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pandoraslxna · 1 year

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Lost and found – Chapter 1

adult Neteyam x female human scientist

Words: 3k

Summary: Neteyam hates humans. One day, he finds you all alone and lost in the forest, but quickly decides against killing you. What might be the odd reason for that?

Warnings: explicit smut, minors dni, non-con elements / dub-con, p in v, creampie, Na‘vi in heat, alien biology, language barrier, kinda dark!neteyam, neteyams pov, size kink, size difference

Notes: check my masterlist for all parts

Neteyam isn’t really fond of humans.

Spider wasn’t an exception. Neteyam was sure that even he would one day betray his family for his own race. The oldest Sully had his reasons for keeping his distance towards them, no matter if they considered themselves his family’s friends or ally’s. For all his life, he hadn’t exchanged much more than a few words with Norm and Max and avoids them for most of the time. Neteyam also makes sure to stay away from the laboratories and most human technology.

It’s not just that he doesn’t like them. Neteyam despises humans. They can’t be trusted. All they bring, is pain and suffering. His mother had raised him that way. And that's exactly why he doesn't hesitate to draw his bow, when he stumbles upon a human female in the forest. She seems to be alone, unarmed and visible lost. An easy target and it would be one less of them on Pandora.

Neteyam takes a deep breath, draws his bow, ready to shoot, but then… then there’s a breeze of wind and some of her scent is blown in his direction. He stops himself immediately.

Usually humans smell gross. Disgusting even. They smell like something they call soap, a weird chemical and something he can't really describe. They just smell like human.

But that little female is different. He can’t pinpoint it. She smells sweet, like a fruit even. Neteyam can almost taste it on his tongue. Hesitantly, he lowers his bow and keeps watching her from afar. She’s not necessarily ugly, not even for a human, but she’s still weird to his eyes. Alien looking. She’s mumbling something in her foreign language, a language he’s never bothered to learn. Was she talking to herself?

She seems nervous, almost scared as she looks around. Paranoid. She’s definitely lost.

Neteyam can’t spot any weapons on her, so he figures she’s not one of the human warriors or dream walkers. She probably lost her people somewhere in the forest. They might’ve been killed by some predator. Neteyam kinda hopes that’s the case.

A light breeze blows her scent in his direction once again and he can't help but inhale deeply. The humans scent clouds his head, like a thick fog that makes it hard to think of anything else than to— to mate. His eyes widen in shock at the realization. The tall Na’vi can almost feel his pupils dilate. His body seemed to act without his consent. Her scent had really triggered his urge to mate with her. A human, of all things. He shakes his head as if that would’ve helped to clear his mind. Of course it didn’t.

Neteyam should feel disgusted with himself. But there was really nothing he could do to restrain himself anymore. Once a male Na‘vi has chosen a female, their body acts immediately, whether they like it or not… He was done for.

Neteyam knows he has to mate right now or the next few hours are going to be really, really painful for him. Usually, female Na‘vi can scent the males hormones too and both of them fall into heat together– if they’ve chosen each other. But she’s a human. She can’t fall into heat. She can’t smell his scent, with her small, useless human nose. It’s covered with one of those oxygen masks anyways. She’s unable to choose him as a mate, can’t form the tsaheylu with him… so why would his body curse him by choosing her?

If a Na‘vi isn’t chosen by their preferred mate, they usually go through heat alone. It’s really painful and can last twice as long without a way to release.

But she’s no Na‘vi. She’s a human. It doesn’t matter if she chooses him. He had chosen her and that should be enough, Neteyam decides for himself.

Quietly, Neteyam jumps from the branch he was watching her from and lands almost silently on the moss covered ground, right in front of her feet. The female shrieks and falls backwards to land on her bottom with a thump. His much larger frame towers over her and a gasp leaves her lips when she looks up at him. Neteyam tilts his head and the movement causes some strands of his braided hair to fall over his shoulder.

"P-Please don’t kill me!" She squeaks. Some of the words he actually does understand and with his ears flat against his head, he crouches down in front of her. Despite everything, he doesn’t want to scare her too much.

Protectively, she holds her hands up in front of her face. Neteyam curiously reaches out and grabs her thin wrists to get a better look at her fingers. Four fingers and a thumb, just like dad and his siblings. Frightened, she wants to withdraw her hand, but the Na’vi is superior to her strength and doesn’t move an inch. She struggles against his hold, unknown words falling from her mouth as she tries to free herself. He can’t help it, the sight in front of him was pathetic and comically and he chuckles. The tiny female looks at him dumbfounded.

With her wrist still firmly in his hold, he pulls her a little closer, until he's close enough to sniff at the skin of her neck. She smells a lot stronger from up close. It’s so sweet and intense, it makes his tail sway in excitement. When he inhales again, he can feel heat bloom in his chest, spreading like a fever until he feels hot all over. His cock stiffens, presses hard against his loincloth. The need for touch was slowly becoming overwhelming and unbearable, eclipsing all of his rational thoughts. He needs her. Now.

Neteyam can feel how her breathing stops, as if she believed he couldn’t see her if she stopped breathing. Cute, he thinks.

With one swift motion, the Na‘vi has the tiny human flat on her stomach. He’s quick to hold her slim arms tight together behind her back, needing just one hand, before she starts to squirm below him. He crouches over her legs, his thighs spread wide to cage her in. "Hey, s-stop!", she protests loudly, "What are you doing?"

"I won’t hurt you", Neteyam tells her with a sigh and it’s the honest truth. Hurting his future mate wouldn’t be very honorable of him. And he wasn’t the type for these kind of things either– human or not. But she doesn’t respond. She only turns her head, to look at him over her shoulder, with a frown. The human obviously had no idea what he was saying, which makes this whole thing a lot harder. But there was something else that slowly got harder too…

Neteyam palms himself over his loincloth and her eyes widen. "Wait, wait a minute–", she wiggles in his hold and unintentionally arches her back against him, much to his surprise. With his free hand, he holds her hips right there. Her body is much different compared to a Na‘vi. Her hips are wide and her bottom is plump. She’s also wearing those strange alien clothes, much to his distaste. To his eyes, they’re simply ugly. And they’re covering most of her body, shielding it from his hungry gaze. But not for much longer, Neteyam decides and reaches for his knife. The human immediately pleads in her native tongue and he rolls his eyes. With a squeeze to her wrists he tries to signal to her, that she better not dare to move. It seems like she actually understood this time, because when he slowly let’s go of her arms, she really doesn’t move an inch- even keeps her arms behind her back. "That’s right", he nods and it sounds as if he was talking to a newly claimed ikran, "Stay still."

With his knife, he makes quick work to cut through the seams of her pants, top and those weird undergarments. The humans eyes are squeezed shut as her clothes fall off of her, leaving her bare before him. Her skin is oddly flawless. No stripes, obviously. But no scars either. So she’s definitely no warrior. Matter of fact, she looks like she’s never been outside before. There’s not a single scratch on her perfect skin. She might be one of those scientists, like Norm and Max, maybe?

She’s shaking like a leaf in the wind and her breathing is rapid and anxious. Neteyam hesitates for a moment, but then he lowers his head to place a gentle, comforting kiss on the nape of her neck and she gasps. "I won’t hurt you", he tells her again, but slower this time. Carefully, he moves her arms and places them next to her head in a position that seems more comfortable for her. He wanted her to feel good, enjoy this too.

Neteyam kisses her again, on her shoulder this time. And then against the shell of her ear. Her ear is soft and round and so different from his own, he can’t help but close his teeth around her earlobe, gently nibbling on it. Then he moves further, trailing small kisses down her spine and her back arches even more, almost instinctively. He moves quietly behind her, undoing his loincloth before giving his length a few experimental thrusts into his palm. His cock is painfully hard, throbbing in his hand. The head is already leaking pre-cum, swollen and neglected and he can’t help but groan and pray that he’s able to restraint himself a little longer, enough to prepare her for his size– otherwise he would probably rip the little human clean in half.

Another wave of her sweet scent rolls off of her and Neteyam‘s lips widen into a smug grin.

“I can smell you, little one", he tells her with a chuckle, "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” But she doesn’t respond. She’s silent, save for the sound of her breathing.

Neteyam’s hands then find the curve of her bottom. He kneads her plumb flesh, curiously spreading her soft cheeks to get a better view of what he longed for. The human mewls for him to 'don’t look' and 'not there' as far as he can understand, yet she keeps holding completely still. And that only makes him want to tease her even more. With his thumbs, he then proceeds to spread her lips and he can’t help but lick his lips at the sight of her tiny cunt clenching around nothing. She leaks of slickness, the clear, sticky liquid immediately coating his digits as he slides them through her folds. A small moan escapes her mouth and Neteyam can see how she immediately covers her mouth with her small, five fingered hands.

Ever so slowly, he then slides his index finger inside her. It’s rewarded by another one of her sweet moans and the squelching sounds that form once he’s starting to thrust his finger in and out of her. She’s warm and wet and Neteyam feels her heart beat under every inch of skin his other hand can reach. He holds her hip, guides her to keep her back arched and then adds another finger to scissor her open.

Her breath comes in quick gasps and Neteyam can feel her limbs tremble. He wishes he would understand the words falling from her mouth, wondering if she wanted more, if she wanted him to make her come like this or if she was already begging to be mated. He really hopes it’s the latter, because he was slowly reaching is limit. He retreats his fingers from her pussy, his arms encircle her and then draw her bottom closer to his crotch. He leans over her, his body dwarfs her slender frame, his nose presses into the hollow of her neck and he’s inhaling her scent once again. "So sweet", he mumbles and then leans back on his heels.

"Spread yourself for me", Neteyam tells her but the look she throws at him over her shoulder let’s him know that she struggles to understand. "Like this", he then guides her hands, helps her understand what he wants her do to and she gets it immediately. With her small hands spreading her own cheeks, he‘s able to line up the thick head of his cock with her entrance.

He pushes forward with some effort, the tip slowly sinking into her tight, wet tunnel, spreading her wide around his cock. The human bites her lip, whimpering softly when he enters her, hands trembling as she continues to spread herself. "That’s it", Neteyam huffs out a breath, sinking further into the heat of her cunt, "Just like that, keep yourself open for me." His shaft, hard and thick, pushes past her lips and he can feel her soft walls clench around him. It was a tight fit but Neteyam manages to make it work and if the sharp breath he heard underneath him was any indication, it must’ve felt good for her as well.

Neteyam was completely absorbed by the feeling of the tiny humans pussy. It seemed to lovingly embrace his cock, to massage it and cling to it when he pulls out a few inches. He’s transfixed by the way her plump cheeks jiggle when his hips met hers, so he repeats the motion, thrusting his cock into her again and again. The familiar melody of the forest was now expanded by her moaning and the steady beat of their flesh slapping together.

Neteyam moves his hips fast and hard, panting heavily. His face was bright with arousal, his bare chest wet with sweat and it felt so, so fucking good. Nothing on Pandora could be compared to this feeling, to the tight clutch of this humans pussy and the noises she made just for him– for her mate.

"Shit– you feel so good, so tight, little human." His eyes were foggy with lust, and his shaft twitched and throbbed wildly inside her. The velvety-soft feeling of her walls was enough to make him forget everything but the pleasure he craved. Neteyam wasn’t himself anymore. Everything about her made him lose his mind further, made him want nothing else but to cum inside her and claim her as his mate. The Na‘vi was working single mindedly towards that goal, desperately thrusting over and over into her, chasing the ecstasy of his oncoming climax.

The tiny human below him panted and gasped, shuddering from each firm, deep stroke of his cock. Her inner walls clung tightly to his shaft, squeezing him, flexing around his warm, intruding length, coaxing him deep inside with each thrust.  Neteyam fell into a steady pace, the swing of his hips becoming quick and rhythmic. The slap of skin on skin filled his ears, joined by the breathless panting and moans that escaped her lips, sounding more and more desperate with each passing second. He could see her eyes rolling back as pleasure overtook her. "I‘m gonna come", were the words she repeated alongside curses and moans, again and again and Neteyam came to realize that she was probably trying to tell him that she was close to her release.

Everything was too much. The firm snap of his hips against hers, the lingering smell of sex in the air and her sweet, heavenly pheromones coursing through his system all mixed together, creating the perfect storm to completely break his mind. The human didn’t scream when she came, but her lips parted in a silent cry, followed by shamelessly moaning of words and curses he did not understand and Neteyam regrets not telling her his name beforehand. He wanted her to moan it, scream it from the top of her lunges for everyone to hear. "Fuck, yes, cum for me", he curses under his breath while his tail instinctively wraps around her leg as if trying to hold her even closer, "Feels so good, sweet girl. Can feel you squeezing my cock, oh shit—"  The human comes hard, her pussy clenching tight around his cock as he thrust forward one last time. The Na‘vi groans, ears flattened as he reached his limit with a hiss. He buries his cock deep inside her rhythmically-pulsing cunt, grunting as he pumps his release straight into her womb. She moans and quivers as she‘s filled, his heat pouring into her, filling her to the absolute brim before spilling over and bubbling onto the soft moss below her knees.

Neteyam doesn’t know how much time had passed, how long he had stayed buried inside the tightness of her warm, spongy walls. But the heavy fog in his brain slowly starts to thin out and finally, he’s able to think straight again. When he glances over her shoulder, he finds her eyes closed shut, her face flushed red, yet her features seem entirely relaxed and calm. Neteyam can’t help but smile. Poor thing, he thinks. Humans were known for their low stamina amongst his kind, so it was likely that she must’ve fallen asleep.

The human below him squirms in her sleep, once he’s found the strength to pull out and more of his release seeps out of her cunt. The sight before him is almost enough to make him hard again, but then, somewhere near them, a twig breaks as if something or someone had stepped on it.

Neteyam’s ears rise, senses immediately on high alert. It’s suspiciously silent for a while so the Na‘vi quickly shuffles to his feet, hastily tying his loincloth around his hip again. The humans breathing is still slow and shallow, even as he picks her up. He gently tugs her arms over his shoulder and adjusts her legs around his hips, so she can cross them behind his back. With one hand on her bottom and the other one securing the back of her head, he carries the unconscious human, his mate, away from any possible danger. Deeper into the forest and to the safety of his home, as she was now his. And he would protect what was his.

#avatar 2 #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x reader smut #avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #avatar way of water #avatar loak #atwow neteyam #atwow x reader #atwow #awow #･｡ﾟ☆: *my works* :☆ﾟ.

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sinofwriting · 7 months

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Private Professor - Max Verstappen

Words: 5,576 Summary: For years and years, Max has claimed that he has a girlfriend, but no one has ever met her and he refuses to talk about her with the media. And it’s far easier to believe that he’s lying when no proof of a girl exists. Note(s)/Warning(s): Small Age Gap (Reader is nearly two years younger), Some Angst, Mostly Fluff, Jos Verstappen. Thank you so much to the anon that requested this! I had a lot of fun writing it!

Taglist | Masterlist | Patreon

At fourteen and sixteen, their relationship is all blood rushing to their cheeks, fluttering hands, kisses that last too long and not long enough, panting breaths, and hickeys below shirt collars. It’s whispers of forever, of I’ll take you here and there. That house will be ours one day. Whatever you want, you’ll have. I’ll be on break, you’ll come home and I’ll be waiting. You’ll follow me everywhere and I’ll do the same.

It’s promises they don’t realize they shouldn’t be making but do. It’s sweet nothings and petty fights that last a day before they’re back in each other's arms. It’s pretending not to notice how his dad watches him amused as he walks calmly out of the door before sprinting over to her house and sneaking into her bedroom. It’s her parents pretending not to hear the thud of him falling into her bedroom and the light giggles their daughter makes.

At fourteen and sixteen, their relationship changes. It’s no longer seeing each other when he doesn’t have a race or training and is home, no Red Bull duties to be done. It’s long phone calls, texts, snapchat streaks, learning how to video call. It’s carrying two power banks with them everywhere and Max buying them both expensive phone cases that charge their phones. It’s falling asleep on the phone while the other is just beginning their day. He attends classes with her, while she listens to him train. He goes to red bull meetings and pretends not to have the light sound of breathing in his ears from her falling asleep while studying or doing her homework.

Fifteen and seventeen, brings them peace. She’s still studying like a mad woman at Harvard of all places, but he’s got an F1 seat of all things. He’s in F1. He suddenly has more things to do but more free time. When he’s not racing or at the factory or doing weird press things that make him want to rip his hair out, Jos is putting him on a plane to America, to her. And he soaks up all the time with her he can, despite it being filled with her studying, attending classes, and forcing actual food down her throat which her parents both thank him for.

It also brings the stupidest thing in the world; the doubt and disbelief that he has a girlfriend.

Carlos is the first to bring it up upon seeing his home screen that’s just all black, not even the default that iphone has.

“No girlfriend?” Max frowns at him, pocketing his phone and sending a glance over to where his father is standing and talking to his race engineer. “What?” “Your home screen, it’s all black. You don’t have a girlfriend?” Carlos is teasing, joking. The whole paddock already knows that Jos Verstappen wouldn’t let his son have a girlfriend, not now when he’s got an F1 seat. Such a thing would be a distraction and Max isn’t allowed those. Max isn’t allowed friends on the grid either. Carlos wonders though how much the last part is just a Jos thing. “I do.” Then he says her name, all soft and sweet in a way Carlos never thought Max could be. It’s nearly enough for him to believe Max, but then he catches a glimpse of Jos and shakes his head, clapping the seventeen year old on the back.

He is the first to not believe Max, but far from the last. It’s Daniel next, Christian, Esteban, Pierre, Sebastian, Lando, every interviewer that asks.

It doesn’t matter because at seventeen and nineteen, she gets her second degree and begins the nightmare of getting her doctorates in education and history. And he picks out a ring before making his father hide it away. And instead of him constantly flying to her, she’s flying to him. Hiding out in his Monaco apartment, turning his living room into a disaster zone as she spreads her things around to study.

The mess drives him crazy, but he doesn’t move anything no matter how much his hands itch to do so, instead just pressing a kiss to the top of her head before pressing himself in between her and the couch. Grinning when she sends him a look, a clear don’t be a distraction, before giving him a kiss.

His days in Monaco when she’s there are spent in the living room after training, playing fifa or watching some documentary for one of her classes with her, and poking at her lightly because he doesn’t know shit about history but he’s still able to remember countries quicker than her.

They turn eighteen and twenty and nearly get married when her family goes on vacation to Vegas, dragging the two along despite them not being able gamble, which is the only reason her parents had chosen Vegas. The only thing that stops them from getting married is him not being a US citizen and her visa just being for school. It’s a fucking wakeup call for him and he can’t help but pester her about places in Monaco to live.

She entertains it for all of five minutes before she’s cupping his face and kissing him. When she pulls back, she’s shaking her head. “As long as it has you and four bedrooms, I don’t care.” “Four?” “We’ll need our own offices and a guest room.”

It’s barely anything for the real estate agent to work with but he doesn’t care. He wants something that’s at least four bedrooms, two baths, a decent kitchen, and a view. She liked the Monaco sunrise and sunset and he planned on letting her be able to see it anytime they stayed in Monaco.

His agent gets back to him in a week and he ignores the look on Daniel’s face when he comes over for the first time. Ignores the jokes about it being too big for one person just like Daniel ignores him saying that he has a girlfriend.

“If you had one, I’d have seen a picture of her mate. The whole world would.”

Max still remembers the way his jaw had twitched at the thing everyone said. That if he had a girlfriend, they’d have seen a picture of her, that he’d be showing her off every second, have her at the races, been seen with her. When Max had made it abundantly clear that the worst part of driving was the media, the fame. So why would he ever subject someone he loves to that when they both weren’t ready for that?

Because they weren’t. He wasn’t ready for another part of his life, one of the most important parts, to be something for everyone to look at and dissect. And she wasn’t ready for it either. Not when she was doing so much studying. She barely felt like she had time for him, which he denied and hated vehemently, she didn’t have time for the online vitriol of being a girlfriend to a high profile athlete. And she didn’t need to be harassed as she attended classes and studies groups and such if someone recognized her and didn’t like that she was with him.

Not showing any pictures or videos of her was also easy for him. It wasn’t because he didn’t have any, he had hundreds. But they were pictures and videos of her, only meant for him. Not because they were dirty in nature, though some were, but because how she was in them was something only she allowed him to see. It was photos of her with a finger pressed to her top lip as she glared at her books, videos of her sitting on something too tall for her feet to touch the ground and letting them swing. It was her smiling at him, all fond, shy and in love.

It was them wrapped up in each other's arms and love. Her in between his legs or the other way around. Her sitting on his lap as Vic stole his phone to video them laughing and exchanging kisses. Her giggles as she tries not to fall asleep as reads her books to him over facetime. It’s her in her purest form and he doesn’t want the people in his life who are so quick and sure to not believe him to get to see that.

Nineteen and twenty-one, she officially co-owns their place in Monaco and he starts scouting out property in Belgium and land in France that’s somewhat close to the principality he lives in. It was too early to start building a house to live in forever, not when they weren’t sure what they wanted to live in forever with their kids, but it wasn’t too early to buy the land for it.

It also leads to their biggest fight in years.

“Max!” Her nails are digging into her arms. “I’m not saying that. I’m saying that I want to help, that I can pay. I have money!” “And you don’t need to!” He’s yelling as well, face red with anger. “I’ve got money too! You don’t need to pay for shit when I can.” She shakes her head. “Really? Is that how it's always going to be? I won’t ever get to pay for anything? Just have a salary and trust fund wasting away.” She scoffs, giving another shake of her head. “Is it about being the breadwinner? Because don’t worry Max, I’m well aware that you’ll always have more money than me. Doesn’t mean I can’t contribute to our life.” “Fuck.” He murmurs seeing the tears brimming in her eyes but not falling, the hurt in her words. “It’s not about that at all. It’s not about being the breadwinner.” “Then what is it about?” Her voice is high pitched. “You won’t let me pay for a single thing! I can’t buy groceries without you slipping money back into my wallet. I can’t help pay the bills and now you won’t let me help buy the land that will have our house on it. What is it about Max?” “You’re mine.” Her eyes widened at his quiet but firm tone. “You’re my girlfriend, the love of my life. One day my wife and the mother of my children.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, feeling words and feelings he’s only ever really let come out during sex or when they're both so drunk they barely remember anything the next day. “I want to pay for everything because it’s providing for you, it’s making sure you’re eating, sleeping somewhere safe, getting the best, most accommodating flights. It’s knowing that I’m providing for my family.”

“Max,” she breathes out, arms falling away from her chest and then she’s moving closer, resting a hand over his racing heart. “You want to provide for me?” He nods. “For our future kids?” “Yes.” “So do I. So, we’re going to work on this. You want to buy the land, you can.” He looks at her distrusting, because this didn’t sound like working on it. “But, I get to pay for groceries when I go out for them, without you paying me back. I get to pay for netflix because I use it more and spotify.” She adds. He frowns at her. “I don’t like it.” “Too bad and I’m not done. In return, you get to pay the bills, put gas in the car for me,” he grins at that. “Pay for my flights and we are going to open a joint account to put an equal amount of money in every month. For things like vacations, anniversary dinners, and the kids. Because it’s important that I get to help provide for them too. And when we build that house together, I want to pay at least half of the contracting fee. I’ll let you pay for the rest.” “I want to pay for any of the kids' interests. Like art, ballet or karting.” “No deal.” She shakes her head and he’s frowning again. “You can pay for all the karting, it will mean more. But I want it out of the shared account for the other things. Unless,” she pauses. “Unless,” he encourages. “If any of them decides to go to university early like me, I want to pay fully for it.” “No.” It’s quick and now she’s frowning as well. “It’s our children and their education. Shared account.” “Their first degree.” He shakes his head. “And if it’s their only degree?” Her brows press together, it was a good point. Just because they decided to go to university early like her didn’t mean they’d go for more than one degree. “First year.” His eyes narrow as he looks at her, but he nods. “First year. But only of the first degree.” “First degree only.” She agrees.

It’s quiet between them before Max lets his face soften, lips twisting slightly into a smile. “Are we done fighting?” She laughs, but nods. “Yeah. We’re done fighting.” “Thank god.” He breathes, pulling her into his arms and burying his face into the crook of her neck. “Let’s not do that again.” “Not anytime soon at least.” “I love you.” He murmurs. “I love you too.”

Twenty and twenty-two has their families asking when exactly they’re getting married, wondering why there isn’t a ring on her finger and their only saving grace is their time spent in Monaco together away from them all. But when it gets to be too much as pressure builds as she tries to finish her doctorate in education while still working on her doctorate for history, it’s Jos that steps in for her and Max.

The three of them shared a complicated relationship. She could never like him for the parent he was to Max growing up. From the near abuse he hurled at him when he failed, the pressure he put on a child, the leaving him in a foreign country for a few hours when he wasn’t even a teenager more than once. But she did love him, because Max loved him and in his own way he loved Max and he showed that with his support of their relationship when everyone expected for him to have a problem with it, label it as a distraction. And now as a few years had passed and Max was comfortable in his F1 seat, he was Max’s fiercest defender, unwilling to back down, but would if Max told him too. And he was her fiercest defender as well. Glaring at jokes about her not needing a degree with the money Max made, not forcing her to join on trips when she was busy with school or questioning her support of Max because she didn’t attend races.

So, neither Max or her are surprised when Jos steps in when her grandparents are trying to back them into a corner as to why she doesn’t have a ring on her finger and how they have a number for a wedding planner and she should really give her a call, when all they want is to get breakfast before retreating to their room so she can resume her studies while Max hovers around her while going over his own work.

She hadn’t been thrilled at first when she learned that Jos would join them on the trip, knowing that Sophie wouldn’t be there, but now she was grateful and she made sure to squeeze his shoulder before leaving the kitchen and scheduled a nice quiet dinner for herself, Max and Jos as thanks.

The media becomes relentless when they’re twenty-two and twenty-four and Max wins his first championship. Because there is no girlfriend in sight despite the now champions thanks for her support and love. They tear Max apart for creating a fake girlfriend that has no name or face, call him unloveable with his fake championship. Some tear her apart as well, calling her gold digger, selfish, undeserving, fans of Max and the sport do as well.

It was supposed to be a happy moment for him, one of if not the best in his life, but it’s tainted, ruined, and as soon as he’s home with her in Monaco, all she can do is hold him and pretend that the texts from his friends begging him to go out and get laid don’t make her cry later in the shower.

Despite the texts and a bold one from Daniel about hiring him a prostitute, she forces Max to go out, to celebrate with the drivers in Monaco, to get drunk and have fun, and forget what the media is saying about him.

“I’m coming back if one of them even hints at a prostitute.” He tells her and she laughs, but she knows that he’s serious. He’s never even once considered cheating on her and one of their first serious fights had been about her trying to convince him and herself that she’d be okay if he got lonely while he was traveling and needed someone. He hadn’t believed it for a second and it had been one of the few times he had been so pissed at her that he couldn’t even stomach to look at her.

“Am I making a mistake, mom?” She asks, barely five minutes later, not even bothering saying hi when her mom greets her over the phone. “No.” Her mom’s voice is firm and has her blinking away tears. “But,” “No.” Her mom cuts her off. “Sweetheart, I can’t even begin to try and understand Max and yours relationship. But this, this privacy that you two have, that’s not a mistake. It’s rough right now and it will be. And it will come back later when you two do decide to be public, but it’s not a mistake. You two both made the difficult, heartbreaking, mature decision to keep it private for both of yours sake.” “I know.” She whispers, wiping away tears. “You both still need privacy and there is no shame in that. Max isn’t ready and neither are you. As far as I’m concerned the only mistake you two have made is still not being married with a baby on the way.” “Mom.” She groans and her mom laughs. “I know, I know. Just remember that despite the seven or so years you’ve been together, that you two are still young, still doing so much growing.” “Thank you.” “Of course.”

When Max arrives home hours later, drunkenly stumbling around and into bed, she’s not surprised by the smell of liquor clinging to him or the drunken murmurings he’s pressing to her skin. She is surprised by the deep inhale he takes and the splutter that makes her turn to face him.

Eyes a little blurry from sleep and wine, she makes out squinted eyes, flushed face, and a frown.

“You’re drunk.” “You’re drunk.” She replies, curling closer to him. “You’ve been crying.” “Yeah.” He slips an arm around her, pulling her closer. “We’re going to feel like shit when we wake up.” “Yeah.” He chuckles, brushing lips over her forehead. “That bad?” “That bad.” She nods.

At twenty-three and twenty-four, the itch that Max has had since he was nineteen, one that’s grown worse and worse as the years have gone by, is too persistent and he takes a quick trip to his fathers house the day after she turns twenty-three and returns with a ring and the promises they made at fourteen and sixteen, promising them all over again, as she stares at him with a smile and teary eyes.

“I’d be stupid to not want to marry you Max.” She tells him when he slips the ring on her finger, breathing a sigh of relief when it goes on, fitting perfectly. “You’re going to marry me.” She nods, giggling at his blown pupils and silly grin. “Yes, I am.”

It seems stupid to be so giggly and flustered about it, so love sick, when they’ve talked about it so much. About getting married, about houses, kids, life after racing and teaching. But it’s different with the ring on her finger. Not more real or tangible. Just more.

“I know I proposed early.” She shakes her head, wrapping her arms around his neck and his arms eagerly wrap around her waist. “It’s perfect. I know we talked and had plans, but this is perfect. Besides, I’ve got news of my own that’s early.” “Oh?” Max’s eyebrow raises and he knows it’s not possible, not really with her religious use of the birth control shot and the way they mainly use condoms, more for convenience than anything else, but his eyes drift down to her abdomen that’s exposed. There’s no difference, but he can imagine what it would look like, he can also imagine what it will look like in a few hours. “Not that.” Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth. “I got an email about my viva exam.” “Your viva? But you haven’t submitted your thesis yet.” “Actually,” “Stop.” He lifts a hand to press it against her mouth. “You submitted your thesis already? You completed it?” She nods, her laughter muffled by his hand and he drops it. “Well, what did it say? The email.” “Once I get to the ceremony, I will officially hold a doctorate in education and history.” He kisses her before she can say anything else.

“Unbelievable my love, unbelievable. Two doctorates by twenty-three.” He shakes his head, smiling wide. “You know what that means right?” He shakes his head again, unable to think of anything. Too overcome with his proudness and love for her. “I’ll have my position at Harvard right after the ceremony.” Blue eyes widen. “And they agreed to let me teach a mix schedule for all of 2022, but when the official school year starts for 2023, I’ll just be teaching digital.”

Twenty-three and twenty-five has them weathering the media storm once again as Max wins his second world championship. It’s worse this time. Not because he says more than he did last time about her or says her name or slips up and calls her his fiancee and not girlfriend like they agreed to. But because this championship no one can deny is his and she’s still not there. Too busy in a different continent with the start of the school year as she teaches by herself for the first time since earning both her doctorates.

It’s also not as bad this time, because some of his friends do think that he’s seeing someone, not the girlfriend of years, or even really a girlfriend, but just some random girl that understands he’s too busy for an actual relationship and willing to put up with him spouting to the media and everyone else that he’s in a committed relationship. She doesn’t have time to focus on the media and fans that believe she exists, she barely did last year, but this year she really doesn’t.

“You know,” she says five days after he’s won his championship and they are in the house they have stayed in for the past two years when she has to be at Harvard and he wants to join her. “Around this time next year, we’ll be public.” His face does a weird contortion at the thought. There was a giddiness to the idea, to the thought, but also dread. “That means,” she continues when Max doesn’t say anything. “That you have ample time to figure out how you want to tell people.” “How I want to?” “Yeah. This is your world, your friends, colleagues, nightmares,” she adds and they both laugh. “You can decide how exactly you want to get back at them for not believing you.” “I’m not going to be cruel.” “No.” She lifts her hand and lets her pointer finger trace over his lips. “You’ve never been a cruel person, Max. But you can be a menace.” His eyes light up at that. “Oh. And you don’t care?” She shakes her head, “This is all you and I’m more than happy to be along for the ride.”

She is twenty-four and he has just turned twenty-six when he decides to enact his plan that he came up with so many months ago.

He had made a reservation for a private hall in Monaco months ago, hired a party planner to take care of the finer details, but sorted himself out the place and the food and drinks that would be served. And the day after he turns twenty-six, he picks up the large stack of enveloped invitations he had made and carefully packs them in his suitcase for Qatar. He was winning the championship there and he’d be damned if he didn’t make an already memorable weekend even better.

It’s the first time in a decade she has traveled with him to a race to actually watch the race and not just be there at the hotel to support him as she studies and he can’t help the smugness and happiness that radiates off him when he shows up to the track for the first day.

He’s got his backpack over his shoulder, but the invitations are already in his hands, ready to be passed out.

“Max!” Charles greets when he arrives in the driver's debrief room. All twenty of them, plus reserves, team principals, and Daniel sitting and standing around as they wait for the FIA representative to get here. He looks down at his watch, noting that it will at least another ten minutes, before his eyes flicker to a member of the Red Bull staff that’s standing against a wall, but just like he asked, they’ve got a camera in their hands and there’s another one standing leaning against the opposite wall, also with a camera. “Charles. Safe flight?” “Always. What do you have there?” “Ooh,” Daniel chimes in, moving closer and looking at the envelopes in his hands. “What do you have there?” He smirks and he can see Daniel’s grin flatter at the sight for a brief second. “Invitations.” He says, before tossing or passing them around to the different drivers and Christian. He nearly avoids giving Lando one just to be a shit but Toto isn’t there to give it too and it wouldn’t be the same to give it to a different team principal jokingly.

“What is it for?” Carlos asks, eyeing the dark envelope like a lot of the other drivers are, suspiciously. He shrugs, eyebrows raising when he sees the way Lando is feeling the envelope. “Mate, I’m not giving you money.” Lando frowns, before ripping it open. “You’ve got more than enough to spare.” Seeing Lando open his, has the rest of them following suit.

“Dear friends of Max Verstappen,” George reads out and the wording earns a few snorts but he continues. “You are invited to celebrate at the” he pauses squinting at the french on the page. “The Salle des Étoiles” Charles says. “Cheers, mate. You’re invited to celebrate on the 8th of November at 4pm.” His eyebrows furrow. “Celebrate what?” Max watches from the corner of his eye as Christian flips the invitation over and nearly chokes.

“Your engagement?” “Your what?” “Engaged?” “Impossible.” “Lies.”

The whole room is filled with denial and panic and Max just smiles, nearly laughing when Logan thrusts his invitation into James’ hands and asks the team principal if it’s true.

“Max, you aren’t engaged, right? Like that was a fuck up with the print place?” Daniel is nearly pleading, begging, and Max would feel sorry, but for the past ten years he’s been telling people he isn’t single, and sure he’s never shared many details, but they all refused to believe or even consider it. He ignores him, instead looking at the room in large. “You’ll meet her tomorrow. She’s very excited about it.” And as if he planned it, the FIA official walks into the room and no one can question him.

When the meeting is over he manages to avoid all of them except for Christian, who nearly drags him into a private room.

“Is this real?” Max raises an eyebrow at the way he’s waving around the invitation but nods. “Yes.” “You’re really engaged.” “Yes, Christian. I am.” The older man stares at him, not blinking before sighing and running a hand over his face. “Is she pregnant?” “What?” “The girl you’ve been sleeping with recently. Is she pregnant, is that what this is about? Because you don’t have to marry her.” “No one is pregnant.” He reassures, not even able to find any anger for Christian and his assumption. The older man sighs again before sitting down and slumping in the chair.

“You’ve had a girlfriend since you were sixteen.” There’s regret, guilt, and sorrow in his voice. “Yes.” “And I never believed you.” He shrugs, it had hurt yes, but he had always understood Christian’s disbelief in it over anyone else's. “No.” Christian nods. “And I owe you both an apology for that. I should have believed you Max.” “Thank you.” “But really, ten years and you’ve just put a ring on it?” Max groans, rolling his eyes. “You sound like our families.”

They are twenty-four and twenty-six when Max wins his third championship, with the sprint race of all things, and the whole world watches as he’s enveloped by his team before he’s tugging off his helmet and kissing the unfamiliar girl that’s between Christian and Jos, shielded from the rough crowd of Red Bull mechanics, crew, and such. They are twenty-four and twenty-six when everyone finds out that Max had been telling the truth the whole time.

Just about a month later, she eases into the spot between Max and the arm of the couch, eagerly tucking herself closer to him when he drapes an arm over her shoulders.

“You alright?” She nods, “Yeah, Vic and Tom finally left.” Max snorts, “It only took them thirty minutes.” “A record for them.” She grins, before looking at the other people surrounding them, or rather Max. She wasn’t surprised that Max had taken to quickly grabbing a few people and secluding themselves in a corner. She was a bit surprised by the people however.

Charles and Daniel which isn’t too surprising, but there’s the three rookies of the season, Liam, Oscar, and Logan, as well, a little surprising, but nothing compared to the two Mercedes drivers also in front of her.

“You aren’t trying to get Lewis to play paddle are you?” Lewis laughs, shaking his head. “I get enough of competing with him on the track. There’s no convincing me there.” “It’s fun, Lewis.” Charles says. “You should join. George you too. Make it Mercedes versus,” he pauses, eyebrows scrunching together as he tries to think of something to call himself and Max. “Lestappen.” She offers, inching away a bit when Max pinches her side. Charles doesn’t notice the pinch, just smiles at her, before looking at the two British drivers. “Yes! Mercedes versus Lestappen.” His eyebrows then furrow. “What is Lestappen?” “Mate, you don’t want to know.” Liam tells him. Logan chuckles, “I don’t know. Either he finds out now or he finds out when he googles it later.” “Googles it.” George murmurs, mocking the American accent that Logan has. “Bloody Americans.” “Yeah, yeah, tea and crumpets.” Logan waves off Georges mocking with a grin as he looks at Charles. “It’s what people call you and Max, a nickname you could say for when you two are together.” She tells him before Logan can say anything. “Oh,” he frowns, considering. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” “It’s not.” She assures.

Before anyone can say anything else, someone joins their group, eyes focusing on her.

“Dr. Y/L/N, congratulations on your engagement.” She looks at the older man in surprise before quickly standing to shake his hand. “Toto, a pleasure to see you again. And please you don’t need to call me doctor.” Toto smiles, tilting his head forwards, conceding as she sits back down. “Doctor?” Daniel questions, eyes flitting between her and the Mercedes team principal, not sure of what to make of the interaction, though Max seems perfectly fine with it. She presses her lips together and she can feel Max move a bit closer as Toto’s eyes narrow at Max. “Yes.” She tells Daniel and the rest. “I managed to get both of my doctorates last year.” A few jaws drop and Lewis whistles. “And I thought you were just a teacher.” Toto’s looking at her now, with narrowed eyes and she sighs.

It would be just her luck that despite having just met the man once, that one time had resulted in a long conversation after he gave his guest lecture at Harvard.

“You told them you're a teacher.” “I told them I teach.” She corrects. “Let's not make a big deal out of it.” “I want to make a big deal out of it.” Max mumbles and she sends him a pleading look. But Max doesn’t give in, instead he turns to the rest of them. “She’s a professor at Harvard. She got both her doctorates at twenty-three and quickly was signed on as professor.” “So, what you’re saying,” Oscar starts, breaking the silence that has fallen over the group. “Is that she is way too smart for you?” Max laughs, eyes crinkling and body bending forward from the force of it. “Without a doubt, mate. Without a doubt.”

@cixrosie @darleneslane @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @fanboyluvr @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @benstormy @iloveyou3000morgan @copper-boom @boiohboii @topguncultleader

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

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neteyamsilly · 1 year

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i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 5

summary ;; What could Jake do? How was he supposed to fight when he had no concrete opponent? PART 4 | PART 6 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; jake is so depressing here. i also took liberty with his character and the reasonings for his decisions in atwow, sorry in case if thats not how you see him LMAO happy reading 💞 please excuse my mistakes if you see any! ‼ I DONT TAKE TAG REQUESTS ANYMORE ‼

“One chance, Jakesuli. You will only have one chance. Use it well. Our Great Mother favors you, that we know. But this favor hasn’t been granted to you. It has been granted to my granddaughter.”

“I won’t fail.” Not again.

“What does failing mean, I wonder. Would you fail if you take her soul back from her happiest? Or would you fail if you let her have the peace our Great Mother has laid her into?”

“I will get my daughter back. This isn’t her time. If Eywa has given me this chance, then she thinks the same as me.”

“You will take that honor from her, then?” Mo’at was being cryptic, but Jake saw through the exterior of the neutral Tsahik into an exhausted, mourning grandmother. “She was the daughter of Toruk Makto, and he was her last shadow.”

It came back to Jake in a gut-churning realization, it was his shadow that had fallen over you from the light of the torches on the walls as you’d given your last breath. It was his shadow. “No,” he refused, adamantly. “She will get to achieve greater honors of her own than that. I won’t be the one defining her ending.” The last bead of your songcord having his name, Toruk Makto’s name, was supremely wrong to him. He would not accept this fate for you.

“Very well, then.” Secretly, she was pleased with him. With his answer. “Get going. As I said. One chance.”

Jake would never be able to get used to the magnificence that was Vitraya Ramunong, or, the Tree of Souls. To him, Pandora itself was a marvel already too good to be true that he’d fallen in love with, and abandoned his own race for, there was no getting used to the beauty for a human like him who’d only found it once in neon lights, ever. He could reach the end of his natural lifespan in this body and still there would be much left to discover. That’s why Jake was more vulnerable to one of the beating hearts of Eywa in the shape of a giant, glowing willow tree.

No Na’vi was immune to the soul-purifying, all-consuming, yet being-dwarfing peace enveloping one’s very spirit, in a cradling hug as if they were nothing but a newborn in their mother’s arms. In here, only one fact mattered: they were childrens of Eywa, all of them dear, all of them seen, all of them safe and sound, including him, once alien to Eywa the way Earth was related to Pandora. Everything spoke to him here in a language he didn’t understand, but could respond to, again, in a language he didn’t understand, his soul doing the communicating.

Jake was also a child here, Eywa’s chosen child.

And he had come to her door for the most difficult request of his life, feeling like he was asking his mother for money right after he had crashed their car, unable to look her in the eye and expecting the biggest of scoldings for his shamelessness.

This was nothing like asking for her assistance against the sky people, back then, he had agency, power, the clans backing him up, Toruk. If Eywa didn’t hear him, he would fight until the last drop of blood in his body was spent anyway, he was ready.

Now, he had nothing.

Nothing to offer in return, not one concrete reason as to why he should have his daughter back other than being a desperate father with nowhere to return to other than the mercy of the Great Mother. He just wanted his child. Nothing mattered.

Not how and why Quaritch had spawned right under his nose with an avatar body, not how they could even slither in without detection, not the threat of what the sky people could bring upon their heads with that — nothing, not now. Nothing mattered until he saw this through.

Jake had found the will to quite literally tear himself from your side like nail from flesh only when you’d stabilized enough. Stabilized, as in, the faintest rise and fall of your ribcage Neteyam had to stare from where he was sitting like a sentinel for a full minute to spot, a tideless, still ocean only moving with whiffs of wind, his own breathing unnoticeable — to match yours, or to silence the sounds in his own body to hear better, Jake didn’t know.

No sky person was allowed to take over from Mo’at and Kiri. Norm had told Jake none of this made sense, if the bullet had nicked the bowels enough and the dirt leaked into the bloodstream, the possibility of sepsis was eventual, and if it didn’t, you had bled too much anyway, a blood transfusion was necessary, and the internal organs... — Christ, the amount of bad end scenarios Jake had been subjected to was as if they were telling him to open a grave for you anyway. Tsahik had scoffed into their faces. The way of healing was something none of them would see, she had scoffed. Now ally, or not. You can’t fill a cup that’s already full. Jake was in a hopeless need for water into wine kind of miracle, and honestly, he wasn’t complaining.

Leaving High Camp behind to set off on a journey calling for only him was one of the hardest things he’d done yet, the silhouette of you lying motionless, his family scattered around the tent, shadowed in their own mourning, folded into themselves was burned into his mind, glimpses of their pain visible from eclipses of light occasionally falling on their faces. A sight he never wanted to see again in his life if he could help it. It was a frosted, iron-thorned hand squishing his heart into ground meat.

Tuk, ever the stingy monopolizer, had brought her favorite toys to scatter around you because she thought they’d comfort you the way they comforted her, had tried snuggling with your unconscious body and was warned by Kiri only to hold your hand instead. She had taken to playing with your fingers, the depressive gloom of years beyond her age crooked on her. Jake couldn’t stand the sight of the little girl telling you bedtime stories he and Neytiri used to, for a moment only, he could pretend you were just going along with your sister’s whims and smiling with your eyes closed as you listened.

Kiri, buzzing around to change the bandage-leaves that soaked up some sort of sickly black colored puss every couple hours, had explained to him the salve they used on you was getting the infection and the splinters of the bullet they couldn’t get out of your body, which had turned the color of your blood into that — but the thing was, given the dwelling of the woodsprite in your mouth, they couldn’t feed you the porridge-like mix to speed up the process of blood production in the bone marrow, and she was exerting herself looking for some other way.

Before he’d left the tent for good, she had handed him the bullet— or, the biggest piece of it they’d taken out of your body, it was a mere pursed and shriveled, tiny metal. The exhausted girl had stammered when explaining that whatever they’d hit you with, had broken into shards inside you upon impact, creating severe lacerations and lethal hemorrhage that they’d worked tirelessly to pick out.

Jake had stared hollowly at it for the longest time. This small thing. It was such a small thing that took you from him.

The sentence that sent you away was also as small, and damning as this bullet. ‘Go.’

Kiri had seen it sink in his face, closing her five-fingered hand on his palm, on the bullet. “You should get going, dad,” she’d said. “We’re okay here.”

Jake had taken one last look. At Neytiri wiping your body to clean all the congealed blood. At Tuk holding your hand. At Kiri trying to fill in shoes bigger than her feet. At you lying down with trinkets surrounding you like funeral flowers. And forced his body to keep moving when all he wanted to do was stay.

He’d then heard Lo’ak complaining to his older brother outside the tent, “How can he be so cold?” The heaviness was getting to the boy, agitated and misapprehending. But he was always this way, if something was out of his control, the inability to act to change it manifested as frustration, blind anger. “Why is he so… unresponsive? Emotionless?”

Jake would have let it slide had it been about something else, but his children running their mouths not knowing he was a hair's breadth away from going clinically insane had gotten to him. He was burning alive.

“You think I don’t care, boy?” He emerged from the tent like some last boss, initially not caring he’d scared the brothers. “You think I don’t feel at all? My own child dying in the same arms I used to hold her as a baby — you think that doesn’t faze me?”

Neteyam, the mediator, or rather, the blame-taker, ran to his little brother’s rescue, the latter too flabbergasted to form any words yet. “Dad, he doesn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what he means.” When the anger subsided, Jake sighed with the weariness of an ancient man. The flames had died before they could climb, he was too exhausted for it. Honesty and trust, as Neytiri had said.

Having lost everything, having nothing to lose, and having a lot to lose were somehow simultaneously the same thing to Jake in the predicament he’d found himself in. “I know how you see me. You only know me as the person I want to show you.”

Lo’ak’s go-to answer was presented to Jake on a silver platter. “Sorry, sir.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear at all. Jake wasn’t trying to get Lo’ak to bow his head. “Don’t apologize—” He cut himself short, licking his chapped lips, and after rubbing his face, he’d put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Lo’ak. Son. I feel this, alright? Of course I do. I’m your father.” He shook him gently, feeling the words weren’t reaching him, who was just staring at something on the ground off to the side. “There’s no greater pain a parent can go through in life than losing his child. You can’t understand what this means right now—what it’s doing to me. You will only know when you become a father yourself.” He gently tapped Lo’ak on the chin so he would raise his head and look at him in the eye already. And when he did, Jake said what he said slowly, hoarsely. “But know this. Know I will lose myself if I lose you, or any of your siblings.” He turned to Neteyam as well, who was watching in full alert mode. “I’m fighting not to lose my sanity as we speak.”

Lo’ak swallowed, unsure and weirded out to hear something like this for the first time in his life. Jake didn’t blame him. He was never emotionally upfront or honest before, not even used to it, more awkward with it than his boys were. But none of that mattered. Not anymore, after what happened to you because of his shortcomings. “You just look so composed—“

“I have to be.” Jake shook his head, eyelids hanging heavy, his whole head was heavy. “I just can’t crumble under it, do you understand? I have to be strong. I can’t lose myself in it. Your sister needs me. You need me. To be strong.” He took his hands off the boy’s shoulders, putting a palm on his cheek and patting a few, fatherly times before backing off altogether. “Never say that I don’t care. Never. I might not show it—and it’s a father’s duty not to show it, so my family will have a stable anchor. Get what I’m saying?”

Lo’ak looked reassured, lighter. So that’s what Neytiri had meant. “How… how can I help?”

His youngest son’s inclination to get to the root of the problem and pump out solutions was in consanguineous with his inability to stop and wait, uncomfortable in his skin when he couldn’t do anything to improve the situation and was confronted with the intimacy of having to feel, always wanting to act. Lo’ak was like Jake in that way. Awkward when it came to communication. Dishonest with themselves.

“Stay here.” Jake said, right from his heart. “Stay safe. I don’t wish for anything else in this world.”

Lo’ak’s eyes softened, and as the father, Jake felt the renewal of the bond between them, saw the understanding in his youngest son, saw something else than the guilt and regret over being caught after mischief, for once. “I’m sorry, dad.”

“Don’t apologize.” He shared a meaningful look with him, trying to convey, again, his apology wasn’t what he wanted. Yet, his sons were defaulted to saying sorry half the time they spoke to him nowadays. Jake was understanding the severity of it, too much too late. Lo’ak nodded, ears tipped down slightly.

Then he turned to the eldest. “Neteyam—”

But he opened his mouth before Jake could say anything else. Ready. Always on his feet. “Yes, I will—”

Jake clicked his tongue. “Rest.”

Neteyam was about to say yes to whatever he was told to do, as always, but stopped right in the middle of it, voice catching in his throat, eyes blinking in confusion. “What?”

“Rest.”

“But—”

“Rest, Neteyam, I won’t tell you again.”

God knows he needed it. Neteyam looked like he’d been having night terrors for days, accumulated anxiety making him jumpy. “Sorry, sir.”

“Stop—“ Jake caught himself before he could raise his voice. “Why are you apologizing?”

Neteyam didn’t talk for a while. But when he did, he was looking up at him underneath his lashes, unable to keep eye contact for more than two seconds. “It’s my fault.”

“Bro,” Lo’ak said, a pitiful objection.

Jake knew where this was going. “What is?”

“I should have been there.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line before furrowing his brow, closing his eyes. Jake knew what he was seeing, repeated over and over again in his mind. “I should have known right away when I couldn’t catch up to her. I could have prevented it. It’s my responsibility.” One tear slipped by as he hung his head. “My fault.”

There it is.

Jake had told him before. “You’re the older brother, you gotta act like it.” — even though you and him were more like affable twins than older brother and younger sister that he never had to explicitly be a guardian to you like he was to Lo’ak, he had to be thinking this was his biggest failure. Neteyam was just reflecting what he’d been taught, the standards his father was holding him up to. Of course the boy had been overthinking it to the point where he was the catalyst to the event by not predicting your fakeout.

“No,” Jake rasped, after a beat. “This is on me first, and the sky people who got to her second. And that’s the end of the story.”

Neteyam, up until this point, had to bear half the blame, if not the rest of it, for the consequences of his siblings’ actions. Upon receiving this kind of answer, he startled with an incredulous gasp and full stare at Jake. “But I—”

��It’s not about you, Neteyam,” Jake explained, although the words were harsh, he had done his best to soften the impact. “I did this. Blame me, okay?”

‘How could I?’ was written in neon letters over the boy’s head even if he didn’t say anything. Too good-natured. He idolized Jake a lot more than the man deserved. “Mother was… she was… She is grieving, she doesn’t mean it.”

“You gotta stop making excuses for people, boy. Especially when they’re in the right.” A smile pulled on his lips, but died as it was born. “I pushed and pushed until we reached the edge, thinking there was never an edge at all. I should have known better. I should have been better. This is between me and your sister, and that’s why it is me who has to go to the Tree of Souls.”

And he’d left, but not before pulling his boys into his chest, cradling the back of their heads against himself, the smell of home repulsing instead of comforting. Prickles on his skin was the comfort he got from being able to hug his children when you were absent. It didn’t feel right.

He missed you dearly, an aching, gaping hole in his very being that only grew larger as he saw what you left behind half-completed or messy like you’d stood up and gone off for a minute to come back to it later —

The unmade pallet from the night of your Iknimaya argument that Jake had shed tears on when he’d seen the state of it, having the signs of someone getting up from it like you would be returning to go back to sleep any second.

The unfinished bark plate you had set aside to eat later and fought Lo’ak not to touch it. a squabble Jake had to break before you started wasting food by throwing it at each other.

The stack of fruits you’d gathered that you never shared except for Neytiri sometimes.

The half-carved cup you were working on because the regular cups weren’t big enough for your water needs and you didn’t like to refill it about three times until you were satisfied.

The incomplete anklet you were making out of rainbow beads for Tuk that was confidential to everyone but Jake, who knew from observing you, of course — you were missing a couple colors that you just couldn’t seem to find, nagging his head off to just let you roam around farther and there was no danger as the sky people couldn’t get in the vortex.

The little animal doodles you scratched at your side of the tent when you couldn’t sleep at nights, waking Jake up in the process every single time to listen until your breathing evened out as sleep retook you in its arms again, because he was bodily programmed to startle awake at one single rustle in his living quarters from his Marine days and fell into old habits after the return of the sky people, he knew you had developed insomnia from being uncomfortable at High Camp, longing for your hammock cocooned in the safety and comfort of the forest.

And the dumb romance novels you had taken from the humans that you, Kiri and Tuk giggled about at girl’s nights reading out loud, Spider invited as an honorary guest at times, just so you could tease Kiri about him and annoy your brothers that they weren’t allowed in, but the human boy was.

All of them had no owner now. Neither of your family members could look at them, your ghost would appear in precious memories beside your belongings if they looked too much. He didn't need to concentrate for a phantom of you to appear, you were everywhere he looked, and even now, as the gently pulsating lavender humming, a song from Eywa herself, right underneath the veinlike, labyrinthine roots was the cool summer rain on Jake’s sizzling skin, all he could see was your first communion with Eywa in his arms while Neytiri formed the tsaheylu, the clan spread all around them in celebration.

“You’ve called, and I’ve answered,” he greeted in positivity. “I think this is the most direct you’ve been with me in a long while.”

He didn’t know if it was Eywa or you he was saying this to. He genuinely didn’t know.

Kneeling, and putting his arms on the mossy, thick root, he looked up to see the woodsprites swaying and floating in the air. He reached for his braid, letting the squirming nerve-endings coil around the white-cored lavender thread closest to him, taking in the presence of Eywa, all around yet nowhere at all, but listening. No sign of you. Was he supposed to talk like this? Just like this? Was he not allowed to see you?

Jake had to admit he had been harboring the tiniest expectation of meeting you somehow, or hearing your voice through the connection like he did with a Tree of Voices when Mo’at had cryptically informed him of his chance. But this was it?

If he failed, this would be it.

“I guess this isn’t all that different,” he said out loud, instead of thinking inwards where the confusion flew. “It’s been like this for a while now, you and I. You talk, I don’t hear you. I talk, you don’t hear me. We throw the same ball at each other only for it to bounce back. Monologuing to a tree is the same thing, except it doesn’t talk back like you do.”

He looked up and around, there was nothing else to do. The air was the same as it always was in here. Always accommodating to what each Na’vi found comforting. “The last time I came here like this was to ask for Eywa’s help in the last stand against sky people. I told her I would fight either way, I knew that’s why she’d chosen me. All my life, all I’ve done was fight. Even when I wasn’t able to, I was fighting lesser battles with the excuse of not having anything to fight for. It’s all I’ve known. All I’ve ever done. It’s what I was best at.” His brow twitched, and Jake tried to keep his composure, not because he didn’t want anybody to see, no, it was to keep his shit together so he didn’t fuck this up. He had to be honest. His pride was the last thing he needed in his way at the moment.

“You were born to a different man. To a changed man. To a father who could let go because he thought his family was safe. You got to meet the man I used to be when my reason for fighting came back from my star. I know you don’t like that person — you can’t — couldn’t get used to him. I know.”

From the discomfort, his fingers dug into the moss first, and found the bark of the root, his fist curling on it next. “But I had to keep fighting.” He softly brought his fist back on the root. “The strong prey on the weak, that’s just how things are. That’s how I had it on my star. And my kids — you, you are weak, and it’s not an insult — it’s not me criticizing, Jesus, you are just children, and there’s a war on your damn heads. That’s what I mean. That’s what I’ve always meant. It’s natural that you are weak, Eywa was kind enough to let you be soft. Not Earth, though, never Earth.”

Jake had to clench his teeth and bite the anger into the inside of his mouth to not be boiled alive — not to let it reach to your side. He let out a soundless snarl. “You would never be ready for the cruelty of Earth, I would never wish that upon any of you. But it was brought to you. Right at your doorstep. I couldn’t protect you from it by hugs and kisses. You wouldn’t be safe from a gun extended to you by extending a branch in return. No.”

He reached and caressed the glowing thread, brows furrowed. “I did what I thought was right to prepare you. Every single one of you. I was making you tough. I had to. To protect you. And of course there would be clashing along the way, it’s what happens between parent and child. We fight. We fight like cats and dogs for dominance. You try me to show strength. I stand my ground to let you know you gotta do better.”

He had fired those sentences with incoherent speed, and when he got to the end of it, Jake got choked up. Stopped for a moment, took a breath. Blinking several times, his tone became vulnerable, he didn’t have anyone in front of him, but he tore away his gaze anyway. “Somewhere along the way, things just… Without me noticing, everything…” He sighed through his nose, his voice nothing but a whisper. “I fought more battles than I fought for my family. I thought I was doing my job as a father when I didn’t even know shit about being a father.”

A couple seconds floated by, and his gaze was stolen by a lone woodsprite descending down until it staggered on the fist he had against the root. The shine of it reflected from the mistiness of his eyes. His lower lip slightly trembled at the thought of it being you. This little woodsprite. You?

“The thing is, I’m lost, sweetheart,” he admitted quietly, small, shaky, not taking his eyes off the woodsprite. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I sit here, I look back, and think why I keep fighting. We could have migrated. Looked for a new Hometree. Another forest. Left the humans alone. Or made peace. A treaty. Something. None of your lives had to be sullied by war. Yet I chose this. I chose to fight, as I ‘ve always done, because now I had something to fight for. And the fighting wasn’t limited to them, I fought Neteyam, I fought Lo’ak, I fought you, my own kids, and I didn’t even know.”

He reached for it with his other hand, tentatively, scared that it would fly away with the slightest contact. But he was able to touch the top of the woodsprite ever so slightly, the little zap making all the hair on his body stand up. Jake swallowed thickly, his whole head on fire. “I don’t know what to do. I just miss you. I miss you so much, sweet girl. I wish you would scream at me. Say you hate me for all I care. Anything. Hate me until the day you die, but do it with all of your family surrounding you in old age, in peace. I would be content knowing you are under the same sky as me. But I’m forgetting your voice already, and I—” He held back a violent sob, hissed to not let it out, and groaned, getting angry at himself for the emotions. He shut his eyes tightly, willing away the tears. “I wish I could say these to your face. I wish I could see you one last time, smiling at me.”

Having everything to lose. Having lost everything. Having nothing to lose. Three different meanings had coiled around each other like snakes to become one singular outcome in linear relation of cause-and-effect through you. It wasn’t a cycle.

Having something to fight for. Having nothing left to fight for. Having nothing to fight for. You were everything. Everything. What could Jake do? How was he supposed to fight when he had no concrete opponent?

“I see you.”

The voice — your voice, albeit much, much younger, almost made him jump. When his eyes shot open, Jake was in a different location. He knew this place. The creek away from the village he and his family often frequented.

The twilight penumbra of the eclipse dimmed the shadows embracing the forest, but the ethereally glowing lights of all colors illuminated and got reflected from the water as if it was a mirror. Above and all around him were lazily dancing fireflies — or, rather, bioluminescent bugs he didn’t know the names of, tiny stars floating in the air like glitter. It was magical.

Jake realized with aching melancholy that this was the first time he’d taken you out on an eclipse to show you the beauty of the forest on a special father-daughter date. The exact memory.

The breath that left him was shaky as he felt the presence sitting right beside him, in the corner of his vision, he saw the ripples on the shining water made by swinging legs.

Jake froze for a second. Unmoving. Not looking at all — because if this was a dream, or a hallucination, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. His breathing got louder, more labored, the log underneath his hands was so realistically textured and damp. If he looked. If he looked, you would disappear. That’s how he felt.

He was supposed to talk. But now, his ribcage was holding the words hostage, burning with the strain of the pile-up.

“But I’m sad you don’t see me,” you said, and he was shaken by hearing your voice yet again, remembering the moment he found himself here, how he’d heard — ‘I see you’. “You don’t even want to look at me.”

So much hurt and vulnerability in that sentence that it left him breathless.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Him launched into his own turmoil racking his brain about how Quaritch was back as an avatar, ignoring to look at you to protect his composure and just trying to think, think — think, of a plan, of a how, of what to do. You calling after him once Neytiri, you and he arrived at High Camp after dodging Quaritch’s men. Him purposefully walking away because he needed to cool off and not to explode on you right there and there.

That whole time, Jake hadn’t looked at you. If he did, he would have seen you needed help.

He shattered, all of his walls crumbling down, stripped down to bare despair.

“Oh sweetheart.” Before he knew it, he had wrapped his arms around you in a crushing hug, basically snatching you off from where you were sitting and on his lap, and your warmth, your pulse, your tangible existence wrenched a shiver out of him — and he buried his face to the little crook of your neck, taking your scent in, hiding his trembling face and the quiver of his arms by holding you tight. You were here. As your younger self, no older than eight, but he had you. Not bloody and battered in his arms, but alive, so alive. “Oh sweet girl, my sweet girl… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He kissed the side of your head, felt the real tickle of your hair against his face, blessed with the soothe of his child’s smell. “I see you. Of course I see you. I’ve always seen you.”

The snowflake-frail snivel followed by your sobbing sniffle broke his heart into pieces. “You’re a liar.” He shook his head, hugging you tighter. “You’re mean to me. You’re so mean to me.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could say. All he could do with his thrashing soul smoldering at the wetness of your tears on his shoulder. “I am mean. I’m sorry… You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“It hurt so much.” You wailed. “It hurt a lot.”

Jake began to caress your head with an awkward, clumsy, panicked hand, disturbed as to if you meant the moment of your death — at him pressing on the wound with all he had to stop the bleeding, or he and your strained relationship in general. “I know, sweetheart,” he said anyway, a stone clogging his throat. He didn’t try to explain, or tell you why, didn��t argue that it wasn’t what he meant to do. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He had you in his arms. “I know. I know.”

You wouldn’t get to be younger than this. And maybe, he would never get to see you be older, either. The thought crumpled his face like some piece of paper. Jake just wanted to hold you. And when you wrapped your little arms around him too, freely crying in his arms, a couple tears escaped his eyes as well, he didn’t know what kind of face he was making, perhaps it was better that you didn’t see him crumble.

In the middle of it somewhere, he realized that you were younger because it was your inner child that needed this, she was more honest — more open with Jake. It caused him to sway with you back and forth, ribcage hurting with each breath. And you let it all out, clinging to him.

“I love you, always,” he whispered, watching the bioluminescent bugs, when you were calmer and had fallen silent on his chest, not wanting to let him go and just listening to his heartbeat. “Even if I don’t show it — especially when I don’t show it. You are loved, my sweet girl, more than you know. More than you’ll ever know. More than I can show.” He looked down at the top of your head, agonized. “But I want to try. I want to show you more, moving forward.”

Knowing what he was insinuating, “But it’s nice here,” you said, voice thick and coarse from crying. You still didn’t pull back to look at him. Both of you, from the start of this, never looked at one another. Not once. Embarrassed and shameful to be honest, Jake thought. That pride you two shared. “You’re not mean to me here.”

But he needed to see you. You needed to be seen. So, as gently as he could, he unwrapped your arms around him, and took your baby cheeks in his hands, and looked you in the eyes. Another tear slipped from him. “You been listenin’ to me, right sweetheart? From the start?” You nodded adorably. You wouldn’t have said oel ngati kameie and accepted to let him see you if you hadn’t felt his true intentions and heart through him pouring it all out at the Tree of Souls. “I’m hiding a lot of things. But I want to be open with you. You wanna know the secret why I’m… mean?” You nodded again, more reluctant this time. “It’s because I’m scared.”

You gasped, genuinely lost and shocked, and he tried not to smile at the purity, the innocence. “You? You’re scared?”

“All the damn time,” he whispered, landing a kiss on your temple, his opposite thumb tracing a loving line on your other temple. “Every day. Every night.”

“But you’re Toruk Makto. You’re never scared.”

“I’m also a dad,” he said sorrowfully, as if he was giving out a secret. “And it’s precisely why I’m scared. I’m scared for you. For your siblings. Of losing you. It turns into anger. Anger turns into irreparable damage. Things I can’t take back.”

In the blink of an eye, you were back to your real age. For some reason he couldn’t quite grasp, you had shed the exterior of your childhood. But he didn’t mind, didn’t let you off his lap.

“Don’t be scared, I’m here,” you said, putting your own small palm on his cheek, upset by the fact that he was feeling like that in the first place rather than whatever explanation he had. Your response was also childish, but he leaned into your touch anyway, comforted regardless, even if you were already gone — for this moment, he could ignore that no, you weren’t here at all. “If you told us, we would have been more careful not to make you sad.”

Ah, he was being lectured on communication by his kid. It had a certain flavor of humbleness to it. Jake adored it nonetheless. “I know,” he said, “I’m sorry. I won’t be mean anymore.”

“That’s a lie.”

Jake couldn’t stop the laugh, though it was tottering. “Yeah, it is. But I promise you that I’ll never hurt you again.”

“That’s a lie too. Wasn’t it you who said not to make promises you can’t keep?”

“Alright, smartypants, let me rephrase it then,” the little glimpses of your brash self made him happy. “I will never intentionally hurt you, and if I end up doing so, unknowingly, I will always make it up to you. No exceptions.”

You were acting uninterested, but stole intrigued glances at him. “How are you gonna make it up to me?”

“I’ll let you choose, how does that sound?” Jake tapped your nose. “In return, if I don’t know and haven’t taken the first step, you’ll have to tell me outright what I did.”

You deadpanned. “But I always do.”

“No, you don’t.” He raised one of his eyebrows. “You become passive-aggressive when you’re annoyed and pick fights with me.”

“That’s not—”

“Sweetheart.”

“Okay, fine.” You huffed. The normalcy had made him forget just what he was doing here. “But you get angry.”

“What I get angry at is—” He cut himself off with a tongue click. “Not important. I do get angry. But at sincere honesty, us just talking it out, I could never get angry at that. Is the difference clear?”

“I think it is.” You were apprehensive about something, your fingers on his neck flexing as if you wanted to pull them back and break the hug. “But you have to promise.”

“I promise.” And then, Jake remembered, a new fire hardening his face, not in anger, but determination. “And speaking of which. I would never. Ever. Not in a million years would get angry or blame you for getting hurt to that degree — for others, humans, avatars, whoever and whatever the hell they are, hurting you, I could never get mad at you for it. Do you understand me? Your safety is the most important to me. I could never hate you for it.” His voice dropped down to a softer, gentler tone just above a whisper. “There is nothing in this world that’ll make me hate you. Nothing. I will love you through the most heinous crimes and in inexcusable deeds, you will find forgiveness in me even if there’s nobody left, that’s a father’s heart. Forever and always, I am with you.” He touched his forehead, and then yours. “I see you.”

You avoided eye contact.

Ah, yes, the famous emotional awkwardness. He was sort of aware his feelings had reached you, you just didn’t know what to say. Jake hadn’t been like this with you for the longest time. So, he decided to make you more comfortable. “Yes I will get mad at you for breaking curfew, and yes, we might stop talking for a while and beef about the dumbest things if the fight is too intense — but always, always come to me when something is wrong. I will drop everything without hesitation.” He leaned in a bit to catch your wayward stare. “Got it?”

You murmured. “Okay.”

“Are we clear?”

You murmured once more. “Yeah.”

“Repeat it, then.”

There was something between cringing and unwillingness on your face, but at his pointed look, you sighed, giving in. “Always come to you if something’s wrong even if we’re fighting.”

“That’s right,” he affirmed, encouraging to let you know this wasn’t embarrassing. “What else?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Dad will always love you.” He nudged you, noting the flick of your ears in happiness when he’d said it. “Come on, say it.”

You didn’t look at him when you said it, but your voice was light. “Dad will always love me…”

“Dad will never hate you.”

Sheepishness took over, making Jake smile. “Dad will never hate me.”

“And. Come talk to me about it if I’ve ever hurt you without noticing so I can make it up to you.”

“Always go to you if I’m hurt and you’re unaware of it.”

“That’s right,” in this form as well, he gave your temple another kiss, heart soaring at your beautiful smile he had been dying to see. “Good girl.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power.”

“Nothing my mighty hunter can’t handle.”

The smile on your face died down. It came to Jake right away what had gone wrong. “Sweetheart—” “I didn’t mean that. You know—” But you didn’t know. Jake had to stop trying to make it easier on himself. “I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you. About everything. About the ikran, I’m so goddamn proud. I said it, and I can’t take that back, I was angry and I was trying reverse psychology — you know what, it doesn’t matter. But you are my mighty hunter. Will always be.”

You got confident a bit, but were still testing the waters. “Well I proved I am.”

“Yes, you did,” he rejoiced, no rejection or doubt whatsoever. “Message received, Lima Charlie.”

You giggled freely, joyfully at the recognition, and Jake ached again remembering how much he’d missed that carefree, precious thing, he swore pixie dust was in it. You slipped from his lap to sit crossed-legged beside him, and he instantly missed being able to hold you close. “Wish you were there to see me.”

“Me too, sweet girl.” Your Iknimaya was a disaster. A long-passed, sacred tradition broken wasn’t as important to him as it was to Neytiri — but he knew she longed to see you complete it, by your side, as eagerly as he did. And you had been alone in your pride, when he knew from a very young age, you had been the most excited for it. Everything had been ruined and there was nothing he could do to undo it. “Will you tell me about it?”

The phantom of pensiveness on his face hadn’t quite registered with you yet, getting excited to tell him all about it like nothing had happened the moment you knew Jake wanted to know. As if you weren’t dead. As if nothing was wrong. “Well first of all, I broke Neteyam’s record.”

A mournful smile tugged on his lips. “Did you now?”

“Hell yeah!” You started gesturing with your arms. “It took, like, two minutes? One minute? Too easy.”

“You know easy means the ikran didn’t give you much of a fight, right?”

“Or, or.” One finger was raised up at him to raise another option. “I was too skilled.”

“The ikran might have been meh about you.” Jake teased. “You sure it chose you? Or did you just chase it down and it was stuck with you?”

“That’s so wrong!” He threw his head back to laugh at your outburst. “He was watching me get there the whole time! Like, from the start. His eye was on me, I just know it. You’re just jealous you didn’t get Bob like I got Jack. I was badass.”

That made him pause. “Jack?”

“Yeah, his name’s Jack.”

He couldn’t imagine Neytiri’s reaction to the blandest name imaginable, oh god. “Why?”

“Named him after you.” You tipped your head at him, raising your brows. “It’s healing, you know. He listens to me without questioning. He’s also very sweet. Unlike a certain someone.”

“Oh you little shit—”

“I didn’t say anything.” Raising your hands in defense first, you crossed your arms on your chest next. “Certain someone can mean anyone. It can mean Lo’jack—”

“Lo’jack, really? Really?” Jake half-snorted, half-scoffed. “This a new one after Lovak?”

“Jackiri—”

“Jackiri is pretty sweet, c’mon now,” he gave a blank stare. “Hope you’re not gonna say Jackeyam.”

“Jacktirey?” You asked, undecided. “She’s an anklebiter.”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Could be Jack the Ripper, Bojack Horseman, Jack-in-a-box. Jack-o-lantern.”

“All people, of course.”

“Yeah, all people.” You snapped your fingers in mock-remembrance. “Hit the road Jack.”

“Oh wow, even him?” Jake lowered his voice, leaning towards you, mocking astonishment. “Legendary figure, that guy.”

“Jack of All Trades.”

“Well, that ikran really seems to be one to me.”

“I know, right?” You stopped, and he saw that thought process, and before he could open his mouth, you blurted it out. “Unlike a certain someone I know.”

“You punk.” Jake pushed you lightly by your shoulder. “You’re pushin’ it.”

You smiled with all your teeth at him, with hands on your calves, leaning down to act cute, and Jake could pretend this was normal. That he’d fixed everything. And all was right in the world now that you were laughing with him — he’d made you smile. .

But suddenly you looked scared, looking at something over his shoulder, shrunken pupils focusing on him and whatever it was rapidly. It kicked him awake from his delusion. He tensed, tail jumping upwards, straight as a rod. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched, and the next thing he knew, you had pushed him away, and he was falling towards the water. The last thing he saw was only a blur of you — the bioluminescent bugs became shooting stars with a thread of glow left behind them, the whole world tilted, but he didn’t hit the water, instead, he rolled down the small slope he had to climb to reach the tree.

Disoriented, he saw the root was almost split in half — bullet marks, a cloud of splinters and debris was flying around where he used to be sitting.

A lone avatar just ahead. Having made it all the way to the Tree of Souls. He didn’t know where this man had come from.

Heart picking up and roaring in his ears, all Jake could think about was, One chance.

He hadn’t even spoken to you properly yet, hadn’t said all the things he wanted to, hadn't even gotten your word, and this man — this son of a bitch — humans had taken you once again.

Once again.

You will only have one chance.

“Lucky asshole,” the man looked at him behind the barrel of the long assault rifle. “Gonna make you pay for what you pulled yesterday.”

Your ethereal smile going up in smokes at the back of his head, Jake saw red.

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#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader

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theemporium · 9 months

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Hi, love your works.

Could I request a Daniel x sunshine where, Daniel is away at a race, and because Sunshine was sick so she isn’t there, and she had to go to the hospital, and Daniel is having a panic attack cuz he can’t be with her, so he sends him mom to be with her, and when he seees sunshine again, he cries and tells her how much he loves her.

Take care!

thank you! and thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

Daniel didn’t like being away from you on a good day, let alone when he knew you were sick and bedridden.

It happened during the weekend between two races. You were both back in Monaco, just enjoying the few moments you could share before getting wrapped up in the chaos of the world of Formula One once again. It had started with just you feeling a bit rough the morning after the race, though you assumed it was just the night out that was hitting you hard with the jet lag.

But when you reached your apartment in Monaco, you had only gotten worse and the chesty cough wasn’t reassuring Daniel one bit. He had been practically coddling you, running around like a madman trying to do anything to make you feel better. Yet, none of it was working, and by Thursday, you were making an appointment to see the doctor.

It was a chest infection, which all in all should have not been too bad after a round of antibiotics for five days. However, the constant travelling, jet lag and general fatigue meant the infection hit you a lot harder than it should have. And it meant you would have to miss the next race, despite your desire to go.

It had taken a phone call from Christian himself to get you to stay in Monaco rather than fly out.

Daniel hated the fact he had to leave. He wanted to put his middle finger to the rest of the world and just stay with you until he knew you were better. But he couldn’t, because he had a job to do—one which he signed a contract for—and no matter how much he wanted to be with you, he needed to fly out of the country to race the next weekend.

It was just after one of the free practice sessions when he got the phone call. When you moved to Monaco with him, you had changed your emergency contact details to be him rather than your parents back home. It would make more sense seeing as he was in the same country as you, most of the time at least.

He had almost collapsed to the ground when the voice on the other side of the phone told him they were from the hospital. A million different thoughts—bad, bad thoughts—racing through his head at what could have happened to you. He was honestly surprised he didn’t throw up.

It turns out you had passed out. You were severely dehydrated and it hadn’t helped your case. You were fine, you would be fine. The doctors just wanted to keep you in overnight for observation before they released you.

Daniel wanted to hop on the next flight back and be with you, but he couldn’t and it killed him. So, he did the next best thing. He flew his mother out to be with you, just until he could be there too.

The rest of the race weekend had been spent just thinking about you. Every minute passing was another minute closer to being to you. Every time he got in the car, he knew he needed to be careful because he wanted to get back to you as soon as he could.

The rest of the team and the world knew something was wrong when the Sunday ended with Daniel in P7. He could have done better, so much better. He had the pace and the speed but he was far too distracted. And the second he had wrapped up his team briefings and media duties, he was on the first plane back to you.

His mother had messaged that she was out grocery shopping, so she wasn’t there when he arrived at your shared apartment. His bags were dumped somewhere near the door as he made his way further into the flat.

“Sunshine?”

His chest tightened with worry when he received no reply. You weren’t in the living room or the kitchen, and he couldn’t hear the shower running in the bathroom. His steps were speeding up by the time he made it to your bedroom, his lungs hardly able to breathe in any air until—

You were asleep.

Curled up under the duvet, he could only see your head laid across the pillow, sound asleep and oblivious to the world around you. He made his way into the bedroom, his tears welling with an overwhelming amount of emotions as he perched on the edge of the bed beside you.

He couldn’t help himself as he reached out to push some hair out of your face, the small movement enough to make you stir in your sleep. It took a few seconds before you blinked your eyes open, your movements slow and lethargic as your brain took a few moments before you noticed the boy beside you.

“Danny?”

He felt his throat tighten. “Hey, Sunshine.”

You instantly leaned into his touch, basking in his presence as you moved to sit up but he quickly stopped you, pushing you back down.

“You gotta rest, baby,” he murmured, his eyes holding his worry and concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Shit,” you replied bluntly before giving him a small smile. “How did the race go?”

Daniel just shrugged it off. “Could’ve gone better, guess I was missing my good luck charm.”

You frowned. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, feeling as though somebody was clenching his heart in a tight fist and he couldn’t fight the tears that slipped down his cheeks.

“Danny,” you whispered in a soft voice, this time not letting the boy stop you as you sat up. You reached for his face, wiping away his tears. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I just really missed you,” he whispered, his laugh a little strained and wet. “I really fucking missed you, Sunshine.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered back as you opened your arms, and Daniel wasted no time. But the last thing he wanted was to crush you so he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his lap as you wound your limbs around him.

“I love you,” he murmured as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “And I’m never leaving you again.”

You laughed lightly. “Sounds like you have some attachment issues.”

“With you, yeah,” he said as his arms tightened around you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you told him, leaning your head against his shoulder and just enjoying the feeling of being in his arms after almost a week of nothing.

#daniel ricciardo #formula one #f1 #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x y/n #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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kurim-chis · 9 months

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this post in a nutshell: the Vidyadhara cycle can get a bit fucked up. sometimes. a lot of times. all the time, if you really think about it.

Note: i also blame my philosophy teacher. he was an awesome teacher, but philosophy class always made me question my own existence…

i think Dan Heng is right in wanting absolutely nothing to do with Imbibitor Lunae’s past and very clearly states he is NOT Lunae. However despite Dan Heng’s wishes and many people empathizing with him, in my opinion, it boils down to this:

the mentality of being a Vidyadhara

A case of “shut the fuck up and don’t spout bullshit, you don’t know how it feels, experience it yourself and then you know how hard it actually is”

First Note: Vidyadhara are just built differently — physically, mentally, and psychologically

For the vidyadhara, it’s their natural life cycle to be reborn with a clean slate every 700 years, possessing no reproduction capability and being immortal as long as they underwent the reincarnation process. They see it as normal and a “matter of fact” thing, and xianzhou natives do too, but can other non-vidyadhara species truly understand this? It’s kind of like how other species see things differently and have different morals from humans.

It’s a bit of a mind-fuckery because a vidyadhara is always the same person, but they always will get a clean state, and yet depending on each incarnation they might turn out completely different.

So they’re the same, but they’re also not.

Second Note: don’t say any bullshit until you’re the one going through it, then you will realize how hard it is

Basically this. Perhaps some aren’t going into a breakdown when their vidyadhara friend just deletes them from their life (or well, the vidyadhara is deleted and born anew), and they try to accept it because they’re too old and are wise enough to accept their lot in life, but there are others who are just bamboozled by it, even though they must have thought they were prepared for it. exhibit 1) Jing Yuan

Even the vidyadhara are not excerpt from this.

There’s a vidyadhara mirage who says his vidyadhara lover just went into an egg. To the race, this is a normal cycle of life. She won’t remember him. She will be the same person born anew. She will be a different person too. She can’t be burdened with anything of her past incarnation. He knows she is not dead, but he stares at the rolling waves and feels as if she is because he cannot and as a vidyadhara he must not see her reincarnation as HER.

But his feelings won’t matter, do they? This mirage said he couldn’t wait for his turn to come, but this wouldn’t guarantee him another future with his lover because CLEAN STATE you know? After returning to his egg, being reborn anew, then all of this — his grief, his solitude, his love — won’t matter anymore because he will also stop caring about it as well. It won’t matter. They won’t matter. The only thing that matters is their new life, but at that point that is NOT going to be the life of their incarnation, is it?

This is such a contradiction, isn’t it? Perhaps in “another life” he had also thought this, had also grieved for someone else or been grieved in return, but those lifetimes don’t matter in the same way his current one won’t matter after he reaches 700 years old.

“So you’re gonna be reborn after another 157 years? That’s how your race keeps being immortal and wards off the mara disease? Just the way you were created by Permanence? Cool.”

“So you’re the SAME but also a DIFFERENT person every time you go into an egg? That’s kinda trippy, but OK.”

“What will happen after that? Will we still be friends when you wake up?”

and the next time your friend appears, they are a child and you are absolutely no one to them

(…)

(how is this immortality?)

(my friend/brother/sister/parent/mentor/student/comrade/lover has not forgotten, because this is not something as simple as forgetting, this is a clean state — in a way only the vidyadhara, transcendent and celestial, can achieve. a cruel severing of everything you had to do with them.)

(they are gone, and in their place is a child with a clean state)

(it’s as if they are dead and you’re left to deal with a legacy—)

So despite what Dan Heng says and the Vidyadhara culture, I can also see why Jing Yuan struggles and is pained by the sight of Dan Heng. And also why Xianzhou deems Dan Heng guilty.

I also can understand why Blade is so enraged at Dan Heng and refuses to back down or stop trying to kill him (Blade being insane put aside) due to his incarnation’s sins, because how UNFAIR would it for Imbibitor Lunae to get a clean state just like that? What, they’re same person? But they get to start over as a NEW person? All his sins like that, gone? What sort of bullshit is that?

Just. This whole vidyadhara reincarnation thing can get very, very fucked up, you know?

#kurim writes hsr #dan heng #imbibitor lunae #jing yuan #a vidyadhara thing?#honkai star rail #hsr vidyadhara are so pretty and I like how they’re basically hatching from an egg over and over #and despite dan heng making it clear there’s a distinction between him and dan feng #they’re also the same person #jing yuan seeing this kid who is supposed to be the same but he’s not #this is kind of fucked up #??? my brain is exploding #this is kind of a tragedy to be honest #just me scratching my head at 3 am #hsr #hsr blade #hsr spoilers #honkai star rail 1.2

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lenaisagirl · 6 months

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Pomni X Ragatha, but again

I've done nothing but write tadc fan fiction for like four days. I have a massive story I'm trying to work on, but I couldn't contain my feels for ragatha and pomni so... I ended up caving and writing gayer fluff to tide myself over. Posting it here in case someone likes it :3

Pomni and Ragatha sat on a small rock overlooking the cliff near the digital lake. Caine had left the characters to their own devices for a few days, and the two took to taking picnics in the forest, since they had an excess of free time. The food didn’t look great, nor taste that vibrant, but it was the company that mattered most. In the week they had known each other for, the bond formed into a fast friendship as the two became nearly inseparable.

Staring at the piece of bread in her gloved hands, Pomni looked out over the cliffside, and then to Ragatha. A picnic basket sat beside the rock, complete with red checkered lining and a few loaves of low-poly bread. Out over the cliffside the night-time half of the skybox wrapped around them, complete with hand-drawn stars and the moon that hung somewhere behind them. Secluding them was the simple forested area that made the shore of Caine’s digital lake.

“You know... I guess it isn’t too bad here.” The words came as a surprise to Ragatha. Setting down her own snack, she turned toward Pomni and raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Newbies usually hate it here.” Agreeing, Pomni nodded. Her gaze fell toward the grass as she contemplated her next words.

“Sure - I mean – I did. Still think I’d rather be out of here... But this.” To add emphasis, she gestured around the immediate area.

“This... isn’t so bad. You’re not so bad- er people here aren’t so bad - I mean!” Her tone of voice had grown significantly less anxious over the past few days. Despite her progress, the signature neuroticisms shined through. This was especially evident in her conversations with Ragatha.

“Awh – thanks, new stuff.” When Ragatha blushed, the fabric didn’t change color so much as the air around her cheeks vaguely red-shifted in color. Pomni’s blush, however, was obvious. The bright red makeup on her face shaded an ever-deepening red. Looking away from Ragatha, Pomni held the pause in the conversation for a few moments.

“Do you... think we’ll ever get out?” Kicking her feet a few times, Pomni absent-mindedly tossed her piece of bread to the ground.

“I... don’t know, Pomni. I don’t like to think about it much. You saw what happened to Kaufmo, right? That’s the terrible thing that happens when you run around chasing an impossible goal.” Rubbing the back of her head, Ragatha frowned and looked off to the side. Just thinking about the subject had a sigh escaping her lips.

“But... I can’t just give up! I mean- we can’t give up!” Pomni’s fists clenched slightly as she flashed a determined look at Ragatha. Opening her mouth and holding up a hand, Ragatha seemed just about to say something. Giving up on that, Ragatha relented with a sigh.

“Alright, new stuff. Here’s what we’ll do. You can run along all you want. I’ll be right behind you. Make sure you don’t... you know.” With emphasis to her statement, Ragatha made a circle with her finger next to her head in a universal ‘crazy’ gesture.

“R-really? You’ll help me? Just like that?” Holding her fists up to her chest in excitement, Pomni’s pinwheel eyes seemed to sparkle.

“Sure! And when you’re all tuckered out, I’ll still be here for you. Not like there’s all that much to do here anyways.” Giggling slightly after she spoke, Ragatha shrugged. Once more, the two found themselves in silence, looking out into the scribbled starscape. Over the next couple of minutes, Pomni tried desperately to get her ever racing heart under control. No matter how hard she tried though, she just couldn’t stop thinking about the girl beside her.

“Y-you really are amazing, you know?” Though it might’ve been a struggle to get the words out, she was glad she did. Ragatha needed to know how she felt. Even if she was positive about it wanting to say this, Pomni’s fast-beating heart did little to help her train of thought.

“You’re sweet too, Pomni.” In contrast to the emotional wreck of a jester, Ragatha seemed relatively calm. Her emotional calm was contagious, helping Pomni to stabilize somewhat. That’s not to say she wasn’t affected. Avoiding eye contact, the gentle red glow grew a little deeper around her cheeks. “No... Really! You talk to me about my problems, forgave me for leaving you. You’re so funny and kind and sweet and – and.” Unable to continue her sentence, she just fidgeted slightly with her hands and looked downward. Undeterred, Ragatha turned her body towards Pomni and tilted forward ever so slightly.

“I like you too, Pomni” In her voice was a genuine sincerity. Although she wasn’t entirely sure, Pomni thought she got the connotation and her body shivered with digital artifacting at the thought.

“I-I-I-I uh. You – what?” Ragatha chuckled at Pomni’s stammering. Just a bit closer now, Ragatha’s voice softened to a kind and nurturing whisper.

“Hey Pomni?”

“Y-yeah?” She whispered back, barely audible.

“Is it alright if I kiss you?”

Eyes widening, Pomni attempted to form a reply. Failing in that respect, she settled for a curt nod instead. Without another word, the two closed their eyes as Ragatha leaned in to cross the gap between their faces. Such close proximity gave Pomni tingles throughout her body as she anticipated the meeting of their bodies.

Ragatha had always felt real to Pomni. As real and warm as someone beneath a simple cloth shirt would feel. Though it might’ve been a bit weird to kiss a cloth mouth, all the same warmness and caring was behind it as any other kiss. Although it only lasted a few moments, the pure calm of the moment washed away any fears she had about the Digital Circus. Maybe she couldn’t go home, but at least she could have Ragatha. A few seconds after the kiss started, the two separated.

“C-can... Can we do that again please.” It wasn't even voluntary. The words just fell out of Pomni’s mouth in rapid succession.

“Sure, Pomni.”

#pomni x ragatha #ragatha x pomni #fan fiction #tadc #the amazing digital circus #yuri #gay #lesbian

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nebulablakemurphy · 1 year

Text

Moves & Countermoves (Part 6)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Peeta is down by the river, camouflaged in the rocks after Cato slashed his leg and left him for dead.

“Ah ha ha,” Chaff smiles when he spots Haymitch with an entire pitcher of rum. “So this is how the Capitol treats it’s favorites.”

“Had to steal it off the cart.” Haymitch chuckles allowing his friend to slip in between him and Y/N.

“Steady now.” Y/N teases, a hand to his back until he’s seated.

Chaff knocks her shoulder with his own, “what’s the matter, baby?”

Y/N has nothing but love for her husband’s best friend. However they are two peas in a pod and when they get together…there goes all the liquor. Back home in twelve, Haymitch has been known to have a drink or two, still able to enjoy his wife and children. This place brings it all back, the horrible things he’s done, everything he failed to do. If he wasn’t drunk, he’d surely lose his mind.

“I wanna send Peeta medicine,” Y/N explains.

“Sponsors leaving you high and dry? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Not the sponsors, Haymitch made him a deal.”

“Who am I to disrespect this poor boy’s dying wish?” Haymitch quirks a brow.

“And his wish is to-”

“No parachutes. Save Katniss.”

“Katniss,” Chaff drawls.

Two of their tributes have formed an alliance. Rue and Katniss hatching a plan to blow up the career’s stash; lightning fires to draw them away.

“This green stuff is gonna smoke like crazy, as soon as it’s lit, move on to the next one.” The girl on fire warns.

“Ok,” Rue agrees, “we need some kind of signal; in case one of us gets held up.”

“Like what?”

“Here, watch this.” Rue lets out a tiny melody, which the birds rings back.

“Mockingjays.” Katniss realizes, “that’s brilliant.”

“We use them back home to signal the time.” Rue says, shifting the backpack on her shoulder. “If we hear that, it means we’re ok and we’ll be back real soon.”

“We’re gonna be ok,” Katniss pulls her in for a hug, running a hand over her hair. “Hey, I’ll see you for supper.”

————————————————————————

For once in her life Y/N is grateful for the Capitol broadcasting the action only, in the viewing room. A split screen between Rue lighting the fires, the careers chasing smoke and Katniss making her way to the cornucopia.

Clove and the others leave a single boy behind to keep watch. As the red haired tribute from five lily pads around explosives to steal food, the watchman catches her in his peripheral. Taking off after her into the woods.

Katniss lines up her shot, missing the corner of the apple net by just a hair. She takes a step closer, a few calming breathes later the tip of her arrow pierces the bag and out tumble all of the apples.

She’s blown back by the force of it.

“Oooh,” Chaff winces.

After a moment Katniss gets her bearings, heading back to Rue.

The boy keeping watch pays the price, Cato snaps his neck before giving him a chance to explain.

Rue is well on her way to light the last fire when she hears the explosion. Katniss did it. Then the trap set by the careers falls, she tripped the wire, a weighted net.

“Shit.” Y/N covers her mouth. Katniss…please hurry.

“Come on, Rue,” Chaff says, under his breath. “Work your way out.” He coaches, as if she can hear him. She does try, just like he taught her, but the net is too heavy.

When Katniss finds the final fire unlit, she whistles their signal.

“Get her out.” Haymitch rocks back slightly in his seat.

“Get her out.”

“Get her out.

“Get her out!”

The people of the viewing room echo. Y/N turns her head as the room builds to a collective chant.

“Get her out. Get her out. Get her out.”

It isn’t unheard of for spectators to voice their call to action. Though they are more concerned with the entertainment value than the life of the child.

When Katniss gets no response, she races toward the pile of sticks and leaves meant to start the last fire. Still no Rue.

“Katniss! Katniss, help.” Rue calls from beneath the net.

Katniss cuts her loose, Rue safe in her arms. “I’m here, you’re safe.”

The viewing room cheers are short lived. Marvel sends his spear flying, only to be met with Katniss’ arrow. When the cameras pan back to Rue…the damage is clear and irreversible.

Y/N excuses herself. She cannot watch, she cannot pretend, she cannot breathe. Scrambling into the nearest private room with the curtains drawn. Pushing them back with little care before realizing that it is occupied.

“You look ill, dear.” The Capitol woman gasps. “Come, sit down.”

“I’m so sorry to barge in like this.” Y/N apologizes, it’s not anyone she knows.

“Never you mind that, the pleasure is mine. Let me get you a drink.” The woman begins waving down a waiter.

Y/N grabs the ice bucket, “can I throw up in here?” Doesn’t matter, it’s coming up.

“Oh my stars, you poor thing.” She fans the victor as best she can, while continuing to wave one hand out of the privacy curtain. “Must be something you ate.”

“What can I get for you?” The waiter asks.

“Some water, to start and a fresh ice bucket.”

“Yes, right away.”

The woman takes great pleasure in ‘nursing’ Y/N back to health. With water and something close to a bland cracker.

These people are not inherently bad, Y/N realized that years ago. Conditioned in their belief and out of touch, but they are not evil. I don’t hate them…I hate what they do.

It’s not long before Haymitch is tearing back curtains to find her. Letting out a sigh of relief when he does.

“Haymitch, what a pleasure.” The woman holds out a hand.

“Great to meet you, love the dress.” He kisses the top of her hand, using it to guide her toward the exit, “give us a minute, will you?”

“But of course.” The woman is awestruck. The victors of district twelve, in her private room! Hailing over everyone who is anyone. Mouthing, “they’re in there,” motioning toward the fabric that separates them.

“I need you to listen to me.” Haymitch whispers, kneeling in front of Y/N. Wiping away any remnants of vomit and tears.

Y/N nods.

“Katniss gave that little girl a proper send off, you know as well as I do, the gamemakers and Snow aren’t happy about it.” She created a martyr.

Again she nods.

“I’m gonna talk to Crane, see what I can do for damage control.” Keep Katniss alive.

“Ok." Don’t let them kill Katniss.

“We’re gonna get you a mint and then I need you to walk out of here like nothing is wrong. Can you do that?” He tips her chin up, holding her gaze.

There is worry in his eyes, guilt and sadness. Her husband is afraid and he needs her. “Yes.”

“Good,” Haymitch gives her a reassuring smile, taking her into his arms.

————————————————————————

Katniss receives a parachute of bread a while later. After the silence is louder than the cannons and the artificial sun has set.

Haymitch is still negotiating, Y/N figures he must’ve sent it. Until she sees the note attached, from district eleven.

Y/N makes her way over to Seeder, sitting alone in the opposite corner.

“It was for Rue,” she older woman explains before Y/N can get a word out. “My district spent days scrounging up the money, the sponsors finally came through. We had enough to send some for Thresh too.”

“You could’ve sent him both.”

“My people wanted Katniss to have it.” Seeder informs her.

“I know she…appreciates their generosity very much.”

The answer is dry, rehearsed. Y/N is young and still does not understand. “I knew a girl once, she was kind and brave. She played the games and never let them play her. For the first time, I thought there might not be a victor. Because she was lying there, bleeding out and her partner was there, bleeding out…nobody was killing anybody,” she pauses. “Haymitch had to fight like hell to get you out of that one, they wanted your family-”

Dead. “I know,” Y/N stares down at her hands.

“I saw something that day, and I see it in her.” Seeder motions toward Katniss on the screen. “A good, genuine person with heart. They tried to snuff it out of you, beat it out of you; but I still see you. You hold onto your heart and you never let anyone take it from you.”

“Thank you,” Y/N blinks back tears.

“Attention, tributes, attention. The previous rules allowing only a single victor have been…suspended. Two victors may be crowned, so long as they both originate from the same district.”

All hope is not lost.

Part 7

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @officialjellydoughnut @whoreforfictionalpeople @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme

#haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch fanfic #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #thg haymitch #hunger games fanfic #the hunger games #hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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darsynia · 1 year

Text

Hand(s) Off | Ch 4: Entropy

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

gif by @captainevans

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: Steve’s loved hearing about you from Bucky. He doesn’t want anything to derail the progress his best friend has made toward being a whole person again, which is why he’s going to use every ounce of his slowly-deteriorating willpower to resist touching you, tasting you, taking you. After all, he’s just met you, and his own integrity, not to mention Bucky’s trust, is important to him.

Neither of you are prepared for the catch.

Length | Warnings: 3,752 | male masturbation MINORS DNI

Fill: Adoptable ‘Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreads

Excerpt:

Bucky’s smiling. He’s still sitting with his back to the wall as usual, but he looks relaxed, even though the place has filled up considerably since they got here. Suddenly, Steve realizes that this isn’t just about the thing between the two of you, it’s about Bucky showing he’s made progress. His friend would probably strangle himself with his metal hand than admit that’s what he’s doing, of course, but that’s what’s going on, here. Growth. It’s almost enough to make Steve choke up-- but he hears a burst of piano notes and a cymbal crash that draw his attention to the stage.

There’s a rich red curtain that angles in an oval around the stage area, and it parts in the middle right as he looks up. A woman steps through, her face obscured by the stage lights that inexpertly angle towards her. She’s wearing a stunner of a dress, a rhinestone-studded sheath that cups her breasts as tightly as everywhere else, all except for the thigh high slit that instantly sends his pulse racing. When she makes it to the microphone, Steve sees that the gown is blue, navy blue, just like his suit. She’s also wearing a delicate mesh jacket that hides nothing but adds class, its see-through sleeves extending to her wrists, collar reaching up to tease her jawline.

The spotlight’s harsh glare finally softens, and he can see her smile. Your smile.

Oh shit, Steve thinks to himself.

Entropy

Steve’s taken to jogging through the city again.

At first he told himself it was because he didn’t want to feel confined to the tower, but that’s only a small part of it. Ever since his overdose of Mistress, he’s felt a strange urgency for motion, even at night. He’s chalked it up to guilt; Steve has… fond memories of what transpired between the two of you, no matter how much he’s tried to tell himself that’s wrong. That dichotomy itches under his skin, builds up to the point where he has to physically work it off, like some strange sort of debt that must be paid.

The problem is, it’s not getting better. It might actually be getting worse-- two weeks have gone by, and still, somehow, he wants to see you. He’d thought that would pass, had counted on it to pass.

The repair work is almost finished on the apartment, meaning he won’t need to sleep on the couch anymore. Steve’s looking forward to that, beyond what it feels like to live out of laundry baskets in the living room. He misses his bed, though it won’t be the same bed. All the furniture is set to be replaced, just in case the proliferation of Mistress has left any residue behind. He suspects that’s not really necessary, but Tony and Bucky won’t tell him what happened during their confrontation. All he can see are the after effects, the way Tony is being almost embarrassingly thorough on top of apologetic.

When Steve gets in from his twenty mile run, sweat-soaked and still buzzing internally, Bucky blocks his path to the bathroom.

“You ok?”

Steve looks at his friend. He’s dressed to go out, hair in a bun-thing at the back of his neck, tight pants, leather jacket. It’s Saturday morning, so that means--

He suppresses the immediate instinct to ask about you.

“I’m fine.” The skepticism in Bucky’s expression strikes Steve like a minor version of the fist to his face he’d earned two weeks ago. He forces a shrug. “Trouble sleeping.”

One side of Bucky’s lip turns up. “Might be easier if you forgive yourself long enough to jack off right before.”

“What, are you spying on me at night? Creepy, James,” Steve grits out, shoving past Bucky to head for the bathroom. The problem is, Buck’s right. He hasn’t touched himself at all since Mistress, and it only now occurs to him that maybe that’s the source of the weird build-up/unease he’s been feeling. “Go spend time with your friend and leave me to it, then.” Crap. He hadn’t meant to say any of that out loud.

Bucky’s silence speaks volumes, and Steve risks a look over at him as he opens the bathroom door. His expression is worse.

“Not spying. I can just tell.” Bucky’s gloating, like he’s flipped a switch Steve couldn’t reach, or something. “You know, she still wants to talk to you.”

“Still no,” Steve barks back. He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door, probably a bit harder than he ought to have, because his friend’s laughter floats down the hallway and out the front door.

Talking to you would be a mistake, not until he can shake whatever compulsion he feels to see you again, to know what you look like happy, safe, and uninfluenced by the drug. Those thoughts are innocent enough, but that’s not all Steve wants.

He won’t even let himself think about the other things he wants. Those desires have clearly been unnaturally created by the combination of the drug itself and his natural sense of fidelity. He’s touched you in a way that gave you both pleasure. He knows what you taste like. Those are intimate things, ideally things a man shares only with someone he’s meant to cherish and protect.

Bottom line, his mind is confused, and he needs to clear that up before he sees you again.

Steve strips down and steps into the shower. It was a mistake to let his mind stray so close to those moments with you right before this, he realizes too late. The vibrating clamor in his mind that he’d tried to chase away with physical activity is back with a vengeance, and all he can think about is Bucky’s suggestion to touch himself. What he should do is put the water on cold at full blast and empty his mind… but would it be so bad to take advantage of this opportunity? It’s the first full erection he’s allowed himself to have in weeks.

He puts the water on and turns it hotter than normal.

There’s a ringing in Steve’s ears as he reaches down and sets his hand on his right thigh. The warm, welcoming water beats down on his bowed head, mere trickles making their way to the thatch of hair around his cock. He’s already too warm, every inch of his skin thrumming with the electricity of what he’s about to do. It’s not wrong, but it’s not right, either.

He tells himself he has to do this with a blank slate, no mental images, no associations. As soon as his hand closes around his cock, those high-minded ideals burn to ash. His eyes are closed; he hadn’t turned on the bathroom light, and the door has long-since shut automatically, so it’s dark, dark as his bedroom had been.

Steve strokes once, immediately bracing himself against the tile wall with his other hand, because holy hell, it feels so good it could be a medical result. He’d held off touching himself until now out of a sense of… of civic duty, and fuck, if this is his reward, he’s earned it. Steve gasps helplessly with each successive slide of his fist, powerless to stop, desperate to continue. Unbidden, he imagines you on the other side of the wall he’s holding himself up with, as though you’re once again suffering the same delicious torture as he is.

All too soon, he feels the tightening clench of his approaching orgasm, the buzzing in his chest brought to a frenzy with the promise of release-- and then the feeling plateaus and pauses. Steve spins around and shoulders up to the wall, begging and threatening in turns as he chases the suddenly elusive pleasure with his hips and hands. Behind him, the wall gives a little, and small pieces of plaster start to fall.

“Bruce, with respect, you’ll have to ask her.”

Banner’s hair is already in disarray, and at this, he runs his hand back through it, face full of distress. “You’re not really suggesting I ask this woman I’ve never met whether or not she is capable of having a--” He breaks off, obviously horrified. “Why can’t you, uh… ask Barnes to…”

“I thought of that,” Steve says.

He did. He knows that Bucky’s been very clear about whether or not his friendship with you has potential to shift away from the platonic, but he also thinks that friendship is the best groundwork for something more. He’s already undermined that foundation thanks to the calamity you two shared combined with his own closeness with Bucky. There’s no escaping either association. He’ll be damned if he weakens that friendship further.

“Bruce, the best I can tell you is to get her contact information from Bucky and get in tou--” he stops, face reddening. His next instinct is to say ‘reach out,’ which is also a no go. Somehow every reference he makes to you is tactile.

“Got it,” Bruce says quickly. “Thanks.”

Steve nods, grateful to get out of there, but Banner calls out one last time when he reaches the door.

“I’ll probably need to take more vials once a week for a while at least, so we can figure this all out.”

“Understood,” Steve says, speeding up. Blood draws he can do, but to be reminded of the whole situation every week for the foreseeable future? Not ideal, especially since he’s already thinking about it every day.

A few days later, he’s finishing up making dinner when Bucky slouches in and leans his shoulder up on the wall nearby.

“That restless thing getting worse?”

Steve just nods. He’s starting to worry, because he can’t be the only one who’s overdosed on the stuff, and just because Bruce hasn’t found any reports of similar experiences doesn’t mean they’re not happening. People could be too ashamed to say anything, but if they’re having the exact same symptoms he is…

“I need to ask--” Bucky falls silent, clearly uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Steve’s certain he knows what Bucky’s trying to say. There’s no power on Earth that could compel him to make it any easier, though. For a bright few seconds he considers doing something drastic with dinner to get out of the rest of the conversation.

“Do you want garlic bread?” he asks, instead.

“Damnit, Steve!”

“I’ll take that as ‘no.’”

Bucky shoves off from the wall and stalks past him, opening a drawer with the kind of petulance usually seen in teenagers. Steve decides it’s the exact right time to take the full garbage to the chute, and when he returns, Buck’s got a sauce-wet spoon in his hand and a disgruntled expression.

He nods to the spaghetti sauce on the stove. “That’s pretty good. It’s also proof that you don’t mind doing things the hard way, so here goes: Dee says she can’t orgasm anymore. Can you?”

Steve’s completely and utterly speechless. Bucky’s just thrown a grenade, and Steve has never in his life been an uncaring bystander. The part of his brain that has clearly imprinted on you is standing at attention, screaming that he’s culpable, that this is his battle to fight alongside you. He swallows hard and forces himself to answer.

“No.”

“Shit,” Bucky sighs. He opens a cupboard door, pulls out something, and thrusts it and the mixing spoon into Steve’s hands. “Finish up, I’m taking you with me to her show tonight.”

“I don’t think talking to her about something like this at her place of business is the best--”

“No talking, just listening,” Bucky interrupts. “You, listening to her sing. If the two of you got long-term messed up by that stuff, and that was the only time you ever spent around each other, that’s not going to help you get fixed.”

Bucky leaves without giving any time to respond, which is fine, because he’s right, and Steve doesn’t really feel like acknowledging that right now. He looks down to see that Bucky has given him a container of sugar, implying that’s what the sauce needs. It’s a testament to how worried he must be about you that he hadn’t made a joke about the juxtaposition of those two situations.

Trusting his best friend is almost always the best course of action, but that doesn’t make it easy every time. Steve tries the sauce, stirs in some sugar, and tries it again.

“Yeah, okay,” he mutters to himself.

Bucky sticks to small talk or silence as they eat their spaghetti, and after putting away the leftovers, Steve slips through the nearly-finished door to his bedroom and changes into a suit. It’s a navy blue one he bought himself with his own money, not one of the fancier ones Tony got for him for Avenger stuff. When he gets back into the living room, though, Bucky looks surprised.

“You know this is a bar, right? You look like a lawyer.”

He looks down at himself. “Isn't tonight the 40’s thing?”

Bucky’s bringing over a dusty-looking blue jacket and gesturing for Steve to take off the suit coat. “Sure it is, but we’re going for Cagney over Stewart. More Clint than Tony, yeah?”

It’s a Moment, because Bucky doesn’t usually refer to the other Avengers like that, he’s still off by himself more often than not, still adjusting. Steve covers his pleased reaction by turning away as he removes his blazer and puts on the proffered jacket. When he turns around, he’s granted a begrudging nod, and they head out.

The venue is a bar/restaurant, with a solid wall separating the two areas except for the back third. It’s already busy, with a line to enter, and Steve notes with surprise that the doorman seems to recognize Bucky. That puts his qualms about Steve’s clothing a bit more in context, especially since he’s more defendant than prosecutor tonight, tight jeans, black leather, long hair down, the works. There are other men in suits, though, and when they walk inside, Steve even sees couples dressed in vintage wear holding cocktails.

“This is a whole thing?” he murmurs to Bucky.

“Just wait.”

They end up at a table in the back, but the place is well built, and it’s easy to see the stage from where they’re sitting. The lighting is dim but warm, and Steve feels a frisson of excitement to get a chance to hear you really sing. He can still pull up the memory of your sexy humming under his blanket-- the same one he’s been using on the couch.

He’s, uh, not going to tell you that, though. That would be even more inappropriate than showing up at a performance like he has any right to distract you with his presence.

That thought sends Steve into a spiral of concern, enough to take a few gulps of whiskey and actually feel its tingle before his metabolism evens things out.

“What is with you?” Bucky sets a heavy hand on Steve’s where he’d been drumming his fingers on their small circular table.

“You should have warned her. Did you warn her?”

“Why?”

“The-- thing that happened, it’s obviously still affecting both of us. She’s a performer, seeing me here could throw her off.” He shoves his chair back, downs the rest of his drink.

“Don’t be an idiot, she’s a professional. And you’re going to want to hear this, trust me.”

The spotlight’s harsh glare finally softens, and he can see her smile. Your smile.

Oh shit, Steve thinks to himself.

“Well, hello there, my darlings!” you purr, turning to gesture to the musicians behind you. As you do so, your left leg extends from the slit in your dress, and Steve catches his breath.

So does a significant portion of the audience.

Beside him, Bucky’s obvious throat-clear is tinged with amusement, but Steve refuses to look over.

“I’m going to start with one of our remixes. This is Lovefool, by the Cardigans-- if it had come out in ‘45.”

He doesn’t recognize the song, but that hardly matters. Your voice is just as sultry as he’d expected, and the song is as sassy as it is sexy. Steve’s completely captivated, leaning forward, eyes locked to your every move. Your stage presence is expert-level, and though he and Bucky are at the back of the room, he can tell that you’re making warm, welcoming eye contact with patrons all over the room. It’s only a matter of time before you see him.

He has a sudden, desperate wish that he’d met you the same way Bucky had, organically, without the lingerie-sporting giant Elephant in the room. As the song winds down, Steve feels like it’s his responsibility to lean back, to minimize his presence, to protect you from the knowledge that he’s there. You’ll be looking for Bucky, most likely, and that makes Steve’s presence at the same table selfish, even cruel.

Steve lifts his hand up to cover part of his face-- but it’s too late. Your eyes sweep the back of the room, face lighting up as you tip your head forward. You’ve clearly seen Bucky. Steve’s breath catches as you shift your gaze and meet his eyes. You freeze right as the music does, your smile sobering just long enough for those two actions to be clearly related.

Is there a little apologetic quirk in your eyebrows as you pull in a breath to continue singing? Surely he’s imagining it… but then you close your eyes and tip your head back, clasping the old-style microphone with both hands to support you as you start to sing again.

So I cry, and I pray, and I beg…

By the end of the set, Steve’s body is humming with heat and admiration. He fully understands how it is that Bucky came back to hear you, time after time. You and your band have a delightful grasp on the genre, weaving genuine 40’s hits with modern songs sung in a recognizable style. Some of the lyrics of those remixed songs feel like a stinging indictment of the intervening years, to the point where Steve’s entirely certain it’s on purpose. He’d never thought of music in that way before, especially not sung in a venue like this.

“You still breathing over there?” Bucky asks after a few minutes of silence, amused.

“Thinking about it,” Steve admits. “I see why you kept coming back.”

Bucky stands and stretches, pressing both hands to his lower back. He’s bending in a way that would get him more attention if they weren’t in the darkest corner of the place. “Yeah.” The single word carries a lot with it.

“If you want to go over and--”

“Nah, not my thing. We can go.”

Steve is offended for you by proxy. “She won’t feel like you’re, I don’t know…” he trails off instead of guessing the reactions of a woman he doesn’t know very well. You deserve attention from your best friend after a performance like that.

“I usually don’t talk to her in person after, but I can give you her number if you want to text her your compliments.” Bucky’s grin is best described as shit-eating. Steve must look confused, because after the two walk out into the night air, Buck explains, “Dee says she likes to ‘foster mystery.’ I’m one of the only people she ever came out to talk to. I looked grouchy as hell the first three of these I showed up for, according to her. She threatened to deck me.”

“She what?” Steve’s heart may have just fluttered, which is concerning.

“She said the pianist has a lot of performance anxiety, and my glowering was making it hard for him. I promised to practice my smiles.” Bucky turns and grins so maniacally that Steve cracks up. Then his friend shrugs. “Broke the ice, I guess. Glad you enjoyed yourself.”

He did. Steve might go as far as to say he feels like a different person in a couple of ways, as a friend as well as a man. The former has to do with understanding one of the big reasons why Bucky’s made so much progress over the past few months. The latter is more physical.

He feels settled, somehow. The buzzing, anxious feeling that has been plaguing him for weeks is somehow gone, and its absence is palpable. It’s hard not to think that has something to do with you, but whether that’s actually true is hard to say.

His clothes have a distinct ‘spent hours at a bar’ smell to them, which means his hair and skin probably do, too, so Steve hops in the shower not long after they get back to the tower.

It isn’t until he’s finished washing his hair that he realizes there might be scientific significance to his state of contentment. The thought makes him laugh out loud, because he knows what desperation feels and tastes like, and this is indistinguishable. Still, he wants, no-- needs to come, for more than one reason, and if his analytical mind can produce such a selfless-sounding reason, who is he to argue?

Steve Rogers can’t really drink alcohol fast enough to end up drunk, not unless he really tries, but tonight, he feels drunk on multiple things. Surprise, maybe. Your music, certainly. Definitely that dress.

The first touch of his soap-slick hand on his cock is glorious. Steve adjusts the sprayer so the hot water is directly striking his chest, shuts his eyes, and sets a brutal rhythm. Soon he’s panting, the pleasure so exquisite that he can’t stop himself from moaning every few strokes. There’s a liquid fire that’s spreading from his groin all the way to his toes and the tips of his ears, and this time he just knows he’ll be able to do it, he can finish.

Steve lurches forward to brace his forehead on the wall and ruts into his fist, keening against the beauty of it. His body is rushing toward the cliff of the best orgasm he’s ever, ever had-- but no matter how perfectly he moves his hand, how fast or slow he rocks his hips, he can’t push past whatever barrier there is stopping him from coming.

He slams his hand on the tile in utter, agonized frustration.

Pain blooms in his palm, the blood bright on the white tile. Steve just stands there and watches for a long minute. The shower swirls the diluted blood around the crumbled chunks as the red liquid seeks escape down the drain.

Something is deeply wrong, and he really hopes the answer is somewhere in those cells.

Next chapter...

#allcapsbingo2023 #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america smut #captain america x f!reader #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #sex pollen #humor #romance

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dyns33 · 1 year

Text

The debt

Little Morpheus x Reader for a sweet week end

Y/N didn't want to see Mopheus again.

Not at all.

She wished him no harm of course, she even wanted him to find balance, serenity, and happiness, but there were still a lot of things she couldn't forgive.

Their break-up had been difficult. Maybe he had warned her, before they even started dating.

"My love stories always end badly."

Y/N had laughed. She brushed that sentence aside, convinced that it would be different between them, that she was the one who was going to change him, and that they were going to stay together forever.

And they had been together long enough. Several years. They had been very happy. Morpheus had even asked his father not to pass for her anymore, so that his dear sister would never come to take her from him, and since he never asked for anything, Time had accepted.

She wasn't the first mortal to defy the laws of nature, so it didn't really matter much.

But even though time had stopped for her body, their hearts were still racing, and one day they had started to argue.

A bit, then a lot, more and more often, more and more violently.

He had never hit her, but the words could be as hurtful as the blows.

Y/N had made the decision to leave him. It didn't seem to surprise him. This had offended him a little. Maybe also saddened him, in any case she wanted to hope so. He hadn't fought for her to stay. It was the end of all his previous love affairs after all.

The difference was that there was no punishment. No ban. Morpheus didn't prevent her from dreaming, as he didn't ask his father to take back the gift he had given her.

It had been over a year now, and Y/N was trying to move on. Not necessarily to forget him, he would always haunt her nights, and there were some good memories, but she had to learn to live without him, and forever.

So she didn't want to see him anymore, but she continued to appreciate the inhabitants of the Dreaming. It was for this reason that she suddenly stopped near an alley, while it was raining, taking a few steps back to check that she hadn't been mistaken.

Hiding behind a trash can was a raven, visibly injured, which was painful to see.

"Matthew ?" she asked softly as she approached.

"... Hi Y/N."

"What happened ?"

"A tiny little accident, nothing dramatic. I'm resting a bit before flying off to go back to... Well, to leave."

"You can talk about the Dreaming, I don't mind. It sounds serious enough. Isn't Morpheus coming to get you ?"

"No !" cried the raven, fidgeting nervously. "I mean, the boss doesn't know, and he doesn't have to know ! He's going to panic, and be angry, and sad, and disappointed, saying that I'm not paying enough attention, and that I can't go into the waking world alone anymore, and that it's his fault because he wasn't there to protect me, and he's going to take a new raven which will be better than me and..."

"Matthew. Calm down."

"... I don't want him to replace me. I don't want him to worry either. I know he suffered a lot after the death of Jessamy. But it's true that I can't really fly right now, and I'm stuck here."

Y/N sighed. It probably wasn't a good idea, because Matthew was a dream, and Morpheus was very protective of his dreams, very possessive, but she couldn't leave the little bird, and he knew her, so there was no reason for this situation to take a bad turn.

Without saying a word, not listening to the cries of the raven, she took him with her, to her house, where she settled him on a cushion, taking care of his wing and giving him something to regain his strength.

"You can stay here as long as you need, and when you're better you can go back to Dream."

"Thank you ! That's so nice ! I knew you were nice, I don't understand why you and the boss broke up."

"It was not working anymore."

"Because he's not good with people, he knows it, and instead of making an effort, he sulks, imagines the worst, and ruins everything ? Classic. He does that all the time. It has rained for months after you left, he was inconsolable."

Guessing she wasn't supposed to know that, Y/N said nothing, pretending she hadn't heard anything, and taking care of Matthew until he was fit to fly away.

Quite honestly, she thought this story was going to end there. She had helped an old friend, nothing more.

But when she had just fallen asleep, she was surprised to find herself in the throne room she knew so well. Morpheus was there, staring coldly at her. He hadn't changed, and Y/N tried not to think he was still very handsome.

"Matthew told me that you assisted him during one of his trips to the waking world."

"Yes, although I thought he didn't want you to know that."

"He can't hide anything from me. He's a part of me, and I immediately knew he was in distress. But I saw you were with him and helping him, so I didn't interfere."

"Good. Why am I here then ?" she asked, suddenly feeling hope deep in her heart, thinking he was going to talk about that rain, tell her he missed her, and ask her to come back.

"I am in your debt.. As Endless, I must pay it. Ask me what you want, so that we are even."

The request fell on her like a sledgehammer. For a second she almost smiled, then laughed, waiting for him to laugh with her, because it could only be a joke.

"I didn't do this for a favour. I don't want anything, thank you."

"You do not understand." he growled as he rose from his throne, huge and menacing. "I have to pay my debt."

"Morpheus, I don't want anything. Consider us even right now, I don't want to ask you anything."

"You have to, that's the rule."

So that was the only reason he had brought her here. The rules, the responsibilities. Again This upset her pretty much. Morpheus certainly didn't think she had helped Matthew get anything out of him, but that was how she felt. He wasn't offering her a present as a thank you, but because he had no choice.

"No."

"You dare."

"I won't ask you anything."

"But you could. You can ask me for anything you want and I'll give it to you.."

Indeed, as she could have made him a totally ridiculous request, like a book, or sweet dreams, or that he just say "thank you" by getting down on his knees, but Y/N was as stubborn as he was, and she refused to change her mind.

Morpheus didn't back down either. He continued to torment her for several nights, before visiting her during the day, ordering her to release him from his debt.

As always, he was selfish, annoying, insistent, but not violent. He didn't touch her once, and he didn't actually scream, like she knew he was capable of. He seemed genuinely desperate about this situation, and Y/N ended up not knowing what to do.

She didn't want him to think she had helped Matthew to get something, and she could have asked for something ridiculous, and at the same time she could be asking for something huge, like getting a second chance. She was secretly happy to see him again, so often.

Because even if everything hadn't been perfect, she sometimes missed him. She missed what they had had.

Instead, as he continued to harass her, even preventing her from sleeping, Y/N lost her composure, being tired and lost.

"You want a wish ? Fine. I never want to see you again. Never again !"

Morpheus suddenly seemed shocked. Hurt. He studied her for a long time, as if he wanted to say something, before shaking his head and disappearing in a whirlwind of sand.

The wish was immediately regretted, but Y/N tried to call him, hoping he would come back to cancel her request, but he didn't show up.

Luckily for her, the wish was vague. She hadn't said a word about the Dreaming, or its inhabitants, and after several days she finally found Matthew, presumably on a mission in the waking world, standing on a bench.

"Hello Matthew." she whispered as she sat down next to him.

"Yeah. Hi."

"Everything is fine ?"

"Depends. The boss has been crying since he got back from your place. He refuses to say what happened. I know you were both responsible last time, but I don't like seeing him like this. He's my friend, I don't want you to hurt him."

"I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I said something stupid, and I'd like to undo all of this, but I don't know if it's possible."

She explained to him what had happened, and the little raven sighed, realizing that they had acted like fools again. However, he sadly told her that there was nothing he could do, because now that she had made her request, he had to respect it.

"Even if I ask ? I really want to rescind that wish."

"Sorry, kid. It doesn't work that way."

"But... I'll never see him again." Y/N sobbed, putting her hands on her heart. She hadn't wanted to see Morpheus again, but she hadn't thought she would never see him again.

Matthew sighed again, shook his little head, before letting out a caw. Without saying a word, he abruptly flew away, leaving her alone on the bench, where she wept softly, thinking he had abandoned her.

Then he came back, hopping on one leg.

"I had a problem." he declared.

"What do you mean? You... Your leg is broken ?! Matthew ! How did you do that ?!"

"A bike."

"You're totally oblivious. Maybe Dream is right in not wanting to let you walk around on your own. Come on."

Once in her apartment, Y/N did exactly like the last time, taking care of the crow, putting a bandage on his tiny leg, before freezing.

"... You didn't hurt yourself on purpose to make Morpheus owe me another debt, did you ?"

"... Maybe ?"

"Matthew. That's a really bad idea."

"Indeed."

The voice startled her, but she was still happy to see Dream, who was standing awkwardly by the door.

Y/N slowly turned to him, afraid that he would disappear as quickly as he had come the instant her eyes landed on him. He looked as desperate as Matthew had said, scared, which wasn't normal for an Endless.

"You… You're not going to get in trouble ? By being in the same room as me, despite my wish ?"

"I could." he replied. "But I have another debt to you again, which I must honour so, exceptionally, here I am."

"I see. It's... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask that. I was sick of your constant asking, I wanted you to understand that I didn't do this for favours, and I refused to abuse your powers."

"I know. I'm sorry I was so insistent. I never thought you helped Matthew for any reason other than your kindness. But there are rules, I have to offer you something. I... I was hoping you would ask me..."

"Yes ?"

"I didn't think you would ask that."

"And I want to rescind that wish, right now. It doesn't count anymore. I don't want to never see you again. Of course, if you don't want to come back, I'll understand, but if you... You would be welcome."

"That's it. That's what I wanted to hear." he whispered, moving closer to rest his forehead against hers.

Despite himself, Matthew let out a caw of joy, ruining the moment a bit, but it made the two former lovers smile. Taking his emissary in his arms, Dream thanked her for having helped him again, even if the circumstances were special this time.

Visibly embarrassed, he offered her to come and visit him in the Dreaming, if she wanted to. Y/N said she would think about it, adding that he could also come for tea when he had some free time.

They parted ways, knowing they were foolish enough to never see each other again, and knowing they wouldn't last long before they visited each other. Because even if she had told herself for a long time that she didn't want to see him again, Y/N knew deep down that it was wrong, that she wanted as much as needed to be with Morpheus, stupid, imperfect, beloved Morpheus, who had never had love affairs with the same person twice.

So maybe the second time would be the right one.

#the sandman #sandman #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless x reader

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mirrorball-writings · 2 months

Text

Watch Me.

Isabelle Clarichet is a racing prodigy. She is beyond talented and has won countless races and championships, but she still faces doubt and criticism simply because she is a woman. Thankfully, one team believes in her, and gives her the opportunity she deserves to move up the ranks and ultimately earn a seat in Formula 1.

WC: 2.3k

Reading time: 8:33

Warnings: sexism

I’ve heard the cheers after every race, and they never sound like they do when I’m the one standing on the podium. When I hold the trophy over my head and spray the champagne, I don’t hear roaring applause. It’s quieter; there’s more whispering, and I can always hear the one guy in the back making some inappropriate comment, asking me to take off the race suit and show off my fireproofs, show off my body. Or something like that. It doesn’t matter how close the race was, or how far ahead I was from the next car, it’s always the same. I’m used to it now — it’s been this way even since I was karting. I’m used to the hush over the crowd when they realize that a girl won the race, and I’m used to the awkward conversations when people say, “Really, Isabelle? Why would you want to be a racing driver? You could do something more… conventional.” They’ve never figured out the right word to use. I’m used to all the judgment and doubts, but most of all, I’m used to the rejections.

I’ve always been a talented driver. My parents hammered that in early: If I’m going to do something, I had better do it right. If I’m going to try something, I had better be successful. Since my early karting days, I’ve been a fair rival to even the prodigies on the track, and my competitors learned early on to respect me as one of their own. Unfortunately, not everyone got that memo. I was barely a teenager when I realized that. While all my friends were getting their first sponsorships and team offers, I was still sitting with my blank kart, not a brand to be seen. At first, I thought it was luck of the draw, but I knew my place, and I knew that I was better than many of my competitors, who were flooded with offers to join training programs. The obvious difference between us was the unavoidable fact that I was a girl. I was only thirteen when I came to terms with the fact that my journey in racing will not get easier. I will always have to fight to be taken seriously, and I will have to drive twice as fast to get the same respect in this sport. It isn’t fair, but that’s how it is. Talent alone was not enough for me.

F4 starts at fifteen, so teams usually like to give offers for their training programs when drivers are still fourteen. For me, thirteen and fourteen passed by with no contacts, and fifteen didn’t seem to be going any better. When I asked the man who ran my local karting league, he recommended going to the teams myself, and asking to be considered for a seat. He told me, “Isabelle, you’re talented. You deserve a seat, at least as much as these other drivers do. You have to understand that teams are nervous to give you a seat, because they’ve never had a girl drive for them. I know that you can handle it, but you have to show them that you have what it takes. They won’t realize it on their own.” It’s unfair. It’s beyond unfair. I knew that at fifteen, and a fifteen-year-old girl should never be facing the realization that she will always be at a disadvantage, just because she’s a girl. But, ultimately, I knew he was right. I had already seen it firsthand: No teams were going to come to me, so if I wanted an offer, I would have to go to them myself.

I wanted to drive for ART. They were in France, so they wouldn’t be too far away, and they were an incredible racing team where I would really have the opportunity to improve and work towards a Formula 1 seat. I flew out to France, and I made my case. I showed them my records, and all the awards and championships I had won with my racing. They seemed impressed, but when the time came for them to decide whether I’d get an offer, all they said was, “We don’t think you’re the right fit for our team.” I was shocked, and I was embarrassed, but I was not hopeless. I went to DAMS, and I gave them the same presentation. I received the same answer.

“You’re just not the right fit for our team.”

“We’re not sure you’re ready for this next step in your career.”

“Maybe take a few more years in karting, and then we can reconsider.”

“We just want to make sure our drivers are ready for the pressure of F4.”

I went home. I trained, and I raced, and I won, again and again and again. I proved myself, again and again and again. I put myself out there, and I made records, and I kept winning. And yet, all remained silent — no offers, no contact. No team would sign a girl to a seat.

I was sixteen when I finally got an offer. It was from PREMA. They wanted me to come to their headquarters for training, to hopefully put me into an F3 seat for next season. I couldn’t pass it up, and a few weeks later, I had packed my things and moved to Italy, to what would end up being my home for almost three years.

I thought being signed to a team would be the end of it, but the whispers remained. PREMA itself was supportive, and I wasn’t even the only girl in their program. Being around other female drivers, and being in a program that believed that we could perform just as well as boys, was a welcome change, and plenty of the other F3 teams and drivers had the same respect for me as PREMA did. Still, we saw it in the news, and we heard the comments at the races. Any mistake I made, and we were bound to hear questions of whether a girl was really cut out for an intense sport like racing. No matter how much I assured them I had what it takes, they always wanted to ask my teammate what he thought about it. He must know better.

I started F3 at sixteen, and F2 at seventeen. I raced harder than ever, and the original skeptics shut up after long. I raced just as well as my teammate, and I had more podiums than many of my competitors. I didn’t win the championship, but I was close behind. I won sixth in F3, a far better placement than most rookies, and I couldn’t ask for much better, since I knew I wouldn’t beat the records of Piastri, Sargeant, Vesti, and the like. My first year in F2, I ended up in sixth. My second year, I won second place. I still heard the criticism and the doubts, and I couldn’t escape the negative comments on social media, but things were much quieter. I was proud of my results, and I was proud of how well I had proved that I had what it takes, but I expected nothing of it, at least for a few years to come. Much to my surprise, though, less than a month after the end of the F2 season, I got an offer for a Formula 1 seat. All of my hard work had paid off, and it was time to prove once and for all that I deserved to be a driver just as much as anybody else.

Pre-season training flew by in an F1 car, literally and metaphorically. Being surrounded by the drivers I had watched growing up, and being a rookie alongside some of my best friends from the past few years, made the experience just that much more of a dream, although it certainly all felt unreal to finally be here, living out the daydream I had had since the day I started karting so many years ago. After all the rejections, all the doubts, I had certainly had many days where I thought this would never come to me, and yet I was here, driving a real F1 car, preparing to take my place on a real F1 team for the upcoming season. My arm was bruised from being pinched.

I had made it. I thought to myself, “This is the end of the naysayers. This is the end of the skepticism and the judgment. This is the beginning of a career of respect, where I will finally be seen as equal to the other drivers.” That was my assumption, and I was sure it would be the truth, but my contract had still not been announced. There was speculation, to be sure, about who would take the seat this year, and about whether I or any other F2 drivers would end up as reserve drivers or in actual seats this year in F1, but no formal announcements had been made, so I was only working on assumption when I assured myself that this season would be different. I could never have imagined how wrong I could have been.

I woke up on January 18 like I did any other day. Alarm goes off, I roll out of bed, I brush my teeth, I eat breakfast. It was almost an hour before I opened my phone — almost an hour that I was awake and unaware of what was going on. When I did check my phone, though, I saw hundreds, maybe thousands, of notifications waiting for me on every social media platform I owned. Tags, reposts, follows, comments; something must have happened for this many people to be taking this much notice of me. Upon opening Instagram, I was met with a bright graphic from one of the many F1 news accounts I follow. I couldn’t miss the bold text: “F2 runner-up Isabelle Clarichet to join F1 this season?!”

How could they have found out? We hadn’t made the announcement, and I knew we weren’t going to for a few more weeks, as we were still getting everything sorted. When I looked in the caption, I found my answer: They didn’t know if this was true, but they had heard rumours from an “anonymous source within the F1 community” that I had been doing training with one of the teams. I decided not to address any of the innumerable questions about whether this was true, because I wasn’t supposed to let anyone outside of my immediate family and closest friends know that I had signed a contract until the team made their own official announcement. My own silence, though, didn’t stop the comments and messages from flooding in. I received countless DMs and mentions in posts and comments telling me the same things I had heard so many times before in my career.

“Women don’t belong in motorsport.”

“Go back to ballet class.”

“She won’t be able to handle the pressure of real racing.”

“What happened to hiring athletes?”

It isn’t fair. Again and again I’ve proved my worth and shown the world that I could handle pressure and competition, that I could win, and still people doubt whether I deserve to be here. Thankfully, having done well in F2 and F3, I had gained a following over the years of people excited to see a woman excelling in a male-dominated sport like racing, and they were happy to support me every time one of these ignorant comments appeared. And, thankfully, the opinions of some random guy on the internet doesn’t really matter, because I’d already signed a contract with a team, and whatever people thought about it wouldn’t change the fact that I would be racing. I tried to encourage myself with that idea, that their opinions couldn’t change reality. But it still hurt. It hurt so much to know that I would probably never be enough for them, just because I was a girl.

Three weeks is a long time to wait when your inbox is constantly flooded with questions and speculations about where you’re racing next year. Three weeks is a long time to continuously see hateful messages and be unable to defend yourself against them. But three weeks was how long I would have to wait before an official statement could be put out revealing my contract with the team. Those three weeks were filled with training, track practice, and silent tears of frustration. They went by quickly.

I could almost hear the uproar when the news went out. I could almost feel the tension in the air as people would be reading about where I had signed, as people would be making up their minds about whether or not they would support me this year. I knew the moment I opened my phone, I would see thousands of congratulations clashed against thousands of hateful worlds, but I was prepared, and I knew that this was what was in store for me for the rest of my career. I wasn’t worried. I had my team on my side, and I had the support and respect of all the other drivers on the grid. I had proved myself before, and I was prepared to do it again, and again, and again, every day for the rest of my life. And, indeed, when I opened up my phone, I saw the announcement there. I saw the comments. I saw the excitement and the disappointment and the anger all mingled together, right there in front of me, for myself and the world to see. But overshadowing it all was the fact that this was real, and this contract had been signed and the seat had been taken and the person who had done so was me. And that announcement said a name, and it was my name. My name.

“Nineteen-year-old Isabelle Clarichet to join Mercedes F1 team 2023.”

This is the first part of my F1 "series" Baby Driver (yes, I know Baby Driver is also a movie title, but I just love the sound of it so that's the series name). I put "series" in quotes because it won't be a series in the traditional sense, meaning it won't follow one constant plotline, but it will instead be a number of different scenarios and stories of the same character and in the same universe, if that makes sense. So all of the stories will be about Isabelle and her experiences in F1 and interactions with other drivers. I should point out as a disclaimer that obviously I had to switch around some drivers so that Isabelle could race at Mercedes, so I apologize if I mention someone racing at a different team than they actually do. Feel free to request any story, F1 or not, and you can also request stories for Baby Driver as well if you have any ideas!

#fanfiction #imagine #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 #formula one #formula racing

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v3nusxsky · 1 year

Note

emily x pregnant!wife!reader!! when emily wakes up in the middle of the night and r isn’t in bed with her, so she starts lowk panicking, racing around the house and calling r’s number until emily goes outside and sees r sitting on the porch eating a whole cake by herself. emily comes out of the house with a smile on her face and asks what r’s doing, she says that she was hungry so she went to the convenience store and bought a cake and that she didn’t wanna wake up emily so she decided to eat outside and emily joins her in eating the cake<3 - 🐦

Late Night cravings

*Authors note~ ahhh my favourite kind of fic to write bc wholesomeeee*

Trigger warnings~ pregnancy?

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

One of Emily prentiss"s favourite things was getting to come home and fall in to bed with you. Even more so since you began to show. You were 5 months pregnant carrying your and Emily's unborn daughter. She already had her name and Emily absolutely adored talking to your stomach whenever the chance arose. Every night before bed she would spend time talking to your daughter and on the nights she was on a case, a phone call was made, the phone next to whatever side she lay on.

That's why not feeling your baby bump against her hands and the empty side of the bed that you normally took up residence on, yes it was concerning. It was rare that you'd wake up long enough for Emily to stir by noticing the lack of you. Tonight was the first time she had. At first she assumed you had gone to the bathroom after all the baby was constantly finding new ways to press against your bladder these days. Only when it became clear that you would've been back by now did Emily allow herself to panic.

As soon as she was out of bed, she reached for her gun before setting out to find you. Immediately, she began to search your apartment starting with your little one's bedroom. She knew you often went there if you couldn't sleep especially when Emily was away. But you weren't there. So she continued to stalk around the apartment looking for you but you weren't there to be found. With each room she cleared the more concerned she became. You were on speed dial but every time she rang you it went to voicemail. She couldn't lose you and her daughter. Her family. The one time she settles down and it's gonna be curly ripped away from her. And everyone wonders why she has trust issues.

On bated breath she stepped outside only to be met with a dark figure approaching her. Drawing her gun, she called out a warning, "FBI!" "Em emy it's me" you murmured all flustered and now slightly out of breath, "omg angel, you scared me" she muttered finally releasing the breath she'd been holding and lowered her gun. "Oh god Em, if you do that in a few months time I might just go into labour from fear" you chuckled shivering from the slight breeze. Three in the morning was such a weird time temperature wise.

"Okay you sweetheart need to come and get warm, can't have you and little miss freezing on my watch can I" Emily murmured guiding you inside only then realising the bag you had, "baby what's this?" You blushed bright red as you both headed into the bedroom, "woke up and baby wanted cake. But you looked so cute and peaceful so I went to the shop and got cake" your little giddy smile almost made her not be sad . Almost. "Angel, it's my job to run around getting you all the craving's you could desire, no matter how tired or late it is. You're growing our baby. It's the least I could do" truly you knew she wasn't mad but extremely protective of you and the baby so you nodded and promised to wake her next time.

Emily hurried to the kitchen as you settled back into bed to grab two plates and forks, "baby I got plates" she murmured coming back to settle next to you before preparing two slices. "What cake is it?" She whispered to you chuckling as you sighed "chocolate." In bed together as a family, your plate of cake resting on the bump, you ate cake at three in the morning, moaning happily at the craving finally being satisfied.

"Is our little love bug happy now Angel?" She murmured kissing your cheek and moving the plates away to deal with later. "Mhmmm Delilah is very happy and so am I but cuddles?" You shivered slightly hoping to really get the point of needing her arms around you across. "Of course angel, let me hold my girls, good night my baby."

Word count~ 814

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #🐦 anon #anon requested

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sparkle-d · 2 years

Text

waiting game | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x you

summary: in which you switch your phone with daniel's without knowing

tags: falling in love; chatting and messages; kind of enemies to friends to lovers

warnings: insecure reader; f!reader; dumb people

chapter: 1/?

(you: blue/ daniel: orange)

chapter 1 - press start

unknown said: hey!!

unknown said: i think we switched phones last night

unknown said: my password is 123456

Daniel looks at the phone that’s sitting on his dinner table, with a frown that insists on staying on his forehead. The one he’s staring at with so much confusion right now, it obviously isn’t his cell phone.

The phone case is the same - a bright yellow one, but when he touches the screen, there’s a Ferrari wallpaper glowing in red shades, and Daniel knows that even his most drunk self wouldn’t change his wallpaper to a Ferrari one.

He thought it was perhaps a prank from Pierre or Max, but they’re too creative to only change it to a Ferrari design, and when the message pops up, it all makes sense. This isn’t his cell phone indeed, but now someone else is in possession of his, and he has this person’s phone weirdly standing on the table as if Daniel could get an infection by just touching it.

With care, Daniel enters the password and it naturally unlocks the phone in front of him.

you said: very clever password, i might say

you said: you should be like me and simply don’t use any password

unknown said: that’s dumb, i could hack all of your things if i wanted

you said: it’s called freedom, sweetheart

unknown said: or stupidity maybe

They have a point, but Daniel thinks one of his traits is that he’s witty sometimes, he always has the answer for everything. Daniel likes to be right almost all the time, to have the last word when necessary - and this person is triggering this side of him way too quickly. His mouth curves while thinking about an answer.

you said: you call it stupidity and i call it what saved our asses in this situation. my lack of security is what allowed you to message me in the first place

you said: also, i have nothing to hide. im an open book, for your information

Daniel stops for a second, thinking deeper about it.

you said: maybe don’t look into my photos, please

unknown said: uhm… i wouldn’t. ew

unknown said: i’m a woman of my word

unknown said: don’t go into mine too then

you said: i won’t, and i’m a man of my word as well.

Daniel knows she’s someone who attends the Formula 1 events, the possibility of her being from his group of friends being high, but he probably shouldn’t have drank so much last night, to the point where he can’t even remember the girls’ faces or names from last night. It’s a lost battle even if he tries to guess who’s the woman on his phone.

unknown said: sooo…

unknown said: we need to exchange phones right

unknown said: please tell me you, that for any reason, you’re in monaco too and already left the same way i did

you said: you’re not in australia anymore?

unknown said: heh nervous laughing

unknown said: i’m not

unknown said: landed in monaco a while ago

Daniel squints his eyes to see the hour on the phone. He gets surprised, it’s way past noon. If he wasn’t in his hometown and decided to spend some more days here, he would’ve lost his plane as well. He also had no plans on going to Monaco these days, because he had some things to solve before the next race.

you said: may i ask you who you are?

you said: i’d like to know whos in possession of my phone

He can feel a headache increasing its pain the more he’s on his cell phone, but he needs to get this done sooner. Daniel wasn’t too worried because he had two phones, and gladly, the one he uses for work and serious matters he normally doesn’t go to parties with it in his pocket, of course. She has his personal phone, the one he uses with his family and friends. So nothing too serious.

unknown said: you may but i’d like to keep my identity a secret

unknown said: wouldn’t it be entertaining if you didn’t know a thing about how i look like

unknown said: and i didn’t know a thing about you

unknown said: this way we could build a wonderful bond based only on our personalities

Daniel almost snorts at the answer. He just wants his phone back and he doesn’t get how this person isn’t freaking out about a stranger having her phone. On the contrary, she’s thinking about playing games in this situation.

Wait… a game? Daniel grins.

you said: you have a point

you said: sounding more like a challenge

you said: but i think i’m in

unknown said: challenge?

you said: yeah a challenge

you said: i won’t know who you are

you said: or what you look like

you said: and everyone that crosses my path i’ll think it’s you

unknown said: there’s a chance we’ve already met...

you said: it would be so sad if you were an old man that tricked me into this and ends up trying to seduce me and then break my heart

unknown said: i might just do that, you know ;)

Daniel raises one of his eyebrows. Oh.

unknown said: but i’m not an old man tho

unknown said: just in my twenties

you said: can i tell you something

you said: i’ve never done this before

unknown said: what, exchange messages with a stranger?

unknown said: or messaged a person at all

unknown said: also i like the idea of you having a thought about me but not knowing who i am

you said: haha funny

you said: message a stranger, ofc

you said: at the moment the only thought i have about you is that you’re crazy

you said: or something

unknown said: s-so this means i’m your first?

unknown said: i’m honored i might say

unknown said: (i’m something, don’t worry i’m not crazy)

you said: you should be ;)

you said: i don’t do this messaging thing with people i just met or that i didn’t meet at all but you are making my phone your hostage for some reason

Daniel finds himself smiling while chatting with this stranger. He still thinks this is all bullshit and they should tell each other who they are, exchange phones and go on with their lives. But he’s also excited to speak with someone without this person knowing he is Daniel Ricciardo, the Formula 1 racer. She’s treating him normally, not trying to impress him or even trying something else with him. She’s not even that worried about what Daniel might think of her and her quirky ideas.

Daniel vibes with this too, he likes a good challenge.

Another message appears on the screen of the phone, but this time it isn't from Daniel’s number - it has a contact name on it.

you said: oh, someone named ‘bubbles’ just messaged you and they’re waiting for you outside

unknown said: shit, i have to go then

unknown said: also you didn’t receive any messages maybe you’re the creepy one here

you said: i just disable my notifications because they are annoying

unknown said: that explains a lot, me thinks. do the same with mine! so you won’t be bothered and it won’t give away who i am

unknown said: i’m going out, do i take my hostage with me?

you said: sure, if i need i will contact you

you said: we still need to figure it out how to exchange phones

unknown said: yeah

unknown said: save your contact in my phone i’ve already saved mine

you said: how did you save it

unknown said: when you get your phone back you will see it ;)

Daniel clicks to save his own number, a mischief grin growing on his lips. He doesn’t know who this girl is, but she’s not that worried about leaving her cell phone with him, she won’t mind if he puts anything as his contact.

He decides to go with ‘hot stuff’, nothing that will immediately tell who he is, but it isn’t a lie as well.

—

“You’re crazy.” Charles says after taking a bite from his dinner, he looks up at you and can only find your silly smile “You use your phone for everything, especially your work and now, after finding out you didn’t lose it, you just accept that a stranger is using it and live with it.”

“There’s nothing for me to do, he’s still in Australia and I’m here.” You shrug “Do you have a better idea of how I can handle this?”

“Maybe tell him who you are?” Now it’s Pierre’s time to scold you and put some sense in your head “And ask who he is too, you’re trusting someone you have no idea who he is.”

“I have a gut feeling he means no harm, especially because I also have his phone too. He does something against me and I will answer the same way.” You probably sound as insane as you imagine you do, but you can’t help the exciting feeling you get from this. This person will get to know you without looking at your looks, the way you dress, if your hair is frizzy or if you didn’t wash your sneakers last night. No, he will solely know your true core and if he dislikes you or not, it’s his true opinion “I’m on my vacations, enjoying my free time with my friends and messing around as I should do more often. I’m tired of being overly worried about everything.”

Pierre tsks “You worry about minimal things, but this - something you should really worry about - you decide you should live your life fantasy with it.”

“Exactly!” You shout and both of them roll their eyes “I’ll have my phone back eventually.”

“This is so out of character I don’t think I recognize you.” Charles stares at you “But I will keep an eye on it, if he doesn’t pass to you my messages, we will know what is up here.”

“He told me about your message today, Bubbles.” You say “I don’t think he knows you’re bubbles, obviously. Imagine when Pierre texts and he sees ‘buttercup’, he will be thrilled to mess with us.”

“At least your disguise will continue, he won’t know you’re our friend.”

“I’m always thinking ahead of things, this is almost perfect.” You sound and look ridiculous, but you know deep down your friends are with you in this. If you need their help with your story with this cell phone, they’ll be there for you. They have always been “Ah, a new message from him.”

ma fraise said: why is your icloud photo a pink bloob with a knife and your email [email protected]?

you said: IT’S A KIRBY!!

you said: and the email i was going through a phase with a band and really liked this song of theirs. nothing special about it

you said: now stop snooping on my phone

ma fraise said: i’m so bored and without my phone

ma fraise said: but i only went to disable the notifications

ma fraise said: no snooping in my side

you said: me neither

you said: you’re still a blank canvas to me

you said: and i haven’t asked about your wallpaper yet

you said: you already know i’m a ferrari fan

ma fraise said: well, that’s…

ma fraise said: i can’t tell you without saying much about myself

ma fraise said: when we meet i can tell you

You look at the phone, analyzing the wallpaper, perhaps if you stare too much into it, it will give you some clue. It says nothing to you, sadly. It's graffiti on a white wall written ‘hi, howare you?’ and an alien below it. You think about asking Pierre and Charles if they, by any chance, have seen this anywhere. But your guts tell you to not do it, after all, you were the one that said you should keep it a mystery.

you said: is there something you can tell me about you then

you said: that won’t give away who you are

you said: but you know

you said: for us to get to know each other

you said: a secret for a secret

ma fraise said: is it a secret that you are a tifosi?

you said: well

you said: not exactly

you said: just don’t tell bubbles i am

ma fraise said: noted

ma fraise said: thank you for sharing that too, now i really have something on you

you said: damn it

“Are you going to stay on that phone the whole night?” Pierre is always the most straightforward with things, so obviously he would show his annoyance first.

“Chill, you were the one telling me that I should know more about this man, because he’s with an intimate and precious object of mine.” You put the phone away, having all of your attention on your friends again “Actually, you haven’t said that exactly, but it’s what I think I should do.”

“Are you willing to be his friend?” Pierre peers through his glass of water, trying to solve the mess you were at the moment.

“I need him to trust me, so I can trust him with my phone. Everything is about trust here, you see.”

“She’s not wrong, for once.” Charles is siding with you in this, which he normally doesn’t do. Charles only sides with himself “I think I might be going insane by spending so much time with you, because when you say it now, it makes sense.”

“See? I’m not fooling around here. Everything is already planned inside here.” You point to your head, the corners of your lips jerking.

Pierre and Charles roll their eyes at you.

ma fraise said: so you’re a trio

ma fraise said: there’s bubbles buttercup and you’re blossom, i figured

ma fraise said: also you watch too many romcoms in your netflix account for my taste

you said: stop snooping!!

You curl up on your bed, hugging your phone for a moment. You’ve been embarrassed the whole time you were chatting, especially because you’re used to people not liking you, aside from Pierre and Charles who have been around too long. But this stranger seems to like you, for who you’re.

For some reason, the thought of someone enjoying your company without even knowing you, makes your heart warm, comfortable and at ease. You normally don’t feel like this at all, but this night, you sleep quickly and with a shy smile showing up on your face.

—

It’s after the Australian GP and they decided to go to a bar. It’s just a few drivers, crew members and some friends, sitting around together on a circular table. Daniel stares too much in Pierre’s direction, on the other side of the table. He’s discussing something with a girl, someone Daniel feels like he’s supposed to know who she is, but there’s no trace of resemblance inside his mind at the moment. All he can think about is that he likes the way her lips move when she speaks, or how her eyes close when she sighs to whatever Pierre says. They aren’t drinking at the same speed as Daniel, but definitely are already drunk.

Charles looks to Max’s side, seeing him typing non stop on his phone, and he snorts at it.

“Okay, enough.” He says loudly, catching everyone’s attention, even Daniel’s “Let’s enjoy the night, shall we?” All the people on their table agree with him “Cellphones on the center of the table, the first to touch their phone, are paying for the night.”

There’s people Daniel has never seen in his life there, friends of friends, new girlfriends and boyfriends, but each of them leave the phone on the center of their table. Daniel doesn’t mind leaving it there, no one knows who each phone is, and they’re too drunk to think about the consequences right now.

Without the phones, they socialize more with each other, drink more and listen to Pierre’s dumb stories, that make everyone laugh in the end. It’s a nice night, in Daniel’s opinion.

The pile of phones stays there for the rest of the night and when Daniel is already leaving, there’s not many phones there. He doesn’t have to search for his phone, actually. There’s no way someone has a bright yellow phone case like him.

—

ma fraise said: i just hope you’re not gasly, by any chance.

ma fraise said: but i do have his phone number saved

you said: ouch you hurt me saying this. i could be gasly with a new phone

you said: but why are you hoping i’m not gasly?

ma fraise said: let’s say i did something embarrassing in front of him

ma fraise said: actually you’re totally not him

ma fraise said: he would be laughing at my face right now if you were him

you said: i’m a good actor.

you said: i might be fooling you into trusting me just to laugh at your face when you least expect it

ma fraise said: w-would

ma fraise said: would you do it

ma fraise said: gasly, i know it’s not you

you said: jk i don’t even know who this gasly boy is

you said: but he sounds fun tho

you said: probably not fun to you

(next chap)

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #formula 1 #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fiction #hope this is not confusing #okay thats enough daniel maybe charles next?#idk #awriting

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