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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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Guns and Roses: Chapter 8

here she iss eeeek insert monkey hiding emoji im scaredddd of yallll haha side note - i lowkey picture Caleb as Adam Brody from Nobody wants this but imagine him as you wish

previous chapters

The air thickened, suffocating and heavy, as Tommy’s words sank deep, each one like a leaden weight dropping into the quiet depths of your mind.

Joel was gone.

The world seemed to tilt, a hollow ache unfurling within your chest, spreading with a pang that left you breathless. Just yesterday, he had been here, a solid, reassuring presence beside you. How was it possible that he had simply… vanished?

His warmth clung to you, hauntingly vivid—the scent of his worn flannel lingering in the air like a ghost. You could still feel the subtle intimacy of that final night together, the easy quiet that had stretched between you beneath a sky scattered with stars. His shoulder had pressed against yours in quiet solidarity, his steady breaths breaking the silence, grounding you in a way you hadn’t fully appreciated until now.

Every detail replayed, sharpened by his absence, each memory carving a deeper hollow within you. He had spoken softly, apologizing, explaining, baring a part of himself he rarely showed, and you had made a promise—a desperate promise that he wouldn’t lose you.

And now, with that promise hanging in the still, empty air, you felt like you could hardly breathe.

Late last night, he’d lain beside you, his hand warm and grounding on your arm, each gentle stroke of his fingers slow and tender, as if he was memorizing the shape of you. Those soft, lingering touches left you breathless, daring you to imagine a world where this could last—where he might finally be yours.

Now, that memory felt fragile, like something barely grasped from the edges of a fading dream, slipping further away the more desperately you tried to hold onto it. The warmth, the tenderness, the quiet promise nestled in his touch—it was all dissolving into something hazy and unreachable, leaving only the ache of his absence behind.

Questions surged, one after another, relentless and raw.

Why now? Why after all the moments that tethered you to him? Had you misstepped, said something to push him away, or was it something left unspoken?

Or, perhaps, had this always been inevitable, a slow unraveling that you’d been too afraid to see?

Your voice wavered, a faint tremor betraying the fragile hope you clung to—a hope that, somehow, this was all just a mistake.

A simple misunderstanding.

Maybe Tommy had it wrong. Maybe Joel was only out gathering supplies or down at the market, grabbing something for dinner, about to walk back through the door with that familiar, unhurried stride. Any moment now, you told yourself, as if willing him into existence.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” The question slipped from your lips, barely more than a whisper, hanging thick in the quiet air. The weight of it lingered, pressing into the silence, as though waiting—just as you were—for an answer that might make everything right again.

Tommy’s face tightened, worry etching lines deep into his brow, his gaze heavy with a fear he was barely holding back.

“He left early this morning,” Tommy murmured, his voice low and thick with a heaviness he couldn’t quite hide. “Just before dawn. The folks at the gate saw him with Ellie, said it looked like they were headed out on a quick supply run.”

He paused, swallowing as his eyes drifted past you, as though searching for some unseen answer. “But… they haven’t come back. Hours have gone by, and their places are empty—Ellie’s room, Joel’s…” His words trailed off, and his gaze shifted, a shadow of dread flickering across his face. “I don’t see any of his things downstairs. Not a trace.”

Each word settled into the silence between you, the weight of what he wasn’t saying sinking in, thick and foreboding.

Your heart seemed to stop, caught in a painful, suspended beat, as though time itself had faltered. The familiar sight of Joel’s worn work boots by the door, his rifle resting against the wall, his jacket—a constant, comforting fixture draped in your doorway—was gone. The absence felt like a wound, a piece of him violently torn from the space you’d shared, leaving nothing but a hollow, unsettling silence in its place.

Tommy paced the room, his shoulders rigid, his eyes locked on the floor as if searching for some hidden answer in the worn planks. “Did he… did he say anything to you? Act… different?” His voice broke, the words laced with a frantic desperation he couldn’t quite mask, each syllable threaded with a rising panic he fought to keep at bay.

“No… no, he didn’t say anything,” you stammered, the words barely escaping as panic coiled tighter around your throat.

Tommy’s gaze softened, but there was something raw in his eyes, a disbelief that seemed to waver, shaking the resolve he was so desperately clinging to. “Joel… he doesn’t just disappear like that. Not him.” His voice cracked, the tension in his tone betraying the fear he tried to bury beneath his words. “We’ve already got people out looking, but…”

“What if… what if something happened to them?” The question slipped out, trembling, every syllable weighted with the dark possibility you’d been trying to keep at bay.

“Hey.” Tommy stepped closer, his hand settling firmly on your shoulder, a solid, grounding presence amid the chaos spiraling through your mind. “We don’t know that,” he said, his voice calm but charged with urgency. “They’re tough—you know they are. But we need to move, and we need to move fast.”

A surge of determination flooded through you, sweeping away the fear that had nearly anchored you in place. You took a steadying breath, nodding to Tommy, and followed him out of the room, each step quick and resolute despite the dull ache pulsing through your leg. The discomfort faded into the background, pushed aside by the urgency driving you forward—there was no space for weakness, not now.

As you stepped outside, the sun had already dipped low, casting a fierce, amber glow over the horizon. The world was bathed in a fading warmth, a fleeting light slipping into shadow as dusk descended, cloaking everything in quiet anticipation.

No matter where they were, no matter how far you’d have to go, you would find them—no matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice. Joel had been your anchor in the storm, the steady, unbreakable presence who had saved you more times than you could count. He’d been there, unwavering, his voice guiding you through the darkest nights, his strength carrying your burdens when you could no longer bear them alone.

Now, it was your turn to be relentless. You owed him that much.

•••

You and Tommy rode through the wilderness on horseback, moving silently under the cover of night. The rhythmic hoofbeats thudded against the ground, muffled by a thick layer of fallen leaves, the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. The moon hung high above, casting silver shadows over the trees, but offered little warmth, and even less comfort. There was no calling out, no shouting their names; a single echo could draw attention from raiders—or worse, infected lurking in the woods, hidden in the inky dark.

The hours dragged on, each minute blurring into the next, stretching into an eternity as you scoured the trail. Your flashlight cut through the dark, casting narrow beams over twisted branches, scattered leaves, the faint outlines of abandoned cabins and crumbling fences—yet there was nothing.

No trace of Joel or Ellie. You searched desperately for any sign: footprints, a drop of blood, anything to tell you they’d passed this way.

The air bit into your skin, each gust of wind stinging your cheeks, but you barely registered the cold. It felt distant, insignificant against the gnawing dread growing steadily in your chest. With every step, the silence pressed heavier, yet you refused to slow, driven by a single thought—finding them, whatever it took.

Tommy rode slightly ahead, his gaze darting to the shadows that moved along with the trees. He would glance back at you now and then, his expression a mix of determination and worry, as if he shared the same stubborn resolve but feared what he might find—or not find—in the end.

Each mile you covered without a trace of them chipped away at your hope, your initial conviction giving way to an aching uncertainty. You felt your heart race with each bend in the trail, hoping, praying that around this corner, or maybe the next, you’d see them, that familiar, solid figure of Joel watching over Ellie as he always did. But every turn led only to more shadows, the dark swallowing each ounce of hope you tried to cling to.

The cold seeped deeper into your bones as the hours passed, a slow, creeping chill that even the steady, jostling movement of the horse couldn’t shake. Your grip on the reins tightened, knuckles white, muscles tense as you fought to keep moving, refusing to let your exhaustion show.

But as the night wore on and your flashlight flickered in and out, casting faint shadows along the trail, a heavy realization settled over you.

You were running out of time.

•••

You found yourself back at Tommy and Maria’s house, the quiet weight of the late hour pressing down on everything. Maria stayed close, her hand a gentle but firm presence on your shoulder as she guided you to sit, her movements tender. “Just take a moment, sweetheart,” she murmured, pressing a warm mug of tea into your trembling hands. Her voice was low, soft as a lullaby, each word laced with quiet reassurance. But the comfort felt thin, hollow—a shadow of solace in the absence of the one thing you truly needed.

A surge of frustration flared within you, hot and suffocating, threatening to consume the fragile composure you clung to. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, blurring the dim room as the questions swirled, relentless and unforgiving.

Why did he leave? Was he hurt? Dead?

The uncertainty gnawed at you, twisting deeper with every silent second, each tick of the clock amplifying the aching void he’d left behind.

“I just… I don’t understand why they’d leave like that,” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely more than a fractured breath.

Tommy stood in the hallway, pacing once more, his footsteps a muted rhythm against the walls, each step laced with his own silent worry.

Maria settled beside you, her hand resting warmly on your shoulder, an anchor in the swirling tide of your worry. “I know, honey,” she murmured, her voice soft, filled with a compassion that felt both comforting and achingly bittersweet.

Her gaze held yours for a moment, then she offered a small, reassuring smile. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? Just for a bit, hm? Give yourself a chance to breathe.”

You managed a nod, unable to find words past the tightness lodged in your throat.

Deep down, you knew Maria was right—you needed rest, a sliver of calm to steady yourself. But as you lifted the mug to your lips, the warmth did little to soften the hollow ache gnawing inside you. The tea, the gentle comfort, none of it could fill the void left by his absence.

All you wanted—all you needed—was Joel.

•••

You tried to eat, but each bite felt like swallowing shards of glass, the anxiety coiled tight around your throat, refusing to loosen. Staying at Tommy and Maria’s only magnified the loneliness; every quiet, familiar corner of their home served as a relentless reminder of Joel’s absence.

The routine you’d fallen into with him—those stolen glances over morning coffee, the quiet, easy conversations under starlit skies, the warmth of his presence near you—now felt like memories from another life.

It had been a week now. A week of riding along rugged trails, combing through barren fields and dense forests, silently calling out into the dark, praying for even a flicker of his shadow.

Hours spent on horseback, searching until your legs burned, and nights of restless tossing and turning in a bed that felt all the more empty and cold.

Every night, you and Tommy would return empty-handed, the weight of defeat pressing down on both of you as you rode back in silence. And every night, Maria would be there, a cup of tea in hand, her eyes soft with worry, her presence unwavering. She’d sit beside you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder, a steadying presence as she tried to lend you some of her quiet strength.

“Sweetie,” she’d murmur, her voice a soothing balm against the raw ache in your chest, “I’m sure he’s fine. Joel’s the toughest person I know. He’ll come back any day now.” The words would change, the phrasing slightly different each time, but the message stayed the same—that he was fine, that he’d come back.

But it wasn’t enough.

But you shook your head, anguish spilling from your heart and filling the space between you. “You don’t know that, Maria.” The words came out sharper than you intended, tinged with a desperation you couldn’t hold back, fear and sorrow woven into every syllable.

As the first tear slipped down your cheek, the floodgates opened, and you felt the weight of it all—the fear, the unanswered questions, the hollow ache of his absence—crash down on you.

The world felt like it was closing in, darkness pressing against the last flicker of faith within you. But even as you trembled, heart aching with an unspoken plea, you refused to let go of that hope, dim but unyielding.

You couldn’t lose him—not now, not after everything.

•••

Six months.

Six months had crawled by—a slow, painful stretch marked by the fading of summer’s warmth and the creeping chill of winter. The once-vibrant air, alive with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and laughter echoing through Jackson’s streets, had turned crisp and silent, as if holding its breath.

The landscape shifted, the lush greens giving way to brittle browns and steely grays, trees stripped bare, their branches stark against the somber sky. Snow draped the ground, muffling the sounds of daily life.

Christmas was approaching, but the usual festive spirit was dampened to you, swallowed up by the bleakness of winter. Jackson itself had changed; the streets that once pulsed with the warmth of camaraderie now felt strangely deserted, the weight of the cold driving everyone indoors.

Flickering lights in windows were the only hints of life in the wintry gloom, a reminder that, even in this frozen quiet, people clung to routine. Each day, the sun rose half-heartedly, casting a pale, listless glow that barely seeped through the thick, oppressive clouds.

Since Joel and Ellie had left, you’d been staying with Maria and Tommy. It was an unspoken agreement, a shared understanding that you all needed each other to get through this. Returning to your own place felt unbearable. You’d stop by now and then, just to keep things in order, but the emptiness inside those walls weighed too heavily on you.

Every corner of your home seemed haunted by memories of him—the kitchen where he’d quietly worked, assembling dinners with a surprising tenderness, the living room where he’d settled close beside you, his quiet presence filling the space.

And your bed, where traces of his warmth lingered like an imprint on your heart. The silence in those rooms was razor-sharp, each echo of him too raw, too overwhelming to face alone.

From your window, the world seemed a reflection of your own heart: numb, blanketed in a persistent, aching silence. You watched as Christmas lights went up in Jackson, their soft twinkling swallowed by the heavy, endless gray, like distant stars in an unyielding void.

You’d been drifting in a numb haze, the days blurring together into a colorless stretch of time. A heavy fog wrapped around your thoughts, dulling every sensation until nothing felt real. Each morning bled into the next, weeks passing without distinction as you moved through life on autopilot.

You ate, you slept, you helped Maria with whatever needed doing. You went on patrol nearly every other day, half for distraction, half—though you didn’t admit it to yourself —in the quiet, desperate hope of catching some trace of them. But nothing held meaning. Each task was empty, a hollow ritual performed on borrowed time.

Memories drifted through your mind, stolen glances and shared laughter slipping away like fragile snowflakes, melting before you could hold onto them. The quiet conversations, his voice low and steady, the way his eyes would soften just for you—each memory surfaced only to fade, leaving behind an ache that settled deep in your bones, a constant, unyielding reminder of everything you’d lost.

Every time the gate creaked open, your heart leapt to your throat, a brief, painful surge of hope that maybe—just maybe—it was him. You’d rush to the window, breath caught, anticipation tightening in your chest.

But each time, the flicker of hope shattered, leaving you with the heavy, familiar ache of disappointment. The emptiness that settled in your stomach felt like a lead weight, dragging you back into a despair that felt inescapable.

Joel was everywhere and nowhere, haunting the edges of Jackson like a lingering shadow, an echo reverberating through a hollow space. Each corner of this town held pieces of him, fragments woven into the fabric of your days, reminders of a bond now stretched across an impossible distance.

You saw him in the stables, the scent of hay and leather stirring memories of his quiet strength, his gentle hands calming restless horses. In the dining hall, a glimpse of an empty chair tugged painfully at you, bringing back the rough warmth of his laughter, the way his gaze would linger on you just a moment too long when he thought no one else was watching.

Walking past the workshop, the faint hum of tools conjured memories of him bent over his work, sleeves rolled up, the intensity in his eyes softened only by the rare, almost shy smiles he’d save just for you. Even in the simple rhythm of Jackson’s streets, you felt his presence—a figure rounding the corner, a low voice in the distance, each one a cruel mirage, dissolving the moment you got too close.

He was everywhere and nowhere, an ache that settled deep in your bones, a ghost that followed you, unshakable, as though he was still here, just out of reach. Every memory sharpened the yearning, the quiet desperation to have him back beside you, to feel his hand graze yours, to see him in flesh and blood rather than in the flickering fragments that now consumed you.

As snow drifted gently outside, blanketing the world in a pristine layer of white, you allowed yourself a moment to slip back into memories. Outside, the world lay silent and frozen, but in your heart, a faint warmth lingered, a stubborn ember that refused to be extinguished.

Even in the heart of winter, a flicker of hope persisted, like a quiet promise that spring would come again.

•••

Maria’s figure had transformed, her belly now round with the weight of new life as she neared her last trimester. You could see the way Tommy clung to the anticipation of his child’s arrival as if it were a lifeline, his focus locked on the future as a shield against the shadows that had crept into your lives since Joel and Ellie’s departure.

The excitement of a new beginning felt bittersweet, casting a harsh light on the hollow space left by Joel’s absence. You saw Tommy’s attempts to mask his worry in forced laughter, the strain showing in his eyes, his gaze clouded with an unshakable concern that he carried silently, like an invisible scar.

Months ago, you’d both stopped mentioning Joel, a silent understanding forming between you and Tommy. Hope had become a delicate thing, slipping through your fingers like sand. Instead of grappling with the gnawing possibility of Joel’s fate, you filled the empty spaces with small talk, with musings over nursery colors and baby names, each word a distraction, a balm against the ache of what might be true.

With your leg fully healed, you spent your days at Maria's side, helping her with tasks that had grown too challenging in her final trimester. The rhythm of daily chores brought a small comfort, a steadying anchor in a sea of uncertainty, as you focused on caring for someone else.

Yet, beneath the surface, an unease shadowed your every action, a quiet tension in the space between you and Maria. You both fell into an unspoken game of play-pretend, smiles and small laughter filling the silences, as though you could craft a reality where Joel’s absence didn’t weigh so heavily.

But you both knew, deep down, that everything had changed. Life had shifted in a way that couldn’t be undone. Each meal prepared, every chore tended to, reminded you of the hollow truth: Joel could be gone. He might never come back. And the thought was like a wound that never fully healed, a grief that echoed in the quiet moments—a phantom ache for someone who felt as much a part of you as your own heartbeat, but who remained painfully out of reach.

Helping Maria set up the nursery, sorting through baby clothes and arranging tiny blankets, you often found your gaze drifting to the window, half-expecting to see him coming up the path, his familiar stride cutting through the cold. But the streets remained empty, the winter air heavy with silence.

In those moments, the world felt impossibly vast and indifferent, a stark reminder of all you had lost and all that might never return.

•••

It was 2 a.m. when you were jolted awake by a scream that tore through the stillness of the night. Your heart pounded as you leapt out of bed, rushing down the hall toward Maria’s room, adrenaline surging through your veins. Tommy was there by her side, wide-eyed and tense, his body coiled with worry.

“It’s happening!” Maria gasped, her voice raw with both pain and urgency. Her face was pale, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination as she gripped the edge of the bed, her breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts.

“Oh, God. Okay!” you stammered, fighting to steady yourself against the wave of panic surging up, clawing at your composure. “I’ll—I’ll get the doctor!” The words tumbled out, breathless and unsteady, as you turned, urgency propelling you forward even as fear tightened around your chest.

You sprinted down the stairs and out into the freezing night, mind racing with everything you’d read and rehearsed. The signs of labor had seemed so straightforward in theory—contractions building gradually, giving everyone time to prepare.

But this was nothing like you’d imagined. It was sudden and overwhelming, every moment infused with urgency and the weight of what was to come.

The doctor—the same woman who had once treated your leg—lived just a few houses down. You sprinted through the silent streets of Jackson, the night air sharp and biting against your skin. Maria’s panicked cries echoed in your mind, propelling you forward, blocking out the cold and exhaustion.

Within twenty minutes, you returned, breathless, leading the doctor into Maria’s room. The doctor moved with calm efficiency, her gaze sharp as she took in the scene. “How are you doing, Maria?” she asked, her voice steady and grounded, a quiet force amid the chaos.

Maria gritted her teeth, clutching the bed as another contraction wracked her body, her face twisted in pain. “I think my contractions are getting stronger,” she managed between labored breaths, her fingers gripping the sheets until her knuckles whitened.

The doctor nodded, stepping closer. “Alright, let’s get you comfortable, and I’ll check your progress,” she said, her voice soft yet unwavering. She spoke with the practiced calm of someone who’d seen it all, grounding the tension in the room with her presence.

You took a step back, your heart pounding as you watched the scene unfold, an electric mixture of anxiety and awe buzzing in your veins. Maria was about to bring a new life into the world, and you were here to witness it, to support her through this momentous night.

•••

The hours bled together in a haze of low murmurs, Maria’s labored breaths, and the doctor’s steady, calming instructions as he guided her through each wave of pain.

You stayed close by Maria’s side, whispering words of encouragement, while Tommy held her hand tightly, both of them drawing strength from each other in those final, agonizing moments. The doctor’s usual brisk demeanor softened, her voice now warm and steady as she guided Maria through each push, her confidence a steady beacon in the room.

And then, with a final, guttural cry that seemed to echo from the depths of her soul, Maria summoned the last of her strength. The room fell silent as the doctor lifted a tiny, wriggling baby into the air, and in that instant, time seemed to stand still. A swell of warmth flooded your chest, catching in your throat as you took in the sight.

The baby was beautiful—a perfect blend of Maria and Tommy. She let out a small, tremulous cry, a sound so pure it filled the room with an unmistakable sense of life, breaking the stillness with its sweetness and bringing tears to your eyes.

“Congratulations!” the doctor announced, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s a girl!”

Maria sank back against the pillows, her face flushed with exhaustion but glowing with joy, tears slipping down her cheeks as she gazed down at her daughter for the first time. Tommy was at her side in an instant, his eyes filled with wonder and love as he looked at his family, a raw, unfiltered happiness radiating from him.

As you stepped back to give them space, a soft smile tugged at your lips. The room was filled with an overwhelming sense of love and hope, a quiet magic blooming amidst the chaos of the world outside. This was a moment you knew you’d carry with you always—a reminder that even in the darkest times, life had a way of breaking through.

You stayed with them, entranced by the tiny miracle before you. The baby’s delicate features, her tiny hands wrapped around Maria’s fingers, seemed almost too precious for this world.

“She’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, eyes fixed on the little girl nestled securely in her mother’s arms.

Maria looked up, her eyes gleaming with warmth and affection as she held her daughter close. “Do you want to hold her, Auntie?” she asked, her voice gentle, the title wrapping around your heart like an embrace.

Your breath caught, and you nodded, managing a quiet, “Yes, please.”

Maria carefully passed her daughter into your arms, and you marveled at the weight of her, so light yet so full of promise. The soft fabric of the blanket brushed against your skin as you cradled her close, an overwhelming wave of love sweeping over you.

“Hey there, little one,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper as you looked down into her wide, curious eyes. “Welcome to the world.”

Your heart ached in ways you couldn’t quite define—a bittersweet mixture of joy and longing as you cradled the baby close. She was warm, her tiny breaths soft and steady against your chest, and you wished with every fiber of your being that Joel could be here, standing beside you, sharing in this tender moment.

You pictured his face softening, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he nudged you gently. “Well, would you look at that—you’re Auntie now,” he’d murmur, his voice soft and warm. The thought sent a tender ache through your chest, filling you with a longing for a moment that felt so close, yet achingly out of reach.

You looked up at Maria and Tommy, their faces bathed in the soft glow of love and pride as they watched you holding their daughter. For them, this was a fresh start, a new beginning to bring light into the shadows that had long lingered.

As you glanced back down at the little girl in your arms, a gentle realization settled over you—despite the ache in your heart, despite the empty space Joel had left, you were grateful to be here, to be part of this beautiful chapter in their lives.

•••

The makeshift Christmas market in Jackson was alive with the vibrant energy of the season, the air filled with laughter and the gentle hum of holiday cheer. People moved between stalls, exchanging goods and warm greetings, their voices blending with the soft music drifting from a nearby record player.

The winter sun hung low, casting a golden hue over the scene, while the crisp air carried the scents of woodsmoke, pine, and the sweet spices of freshly baked treats.

Stalls were draped in strings of scavenged twinkling lights, each one a small beacon against the stark backdrop of winter, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the world outside had faded away, leaving only this small oasis of warmth and celebration.

That’s when you first saw him.

He was new to Jackson, having arrived only a few weeks before with a small group of survivors. His arrival had been the talk of the town, a blend of excitement and wariness threading through the community.

You’d caught snippets of conversation about them—stories of their long, treacherous journey, of how Tommy and some others had found them during a routine patrol and brought them to the safety of Jackson.

As you stood by a stall cluttered with recipe cards, your mind drifted, fingers skimming over options—cherry tart, pecan pie, a rich stew. You were lost in thought, weighing the choices for Christmas dinner with Maria, Tommy, and the new baby.

The gentle hum of the crowd faded into a quiet murmur as you sifted through the recipes, each one conjuring an image of their cozy home filled with laughter, the warmth of the fire casting a golden glow over familiar faces, the simple comfort of a shared meal.

Then, without warning, you felt a presence beside you.

“Tough decision,” a voice remarked, his voice warm and casual, drawing you out of your thoughts. Startled, you looked up, meeting his gaze.

He stood tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy confidence that immediately set him apart in the bustling crowd. Dark curly hair framed his face, tousled while his clothes—faded denim, a well-worn jumper, and scuffed boots—carried the unmistakable signs of long days on the road.

“Oh—sorry?” you replied, a little thrown by his sudden appearance.

“The recipe cards,” he explained, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Seems like a big decision.”

You laughed softly, feeling a bit self-conscious as you kept your gaze fixed on the table. “Oh, right. Yeah, well… I’m a terrible cook, so I’m not sure these will do me much good,” you murmured, a small, nervous smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, a deep, easy sound that wrapped around you. “Believe me, you’re not alone. Once, I managed to go a whole week without dinner because I accidentally set my kitchen on fire trying to make spaghetti.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the mental image pulling a grin from you as you looked up at him. “A whole week? That’s impressive, in a way.”

He shrugged, his grin widening. “What can I say? Survival skills might be high, but cooking…not so much.” He shrugged, a glint of humor in his eyes. “I figure if it’s not completely inedible, it’s a win.”

There was something refreshingly genuine in his easygoing manner, a warmth that made you feel instantly at ease. For a moment, the chaos of the world outside faded, leaving only the twinkling lights, the soft hum of holiday cheer, and a stranger who felt oddly familiar.

A smile crept onto your face, the sheer absurdity of it all tugging laughter from somewhere deep within. It bubbled up, unexpected and warm, filling you with a lightness you hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages.

For the first time in months, the weight of your memories loosened its hold, if only for a moment, allowing you to breathe freely. You hadn’t laughed like this in so long—it was as if a piece of yourself had finally broken through the clouds.

“I’m Caleb,” he said, offering his hand with an easy smile that radiated genuine warmth.

You took his hand, feeling the steady strength in his grip as you introduced yourself. There was something in his gaze—an openness, a sincerity—that sent a quiet warmth through your chest.

He looked at you not with the guarded wariness so common in Jackson, but with the unmistakable ease of someone who was simply, honestly, glad to meet you.

For that brief moment, as your hands met, a quiet spark flickered between you—a connection so subtle it was almost unspoken, a warmth that lingered just beneath the surface, delicate yet undeniable.

But with that glimmer of warmth came a piercing pang of guilt—a hollow ache for Joel that twisted deep in your chest. Memories of him surfaced unbidden, vivid and relentless. The feeling of his hand on yours, rough and reassuring, the quiet strength in his touch—it all washed over you, an aching reminder of what was missing.

You shook your head slightly, as if somehow, with that small motion, you could dispel the thoughts, push them back into the shadows. But they lingered, stubborn and insistent, weaving themselves into every quiet corner of your mind.

“I should probably head out,” you said, your voice steady, though memories tugged at you, filling you with a sudden urge to escape. You forced a polite smile, masking the quiet turmoil churning beneath the surface. “It was nice meeting you, Caleb.”

The words felt hollow, yet you held them there.

“Same here,” he replied, his smile warm and sincere. There was something in his gaze, a friendliness that reached beyond mere courtesy.

You turned to leave, offering a quick wave as you walked away, Caleb’s smile lingering in your mind.

•••

Over the next few months, Caleb became an unexpected constant in your life, seamlessly weaving himself into the rhythm of your new reality. His presence was a quiet comfort—a steady, familiar face that always seemed to show up when you needed it most, as though he had an instinct for the moments when silence weighed a little too heavily.

He and Tommy had quickly struck up a friendship, their bond forming over early morning patrols and long days in the fields. They’d joke about the little things—who had the better aim, who could lift more, trading stories of life before and after Jackson.

Caleb had this easygoing charm that drew Tommy in, a quiet humor that paired perfectly with Tommy’s unguarded nature. Soon enough, they were inseparable, working together to repair fences or sharing a drink at day’s end, laughter echoing into the quiet streets.

For you, it was comforting, even endearing, to watch them fall into step with each other. You soon found Caleb everywhere—At the clinic, he’d be there often, volunteering to sort supplies or assist with whatever needed doing.

Sometimes you’d catch glimpses of him at the library during storytime, surrounded by children, his voice rising and falling with animated enthusiasm as he brought storybook characters to life. His laughter, bright and infectious, filled the quiet spaces, drawing smiles from even the sternest faces.

And at the stables, he’d be coaxing a skittish horse with gentle patience, exchanging quiet smiles with the ranch hands as he worked, his presence a calming influence on both people and animals alike. He was kind, always there with a helping hand or a lighthearted joke, his warmth settling into your life like a gentle balm.

As weeks turned to months, you found yourself looking forward to these moments. In his presence, you felt an unexpected ease, a sense of reprieve from the lingering sorrow tied to memories of Joel.

Soon, he became a regular presence at your table, joining you, Tommy, and Maria for dinners that filled the house with shared stories, the warmth of food, and laughter echoing through the walls.

One evening, you watched as Caleb gently cradled Tommy and Maria’s baby in his arms for the first time. His expression softened, wonder and tenderness in his eyes as he gazed down at her tiny face. “I’ve always wanted kids,” he admitted quietly, his voice filled with a sincerity that struck a chord within you. He held her with a tenderness that was unmistakable, every little sound she made bringing a soft smile to his lips.

Yet, even within the warmth of these moments, a bittersweet ache would surface—soft but unrelenting, a reminder of Joel that lingered in your heart. You’d imagine him with the baby, envisioning how he’d hold her with surprising gentleness, his rough hands steady and protective, softened by a past that had once made him a father. You could almost see him cradling her close, the hard edges of his face easing, his expression slipping into a rare tenderness, a quiet gentleness breaking through the weathered lines he so often wore.

The thought would catch you off guard, slipping into your mind like a familiar melody, stirring memories you’d tried to bury. No matter how much warmth surrounded you, a part of you still felt that quiet pull toward the one person who remained just out of reach.

•••

One evening, you found yourself beside Maria in the warm glow of the fire, its flickering light casting gentle shadows across the room. The crackling flames filled the quiet, and Maria cradled her baby, the soft coos and gurgles creating a soothing backdrop. You held a drink in your hand, but your gaze was fixed on the hypnotic dance of the flames, lost in thought.

Maria’s gentle voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, sweetie?” she asked, her tone soft, though a hint of concern threaded through her words. You turned to her, pausing, the weight of everything settling a little heavier in that moment.

She asked you this question often, and every time, you’d give her the same small, unconvincing smile.

You’d lie, and she’d accept it, knowing but never pushing, letting you hold your pain close.

But today was different.

Today, you couldn’t bring yourself to smile or hide behind hollow reassurances. Today, the ache felt too raw, too close to the surface, and you found yourself unable to pretend.

“No,” you murmured, barely audible over the fire. “Maria, I miss him.”

Maria’s face softened, her eyes reflecting an understanding that only deepened the ache in your chest.

“I know you do,” she said quietly. She hesistared before continuing “But, honey, life’s gonna move on. You deserve happiness—even if it feels complicated right now.” Her words hung in the air, gentle but firm, a reminder that Caleb’s presence, his growing affection, hadn’t gone unnoticed by her.

Her words settled heavily within you, undeniable yet daunting. “But I don’t think I’m ready to let him go,” you admitted, voice tight with conflict. “I don’t know how to move forward without.. without feeling like I’m leaving him behind.”

Maria leaned in, her gaze steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to rush. But don’t let fear hold you back from living. Joel wouldn’t want that for you. You deserve to be happy—even if it feels impossible right now.”

Her words struck a chord, resonating with a truth you hadn’t let yourself fully face. But the thought of moving on, of letting go of the hope you clung to, tightened in your chest like a vice. “What if I take that step and… regret it?” you whispered, a tremor of uncertainty in your voice.

Maria’s hand drifted to her baby’s head, her fingers brushing over the soft hair as if grounding herself in the love and life she held. “Life’s too short to live by ‘what ifs,’” she said gently, her voice filled with conviction.

“Taking a step forward doesn’t mean forgetting him. It just means you’re choosing to live, even with the pain. You’re allowed to find happiness again.”

•••

The night they left

You had fallen fast asleep beside him, blissfully unaware of Joel's watchful gaze. As he lay there, his mind was tangled with thoughts of the evening—the way you’d looked up at the stars, your face softly illuminated, a quiet glow in your eyes as you’d whispered promises meant just for him.

He’d finally lowered his guard, letting slip the long-buried apology along with a hint of the feelings he’d guarded so fiercely. In return, you had placed your hand in his, a quiet promise that you wouldn’t leave. The warmth of your touch anchored him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed, filling the empty spaces he’d carried within him for years.

In that moment, lying beside you, Joel felt something he hadn’t in a long time—relief. The years of guilt, the weight of holding his feelings in check, all eased in the comfort of your presence. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel at peace, letting go, if only for a night, of the burdens he’d carried alone for so long.

Slowly, he reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering as he gently traced circles at your temple, as if etching this moment into his memory. He wanted to tell you how much you meant to him, how your quiet promise had started to ease the weight in his chest. He ached to close the distance, to press his lips softly against yours—but he held back, waiting for the right moment, fighting the pull that had never felt stronger than tonight.

And he let himself smile, knowing you wanted it too. You stirred something deep within him, a feeling nestled low in his stomach, reminding him just how far out of his depth he was.

But then he froze, hearing movement downstairs. A sharp knock at the door cut through the silence, urgent and relentless.

He squinted at the dim-lit clock, barely making out the time—4 a.m.

Jesus Christ, had he really been awake this long? And who the hell would be knocking at this hour?

With a sigh, he slipped out of bed, glancing back at you once more, his heart twisting at the thought of leaving you, even for a moment. He moved quietly, careful not to wake you, and made his way downstairs, each knock echoing louder as he approached.

As he opened the door, he found Ellie standing there, pale and shaken, her backpack slung over her shoulder, eyes wide with a fear he’d rarely seen in her.

“Ellie?” he whispered, dread pooling in his stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“They know,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “They know about me, Joel. They know I could be the cure. And they’re coming. They know I’m here in Jackson.”

Joel’s blood turned to ice. He glanced back at the staircase he’d descended just minutes ago, the image of you peacefully asleep etched sharply in his mind. Then he looked at Ellie, his mind racing.

Joel’s jaw tightened, memories of Sarah flashing painfully through his mind, the ache of that loss still raw, still haunting, even after all these years. Protecting Ellie felt was a second chance—something he couldn’t afford to lose.

He looked back toward the stairs, a silent vow etched in his mind—he’d return to you and explain everything once Ellie was safe, no matter what it took.

“Then we leave—now.”

•••

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neteyamsilly · 2 years ago

Text

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 3

summary ;; Sullys stick together. You learn the hard way what happens when you don't. PART 2 | PART 4 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; descriptions of blood and violence incoming, beware! shout out to the ppl who predicted the stuff in this chapter LMAO so um... i couldnt tag everybody who asked when i said i would... there's apparently a limit to how many people you can tag. please forgive me 😭 im not taking any tagging requests anymore since i cant do it. so sorry about that,,,, seriously also, thank you so much for 1160 followers! i still cant fucking believe it... daddy issues solidarity 🤙🏻🤙🏻

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

Rain covered the rustling of clothes and the click-clacks of readjusted weapons as concentrated silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like the morning mist swallowing up the forest.

No answer.

What face could your parents be making right now? Heartbeat in your ears, you tried to hide your shame by looking down, but a jerk on your queue set you straight. the avatar holding you digging his gun sharper in your neck.

“What, cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” The leader’s stare found yours. “Let me give you a quick remedy.”

They’d linked your device into another for the sound to be relayed outside and the voice detection range could be wider, in other words, they wanted your father to hear what was happening to you. Your braid was yanked as if the one pulling it wanted to snap it right off your skull, no amount of training could stop the scream torn out of you — all the show just for him.

The line was deadly still, save for some rustling, crackling static that you could have easily mistaken for hissing.

A ghost of a smile shadowed the man’s face, he extended his rifle to tip your chin up. “Guess we’re gonna have to be louder than that to wake daddy up sweetheart.”

“Stop!” Father yelled, the unexpected timing of it made you jump. That earned him a group chuckle from the avatars around you. “Stop.”

He talked. He didn’t leave you to fend for yourself in this. Thank Eywa!

“That was fast,” the captor behind you said.

“Thought you’d have forgotten English by now, playing native.”

“...Quaritch?”

Quaritch. That awful, awful man from the stories your mother killed? Spider’s father? But… But he was dead. How could sky people know how to cheat death?

“In the flesh.”

Father’s voice wavered, you’d think he was scared if you didn’t know any better. “That’s impossible.”

“Back from the grave just for you, Jake.”

“Then I’ll just have to put you right back where you belong.”

The squad of avatars openly laughed at that, boisterous, confident, arrogant.

This was Toruk Makto they were openly mocking. None of them would last for one minute in front of him and yet—

“Quite the teary lovers reunion we’re havin’ here, but you got busy while I was gone, huh?” He looked down at you again, yellow eyes filled with mirth. “I have this tiny bird here we plucked right out of the air. Imagine my surprise to learn she’s yours. Is this the only one, or you got yourself a litter now?”

Silence again.

“What do you want?”

“Straight to the point as always.” The smug smile momentarily twitched into an unamused, withheld resentment. This man was nearing the end of his capacity to keep taunting. “I don’t think I’ll tell yet. You know I love to be a tease.”

Your ears rotated upwards in treacherous hope at your father's next words. “If you touch one hair on my daughter’s head I swear to god—”

“You exchanged your god for this shithole, Jake. Let’s not kid ourselves now.” Any hint of playing around was gone, now, eyes fixated on something on the ground ahead. “Your daughter will be my guest for a while. Think of it as summer vacation. Don’t worry, unlike the Na’vi, we’re very hospitable.” His thumb brushed over a button. “Until next time.”

“Fucking bastard—”

With one beep, the call was over. Quaritch was touching the band around his neck this time. “Iron Sky, Blue on Actual. We are standing by for extract, over.”

You began to tussle against the avatar behind your back. “No! No! Let me go!”

“Be advised. We're bringing in a high value prisoner.”

“Dad’s really gonna flay her alive this time, I can’t wait.” Lo’ak, positioned just behind the flap of the tent to not be seen from the outside as he peeked with one eyeball just in case, was watching his parents vehemently yell at each other in whispers that started out loud, but got hushed probably to not reach him and his siblings. Aggressive limb gestures were flying in the air, and at one point, his mom had tried to run off somewhere and was forcefully stopped.

Dad was currently pacing around like a wild animal with one hand permanently stuck rubbing his face, and mom turned away from him, holding her forehead. “They’re really going at it, huh?

Kiri was not amused with his insistence to breach their privacy. “What’s so interesting about watching this kind of thing?”

“Catharsis?” He remarked in English, feeling sophisticated. “You remember Spider talking about it? Purification and emotional cleansing through relief that you’re not going through the horrible tragedy, the character on stage is.”

“You’re normally so dumb.” Lo’ak bore his fangs at her matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Your brain only comes back on when it’s about chaos.”

“I’m petty, and what about it?” A tilt of his head to dare Kiri to ask for her point, then his attention was thwarted by an incomprehensible cry from his mother. She was pushing dad from his arms, furious like Lo’ak had never seen before as the upset man tried to hold her more. “Look at mom and dad breathing fire at each other! You think they’re discussing how to punish her?”

“Stop spying already skxawng, mom will be angry if she sees you. We’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to listen here!” His ears were tilting at every angle to make out any words that reached to him as nothing but a cluster of broken sounds. “Why did they have to go far?”

“Because they wanted to be away from peeping toms like you?”

“And you’re still here too, so?” Lo’ak gave his sister a meaningful look. “I know you wanna see too.”

“Ugh!” Kiri shoved out her tongue at him, eyes dead. “And it’s not funny, by the way! They are fighting. Stop being happy about it.”

He knew they were fighting about his older sister, and that she’d get all the heat and fallout from it the moment she was back. Lo’ak’s head was full of what he could get out of it, or what to ask her for in return for helping her out in her detention. So satisfying to be the sibling who wasn’t in trouble. He should do it more, actually. “It is funny when it’s not about me.”

“You’re sick for taking joy in another’s suffering.”

“Oh, I’m doomed, then.” Kiri took whatever fat was on his thin arm between her thumb and forefinger, and twisted. Lo’ak had to blink away the tears that rushed to his eyes, snatching his limb away from the displeased girl and pushing her away in return — he was annoyed at how much that hurt, why was that so damaging for no reason? “Yeouch! What the hell?”

“Will it kill you to practice mindfulness once in a while?”

He raised his voice’s pitch to mock the wobbly, ear-scratching whine of yours, and exaggerated his body movements to match, too. “I hate you!”

“Gross.” She tried to shove him, he caught her hands in the air, pushing her back and getting the spiteful annoyance of his sister as a result. “Dad was actually hurt by that.” Lo’ak’s eyes could roll down the hills by themselves the way that sounded, but Kiri, as always, was bothered so inexplicably. “I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling.”

That bad feeling was the herald of dad’s upcoming cranky ill-temper and what would follow after you inevitably had to come crawling back home with tail between your legs, Neteyam dragging you from the scruff of your neck. Lo’ak was refusing to sleep so he could enjoy the fight.

“Me personally, am over the moon, ikran duty is so gonna be off my hands. For months.” He halted at the idea that just went off in his head, tail swishing with the hype. “I wanna tell Spider. I’ll go get him.”

“Absolutely not. You sneak off now and they’ll laser-focus all the anger on you!” Kiri was pointing a warning hand at him, but slowly lowered it, one corner of her mouth twitching up. She was holding back amusement. “Hey, you know what? Nevermind, you can go. I want you to go. I have to see this.”

“Ha-ha.” Lo’ak’s tail stuttered, losing enthusiasm. “Attempted murder, much?”

“Guys, what’s going on…”

Upon the unexpected voice that wobbled its way into their conversation, they both looked down to see Tuk gripping her weaved blanket with one hand and dragging it on the floor as she made her way to them, the other rubbing her eyes one by one so sleep dripping from them would fly away.

“See, you woke her up! What do we do now?”

“You woke her up by yelling, why is it my fault now?”

“I didn’t, you—”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did n—”

“Guys…” Tuk pulled on Kiri’s hand, and the foreign object she was clutching the whole time distracted Lo’ak. It must have dug into the older one’s skin that she carefully picked it up to inspect. The ear pieces they took off before they went to sleep. This one was Kiri’s. “Neteyam’s calling. You didn’t hear…”

Grinning, Lo’ak snatched it up and skipped backwards and put it in his own ear, ignoring Kiri’s hushed yells to give it back now and the groans about ruining it with his stinky, cheesy earwax. He had to keep bouncing around, the girl was chasing him around the tent. “Bro! Tell her she’s sooo dead. Dad’s literally keeping guard in front of the tent—”

“Lo’ak, quit it.” Neteyam’s tremulous answer was harsh. Lo’ak’s smile wavered as he dodged Kiri’s arm and jumped over discarded cups on the floor, knocking over wooden spoons. “I need you to tell me what’s happening over there.”

“Aw, baby’s so scared to come back she needs to make a game plan first?” He laughed, slapping Kiri’s hands away. “I’ll only tell if she gives back my karambit knife.”

His older brother sighed, a bit too exasperated.

“Yeah, I’m not letting that one go and I’m also making it your problem—”

“Lo’ak, she isn’t here.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“She isn’t here. I couldn’t find her.” Kiri bumped into him, unable to stop herself at the right time to hit the brakes due to how abruptly Lo’ak had stilled. They’d almost tumbled over. “Dad told me to wait until he contacts her and I’ve been waiting for minutes. Now tell me what’s going on over there.”

“Bro, you’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious, skxawng!”

He turned to Kiri in disgusted discomfort, who had damn-near glued her own ear to his to hear better. “Forget months, I’ll be free for years. Dad’s not gonna let her take one step off the camp anymore.”

The girl would stomp her foot if she was a couple years younger. “What’s this about?”

And Neteyam would shake Lo’ak from the neck for ignoring him this long while he was fussing. “Tell me already you—!”

“They’re having a fight bro.” He leaned better to peep outside the tent. “Yeah.”

“She came back? Why didn’t you tell me?”

It was uncommon for Neteyam to completely disregard the previous input he’d been given. Lo’ak didn’t understand this level of anxiety. “Are you having a brain fart? Would we be having this conversation if she was here? It’s mom and dad who are fighting.”

It wasn’t that serious — on the contrary, his sister was quite simple to understand. She didn’t want to be found and had changed her place of hiding. End of story. The golden boy’s worrywart nature was keeping him from reasoning.

“Don’t be a smartass.” Lo’ak practically felt Neteyam’s want to land a loud smack on his back. “Were they only able to reach her, then? Is that why they’re fighting?”

“You’re asking me?—”

The older boy began to grumble under his breath. “This is why I called Kiri.”

Said girl’s ears perked up over picking her name from the static-surrounded line. Lo’ak snorted. “Ouch, bro.”

Kiri shook him from the elbow. “Me? What about me?”

“Great title for your autobiography.”

Kiri raised her arms to give him a beating and Lo’ak was already bolting away from anywhere near her vicinity. The siblings didn’t even take notice of the line with Neteyam going dark as they focused on their own play-scuffle for a while.

Until Lo’ak bumped into someone.

It wasn’t Tuk.

Shoulders pulled into himself, he turned around torturously freaked out to find dad standing there like a ghost, his tactical vest packed to the brim and gun hanging from his back the way they wore their bows.

The blue of his skin had faded into an ashier tone, amber eyes wide and bloodshot, the veins on the normally put together Olo’eyktan’s forehead were bulging, even a socially clueless person would pick up something was seriously wrong. He commanded cold authority of the battlefield simply by the way he stood, immediately triggering Lo’ak into soldier mode.

He took a few steps back, chin hanging low at the lightless, unblinking stare his father pushed down on him. “Sir.”

All the sleepiness that had Tuk unresponsive and nodding off through Lo’ak and Kiri’s push-and-pull was knocked out of her at the sight, she was now unnerved and frightened. “Dad?”

The man’s intensity was somehow eased by his youngest’s reaction, but he held back from taking her in his arms like he normally would to comfort her, didn’t even care to remark on how they were supposed to be sleeping — how they’d woken their little sister up, instead focusing on Lo’ak. “I want you all to listen well. Your mother and I are heading out for a minute and your grandmother will be with you soon — Neteyam is Oscar-Mike to come back here. Stay put and don’t go anywhere, understand?” His finger pointed accusingly at him. “Don’t cause trouble. Looking at you boy, what I’m saying here is Marine proof. I’m at the end of my wits here, don’t even think about slipping a tail out of this tent.”

The potent severity of whatever the hell was making him this agitated to the point of a voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable got the wheels in Lo’ak’s head whirring. “What’s happening, dad?”

“One child!” The thundering shout came down on him with the force of a falling mountain, making Lo’ak jump out of his skin. “I need one child of mine to listen to me without asking any questions today!” Dad’s voice broke when Tuk whined, he shut his eyes as if he was in physical pain, and flexed his jaw, shaking his head and pulling the girl in from her shoulders to soothe her. Still no direct hugging. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Lo’ak said immediately, distraught by the over-the-top reaction, hands unknowingly curling into fists by his sides. Whenever that sky people word ‘Jesus’ slipped from dad not having any control between the border of his two languages, the boy knew it was demanding gravitas. “I heard you CFB.”

“Good.” He thinned his lips. “Kiri, please.”

Lo’ak frowned at dad basically asking for her to play her brother’s keeper in Neteyam’s absence in two simple words.

She nodded. “I know dad.”

He caught a glimpse of his mother running in the distance, her father’s bow in her hand.

Just what was happening? What had you done?

Eywa, it had to be sky people.

Dad saw the realization in his face. “Stay,” he emphasized, one final time before he was also gone with the wind.

Lo’ak wouldn’t have obeyed if it wasn’t for his grandmother arriving just in time, keeping them busy with a story about the arrival of a wounded ikran with no rider.

You realized the gunshot wound puncturing your upper abdomen was there the whole time when the avatars put first aid and later slapped a rectangular sky people bandage on it that helped clotting or whatever it was called, the pain simply not being there had played a big factor in it with the body running on pure adrenaline.

(Crouching close to you, Quaritch had bragged, “We aren’t so bad after all, huh, sweetheart? It’s called civilization. Your daddy ever taught you about that?”

Civilization, your ass. They needed you. There was nothing well-meaning about what they were doing.

And the nickname had ticked you off, sullying the good memories of father, your head slammed into his nose in full power after a hiss.

“Now my daddy taught me that!” you spat in English as other avatars had tackled you. The man claiming to be Quaritch was smiling as he wiped away the blood trickling down his nose.

What was the point in trying to patch you up if they were going to do this, then?)

You were now a part of an elaborate trap to lure your father in. Bait. The worst position to be in. This was the kind of trouble Lo’ak would get himself in. It was too late to go back now, the mess you’d gotten yourself into had made itself known.

Think, think! How could you get out of this?

Within the unsleeping forest’s nightly noises chirping all around you, a specific call in the air halted your train of thought.

It was mom.

Your parents were here. But how? How did they know where you were, exactly? Dread and expectation pooled in your heart, coexisting in a nauseating mix.

Father must be thinking that you already caused so much trouble, they couldn’t know you were also hurt, you’d never hear the end of it.

But there was no time to think, the pain you should have been feeling was ebbing its way into your body, and she was calling in the night to inform you to get ready.

All hell broke loose when the man who held you tight from your queue was shot right from the back of his head with an arrow, collapsing right on top of you.

You couldn’t get away in time to not be crushed by his dead body and promptly got squished between the mossy soil and him, his gun was hurting you, the wound on your stomach getting in the way of you using your core to push the body off.

How many minutes had passed with you struggling to get him off as a hurricane of bullets roared, you didn’t know (it hurt, pain was climbing towards the threshold) — mom was able to break free from the weight of a whole AMP suit, as you’d heard as a child, a Na’vi was naturally strong, but you couldn’t even crawl out. Panic was a rope tightening around your ribcage as your breathing picked up

All of a sudden, the weight was gone, and the only remaining thing from it was the big gun left from the avatar you found yourself hugging for dear life, eyes wide as saucers. Before you could see whoever had done that, you got hoisted up right back on your feet and tried to run, only to be held tighter and pulled behind the trunk of a tree.

“Hey, it’s me, it’s me!” Clumsy, overwrought hands were cupping your cheeks and — and oh, it was your father.

You didn’t know whether to be afraid or cry from happiness.

Once he was sure you registered it was him by staring intently in your eyes with that edge of the softness you’d missed so much, his hold shifted to your neck and around your shoulders, and he gave you a look-over, checking for any wounds. Too bad what he was searching for was behind the gun you were holding. “Are you hurt?” He shook you when you were too stunned to answer. “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” you shook your head automatically, it was weak against the explosions of bullets raining down all around you, but father had picked it up regardless, only focusing on you for the moment.

In the darkness, nobody could see the blood running down your body, that bandage had come out at one point.

“On my mark, we’re gonna run, okay?” He nodded to you, tomahawk axe in hand coated in a dark substance, commanding your full attention. “Follow me. Ready? Ready?”

You weren’t ready at all, stomach feeling like it was being stabbed at every heartbeat, but you couldn’t tell him that.

Instead, you ran like hell, moored by father’s taut clutch on your forearm pulling you forward to match his incredible speed dodging roots, bushes and branches.

Things stopped moving only when you were enveloped in mom’s embrace, consciousness almost flying off from the relief that washed over you. Kisses were peppered along your hairline and forehead, her mumbling your name in gratitude blending with your panting. Tears burned bitter in your eyes, but you couldn’t cry, not when father was looking at you like that, chest rising and falling. You instantaneously remembered why you were holding that gun at the intensity he was radiating, tail escaping between your legs and letting mom hold you.

At least this way he wasn’t able to objurgate you.

Over her shoulder, you saw three ikrans instead of two. Heart soaring, you were skipping towards him in pure astonishment in a heartbeat. “Hey buddy!”

His head lowered down towards you in bird-like movements. In this angle, it looked like he was giving you a razor sharp-toothed big grin.

“He brought us here,” your mother said. The hand you were going to pet the ikran with stopped midway at her dejected tone. “You have passed Iknimaya, I take it. On your own.”

You didn’t know what to say, feeling immense guilt at having made her this disappointed over it. If this was any normal situation, any normal fight at all, you would have shot back with, ‘Well father told me to do it.’

But you were tired.

Your pain threshold was being threatened, and you needed to get to your grandmother before any of your parents saw the situation you were in and this escalated into the worst fight you were going to get into in your entire life.

Father’s only response was a dead cold, “C’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

He didn’t talk to you after that. Not one word.

Squatting on an ikran’s back on a flight with an abdominal gunshot wound you were trying to hide was not an option unless you wanted to pass out midair and was looking for a free dive, so you were all but hugging the poor thing’s neck like a monkey, trusting him to follow your parents while you concentrated on mentally fighting to level out the pain.

Nonsensical as it was to believe the gun stuck between your ikran’s neck and your stomach was acting as a tampon to lessen the bleeding, you were concerned with how dumb it must have looked to father and mom, how incompetent they must think of you that their daughter didn’t even know how to ride right.

Got an ikran for nothing.

Would they be less proud of you seeing how funny it appeared, nevermind that it was to contain your pain all the while not trying to faint?

But no words were exchanged about it.

Father clamping up right after he’d made sure you weren’t hurt (yikes) had resulted in this awkward trip succumbing in total silence. They had sandwiched you between them, only necessary space for the ikrans to beat their wings freely left, so close that you could discern the scariest look on father yet, deepening the lines of age in his face while simultaneously expressing his barely contained desire to kill someone.

A ticking time bomb.

Forget speaking at all, but not only did he never address you until now, he didn’t even look in your direction for once. You knew because staring at him for five minutes straight for him to just acknowledge your existence had proven to be unfruitful.

And the tears involuntarily streamed down your cheeks with how utterly worthless and alone that made you feel, trapped in this agony you couldn’t help but hide because he’d think you didn’t deserve to complain after bringing it upon yourself. You would rather bite your tongue and bear the pain than stay dreading his reaction.

Yeah, no, he couldn’t know.

Mom was looking over at you every one minute to make sure you were okay after her ears picked up on your sniffles, arrows of worry shot from her side sinking down your skin every single time, and you hated to make her this way.

Your ikran kept comforting you through tsaheylu until you landed.

Father had promptly jumped down, agile and making haste away somewhere, passing you by and giving the cold shoulder. You all but slid off your own ikran, managing to make the gun stay where it should be, as you couldn’t help but weakly call out to him for one drop of consolation. “Father…”

He didn’t stop for you, quickening his steps, but his ears twitched, the tail beating the air ferociously halting and lowering before it returned to the previous motions, and those were the only indications that he’d heard it Lima Charlie.

The man just didn’t want to talk to you.

And you had to make yourself believe it wasn’t the emotional devastation that had you falling down, but the wound sucking out all your energy now that you had gotten to safety.

“Ma’ite?” Mom rushed to you. “Ma’ite, what’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m okay, mom, it’s okay.” You were sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Thank goodness you still had the unbreakable willpower (and not the fear of Eywa put into you by father) to hold your shit together. “I’m okay. Just tired. My knees buckled. Weak, you know?” You swallowed, smiling. “I’m just… Just resting.”

Her gaze full of concern studied you, zeroing in on the gun you clung on for dear life against your stomach. Her hands lovingly brushed your hair, gripped your shoulders and elbows even though you were disgustingly clammy all over. It was grounding, anchoring within the ocean of pain washing over you in waves.

“Oh, why are you sweating so much? You’re freezing.” You clutched the gun harder in a panic when she grasped it, most likely to put it away. It was the wrong reaction to have, but you weren’t exactly in the position to function healthily.

Mom, as any other person would, got suspicious from it, her eyes flying up to your owlish ones — blanked out like a frightened animal. “You’re fine now,” she whispered, thankfully attributing it to how disturbed you must be, still not out of survival mode. “You are safe, my daughter. Mom is here.” She cupped your cheek, but every touch to your body hurt now, even when it was away from the gaping wound, still gushing blood, trickling down your hips and getting you scared that it’d be discovered once you stood up. “I’m here.” She searched your soul to know just why you were grimacing at her attempts of comforting. “I will take this now, you do not need it anymore.”

You snapped out of the gradually darkening gray haze mom’s lulling was laying you down gingerly into. “No, please don’t,” your breathing hitched. She was going to see. She couldn’t see. You had to avoid this somehow, as long as you could. Grandmother’s tent. You would make it, you had to. “I’ll… I’ll just sit here for a while, okay? I need to just… take a small break, and then I’ll… Can you go back? I’ll follow later. Father is angry, I don’t—”

“Nonsense.” Incredulous and enraged suddenly about something you couldn’t put a finger on, and before you could stop her, she tried to haul you up with her by gripping your upper arms — colors exploded behind your eyelids, getting you you to lose consciousness for two seconds, your vision flooding back in a starry kaleidoscope. When mom’s voice reached your ears, it was in staccato exclaims your ears were ringing too much to discern. She was shaking you.

You weren’t able to sit up straight anymore, leaning forward — mom had caught you, utterly confused and panicked at the same time. And then your head was lying on the crook of her elbow resting on her legs she’d tucked under herself. The moment you’d switched from sitting to straight up lying down was missing from your memories.

A baby being cradled. Yes, this is exactly what it was like. Gentle arms surrounded you amidst the pulsating sea of agony.

Your body was letting go, but your arms were vices around the gun, still holding that last line. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. They can’t know. Father will be so mad if he learns. “‘m okay… ‘st restin’…”

When your eyes cleared enough for the surroundings to be only a bit blurry, your mom was looking at the hand she’d just tried to take away the gun with, caked with your blood that had stained it, out of it and perplexed like she didn’t want to believe it.

Her gut-wrenchingly stunned numbness sent the misery clawing its way inside into overdrive, pulling your consciousness down to the earth from the clouds it was ascending to. “Not mine,” you forced out, but it came out as begging. Everything was falling apart. The plan was so simple, why couldn’t you do anything right? “Not mine. Please. Mom, it’s okay.”

“No…” Mumbling, she started sharply swaying back and forth, and with one brutally vigorous attack, she ripped the gun away from your arms, and hurled it away — then it was over. Your sob wasn’t due to the motion hurting you, it was all entirely for the broken wail of your mother at seeing the bloodied mess, tears spilling from her eyes as she reached down to press down at the pouring liquid. “No! No! Oh Great Mother! Why did you hide this! Oh, my daughter!”

“No, mom, I’m fine, it’s nothing. Not my blood. Not my blood, okay?” You reached up weakly and wiped at her cheeks with trembling fingers, your heart got crushed worse than the pain could beat you down at her grief — lungs constricting. Where was all the air? “I’ll get up. I’ll go to grandmother, don’t cry. Just resting.”

Frantically looking around, she yelled, “Jake!—” but her voice didn’t quite come out, breathy as if she’d been punched in the ribcage seconds prior.

A heartbeat’s worth of nothingness, after which you were full-on freaking out. Only one thought: Father will be angry.

“No!” You shrieked, and blood swelled in one strong pump against mom’s fingers. She looked down at you in anguish, pupils blown wide, arm tightening around you as if you were a flailing bird. “Don’t tell him! Don’t tell father! He’ll really kill me for this—”

“No, no no no,” she shook her head, frenzied, tone cracked from beginning to end. “Do not say that. Don’t you ever say that—”

But you were struggling in her arms, wanting nothing but to crawl away into a hole, no reason registering whatsoever, only instinct. “He’ll be so angry,” you begged, pleading, pink spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth. The sound of gurgling accompanying the words you forced your whole body to form. “You can’t tell him — you can’t! He already hates me!”

The more you thrashed around and kicked your legs, the more you bled.

“Please, Great Mother!” The more mom lost her mind, hissing and howling hysterically, crazed, hugging you tighter and rocking. “Jake! Jake! Ma’Jake!” She put her temple against yours. “Not my daughter, please, Eywa…”

Why was she being like this? It wasn’t that serious! You were okay!

Delirium claimed you hot as she kept calling his name and her unbreakable hold on you kept you in a cage of a mother’s despair. In your feverish mind, a threat to your life was coming. Weakness spread like wildfire around your body and chipped away at the pain, slowly picking it apart to replace it with drowsiness. “Don’t call ‘im,” you continued to repeat, over and over again. “I’m just taking a break. Don’t call him over. He’s gonna be angry. He’ll hate me. He hates me. Please, mom.”

The sentences slurred together, shortened, wilted away pitifully, your voice died down, tongue deteriorating into only echoing, “He hates me.” A withered away, old flute.

Your ikran was bellowing in the distance and you looked. The torches on cave walls were illuminating him and finally revealing to you his beautiful color scheme.

And then your father was here, falling to his knees right beside you, his glistening wide eyes flying everywhere around your body — tracing all the blood, hands hovering above you as if he didn’t know where to start piecing a shattered vase back together.

It was over.

Fully expecting the chastising you were about to receive to shake the floating mountains so bad the enemy would be able to spot you, you began to apologize — pride be damned, this battle be lost, you’d failed anyway. “Please don’t be mad,” you shuddered, meek and unsteady, tunnel vision flickering at the edges only perceiving him. “It’s my fault—I’m sorry—please don’t be angry—”

“Stop talking,” he ordered, rough and harsh, eyebrows knitted tightly, and out of breath — probably because of how hard he was trying to hold the anger back. You knew. That had to be it. “Don’t speak.”

Ah of course. This was only natural when he had refused to utter a single word at you the whole way, denying you the temporary comfort of a simple glance.

Even the hand he pressed down so ruthlessly firm on your stomach it might as well be a boulder pinning you down was meant to be punishment, the whines your unbreathing lungs couldn’t stop turned into yowls — you hadn’t even noticed your hands were wrapped around father’s wrist in an effort to push him away, scratching him, but he only added his other hand on top of the other in return.

“Hang on, sweetheart, I got you, please hang on a little longer,” he pleaded, but you were already too far gone, Eywa was cruel to have plugged your ears to the endearment you’d been dying to hear from him for so long, making the last things you were aware father said to you the fact that he didn’t even want to hear you talking.

And you fulfilled his wish.

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targaryenmarvel · 5 months ago

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A Stark Legacy (1)

Wanda Maximoff x Stark!Reader

Summary: The life of a Stark is tumultuous, especially when you are the only daughter of the technology magnates. You find yourself at a crossroads, struggling to meet your father's towering expectations while also pursuing your desires. This turning point is marked by the arrival of a certain green-eyed girl, a meeting that not only disrupts your world but also sets your heart on fire. Will you finally follow your heart or conform to your father's expectations?

Warnings: Language

Word count: 2,333

The unmistakable aroma of salt invaded the air as the gentle summer breeze carried the scent from the ocean. The gentle scent filled your lungs and reinvigorated your body as you took in the picturesque image before you. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the once-deep blue water began to take on new hues. The sky slowly turned from a bright blue to a deep purple, mingled with red, orange, and pink shades, creating a kaleidoscope of colors. Despite the roar of the waves, your senses are overpowered by the cheerful and lively chatter of the people around you as they roam in the spacious and meticulously decorated backyard.

Tables littered the well-maintained lawn, some with guests and others with foods ranging from fruits with chocolate-covered pretzels to charcuterie boards and sushi—anything you could desire. Not far away stood a cocktail bar with an impressive champagne tower. While the sun was out, there was no need for any lighting, but as it gave way to darkness, string lights hung all through the yard, taking over the task and creating an almost rivaling image of the sunset ocean.

An atmosphere not uncommon for you as the daughter of technology magnates Howard and Maria Stark. There, amongst the crowd, you could see your father engaged in an animated discussion with an investor. You rolled your eyes. Only your father would discuss business at your birthday party. It was a miracle he had even come, considering work outweighed his priorities as a father. His rare appearance at your celebration had resulted from your mother's persistence or, more so, threats of leaving her share of the company in Tony's control. Although you typically didn't mind his absence after years of disappointment, you were grateful for your mother's actions, knowing he needed to be there for what you had planned.

Tonight, you would give him what he wanted and make him proud despite his faults as a father. Let him be the family man he so often played in front of the cameras—the picture-perfect family portrayed on magazine covers that photographers frequently complimented.

In reality, your family was anything but loving, specifically your father. In the solidarity of your home, your father rarely showed affection, and when he did, it was always towards your mother. He only seemed to have harsh words and expectations for your brother and you. Though you had always resented your father's behavior, your mother and brother, Tony, compensated for his lack of love.

Then there was your saving grace, your childhood best friend, James Buchanan Barnes. He was the son of your father's business partner and his mother, an associate in your mother's charity organization. So it wasn't surprising that you became best friends, attending the same boring gatherings your parents hosted and causing mayhem until your fathers scolded you.

Twenty years later, he remained by your side. His usual crazy brown hair was slicked back, and two of the buttons of his white shirt were left undone. The outfit was paired with black slacks, loafers, and a Rolex on his wrist. His blue eyes crinkled in joy as your gaze crossed, and he clutched your hand tighter while motioning with his chin at your father.

Across the room, your father moved to sit with your mother and brother. Perfect, you thought. You gave Bucky a final smile before you pulled away to join your family, and he made his way to the live band stage.

Your brother was the first to notice your presence as he set down his whisky drink.

"There she is," Tony exclaimed, inebriated. Your father clenched his jaw, throwing daggers at your brother with his gaze. "Are you enjoying yourself, birthday girl?"

"Damit, Anthony. Can you behave yourself for once?" he asked through clenched teeth, giving a false smile as someone passed by. "You are no longer a teenager. You are a man. Now act like one before I make you."

Tony scoffed, ready to retaliate, but your mother quickly intervened. She rubbed your father's arm, willing him to calm down.

"Honey, please. We are celebrating our daughter. Let us not taint this moment with petty squabbles. Our daughter deserves better. Besides, we all know how this will end if it continues," she said, alluding to countless screaming matches between the two. Your father huffed but said nothing else. "Tony, please. For your sister," she continued with your brother, who still looked ready to pounce.

Tony deflated, eyes softening as he looked at you before he nodded. "Enjoying the party, peanut," he asked again, using your childhood nickname.

You rolled your eyes and smiled. "Yeah, it's been amazing. Thank you both for tonight."

"Oh, sweetheart, don't thank us. You deserve it, and if anything, it's James you should thank," your mother responded.

"I'll make sure to do that."

"Where is James?" your father asked, looking around frowning. "George and I need to speak with him about the project. Where is he?"

On cue, Bucky appeared. A high-pitched ring filled the air, cutting through the music as he held a microphone. Bucky laughed nervously, raising a hand to the crowd. "Sorry, everyone. The music will be back, I promise. I want to take a moment to toast in honor of Y/N's birthday." He motioned for a server to bring him a glass of champagne.

"As most of you know, Y/N and I have known eachother since before we could walk. She is my person, my rock during the most harrowing moments when I questioned my existence—teenagers, so dramatic, am I right?" Chuckles rang through the room at Bucky's words. "Anyways, I am trying to say that I am incredibly grateful for your existence, friendship, and, most importantly, for the last two years as partners. I can only hope you feel the same way because if you don't, this will be extremely awkward," Bucky kneeled as his hand reached into his pocket, pinching a diamond-encrusted ring. Gasps ranged throughout the air. Through blurry eyes, you could see your mother clutching at her chest, and your father's usually stoic face merged into surprise; your brother, for once, remained without reaction. Though you did dwell on the fact as you stood from your seat, you slowly made your way through the crowd towards Bucky.

"The last two years have been the most exhilarating and unforgettable of my life. Every day with you has been an adventure filled with laughter, love, and endless joy. You are beautiful both inside and out, intelligent, and breathtaking. Your kindness, strength, and warmth have touched my heart in ways I never thought possible. You are the love of my life. Nothing would make me happier than to continue creating a life—a family by your side. Y/N, will you marry me?"

Tears rolled down your face as the moments with the man kneeling in front of you raced through your mind, and you knew that there was no better man to spend your life with than James Barnes.

"Yes," you muttered in a broken whisper.

The crow erupted into applause as Bucky slid the ring onto your finger and placed a chaste kiss on your lips. Your mother, father, and Bucky's parents were the first to reach you.

Your mother enveloped you in comforting arms. "Oh darling, congratulations!" You could see the glimmer in her eyes as she held back tears of joy.

Your father came next, seeming very pleased by the events. "Congratulations, darling. You've made a fantastic choice of a husband with James here." He patted Bucky's arm. "Good for business too, don't you think, George?"

"Certainly, we can work something out." You would have rolled your eyes at the two men, but all you did was share a look of annoyance with your now-fiancee, which was then broken as his father held you both by the shoulder with a grin plastered on his face. "Oh, son, you've won the lottery with Y/N. She'll be an exceptional wife and mother."

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes." You said tight-lipped, knowing he expected you to leave your job at Stark Industries to be a housewife like Minnifred. He was much like your father, except misogynistic. You were glad Bucky's mom was a saint and taught him proper manners.

After your parents left, many of the guests approached you with their congratulations, telling you how they had seen it coming since you were children.

Tony was one of the last to approach you two. He pulled you away from Bucky. "Hey, Peanut." He hugged you by the shoulders, kissing your forehead, completely ignoring your fiancé, to which you scolded with a quirked brow. He sighed dejectedly, finally acknowledging Bucky, "Barnes."

"Hey, Tony," Bucky greeted, amused at your brother's jealous behavior.

While Tony had never had a problem with Bucky, his attitude towards the man changed once you began dating. You just assumed it was part of his protective brother's responsibilities.

"Can I talk to you for a moment alone?" His eyes shifted to Bucky.

Your fiancé looked back. "Of course. See you later, babe."

You watched him walk away, only turning to give Tony a sharp, expectant look.

Tony scoffed, running a hand down his face in exasperation. "Y/N, don't you think you're taking this too far?

"What do you mean?" You frowned, crossing your arms.

He clenched his jaw. "I know that bearing with Dad's expectations isn't easy. I know it's better to comply than get the short end of the stick, but that doesn't mean you need to throw your life away to please him Y/N. So please, Y/N, don't marry a man you don't love."

"I love him," you said calmly.

"Are you in love with him?"

You scoffed, fingers running through your hair, a nervous habit. "Tony, please. Stop. I am marrying Bucky, and nothing you can say or do will make me change my mind. For the sake of our relationship, I am asking you to stop with this nonsense, okay?"

You left without hearing his reply and rejoined your fiancé with a group of acquaintances—the children of other investors in Stark Industries. They all congratulated you, hugging you joyfully, but you could see the envy in their eyes. Once upon a time, you considered them your friends until you had heard them badmouthing you behind your back. Then you started to notice the fake laughs and smiles or how their compliment was always backhanded somehow.

"I am so happy for you," they said in high-pitched voices, but all you could hear was, "That should be me. I should be the daughter of a billionaire. I should be marrying the heir to the Barnes estate."

You could only return the same energy, giving them fake smiles and false friendship. Bucky tightened his arm around your waist, kissing your forehead in reassurance. You remained to chat with the group until your mother ushered you away and pulled you to the women of her charity group.

It wasn't until the end of the party that you could finally have a moment alone with Bucky. Most of the guests had left, and others took residence in the many guest rooms in the mansion.

You walked hand in hand with your fiancé, making a beeline to your bedroom. Silence filled the room as you closed the door, holding Bucky's gaze unblinking. You could feel your lips twitch, so you bit your lip, attempting to restrain yourself, but it was in vain as you doubled over, exploding in laughter. Bucky followed suit, chuckling as he moved to the king-sized bed.

You took a deep breath, wiping the tears from your eyes. You are unsure if they resulted from your laughter or something else, but you prefer not to dwell on the matter. "God, that was something," you said, looking around the room from your teenage years. Remnants of the age lingered in the form of polaroids with your so-called friends, posters, and stuffed animals. All left untouched since the last time you visited the vacation home.

"Mhm, did you see their faces? My speech had them swooning, and you know what? I wrote it last night before bed," he confessed, ruffling his hair.

You scoffed, playfully glancing out the giant glass window overlooking the ocean, "Oh, I deserve more than minimal effort."

"Y/N, you cried," he deadpanned, sprawling across the bed. You rolled your eyes, pushing away from the door and joining him on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"So this is happening, huh? We are engaged," you mused to yourself, finally grasping the gravity of the situation. Although you were sure of your decision, your stomach still dropped at the turn your life was taking—Tony's voice nagging at the back of your mind.

"What will we do when they ask us for grandchildren?" Bucky asked lowly in a similar state.

"I'm not sleeping with you." You frowned, disturbed by the idea.

"I'm not sleeping with you either," Bucky retorted, equally aggravated. "Look, I am grateful for what you are doing for me. I am, but I refuse to continue if you're not comfortable. It's not too late. We can call it off, and fuck, what anyone says. My father and the inheritance are nothing compared to your friendship, Y/N."

You turned on your side, mirroring his position as you propped your head on your elbow.

"We already discussed this, Bucky. I tried finding someone to love, but everyone I've met only sees me as Stark, an endless money fountain. Not a person. They don't love me for me," you said, your voice wavering as tears prickled in your eyes. You took his hand. "This isn't a sacrifice for me, Buck. I can't think of anyone else I would love to spend the rest of my life with. And I know we will face many obstacles, but we'll figure it out. We always do." You knew the road to follow wouldn't be easy, but you were prepared to face the obstacles with him by your side.

A/N: Hey everyone, how is everyone feeling about the first chapter? R and Bucky's relationship? In the next chapter, expect Wanda content!

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x stark!reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #targaryenmarvel fics

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ursuburbanmother · 10 months ago

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I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter One

Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Angus have been best friends since you were little children. Now in high school the only thing that separates you is a lake between both your schools. Due to what was describe by your headmaster as "Unfortunate circumstances due to chance, and poor planning on our part," you are forced to stay at the Barton Academy for the holidays with the company of your best friend or maybe more.

a/n: hi guys! I’m new so try to be kind to me lol. Anyways this is probably not very good. It’s slow paced cause I wanted to establish their friendship. Not sure where this is going so if you have any suggestions let me know! Also not grammar or beta read so…

Word Count: 3k

Find: Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Enjoy!

December 17th, 1970

You hadn’t spoken to your parents in months. You figured they would call or write a letter or something. In October they wished you a speedy little, “Happy Halloween,” before hanging up. You could hear the loud party in the background. Always the socialites, they were probably eager to get back to enjoying themselves by downing flutes of champagne and appetizers. Now it was December, and you had not received a peep from either. When the holiday plans form was passed out to the girls of your boarding school at the end of November, you ignored it. Then the deadline came, and you hastily checked off the box that said, ‘Plan to stay on campus.’

Your parents hadn’t called to dispute it and now you’re stuck at mass, sitting in a pew, watching other happy families and their daughters anxiously waiting to leave. You wondered if there was still a way for you to get away. Your friend, really only friend, Angus Tully was headed to St. Kitts and with him gone, your only true escape was gone. If he knew you were stuck holding over, he would beg his parents to take you, but you knew it would be too much of an imposition, so you kept that fact secret.

Life had always seemed to throw you two together. Even at the age where cooties were still a very legitimate fear. Born in the same snobby Boston neighborhood you two were often the only kids at your parent's parties. You remember that humid night on the Fourth of July when you had met the lanky boy with a mess of brown curls. The fireworks had begun to go off and everyone wore white dresses and suits. You had become restless and started to wander the halls of your home aimlessly. Streamers of blue, red and white hung from the ceiling and servers walked around passing out sparklers.

You found him on the patio. He tugged, annoyed, at his tie. Your own dress was stifling in the heat and for a pair of seven-year-olds, you found the best solution to your ailment was to jump into the shallow end of the pool.

“I’ll do it, if you do it,” you had promised under the hum of cicadas and floating fireflies.

“Deal,” you shook hands.

The water was cold and clear. You swam around for a while, splashing each other and playing Marco Polo. It was at the same time your mother had decided to move the party outside so people could watch the lights in the sky a bit better. You two were pulled out of the pool and shook like wet dogs.

Livid, your parents fed you the line all parents wait to say to their troublesome child, “If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you?” You decided at that moment that yes, you would.

After that you two were inseparable. Because when you're a kid all you need is one single act of solidarity to devote your life to someone. Throughout elementary school you were practically fused to one another. You’d exclude people from your game of hopscotch and eat lunch in secret nooks. When you two were headed to high school your parents enrolled you in a posh all-girl boarding school and Angus to some prep school in another rural part of Massachusetts. Phone calls rang long. You remember the groans you would get from other girls who would give up trying to use the payphone. At some point you had run out of quarters and so to save money you had begun writing letters. Angus being Angus, he’d write as if he was off at war and the letters were the last things keeping him sane.

You knew he never enjoyed school but after he was kicked out from his first preparatory, then his second and third, you had turned into a scolding mother.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Die if I’m lucky, shave my head at Fork Union if not.”

“I want to go to college with you Angus. If not college then I at least want to be able to be an adult with you. One with a diploma so we can get easy jobs as regional salespeople or something,” you mumbled, twirling the phone cord around with your finger.

“You really thought this out,” he laughed.

“I’m serious, Augie.” You heard him sigh across the line.

“Okay. I’ll do better. No screw ups next time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

When he was sent to Barton, your sister school, you couldn’t have been more excited. It was a short walk away; you could see it from across the lake that separated you. Your mom had been the one to call you about the change. She said his mother thought having him near you would make him less fussy. Something about you being the good influence he needs. You doubted that yet bit your tongue, knowing it would create more trouble than anything. Now it had been over a year and Angus had kept his word. When the opportunity arose for you to meet up, you would take it. Football games or talent shows, you were there. To anyone outside, it would have appeared as though you two just held a lot of school spirit. Like that beach boy's song.

“Be true to your school now,” you’d sing into Angus' ear.

He’d roll his eyes but always join in, “just like you would to your girl or guy.”

“Rah-rah-rah-rah sis boom bah! I love that part!” You’d giggle.

He’d try to hide his smile, but you could always tell. He’d put his arm around your shoulder and say, “Yeah okay.”

…

Once you were dismissed from mass you sighed and trudged all the way back through the snow to your dorm building. Having it so empty was eerie, you could hear your own footsteps echoing down the halls. You made your way into the common room to wait for Ms. Orchard.

She was meant to be your babysitter for the next few weeks. She was your Renaissance literature teacher. Ms. Orchard was nice but on the older side, which meant she was traditional. You often thought she would be better suited to be a Home Economics teacher if she was so invested in being ladylike.

You sat in the corner of the couch and opened a book. Minutes passed and it seemed obvious no one was coming to join you. Not even Mrs. Orchard. She probably broke a hip trying to make her way back in the snow.

“Ms. Orchard has broken a hip while walking in the snow,” the door suddenly bursts open hitting the side of the wall so hard it shakes the room.

“What?” Your mouth drops at the news. Shit, had you jinxed it?

Your Dean, Mr. Jameson says as he walks in, covered in snowflakes. “Yup. She slipped on ice on the way here. By the parking lot. Didn’t you hear the ambulance?”

“Uh… no?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, looking around the room, “where are the other girls?”

“I think it’s just me sir.”

“Ah, right. Well that makes this easier. You’ll be spending your Christmas break at Barton. Now, it’s awfully last minute so we hope they take you. Why don’t you go get your bag ready and-,”

“Hold on. Barton the boys' school?” You could almost gag at the idea. No offense to Angus, but you could remember the endless horror stories he would tell you of life in a boys' school. The air always smelled weird, and cleanliness was the least of their worries. “Isn’t there somebody to replace Ms. Orchard?”

“This place cleared out thirty minutes ago, Ms. L/n,” he said, “And I have a family to get back to.”

“But-, I just-, isn't there a rule against this or something?”

“I have no doubt that the teacher supervisor there will ensure you have a safe, jolly time Ms. L/n.”

“But I-,”

“That’s enough. I understand this is an unprecedented situation, but the only alternative would be to leave you here alone and that just is not going to happen. Please Ms. L/n, make this easy for everyone.” With his hand he motioned towards the door.

“Fine,” you gritted out. You got off the couch and went to your room. You half-heartedly crammed anything you could into your suitcase. Some shirts, sweaters and pants. You ran out of space and resorted to carrying your books in your hands along with your potted plant. You felt bad leaving your lavender to just sit and wilt, so you took her with you.

“I made a few calls. Everything should work out. You all settled then?” Mr. Jameson said once you had made your way back to the common room. Nodding with a tight-lipped smile you headed out. You two could have walked but apparently, he was in a hurry to catch a six o’clock flight and you ended up taking his car.

It was a short drive and with reluctance you made your way inside the school. “Come on. Put a pep in your step,” Mr. Jameson clapped.

He navigated you around. You had only been in the main building, never the dorms. Blindly you let him guide you until you found yourself in a room with four other boys and Angus. Angus who was supposed to be half-way to the airport by now. His sulky face shifted into one of shock. You took a step towards him only to be stopped by your dean's arm in front of you. The other guys were looking at you with mouths wide open. It was like their eyes were about to fall out of their sockets. You grumbled, not knowing what else to do.

Mr. Jameson took the lead, “Mr. Hunham? Correct?” He outstretched his hand for him to shake. Hesitantly the older man took it.

“What’s the meaning of this,” he pointed between Mr. Jameson and you.

“Unfortunate circumstances due to chance, and poor planning on our part. This is Ms. Y/n L/n. Come introduce yourself.”

“I’m Y/n L/n,” you shrugged, looking at Angus for guidance. In unison they all say hello.

“Can we speak in private,” Mr. Jameson asked.

“Alright,” Mr. Hunham says, “no funny business,” he gives a pointed look to the boys.

The two teachers leave, and you quickly move to Angus to encapsulate him in a quick hug.

“What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Funny, I was going to ask the same thing.”

“What the hell Angus. You have a girlfriend?” A blonde boy with a red tie says as his eyes scan your figure. You shift uncomfortably at the action. “A smoking one too…”

“Shut it Kountze, you’re catching flies,” Angus scoffs.

The door creaks open as both gentlemen return from their brief chat. You and Angus move away from each other like you were caught doing something wrong.

“It seems we will be extending you an invitation to Ms. L/n,” Mr. Hunham says, “you okayed this with Woodrup?” He verifies again with Dean Jameson.

“Yes, it’s all settled. We at Janie Patrick’s School thank you. We owe you one,” he turns to you, “goodbye L/n, you’re in good hands.”

He was halfway through the door when Mr. Hunham cleared his throat obnoxiously loudly. “As I was saying, we will be following a standard school schedule.”

“Uh, sir? We’re on vacation.” Kountze points out.

“Which means we’ll be taking our meals together. And you will observe regular hours of study.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The Peloponnesian War awaits, Mr. Kountze, you and Mr. Tully. The rest of you can get a jump on next semester. It’ll pay off. You’ll see.”

“We’re already holding over, and now we’re being punished for it?” Angus says bitterly and on fast reflex you rub his arm comfortingly. Mr. Hunham is just as fast to notice.

“Oh no, no, no. Do not tell me this is your girlfriend Mr. Tully.”

“Wh-what. No! We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, we were born on the same street!”

“I do not intend to break apart your romantic escapades all break long.”

“We. Are. Just. Friends,” Angus reaffirms, venom on his tongue. You could see the blush rising on his pale cheeks. You could feel your own as well.

“Mhm,” Hunham hums skeptically, his gaze lingers on you two for a second before glancing back at his clipboard, “Alright… You will be afforded limited windows for recreation and supervised physical activity.”

“The gyms are not even open yet.”

“Yeah, they only lacquered half the floor,” another boy points out, this one has long blonde hair that reaches his shoulders.

“Fresh air will do you good,” says Hunham.

“It’s like 15 degrees outside.”

“And the Romans bathed naked in the freezing Tiber. Adversity builds character Mr. Tully. Uh, speaking of which, the school will be cutting heat to dormitories and faculty housing and so we’ll all be bunking in the infirmary. With separate accommodations for Ms. L/n of course.”

They all groan. You're just upset. You had thought you would spend the next two weeks avoiding Ms. Orchard and lying to Angus about your whereabouts while he admiringly described the beaches of St. Kitts to you over postcards. Although you supposed it wasn’t all bad. You could spend more time with him, under the watchful glare of Angus' teacher of course.

Together you all get ready to haul your things to the infirmary before being stopped by Mr. Hunhams tsking in disapproval.

“You philistines are just going to let the lady carry her own things? I’m sorry to see Barton has failed in ingraining a sense of chivalry into you.”

“Oh no, it’s alright really, I can do it,” you protest but they all scramble to help you anyway. “Can I carry your suitcase Y/n?” Kountze says, in an odd way, that was meant to be suggestive.

“Okay Kountze, piss off,” Tully pushes him away, leaning down slightly to get your things, “let’s go.” He walks quickly out the door, leaving the rest of you to follow him.

As you are slapped in the face by the harsh winds you curse the idiots at your school who refused to let you wear pants. You were forced to put on double the tights and your warmest coat. It did not do anything to aid you and your shivering made that clear. It was like they wanted to torture you when the boys stopped halfway down the quad and in front of a truck. You're still holding your books so it's not like you can rub your arms to help you out a little. They were complaining about Hunham, who they so endearingly nicknamed “Walleye.”

“Hey, guys, hold up for a second,” Angus tells the young kids in front of you. He sets his, and your things, down on the grimy paved road. He searched through his pockets and lit a cigarette. “Want one?” he asks you and Kountze.

“No. I got something else. Give me that,” he grabs the lighter from him and sparks a joint.

“Hey, don’t smoke that out here. I don't want to get busted by Walleye.”

“Don’t be such a pussy,”

“I’m not a pussy, I just don't want to end up at Fork Union paying for your mistake.”

He ignores Angus and instead turns his attention to you instead, “You're not like a total priss right?”

You shake your head. At least you didn’t think you were.

“Alright,” he smirks and stretches his hand out for you to shake, “Teddy Kountze.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say. The other unnamed boy is the next to greet you.

“Jason Smith.”

“We know who you are. You want to hit this,” Teddy offers the jock the joint.

Jason scans his surroundings before agreeing, “Uh, yeah.”

“You got a great arm man,” he compliments,

“Yeah, well, it’s just football.”

“How’d you get stuck holding over?”

“I’m supposed to be skiing with my folks up at Haystack, but my dad put his foot down. Said I can’t come home unless I cut my hair.”

“So why don’t you cut your hair?

“Civil disobedience, man.”

“I dig that,” you comment. “You know that when they tried to cut that tree between our schools, I organized the tree-sitting.”

“Holy shit that was you? Figured it was some hippies from Boston,” Teddy snickers.

“Nope. I sat in that tree for hours, drinking from water bottles that Angus tossed up to us.”

“Did it work?” Jason wonders.

“For now, yeah.”

“Awesome…. But no, he’s cool. It’s just a battle of wills. Still, I was hoping he’d cave first, because the powder up at Haystack is so sweet right now.”

“What about you, Mr. Moto? Why are you here?” Teddy asks one of the first-year boys.

He appears embarrassed to be singled out, “No, my name is Ye-Joon. My family is in Korea, and they think it’s too far for me to travel alone.”

“I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken,” Teddy laughs to himself. Angus didn’t exaggerate when she said this guy was a jerk.

“What a rickshaw?”

Angus intervenes, “You’re an asshole, Kountze. Your mind’s a cesspool and a shallow one at that.”

“Who’s the asshole Tully? You’re the one who blew up history.” Jason notices the tension and brings the group's conversation back to the freshman.

“What’s your story man?”

“Alex Ollerman. I’m here because my parents are on a mission in Paraguay. We’re LDS. “Mormons, right?” Alex nods yes.

“Don’t you guys wear some kind of magic underwear?” It's like Teddy loves to hear himself talk, you think.

“Common misconception. Actually, it’s called a temple garment, and we’re only supposed to wear it when-.”

“Hey, what's with the townies?” Kountze spots two men emerging from the chapel with a large, heavy green tree in their grasp.

“Hey, what are you doing with our Christmas tree?” Angus shouts, tapping you on the shoulder in a way that says can you believe this?

“The school sold it back to us. Scotch pine, still fresh.” The stranger shouts back.

“Yeah, we’re going to put it back on the lot. We do it every year.”

“This is the most bullshit ever.”

The boys put out their separate smokes much to the relief of Alex and Ye-Joon. You fall behind the rest of them and Angus naturally finds his place next to yours. You stroll in silence until he decides to break the ice.

“You going to tell me what happened?”

“You tell me first. You were so excited to go on vacation.”

“One word. Stanley.”

You grimace, knowing what that means. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever. They want to spend their honeymoon forgetting my existence then they can do just that. I’m almost an adult anyway. Then I can go anywhere I want anytime.”

“Is that what Judy said?”

“That was the bullshit excuse, yes.”

“Hey, you got me though. We’ll make this fun.”

“We have no tree, Hunham will be breathing down our back, and Kountze hasn’t stopped ogling at you since you arrived. Does that sound like the perfect Christmas to you?”

You laugh softly, “Ignore Hunham and Kountze. As for the tree, we could always Charlie Brown it. What do you think the lavender is here for?” You shake your plant a little. The purple bush sways in the wind.

He smiles, “Yeah… It’s not a bad little tree,” he begins to quote.

“Maybe it just needs a little love,” you say together and break into a fit of giggles.

#angus tully #the holdovers #angus tully x reader #i love this movie #reader insert

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inchidentally · 6 months ago

Text

the way Oscar has every right to be dejected or at least not enthusiastic after his race !!

but not only did he show solidarity with the team by saying it was one of the toughest calls they had to make whether or not to stack, he takes one look at Lando feeling utterly miserable and suddenly Oscar is the one being energetic and loud and gregarious and focusing on all the positives and forcing the shoey and sacrificing his own shoe and staring at Lando with the biggest proudest smile with one cold socked foot because he’s gotten Lando to laugh and goddammit I’d say that I’m just are pee effing this but I’m literally not.

Oscar has shown up for Lando and proven that Lando’s feelings mean SomethingTM to him and so many times when Lando is low energy Oscar will step up bc he relies a lot on Lando usually bringing that energy for the both of them the rest of the time

and like the sheer amount of watching each other closely and getting lost in talking about things on their own and ignoring cameras and interviewers and requesting a door to separate their drivers rooms from the rest of the team hub bc it’s their private PRIVATE space

like this is where it’s not requiring imagination or just hoping that they’re attuned and helping each other out because it’s the biggest most defining thing about their relationship - they watch each other and do their own debriefs and spend quality time in private and when they step up for the other it’s not performative or for the general public or gimmicky - it’s Lando realizing that Oscar is tickled by Lando’s nicknames for him and its so small a thing but it makes them smile and Oscar choosing to be soft and quiet or strong and silly is based on Lando’s mood bc Oscar can shift his own moods more easily and he gives Lando space to cope with his own but not having to cope alone

even down to Lando shrinking in on himself in the post race video and angling in toward Oscar who was standing extra tall and was so much more upbeat than we expected him to be

like it’s truly all the millions of little things coming out of them looking out for each other and having that gentleness in spite of what could’ve been a very VERY embittered and unfair result all around - that would be the perfect foundation for a teammate divide that Netflix and Sky keep hopelessly wanting to happen between them - but right after all is said and done with the race and the podium and the group photo, they choose to band together like this precisely BECAUSE it’s the kind of defining moment where you show how much you can actually rely on that teammate to have your back

edited to add the way Oscar hung back just like last year because this is Lando’s home race and his moment !! and just like last year Lando keeps looking back to him !!

goddd Oscar went from jokingly not claiming the pommy race as his home race to absolutely gushing about it around Lando for the past three days and then wanting to cap it off with the shoey that he swore he’d never do again and that Lando had sworn in 2022 to never do again but did it for Oscar last year I’m an insane person <3

#landoscar lore #silverstone gp 2024

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birthfan · 3 months ago

Note

A little RP for you. No pressure, feel free to write as much or as little as you’d like :) ~ @shhhsecretsideblog

It was a warm summer evening and the platform was empty, just another woman and I, both waiting for the last train to pass by the rural station. The violet sky was still bright enough to see clouds but the street lamps were needed to see down the length of the outdoor platform. I had sat down on a bench near the entrance to wait for the train, the other woman already sitting on a bench further down the platform.

As I looked down the tracks into the distance, waiting to see the bright lights of an approaching train, I noticed the other woman was heavily pregnant. Her large belly protruded well over her thighs, legs slightly parted from its size, and her hands were placed delicately over the swell. I could see her huff and tilt her head back and I felt a pang of sympathy - I couldn’t imagine being so heavily pregnant during the height of summer.

Looking at my watch for the umpteenth time and back out along the dark train tracks, I was slowly coming to a realisation the train may not be coming. It was scheduled 10 minutes ago and I’d been here at least half an hour, so I knew I had not missed it. It was the last train and I had no idea how I was going to get back home if it didn’t show.

I was brought out of my thoughts by the distant sound of a whimper and it took me a moment to realise it had come from the pregnant lady. Illuminated by the street lights I could see her curled over her baby bump, one hand gripped the bench and the other cupped her belly. I couldn’t see her expression but her body language looked like she was in pain.

It was late and dark, feeling a sense of female solidarity I decided to go over and check if she was okay. As I approached I could hear more sounds coming from the poor girl, moaning and muttering under her breath. “… not now…. wait a little longer…please…”

Her hair fell over her face but I could see it was slightly damp with sweat, and she was shifting awkwardly on the metal bench and breathing quite heavily.

“Hi, erm… are you okay?” I asked nervously, looking at the way her belly seemed to shift under the fabric of her clothes and hoping she wasn’t about to have this kid right here on the platform.

I'm startled by your intervention, having almost forgotten about your presence. I try my best to seem normal "Y-yeah just you know, baby being overly active, some advice: don't get pregnant in the summer" I giggle nervously, unfortunately even if my acting was good enough to fool you my body clearly displayed my lie as I feel something give inside of me, then a strong splashing sound fills the empty station.

We both look down at the puddle of birthing fluids in-between my legs and before I can even think of something to say a contraction makes me double over in pain "hnnnnng fuuuuuck shit why now?!" I groan out, my baby's head already halfway through my cervix as I'd unknowingly given in to the urge now that the water sack no longer softened the feeling.

You look at me panicked, a complete stranger about to see me at my most vulnerable, "oh shit are you.... ehm pushing?" you ask, with your own expression judging your confused question as soon as it comes out of your lips.

My hands right above my knees for support as I kneel over and push "Hnnnnnnnnng hoo hooo oooh god!" I exclaim through my panting and groaning as my baby slips further down my birth canal. I begin to feel the weight of my child's head behind my lips, I can also feel gravity making them painfully bulge out without my interference.

You look panicked and entranced at the swell forming in my soaked almost see through underwear, you take a deep breath and gather your courage as you grab my hand "alright focus on me, breathe and rest, I can't imagine what you're feeling right now but I'm not just gonna stand by while a person suffers so" your confident words catch my attention and help me gather my thoughts despite the pain and fatigue.

"A-alright heeee hoooo heeee" I start breathing rhythmically like I've seen many women do "mnnnngggggaaaaaah haaa" I struggle as I push with the contraction, my lips starting to open up under my fluid soaked panties.

You hold my hands as you stand in front of me, an act of warmth, of a stranger that despite no prior relation still wants to help, I give you a pained smile to show my appreciation as words fail me in such a moment.

Unfortunately our intimate moment is interrupted by a contraction unlike any I've felt until now causing my legs to almost buckle under me as I give a big long push "hnnnnnnnnnnngggggggaaaaaAAAAAAH" a groan turning into a scream as the head quickly crowns causing my vulva to stretch beyond what I even thought was possible, the baby's dark hair being clearly visible through my panties.

I breathe shakily as I'm now below where my hands are, still joined with yours, I realise I've unknowingly forced myself into a squatting position, I look up to see a sympathetic soft smile and kind eyes, which despite everything causes me to smile lightly.

I feel another contraction building up inside of me, and so I close my eyes and focus, and then it hits "mmmmmmmm-" I moan with closed lips as I give it my all, and then finally "-mmmmmaaaah haaa oh my god" the first coherent expression in a while comes out of my upper lips just as my baby's head exits my lower lips with a spray of fluids.

It is at this point that I remember that I never removed my ruined underwear as I feel the head pressing against them, "h-hey I need your mmm he-help with something?" I'm able to stammer out as you nod and lower yourself to match my eye level "what do you need me to do?"

"I n-ne-need you to go behind me and-d hooooooo-" a contraction catches me by surprise as I focus on talking and interrups me, the need to push, hopefully one last time, is unbearable. As soon as my pained moan interrupts my train of thought you rush behind me and cup your hands below me "-oooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOH" I scream near the end of my moan as my baby painfully slides out of me into my panties causing them to reach their breaking point as they collapse causing my child to fall into your hands.

I collapse on the station floor, not caring about the state of it as I pant from exhaustion "haa haaa th-thank you" I'm able to breathe out, "ehm you're welcome" you say slightly embarrassed now that the confidence has worn off. "It's a girl by the way ehm congrats" you say handing her to me as I sit "what are you gonna call her?".

I think about it for a second and then ask "what is your name?"

Thanks so much for the ask!!! It was fun to write, sorry I'm still rusty but I hope you enjoyed it anyways, it came out longer then expected lol, don't get used to it just yet hehe

#birth kink #fpreg #public birth #kinda #it is a public space but it is just two people #lovely anon #who's not really anonymous hehe #didn't proofread it was all spur of the moment #so sorry if there are some mistakes

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dylansfavwife · 4 months ago

Text

smoking buddies

୨ৎ theodore nott x fem!reader

୨ৎ warnings : none

୨ৎ word count : 1.3k

୨ৎ summary : you start to realise your late nights smokes with theo mean a lot to you

you walked up the steps of the astronomy tower and seeing theodore in his usually spot leaned against the rail, you felt yourself smile.

"weird coincidence to see you here" you teased as you walked closer to him, standing beside him. he let out a chuckle the deep sound sending a shiver down your spine.

one night you had come up here for peace of quiet as you smoked like you usually did but that time theodore nott had already occupied your spot.

now you hoped whenever you reached the top of the astronomy tower that you would find him here. though you originally used to come up here for some solidarity you now found yourself appreciating his constant presence.

you watched from the corner of your eye as he pulled his cigarette to his lips before exhaling the smoke.

you pulled out your own cigarette as you started patting your pockets trying to find your lighter.

"here" you heard theo mutter as he handed you his lighter and you smiled at him appreciatively. the cold air nipped at your fingers as you lighted your cigarette.

it felt as though the summer days had disappeared much too quickly as now you could feel the autumn breeze in the air causing you to shiver.

"did you not bring a jacket?" he questioned with a smirk as he watched every single one of your movements intensely.

"i'm not used to it being cold again, got too used to summer" you explained with a sigh as you pulled the cigarette to your soft lips, feeling theo's eyes on you. he was unable to move his eyes as they watched you exhale the smoke having a sudden urge to kiss your soft lips.

you looked over at him curiously as he cleared his throat looking away from you to the sky. he took off the jacket he was wearing, passing it to you.

you looked at him shocked "aren't you gonna be cold?" you questioned feeling bad about taking it.

he rolled his eyes as he moved closer to you, draping his jacket over your shoulders, his fingers making light contact with your skin. leaving your face flushed and a tingle on your skin, missing the small contact.

"i'll be fine" he moved back to his spot, looking back out at the sky but you found yourself staring at him. his jawline was sharp and defined which contrasted to how soft the rest of his features looked.

you felt privileged that you got to see him so relaxed with all his features softer than usual. whenever you had seen him around Hogwarts before your now nightly routine he had seemed to walk around the school with a hard, cold stare on his face at all times. but out here in the late night he seemed to show a different side.

"thanks" you finally managed to say, your voice quiet in the night. he smiled slightly but he didn't say anything only taking another drag.

you both stayed out there for a little while longer finishing your cigarettes before deciding to head inside.

he walked you to the outside of your common room, the walk being in a comfortable silence as you both soaked in the presence of the other.

you lingered slightly not wanting to leave just yet but you sighed as you begin to walk to your common room. theodore wanted to say something, anything to keep you here with him in the small bliss you guys had with each other but he hesitated instead watching you leave.

as you walked up to your dorm, thoughts of theodore consumed you and you were sure that you were catching feelings for one of the notorious players of the school and that scared you deeply.

he had a reputation for playing with girls and though he was always treating you with kindness. you knew that it only applied to when it was just the two of you as around school you couldn't even tell that either of you have ever talked.

suddenly, you realised you were still wearing his jacket and knew you'd have to remember to return it.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

when the next night came when you'd normally start heading to the astronomy tower, you felt a sense of nerves about seeing him now that you knew about your feelings.

so you decided to not go consumed by fear of falling more for theo figuring it was only one night.

as you sat in the great hall for breakfast, you struggled to keep your eyes open feeling much too tired.

having not had your nightly smoke and thoughts of theo kept you tossing and turning all night. you barely got a wink of sleep.

your friends were all talking excitedly but you found you couldn't focus on their words as you simply moved around your food, not feeling hungry.

"y/n!" marie, your best friend exclaimed causing you to looked up dazed, "yeah?" you question.

"i said that theodore is walking towards us" she spoke excitedly as the other girls around you giggled. you sat up straighter at the mention of him.

"nott?" "yes of course, who else?" marie teased though sent you a confused look for how tense you had gotten.

you quickly grabbed your bag and stood up to leave but turned round to be face to face with theo.

"could we talk?" his face was neutral and you couldn't read how he felt right now making you even more nervous.

not wanting to be confronted about your absence last night you quickly pulled out his jacket from your bag. "is this about your jacket? cause i was planning to give it back so here" you rushed handing it to him.

he took it confused "no i-" he started but your nervous rambling took over interrupting him "sorry! i really need to get to lesson"

before anything else could be said you quickly walked off to your first lesson, wanting to forget about how you just acted in that situation.

you felt flustered in his presence at your new knowledge of your own feelings so had needed to walk away quickly.

you avoided nott all day trying hard to not keep it obvious but staying out of his view.

you were sitting in the courtyard finally getting a moment to yourself. your thoughts had been muddled and busy all day so to quiet them you pulled out a cigarette.

you looked in your bag and pockets and were unable to find your lighter. with a defeated sigh you leaned your head back closing your eyes, believing this day couldn't get worse.

"here" you heard a familiar voice say as you opened your eyes finding theo standing over you. you knew there was no point in running again so you just admitted defeat taking his lighter.

you thanked him as you felt him sit beside you. you lit up your cigarette and for a moment there was just silence between you two before he spoke up.

"you've been avoiding me, why?"

"i haven't" you defended but as you looked at him he sent you an unconvinced look causing you to sigh, debating what to tell him.

"have i done something wrong?" he questioned and your eyes snapped to his hearing the genuine vulnerability and worry in his voice.

"no no you haven't" you quickly said not wanting him to blame himself "it's just-i guess i want us to be more than just smoking buddies or whatever we are"

he chuckled at your phrasing before his eyes softened and a genuine large grin fell on his gorgeous face.

"i'd want that too" he admitted as his fingers cupped your cheek before finally pulling your lips to his.

you froze for a second before you melted into his lips, the kiss was urgent and messy. he kissed you deeply finally feeling the soft feel of your lips against his.

you both pulled away after a minute, chests heaving as you tried to get oxygen back into your lungs. you stared at each other with love struck smiles knowing this was only the beginning of something between you two.

#slytherin boys #theodore x reader #x reader #theo x reader #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x reader #fluff #harry potter

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damned-punk · 5 months ago

Note

May I request something with Stalker Kid? Maybe nsfw or fluff or both?

Always Watching (Kidd x Reader)

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Content Warning: nsfw, stalker!kidd, unhealthy attachments, dubious consent

Content Description: Kidd can’t help himself and decides he needs to see you at any cost ♡

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It was one of the hottest days of the year, the sun glowed mercilessly in the sky and offered very little comfort to the beings below. You wanted nothing more than to cool down in the welcoming waters of the pool but the sweltering air prompted you to check the garden, unable to ignore the barren soil holding the prettiest flowers you’d been nursing the entire season. Sweat dripped unceremoniously from your face, evaporating on the stones beneath your feet as you carried the garden’s hose from plant to plant. Your well intentioned efforts had left your own body quite warm and in need of relief, ultimately leading to your clothes on the deck and your naked self finally beneath the cool blue water.

Stress melted away as you swam several laps in an indistinct pattern, happy to have the evening to yourself. After several moments, a strange noise emanated from the tree line. It sounded like a mixture of sticks breaking and leaves rustling, almost as though someone had walked toward the front of the house. You kept swimming for a while longer but the feeling of being watched surmounted to an uncomfortable degree. Nothing could be seen from your current position in the water, neither an animal nor human in sight. You cursed your solidarity, pulling your towel into the water to cover yourself and quickly making your way inside to quell your unease.

Nothing appeared out of place, but there was something undeniably off about the state of the house. You instinctively locked the door behind you, securing it with the deadbolt and ensuring that the back door was fitted with the same precautions. Just as a sense of peace began replacing your initial worries, two strong arms wrapped around your torso from behind. Thrashing in the intruders embrace, you began to claw at his forearms only to injure yourself upon finding that one of the arms was a metal prosthetic. Something about the man seemed familiar, you recognized the scent of his cologne and you were sure you knew the scars on his right arm from somewhere.

He tossed you onto the couch and when your eyes met his face, your blood ran cold. The tousled red hair, impossibly tall stature, severed left arm, and stern amber eyes belonged to the mechanic who’d worked on your car only a few weeks ago. It felt like he’d flirted with you but when he left his number on your receipt and urged you to call him if anything else came up, you thought he was only referring to services he’d applied to the car. He was certainly attractive and seemed nice enough, even if just a little bit rough, but this was something else entirely.

“Relax (Y/N), I’m not gonna hurt you.”, he paced in front of you, studying your face as your eyes watered ever so slightly.

“Kidd? What’s going on?”, you questioned him in an attempt to seem unfazed, your deep frown and furrowed brows giving away the level of fear you were experiencing.

“It’s good to know that you remember me.”, he smiled slightly upon hearing his name from your mouth, “That was some show out there. Did you do all that, all this for me?”

Kidd motioned to the towel around your body and your face lit ablaze at the realization that it was him who’d been watching you. A barrage of conflicting feelings clouded your judgment. You should be doing everything in your power to get away from him but admittedly, there was a sense of reluctance when you considered denying his advances. Rubbing your hands over your face, you looked away from him as you struggled to get a grip on the reality of the situation. Everything about your reaction perplexed Kidd. He hadn’t initially intended to enter your home but when you’d hurriedly made your way out of the water, he acted on his desires against his greater judgement.

“So… Why are you here?”, you forced yourself to speak, wanting any clarity to put an abrupt end to your anxieties.

“Isn’t it obvious?”, he retorted with a stern tone, “I’m here for you, (Y/N)… I didn’t intend to reintroduce myself like this, but one thing led to another.”

You sat for a moment, replaying his words several times over while trying to find the motivation to fight back against the yearning feeling in your stomach. This was not okay by any standard, but it was intriguing nonetheless. Perhaps you were just as disillusioned as Kidd, longing for something more with every passing second but having no healthy place for your attention to rest. He looked so perfect standing in your living room, his large frame outlined by the golden rays of the setting sun infiltrating the barrier of your windows. His hair looked like fire in the light, enticing your fingers to reach out and play with the soft tufts that framed his face. He watched your eyes rake over his features, the situation was beginning to look like one of the best decisions he’d ever made.

You stood before him, a newfound confidence replacing any lingering ribbons of fear as you locked eyes. He stepped close enough that your bodies rested against one another, extending his good hand to meet the plush of your hip. Your hands rested over his chest, your head falling back as though the action was commonplace between the two of you. He slowly landed his lips on your own, quickly working his way up to sucking your bottom lip for entrance. You stumbled backward from the dizzying sensation of intimacy, Kidd taking the opportunity to walk you toward the open door of your bedroom.

“Wait.”, you broke the kiss and pushed yourself away from him in a momentary expression of clarity, “This is so fucked up.”

“We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do.”, Kidd reiterated while taking a step back to give you space, “I just wanted to see you again... I needed to see you again.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, carefully slipping an oversized sleep shirt over your head as to retain what little bits of your dignity remained. Kidd’s eyes seemed to be fixed on the hemline that rested over the plush of your thighs. The two of you sat in an awkward silence for several moments, neither of you moving or speaking in lieu of making irreparable damage. Kidd was the one to finally break the stalemate, startling you by kneeling on the floor at your feet. He rested his large palms on your knees, using his good hand to draw mindless patterns on the exposed skin as a way to comfort you.

His fingers slowly inched beneath the fabric, reinvigorating the desire he’d pent up within you only minutes before. This time, you ignored your better inclinations and allowed him to slip the shirt up to your hips. He placed a few mindless kisses to your knees, intentionally taking things slow to give you an opportunity to escape. The two of you locked eyes, a recognition of want and need shared between the intense expressions on your faces. Kidd cupped the back of your knees in his hands, spreading your legs and licking his lips.

He wasted no time peppering kisses across your folds, partly to tease you and to savor finally having the opportunity to taste you. It wasn’t his intention to overwhelm you, but your image wouldn’t leave his deviant thoughts. Kidd ran his tongue in a long strip along your slit, wrapping his lips around your bud and suckling gently. Your head tumbled back against the pillows, fingers gripping the blanket for support against the wonderfully new sensations he was providing you.

Kidd hadn’t ever quite felt this way, he knew this was something different and somehow more permanent. It wasn’t just an act of gratification, he reveled in the thought of knowing it was his name mewling from your lips in this moment of euphoria. It was his job, his duty, to make you feel as exhilarated as he had watching you in the pool. He lifted a finger to massage your entrance, the arousal helping to mitigate any discomfort at the change in contact. He’d never forget the sounds you made, just watching you receive pleasure was the only reciprocation he needed.

Fluttering around his finger and pressed against his lips, you climaxed rather quickly which was both a feat and disappointment. His heart swelled with how your half-lidded eyes gazed down at him, your body exhausted from the intense exchanges of emotion experienced throughout the evening. It took several moments before you could formulate words, your body weightless after being serviced so thoroughly.

“Will you…hold me…”, you asked quietly, embarrassed but desperately wanting to be encapsulated in his warmth.

He obliged, crawling into the bed behind you and cradling your back against his front. Your size difference was exacerbated, Kidd felt like an immovable brick wall that had been facing the sun on a fiery summer afternoon. Being so close to him in this instance felt nice, even natural considering the circumstances. This was somehow more intimate than his efforts to pleasure you.

“Sorry for scaring you earlier…”, his gruff voice spoke against your ear, “I really was just going to knock on the door but… things happened.”

“Mhm.”, you hummed in response, amused by his apology, “How did you find my address?”

“The front desk logs everyone’s information when they come in for their appointments.”, he answered honestly, giving you a light squeeze.

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or frightened.”, you giggled a bit at his response, “In all seriousness, we should probably have a talk about all of this at some point.”

“Not right now.”, he retorted, burying his face in your neck, “But we will, I promise.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be such a softie.”, you joked, lightly squeezing his arm in return.

“I am not a damn softie.”, he pouted, leveraging his head to get a better look at your face.

“You could’ve fooled me.”, you continued the banter, laughing as he huffed in playful annoyance.

This certainly wasn’t the route you thought your night would take, but Kidd’s intrusion had become surprisingly welcome. Little did you know that this wasn’t his first time watching you at home, the car trouble that seemingly came out of nowhere was far from a fluke. It was all part of a very well orchestrated plan to bring the two of you closer.

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#one piece #kid pirates #one piece fanfiction #anime #one piece x reader #eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #captain kid x reader #one piece x y/n #eustass kidd x reader #captain kidd x reader #kidd x reader

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woahtherebuckerino · 5 months ago

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Fic Recs: Linked Universe

these are seven fics i have read recently and adore... lu has put me in a chokehold out of nowhere but you know we roll (all of the following are on ao3)

that's all it is by rosetintedtears

Sky tilts his head, a beat passing between them as he absorbs the words. Slowly, he signs, ‘I think I know why I’m here,’ and then he uses Time’s namesign: like the sign for ‘minute’, but with a ticked ‘t’ instead of a raised pointer finger. ‘Time, it’s not your fault. The heroes, me, everything. It’s mine.’ - - - or: in a forgotten temple, Time meets a ghost.

when i say how many times i have read this fic is innumerable. honestly one of my favourite lu fics ever bc i absolutely love how time and sky are written. it is bittersweet and hopeful and i am probably going to read it again now.

Fairies Against Bottles by theScrap_Witch

“I’m sorry,” said Legend, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, “but what do you mean the fairies are going on strike?” “They’re angry,” said Hyrule, not sure what part of that Legend wasn’t understanding. Did he not think fairies had emotions? Did he not believe in fairy equality? “They don’t like how you all have been treating them and won’t heal any of us until it changes.”

this one is so funny,, i love the idea of warriors paying fairies for their work in the war, and hyrule is so real for joining the fairies on their strike. incredibly light-hearted and amazing

The Shape of The World by VEcuzimlazy

Legend and Wind get into a rare argument (Which is cover for their not so rare gambling). In order to settle a bet, Legend turns to the rest of the chain and starts asking some simple questions. Questions that the other Links have never considered before. As the hero's slowly descend into a reasonable amount of chaos, Sky decides to make everything worse... on purpose. Or How many Links believe in the Flat Earth Theory?

i had never considered this before reading this fic... in their heart of hearts they are flat earthers and they are so funny about it. sky is peak menace energy here and i love it

new material by schrodingers__cat

“Play it for Epona, and she’ll come right to you.” “I don’t need your horse, I have a bird.” “You love my horse.” “You love my bird.” They both nod at each other in solidarity. (In which Twilight does his job, waxes poetic about the scenery, and teaches Sky a new song.)

sky and twilight interaction the beloved. they are so sweet and this fic is so lovely - something something the cyclical nature of time itself

Brothers At Heart by RiverNight

Having only recently met, Sky doesn't know much about his fellow heroes Time, Twilight, and Warriors yet. They work towards a common goal, pursuing reports of unusual monster behavior around a small town. Each of them is experienced, but like most of them, Sky is unused to acting as a team. An unexpected ambush at night puts the tentative trust the heroes build to the test.

this fic is simply so good. i really like fics set early into the chain's meeting, and this one shows exactly why i like them! they are bonding and learning to care about each other and it is great

A Land Called Hope by FactorialRabbits

Be silent, be still. Do not engage, do not wander. Stay close, and listen to me. If you get into trouble, do not shout. If you see another person, do not speak to them unless I do first. Keep your weapon in hand. Sneak or die. If you get into a fight, do not scream. Stay close enough to hear if someone is knocked out; if we attract attention yelling, we are all dead. Light no fires, leave no traces, and above all else do not bleed. ~Hyrule, scene 1 paragraph 3. (Alternate summary: Time meets the fairies of Hyrule's time in less than ideal circumstances, and more of them than he thinks.)

this one hurts right in the heart. the way the fairies are portrayed here, and the relationship they have with hyrule, is so well done and i especially love the differing views held about hyrule's era amongst the chain - it all felt very real

Even Hylia's Chosen Need A Little Love by FlamingIdiot

Sky is not particularly close with any of the heroes, and none enough to feel free to express himself properly too, or so he thinks. Still, when emotions are running high and he's at the end of his rope, he's surprised to find one of his brothers ready with open arms, and of course it's the one person nobody else believes is capable of it. Or Five times Sky got a hug from Legend and one time where he gets to initiate it.

god i love sky&legend fics, and this one is amazing bc of how the both of them are portrayed. sky is a little more bitter and legend being the one to reach out hurts. yet another fic i have reread a few times now

#linked universe #lu fic recs #fic recs #lu sky #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu twilight #lu time

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weaveandwood · 3 months ago

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Weave and Woods Ch 15: Another Way

Gale/Named Tav | NSFW | Read on AO3 | Entire Work

Summary:

The fight with Kethric and Myrkul for the soul of the Shadow Cursed Lands is finally here. Auroria has a near death experience, and the two spend the night in celebration of their survival.

“It’s not fair, you know,” she said. “I just found you, we just admitted our feelings, and everything has been so…hard since we got here. This land has not been kind to you and me, has it?” “Tadpoles, orbs, curses, gods and goddesses, giant brains - it feels like we’ve been doomed from the start, my love.” He looked at her as if he were counting each freckle sprayed across her cheeks, committing every gold fleck in her eyes and every small crease in her skin to memory. His brow furrowed again as he smoothed her hair, tucking loose strands back into her twisted ponytail.

AN: Thank you so so so so much for your patience on this latest chapter! I have had such a brain block for BG3 since I finished writing Midnight at the Elfsong, but I've finally been able to pick it back up. I've missed Gale and Ora, I hope you're as happy to see them back as I am!

CN: violence, vaginal sex

The ground squelched beneath Auroria’s boots as they walked through the horrors under Moonrise Towers. This was it - this was the fight that would determine…well, everything as she knew it. She looked to Shadowheart, with bags under her eyes, who had to forsake her goddess to free the Nightsong, an absolute asset to have on their side in the initial fight against Ketheric. She looked at Gale, his hand in hers, his brow furrowed. She knew what he contemplated with each step that drew them nearer to their target. She glanced at the curling lines from his orb marking, each one a threat to take him away from her. She would not let him forget his promise, she thought as she squeezed his hand in solidarity. He weakly squeezed hers back. She heard Karlach up ahead, ready to get the next part of the fight started and over with, her impatience showing as she rocked back and forth, waiting for the door in front of them. The Absolute was behind this door, the Dream Guardian had confirmed it. Auroria felt a cold chill creep up her spine. This place was disgusting. If she never felt a squishy floor or saw wet walls again, it would be too soon.

The door rumbled open and nothing could have ever prepared her for what she saw. The giant brain and the three people claiming to be Chosen by their gods were one thing. The look in Gale’s eyes was a completely different thing. She had never seen that look before - awestruck tinged at the edges with hunger.

“Look at that crown….radiating power unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Oh, if only I could hold it, have it,” he whispered. She watched as his face turned steely with determination. “I can’t. This is it. I must do as Mystra commands.”

Auroria felt her heart drop into her stomach and time slow to a crawl. Just days ago he had promised to stay with her, to defy Mystra, to live. She stepped in front of him, feeling as if she was wading through the thickest mud. Heavy tears formed in her eyes at the possibility of an outcome she had thought was banished from both of their minds ever since he confessed his love for her under that star-strewn sky. She would not let them fall. Not yet.

“Gale,” she said as she reached for his hand. “You can’t. You would condemn all of us to death.”

“I must!” he argued, pointing at the Elder Brain. “What choice do I have? Entire worlds are counting on my courage to do what is required of me.”

She smiled softly at him and shook her head. “Gale, you have always had a choice. You can choose me. I love you. We will find another way,” she reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. “Together.”

He was still for a moment, as if contemplating. She desperately tried to push all of her thoughts into the tadpole connection they never used, doubting anything would happen. Still, she tried. I love you. Choose me. Choose this. He leaned his head into her hand, placing his own hand over hers, the hungry defeated look on his face replaced with the one he only gave her when they were alone in the darkest hours of the night.

“I love you too. More than myself. More than Mystra,” he whispered before placing a kiss on her wrist. “Very well. Whether I condemn this world or not, I choose you.”

She smiled, finally letting those tears fall down her cheeks, her heart soaring like a small bird in a cloudless vast blue sky. Her joy felt bottomless. He chose her. He meant it. He kept his promise.

That joy was short-lived as the ground rumbled. Auroria turned around quickly to see these apparent masterminds of the whole ordeal just…leave. Well, almost all of them. She reached behind her back to pull out her trusty bow and nocked an arrow while her team - no, her friends - took their usual fighting positions against Ketheric Thorm. She would take him down once and for all, no matter the cost. ***

Gale dropped his staff and sprinted, panting and sweaty as the avatar of Myrkul dissolved into thin air, the battered Ketheric left behind to spew his pathetic pleas and excuses for what he had wrought upon this land before he too succumbed. None of that mattered when he locked onto Ora, who lay unmoving on the other side of the platform. A cold dread seeped through him as the worst thoughts imaginable ran through his head. She had taken risks she shouldn’t have taken, gotten too close to enemies to be effective with her bow, tapped into more magic than she had reserves for. Was she breathing? Was she injured? Was she…No. He refused to finish that thought as he knelt before her, her face as placid as if she were just taking a short rest - a stark difference to the rage he had seen swell within her as she channeled the last dregs of her energy into a Lightning Arrow to finish off Myrkul and end the fight for them all. She was still. Much too still. He saw the pool of blood underneath her, and noticed the deep red stain on her leather armor near her waist. His stomach lurched.

“Shadowheart!” he yelled, frantically. “Ora needs help!”

She limped over and winced as she kneeled down beside him, her own injuries hindering her movement. “I don’t have much left in me, but maybe we can get her to a healer before…” she trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought. Good, Gale didn’t want to hear it. Shadowheart laid her hands over Ora’s wound and muttered her healing spell, the faintest light emitting from her hands as what little energy she had was channeled into Ora’s body. She looked at Gale, her eyes watery with unshed tears. “I hope that is enough.”

He walked behind Karlach and Wyll, who carried Ora through the building - now eerily quiet and abandoned since the followers of the Absolute began their march to Baldur’s Gate. Thoughts swarmed his head as he focused on her hand hanging limply, each movement of her fingers only due to Wyll’s gentle steps. What if she…how could he…should he have? At least if he had gone through with Mystra’s demand, he wouldn’t be left here alone without her bright spirit buoying him. She was his tether, his anchor, and if she pulled through this, he would focus all of his energy on figuring out how they could be together until the end of their days. There had to be a way. The crown was now an itch in his head he couldn’t seem to scratch.

Chaos erupted when they entered the main lobby of the towers. Celebratory whoops were cut short once Ora’s lifeless body came into view. He heard Shadowheart call for a healer or a cleric before sliding down the nearest wall to catch her breath and calm her shaking hands. Wyll and Karlach followed the healers who jumped at the call into a room at the side, returning only moments later to provide comfort and reassurance to him, perhaps - he did not know. He felt as if he were underwater, the surface only inches above his head yet he could not muster the energy to break through for air. Not until she was with him again. Visions of her collapsing ran through his head, her brutal rage fading into blank nothingness as her limbs lost the ability to hold her up. He crouched into a corner with his head in his hands and waited.

And waited.

Hours passed, though it could have been days or maybe even years. Who knew what time was anymore in a place like this?

A pair of brown boots appeared in his line of sight, ones he would recognize anywhere. They were scuffed, scratched, and stained and as his eyes slowly looked up, they were attached to his favorite legs, his favorite hips, his favorite breasts, and his favorite face. Tired, drawn, a little pallid…but alive. She was alive.

“Hey,” she said softly.

He jumped up to his feet, both his knees and muscles protesting at the swift change in position, but he could not have cared less in that moment- she was alive, she was standing in front of him, and Ketheric Thorm was defeated. His lips crashed against hers as his hands grasped at her hair, the silken strands running through his fingertips.

“Should you be out here? Shouldn’t you be resting?” he asked, his thumb tracing the path of her scar down her cheek.

“I’d like to spend as little time here as possible,” she said softly, swaying a little on her feet. “I’ll be fine, let’s just…get back to camp. Away from this place.”

He kissed her again, softly, as if she were a precious, delicate thing that could disappear at any moment before taking her hand and signaling to the party they were heading out.

***

Auroria stared at the ceiling of the room at Last Light Inn, the faint sounds of water from the private bathroom filling the silence. She had tried to tell Jaheira that this was unnecessary, that she was perfectly content retiring to her tent, but she wouldn’t hear a word of it.

You defeated Ketheric, we can end the Shadow Curse with the sunrise, and you almost died. You are not sleeping on the ground tonight.

Gale had wholeheartedly agreed and saw her up to the private room, one of only a few at the inn, usually occupied by higher ranking Harpers. She wondered who had gotten instruction to give up their space for her though she supposed it did not matter, really - she just didn’t like someone else being put out while she was relaxing in comfort she did not feel she needed.Most times, Auroria preferred the cold ground and lumpy bedroll - especially on nights like tonight when the events of the day were so beyond her imagination she had a hard time believing they were real.

Gale walked back into the room, all traces of the day’s fight finally washed off his beautiful tanned skin. Real. If there was ever a word to describe him, it was real. She smiled at him and moved over on the bed to make room, allowing him to crawl in next to her.

“We did it, Ora, we - “

She crushed her lips into his and kissed him deeply, taking him by surprise. Tonight was not a night for words or affirmations. They came close to death, and they survived. His mouth parted for her as she climbed onto his lap, the wound in her side protesting slightly, not quite fully healed. It was nothing. She slid her tongue against his, running her hands through his hair, her nails scratching softly while he moaned softly into her mouth. She could feel him stirring beneath her, beginning to press against where she wanted him the most.

She kissed down his neck, tracing the lines of the orb with her lips to the collar of his fresh linen tunic. Too many clothes, she thought, the linen of her own shirt now feeling scratchy against her skin. She reached down, peeling it off, leaving her bare from the waist up.

Gale’s eyes immediately went to her side, to the fresh scar that now decorated her skin, a new trophy to add to all of the others. A record of times she should have died but didn’t. She was a map of danger and triumph all at once. It was raised, red, and angry, but closed.

“As much as I love this view, are you sure you’re alright? It’s only been a few hours,” he said, running his fingertips lightly over the swell of her breasts, illuminated by the dim candlelight. She closed her eyes and let herself focus on the feeling of his featherlight touch on her skin.

“It will take a couple days for it to completely heal. They did what they could. I’ve had worse,” she smiled. “I want you. I need you,” she said, pulling off his shirt over his head. “We defied two gods today. We lived.”

His eyes left her face and stared at a wrinkle in the bedsheet. “We almost didn’t, if I had had my way. I almost -”

She placed a finger under his chin, tilting his face back up to look at her and placed her other hand on the orb over his heart. “You didn’t - you chose me, us, this. You chose to stay. Just like you promised.” She kissed him again.

He hesitated briefly before returning her kiss. Gently at first, then growing with passion as their tongues slid together once more, finding the rhythm they desired while their hands explored each other’s bare chests. Auroria traced the fine dusting of hair from his orb down his stomach and back up, while Gale began rolling her nipples between his fingers, a jolt of electricity running through her at his touch, which then settled low in her abdomen. The sensation drew a soft gasp from her lips.

Something within him activated upon hearing that sound. He wrapped his arms around her tightly before twisting, turning, and she found herself on her back once more. After a quick glance at her injury to make sure she was still okay, he kissed her again - on her lips, on her earlobe, on her neck, taking the path her largest scar laid out before him. He took his time and moved slowly, so slowly, down her body until he got to her hard nipples, taking each one in his mouth. She moaned softly, threading her fingers through his soft hair while he sucked lightly, his hand attending to the other to make sure it wasn’t neglected. She watched him kiss down the soft plane of her stomach, tracing every scar with a finger, followed by his lips, including this new one. On any other night, she would welcome his worship of the topography of her skin. Tonight, she wanted to get lost in him.

She propped herself up on her forearms, making eye contact with him. “I need you, please,” she breathed. “Now.”

“As you wish, my love,” he said while smiling against her skin. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear, baring her to him as he pulled them off her body. Climbing off the bed, his eyes never left her body while his fingers fumbled with the drawstring of his loose pants, taking her all in. She never shied under his gaze. He made her feel like she was the most rare and coveted work of art. “I will never get used to the sight of you before me, Ora. I am the luckiest person on this entire plane,” he smiled as he pushed the rest of his clothing to the floor, leaving him naked and hard before her.

“Same,” Auroria teased, breathless, as she watched him climb back onto the bed between her legs, already parted for him. He reached between them, to her center, and found her already wet and wanting. She arched against the bed slightly at his touch. “Please…” she begged.

He grasped himself at the base, running the tip up and down her slick entrance before beginning to press slightly, teasingly, causing her to groan. She felt herself open for him as he pressed further, and felt every inch of him sinking slowly into her. It had only been a few days since the first time he had been inside her, but every fiber of her being knew this was right, that he was the one she was supposed to be with. He leaned over her, careful not to put any weight on her new scar, his arms on either side of her body. With every roll of his hips against hers, her body became fire. She grasped at his arms, her fingertips pressing into the lean muscle. She looked down the space between their bodies and watched him as he thrust into her.

“Please, Gale, I need more,” she moaned before breaking her hold on his arm to bring his face closer to hers. She kissed him hard, hoping her kiss would translate her desire. She didn’t want tonight to be tender. She wanted tonight to be a celebration, a confirmation of their survival, of their defiance of the gods.

She had come closer to dying than she ever had tonight, and she needed to prove she was alive.

“You’re alive, Ora,” Gale whispered, as if he heard her thoughts. She thought for a moment that her injuries might have made her defenses on her mind weaker, letting the tadpole actually connect them for one of the first times since they all agreed to shield their minds from each other. Or maybe he was simply thinking the same thing she was.

“You’re alive, Gale,” she whispered back.

“I’m alive,” he confirmed, looking down at her hungrily as he settled back on his knees between her legs, his hands on her waist, his thighs spreading hers even farther apart. His hips snapped against hers as he drove his entire length roughly into her, pulling it almost out, then back in. Slow and steady and hard, each thrust punctuated by the sound of Ora’s gasps filling the room. She grasped at the blankets on the bed, needing something to connect her back to this plane of existence.

“Gods, you feel good,” she moaned. Real. He feels real.

He watched her breasts bounce with each hard thrust, her arched back showing off the muscles in her abdomen. He hooked his arms under her thighs and pulled her closer to him. She relished the feeling of his warm skin on the back of her legs, the pressure of his fingertips digging into her, the way he looked at her as if she were a painting come to life whenever they made love. It had all been so close to being taken away. She would never take this for granted again.

“More,” she whispered.

“More,” he nodded. His hips moved faster, harder against hers. She rocked her hips back against his with each thrust, causing him to moan loudly. The bed thumped against the wall, the mattress was squeaky, and she was certain everyone in the Elfsong would be able to hear them but it didn’t matter. Not tonight. Tonight, this was the soundtrack to their survival. They could worry about propriety and privacy tomorrow. Now that they have a tomorrow.

Tension began to build within her, a flicker of a candle building into a roaring flame. She knew Gale could feel her tightening around him. She was so close, almost ready to tumble over that ledge and fall into the deepest bliss she had ever felt. He reached between them, rubbing her in that most sensitive spot as he continued his rhythm. The sound of their bodies hitting together grew louder as they both grew quiet, chasing their own releases. She looked into his eyes, her breaths heavy as she tightened and tightened and tightened until finally she cried out his name, sending it directly to the goddess who would have seen him wiped from this plane. He continued thrusting into her with much less restraint, close to his own precipice. His fingers pressed even harder into her thighs, and he pulled her body back against him with each thrust. His orgasm came with a cry to the heavens as she felt his release fill her.

Moments later, as they caught their breath side by side, she turned her head to find him looking back at her. His hair was disheveled, he was out of breath, and he was glistening with sweat, but underneath it all she saw for the first time the depth of his worry. It looked like it was simmering right under the surface, threatening to break through at any moment.

“Hey, I’m here, I’m alright,” she said, turning to her side to face him, her hand lightly brushing hair from his face. The line between his brows was deep, a sure sign he was replaying their narrow escape from death.

“I thought…I thought I lost you, Ora. You were lifeless on the ground, in a pool of your own blood. I watched Wyll carry you out and the only thing I could focus on was your limp hand jostling with each step. I thought you were dead. I thought…”

She saw tears flood his eyes before spilling out, leaving marks on the pillowcase. She wiped one away with the pad of her thumb.

“Tadpoles, orbs, curses, gods and goddesses, giant brains - it feels like we’ve been doomed from the start, my love.” He looked at her as if he were counting each freckle sprayed across her cheeks, committing every gold fleck in her eyes and every small crease in her skin to memory. His brow furrowed again as he smoothed her hair, tucking loose strands back into her twisted ponytail.

“I almost did it, you know,” he said quietly. “Mystra’s demand. It called to me so strongly when I saw the Elder Brain, it felt like it consumed every fiber of my being. It was as if the Weave itself was shaping into a dagger aimed at my chest, ready to strike. Something inside me whispered that this was the only way, that no matter what I thought I might do, nothing else would end the Absolute. It had to be done.”

“Mystra was wrong,” she said, defiant against the will of the gods, as always.

“She was. I know that now.”

“We are not doomed. If we make it through this, we will be able to weather anything, I think,” she smiled at him. “And we will make it through this. Together. There’s something out there we’re not thinking of, I know it.”

She thought she saw his eyes flash for a split second before he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her tightly to him, as if he couldn’t bear to have any space between them. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat - thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. Real. She would fight to make sure she could fall asleep to this sound every night for the rest of their lives.

“I love you, Gale,” she whispered, her eyes growing heavy as sleep finally began to take hold.

“I love you, Ora. Never leave me,” he whispered back, using his magic to snuff out the candlelight in the room before falling asleep.

"Never."

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