ONGG

eddie munson got me twirling my hair and kicking my feet n shit

Empty Space (Cold pt2)

As it sets in, everyone has their own way of coping.

pairing: Sully Family x !Twin Sister! Reader

A/N: I wrote this in like a couple of hours I’m not sure if it’s good but I hope it is! 💔

Sitting on the sandy beach, lo’ak felt the breeze run through and past his hair. After a particularly tough day, the setting sun was his favorite thing to see. Closing his eyes, he breathed through his nose, already feeling the bubbling grief coming back up. Although times like these were pleasant, they left him stuck in his head, stuck in his thoughts. It’s been a week since she left, and it’s been racking the entire family down to sad glances and tight hugs as if the other would disappear just as she did.

¨What are you doing out here so late?”

Her voice was clear as day, a haunting memory. Quiet steps stopped right behind him, waiting for a response. She always knew. She, without fail, consistently saw the sad twinkle in his eye and always felt like the silence in his sentences hung far too long in the air for her liking. If it were up to her, she would have already begun comforting him before returning home, but she can’t force him to speak up, and she knows he certainly always will.

Turning his head, the only thing he saw was not her. Scoffing, he buried his head in his hands. He was going insane as the minutes ticked by, and his mind was suddenly catching up. Letting out a gentle whimper, he bit his lip, stopping it from quivering. He wasn’t sure what was worse—not feeling her soft gaze from across the room as she mouthed little motivations or not feeling her soul in his heart. Scrunching up his eyebrows, keeping the tears at bay, he looked at his family’s Marui pod. Ever since the funeral, he hasn’t spent more than an hour inside his home, fearing that if he took one glance at the places she spent most of her time at, he would break down and possibly do unspeakable acts that even she would frown at.

Slumping down, he succumbed to the feeling and let out tiny cries, mumbling her name between a few.

•~•

Neteyam, pushing past a couple of boys, even bumping shoulders with one, rolled his eyes as some started yelling insults at his back. Wincing at a stab of pain from his hip, he kept walking with the sack of fruits on his back. While the rest of his family either closed themselves off or spent the day growing softer, he grew angrier. He wasn’t sure what he was mad at, but he was confident that most of it was directed toward himself. If only he had run a bit faster, he would have missed it entirely and might’ve saved her.

Deciding that the throbbing wound had been annoying enough, he threw the bag on the ground. Grunting as he sat down, he noticed the eclipse coming faster than he had hoped. He planned to work outside for a while before returning home to help his mother with dinner. Taking a risky glance at his chest, her necklace sat comfortably around his neck. Before the funeral, he managed to keep it as a piece of love, but it only became a constant reminder that he wasn’t there again.

He remembers her weaving this necklace for about two days before she finished it. He had joked about wanting it for himself, and despite it being her favorite piece of jewelry, she only told him that one day it would be his. The only issue was that he expected it to be a while before it was his. Maybe she would have given it to him on his birthday, or maybe after their father had yelled at him quite angrily for something that wasn’t even his fault.

Frowning at how dull it looked now, he puffed out a breath, looking at his destination before he quickly got up and walked a bit faster this time, avoiding the pitiful stares he got from the others.

•~•

Although there had been conversations, silence spoke more than they had in the past hour. Kiri kept her gaze on tuk’s hair, avoiding her mother’s stare. She had been there; she had watched her sister die. She wondered how her brother was holding up. They were always the closest. His twin contained him just like a cup would do with water.

On the other hand, Tuk had barely registered that her sister had died a couple of days ago. Since then, she opted to sleep in the same position her sister had, feeling just a tad bit closer to her even though the truth was that she was very, very far away. She always left places with lingering gazes thinking, ¨She would like this, ¨ before smiling and walking away. Just as she did when she was here, she found comfort in her older sister.

•~•

Dinner had been relatively silent as Neytiri tried getting a couple of responses to her questions about everyone´s day. As night pooled into their home, Jake lay wide awake, eyebags much more prominent now as he desperately wished to fall asleep without waking up to a gut-wrenching nightmare from that day. He felt like something inside him had died, and it lay there clawing for a way out.

Every time he looked at lo´ak, it was like a punch to the gut. He looked so much like her, and now as he wore beads from a necklace she once wore in an armband, it simply became worse. The night she died, he spent almost every moment alone crying. Her voice, laughter, giggles, and even her scoldings replayed in his mind every second of the day despite his angry promises that he would stop thinking about his sweet, sweet girl.

¨Jake.¨

Flinching a bit at her sudden appearance, although she had been there all this time, he only felt like curling more into himself.

¨We need to le-¨

¨Every time I stare at the water, I see how scared she looked on that boat, Neytiri.¨ sharply sucking a breath in between her teeth, she sadly frowned at how she indeed saw the expression on her daughter´s face. As she held that bow with just as much confidence as she always had, her face and quivering hands gave it away, but Quaritch never noticed.

As much as Jake hated seeing how his daughter looked like her opposite, he felt guilty for feeling just a tiny bit terrified of the kid he knew to cry whenever she found a dead insect on her daily trek through the forest. Still, at that moment, he knew her as the girl who had fought three fully grown boys for simply insulting her.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he only saw how much anger she held in her eyes despite her hair covering quite a bit of her face from possibly the worst fight of her life. The snarl coming out of her as Quaritch pressed the knife just a bit deeper into her sister´s skin was engraved into his head.

Neytiri, fighting back a couple of tears at how badly this death affected them all, only took a deep breath and moved closer to her husband, who shook with quiet sobs. Her daughter was gone, and nothing was the same anymore.

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 6

summary ;; This is the reality of Jake Sully: the father and Olo'eyktan of the People cannot coexist, Eywa teaches her lessons in the toughest ways. PART 5 | NEXT (wip) pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; well this took a hot minute. am back on my bs WARNING for violence and t0rture, reader discretion is advised. Please excuse my mistakes if you see any!

Jake moved on pure primitive instinct, unbridled arctic rage honing all his senses into one laser point of focus. It wasn’t survival, and it surely wasn’t prey running from predator, there was nothing noble about what he was trying to achieve.

That avatar was going to die today, and Jake was going to make it hurt. No fair game. No warrior’s death. No respect.

Devoid of the shape of humanity or the ties that bound him to it, he was the embodiment of a creature’s killer intent, body taking over and consciousness disappearing to the backseat as he catapulted his tomahawk at the avatar, taking advantage of the miniscule opening provided by a magazine change needed after emptying all of his bullets to a Jake luring him into wasting his resources away.

The dull squelch of the hand-carved ax’s head plunging into flesh couldn’t be dampened by the avatar’s choked and short shout, and Jake was jumping out of cover in no time, a bull to red, advancing towards the man, footsteps not hidden out of having no concern for it at all, let him panic or try to struggle for all Jake cared.

Opposite of what he expected, the rifle wasn’t picked up or fumbled to aim at him. The avatar, pale in the face and pupils having devoured the yellow, fear trumping the pain of his arm almost sliced off from shoulder, crawled away on his back from Jake in full speed, getting up before Jake could reach him, and started staggering into the forest, dropping the tomahawk in the process.

Jake stopped in his tracks for a moment and picked his weapon up, the dark liquid glistening purple in the light of the Tree of Souls, droplets of blood making the moss light up as they hit the ground. His chest heaved in controlled, loud breaths, mouth pulled back in a snarl, watching the pathetic son of a bitch trying to get away.

He was one of the lot who’d shot you, hurt you, tortured you — simply to get a reaction out of Jake.

He was the one who pulled Jake away before he could fix his mistakes, undo the damage they had done, and get you back.

Jake was so close. So close.

You were there. You were right there. He could still feel you in his arms, his shoulder imprinted with your tears, shiest of smiles at a better future he could build with you from the burnt soil of your relationship.

If it hadn’t been for him…

That man was your murderer.

He deserved the hell of a father’s making.

This avatar was a marine — and the fucking idiot was running into the oblivion blind worse than a normal civilian would in this situation, had all those years of training evaporated in one second? Jake’s steps were determined, yet lax following after the guy, nose picking up the trail of blood left behind, eyes watching the red splatters. This was all Hansel and Gretel for him, playing follow the breadcrumbs.

The sound of thumping, frantic running, bumping into obstacles, crashing into flora, all was distinguishable from the natural song of the forest Jake had gotten so familiar with in these fifteen years. No response came from the avatar, but Jake wasn’t hurrying. He would have him. Let the bastard tire himself out first — but he wouldn’t let him die. No. He could smell the fear, the blood, anger at bay, all ice, knowing the trees would carry all the sounds he needed to Jake. He could hear exactly where the avatar was. and If he was hoping he’d bleed himself out faster than Jake could reach him to save himself from what was going to happen, well…

He’d better start praying for mercy to whatever deity held his worthless faith, because Jake had none of it. They had no mercy for you, his sinless, innocent child, all but wails and yelps and blood, and apologies for it.

Every time Jake thought of you in that tremendous pain to the brink of delirium, he burned in his heart’s ice until he was black and purple all over. Your smile was so real, your embrace was tiny and warm in his arms and he had a chance, the only chance no parent could ever get in this life. Jake had dissolved together with that mirage.

The part of him engulfed in flames wanted to end this quickly and painfully—to burn it all, break that man in, scream his lungs out, the other part of him, frozen fury that scalded over in the loss of you, wanted to draw it out, wanted to inflict never-ending pain, to bring the avatar back from the brink of death over and over again just to repeat it in a cycle.

His child. His baby.

The ties that held Jake together were getting pulled tight, the pressure building like deep water currents, thinner threads snapping and crackling, body being pulled to all five directions from all five limbs. Awareness went out and barged its way back in hot flashes, he couldn’t comprehend the passing of time and how long he let your murderer catch the delusion of shaking Jake off his tail — but, his instincts knew to reveal himself before the avatar could be claimed by blood loss.

Dangling hope right in front of his face just to snatch it away wasn’t enough. It could never be enough compared to you who had dragged your own corpse back home, muted to your own pain cocooned between those who should have meant nothing but home and safety to you. Torture. You had lived torture in your last hours with help just one step, one word away.

Nothing would ever be enough.

Jake emerged from the thick flora like the grim reaper himself who would always be waiting right at the spot of the reaping wherever the soul ran away to, detached and unimpressed, blank face not reflecting the scorched soul inside. The almost passed out avatar jolted awake when he smelled the smoke from Jake’s shadow falling on him, and could only press his back further to the body of the cluster of big rocks he had taken shelter against as if somehow becoming one with it could shield him away from Jake’s wrath.

The man’s breathing was getting louder and shakier the more Jake stood there motionless. “C’mon then,” he said between clenched teeth, spasming hand dropping from his mutilated shoulder, squaring up the last drops of his courage. “Get on with it.”

Jake’s whitened fingers were making noise against the handle of his tomahawk, but his voice was hauntingly hollow, unfeeling now that he had the man right in his palm. “Thought I should let you live what you did to my daughter first.”

The avatar began to scream. “Fuck you, man, we didn’t do none of this shit to that kid—”

Jake’s tone didn’t change, but it cut worse than a knife. “You killed my kid.”

His eyes widened, breath hitching, the reality of what was coming to him finally sinking in and Jake witnessed every panicked second of it. “Fuck…” His gaze wildly alternated between Jake and the tomahawk, raising his better, trembling hand up for feeble defense. “Look, look, listen, we didn’t kill her, alright? We patched her up, okay, she was going to be a prisoner, what happened happened because you engaged in battle, we wouldn’t do that to a—AGH!”

He was interrupted by Jake sharply shoving the head of the tomahawk into his injury, just putting it in there, not moving it further down. “Do you have children, marine?”

The man palmed at the weapon, fingernails digging into the wood, but no matter how much he pushed, it didn’t budge one bit. “Stop, stop! Fuck—”

Jake repeated again, firmer. “I asked you a question, do you have children?”

“No!— No, god, argh!”

He spaced out for a while, watching him squirm and trash to get away with defeated, half-assed attempts, also unable to because of how much of an immovable object Jake was making the weapon buried in the open wound be. It would hit the bone if he used more strength.

With a fixed, stony stare, Jake removed the tomahawk, waiting for the man’s deplorable whimpers to recede before breaking him the news like reading it off a doctor’s report. “You won’t get to have any.”

He didn’t look like he cared about something like that, but the man knew his fate insinuated by the words. Nevertheless,it didn’t mean he could be free from the survivor’s instinct’s mood swings his body was putting him through. Denial to bargaining within minutes. “Just kill me already, you deserter piece of—”

“Oh, no, no no,” Jake reassured, the only flicker of emotion he had shown since he’d cornered the avatar. “You won’t get to die for a long time, either.”

The avatar grunted, head falling down before he started to shake it. “Please just let it end—man, just let it end, I’m sorry, okay, please!” A whole body-trembling begging shifted to anger the more Jake remained non-responsive. Watching. Just watching. The hole in his chest getting wider the more he fed this man’s suffering to it — it wasn’t enough. “Just fucking do it! Pussy ass bitch! Come on you blue motherfucker, kill me! Kill m—”

“Are you the one who shot my daughter?”

“What?”

“Are you. The one. Who shot my daughter?”

The avatar’s face twisted. “It wasn’t me—it wasn’t—asshole, you already killed the guy, I didn’t fucking do anything!—”

“You... didn’t do anything?”

A beat. The forest fell silent in Jake’s ears. Just like how the noises you made had abruptly died down as he was putting pressure on your wound.

And like that, the thick haze that had Jake desensitized blew over, unadulterated anger rushed to his body, acidic and nauseating, soul stitching back to his limbs by a million needles and he began to shake, face contorting, teeth showing itself, the hiss that lacerated his throat was the most terrifying one of his life yet, it didn’t sound like it belonged to a sentient being, twisted by a grieving, demented animalistic horror. The avatar’s breath hitched, whatever protest and voice he had escaping deep inside his body, ears pinned back to his head.

“Of course,” Jake glowered, swallowing the scorching stones blocking his throat. He closed his burning eyes, and was greeted by the image of you, opening them back again, and shaking the ax as if it was an accusing finger.

And without a word of warning, his hand shot down and grabbed the avatar from the neck of his tactical vest, hurling him over the chest-level array of big rocks forming a pointy bed above, ignoring the cries of pain as the abused, torn open flesh of the wound dragged through the sharp teeth of the gravel, dousing them in blood. “Please, please, stop!—I’m sorry, I was wrong, that wasn’t right, shit, shit!”

Jake snatched the man’s dominant arm that was coincidentally the same one dangling by fractured bone and tendons from the shoulder. His soul had known what he wanted right from the start before his brain had processed it. “This hand,” he spat, holding it from the wrist, gnashing his teeth. “that pulled the trigger at me…”

Murdered his daughter for a second time.

All a soldier’s worth for. One hand to hold the stock tight against the body and one to fire. All that to take a single life.

Leaning the hand down against the rock in a sudden move, Jake slammed on the blunt, pointy end of the tomahawk on it like he was hammering a nail, the sickening crack of the bones breaking got followed by the avatar’s fractured scream.

Jake saw you hunched, cheekily laughing in the blue and purple of the creek, freckles glowing because of the eclipse, silhouette illuminated by the floating bioluminescent bugs.

Spinning the tomahawk in his clammy hand in a full 360 turn, he smashed it down once more, stronger. The metal broke skin and sank into spongy muscle. His ears were buzzing, ringing from how the shrill yells.

Jake was hugging you after what seemed to be years, and your little arms were clinging to him for life — you were sand slipping from his fingers.

Jake hammered again.

You were telling him how mean he was to you, your voice suppressing the avatar’s.

He brought it down one more time and felt the tomahawk recoil from hitting rock.

You were bashful as you repeated how Jake would always love you.

Guttural breaths getting louder with effort each hit, he kept slamming it down until everything was his beautiful little sweet girl.

Again.

Again and again and again and again and again until there was no resistance from the limb anymore and the man had gone silent and it was all mashed meat he was pounding—

And then he almost plunged it to your bleeding, battered corpse, your stomach covered in reddish brown from the dried brown, body ashen blue, and Jake cried out in terror, jumping back and losing strength in his legs as the tomahawk flew from his hand and he fell over.

His lungs constricted, refusing to take any breaths in and his heart ricocheted around in his ribcage, he was gaping at the wall of rock now washed red as if it was some white rose painted red in Alice in Wonderland.

Jake sat there for the longest time, dissociated.

In those moments, he wasn’t Toruk Makto, he wasn’t Olo’eyktan, he wasn’t the pillar of a family of seven. He was simply Jake Sully.

However, he wasn’t allowed to be stripped down to the bone until all that’s left was a mourning father. That was Jake’s reality.

He had to cast the crippled man aside, the tragedy of his child away, and bring the leader of the People out right as your ghost rippled in his vision, watching spitefully within the forest — because all you wanted was for him to be your father, and he couldn’t even fucking do that after your death.

This avatar was a valuable asset, a hostage to question. For the sake of his people.

He wasn’t allowed revenge.

A single drop of tear rolled down expressionless face. When he looked down, Jake’s hands were still stained with your blood.

The only instance a child should be covered in blood is when they come out of their mother’s womb, little lungs being burned with existence for the first time, crying from the pain of being separated from Eywa’s arms, birth mother a complete stranger to them.

The gore of you barely clinging to life, unmoving, drenched in your own blood, wiped and wiped to the point Neytiri had to change buckets of water until it turned light pink was overlapping with the joyful image of your newborn self she had lovingly and gently cleaned of the remains of labor with wetted mothsilk, skin too sensitive for water for the moment, the blue coming alive as the blood and other clotted bodily fluids were cleansed.

It wasn’t the broken, ice-cold, lithe body of a young girl Neytiri had cleaned in the torment of her excoriated, unraveling mind, it was her baby’s. Her baby, her poor baby with a gaping hole in the middle of your body, memories marauding Neytiri’s lucidity.

She lived the moment of your first cleansing over and over again.

You were a particularly indomitable cryer, Neytiri had known you would be infamous for your battle cries right as she was brought back from the blackout of post-birth by your overly-healthy wailing — or perhaps you would best Ninat as a singer when you’d unapologetically blossom, but one thing was ascertained: her first daughter was a fierce, fiery blue ball of ardor compared to Neteyam, who was almost shy and reluctant in disturbing people around him in his weeping that a collective worry for his health had plagued the whole clan.

As you squirmed, smeared in chunks of her flesh and blood, as if you wanted to jump off from her arms and start walking already, Neytiri had smiled up at her Jake, your father, unable to take his eyes off you, stuck between awe and laughs that came and went. “She has your heart,” she’d told him, spent and hurting, but wonderfully alive. “Strong.”

He’d traced his thumb through her drenched hairline. “Lungs, you mean?” His scent, wind and hearthfire, had enveloped Neytiri when Jake had leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I think they’re yours.” The teasing about how you had made Neytiri scream in labor wouldn’t have gone unpunished if she wasn’t on the edge of sleep held up only by your crying, so, he’d gotten a light hit on the side of his face instead. But Jake knew how to apologize, he’d always been spectacular at it. “I’d say she takes after me in appearance, look at her little ugly face.”

To Neytiri, you were beautiful, face dark purple from how strong you were screaming, and a mini-village elder with the wrinkles, swinging those little fists — things that made you lovely in her eyes. Her first daughter.

She had learned motherhood from Neteyam, but she would learn to understand her mother and her choices through you, someone she thought couldn’t be more different from her — Neytiri, all Mo’at could have been, and Mo’at, all Neytiri might have become, once. She prayed you would love her as much as she’d begun to love you the second you were in her arms.

To think the enormity of her love hadn’t reached you — it was one of the greatest failures of Neytiri’s life. If it had, you’d be wounded, but perfectly conscious and well in her mother’s tent. If it had, you would have been beyond comfortable telling those demons had hurt you.

In that all-consuming devastation, the woven towel she was using to wipe the thin sheet of sweat that formed on your body slipped from her uncoordinated hands and fell on your chest, and Neytiri had to hold back the breath that spiked to become a hiccup by covering her mouth, and immediately, her curled hand was engulfed in a smaller, five-fingered one. She came eye-to-eye with Kiri after raising her head, putting her other hand on hers at the girl’s more disheveled and messy self, heart dropping to her stomach at the fatigue varnishing an extra layer of moisture in her daughter’s drooping eyes.

“Oh Kiri,” Neytiri mumbled, caressing her cheek and brushing the tangled hair away from her face.

“Why don’t you go get some rest, mom, hm?”

“Even if I somehow agreed to that, I could never agree to leaving my daughter alone in this.”

“I’m fine.” Stopping to take a breath, she sighed, collecting the towel and starting to fold it. “Well, not really fine, but don't worry about me. We’re all miserable here. And that’s natural.” Fiddling with the corners of the cloth, she leaned in a bit and lowered her voice, light reflecting from the yellow of her irises making it look like they shone from within. “I… I know she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Eywa has bestowed us a gift she has never given to anyone before and it’s for a reason. I feel that everything will be set right.” She shook her head up and down, determined. “Dad will do it. I know he will.”

Neytiri trusted Kiri with her intuition and understanding when it came to the inscrutable intentions of Eywa, she was closer to the Great Mother than any Tsahik was — so close that she would drift away too much from her family. And deep down, Neytiri was heartsick by this invisible line that separated her from her daughter, any parent in her place would be unsettled like this.

She was also hog-tied to close the distance growing between them because of the human boy Spider and how she would find camaraderie in him in their ‘orphan’ status as she called it. Kiri was already faraway in her obscure existence and unwittingly separated herself as if she didn’t see herself as a real part of the family some days, and Neytiri hated that the ‘kinship’ she’d formed with Spider was planting these ideas into her head when she was her and Jake’s daughter, no more, no less. To overwrite those feelings, she tried so hard to reach Kiri, but was unsettled by the feeling of being hated sometimes, again, more or less for her stance in placing Spider at the outskirts of their family.

But oftentimes Kiri would express her affection through small, otherwise unnoticeable actions, just like this one, a caring touch and reassurance that could melt an ice cube — and Neytiri basked in the babiest of steps between them. And maybe this was how Jake had it with you, too, she had never thought about it like this before.

Taking in Neytiri’s solemn silence, Kiri grumbled, suddenly agitated about something. “I just… I just wish I had isirka resin and xhikul seeds for this paste and cover her wound with it. Grandmother’s extract isn’t enough to stimulate the bone marrow and ugh—” The girl groaned with the obvious guilt at groaning in the first place, as well. “I’m sorry, mom, I don’t know what—”

“It’s alright, Kiri,” Neytiri said, weariness blending with tenderness, knowing you’d agree too. You would have probably told her to not waste her energy and wait around when there wasn’t anything left to do anyway. “Maybe it’s you who needs some rest. You’ve worked hard. Harder than any of us. You do need rest, too.”

Kiri was quick to refuse. “I’m trying something new, I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sure one of your brothers—”

Her earpiece buzzed alive. “Neytiri, do you read me?”

The unexpected timing of it caught her off guard, her hand flying up to the device, drums of alarm going off in her head by the croaky, despondent note to his voice. The impact of their previous argument evaporated from existence just by hearing his distress. “Jake?” She focused on you, not observing any difference, and frowned in worry, her pulse picking up pace as Kiri also locked her attention to her the moment she heard her father was on the line. “What happened?”

“I have here one of Quaritch’s dreamwalkers—whatever they are.” Neytiri’s mouth opened and closed at the reveal, forehead creasing. “Alive. Somehow survived to get to the Tree of Souls.”

Her hand instinctively descended to touch your cool and clammy arm closest to her. “Tree of Souls…? But you were—”

“Yeah. Yeah, he… I couldn’t. I couldn’t…”

She stared at your face, all thoughts draining from her mind. “What are you saying, Jake?”

Silence.

“Jake,” Neytiri implored, her voice snuffed out towards the end. She tried again. “Jake, I don’t understand. What does this mean..?”

“Son of a bitch pulled me out before I could… before I could finish talking to her.” Kiri reached for her when she let out an incoherent, disbelieving voice, getting more panicked as Neytiri clawed at her tightening chest with his next words. “I failed, Neytiri. I couldn’t… She…”

Neytiri was physically helpless to respond, and Kiri couldn’t hold back from inquiring seeing the state she was in. “Mom? Mom! What’s wrong?”

“This man, if it wasn’t for this man, I had it.” Jake kept talking at an increasing speed the longer Neytiri didn’t say anything. “I had her right in my arms, making future plans, smiling, everything was perfect, and then he—” His breath quivered. “He fucking—” And he stopped the sentence abruptly to get some semblance of control back because Eywa knew Neytiri was losing it ever so slowly. “I need you here with me right now, please. Please, I…”

Neytiri refused to acknowledge what Jake couldn’t say out loud. You were still breathing, she felt your chest rise and fall even if the pattern was weak. You had life left in you. Jake saying he failed made no sense to her, she didn’t believe it.

“Neytiri, I need to question this… this filth, need to learn all I can about what’s going on, but I can’t do it on my own. I’ll kill him. In a heartbeat. I want to squeeze the life out of him with my hands right this moment and I— I can’t… We have to know how they could have gotten this far, what they’re planning—and now right to the Tree of Souls too, and…” The rambling that got chaotic and disconnected faded off eventually, as if he’d lost his voice. “Shit.”

And throughout all that, Neytiri had gone from confused, in denial, at the threshold of grief but not nearly in there anchored by your pulse, and lusting for blood within minutes. Kiri was taken aback by the anger radiating from her. “Bring him here!”

“I can’t. He could have a tracker on him—they could have put it in his body. I can’t risk that.”

Neytiri stood up with only one thing in her mind, and it didn’t match Jake’s. “Where are you?”

“You gotta let me pass, buddy, come on! You wanna take my head off or something? Why are you being like this!”

Hands up and quick on his feet, Lo’ak was trying to negotiate.

With an ikran of all things. Not even his.

Yours.

Mom storming out like a wronged, vengeful spirit had been the perfect chance for him to do a quick supply run sneak off, but your overgrown big bird with the exact same attitude as you was getting in his way and blocking Lo’ak off by snapping its jaw at his head and opening its sunset fire tinged wings every time he attempted to cross over to his own ikran. They were basically at a standstill and he had no idea why.

Lo’ak just wanted to help. Help you.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Shit.

Neteyam. Making his way to him with such speed that got his braids swinging and of course he’d sniffed Lo’ak out like a nantang. Followed the odd silence, probably. Eywa, he should have thought this out better.

“Skxawng, do you not remember what dad said?”

“I do,” Lo’ak hummed and hawed, and that was the problem. He’d never felt this guilty about disobeying dad’s orders before, it was making him squirm. “But look, Kiri said she needed isirka resin and xhikul seeds or whatever to treat her, I’m going—”

Neteyam’s jaw had flexed when he said whatever, but there was no visible agitation after he gave a sharp breath through his nose. “So let’s call mother or—”

“They’re busy with some sky person dad caught—”

“I know. The same ones who did this to our sister. I know, Lo’ak.” Neteyam aggressively gestured to the exit of the cave system, shaking his arm while speaking. “What do you think will happen if you go off on your own and land yourself in bigger trouble than she did? Huh?”

Lo’ak threw resentful looks at your ikran. “I can’t stay put like this. I have to do something.”

“This again? There is nothing we can do.” He hadn’t said that in his normal drilling of dad’s orders — Neteyam had the same pain of acceptance that were Lo’ak’s bruises etched onto his face.

And that made Lo’ak want to throw up all over the place. He’d experienced countless sicknesses his siblings had fallen to over the years, none of those were as fatal as this and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. What was he supposed to do when his sister was dying? What did one do when a family member was in this situation anyway? Nothing seemed right to him.

And something was finally, finally within his power — and Lo’ak would of course rise up to the challenge without hesitation. He wasn’t just going to sit down and let that possibility of your salvation slip by. “But there is. Kiri said—”

“Lo’ak if you leave right now and somehow get caught dad will never trust you again. He was the most open he’s ever been, don’t betray him like that.”

He was getting annoyed that Neteyam was ignoring the whole point, though it wasn’t as if Lo’ak didn’t know. He was fully aware, and that’s why this was supposed to be a secret. Dad couldn’t be hurt by what he didn’t know now, could he? Not only were you getting Kiri’s remedy, which he was sure as his name was Lo’ak that would end up most effective, but he also wasn’t breaking his promise to dad when the tiniest thread of trust in his son was knotted by the man just recently.

Neteyam grabbed him by the top of his head in a brotherly manner but his hold was of steel, the boy tried to grumpily push him off but he didn’t budge, staring right into his soul. “Use what’s in this for once and just tell dad or mother, they’re down in the forest already anyway.” When he let go, Lo’ak stumbled back, rubbing the sting off, and the semi-playful older brother was back. “And one of them will actually know what to look for.”

His immediate response was refusal. “I know what I’m looking for—”

“What does isirka look like?”

The sounds your ikran was making was eerily close to laughter and Lo’ak felt heat rush up to the tips of his ears. “It’s a tree.”

Neteyam didn’t have brow hair like Lo’ak did, but the way he raised the lines was always more expressive than how he did it. “Xhikul, then?”

“Flower, skxawng.”

“Wrong.” Lo’ak’s tail started beating the air at the condescending tone. “Kiri is talking about the fruit. Xhika is its flower.”

He rolled his eyes, turning away. “Whatever—”

“Is it whatever?” Neteyam grabbed Lo’ak by the shoulder and spun him around so rough that he got dizzy. “Are you calling my sister’s life whatever?”

Lo’ak was going to explode from how wrong this was going and how insistent Neteyam was to twist his words. “That’s not what I meant bro!”

“You are so careless.” Neteyam’s tail had shot up ramrod straight, the little bush of hair at the end of it all puffed up, ears perking in all directions. He wasn’t necessarily yelling but was tense all over, something he did whenever they were playing back in the day and he was about to pounce after staying still enough to implant a false seed of safety. “You don’t even think about what can happen if you were to bring a completely different ingredient! You don’t think!”

“Sorry that I’m trying to help! What are you doing?”

“Keeping us safe. Keeping you safe.” He pressed his lips together on a thin line, but couldn’t hold back whatever was bubbling inside. “I’m not losing another sibling, Lo’ak!”

Only a small gasp escaped Lo’ak when he opened his mouth in retaliation. He couldn’t have found his voice even if he found something to say to that rawness in return, anyway.

The gut-churning guilt doubled.

“Hey… I—”

“Go,” Neteyam whispered, tilting his head together with the lone word. “Since you’re dying to help, help Kiri. She’s exhausted. I don’t think grandmother will refuse.”

“What about you?” And there he goes again. Wrong words. Neteyam was looking more closed-off than before. “I’m not accusing or anything—”

“I can’t go in there.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Neteyam took a deep breath and loudly let it go, tail deflating, the arch of it depressing as hell for some reason. “I can’t look at her.”

Neteyam just gave a forlorn smile in return to Lo’ak’s heavily concerned looks demanding he continue but not knowing how to word it, his back looked weirdly lonely as he was tending to your significantly calmer ikran to join back the horde.

Buried in negative thoughts all the way back and ignoring the pitiful looks from the rest of the clan, he met Kiri outside of the healing tent talking to Spider, and he could see Tuk’s back covering the view to you in his peripheral.

They were whispering about something and it was obvious even from a distance where they were nothing but stick figures. At least try to look less suspicious, Lo’ak thought.

The only part he caught from the conversation was Spider saying, “Just describe them to me,” — Kiri was really leaning in towards him.

“What’s going on?”

The two looked like they were caught in the middle of scheming, and it clicked almost immediately.

If Lo’ak had thought of going off on his own, so had they.

“You aren’t going anywhere, bro,” he said, draping his arm across the human boy’s shoulders. “Neteyam’s literally patrolling.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Spider groaned, visibly disappointed. It warmed Lo’ak’s heart to see he was totally down for sneaking off the camp for you. “You said your dad told him to rest.”

“Yeah, he did. Except Neteyam never rests. He has a dancing glow worm up his ass.”

The conversation couldn’t continue because Kiri did a double take at something.

“Tuk!” Kiri took a few steps aside, squinting as if she didn’t think she was seeing it right. Then her expression burst into panic, her hands flying forward as she ran to the tent, Spider and Lo’ak could only stare, baffled. “Tuk, oh Eywa, what are you doing!—”

“I’m giving her water, she’s thirsty.”

“What?”

He actually rushed to the entrance of the tent, nearly falling headfirst in, having stumbled on some rock. Your mouth was actually open. And Tuk was really trying to get you to drink from the bowl she was holding against your mouth.

You choked at one point, still unconscious, but it was a sign of life. Lo’ak didn’t know if the shocked screech came from him or Kiri.

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Beautiful Mind

After enduring constant torment from the other little kids, it seems as if the only one who can help her out of this hole is her younger sister.

pairing: Kiri x !Younger Sister! Reader

a/n: I could not bring myself to write more, and I'm so new to the Na’vi language, so excuse any mistakes!

⋆★⋆★⋆

Soft moss padding her feet from the rough ground, the sobbing girl ran through the forest, not even bothering to turn around and see if anyone followed her out this deep into the wilderness. As she leaped over a rock, she timed the landing wrong and fell onto her knees, truly bringing her into a state of misery.

Why were they so cruel? Sure, she had an extra finger, and maybe her brothers were a bit foolish, but that didn’t mean she deserved to be treated any less. Shakily letting her shoulders fall up and down, she heaved out great sobs that could hide the sound of hesitant footsteps toward her.

crunch

Snapping her head back toward the noise, she quickly faced the ground once she realized it was simply her sister. Kiri had only been born a few weeks before the twins, but that didn’t stop the two from becoming close.

“Rä’ä ‘asap si! You ran off, and I wasn’t sure if you were okay.” She spoke with such sincerity that it just broke Kiri into a smile. Waving her over, she couldn’t help but enjoy the way her sister had been worried over her. Did this make her selfish?

“I’m alright, (y/n). I hate that you have to see me like this.” She sniffled. Wearing a sad smile, she tried to connect the dots on why and how her sister had come to this point, weeping with dirt-covered knees. Placing her hand over her sister’s, her words almost raised Kiri’s spirits entirely.

“Oeng lu tsmuke ulte tsmuke. Txo nga fpìl txokefyaw, nga lu keyawr. Set, Kempe len?”. As soon as those words were thrown out into the silence, despite the short sniffle now and then, Kiri felt her eyes well up with tears once more.

“What’s wrong with me, (y/n)? I try to stay out of the way, and I don’t bother anyone, but they still find a way to make me feel like nothing. Is there something missing in my mind?”. The wobble in her voice had been enough for her sister’s ears to tuck themselves down against her head as her lip quivered with the amount of heartbreak she held deep in her heart for her sister.

A beat passed, then two.

“I think you have the most beautiful mind, Kiri.”

If she had not been listening or had sniffled at that exact moment, she doubts she would have heard her. Daring to take a look at her, tears were already in her own eyes, with the saddest pout on her face. At once, she realized how much she hadn’t noticed how much love her family had held for her. At this moment, she knew her beautiful, sweet sister, had adored her.

Choking out a sob, Kiri left the ground and almost tackled the younger one into a hug. If this were any other day, Kiri would have probably nervously returned the hug with a scoff, but today was today, and Kiri was Kiri.

“If you ever feel like that ever again, please tell us! I hate to see you this way, RI. Our father is Toruk Maktoyu! If anyone messes with you, they will answer to him!” She let out a tiny smile along with a growl. Laughing softly at her antics, Kiri had decided that if someone were ever to make her sister cry, they would answer to her. With the Toruk Maktoyu or not.

⋆★⋆★⋆

Do not be startled!

You and I are Sister and Sister. If you think otherwise, you are wrong. Now, what happened?

A Friendly Auction

Tangerine x !GN Reader x !Platonic Ladybug

Word Count: 4.5K

SFW; Language, Jealousy, Possessiveness (all from our best fruit boy)

After being out of commission for a little while, you're getting back into the industry by attending a job auction. You see some familiar faces.

A/N: *speaks into the mic* Hi, did anyone order a *checks notes* jealous Tangerine, and a bestie named Ladybug?

There were a few requests for these, I combined some themes but will definitely be doing more. I have unlocked an addiction to jealous Tangerine and writing a platonic Ladybug is really fun too.

Tall industrial buildings, most of them vacant or under construction, lined the sides of the street as your car flies down the empty road. Coasting through the rundown, abandoned side of the city, pot holes dotted the asphalt and you had to swerve to avoid them. Only sounds of the engine and wheels on pavement fill the small cabin. On the passenger seat beside you was your cellphone, a half empty pack of cigarettes, and an auction invite. Flashy gold lettering on thick paper caught the light of the afternoon sun through the window, shining in your peripheral vision.

Refusing to look at it, but picturing it clearly in your mind anyway, you muttered under your breath. “Fucking ridiculous.”

When you had received the invite along with instructions, you wanted to throw it away, act like you had never gotten it. A job auction? Are you joking? Your boss, a woman you highly respected and had worked with for years, was sending you to do errands for her.

“Just scope it out; see who’s bidding. Think of it as a way of getting back into the swing of things.”

Yeah. Not insulting in the least.

Slowing the car, you turned down a narrow, patchy road, squeezed in between two brick buildings. At the end of it was a guarded security gate blocking off a much wider section of an empty lot in front of a two-story warehouse.

You rolled down your window as your car crawled to a stop, leaning on your forearm to stick your head out. Three heavily armed guards were coming out of the little hut positioned at the side of the gate to meet you. There were more inside, two sat in front of monitors; they were armed to the teeth as well.

Cheerily, you greeted them with a polite smile. “Good afternoon!”

Their faces never lifted from a deep-set scowl.

The one closest marched up to your window and barked orders at you. “Please step out of the vehicle with your invite.”

Well at least he said please.

Over the next few minutes, you stood outside as they inspected your invite, patted you down, and searched your car for any weapons. They even had a dog sniff you and the car’s undercarriage. That was new; security had gone up since the last time you had come to one of these things.

Not that you could blame them. Maintaining peace in a neutral zone where all criminal families (and a bunch of no-good contract killers) could meet, had to be one nightmare of a job. Those that ran the show at least mitigated the risk by choosing who got an invite. Reputation came into play no doubt—generous donations helped too.

Satisfied that you weren’t trying to sneak anything in, the guard motioned for you to go ahead, keeping your invite. That’s too bad, you wanted a souvenir.

Only a few other cars were in the lot when you parked. Every single one of them nice, probably worth a small home; your car was no exception—fitting in is preferrable for this line of work. You parked away from the rest, maintaining the space like everyone else. Checking the time on your phone, you were pleased; even after the long security process, you were early by 25 minutes,. Being early was good, especially when some mob bosses considered tardiness a personal insult.

Grabbing the pack of cigarettes off your passenger seat, you got out and leaned up against the car door. No one would appreciate you smoking inside, and this would give you an opportunity to see whoever showed up next.

It wasn’t long before someone did, and they parked right next to you.

“What the fuck…” You murmured, lit cigarette hanging between parted lips. Then, the car door swung open and you were greeted with a goofy smile and a head of blond hair.

Ladybug flew around the side of his car, throwing his arms out wide. “Holy shit! Welcome back to the land of the living!”

A smile instantly lit up your face as your old friend walked up and embraced you heartily.

“You call auctions living?” You laughed, speaking into his shoulder as you returned the hug.

“Aw, come on. It has to be better than the hospital, right?” He pulled away, checking you over with a hand on your shoulder. “How long did they keep you?”

You huffed, flicking your cigarette ash onto the pavement. “Three fucking weeks, I was going stir crazy!” Giving a wave of your hand, leaving a fading trail of smoke behind, you add, “I started smoking so they would let me sit outside a few times a day.”

Ladybug’s laugh was infectious, and it was enough to lighten your mood; you were suddenly glad you came.

His hand left your shoulder as he leaned back against his own car to face you. “How are you feeling now?”

“Good!” You motioned to your right leg, lifting it a little. “Sometimes I’ll get the odd phantom pain, but other than that, brand new. Ready to start working again.” You motioned toward him with a wide smile. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve just been looking around for grab and go jobs, I’m tired of shooting people—tired of getting shot at.” He pauses to ask with a raised brow.“Are you bidding?”

“No, not today. Boss lady wants me to ‘scope it out’. I guess she thinks this’ll get my foot back in the door.”

He grins, sensing the impatience in you. “That’s good!”

You only shake your head and groan.

This turns his grin into a wide smile. “Don’t try to rush back in so fast. Take some time to relax. Recovery is important.”

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from disagreeing. The only thing on your mind after months of doing nothing was holding a gun again. Your hands itched for it; fingers impatient to pull a trigger. You wanted to go after targets, travel to new locations—not sit endlessly on your couch, smoking and waiting around for your next doctor’s appointment.

Giving you a look, one that suggested Ladybug knew exactly what you were thinking, he continued on. “Don’t be like that. I was worried! When I found out you were in the hospital I was shocked—didn’t think anything could take you out.”

More cars were parking now, some distance away. Their owners exited and headed straight for the entrance. A lot of the faces you didn’t recognize, only a few were vaguely familiar.

You scoffed lightheartedly. “A broken leg didn’t really ‘take me out’. It’s not like I was in a coma or anything.”

Those were small lies. It hadn’t been just a broken leg, and you had been in a coma, but only for a day or two. Which, in your opinion, shouldn’t really count. It was more like an extended nap.

Ladybug sounded curious. “Wasn’t it worse than that…?”

Taking a drag from your cigarette and blowing smoke to the side, you attempted to brush his prying off casually. “Says who?”

He shrugged with another one of his goofy smiles. “Heard it through the grapevine, I guess.” He watched as more people exited their cars and went inside.

You groaned through another drag of your cigarette. “Oh, God. People were talking about it?”

“Yeah, of course! A contractor as good as you gets put in the hospital? Disappearing for months? That’s news.” He waved a hand, standing and motioning for you to join him as he started toward the entrance. “You should have seen the other contractors scramble to pick up the jobs you had left over.”

You dropped your cigarette onto the pavement and snubbed it out with a foot, then joined him.

“Sounds worse than it was.” You mumbled.

He shrugs. “I think it was a wake-up call.”

“How so?”

“You’re someone who’s been in the business for years. When people looked at you, they saw how you managed to thrive for so long in this profession. It gave others hope that they could do the same. And then, boom, just like that—you’re gone.”

Frowning you looked at your friend. “That’s part of the job.”

“Sure, sure. That’s something we all say countless times, and we all act like we know or understand what it means…but when it happens, it still rattles nerves.”

You fell silent, contemplating this. On the other end, as the one ‘disappearing’, you didn’t think much of it. You were hurt and now you’re back. It was just the way of the job; you’d seen this happen to others many times.

As you and Ladybug made your way across the lot, two acutely familiar faces got out of a car a small distance away. Despite all the talk of being a professional, your stomach did a flip.

Trying to keep your voice down, even though they were too far away to hear anything, you pointed a look toward them. “I didn’t know The Twins were desperate enough to go to job auctions now.”

Ladybug looked in their direction, speaking carefreely as he openly stared. “There’s big money in this. Connections. A lot has changed since the last time you’ve been here.”

Lemon was exiting the passenger side closest to you and Ladybug, he smoothed out his jacket as he stood, eyes on the people entering the building ahead. Tangerine was coming out of the driver’s side, wearing his usual suit attire with slick-backed hair. He was frowning deep enough that you could make out the lines on his forehead. He looked to his brother but caught sight of Ladybug still staring at them, then his eyes snapped to yours.

His whole demeanor instantly changed—forehead lines disappeared and his eyes widened. Jesus, it even looked like he straightened his back. He must have said something to Lemon, or maybe his brother saw the change, because a second later Lemon turned to look too.

Ladybug laughed, observing your carefully neutral expression. “Uh-oh. Do I detect a little drama?”

You only turned away and grumbled something incoherently. The tall, glass doors to the warehouse were nearing. Inside you could see people milling about.

He bumped your arm playfully with an elbow and leaned in a little. “You know, rumor has it they were involved. Or at least, one of them was involved.”

You tried to hide a smile as you bumped him back. “Involved in what?”

“In what happened!” You could feel his eyes roll. “Don’t try to play dumb with me, you know I can see right through it.”

You hummed, reaching for the door and holding it open for him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

As Ladybug passed by and into the warehouse, you saw Tangerine watching you closely as he and Lemon were walking over from their car. You caught Tangerine’s eyes for a few heartbeats, trying to suppress a smirk. It was a look with meaning behind it. Before Lemon could lean over to say something to his brother, you broke the eye contact and went inside.

Ladybug was waiting a few steps away; he had seen the interaction and was deadpanning. “You couldn’t be any more obvious if you tried.”

In contrast to what the outside of the warehouse looked like, the inside was like a luxury ballroom in a hotel. Rows and rows of comfortable chairs all faced a lacquered wooden stage with a mahogany podium. The wall behind it was filled with a long digital screen that had yet to display anything.

People stood in groups among the chairs and along the rows talking idly. You could plainly tell who was a boss, an underling, or a contractor. It was all given away by the amount of people they were surrounded with, their clothing, or how they carried themselves. As you entered the room, a few heads turned to take long looks.

Ladybug came to a stop at the end of a row and turned to you, leaning his head forward to try and keep his voice down. “I know you enjoy playing with your food, but when are you gonna eat?”

“Weird analogy, Ladybug. I’m not a cannibal.” You teased back.

“Stop dancing around the subject.”

“Well, this isn’t grade-school, we can’t just casually go out for burgers and a malt.” You glance around the room as it continues to fill up. The auction would be starting soon. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but our profession involves killing people; that complicates things a bit—and you don’t know the whole story.”

Ladybug chuckled shaking his head. “This must be serious. In all our years as friends, you’ve never avoided talking about someone this much.” He put his hands on his hips, eyes narrowing playfully. “Just promise me, when you two get married, I get to be your maid of—”

You interrupted Ladybug, sucking a quick breath through your teeth and placing a hand on his chest. The Twins were walking up. Tangerine’s eyes looked at your hand on Ladybug’s chest and those deep forehead lines returned as his brow furrowed. You dropped your arm from your friend’s chest, noticing Tangerine’s eyes trailing the movement.

Ladybug beamed. “Well, helloo—”

Ignoring him completely, Tangerine gruffly interrupted; addressing you. “Good to see you back in the field.”

The corners of your lips twitched, fighting to keep an even face. “This isn’t really the field. More of a playground.”

His mustache twitched as he blinked and stammered out, “Well—uh, it’s good that you’re back. At least.”

Lemon made a face at his brother before asking you politely, “How are you feeling?”

Turning, you gave him a smile. “Great, thanks for asking.” Tangerine’s eyes could have burned a hole through you.

Tangerine opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by someone on a speaker asking for everyone to take a seat. The auction was officially starting.

Ladybug spoke up, pointedly sarcastic. “Nice talking to you.”

There was a gentle tug of encouragement on your arm as he moved toward a nearby row of empty chairs. Tearing your eyes away from Tangerine, you could have sworn that his eye twitched a little.

“Christ, what did you do to him?” Ladybug whispered into your ear.

You leaned in to whisper back as you sat down beside him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he somehow managed to look like a kicked puppy and a psychopath, at the same time.”

At the opposite end of your row, on the isle, The Twins were taking their seats. It had you facing them anytime you turned to talk to Ladybug, and Tangerine was facing you anytime he turned to talk to Lemon.

Had he purposefully done that? The idea almost makes you snort, but you catch yourself.

You blinked, focusing on your conversation with Ladybug. “I didn’t do anything.”

At the end of the row, Tangerine was turning and talking with Lemon. His eyes flickered to meet yours several times. You sat back in your seat to face the front, staring straight ahead and resisting the temptation to look over.

Ladybug hissed. “Uh-huh. Is that why he positioned himself to be able to watch you from the end of our row?”

Unable to control it this time, you snorted and brought a hand up to cover the laughs that followed. He also started to snicker and laugh. Thank God you were in the last row sitting behind everyone. Leave it to Ladybug to bring out the un-professionalism in you.

As the announcer began speaking, the screen lighting up with an introduction, you wiped at your eyes, trying to dry the tears and focus. It lasted about 10 seconds before Ladybug was hissing again.

“He keeps looking this way.”

You grumble back, keeping your face toward the front. “Ignore him.”

“He’s staring at me with those psycho eyes. Like he’s thinking about killing me.”

“He probably is. Just keep acting like you don’t care, maybe Lemon will slap him or something.”

“If you two could just fuck already, it would make everything a lot easier—”

“That’s not how I do things, Ladybug.”

“Yes, that’s right. You enjoy driving men to the brink of insanity, first.”

You whipped your head to look at him, about to come up with a retort, when your eyes met Tangerine’s. Yeah, he was definitely still looking this way.

He frowned at you a little, no doubt wondering what you were over there talking about in the middle of the auction. You frowned at him back, clearly sending the message of ‘mind your own business’. His head tilted to the side a little, eyes flickering to Ladybug and back to yours. And that’s when Lemon looked at Tangerine and shoved him back to sit properly in the seat.

As you also sat back, Ladybug triumphantly whispered, “Told you he was staring.”

The next 30 to 45 minutes of the auction was much of the same. Different jobs up for grabs flashed across the screen while members in the audience raised little auction cards to signal that they wanted to bid. You watched and committed to memory the most sought-after job and by which group. Naturally, since you were unable to participate, it was a complete fucking bore.

During a particularly long bid, going between two mob families for over 10 minutes, you lean over to Ladybug and whisper, “I’m going to the restroom. Let me know who wins this job.” He gives you a nod as you stand to leave.

Making your way down the corridor to the bathroom, the sound of your shoes clicking against the marbled floors bounces off the walls and back to you. It’s no surprise that the bathrooms are just as nice, spotless and adorned with fancy soaps and towels. So much money for a place that’s only used, at most, once a month.

Exiting the bathroom while smoothing down your shirt, you startle a little as you’re greeted by Tangerine’s intense blue eyes. He was casually leaned up against the corridor wall.

“Tangerine.” You greet, fixing him with a cool, even stare.

Something akin to amusement flashes in his eyes as he looks you over. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You huff, purposefully relaxing your shoulders as you lean back against the doorway. “Not scared, you just surprised me. Didn’t expect to be followed to the bathroom.”

He pushes off the wall and takes a step closer. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Your eyes narrow, but there’s a hint of a smile on your lips. “About what?”

“I wanted to make sure you were doing alright…”

You could feel another question lingering in the air. “I’m doing good, Tangerine.”

His jaw clenched once, then twice. “Are you here to bid on a job?”

Slight annoyance spread into your words. “No, just browsing. I’m ready to get back out there, except my boss thinks I’m prone to shattering.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Please just…take it easy—at least for a little while.”

You give a firm shake of your head. “Between stewing in my apartment and going to physical therapy, I’ve been ‘taking it easy’ for seven months. That’s long enough.”

“If you push yourself too far you might end up getting hurt, again.”

You gave him a look, “I’m only going to get hurt if someone hits me with another car.”

The words sting him, even though you hadn’t meant them to. His eyes turn pleading. “Are you still upset?” He shakes his head, letting out a deep breath. You thought you saw wetness in the corners of his eyes before he blinked it away quickly. “You know I still feel terrible, it was a complete accident, love.”

It really had been an accident. Both working on the same job, but with limited communication, left windows for mistakes. So, when you came sprinting out of an alley and into the road while Tangerine was trying to find the right building the target was in, neither of you had time to react.

There’s a vague memory of him holding your hand in the backseat, wiping hair and grit off your face, as Lemon rushed to the emergency room.

You attempt to say something, a gentle smile peeking through, but he’s already speaking again. “Look, what more can I do to make it up to you? Name anything you want—it’s yours. Flowers? You want more flowers, like the ones I sent you in the hospital?”

He had sent countless bouquets of the most gorgeous flowers you had ever seen, every day like clockwork, for three weeks. By the time you left the hospital, your room had more color in it than you had ever seen. Each came with a hand written note from him. Some were pages long about how awful he felt and how sorry he was. You kept every note; they were on your bedside table.

Shaking your head, “No, no flowers. They were nice though; the notes were too—thank you.”

While he seemed momentarily pleased by that, his eyes flicked around the room, trying to come up with more things to give you. “Jewelry?

“No, really it’s—”

“—what about clothes?”

You take a step toward him. “Tangerine—”

“Your car out there’s nice, but I’ll get you a bloody new one. How about that? A little ironic, sure, but—”

“Tangerine!”

When he stops to fix you with round eyes, you laugh gently. “You don’t have to do anything, I’m not upset.”

His shoulders relax, an invisible weight dropping away. He closes the distance between you to under an arm’s length. “You’re sure? I mean, I’d really be happy to—”

Placing a hand on his chest, your laughing response is good natured. “I’m sure. You’re right it was an accident—no hard feelings.”

He’s smiling back now, infected by the sound of your laugh. A large gold-ringed hand comes up to wrap around yours on his chest, pinning it there. It’s warm. “Honestly, it’s a relief to see you again. I was so worried, all this time.”

Playfully, you asked, “You were worried I was mad at you this whole time? Seven months?”

“Sort of—yes, but more at the idea of you not coming back. Thought maybe you’d get offered a cozy desk job and like that more.”

“A desk job? And give up all the excitement? Not in a million years.” While chuckling at the idea, you miss the way his eyes soften and his hand lightly squeezes yours.

His eyes watch you gently. “It sounds silly now, yeah. Especially after seeing you again; I’d almost forgotten how lively you can be.”

With a hum, you stepped forward to look up at him, you were very close now. All it would take was to stand up on your toes and… “Was it boring without me?”

Tangerine seemed to notice the closeness as well, his breath was shaky. “Absolute torture, love.”

You brought your other hand up to rest against his chest. His heart was racing.

Moments before you were about to close the distance to his lips, he cleared his throat gently. “I just have one more question.”

Frowning a little at the way he looked suddenly perturbed, you asked, “What is it?”

“Who’s that fuckin’ prick you walked in with?”

The tiniest snort left you before you could hold it back. “Ladybug?”

“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck what his name is. What’s he doin’ bumpin’ elbows with you?”

Something about Tangerine’s accent getting thicker as he became more upset did things to you. Trying to hold back a few giggles, you spoke plainly. “He’s an old friend of mine—a colleague.”

Tangerine looked at you closely, as if this was a very serious matter, but there was a hint of a smile behind his eyes. “Oh, are you havin’ a laugh? I haven’t seen you in forever and you come in with some fuckin’ bloke, carryin’ on back and forth, as if that doesn’t drive me completely mad.”

By this point, you are laughing which only spurs him on. “Well, I’m glad that you’re havin’ a grand time of it. I’ve been in complete agony. Seven whole months, love. That’s how long I’ve had to wait to see you—and you walk in, smiling at him, and not me—"

The only thing that shuts him up is when you press your lips to his with a smile; whatever he was saying died off with the smallest of whines. You feel his strong hands move to wrap around the small of your back, pulling you closer as he moves his mouth back against yours. His mustache scratches your face but the warmth of his lips on yours drowns out the feeling.

He speaks in broken sentences between kisses, murmuring against your lips with a growl that vibrates through him. “Don’t ever—put your hands—on his chest—again.”

When Tangerine feels your slow smile through the kiss, he tries to pull away and give you another warning, but a gentle bite on his lower lip stops him.

You whisper a cheeky, “Yes, sir”, that has him groaning into you, his lips turn feverish. His tongue swipes at your bottom lip.

You’re about to open your mouth for him when you hear a loud cough to the side, down the corridor. Instantly you pull away, face flushing a scarlet red. You would have jumped back if Tangerine’s arms weren’t stubbornly still wrapped around you.

Ladybug watched with raised eyebrows and a grin, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Auctions’ over.”

Tangerine’s words angrily drown yours out. “Oi! Can’t you see we’re busy? Fuck off, ya cunt.”

Unwrapping his hands from around your back, you chide softly, “Be nice to Ladybug.”

His fingers grasp at your clothes, tugging in protest, as you move away and walk toward your friend. His glowering eyes burn into your back as Ladybug waggles his eyebrows.

With one last adoring look at Tangerine, that sends his heart fluttering, you wave. “I’ll see you around.”

. . .

“There a reason why you’re keen to rip the handle off that door, mate?”

Lemon eyes Tangerine closely as his brother yanks open the passenger side door, but says nothing in response. They stand on opposite sides of their car in the lot. From his side, Tangerine can see you chatting with that blond prat by your car.

When Lemon is met with silence, he tries again. “Did you get a chance to talk, at least?”

“We talked, yeah. It was good.”

Lemon wasn’t convinced. “Then why does it look like you’ve got a thunderstorm over your head?”

Tangerine doesn’t hear him as he watches you hug Ladybug goodbye. Lemon’s eyes follow his and suddenly he understands. He makes a noise. “Oh, come off it. I told you, they’re nothing more than friends.”

As you open the door to your own car, Tangerine catches your eyes. Pausing, you give him a delighted smile, then disappear as the door closes.

Lemon sighs, getting into the car. “You’ve got to talk to someone about your jealousy. I’m serious.”

As he ducks to sit down, Tangerine shoots back. “I don’t usually have a problem, it’s just the way that muppet grins—”

The Twins arguing is muffled incoherently to the outside world as Tangerine slams the door shut.

🍊 Tag list: @whatiswrongwithpeople @marquisdefrenchfry @everythingisspokenfortbh @titaniusanglesmith @sjprongs @piechans @cherrygayness

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theirnamesarekiklo

2 years ago

Creepy girl

Word Count: 961

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Sniffing, Is this kind of weird? Yes.

“Take off the mask”, you whispered out, voice cracking from how light it carried out.

A beat of silence, “No.”

You rolled your eyes and tilted your head, “You took it off before, whats it matter if you take it off now?’

He thought back to what you said, almost a full year ago. The first time he took off his mask in front of the whole team, you didn't look. You stared straight ahead and avoided meeting his eyes. Standing as stiff as a board, even when you reached out to grab a mask. Unlike the rest of the team, you never looked.

A few days later when he caught you alone, and managed to keep you talking longer than a few seconds, he slipped in the question. “Why didn't you look?”

To which you gave a simple reply, “Because I didn't want to see.”

He accepted your lack of interest and bid you a silent goodbye, but you continued to talk and stop him in his tracks before he could even reach the door to his room.

“I feel like if I see you, then you'll really see me too, and I don't want that.”

He paused and then nodded. Leaving you alone in the dark, desolate hall.

He thought back to what you said almost a full year ago, and thinks he finally understands what you meant, or at least somewhat in his own way.

He looks at you through the holes of his mask. You sit beside him on your knees, tilting your head awaiting his answer. The room is dark, no light except for moonlight coming through the window right behind him.

Your eyes are glossy from the few sips of booze you had, your eyelashes are clumped together, and you have a small hint of a smirk on your lips. He can not fathom what's going on in that head of yours.

“You said you didn't want to see it, what's with the sudden change of heart?”

Your ghost of a smirk fell and you bit your bottom lips, eyes drifting off his for only a second.

“I don't want to kiss fabric.”

An instant throb to his heart. A pulse of anxiety rocked through his body in a flash. And for a moment everything tingles. His cheeks, his forehead, his chest, all the way down to the tips of his fingers.

“Take it off”, you blinked.

He could see you were nervous. You always blinked so much when you were. And now you couldn't even sit still. You shifted into a criss cross position, no longer on your knees.

“No.”

“So you'll show everyone, just not me. Why?”

“I don't want to fall in love with you.”

He cringed at the sound of his own voice. Not believing the words that flew out of his mouth were his own. No, there's no way.

But it was the truth, he doesn't want to love you. He doesn't want to love anyone at all. He wants to be by himself, wallow in his puddle of self pity, and use his right hand for the rest of his life. He’s undeserving. He’s all dirty and used up, and you-

You are perfect.

He saw the way you paused. Struck frozen and uncomfortable at his sudden “outburst” so to say. He waited for you to console him and tell him it was alright to fall in love, and some of the fairytale bullshit you love to spew out. How he was “deserving” of it.

But you didn't. Instead you nodded, and smiled at him. A soft, understanding smile. The kind he just wanted to yell off your face.

“Then let me do something else”

“And what is that?”

“You'll think I'm weird.”

“What makes you think I don't already?”

You laughed and shook your head.

“Fine. You'll think I'm creepy.”

“Do your worst.”

He found himself waiting again. You hesitated for a moment before leaning forward, planting your face in the crook of his neck, and a hand on the back of his head.

And with that you took a deep breath in through your nose.

You smelled him.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

You pulled away and searched for his reaction. Sitting tight and stiff.

“Looks like you were right. You are one creepy girl.”

You laughed at his monotone attempt at a joke, and he basked in the sound of it.

There was another beat of silence, a deafening and awkward one at that.

“Seems it's only fair if I let you do it too.”

Again. An instant throb to his heart. A pulse of anxiety, a much longer lasting one coming in waves. His face felt hot. Jacuzzi hot.

You turned your head, exposing your neck. He leaned forward, his plastic mask felt cold against the side of your face and neck, but nonetheless you enjoyed every second of it.

Your stomach flipped, and you tensed up. Your breath caught in your throat and you looked off to the side.

Thoughts completely blank.

He drank in your scent, breathing in the skin on your neck.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

His gloved hand brought your hair towards his mask and he breathed in through his nose again, harder this time.

One second, two seconds, three seconds, four-

“What do I smell like?”

He spoke into your neck, “Vanilla, strawberries, girly shit.”

He finally pulled back, and looked at you. Barely making out your face, the moon must’ve shifted.

“What's it for?”, he asked.

“Smelling nice, i guess-“

“Smelling me, I mean. What the point?.”

You shrugged, “Something to remember you by. Something to think about later when you're not here.”

“You like the smell of rain and smoke?”

“I like the smell of you.”

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theirnamesarekiklo

2 years ago

i knew that my life was going to shift after hearing jake sully say "baby girl" for the first time

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theirnamesarekiklo

2 years ago

Tried my best to hit the brief on this one while not making it too long!

Tagging: @venusthepirate @lunarpansexual @sinfulrefugy

Reblogs appreciated, Requests open-let me know if you want to be tagged for future works!

(thank you for the gif coupleofruits!)

You remember when he was a teenager, still trying to grow that ridiculous moustache. Of course back then it was more like fluff that had gotten stuck on the top of his lip. He was full of a bravado he would eventually, mostly, age out of - though his penchant for stealing never went away.

He first approached you at some shitty little bar you both frequented back when you were in your youth. Far too full of swagger for your liking. As if he was certain he’d pull. You looked at him over the rim of your pint and your appraisal found him wanting.

“Alright, darling?”

You’d rolled your eyes.

“What do you want?”

“To buy you a drink.”

He was definitely not old enough to be in a pub, but you’d entertained him anyway. Let him get you another beer. Ignored when he reached over the bar and thieved a bag of peanuts. Listened to him as he blustered and bellowed about himself. Then put the empty glass down, patted him condescendingly on the cheek, and walked off while he was too stunned to know what to do.

You ran into him a couple of more times, before he started getting jobs. He was still as full of himself as he had been that night.

Then he killed someone for the first time.

You found him shaking in an alleyway on your way home, curled up foetus-like against the wall. White shirt stained red and next to a pool of blood. You groaned and, against your better judgement, trudged over to him.

He looked up at you with wide, wild eyes. The eyes of a man who hadn’t felt it sink in yet.

“Where’s Lemon?”

You liked Lemon, actually. Lemon was a laugh. Liked Thomas the Tank Engine a bit too much but hey, there are worse flaws for a bloke to have.

“He’s getting rid of the body.”

A long, drawn out sigh that you forced between your teeth.

And then he was in your flat, you were making him a cup of tea and helping him clean up. His hands still shook and he spilled some of his builder’s brew on your carpet. Your carpet, however, had seen a lot worse, and you weren’t upset about that.

“You’ll get used to it. The first one is the hardest.”

You could see he doubted that, but he let you take off his knuckledusters and clean them down for him. Your fingers were surprisingly gentle on his own. As if he hadn’t just become a killer.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, love.”

And from then on you really ran in the same circles. You knew he found out that you were right. The first one was the hardest. Because you saw him take his next life, some cunt who was stalking you home one night with a knife, and there wasn’t a flicker of regret in his eyes.

As the two of you got older the severity of the jobs you were both sent on worsened. It was a good thing he had Lemon by his side. The two of them would not shut the fuck up with their bickering, but they kept each other grounded.

You? You worked alone. Didn’t mean when you would bump into them on an assignment you weren’t happy to see them, though.

One night you found yourself in a little hole-in-the-wall joint in Dublin. Small place, crammed full. He was standing so close the two of you were touching hips.

“Let me get you a drink.”

His voice was a low rumble in your ear.

An eye roll that was practically second nature when he was involved.

“One drink, Tangerine. And no more.”

And that’s what it was. That’s what it always was.

Outside the train windows, Japan flies by. He’s in the middle of berating Lemon for not reading the briefing when he sees you. He stops mid-sentence and lets his mouth hang open.

“What?” Lemon asks, furrowing his brow and following his brother’s gaze. When he clocks you, he lets out an incredulous little laugh. “Ha! What are the fucking chances?”

Tangerine doesn’t stop to engage in banter. Instead, he’s on his feet, striding down the carriage towards you.

You’re looking through the baggage. You don’t realise he’s there until he’s next to you, and he makes you jump so hard that you almost yelp.

“Tangerine!” you laugh, amazed. He’d never admit it, but he feels his heartbeat quicken in his chest. Him. You’re pleased to see him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Maybe it’s the fact, even in the harsh lighting of the train, you can’t fail to look fucking enchanting - or maybe it’s because you’ve always had a special place in his soul from the day you first met in that bar. But either way, he’s entirely serious when he speaks.

“Let me buy you a drink. A proper one. Actually, fuck it - let me take you out for dinner.” He’s not begging, but he’s not far from it. You blink in surprise. And for the first time you consider it.

“Alright, Tangerine. Alright.”

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theirnamesarekiklo

2 years ago

I think the only way I’ll live to the end of the month is if people start writing sully family x kid that was born after lo’ak and it’ll truly save me and cure my father issues if there’s heavy loving father Jake Sully in them.

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