your wrist first.
The touch is brief. Firm. Impossible to misunderstand.
Then she catches Jake’s hand too and pulls both of you toward the open space before either of you can decide that remaining seated is the wiser option.
At first it is chaos.
You and Jake do not know the steps. That becomes obvious within seconds, and no one is polite enough to pretend otherwise. Children laugh openly. One older woman says something affectionate and merciless in Na’vi as Jake nearly collides with a younger hunter twice his size. You find the rhythm faster than he does but not fast enough to save your pride, and Neytiri’s visible frustration only makes both of you worse for a few beats.
Then she stops trying to teach the dance as if you are supposed to memorize it.
Instead she takes your hand again.
Not intertwined. Not human. Her palm against yours, then her fingers turning your wrist, guiding the line of your arm and shoulder into the beat. She steps around you once and expects you to follow. When you do, she nods sharply. Approval, brief as a blade flash.
Jake is having less luck.
He gets two steps right, one wrong, and somehow turns that into a collision with your side that nearly sends all three of you off rhythm. You catch yourself against him by instinct. He catches your waist in the same instant, and for one suspended heartbeat the three of you are pressed into the same line of movement under drumbeat and laughter and shifting light.
No one speaks.
Then the beat catches again, and Neytiri pulls both of you back into motion before the moment can become anything nameable.
It gets better after that.
Not graceful, not for a while, but less disastrous. Jake starts finding the rhythm through energy instead of precision. You start understanding it through the body before the mind, letting the steps move through your hips and shoulders rather than forcing them from memory. Neytiri remains the anchor, the one who knows exactly where the turn should come, when to close distance, when to release it, when to laugh at Jake openly for getting his footing wrong.
At some point the embarrassment burns off and something else takes its place.
Joy, perhaps. Or just surrender.
Jake’s hand closes around yours once to pull you through a turn Neytiri set up a beat earlier. Neytiri’s arm brushes yours from the other side as she steps close enough to shift your balance with the line of her body. The drums are loud. The tree is alive around you. Your breathing is fast and your skin feels too sensitive. For one impossible stretch of moments the three of you move as if you have always known how to fit into the same shape.
That is when you understand it.
Not in a flash of revelation so much as in a terrible clean settling of truth.
You love Jake.
You have for longer than you ever said plainly, perhaps for longer than you fully admitted. That part hurts less because it is old, worn familiar by years of loyalty and danger and all the things you learned in war about the one person who could still make you laugh when nothing around you deserved it.
And you are beginning to love Neytiri too.
That realization lands like stepping into cold water too deep to measure. It is newer, sharper, more dangerous because it has fewer defenses around it. You love her not despite her severity but partly because of it. Because she is fierce and reverent and ruthless where she must be. Because she stands in this world as if every breath belongs to something larger. Because she keeps giving both you and Jake more of herself than she means to and then looking angry about it afterward.
Both loves feel wrong for different reasons.
Jake is bound up in history, in your human life, in all the old tenderness and damage you have carried together so long it sometimes feels welded into bone. Neytiri is wrong because she belongs to a people whose world you have entered as a lie even if your heart has become sincere inside it. She is wrong because Tsu’tey exists and because Mo’at watches and because Eytukan’s distrust has not vanished simply because you learned to carry water and track game.
You keep dancing anyway.
Not because the wrongness disappears. Because for one clear, merciless moment you understand that truth does not wait for permission. You could hate yourself for it, fear it, deny it, call it weakness, call it betrayal, call it impossible. It would still be there. So you let the knowledge settle where it must.
You love them.
You do not know what to do with that.
But by the time the dance ends, you know that denial will not save you from it.
Jake is quieter after.
So is Neytiri.
The three of you walk part of the way back through the inner levels of Hometree in near-silence, the sounds of laughter and drums dimming behind you. Jake keeps brushing close enough that his arm touches yours now and then without either of you acknowledging it. Neytiri moves just ahead, but not far ahead, and when she glances back once her eyes meet yours before shifting to Jake and away again. The whole night feels full of things no one is going to say.
The next morning, Quaritch finally decides to stop pretending you do not exist.
The base is loud with routine. Men crossing corridors. Equipment moving. Someone shouting about a delayed supply drop. You have just left your room and are halfway down one of the narrower industrial halls when Quaritch steps out from an adjoining passage so neatly it is clear he has been waiting.
He blocks the way without touching you.
That alone makes the air change.
You stop because stopping is not the same as yielding. Your shoulders stay loose. Your face gives him nothing. Quaritch looks pleased by neither.
“Soldier” he says.
“Colonel.”
His eyes move over you in that old assessing military way that counts reaction time, posture, weakness, and willingness all at once. You have spent too much of your life around men like him not to recognize the tactic. What surprises you is that he waited this long to use it directly.
“You settling in?”
The question is casual in the way certain knives are casual. You hear the test in it immediately.
“As much as anybody settles into a place trying to kill them” you say.
His mouth shifts. Not amusement. Approval of a certain kind, perhaps. He steps a little closer, not invading quite enough to start a scene but close enough to make his intent obvious. The corridor behind him remains busy. No one looks twice. Men like Quaritch know exactly how to corner people in public without witnesses understanding what they are seeing.
“I hear you’re adapting real well over there” he says.
“You hear a lot.”
“Comes with the job.”
You hold his gaze. “Then you probably already know whatever answer you wanted.”
His eyes narrow a fraction. There it is, then. The reason he never asked you for reports. Not because he had nothing to gain. Because he understood from the beginning that you would make every inch of ground expensive. He has come now not to recruit but to probe.
“You and Sully close?” he asks.
The line is crude by his standards. Deliberately so. A question simple enough to invite a simple answer.
“We were soldiers together.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
You let the silence stretch until it becomes discomfort, then say “Then ask what you mean.”
Quaritch studies you for a beat longer. There is some satisfaction in his expression now, the kind men get when a difficult machine behaves exactly as predicted. He is not disappointed. He is confirming.
“You know he’s got responsibilities here” he says. “Real ones.”
“I know he works for the same people I do.”
“That all?”
“No” you say. “I also know you don’t corner people in hallways unless you want something.”
For the first time, his face hardens properly. Not much. Just enough to show the edge under the military charm. It would scare some people. You are not some people.
“You’re not stupid” he says.
“No.”
“Then don’t act like it.”
The insult is lazy. The warning behind it is not. You feel anger rise, slow and cold rather than hot. In another life, with another rank structure and fewer witnesses, men like him would have preferred that. Anger makes people easier to push. You do not give it to him in visible form.
“What exactly” you ask “do you think I’m acting like?”
He looks at you for another second, then steps aside as abruptly as he arrived. “Like somebody who forgot which side she’s on.”
You move past him because standing still would look too much like accepting the frame he offered. Once you are beside him, you stop just enough to turn your head and answer without raising your voice.
“That assumes you know.”
Then you keep walking.
Your pulse stays hard and even all the way to the mess. Not fear. Not exactly. Rage kept under perfect control. By the time you sit down, your appetite is gone and your hands still remember the urge to break something. Jake finds you there a few minutes later and notices immediately.
“What happened?”
You look up. His human face is alert now, not soft. Good. He should be alert.
“Quaritch finally decided I existed.”
Jake goes still.
That is not the reaction of an innocent man.
“What did he say?”
You study him for a beat longer than comfort requires. “What do you think he said?”
His jaw tightens. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you’re trying to start a fight.”
The words hit wrong. Not because they are cruel. Because they are evasive. Again. Something in you, already rubbed raw by Quaritch in the corridor, flares.
“Oh, I’m sorry” you say, voice gone deceptively mild. “Did being cornered by your colonel put me in a difficult mood?”
Jake looks around once at the nearest tables, then lowers his own voice. “Keep it down.”
“No.”
That gets his full attention.
You lean forward over the table. “Whatever he’s doing with you has gone beyond a harmless side conversation, Jake. I don’t know the details, but I know enough to see where this ends, and I am getting tired of being treated like the only person in the room who can add two things together.”
He stares at you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know he doesn’t care what happens to you once you stop being useful.”
Jake’s face shutters. That alone tells you how close you’ve cut.
“You think I don’t know that?” he says.
“Then stop helping him.”
The words land between you like a struck match.
Jake looks away first, which is answer enough to ruin your appetite completely.
The move to the old shack comes not long after, and the mood around it is wrong from the start.
Grace pushes for it because the field access is better, because the old lab site is closer, because she wants distance from Quaritch and Hell’s Gate and all the sour machinery of the base. Norm is thrilled in the abstract, if anxious in practice. Max helps in the ways he can. Equipment is packed. Link units are moved. The whole thing has the atmosphere of a retreat disguised as scientific necessity.
The old shack is not Hometree. It is not even close. It is damp and overgrown and marked all over by the memory of failure. Grace’s school hangs over the place whether she names it or not. Broken materials. Old scars in the wood. The sense of a dream interrupted by gunfire and never fully healed. Even before anyone says Sylwanin’s name aloud, you can feel the grief pressed into the walls.
You do not like staying there.
Jake likes it even less, though for different reasons. The space is too close to the line between worlds. Too human to pretend otherwise and too near the forest not to feel what he is missing. Still, the science team settles in because there is nowhere else to go that would not be worse. Nights at the shack are quieter than the base and lonelier than Hometree. No Na’vi come visiting. No songs drift up through living roots. No smell of cooking under the great branches. Only insects, damp wood, and the ache of separation.
That ache makes your temper shorter.
Jake disappears again the second night at the shack.
Not for long. Long enough.
You wait in your human body near the outer platform, where the jungle breathes black beyond the light spill and the air tastes like rusted rain. When he wheels back into the glow, he knows immediately from your face that this will not be deferred.
“You were with him” you say.
Jake exhales sharply. “Not now.”
“No. Now.”
He stops. The chair settles under him with a small metallic sound. For a second neither of you moves. Behind you, inside the shack, Grace is still awake over notes and recordings. Norm is asleep or pretending to be. The night outside presses close enough to hear.
“You don’t know everything” Jake says.
“I know enough.”
“Do you?”
The question is defensive, tired, angry, and more wounded than he probably intends. That only makes your own anger sharpen.
“Yes” you say. “I know he is using you. I know you know it. I know every time you come back from him you look a little more split open. And I know men like that do not lean on someone unless they plan to make use of what he has access to.”
Jake’s hands lock hard on the wheels. “It’s complicated.”
“No” you snap. “It’s actually not.”
His head lifts then, full attention and full resistance. “You think this is easy?”
“I think you are standing in the middle of a line you keep pretending isn’t there.”
“That’s real rich coming from you.”
You take a step closer. “Don’t.”
“No, go ahead” he says, something hot and reckless breaking loose under the exhaustion. “Tell me how simple it is. Tell me how I’m supposed to navigate all of this perfectly when I’m the one in the middle of it.”
You stare at him, breathing hard once through your nose. The old affection in you does not soften the anger. It makes it worse, because love always makes betrayal sharper, even when you are not yet ready to use that word.
“You want the truth?” you ask quietly. “Fine. Every time you go to him, you drag that poison back with you. And one day it won’t stay in a room. One day it will fall on everything over there, and by the time you realize exactly what you’ve been helping to build, it will be too late to call it a misunderstanding.”
Jake’s face changes.
Not because he suddenly disagrees. Because you have said aloud the thing he has clearly been trying not to hear in his own head.
You keep going because you cannot stop now without lying.
“He doesn’t care about the People. He doesn’t care about the forest. He doesn’t care about whether any of us come out of this whole. Men like him only understand obstacles and objectives, and if you keep handing him pieces of that world, eventually he is going to treat it like every other thing he’s ever wanted removed.”
Jake looks wrecked now. Genuinely wrecked. His anger remains, but it has thinned under something uglier and more honest.
“You think I don’t know what he is?” he says.
“I think you keep hoping you can outplay him.”
His silence answers for him.
Somewhere behind you, inside the shack, glass taps lightly against metal. Grace is moving around but not interrupting. The night holds its breath with the rest of you.
Jake finally looks away. “You don’t get it.”
You laugh once, harsh and joyless. “Then make me get it.”
He doesn’t.
That is the part that breaks the moment entirely. Not that he is trapped. Not that he is conflicted. Not even that he is angry. It is that he still does not tell you. He still chooses the half-truth, the withheld answer, the loyalty divided in ways you can feel pressing down on both of you without being allowed to touch directly.
So you step back.
Whatever lived in your face then makes his head come up again immediately.
“That’s not fair” he says.
“No” you answer. “It isn’t.”
And because there is nothing left to say that won’t either become begging or cruelty, you turn and go inside before he can stop you.
That is where the night ends.
Jake alone outside the shack in his human body, hands locked on the wheels as if force might solve what conscience has not. You inside with your anger still hot and your fear hotter, knowing with an awful, growing certainty that the line you just named is real and that sooner or later all of you will pay for where it leads.
Summary- Being charle's twin sister was always hard growing up in the racing word... but the hardest part is hiding your relationship with his new rival! (CONTAINS SMUT)
Request- Hey, Your writing is so good!! Can I send you a request with Lando Norris x Leclerc sister reader? (Thank you angel xx)
words- 4.8k
Notes- Me.. writing for Lando in 2026! For my newer followers Lando was actually fav driver when I first started watchin f1 however over the years he's slipped down (honestly not the biggest fan anymore... at all) however I know much a lot of you love him so am gonna keep writing for him!
You never meant to fall for Lando Norris.
It happened gradually, like the sun rising over the Monaco harbor—so slowly you didn't notice until suddenly everything was illuminated. You'd grown up in the paddock alongside Charles, your twin brother, watching him climb the ranks from karting to Formula 1. Racing was in your blood, the Leclerc legacy coursing through your veins just as strongly as it did through Charles's, even if you'd chosen a different path—working in sports marketing rather than behind the wheel.
The paddock had always been your second home. You knew every driver, every team principal, every corner of every circuit. And you'd known Lando for years—the cheeky British driver with the infectious laugh and the perpetually youthful energy that made everyone around him smile.
But something shifted last season in Barcelona.
You'd been in the McLaren hospitality area, discussing a potential sponsorship collaboration, when Lando walked in after qualifying. His hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the edges, and he wore that papaya team shirt that somehow made his eyes look impossibly green. He'd flopped down on the sofa beside you with his characteristic lack of personal space awareness, close enough that you could smell his cologne—something fresh and citrusy that made your stomach flip.
"Alright?" he'd asked, flashing you that trademark grin.
"yeah," you'd replied, trying to ignore the way your heart had suddenly decided to run its own qualifying session.
He'd started talking about the session, about the car, about some joke he'd played on Oscar, and you'd found yourself genuinely laughing—not the polite laughter you gave to sponsors or journalists, but real, stomach-aching laughter. And when you'd caught your breath and looked up, you'd found him staring at you with an expression you'd never seen before. Soft. Wondering.
"What?" you'd asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing," he'd said quickly, but his cheeks had flushed pink. "You just... you have a really nice laugh."
It should have been nothing. A throwaway comment. But the way he'd said it, like he was confessing something important, made it everything.
After that, you started noticing him everywhere. Or maybe he started appearing everywhere you were—you were never quite sure which. He'd materialize beside you during driver briefings, would somehow end up at the same restaurants in whatever city you were in, would text you memes at three in the morning that made you snort-laugh into your pillow.
The first kiss happened in Silverstone.
It had been raining—of course it had been raining, this was England—and you'd ducked under the awning behind the McLaren motorhome to escape the downpour. Lando had found you there, soaked through despite his umbrella, laughing at the absurdity of the weather.
"Very British of you to complain about rain at Silverstone," you'd teased.
"I'm not complaining," he'd protested. "I'm just... observing. Meteorologically."
"Meteorologically?"
"It's a word!"
"Is it though?"
He'd stepped closer then, and suddenly the small space under the awning felt impossibly tiny. You could see the water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, could count the freckles the summer sun had brought out across his nose.
"Tu es belle," he'd said suddenly, his accent absolutely atrocious.
You'd burst out laughing. "Oh my God, what was that?"
"French!" he'd said defensively. "I'm trying to be romantic!"
"You sound like you're choking on a baguette!"
"Rude," he'd said, but he was grinning. "I'm trying here. Doesn't your French heart find it charming?"
"My Monégasque heart finds it offensive you think i'm french however i have to say it is a little bit adorable," you'd admitted, and then his smile had softened into something that made your breath catch.
"Yeah?" he'd whispered.
"Yeah."
He'd kissed you then, soft and sweet and tasting like rain, one hand coming up to cup your cheek while the other braced against the motorhome wall beside your head. It was perfect. It was terrifying. Because he was Lando, and you were Charles's sister, and this could only end in disaster.
But when he'd pulled back and looked at you like you'd hung the stars in the sky, you'd decided that some disasters were worth it.
"We can't tell anyone," you'd said. "Not yet. Charles would—"
"I know," Lando had agreed quickly. "We'll keep it quiet. Just... just for a bit. Until we figure out how to tell him."
That had been six months ago.
Keeping a relationship secret in the Formula 1 paddock was like trying to hide a neon sign in a dark room—technically possible, but requiring constant vigilance and creativity.
You became experts at it.
There were the stolen kisses behind the motorhomes, quick and breathless, always with one of you keeping watch. There were the "accidental" meetings in hotel hallways, where Lando would pull you into his room with a grin and lock the door behind you. There were the coded text messages, the careful distance you maintained in public, the way you'd trained yourselves not to stare at each other during team briefings.
It was thrilling and exhausting in equal measure.
"Je t'aime," Lando whispered one night in Hungary, his arms wrapped around you in his hotel room, the city lights of Budapest twinkling through the window.
You'd dissolved into giggles against his chest. "Je t'aime is 'I love you,' Lando. You can't just throw that around!"
"I know what it means," he'd said, and when you'd pulled back to look at him, his expression was serious. "Why do you think I said it?"
Your heart had stopped. "Lando..."
"You don't have to say it back," he'd said quickly. "I just... I wanted you to know. I'm rubbish at French, but I'm not rubbish at this. At us. I love you."
You'd kissed him instead of answering, pouring everything you felt into it—all the fear and joy and overwhelming affection that had been building for months. When you'd finally pulled away, you'd pressed your forehead to his.
"Je t'aime aussi," you'd whispered. "That means 'I love you too.'"
"I know," he'd grinned. "I'm not that bad at French."
"You really are though."
"Shut up and kiss me again."
You did.
But the secrecy was wearing on both of you. You wanted to hold his hand in public, wanted to kiss him in victory lane, wanted to stop pretending that your heart didn't race every time he walked into a room. You'd decided, finally, to tell Charles after the next race. You'd sit him down, explain everything, and hope that your twin brother would understand.
Then Monza happened.
You'd watched the incident from the Ferrari garage, your heart in your throat as Lando and Charles had battled for position through Lesmo. They'd been racing hard—too hard—and when they'd come together at the apex, sending both cars spinning into the gravel, you'd felt your carefully constructed world begin to crumble.
Charles had been furious in the post-race interviews. "Reckless," he'd called Lando's driving. "Dangerous and disrespectful."
Lando had fired back just as hard. "Maybe if he left more than a millimeter of space, we wouldn't have crashed. But that's Charles, isn't it? His way or no way."
The media had eaten it up. Social media had exploded. And you'd stood in the middle of it all, feeling like you were being torn in two.
You'd tried to talk to Charles that evening, but he'd been too angry, pacing his hotel room like a caged animal.
"He could have hurt someone," Charles had ranted in rapid French. "He could have hurt himself, or me, or—" He'd stopped, looking at you. "Why are you defending him?"
"I'm not defending anyone," you'd said carefully. "I just think maybe you're both too heated right now to—"
"He's not your friend," Charles had said sharply. "I know you're friendly with all the drivers, but Lando Norris is not your friend. He's reckless and immature and—"
You'd left before he could finish, before you could say something you'd regret.
The feud had continued into the next race week in Singapore. Charles wasn't speaking to Lando. Lando wasn't speaking to Charles. The tension in the paddock was thick enough to cut with a knife, and you were caught in the middle, unable to comfort your boyfriend or defend him to your brother.
"We need to wait," you'd told Lando when you'd managed to steal a moment alone. "We can't tell him now. Not when he's like this."
Lando had looked devastated but had nodded. "Okay. Okay, we'll wait. But I hate this. I hate hiding you."
"I know," you'd whispered, kissing him softly. "I hate it too."
Singapore was a night race, which meant the paddock was quieter during the day. You'd snuck into Lando's motorhome during the afternoon break, when most people were at the hotel resting before the evening's activities.
"This is risky," you'd said as Lando locked the door behind you.
"I know," he'd replied, pulling you close. "But I needed to see you. Properly. Not just stolen glances across the paddock."
He'd kissed you then, deep and desperate, and you'd melted into him. It had been days since you'd been properly alone together, days of tension and secrecy and wanting, and suddenly all of that was pouring out.
"I missed you," you'd breathed against his lips.
"Missed you too," he'd murmured, walking you backward toward the small bedroom area. "Missed this. Missed touching you."
His hands had slipped under your shirt, warm against your skin, and you'd gasped. "Lando..."
"Tell me to stop," he'd said, but he was already lifting your shirt over your head. "Tell me this is a bad idea."
"It's a terrible idea," you'd agreed, but you were unbuttoning his jeans.
He'd laughed, that bright, joyful sound you loved, and then his mouth had been on your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts above your bra. You'd fumbled with the clasp, frustrated, until he'd reached around and unhooked it with practiced ease.
"Show off," you'd muttered.
"You love it," he'd grinned, and then his mouth had closed around your nipple and you'd stopped thinking entirely.
Clothes had disappeared in a blur of urgent hands and breathless laughter. He'd laid you back on the narrow bed, hovering over you with eyes gone dark with want.
"Tu es magnifique," he'd attempted, and even through the haze of desire, you'd giggled.
"That's not even close to right."
"I'm trying!"
"Try less talking, more—oh God—"
He'd slid into you in one smooth thrust, and whatever you'd been about to say had dissolved into a moan. He'd stilled, giving you a moment to adjust, his forehead pressed to yours.
"Okay?" he'd whispered.
"More than okay," you'd breathed. "Move. Please move."
He had.
Lando had always been attentive in bed, but today there was an edge of desperation to it, like he was trying to prove something. He'd set a punishing pace, deep and hard, one hand gripping your hip while the other braced beside your head. The motorhome bed had creaked with every thrust, and you'd briefly worried about the noise before his mouth had found that spot on your neck and you'd stopped caring about anything except the feeling of him inside you.
"Fuck," he'd groaned against your skin. "You feel so good. So perfect. My perfect girl."
"Yours," you'd agreed breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "All yours."
He'd shifted the angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You'd cried out, probably too loud, and he'd captured your mouth with his, swallowing your moans.
"That's it," he'd panted against your lips. "Let me hear you. Want to hear how good I make you feel."
His hand had slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, and you'd nearly sobbed with the intensity of it. The dual sensation of him pounding into you while his fingers worked that bundle of nerves was overwhelming, pushing you rapidly toward the edge.
"Lando," you'd gasped. "I'm going to—I'm—"
"Come for me," he'd commanded, and the authority in his voice had sent you tumbling over the edge.
You'd come with a cry that he'd muffled with another kiss, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure rolled through you. He'd followed moments later, burying himself deep with a groan as he spilled inside you.
For a long moment, you'd just laid there, tangled together, hearts racing in sync. He'd pressed soft kisses to your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips.
"Je t'adore," he'd murmured.
"Better," you'd smiled. "Still terrible pronunciation, but better."
He'd been about to reply when there was a sharp knock on the motorhome door.
You'd both frozen.
"Lando!" Charles's voice, angry and unmistakable. "I know you're in there. We need to talk. Now."
"Shit," Lando had breathed, scrambling off you. "Shit, shit, shit."
You'd grabbed for your clothes, panic flooding your system, but they were scattered everywhere. Your shirt was on the other side of the room. Your bra was somewhere under the bed. You'd managed to grab Lando's McLaren team shirt from the floor and yank it on just as Charles knocked again, harder this time.
"Lando! Open this door!"
"Just a second!" Lando had called, pulling on his jeans. He'd looked at you, wild-eyed. "The cupboard. Hide in the cupboard."
"Are you serious?"
"Do you have a better idea?"
You hadn't. You'd scrambled into the small storage cupboard, pulling the door shut just as Lando opened the motorhome entrance.
"What?" Lando had said, and even through the cupboard door, you could hear the tension in his voice.
"We need to talk about today's practice," Charles had said, his accent thicker with anger. "That move you pulled in Turn 7—"
"That was a clean overtake."
"That was dangerous! You nearly put me in the wall!"
"Maybe you should leave more space then!"
Their voices had risen, the argument escalating quickly. You'd pressed yourself against the back of the cupboard, your heart pounding so hard you were sure they could hear it. You were shaking, whether from the aftermath of sex or pure fear, you weren't sure.
"You know what your problem is?" Charles had shouted. "You think you're invincible! You think you can just do whatever you want with no consequences!"
"And you think you're perfect!" Lando had fired back. "You think everyone should just move out of your way because you're Charles Leclerc!"
"That's not—I'm leaving. I can't talk to you when you're like this."
You'd heard footsteps, heard Charles moving toward the door, and you'd started to breathe a sigh of relief.
Then everything had gone silent.
"Lando," Charles had said, his voice suddenly cold. "Why is my sister's paddock pass on your floor?"
Your blood had turned to ice.
"What?" Lando had said, but his voice had lost its anger, replaced with something like dread.
"Her paddock pass. It's right here. Why is it in your motorhome?"
"She must have dropped it earlier, we were—"
"Don't lie to me." Charles's voice had been deadly quiet. "Where is she?"
"Charles—"
"WHERE IS SHE?"
You'd heard footsteps, heard doors being yanked open, and then suddenly light had flooded your hiding spot as Charles had wrenched open the cupboard door.
For a moment, nobody had moved. Charles had stared at you—at his twin sister, wearing Lando's shirt, hair messed, lips swollen, hiding in a cupboard—and you'd watched realization dawn across his face.
"No," he'd said. "No, no, no."
"Charles—" you'd started, but your voice had come out as barely a whisper. You were shaking so hard you could barely stand.
"How long?" Charles had demanded. "How long has this been going on?"
"It's not—" you'd tried.
"HOW LONG?"
You'd flinched at his shout, pressing back against the cupboard wall, and suddenly Lando had been there, stepping between you and Charles.
"Don't yell at her," Lando had said, his voice hard.
"Don't tell me what to do!" Charles had shouted. "She's my sister! My twin sister! And you—you—"
"I love her," Lando had said firmly.
Charles had laughed, but it was a bitter, angry sound. "Love her? You don't love her. This is just—this is just another game to you!"
"It's not a game," Lando had said, and you could hear the strain in his voice. "I love her. We've been together for six months."
"Six months?" Charles had looked like he'd been slapped. "Six months and you didn't tell me?"
"We were going to," you'd managed to say, finally finding your voice. You'd stepped out of the cupboard on shaky legs, and Lando had immediately moved closer, his hand finding yours. "We were going to tell you after this race, but then you and Lando had the incident and—"
"So this is my fault?" Charles had asked incredulously.
"No! That's not what I'm saying!"
"I can't believe this," Charles had said, running his hands through his hair. "I can't—I need to leave."
"Charles, please—" you'd started, but he'd already been heading for the door.
"Don't," he'd said without turning around. "Just... don't."
The door had slammed behind him, and you'd felt your knees give out. Lando had caught you, lowering you both to the floor, pulling you into his arms as you'd started to shake in earnest.
"It's okay," he'd murmured, pressing kisses to your hair. "It's going to be okay."
But you'd both known it wasn't.
Charles didn't speak to you for three weeks.
He ignored your calls, your texts, your attempts to catch him in the paddock. When you showed up at his hotel room, he wouldn't answer the door. When you tried to approach him at the track, he'd turn and walk away.
It was like losing half of yourself. You and Charles had been inseparable since birth, had shared everything, had never gone more than a day without talking. And now there was just... silence.
Lando stayed by your side through all of it.
He held you when you cried, brought you food when you forgot to eat, ran interference when photographers tried to catch you looking miserable in the paddock. The secret was out now—someone had seen Charles storm out of Lando's motorhome, and the paddock gossip mill had done the rest. Within days, it was all over social media.
"Charles Leclerc's sister dating Lando Norris?"
"The real reason behind the Leclerc-Norris feud?"
"Lando Norris: Home-wrecker or True Love?"
You'd stopped reading after that one.
"I'm sorry," you'd said to Lando one night, curled up in his hotel room. "I'm sorry you're caught in the middle of this."
"I'm not in the middle," he'd said firmly, tilting your chin up to look at him. "I'm on your side. Always on your side."
"He hates you."
"He hates me anyway," Lando had said with a wry smile. "At least now it's for a good reason."
"This isn't funny."
"I know," he'd said, his expression softening. "I know, love. But we'll get through this. He'll come around."
"What if he doesn't?"
Lando had been quiet for a moment. "Then that's his choice. But I'm not giving you up. Not for him, not for anyone."
The breaking point came at the Austin race.
You'd been invited to a major sponsorship event—a huge deal for your career, the kind of opportunity you'd been working toward for years. It was being held on the Thursday before the race weekend, and everyone who was anyone in the motorsport world would be there.
Charles had been invited too. You'd hoped, desperately, that he would show up. That maybe in a public setting, he'd at least acknowledge you.
He hadn't come.
You'd stood in that ballroom, surrounded by people congratulating you on your success, and felt utterly alone. You'd excused yourself halfway through, finding a quiet corner outside to cry.
That's where Lando had found you.
"He didn't come," you'd said unnecessarily.
"I know," Lando had said, pulling you into his arms. "I'm sorry."
"This was important. He knew this was important."
"I know."
You'd cried into his shoulder while he'd held you, one hand stroking your hair, murmuring soft reassurances in terrible French that made you laugh despite everything.
The next day, you'd been in the McLaren garage when you'd heard the shouting.
You'd rushed out to find Lando and Charles face to face in the paddock, Lando's expression thunderous.
"You don't get to do this," Lando was saying, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't get to shut her out."
"This is none of your business," Charles had snapped.
"It's absolutely my business! She's my girlfriend, and you're breaking her heart!"
"I'm breaking her heart? You're the one who—"
"Who what? Who fell in love with her? Who treats her like she's the most incredible person in the world? Because she is, Charles. She's amazing and brilliant and kind, and she deserves better than this."
"You don't know anything about what she deserves!"
"I know she deserves a brother who shows up for her!" Lando had shouted. "That event last night was huge for her, and you couldn't even be bothered to come!"
Charles had flinched.
"You want to be mad at me? Fine. Be mad at me. Yell at me, punch me, I don't care. But you don't get to punish her for my mistakes. You don't get to shut her out because you're angry at me."
"She lied to me," Charles had said, but his voice had lost some of its heat.
"She was scared," Lando had said. "She was scared of exactly this. Of losing you. And you're proving her right."
"I just... I need time."
"Then take time. But don't make her feel like she has to choose between us. Don't make her feel like loving me means losing you."
Charles had looked past Lando then, and you'd realized he'd known you were there the whole time. Your eyes had met, and you'd seen your own pain reflected back at you.
"I'm sorry," Charles had said quietly. "I'm sorry I missed your event."
"Charles—" you'd started, but he'd already been walking away.
But it was a start.
Charles had texted you that night. Just two words: "Can we talk?"
You'd met him at a quiet café away from the circuit, away from the cameras and the gossip. For a long moment, you'd just sat there, two halves of the same whole, separated by hurt and misunderstanding.
"I'm sorry," Charles had said finally. "I'm sorry for shutting you out. That was... that was wrong of me."
"I'm sorry too," you'd said. "I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, I just—"
"You were scared," Charles had finished. "Lando said. And I... I understand why."
"Do you?"
He'd sighed, running a hand through his hair—a gesture so familiar it made your chest ache. "You're my baby sister—"
"By three minutes!"
"—and I've always felt like I needed to protect you. From everything. From the media, from the pressure, from... from guys who might hurt you."
"Lando's not going to hurt me."
"I know," Charles had said, and he'd sounded almost surprised by his own admission. "I've been watching him these past few weeks. The way he looks at you, the way he's been there for you even when I wasn't. He loves you. Really loves you."
You'd felt tears prick your eyes. "He does."
"And you love him?"
"So much it scares me sometimes."
Charles had reached across the table, taking your hand. "Then I'm happy for you. I am. It's just... it's going to take me some time to get used to it. To seeing you with him. To sharing you."
"You're not sharing me," you'd said firmly. "You're my brother. My twin. Nothing and no one will ever change that."
"Not even Lando?"
"Not even Lando."
Charles had smiled then, the first real smile you'd seen from him in weeks. "He's good for you. I can see that. You're happy with him."
"I am."
"But if he hurts you—if he hurts even one hair on your head—"
"I know, I know. You'll kill him."
"Slowly," Charles had agreed. "Very slowly."
You'd laughed, and it had felt like breathing again after being underwater.
Later that day, you'd watched from the garage as Charles had approached Lando in the paddock. You'd held your breath, not sure what to expect.
Charles had extended his hand.
"Take care of her," he'd said.
Lando had shaken it, his expression serious. "Always."
"I mean it, Norris. She's the most important person in my life."
"Mine too," Lando had said.
Charles had studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. Okay, then."
It wasn't perfect. There was still tension, still awkwardness. But it was a beginning.
The first time you kissed Lando in public, it felt like flying.
It was after the race in Brazil, where he'd finished on the podium. You'd been waiting for him when he'd come down from the ceremony, still soaked in champagne, and he'd spotted you in the crowd and broken into a run.
He'd swept you up in his arms, spinning you around, and you'd laughed with pure joy.
"I'm all wet," he'd warned.
"I don't care," you'd said, and kissed him.
The cameras had flashed. The crowd had cheered. And for the first time in months, you hadn't cared who was watching.
When you'd finally pulled apart, both grinning like idiots, you'd spotted Charles nearby. He'd rolled his eyes, but he'd been smiling.
"Get a room," he'd called.
"Jealous?" Lando had shot back.
"Of you? Please."
But there had been no heat in it. Just the easy banter of friends—or at least, of people learning to be friends.
That night, in Lando's hotel room, he'd pulled you close.
"Mon coeur," he'd attempted.
"My heart," you'd translated, smiling. "That's actually pretty good."
"I've been practicing," he'd admitted. "I want to be able to tell you I love you in your language. Properly."
"You can tell me in any language," you'd said, cupping his face. "I'll always understand."
"Je t'aime," he'd said, his pronunciation still terrible but his sincerity unmistakable. "Je t'aime plus que tout."
"I love you more than anything," you'd whispered. "That's what that means."
"I know," he'd grinned. "I looked it up."
"Show off."
"You love it."
"I love you," you'd corrected, and kissed him.
Later, wrapped in his arms, you'd thought about how far you'd come. From stolen kisses behind motorhomes to this—open, honest, real. It hadn't been easy. It had been messy and complicated and painful.
But as Lando had pressed a kiss to your temple and murmured something in absolutely atrocious French that made you giggle, you'd known it had been worth it.
Every moment. Every risk. Every fear.
Because this—this love, this man, this life—was worth fighting for.
"What did you just say?" you'd asked, still laughing.
"I said you're beautiful," he'd insisted.
"That is not what you said."
"It's what I meant to say!"
"You said something about a potato."
"I did not!"
"You absolutely did. You called me your beautiful potato."
"That's... that's romantic!"
"It's really not."
"In England it is!"
"It's really, really not."
He'd kissed you to shut you up, and you'd let him, still smiling against his lips.
"Je t'aime, ma belle pomme de terre," you'd teased when you'd come up for air.
"What does that mean?"
"My beautiful potato."
"I hate you," he'd laughed.
"No you don't."
"No," he'd agreed, pulling you closer. "I really don't."
And outside, the Brazilian night had sparkled with city lights, and somewhere in the same hotel your brother was probably rolling his eyes at the thought of you two together, and the racing world was probably still gossiping about the Leclerc-Norris drama.
But in that moment, wrapped in Lando's arms, you'd never felt more at peace.
You were done hiding. Done sneaking around. Done pretending that your heart didn't belong entirely to the British driver with the terrible French and the beautiful smile.
Now this made me smile like I was actually the person. This made me so happy wowwwww. Your writing is always a treat!!! Thank you for this amazing piece of art!!
