You're tucked into him, breathing slow, steady, like nothing changed tonight. Like everything between you is still easy, still light, still something that doesn't need to be questioned.
He let himself sit in it, longer than he deserved. His hand rests along your back, thumb moving against your skin. You shift closer, instinctively, like you've already gotten used to being there.
It makes his chest tighten.
His gaze drops to you, taking in the way you've settled into him, the way you fit - like this is just where you end up now.
Lately it has been.
He didn't plan for this.
Didn't come into the summer thinking he'd be here - laying in bed with you like this, like crossing that line was even an option.
His little sister's best friend, that alone should've been enough.
It was enough in the beginning. He remembers keeping his distance, keeping things short, not letting himself linger too long around you because he already knew how that could go.
He tried.
He really did.
It had stopped being simple though.
Started with the small things, you always finding your way into the same room he was in. Conversations that lasted longer than they were supposed to. The way you'd look at him like you weren't trying to hide anything, like you were already comfortable with him in a way he didn't know what to do with.
Instead of shutting it down, he let it happen, and the realness of it all caught him off guard.
He likes you more than he ever planned to, more than he told himself he would, and now it's sitting in his chest in a way he can't ignore. He sees it in you too.
Not in anything you said, but in the way you move around him, the way you don't hesitate, the way you trust him without thinking twice about it.
It's deeper for you, and that makes him hesitate. He knows himself, knows the way he handles things when they start to matter too much.
His hand shifts to adjust the blanket around you, making sure you're covered before settling back against your skin. You don't wake, you just stay right there close to him. Trusting him to keep you there.
That's what he can’t shake.
Not what happened - but what it meant.
The way you looked at him tonight - before that line got crossed - stays with him.
Your hand on his thigh. Your voice soft but sure when you told him what you wanted. The way you didn't hesitate, didn't second guess it, and the moment you said it he wanted more.
More than he should have.
More than he let himself admit before that happened.
His jaw clenches, eyes shutting briefly as all of it settles in at once.
There is no way he could pretend that he doesn't understand what tonight meant to you. This wasn't just another moment for you, wasn't just something that could be brushed off in the morning, you trusted him with something so precious - and he let himself be the one to take it.
That realization hits harder than anything else. His eyes open again, dropping back down to you, softer now, conflicted in a way he doesn't let anyone else see.
You look peaceful, like you don't have a single doubt about what this is, about him but he still can't shake that feeling that keeps messing with him.
That thought in the back of his mind is pushing its way to the front, about how he knows himself. Knows the kind of mistake he makes when things get too real, too serious, too close to something he's not used to holding onto.
You? You're not something he can afford to mess up like that.
His hand tightens slightly against your back before he forces it to relax, like even that reaction is too much.
He shouldn't have let it get this far, not with you, not when he already knew what this was turning into. Now that he has, he needs to fix it before he becomes the kind of person you deserve...and ruins it anyway.
-
Teddy is already awake.
You’re still laid on his chest, one arm slung around him, his arm wrapped around you like it never moved. Everything feels warm, settled - like last night didn’t change anything.
You shift slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. He’s staring straight ahead, lost in thought. You pause for a second before slowly moving your arm from around him.
His gaze drops down to you, his expression soften instantly like whatever he was thinking about gets tucked away.
A small, almost easy smile pulls at his lips.
“Good morning,” you say softly.
“Morning,” he replies, voice a little deeper, quieter. “You sleep good?”
You nod.
He hums in response, leaning down to press a slow kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes, letting yourself sit in it, taking it in.
You thought he was going to kiss you again - your lips this time - but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls away, and you open your eyes just as he starts to sit up, his arm slipping from around you. You shift off him to give him space, the moment ending a little sooner than you expected.
"I'm about to shower," he says quickly, already moving.
The bathroom door closes before you can even respond.
You sit there for a second staring at the bathroom door. "...okay," you mumble to yourself.
You push yourself out of bed, hissing at the soreness, your movements slower than usual as you make your way out of his room and down the hall.
Once you're inside your own bathroom, you close the door behind you and lean against it, letting out a slow breath. Something felt off. The way he pulled away first, how quick he was to get up, like staying there any longer wasn’t an option.
You frown slightly, your brows pulling together as you stare at the floor.
Weren’t you suppose to… talk? He didn't even try to kiss you again, didn’t linger, didn’t say anything about last night at all.
You shift your weight, pushing yourself off the door as you shake your head lightly. Maybe you're overthinking it. Maybe he's just overwhelmed.
I mean... it was a lot.
For both of you.
You press your lips together, trying to settle that thought, trying to make it make sense in a way that doesn't leave that uncomfortable feeling sitting in your chest.
You turn toward the mirror - a soft gasp leaves your lips as your eyes land on your reflection.
Marks.
Your fingers lift instinctively, brushing lightly over your neck, tracing them as flashes of last night flicker through your mind.
The way he looked at you.
The way he held you.
The way everything felt.
You don’t regret it, not even a little but standing there now, staring at yourself - you can’t ignore that feeling. Like something shifted between you and Teddy but not in a good way.
-
After your shower, you find your best friend out by the pool, stretched out on a lounge chair like she's been waiting.
She spots you immediately, pulling her sunglasses down just enough to look at you over the rim, her eyes dragging over you as you walk closer.
Her gaze doesn't leave you until you sit down next to her.
A slow knowing smirk pulls at her lips, and you can’t help the smile that spreads on yours as you settle beside her, your body relaxing into the chair.
Just as quickly as it came - your smile fades.
Her smirk does too.
"What's wrong?" she asks, already sitting up a little.
You glance at her, then down at your hands, picking at your nails. "Nothing..." you start, hesitating. "...I hope."
She sits up fully now, crossing her legs into a butterfly position so she's facing you, and you mirror her without even thinking.
"Was it bad?" she asks.
Your head snaps up. "No. No - it was..." you exhale softly, shaking your head. "It was better than I thought it would be, but..."
"But what?" she presses gently.
You sigh, throwing your hands up before letting them drop against your thighs. "I don't know," you admit, the words coming out faster. "Maybe I'm overthinking it. I mean - it just happened last night, and this morning when we woke up... it's just - not what I expected."
"Hold on, babe-" she says, lifting her hands slightly. "Slow down."
You nod, pulling in a breath, your shoulders dropping as you try to steady yourself. "I just think I'm overreacting," you say quieter this time."And I... I actually can't have this conversation right now."
She nods. “Okay. Yeah - we don’t have to.”
You give a small nod back. "Okay."
She leans forward, pulling you into a hug, squeezing you tight.
You sink into it for a second before pulling back, and she rubs your arm softly.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you," you reply.
You both settle back into your chairs after that, the silence between you not awkward - just... heavy.
-
You and your best friend stay out by the pool for the rest of the morning, letting the sun sit on your skin while the conversation drifts from one thing to the next.
Eventually, the heat gets to be too much, and the two of you make your way back inside, settling into the living room like you've got nowhere else to be.
She's talking-something about the party coming up later - but your attention isn't really there. You nod when you’re suppose to, laugh when it sounds right, but your mind keeps drifting.
You haven’t seen Teddy all morning.
The thought crosses your mind - he’s avoiding you. You shake it off almost immediately.
No.
It can’t be.
You glance down at your phone, the screen dimming before flashing that it's about to die.
"I'm about to grab my charger," you mutter, pushing yourself up.
Your best friend hums in response, still half-focused on whatever's playing.
You make your way upstairs, grabbing your charger quickly, on your way out you bump into Teddy.
Hands come to your waist instantly, steadying you before you can even react.
"My bad," he murmurs.
His hands drop as soon as you're steady.
Too quick.
He moves like he's about to keep walking.
"Teddy."
Your voice stops him.
He pauses, turning around slowly, waiting.
You hestitate before stepper closer. "Is everything okay?" you ask, your voice quieter than you meant for it to.
“Yes” he says.
To quick. It sounded like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.
You nod slowly, even though it doesn't settle anything.
"Oh... because I thought we-"
You don't even get to finish.
He steps in, closing the space just enough to press a quick kiss to your cheek.
"I'm headed out," he says. "I'll see you later." Just like that, he’s gone. Turning down the hall before you can even process what just happened. Before you can say anything else. Before you can ask anything that actually matters.
You stand there.
Frozen.
"...what the hell," you whisper to yourself.
That feeling, you feel it in your chest again. Your eyes burn for a split second but you blink it away. You’re not about to cry, not over nothing… because that’s what it is. Nothing.
You swallow it down, pulling yourself together before heading back downstairs like everything's fine. Like you didn't just feel that shift all over again.
Your best friend looks at you the second you walk back in. She doesn't say anything, doesn't need to, she just gives you that look.
Soft.
Knowing.
You shake your head slightly, not ready.
Not yet.
Then you walk over, dropping back onto the couch beside her, resting your head against her shoulder like it's the only place that feels steady right now.
Teddy POV
He knew he messed up the second he heard his name the way you said it. It was soft, loud enough to make him stop even though he should of kept walking.
The look on your face did the rest.
It wasn’t the confusion - it was something closer to asking for clarity he wasn’t ready to give. That’s what stung. The fact that you were about to say something that mattered, he felt it before you even opened your mouth.
“Is everything okay?”
He hated that question.
Hated how easily it should've been answered, how it should've been a simple yes without all the weight sitting behind it. Instead it came out too quick, too flat, like he needed it to be over before it could turn into something he couldn't control.
When you started talking, he didn’t even give you a chance to finish, just stepping in closing the space just enough to make it seem like nothing had changed. A quick kiss to your cheek - safe, casual, something that didn’t ask for anything in return.
Something that wouldn’t pull him right in.
It was half a second.
And it still felt like too much.
He could feel you there even after he pulled away, could feel the way his body wanted to stay exactly where it was instead of doing what he knew he had to do. So he said the first thing that would get him out of it, something simple, something final, and he left before he could talk himself out of it.
He didn’t look back.
He couldn’t.
If he did, he knew he’d see it on your face - that question you were trying to ask, that shift you were already starting to feel - and he wouldn't have been able to keep going.
The distance didn’t help the way he thought it did, because now all he could think about was the way you looked standing there. The way your voice dropped when you asked him if everything was okay, like you were already bracing yourself for an answer you didn't want.
And he still walked away.
His jaw tightens at the thought, a quiet breath leaving him as he runs a hand over the back of his neck, trying to shake it off.
Avoiding you isn't easy.
It feels like forcing himself to do the opposite of what comes naturally now, like going against something that already settled in deeper than he expected. Every instinct he has tells him to go back, to fix it, to actually have the conversation you were trying to start.
He knows what happens if he lets you finish that thought, if he lets himself stand there long enough to hear it out. He won't leave. Once he stops leaving, there's no pretending this is anything less than what it is.
He'd already seen enough to know you're not treating it lightly, that you're not walking into this halfway. So he keeps moving, even though it feels wrong.
Even when it leaves that tight feeling sitting in his chest that won't go away no matter how much space he puts between you.
Falling Off
The days that follow don't feel the same.
Nothing is said.
Not directly.
But it's there.
In the way conversations don't last as long as they used to.
In the way you find yourself thinking about what to say before you even open your mouth, only for the moment to pass before you get the chance. In the way he's around — but not really with you.
You notice it more when you're not trying to.
Passing him in the hallway, catching his eyes for a second too long before he looks away first. Sitting in the same room, surrounded by everyone else, and still feeling like there's space between you that wasn't there before.
Moments where it feels like he might say something, like he might actually stop and talk to you, only for him to shift, to move, to choose something easier instead.
And you let him.
Every time.
You tell yourself it's nothing. That you're overthinking it.
That things don't just change overnight like that. But then you remember the way he pulled away that morning, the way he didn't let you finish what you were trying to say, and that thought settles right back in your chest where it's been sitting since.
He's not cold.
That would almost be easier.
Instead, he's normal in the smallest ways. A quick glance.
A passing comment. Just enough to make you question if you imagined the shift in the first place.
But you didn't.
You know you didn't.
Because when it's just the two of you, when there's no one else around to fill the silence, that's when you feel it the most. That hesitation. That distance. That quiet pullback he doesn't acknowledge but doesn't hide well either.
And you don't push it.
You don't ask.
Not because you don't want to-but because you already have a feeling you won't like the answer.
So you hold onto what you can.
The small moments. The almosts. The maybes.
Just a little longer.
Until it starts to feel like you're the only one holding onto anything at all.
-
After getting frozen yogurt, you and your best friend find a table and sit down. You sigh, dropping the bags under the table before dragging your hands down your face.
"I need to get this off my chest," you tell her.
She sits up. "I'm all ears, babe."
You sigh again, resting your arms on the table, staring at it like the words might come easier that way.
"I don't even know where to start," you admit, shaking your head before leaning back and crossing your arms.
Your best friend leans in, mirroring you, her tone more focused. "Okay... let me ask the questions."
You nod.
"What changed?"
You let out a humorless laugh. "Everything. It's like he flipped a switch on me." You pause, the words sitting heavier now that they're out. "He's there... but he's not really in it anymore."
Your best friend nods slowly, taking that in. "Do you think it's because he took your—"
"That's exactly what it is," you cut in, not even letting her finish. "Because ever since then, he's been acting different."
She watches you, waiting.
"Like the morning after," you continue, shaking your head."All I got was a kiss on the forehead, and then he was basically sprinting to the bathroom to shower."
She makes a face. "Ouch."
"Right?" you say, letting out a breath. "And I don't wanna think the worst, but he's not helping either."
"Have you tried talking to him?" she asks.
You give her a look. "That's the first thing I tried to do, girl. It's so obvious he's avoiding the conversation."
She shakes her head. "What a dick."
"I feel pathetic."
Her eyes snap to yours. "Don't say that."
You shrug, looking away. "It's the truth. I'm over here all sad about it, and he seems perfectly fine."
She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "He is far from fine."
You look at her like she just said something crazy. "Y/bf/n," you drag out, dropping your head back.
That only makes her more certain.
"I know you probably don't want to hear this—"
"I don't," you admit.
She waves you off. "I know my brother, and I know how he gets when he starts caring about something too much."
You shake your head again, not fully buying it.
"I see the way he looks at you, y/n," she continues. "That boy is not fine."
You narrow your eyes at her. "Whose side are you on?"
She lets out a small laugh. "I'm not excusing his behavior. He can definitely communicate better. But... have you thought about that?"
You sit with it for a second before shaking your head. "I honestly don't even know what to think."
Then you lean back slightly, a small smirk pulling at your lips.
"But if he doesn't get his act together, be ready to back me up when I spazz on him."
She smirks right back. "I'd do anything for you." She reaches across the table, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze.
"Do you feel better now that you got that off your chest?" she asks.
You nod. "A little."
She studies, then decides not to push.
Instead, she suddenly pops up from her seat.
"There was this top I saw on the way over here-l'm dying to get it," she says, already smiling again.
"You have more than enough tops," you reply, giving her a look.
"Yeah, but not that one. So let's go."
She's already walking off.
You laugh to yourself, pushing out of your seat to catch up to her, feeling a little lighter than before.
But not enough.
Deep down, you already know - you're going to have to face the truth eventually.
-
You're in your room.
Music playing low from your phone, your best friend moving around like she's on a mission, pulling clothes from your closet like tonight might actually means something.
You sit on the edge of the bed at first, half there, half somewhere else, watching her hold up outfit after outfit like you're actually giving opinions.
"You're not wearing that," she says, already tossing one piece aside before you even open your mouth.
You huff a small laugh. "I didn't even say anything."
"Exactly," she shoots back, pointing at you. "That's how I know something's wrong."
You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up from the bed and walking over to the mirror. Your fingers adjust the strap on your top, smoothing it down like it needs fixing when it doesn't.
You catch your reflection, your eyes dropping to your neck. Your fingers come up brushing over them lightly, and for a split second your mind flashes back to that night.
Back to him.
Your face twist at the thought because Teddy still hasn't gotten his act together, and you're done being sad over it.
You drop your hand, straightening up, shaking the thought off before it can sit too long.
"I'm wearing this," you say, more to yourself than to her.
Your best friend looks up at you, studying you like she's trying to read what's going on behind your face.
"...Okay," she says slowly. "You look good."
"I know," you reply, grabbing your lip gloss off the dresser.
It comes out a little sharper than you meant it to, but you don't take it back.
She clocks it, but she doesn't push just walks over adjusting a piece of your hair, fixing something that she thought was out of place.
"You sure you're good?" she asks softer. "By the look on your face I can tell Teddy has not fixed his behavior."
You meet her eyes in the mirror.
"Nope," you say, popping the P. "If that's how he wants to act, then fine."
"Period," she says, a smirk pulling at her lips. "Because if he tries anything, I'm right there."
That makes you smile. "Yeah, I know."
-
You and your best friend walk in hand in hand, the music hitting you as the door swings shut behind you.
It's loud.
Packed.
Easily one of the craziest house parties you've been to in a minute - and it's already in full swing.
"We haven't been to a party in forever, I'm excited!" your best friend squeals over the music, her grip tightening on your hand as she pulls you further inside.
You laugh, letting her drag you along as bodies move around you, the air thick with heat and energy.
She spots a group of friends across the room and doesn't hesitate, pulling you straight toward them and as you look up your eyes meet his. Teddy is staring straight at you like he'd been looking for you.
Your eyes stay on his long enough to feel that pull but then you look away, turning your attention back to the group just as you reach them.
"Look who finally decided to show up!" one of your friends says, grabbing your hand and spinning you around to get a better look at your outfit.
You laugh, letting them turn you, you can't help the smile that creeps onto your face because you know he's watching.
Your best friend finds your hand again pulling you forward. "Let's get a drink." You nod as you let her guide you to the table.
Making it to the table you quickly make you and your best friend drink topping it off with a lime. " I can feel his stare." you blurt out as you pass her - her drink.
She grabs it out your hand taking a huge gulp wincing at the taste. "Ignore him." she says waving you off.
You nod knocking your drink back.
-
You're actually enjoying yourself.
Shots being passed around, music loud enough to drown out your thoughts, bodies moving around you - it's exactly what you needed.
For a moment, you forget.
You're dancing, laughing, letting yourself be pulled into the energy of the room - until you hear Teddy.
Him and his friends are being loud, acting a fool like they always do when they've had too much to drink.
You glance over.
He's drunk.
You can tell just by the way he's moving, the way he's talking - looser, louder, less controlled.
You roll your eyes, turning your attention back to what you were doing.
Your best friend catches that.
She shakes her head, already knowing exactly what you were thinking.
You hold your hands up in surrender. "I know, I know," you say, half laughing.
You still look, one last glance and he's looking at you like he never stopped. You look away first, and right as you do -
"Yo, y/n, come here!"
"Oh, gosh," your best friend mutters.
You look at her, then back at him.
Now he's waving you over, eager.
Your brows pull together slightly, confusion written on your face.
"Go," your best friend says, giving you a light push in his direction.
You hesitate, giving her one last look before finally making your way over.
As you get closer, he's already reaching for you, hand out, a cheeky smile on his face, eyes glossy - completely gone.
Just like you thought.
You pause looking at his hand before placing it in his. The second you do, he yanks you toward him, your body colliding with his as his arm wraps tightly around you.
You barely have time to react before he pulls you closer, burying his face into the crook of your neck like he's been waiting to do it all night.
A soft gasp leaves your lips.
"Didn't expect to see you tonight," he murmurs against your skin, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
You place your hands against his chest, pushing back just enough to look at him.
"You're drunk," you say frowning.
"Don't look at me like that... I'm just having a good time," he replies easily.
Before you can say anything else, he leans back in, face finding your neck again, breathing you in like he can't help himself.
He exhales slowly. "You smell so good."
Now your irritated because he wants to be like this?
Now?
After the way he's been acting these past few weeks?
"Teddy," you say, pushing at his chest again.
He doesn't move.
If anything, his grip tightens, like he's not letting you go. And then he starts pressing kisses against your neck.
"Stop," you say, firmer this time.
He doesn't.
You shove him as hard as you can, and this time he stumbles back, blinking at you like he's trying to catch up.
"What's your problem?" he asks.
You stare at him, disbelief written all over your face.
"What's my problem? Are you serious right now?"
He doesn't answer.
Just looks at you like he doesn't get it.
You scoff, shaking your head as you turn away from him before he can say anything else.
You push through the crowd, heading straight for the back, grabbing a bottle on your way out.
You need air.
And you definitely needed a drink.
-
As soon as you feel like you're far enough away from the house, you drop down onto the sand, twisting the bottle cap off before tipping it back.
A few tears slip down your face, but you wipe them away just as quickly.
Crying isn't going to change anything.
Isn't going to change the fact that Teddy only seems to want you when it's convenient for him.
You let out a quiet, frustrated laugh at yourself, shaking your head.
You promised yourself he wasn't going to ruin your night, but here you are sitting alone on the beach crying over a guy who probably doesn't even care about you for real.
God, you felt stupid.
Stupid for trusting him.
Stupid for letting your guard down.
You roll your eyes at the thought, bringing the bottle back to your lips again.
And again.
And again.
Until the liquor settles warm in your body, softening the sharp edges of your thoughts just enough for you to breathe.
You let out a shaky exhale, dropping the bottle beside you in the sand before pulling your knees to your chest and resting your head against them.
The wind picks up around you, waves crashing louder against the shore, but somehow your thoughts still manage to drown everything else out. Even with your nerves calmer now, your mind won't stop racing.
You can't believe Teddy, but part of you can and maybe that's what hurt the most.
The fact that he got you comfortable. Made you feel safe enough to trust him, safe enough to give him every vulnerable part of yourself - just to switch up the second you finally did.
How could he do that to you?
You knew teddy could be complicated, knew he could be frustrating, but you never thought he'd make you feel like this.
Another tear slips down your face.
Then another.
And this time, you let them fall.
You let yourself have this moment.
When the tears finally slowed, your chest aches and your makeup is probably ruined, but you don't even care anymore.
You sniff, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your shirt before finally lifting your head.
You then feel a presence, and when you see Teddy walking toward you - you immediately snap your head in the other direction. You didn’t want him seeing you like this.
The tear stains.
How drunk you are.
How badly he got to you.
"I don't wanna talk to you," you mumble, still looking away as you bring the bottle back to your lips for another sip.
A second later, you hear the sand shift beneath him.
He sits down next to you.
Silence stretches between you, filled only by the waves crashing against the shore and the muffled bass from the party in the distance.
"I'm sorry."
His voice is quiet, so quiet you almost think he said it to himself. But when you turn your head slightly, he's directly looking at you.
His eyes are glossy, unfocused around the edges from the alcohol, but still soft in a way that makes your chest tighten all over again.
You hate that it still affects you.
So instead of saying anything, you just roll your eyes and look away again, wiping under your nose with the back of your hand.
More silence and he still doesn't leaves.
Your irritation flares right back up.
"You can tell me the truth," you say suddenly, staring straight ahead at the water before finally looking over at him again. "I'm not fragile." The words come out sharper than you meant them to, but you don't care.
Teddy looks down, rubbing his palms together slowly like he's trying to gather the right words through the haze in his head.
He doesn't say anything.
You suck your teeth, turning away again. "Go away, Teddy."
"I can't be the man you deserve."
The confession hits you so hard you physically feel it.
Like something dropping straight into your chest.
Your expression twists, a heavy breath leaving you as you shake your head and close your eyes.
"Please go." it comes out almost like a plea.
"It's the truth," he continues, voice rougher now. "I don't wanna hurt you."
You let out a humorless laugh, your grip tightening around the bottle. "Well, you already have."
Even through the alcohol clouding his face, you see the way his jaw tightens.
"And it's not your decision to tell me what I deserve," you continue, pointing at him with shaky fingers. "That sounds like an excuse."
"It's not an excuse," he says quickly.
"That's what it feels like," you fire back. "You've barely talked to me for weeks after what happened between us, and then you waltz in here tonight acting like everything's fine and expect me to believe that?"
Your voice cracks toward the end, frustration and alcohol mixing together until you can barely tell which emotion is stronger anymore.
Teddy drags a hand down his face slowly, eyes squeezing shut before opening again.
"You think I pulled away because I stopped wanting you?" he asks, voice low, rough around the edges from the alcohol. He lets out a short laugh, but there's nothing funny about it. "That's not what happened."
You stay quiet, arms wrapped tightly around your knees as the wind blows your hair across your face.
"Then what happened?" you ask, exhausted more than angry. "Because from where l'm sitting, it feels like you got what you wanted and switched up on me right after."
He frowns.
"No," he says quickly, shaking his head harder than he means to before looking away toward the water. "No, don't do that."
"Do what?" you shoot back.
"Make it seem like that's all you were to me."
Your chest tightens, but you don't say anything.
Teddy exhales slowly, rubbing at his jaw before leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. For a second he just stares at the sand like he's trying to organize thoughts that won't cooperate.
"That night changed everything for me," he admits quietly. "And I know that probably sounds stupid because obviously it changed everything for you too, but.." He trails off, shaking his head. "I don't know. It just - it got real."
You look at him, eyes narrowing. "It was already real for me," you tell him softly.
Teddy's eyes close briefly again, his head dropping for a before he looks back at you.
"I know," he says quietly. "That's what messed me up."
You stare at him, confused frustration immediately flaring again. "So because you realized you cared, your solution was to ignore me?"
"It wasn't like that."
"It felt like that."
His jaw tightens. "I was trying to stop this before I ruined it."
You let out a sharp laugh, the alcohol making everything feel hotter, heavier. "Teddy, what are you even talking about?"
"I know who I am," he says, almost cutting you off. "And you-" He stops himself, shaking his head frustratedly before trying again. "You trust people too easy when you care about them. You give people everything."
"And that scares you?" you ask incredulously.
"Yes."
The answer comes so fast it catches you off guard.
Teddy looks just as surprised by it as you do.
"You deserve somebody that's not gonna make you question everything every five seconds," he continues softer. "Somebody that knows how to handle something real without..." He gestures vaguely between the two of you before letting his hand fall. "Without doing this."
You swallow hard, looking away from him toward the waves again.
A part of you understands what he's trying to say, but the other part? The hurt? Still can't get past the way he made you feel these last few weeks.
"So instead you hurt me before you could ruin me?" you ask quietly.
Teddy doesn't answer right away and that feels like answer enough.
Your jaw tightens as you look away from him, blinking hard before pushing yourself up from the sand.
"Y/n-"
You shake your head.
"No."
You grab the bottle from the sand, brushing your hands off against your thighs before starting back toward the house.
"Y/n, wait-"
"I don't wanna talk anymore," you mumble without turning around.
Back inside the party, the music feels louder.
More annoying than fun.
Your eyes scan the crowded room until they land on your best friend, and you make a beeline toward her.
The second you reach her, you grab her arm and lean in close enough for her to hear you over the music.
"I'm going back to the house."
That's all it takes.
The tone in your voice.
The look on your face.
Concern flashed across her face before she nods without hesitation.
Quick goodbyes are exchanged, and before you know it, the two of you are already out the door and heading back to the house.
The walk home is quiet.
Your best friend glances at you a few times like she wants to ask what happened, but she doesn't push.
Exhaustion settled into your bones by the time you make it back to the house. You both collapse onto the couch, the TV playing low in the background more for noise than anything else.
Nothing is said.
Not about Teddy.
Not about the party.
Not about the tears you're trying not to think about.
Your best friend eventually moves closer, your head falling against her shoulder as your eyes grow heavier.
Sometime between the silence and the low hum of the television - the two of you fall asleep.
Fall Out
The next morning, you wake up early.
Your head still hurts from the alcohol, but not enough to stop the restless feeling sitting on your body.
So after showering, you throw on something comfortable and head out for a walk along the beach, hoping the fresh air will clear your head a little.
It doesn’t, so you make your way back to the house. You barely make it to the front door before it swings open. Teddy is walking out and when he sees you his expression drops.
Confusion flashes across your face until you see the girl from that party at the beginning of the summer step out from behind him.
Everything in you hardens.
Your eyes flick toward her briefly before landing right back on him.
"You're a liar," you spat.
Teddy steps forward. “Y/n”
You're already brushing past him, shoulder checking him hard enough to make him stumble as you head toward the stairs.
"Y/n, please, it's not what it looks like," he says quickly, following behind you.
"You are such a liar," you throw over your shoulder, voice shaking with anger as you make your way upstairs.
You reach your room and your chest is heaving.
You shove the door open and attempt to slam it shut behind you, but Teddy catches it with his hand before it closes.
"Hear me out, please."
"No!" you snap, the word coming out louder than you intended.
You immediately grab your suitcase from the corner of your room and throw it onto the bed.
Teddy's brows pull together. "What are you doing?"
"First you ice me out for weeks," you say, yanking open your drawers and throwing clothes into the suitcase aggressively, barely folding anything. "Then you tell me all that bullshit last night-"
Another pile of clothes lands inside the suitcase.
"And now this?" You gesture wildly toward downstairs before looking at him like you genuinely can't believe him.
For once, Teddy looks completely lost.
"Where are you going?" he asks, his voice shaky.
"Away from you. I'm not staying here. I can't stand being around you right now." you say without hesitation.
He couldn’t hide the reaction on his face.
"You're not even trying to listen to me," Teddy says, frustration finally creeping into his tone.
You shake your head sharply before zipping the suitcase closed aggressively and dropping it onto the floor with a loud slam.
"I don't care," you spit. "I don't wanna hear any more of your lies."
"I was not lying to you," he counters.
You let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking your head as tears burn behind your eyes all over again.
"Oh my God," you mutter. "You had me sitting on that beach last night crying over you just for me to wake up to this?"
"That is not what happened."
"I trusted you," you emphasized, stepping closer to him with tears burning in your eyes. "And you made me look like a fool."
Teddy's expression tightens instantly. "That wasn't my intention, y/n. I promise."
He's looking down at you, eyes full of frustration and desperation all at once, and you already know what he sees when he looks back at you.
Anger.
Hurt.
"Move."
Teddy stares at you for a second longer before letting out a quiet sigh and stepping aside.
You brush past him without another glance, dragging your suitcase behind you as you head downstairs.
Your personal bag is still sitting near the couch where you left it the night before.
You grab it quickly.
Teddy follows behind you the entire time, but for once, neither of you say anything. The silence somehow feels worse than the yelling did.
You yank open the back of your jeep and throw your suitcase inside harder than necessary before slamming the door shut.
"Y/n, just listen to me for a second," Teddy says, following close behind.
You ignore him, pulling your driver's side door open.
"That girl stayed because she was drunk. That's it."
You shake your head. "Wow, what great timing"
"I swear to you, nothing happened."
"Stop talking." Your voice cracks slightly, and that only seems to make Teddy panic more.
"Please stop acting like I would do that to you."
You laugh bitterly, finally turning toward him. "But you already did."
You climb into the driver's seat quickly before your emotions can catch up to you again, but Teddy's already there before you can close the door fully.
One hand grips the top of the door while the other rests against the window frame as he looks down at you.
He looks scared.
"You mean everything to me," Teddy says.
The words make your chest ache, but all you can think about is how badly you needed to hear that before everything fell apart.
You meet his eyes finally.
"Yeah?" you say quietly. "Would've been better if you said that last night."
The defeat on his face is instant.
His head drops for a second before he looks back at you again, eyes softer, almost desperate.
"Teddy, back off."
Your best friend's voice cuts through the moment sharply.
You both look toward the house.
She's standing in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest like she's seen and heard enough.
Teddy's face dropped before he slowly removes his hand from your car and takes a step back, rubbing the back of his neck.
You look back at him one last time. "I wish you would’ve left me alone." And with tears blurring your vision, you drove away feeling like you left pieces of yourself behind with him.
With how the last chapter ended I knew this was coming AND YETTT.... but anyways 😭love this and I hope we get a sibling discussion between teddy & bff🤭
Synopsis: You were both the picture-perfect image of romance in f1, everyone's favourite couple. But then the frame broke, the glass shattered, and all fans could do was speculate and hope for some kind of explanation.
Starring: Sir Lewis Hamilton
Form: SMAU
☀️Sunny says: she loves you. Here's a chapter to keep you satiated while I'm away🫶🫶It's not much, but it's a peace offering.
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☆ March '26
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Liked by hammertime44, lewlewluvr, teamh44m and others
f1 In an exclusive interview with the 7-time world champion, Lawrence Barreto sneaks a personal question past the GOAT's usually unbreakable walls. lewishamilton talks about how he only wishes the best for #YNYLN like the true gentleman we know him to be. We can't wait to see more podiums in red from the legend himself!
Comments on this post have been restricted.
☆ April '26
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☀️ Sunny says: oh, Lewis, your friends are turning on you...
☀️Sunny's playlist:
1. IWH2BMX by FLO
2. Future Lover by Thee Sacred Souls
3. Good Intentions by RINI
4. Show Me Love (with Tyla) by WizTheMC, bees&honey
summary: what started off as a friendly check in quickly turned into a messy situation.
warnings: 18+, nsfw, failed situationships (jumpscareeeee), unprotected sex, p in v sex, y'all being toxic? + y'all being nasty 🤭
a/n: this is loosely based on me and my situationship lol like very loosely. one could say i was imagining what would happen *call drops* 🫣😗
The door barely was shut good before you were kicking your shoes off and dropping your bags on the nearby couch. It was a day to say the least—work was irritating; too many questions, too many people, and whatever his name was was on his good bullshit again in your messages about wanting to take you out but has also made zero plans to actually do anything.
You toss your boho braids into a messy bun while walking to your bedroom, digging through your drawers to find something to throw on around the house. “a quick shower, find me something to eat and then light that blunt.” you mumble to yourself going through your after work plans. “Orrrr, I could shower, smoke then eat?” you ponder out loud as you move to the bathroom turning the shower on, letting the steam fill the space around you.
You make quick of undressing, taking a good look at yourself in the mirror; taking note of the dark circles around your eyes & just how tired you look. you shake your head and get in the shower letting the hot water soothe your aching muscles.
Cause is it really a good shower if you aren’t basically boiling yourself?
You finish up your routine with skin care and lotion yourself up before putting a big t-shirt and shorts on. Moving back to your room, you dig out your old stash box from the top of your closet. Opening it, you grab a pre-roll & a lighter. You light the blunt, inhaling deeply letting the smoke fill your lungs. Puffing your cheeks to hold the smoke for a second before slowly exhaling; blowing the smoke along with the stress of the day out.
“Now if only I had some dick waiting for me, that would’ve been great.” you say giggling.
Holding the blunt between your fingers, careful not to burn your nails again. You start walking to the kitchen when your phone’s ringtone stops you mid stride. The eye roll that you unleash came deep from the soul, until you saw the name on the caller ID.
“cam😵💫”
The heaviest sigh comes out but you still answer. While propping your phone up on the counter in your kitchen, the FaceTime call takes a moment to connect, then you’re greeted with his dammed but handsome face.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?” voice syrupy sweet, dripping with sarcasm.
“I can’t just check up on you?” he asks feigning shock.
You take a long pull from the blunt again, mainly to avoid saying something snarky. “It’s never just a check up with you.” You say while letting the smoke out again.
“You right…it ain’t never just that with me.” he chuckles. “But seriously, wassup?”
You shrug, not knowing really where to start; “I’m okay I guess? I don’t know. This job is getting on my nerves, so are these niggas and I don’t know what’s in the air today but it’s like everybody just was being stupid. You take a deep breath after your small rant; taking another hit before asking him, “What about you, what’s going on in your world?”
You really didn’t care to hold back with Cameron at this point. He was what you’d call comfortable. A failed situationship turned friendship? Using the word friend very loosely here. You and him tried to make it work before, the love and feelings were there. He gave you just enough to keep you holding on—never enough to make you stay. Yet, you and him could never really leave each other be.
There wasn’t a big fall out between the two of you, just a mutual agreement. He promised to be there for you—which only muddied up the lingering feelings you had for him—but you had to set a boundary because it’s so easy to fall into those same routines with him. You dated other men sure, they just didn’t do it for you like he did.
Not tall enough.
Too clingy.
Not strong enough.
Didn’t know your body like he did.
All fuck ups.
Or you were just set on finding issues with every man that isn’t him?
You tune back into the conversation catching the tail end of him mentioning some training camp he has coming up before the season starts. You nod slightly, “Another year in the books, you think y’all going all the way?” You say, as you turn around to dig in your fridge for something to eat. The last time you ate plus the weed you’re smoking, it’s like you’re starving.
You moved to your living room after smoking and eating. The stress of your day finally off your shoulders. You and Cameron still were on the phone, the conversation between the two of you still light. Until he asked:
“You dealing with anybody?” he asks.
You pause, shifting against the pillows on the couch to get more comfortable. “Why?”
“I can’t ask?” A moment passes between the two of you before he continues. “Or I can’t do that no more?” he cocked an eyebrow.
You fold your lips in on each other, a small smile forming across your face. “Be my guest…however, that don’t mean I gotta answer.” you reply, voice even.
His eyebrows raise while humming lowly. He’s used to this with you—the push and pull, the hard exterior. It’s what attracted him to you back in college. He knew the real you under the facade—the soft version of yourself. The version he knew he wasn’t worthy of but still received.
“You tryna be funny but it won’t be funny if I pull up and we have this conversation face to face, love.” He says, his attention fixed on you.
“You wouldn’t.” you challenge.
“You know I would.”
Light knocks on your front door bring you out of the light nap you were taking. You sit up, hearing the knocks getting heavier. Taking your time, you walk to the door but before opening it, you pause.
“Cameron, I know damn well—“ you exclaim, opening the door and seeing that shit eating grin on his face.
“You gon let me in? Or I gotta get on my knees and beg?” Same grin on his face.
You fold your arms across your chest, meeting his eyes.
“You ain’t getting on your knees for nothing.” You mumble, stepping aside for him to come in. He brushes past you without a second thought as if this was all a formality.
Once the door shuts, the space between you two feels smaller. You didn’t realize how close he was until you turned around. Your eyes meet his once again, this time you can see the heat smoldering in them.
“Don’t get all quiet on me now…keep that same energy you had on that phone.” he murmured.
You smack your lips, “You drove all the way over here for that? you tryna prove a point to somebody?”
“Yeah…you.” He replies, closing the space between the two of you. You take a step back bumping into the wall. You hate how your breathing changed. And you definitely hate how your heartbeat settles deep between your thighs.
Cameron notices the shift in your body too. “You ain’t gotta keep pushing me away ma,” eyes focused on your mouth.
“it’s only prolonging the inevitable…ain’t it?” his gaze lifts back up to you.
A moment passes, “Just say the word and I’ll give you what you want.”
Your lips part slightly but nothing comes out. Cameron’s hand brushed against your jaw, tilting your head back just enough. You exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. You leaned into him—you wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction of you saying it—as his lips met yours.
The kiss starts slow, a soft moan slipping out from you. His hands drops to your hips, gripping tightly. You wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes. He pulls you in closer, while deepening the kiss. He picks you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Breaking the kiss fully, he catches his breath before saying
“It was just too much for you to just say it huh? Wouldn’t give me the satisfaction.” He tuts.
Fighting the urge to yet again roll your eyes, grip tightening on him. “Cam…shut up and fuck me.” You whined.
Cameron might not be able to communicate using his words but he definitely was trying to tell you something tonight. Your legs rested on his shoulders while he drove himself deeper into you. This position was always his favorite; he was able to pay attention to every little shift of yours. He pushed your legs back even more, practically folding you in half.
Clearly he thinks you’re a gymnast of some sort.
He must have read your mind, bringing you back to the moment, “Uh uh, stay with me.” swiveling his hips on the last word as he leaned down closer to you. Your moans getting louder now because of the angle. You pulled him closer to you by his signature chains that were in your face. The kiss you shared was messy; the sounds from the each of you mixing together to create a filthy soundtrack to the night.
“You hear how wet she is for me baby?” he murmurs in your ear, lips brushing against the lobe. You moaned in response—the mix of him fucking you and talking to you too much.
“She missed daddy didn’t she?” He continues. This time you nod quickly.
“You missed daddy, huh?” he asks, slowing his hips. “Fuck…yes.” You breathe; your response shocking you.
The dick can’t be that good, it’s just been a while for me.
You try to come up with some sort of reasoning for you to fold that easily. Those words only spurred Cameron on. The break that you thought you were about to get? Gone. Back to proving a point. Sounds were just falling from your lips at this point. He pushed himself up on his knees, looking at where you were connected. An even filthier scene to match the ambiance.
Your legs fell to the bed wide open, giving them a well needed break. You watched him through hooded eyes as he took his thumb after sucking on it to your clit rubbing in small circles in tandem to his strokes. Your moans got higher in pitch. You gripped your breasts, pinching your nipples between your thumb and index fingers; the more stimulation the better.
“You gon cum fa’me?”
“Right fuckin’ there, oh my—“ you moan. Squeezing your eyes shut, that feeling you know all too well washes over you. His name a plea that’s freely flowing from your lips through your whole orgasm.
He’s right behind you: strokes messier, low groans turning into higher pitched ones, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin.
“Where you want it?” he grunts out.
Instead of giving him an answer, you show him by wrapping your legs around his hips, crossing them at your ankles.
“Oh it’s—“ he starts but is quickly interrupted by a long groan as he empties himself inside of you. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he pulls out. You whine from the loss of contact, but that was quickly replaced when he pulled you to the edge of the bed by your ankle.
Cameron’s licked a quick stripe up as he groans directly into you. His eyes trained on yours as he at like a man starved. He pulls back enough for you to see the lower half of his face soaked with the mix of you and him.
“We taste good together.” he groans lowering his head back between your thighs as he works to pull the second orgasm of the night from you. He slides two fingers inside of you and moves them in a ‘come here’ motion. You grip the sheets of ruined bed in your hands trying to keep yourself grounded.
Given how sensitive you were from his previous assault on your pussy, this orgasm didn’t take as long before it crashed into you completely. His fingers slide out easily and you shudder from the loss of contact. He stands in front of you in all his naked glory; dick resting between his thighs. You sit up on one elbow, looking at him with a smug grin on his face as he licks his fingers clean.
“I only got one question for you, who else you been fucking like that?” you muse, cocking an eyebrow at him.
He laughs—genuine one too. “What was it that you said earlier? Be my guest? I ain’t gotta answer?” he asks rhetorically.
You glance around, looking for something to throw at him—only then realizing everything had long since fallen off the bed.
“Ha, ha…but guess what?” You let a beat pass. “You still got on them knees tonight, ain’t you?”
His eyebrows lift slightly, “Touché babygirl, touché.”
I need Haiti to put bta againt Scotland PLEASEEEEEEE😭I'm gonna be visiting family in Boston and I need that night to be nothing but kompa and ass shaking
I know this is a deeply American thing to say but I am begging everyone to stay the fuck away from military recruiters. Especially high school kids. You are going to be seeing an unholy amount of them in schools or around schools or literally anywhere kids are known to congregate. THIS INCLUDES ALL FORMS OF ROTC. Stay the fuck away from military recruiters. As someone who’s familiar with entirely too many branches through entirely too many friends and family, including my partner, recruiters are authorized to say literally any fucking thing they think will make you sign on that line. They cannot and will not deliver on those promises. They need bodies for the war they’re pretending is only now starting up again. That’s all you are. A body. Stay the FUCK away from the military.
As someone who took rotc in hs...they will bring up anything from "We pay for your schooling" to "We can get your family citizenship" Recruiters circle high schools like vultures and will take ANY INFO abt you and use it as a reason as to why you should enlist.
If I see another Avatar writer use AI I WILL crash out.
If you're still defending AI, look up what it does to our planet and especially POC communities. Damn, that sounds mad familiar??? Mmmmmmh, it's almost like the whole Avatar franchise is a direct reflection of our history (both past AND present) and how disgusting environmental racism is🤔🤔
The movies were all about how the Na'vis suffered greatly because of how selfish humans are. Writers who are using AI, you are part of those people. You wouldn't be Norm or Max or even Trudy. You would be one of the humans thinking that the explotation of Pandora is justifiable because "we need those resources". Y'all are clowns I'm sorry if it ruffles some feathers but you are. You don't need to show us your OC who is just AI slop that looks like the other thousands of AI slop OCs. If you want to justify yourself I mean go ahead but it's like idk, breaking someone's phone because yours doesn't have any battery left
If this makes you mad, maybe think about actually researching about the effects of AI yk?? And if you just pick an AI picture on pinterest, I mean it's better ig but please educate yourself a little 🙏🙏
No cause the amount of AI I see used under the avatar x reader tag is insane 😭and what's even crazier is...ppl use it for human reader face claims as if you can't scroll through Pinterest for one that doesn't use it👁️👄👁️ppl even have picrews available that can be used for an avatar/na'vi oc/insert
summary: Broken by the fall of the Hometree and Eywa's silence, you dream for a possibility of peace of mind, figuratively and literally. You come to the Metkayina's village looking for a temporary refuge in your search of said peace, and end up never leaving in favour of love.
pairing(s): tonowari x omatikaya!reader, platonic reader x neytiri
word count: 15k (i know...)
warnings: reader is neytiri's sister, grief and mourning, mention of dead bodies, eywa's constant meddling, probably suggestive, yearning, pining, "but i don't want ninat", added lore cuz i got carried away, kinda miscommunication, no ronal hate, space racism?, complex neytiri i fear...., mentioned pregnancy, mentioned childbirth, rotxo is adopted lmao, when the story starts reader is around 19 and both neytiri and tonowari are around 22, takes place after avatar (2009), proofread one time instead of the two usual times so pls let me know if there are any errors
author's note: can't believe this fine shyt is now a single dad
dividers from @uzmacchiato!
When the smoke clears and the ashes fall, nothing is left of the Hometree.
Nothing but the stump, the bulging roots and the cut-off part remain of your destroyed home. You’ve never seen one, but you think that the remains of the tree must look like a decapitated corpse — something that once was full of life, and now is just… there. A reminder of what was.
Many managed to evacuate the branches as it fell, but just as much ended up being buried by its massive limbs; you can’t find it in yourself to understand if it was a blessing — for them to have such a quick death, one that avoided them from feeling the endless grief you’re feeling now — or a tragedy. You keep asking Eywa the same question, but either she doesn’t know, or she won’t tell you.
She hasn’t been telling you much lately, anyway.
As the daughter of the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk, you grew up close to the bond you shared with Eywa. Mo’at always brought you and your sisters along with her to pray, and the three of you soon learnt how to perceive her in everything you did and everything that happened. The Great Mother is in all of us, your mom used to always say, before you fully grasped the concept. She gives, and we take. And when the time comes, we’ll be the ones to give back what we borrowed.
It looks like, to you, that the time has come. Only, Eywa won’t seem to take anything from you.
During the day, you’re back at the ruins of the Hometree, with a few other Omatikayas looking for the remains of their loved ones. When they are easy to remove, you do so, and then give them the burial they deserve as a part of the People; when the branches have buried them too deep in the terrain for you to remove them, you pray for them and their souls, hoping that they are, at last, at peace.
At night, you pray by the Tree of Souls until the first morning lights shine through the outline of the mountains, when your mother wakes and gently drags you to the marui you share with her and orders — more like begs — you to sleep. “You won’t be able to hear Eywa better if you tire yourself so, daughter,” she utters as she holds you tight in her arms, humming that same lullaby she used to when you were little. “I doubt she wants you to be exhausted.”
You sniffle brokenly, hiding in her shoulder like a child as she covers you with the blanket she had stitched with the help of Sylwanini and Neytiri when she first realised she was pregnant with you. It’s a miracle you managed to salvage it from the fall of the Hometree, as most of your belongings have been lost during it. “We still haven’t found Tsu’tey, sa’nok,” you whisper, muffling a sob.
Mo’at sighs softly, holding you tighter. “Oeyä yawne,” my beloved, she starts, “Tsu’tey died a great death. Even if you do not find what remains of him, I’m sure Eywa will hold him close nevertheless. He fell into the ocean, after all — she’s strong there, too. We might not think of it to be our home, but everywhere Eywa is, can be considered our home.”
Still, it’s hard to believe that Jakesully out of all people is helping rebuild your village.
He’s supposed to be one of the aliens that came from the sky — one of the four-fingered demons that have destroyed your home. And somehow, Eywa still chose him to lead the Omatikaya.
You don’t deny his bravery, nor his will to learn your ways, nor the fact that he is a great warrior — Turuk Makto, in fact. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t hard for you to look at him and not see the Hometree lying dead on the ground, burning, and the Tree of Voices reduced to shreds under the dozers.
You know it’s probably just your grief talking — you’ve never had anything against the man, not even when he first came here, blabbering about wanting to learn the way or whatever the RDA had put in his head — but you don’t know what else to do. When you’re not looking around for the corpses of the fallen, or praying for them, or begging Eywa to tell you the meaning of all of this, you’re either crying or trying to sleep — and when the latter comes, it’s never restful.
Neytiri is grieving, too, and you know it, but she takes it differently — because she has Jake, and she’s putting all she has into building a new, safe village, where maybe one day their kids will grow happily. But you feel stuck — like when it fell, the Hometree swallowed you, too, along with all the fallen comrades that you had known for your whole life.
Your answers finally come during another restless night spent under the Soul Tree.
Your mother has since stopped trying to coax you away from it — instead, she has taken to making salves and weaving shawls under the light of the branches as you weep silently for a sign, the terrain still against your body, unlike the usual steady beat you used to feel. Sometimes Mo’at braids your hair, other times recalls stories of your father and sister, but mostly lets you cry it out — even if her heart breaks every time a tear slips down your cheek. Neytiri sometimes comes along, chanting her songs and saying her prayers, but lately, she’s taken to spending her nights in the tent she calls home, with Jakesully.
(Not that you blame her. If you had a mate, you’d probably find comfort in them, too. If you had a mate, maybe you wouldn’t be so utterly hopeless.)
It’s when you find sleep while having these thoughts that finally, Eywa responds to your call in the best way she knows — a dream.
You feel like you’re floating, and finally, finally– you can feel her presence. She’s everywhere, surrounding you with her warmth, and it’s just when you look around to understand where you are that you notice that you are underwater. Life swarms you from every angle — the fishes twirling in a dance only they can understand, anemones and corals shimmering with bioluminescence on the rocks under your feet.
You don’t know for how long you swim, but what you know is that you haven’t felt this feeling in what seems like ages. You have missed the Great Mother’s presence, and if this dream tells you anything, it’s that maybe, she has missed you, too.
A large, warm hand engulfs yours. You can’t see the face of the man that has taken it, but by the color of his skin, he can’t be Omatikaya. Come with me, a voice says, and you aren’t able to really distinguish it — it does not sound like a real voice, rather like a spoken thought inside your mind. Our Spirit Tree is this way. You feel the same hand on the small of your back, guiding you in the water, in a way so gentle that you already dread the moment his touch will fade.
You wake up with your hand still feeling warm and dried tears staining your cheeks. The ground you’re lying on feels stiff and cold. Hoisting yourself up on your elbows, you notice the sky — it’s still night — and your mother, sleeping with her head leaning on the trunk of the tree. “Are you trying to tell me that I have to find my peace somewhere else?” you murmur quietly to the tree, impossibly tired in every way imaginable. And maybe it’s just an impression, or your lack of sleep, but you think the branches glow a little more than usual at that.
The hard part is not accepting to leave behind the Omatikaya — in your heart, you knew that a part of you died when the Hometree fell, and no new village would ever make up for what the sky people have taken away from you; every camp made after that would only look like a ghost of what was, where you grew up in.
No, no. The hard part is convincing both the Tsahìk and the Olo’eyktan to let you go.
By the time morning comes, your bags are already packed. Your ikran, Ry’ia, is waiting for you just outside of the village chirping softly with Neytiri’s mount, Sa’atra, as you pull on your traveling shawl and wait for the villagers to wake up before your departure. Needless to say, it doesn’t take long for chaos to erupt.
Neytiri drags you away from the astounded clan members as soon as she gets wind of what’s happening, Mo’at and Jakesully on tow when she sits you down in one of the newest tents, her face unreadable as she takes a seat in front of you. “Explain.”
You look at her mate and your mother, sitting respectively on her left and on her right, and suddenly your heart fills up with courage you weren’t even aware of having. “I had a dream last night,” you start, “Eywa has shown me where to find my peace again.”
As you recall your vision, you can tell that the only one fully understanding the meaning of it is your mother, because while Jakesully doesn’t look too troubled about it, Neytiri hasn’t had that betrayed look on her face towards you since you were seven, and you stole the last piece of fruit intended for her. “What?” she asks in pure disbelief, “Wha– why would you ever think of going away from here, sister? We have plenty of men who would be delighted to have you as their mate. We have the ocean. We have fishes. Do you really have to look for them from another clan to be happy?”
You shake your head, guilt seeping through your chest. “Sister, if I could be happy while being here, close to you, I would stay. But…” Your eyes drift up to Jake and immediately go back to her, not wanting to blame him for all the things humans have done to you. “I can’t find it in myself to build a new village that Tsu’tey, father– hell, Sylwanin won’t see. And even if I could…”
You scroll your shoulders, “Eywa has shown me the way,” you say firmly, “and I will follow it.”
Neytiri looks over to Mo’at, searching for support in the discussion. “Mother, please, tell her this is madness,”
She looks at her for a singular moment, then to you. Finally, she speaks. “When I was your age, I had a dream, too. It led me to your father.” The story isn’t new to you — everyone knows Mo’at was part of the Orangi clan before she married your father.
Neytiri stares at her, “Mother, you can’t be serious– she doesn’t even know where–”
“How can she know, if she does not try?” The Tsahìk interrupts her, “Eywa has shown her that she won’t find peace while living here. These things are rare, but they happened. That was my case, at least.”
Your sister gapes at her, flabbergasted, only to look back at you, getting back up on her feet. “If you leave,” she hisses, “I will never forgive you.” She storms out, her tail twitching after her, leaving the tent feeling even colder than before.
Finally, you manage to look at Jakesully straight into his eyes, trying to avoid the glare your mother is sending him, and you’re surprised to see an actual understanding of the situation there. “You do understand why I can’t stay here, do you?”
He blinks, sad. “I do.”
You nod, “Good. I would never ask you to leave — this is your home, too, after all. And it would mean sacrificing Neytiri’s happiness. I’d rather be happy here too, but… I can’t do that. Not while my loved ones lay under the Hometree, dead.” you shake your head, ashamed of what you’re about to say, “Not while you are here living the life they deserved. I am sorry, Jakesully.”
Tentatively, he places a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he mutters, sorrowful, “I know you would stay here if you could. Just… please, do not go today. Wait until the end of the week. Let me talk to your sister– I’ll try to change her mind.”
As he leaves to go look for Neytiri, you are left with your mother. Your eyes remain downwards, all the courage of before gone after your sister’s outburst, your heart feeling heavier than ever. Needless to say, when she moves to hug you, you’re left stunned — you were waiting for her to tell you you were mad, too. “I am sorry, daughter,” she says, her usually firm voice trembling, “I did not understand your pain was so great. I thought Eywa had in her plans to keep my daughters close to me, but if having you far from me is the price for your happiness, then I’ll gladly take everything that comes with it.”
You avoid mentioning her teary eyes when she pulls back, her hands holding your shoulders. She sniffles, trying to save face. “The Metkayina are the only sea clan your father’s ever had contact with,” she manages, "their Olo’eyktan may still remember him. You should start your search from there.”
In the following days, you are smothered with gifts.
Everyone makes something for you to take on your travels, or to give to the chiefs of the foreign clans you’ll visit. Your friends Ninat and Peyral stitch a beautiful shawl in record time, stitched beads and feathers in it. So that you may have something to remember us by, Peyral explains, emotional, as Ninat nearly bursts into tears.
Your mother makes a Tsahìk necklace typical of the Omatikaya and tells you to give it to the wife of the chief. Showing respect to your hosts is always important, remember. Do not forget your culture, but do not force it on them, either.
Even Jake turns up one night, giving you a funny-looking bone knife that he clearly has just learned how to carve. “As a… parting gift?” he tells you, even if it sounds more like a question. His ears bend down, “I’m sorry you feel like you have to leave to be happy. I wish things didn’t have to be this way.” I wish you could overcome our differences like your sister did.
You look at the knife — the jaggedy blade looking ugly but clearly heartfelt — and then back at him. “You’re a good man, Jakesully,” you tell him. “I am truly sorry that my opinion on you has to be stained by what your kind has done to us — but perhaps, it’s just because things are a little too fresh. Perhaps, I just need some time away from here.”
Neytiri doesn’t come looking for you until it is time for you to go. As you say your goodbyes to friends and everyone you grew up with, she shuffles quietly behind Jake, her hands behind her back. Still hugging Ka’ani, you look at her as she gets closer, suspiciously quiet, only to present you with a bead on her open palm.
You gasp at the sight of it — it’s a bright blue stone, one of the ones to be found only in the ikrans’ nest, with the Omatikaya clan symbol etched on it. “For your songcord,” she explains, not looking you in the eye. “To mark your… new start. Your travels.”
You look at the bead, taking it in your hands, then tug Neytiri close to hug her as tight as possible. “I’ll miss you, sister,” you murmur in her shoulder.
Even if she’s supposed to be mad at you, she reciprocates the hug immediately, and it doesn’t take long for the tough facade to crumble. “Please, come back when you’re finally happy again, okay?” her voice is trained, and you doubt anyone but you heard her whisper. “This will always be your home. You’ll always have a place to stay here — with me.”
Ry’ia is delighted in the change of scenery — you can tell by the way she reacts through the bond, but also the happy shrieks she lets out once you lower her near the surface of the ocean so that her wings may touch the water. You look behind you — to the mountains that you’ve called home ever since you came to the world — one last time before turning your gaze back to the sea, the directions your mother gave you etched into your mind.
Awa’atlu is almost three days of travel from your village, turned into four by the stops you make to allow Ry’ia and yourself some rest. And when you finally reach it, it’s night, and only a few lights are shimmering in the Metkayina village. Not wanting to disturb their sleep, you turn your ikran to the rocky side of the island — devoid of any maruis from what you can see — and land atop the coast, dismounting from Ry’ia and patting the side of her neck. “Good girl,” you murmur, “rest now, yes? I’ll take a dip and be back here with you in a moment.”
You remove your traveling shawl as she chirps quietly, remaining in your loincloth and chest piece as you dive into the waters.
You feel like crying in relief when you finally feel her. Eywa is everywhere here — she surrounds you with the water in bioluminescence, in the anemones that move in rhythm with the currents and the nocturnal fishes that swim around in a haze. It’s like waking up from a bad dream, being able to finally feel her again.
Even if brief, the peace it gives you swells your heart. The Great Mother wasn’t holding a grudge against you — you simply weren’t searching for her in the right place.
You resurface to catch some air, only to notice that you aren’t alone.
A turquoise zukzuk — an otterfin — stares at you with her big eyes, and if she weren’t an animal, you’d say she was smiling at you. She rubs her snout into your shoulders, chirping happily, and you chuckle, petting her back, “Aren’t you a cutie? Oh, yes you are, yes you are…”
She licks your cheek, and you fake a gag even as she basically throws herself in your arms. “Now, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to trust strangers? If I were a tad bit more selfish, I’d totally bring you home with me,” you’re not sure how you would manage an otterfin in the forest or while traveling, but you’re sure that if there’s a will, there’s a way.
“Hey, you shouldn’t swim here when it’s dark,”
The screech you let out is loud enough to wake up the whole village, you’re sure. The zukzuk — who looks more scared than you — jumps in your arms as you hug her, ready to defend her from any possible attacker. The latter — a man with turquoise skin and weird tattoos over his face — screams back, mostly startled by your yelling.
“Sorry, sorry!” he puts his hands in front of him as your screams die down, still hugging the otterfin, “I didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just that — we’re too close to the reef, and it’s mating season for the akulas. Their cubs will start hunting for preys any moment now. It’s dangerous to stay here for long.”
You share a look with the otterfin, who’s still cuddled to you, and it’s just then that the man seems to notice her. He frowns, “Nala, is that you?” It's the same tone you use for Ry’ia when she pulls some kind of stunt you told her not to do, and the zukzuk lets out a noise while looking at you with the biggest eyes as if to say, I’ve never met this man in my life.
The latter gasps, “It is you!”
The pup cuddles closer to you, hiding under your chin, her tongue slipping out of her mouth like she wants to mock him. You raise an eyebrow, “This is your zukzuk?”
The guy nods, “She knows she shouldn’t swim here at night, it’s dangerous–”
A rumble from below interrupts him, and you all freeze. “…What did you say about those akula cubs?” You don’t even know what an akula is, but judging from the fact that apparently their cubs make swimming at night dangerous, it can’t be anything good.
His hand wraps around your wrist as he starts to drag you away, back onto the shore, much faster than it took you to even get here. “Just where did you come from? Are you Ta’unui really so clueless?” Another rumble from behind you, and he swims even faster. You keep Nala under your arm, and she keeps moving her tail like she’s trying to help him move away.
It’s only when you’re out of trouble and onto the shore, where the water reaches your knees and you’re illuminated by the bioluminescence and the moons, that he notices that you don’t look like a Tau’nui at all. He stares at your slim tail and arms, leaning his head like he’s never seen a specimen like this, and even your clothes are weird. Quite dumbly, he pulls at the feathers stitched into your top, staring intently, “What are those?”
The fact is, you’re also just noticing that he doesn’t look like normal Na’vi men, too — at least, not to the ones you’re used to. He’s broader, taller, and apparently also dumber, because he doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s just grazed and uncovered part of your breast.
You deadpan. He blinks. Nala barks. He lets the feathers go as he turns purple, “Sorry, I didn’t notice.” He’s lucky that the Omatikaya are people raised with no shame about their bodies, because otherwise, the slap you would’ve given him wouldn’t have been too nice from a girl who’s supposed to look for uturu in his clan.
You squeeze the water out of your hair as he stares weirdly, Nala twirling around the two of you. “Why were you swimming if the waters are so dangerous at night?” You ask him, trying not to stare too much at his arms — you never thought that the Omatikaya men needed more muscles, but now you understand that if they did, it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. His tail — twitching uneasily behind him — is thicker and longer than yours, and his arms have strange prolongments on their sides — to help swimming, you suppose. While Omatikaya grow slender and thin to avoid any difficulty in swinging in the forest, maybe the Metkayina grow to swim more efficiently in the ocean.
“I was looking for her,” he points at Nala, “we spoiled her a little too much, and now she doesn’t know how to take a no.” He tries to smile at you, “You’re not from around here, are you? Your tail would be horrible for swimming.”
You nod, “I’m from the forest clans — the Omatikaya.” you tell him your name, and he nods. “I came here looking for uturu, but the village seemed to be asleep when I got here, so I figured I would talk to the chief in the morning.”
He looks troubled, “I’m Tonowari,” he introduces himself, “I’m from the village. Uturu? Has something happened to the Omatikaya?”
No matter how much you insist he doesn’t, he drags you to the village — in the literal sense, as you didn’t want to follow him and he has to take you by your wrist — and over to a secluded mauri, where he finally lets go. Ry’ia chirps tiredly beside you, huffing indignantly at him as you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders. “I’ll talk to Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to the mauri, “wait for me here, okay?” Nala quietly follows him, dragging her little belly over the sand.
You didn’t really explain the whole thing— you just told him that you’re here to find contact with Eywa again because you weren’t able to in your homeland. You don’t really know why he insisted so much in talking to the chiefs now, and you can’t help but wonder why he feels comfortable waking up the two most important people in his village for a stranger.
Soon enough, he comes back out from the marui, gesturing for you to come inside; you do, and you’re greeted by two very much awake chiefs, sitting with their backs straight as ever.
“Olo’eyktan Arvak and Tsahìk Tsika,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to them, “I’ll leave the three of you alone– keep an eye on that big bird of yours.”
“She’s not a big bird," you whisper, too tired to fully protest. He pats your shoulder, looking a bit guilty, letting the woven sheet atop the pod close back behind you, “Sure she isn’t,”
You remain alone with the chiefs — and Nala, who you realise just now hasn’t followed Tonowari. Looking at the couple, you figure that the Metkayina must all have his same features. “Sit,” Tsika gestures to the empty space in front of them, “and tell us everything.”
Recounting the fall of the Hometree is more difficult than you thought it would be — because even if it’s been almost a month now, the wound still feels fresh. They listen, not prodding for more information when you stop to take a deep breath to avoid bursting in tears, and the Tsahìk puts a hand over her mouth when you mention your father. “Eytukan,” she murmurs, looking over to her mate. “He came here when we called for the other Tsahìks.”
At your confused face, Arvak explains, “A little over twenty years ago, our son fell sick. Rashes all over his body, convulsions, other symptoms we’d never seen before.”
His wife takes a deep breath, “When nothing seemed to work and we lost all hope, Arvak chose to call the other clans’ Tsahìks and healers for help. The Ta’unui sent a healer, the Aranahe some healing plants, and everyone pretty much did the same. But your father,” she pokes you in the chest, not in a mean way — in a way that says, the man you’re half a part of. “Olo’eyktan Eytukan came here himself. Excused his wife’s absence, told us she had just given birth to their third daughter and wasn’t able to travel properly. He took a look at our son’s state, and said that it probably was txumpaywll poisoning — until then, we didn’t even know that its plants had started to grow on our islands. Made a salve for his rashes, concocted the antidote and left when he got better.”
They bow their heads at you, “It will be an honor to pay back Eytukan’s kindness. Tell us what you need, and we’ll do anything in our power to help you.”
You beg them to raise their heads, embarrassed. “I just want some time with your clan,” you tell them, “learn your ways with the creatures, how you move within the currents.” If Jakesully out of all people managed to learn the Omatikaya’s ways, you doubt it will be much harder for you. “I… I’ve lost contact with Eywa. I hope that learning your clan’s ways will help me in finding it again.”
Arvak has got a pensive look on his face. Then, he says, “Tonowari, I know you’re listening. You can come in.”
The man sheepishly enters the marui again, sitting beside you, a little embarrassed. You raise an eyebrow — did he really think either of you didn’t hear him? You might’ve not heard him approach when you were in the water, but back with your feet on steady ground, you would’ve known how to spot him before he was even in your line of sight.
Nala squeals and throws herself on his knees, purring. Arvak tries to ignore her to his best abilities. “Our son Tonowari will teach you everything he knows about the reef,” ah, so that’s why he didn’t have any problem waking them up. Nice to know that the Olo’eyktan’s successor has seen your boob. On his part, Tonowari makes no protest. “Her training starts tomorrow. Go show her one of the vacant maruis — she’ll stay here for a while.”
Ry’ia is already sleeping when you and Tonowari detach your bags from her saddle, and you try your best not to gape at his biceps as they flex while he takes the heaviest woven baskets out of your hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll take those– you must be really tired.”
He balances them on his side and shoulder as he walks you through the maruis — with the few still awake villagers peeking out of their tents to steal a curious look at you — only to stop in an empty one, carefully leaning the baskets down to the floor. You stare at the woven walls of your new home, at the mat on the floor and the little space reserved for the fireplace, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this can work.
You set down your bag as Tonowari stands back up from his knelt position, “Try to get some sleep,” he tells you quietly, “I’ll come to wake you up tomorrow a little before dawn — it’s when the ilus wake up. If you need anything, that–” he points to a nearby pod, “–is my marui.”
He stops for a moment and looks at you, sitting on the sleeping mat. “I’m sorry about your father and what happened to your people.”
You press your lips into a thin line. “Thanks.” You avert your eyes and wrap your shawl a little tighter around you. “Uh… goodnight, Tonowari.”
He nods, a sad smile on his lips as he moves outside of the tent, still holding open the curtain serving as door. “Goodnight.”
He closes the blind, and you’re left to your thoughts.
Tonowari laughs. “Your swimming form is funny.”
You pout. “If you're here to poke fun at my survival-level swimming form, I’m sure Nala would be happy to teach me how to instead.”
His laugh gets even louder, and he raises his hands up. “I said it was funny, not bad! It’s like… watching a child take their first dive out of their mother’s womb.”
“Are you really saying that a kid might swim better than me?”
The son of the Olo’eyktan has at least the decency to stifle his chuckles now. “No, no, I’m sure you’ll learn soon enough.”
This morning, the villagers were astonished to find out that the chiefs had basically sneaked you into the village overnight — but sure enough, their spirits changed when you started distributing the gifts you had brought for them. The Tsahìk seemed pleased with the necklace your mother had made her, claiming it to be of beautiful manufacture, as her people raided your baskets for the shawls and armbands your friends had stitched for them. Yovo fruits were gone in a matter of seconds, and Arvak had to set aside the dried meat you brought to assure that everyone got a piece for dinner.
(As for Arvak’s gift, you gave it to him once the crowd dissipated. You told him it was from Toruk Makto, who even after proper Omatikaya training, unfortunately still had to work on his carving abilities. He took the dagger nonetheless, pleased that Toruk Makto himself took time out of his day to make something for him.)
Despite your gifts quietening the protests of your arrival, the villagers still stared a little too hard sometimes — no wonder, they’ve never seen a forest Na’vi before. Most of them are nice or at least cordial to you, but a few doubtful stares still linger as Tonowari tries to do his best in teaching you the ways of the Metkayina.
You start spending your mornings — from before dawn up until lunch — with the Olo’eyktan son, learning how to juggle the currents and hold your breath, and your afternoons with the clan elders, weaving baskets and learning how to stitch seashells into body pieces.
(The first time you asked if you could help weaving the growing side of the marui pods, they gasped, scandalized. Apparently, it’s strictly the men’s job around here.)
After a few days and horrendous tries, you finally manage to finish your first armband — Priya, an old woman wearing the feather chest piece that one of your friends had made, insisted on it. It’s decorated with a few shells you managed to collect while diving with Tonowari, and as she inspects it closely, she hums, clearly pleased with your work. “I’m sure your mate will be delighted to wear this, one day.”
You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “My mate?”
The other elders nod convincingly, passing around your work. “In Awa’atlu, the first piece a girl makes is always a stitched armband," she explains, revealing why she had pressured you so much in starting off with one. “The mother makes sure to save it, and when the time comes, it will be given to her husband to wear. He, in return, will give her a carved comb, usually decorated with anything that pleases the woman.”
You think about it for a moment, “So, the first ever piece the men carve is a comb, too?”
The women laugh like the mere thought is hilarious. “Of course not!” Priya hollers, “The first piece a woman stitches is important because in her life, she will make numerous beautiful works. The men give them the most beautiful comb they make, because it’s already a miracle if they manage to make one singular, decent comb.”
At this, you laugh with them, thinking about that wobbly knife Jake made for their Olo’eyktan. Then, you snort, “This wasn’t my first armband, though,” yes, you had to learn how to properly position shells and have them not fall off the strings, but this isn't your first time stitching.
One of the other women shrugs, “So what?” She says, “It’s the first one you make here — as a future proper Metkayina — that counts as first.”
Later on that night, back in your marui, you observe the armband and store it inside one of your woven travel bags, hoping that one day, the man you dreamt about will be able to wear it.
Whenever you are free from both weaving lessons and Tonowari’s constant nagging, you delve deep into the forest that the island offers, collecting herbs and fruits. Apparently, the Metkayina have learnt to make the most out of what the sea has to offer, and subsequently rarely explore the forest except for harvesting fruits. The seaside forest is a bit different from what you were used to, but fortunately the plants do not differ that much.
The first time you show the Tsahìk how you used to make disinfectant salves in the forest, she stares at the concoction like it has just clicked something in her brain. She smells it, tries it on one of the hunter’s light scratches and notes how he doesn’t lament any stinging. “Why don’t you come with me and my tsakarems one of these days?” She asks finally. “I’m sure we could teach you something, as well as learn from your… peculiar ways.”
The next day, you ask about the tsakarems to Tonowari as he gently hoists you up to an ilu. “Here, when the Tsahìk doesn’t have a daughter, she takes various apprentices under her wing,” he explains, showing you how to place your feet to avoid falling off of the creature’s back. “And then, either the most talented or the one the future Olo’eyktan chooses becomes Tsahìk, while the others go on to become healers.”
You still fall off of the ilu’s back, but it doesn’t really matter — because Tonawari is there, ready to catch you, and immediately steadies you as you come crashing onto him. You’ll learn, he signs, still underwater. Do not worry, you’ll learn.
The two of you have grown significantly closer since your arrival, and you try not to notice the way his touch tentatively lingers over your hips as he brings the both of you back to the surface. The two of you stare at each other then, his hands still atop your waist, and just as he’s about to say something, the moment is broken by Nala — and either she’s obsessed with his biceps at least half as much as you are, or she’s really just a little, fat bugger. You both laugh as she slobbers all over your face, his hands leaving your body, and you have to convince yourself that you’re not missing his touch to continue the riding lesson.
Your weak spots are the signing lessons and the apnea training, mostly because your complete attention on him is needed to actually learn something.
The first time he pushes his hand into your belly to show you how to breathe with your stomach, you thought you would’ve been able to faint right here and there — or swoon, depending on how you see it. And whenever he shows you new signs and their meaning, unfortunately all you can think about is what exactly his fingers can do.
After lunch, you join the Tsahìk and the tsakarems in their dive for medical algae; a girl named Ronal shows you the best shells to pick to add to plants to make a paste, and the fishes that you have to follow to find a certain type of anemone with incredible healing properties. She’s a little ruffled by your presence at the lesson and you can tell, but you don’t find it in yourself to judge her; you’re pretty sure that when Jake was learning your ways, you were far more suspicious of him than she is of you.
Weirdly enough, the Tsahìk comes looking for you when you don’t show up to her lesson the day after. You come to find out that what you thought was a once-and-done offer was meant to be a more permanent position among the tsakarems, and now your evenings are filled with her lessons about spirituality and healing, too.
But the best thing about Awa’atlu is, by far, Eywa’s presence: she’s everywhere, in the waters you swim into the bonfire Avrak lights when it’s time for dinner, and for the first time in months, you feel safe. Even Ry’ia does, and it’s evident in the way she made herself a nest atop one of the highest trees in the forest.
You’ve made friends with the elders and two girls close to your age, Wali and Em’a, and the curious glances that the Metkayina sent you on that first day you spent here are nothing but memories now, as they have seemed to accept you as one of her own.
Ironically enough, you start noticing how close Ronal and Tonawari are just now that you know her.
Nothing much, but still noticeable, because most of the women in the clan are not close enough to him to be touching him — but she does. And for some reason, a lingering touch on his arm here and two grazing knees there are all it takes to ruin your night.
You know it’s stupid — a lot, actually. You’d already figured that one day, Tonowari will have to choose a beautiful and probably Metkayina woman to mate with to become the Tsahìk when his mother won’t be able to be anymore. Ronal is smart, definitely the prettiest tsakarem out of Tsika’s group, and above all, an established Metkayina in the clan. You, meanwhile, still have to properly mount an ilu, and Eywa forbids a skimwing.
When the fire dies out and it’s time for everyone to go to sleep, you sneak away from your friends to find refuge in that same rocky coast you landed on the night you arrived, and find yourself looking at the stars.
The next morning, after yet another slip down the back of your ilu, you’re ready to pack your bags and go back to wallowing in your pity in the remains of the Hometree, but Tonowari stops you by the tail and drags you back into the water, already hoisting you up the ilu’s back again. “Come on,” he encourages you, getting on the saddle right behind you. “Make the bond– I'll worry about not making you fall.”
Your eye twitches. Just how are you supposed to stay focused on the ilu when you can feel his chest pressing against your back, and his arms basically engulfing your own as he holds onto the saddle? He blinks at your staring, acting oblivious. “What?”
By some miracle, you manage to focus on your mount. The ilu’s speed causes you to completely lean on Tonowari for support, but he doesn’t seem to mind — the opposite, actually. One of his arms wrap around your midriff to keep you more stable, and while underwater you can feel his chin rest on your shoulder, when you rise back to the surface it’s his breath that you can feel on your cheek — and you know for a fact that he’s doing that on purpose, because he’s much taller than you, and he has to be crouching to be almost your height.
“See?” He whispers in your ear. “It’s not so hard.” Well, of course it isn’t with him assuring you don’t fall. Slowly, you lift your head up to look at him, a brow raised in amusement. “Not with you here, mister.”
Your sultry gaze makes him blush — an absolute hunk of a man who has surely had his fun playing with your closeness up until now, defeated by the batting of eyelashes. Unbelievable. His index finger traces a little pattern over your side, his eyes not leaving yours, “Then I’ll be here for as long as you’ll need me.”
Wali and Em’a tease you endlessly about your lessons with Tonowari, and although they are terrible at catching fishes with the nets, whenever the two of you are out in the water they’re suddenly the most interested in fishing, even if their eyes are directed to anything but their supposed catches. They insist on rebraiding your hair in the Metkayina way when your braids start growing out, picking the prettiest shells and beads they can find to intertwine them in your strands. Considering you ditched your feather tops for their net-and-shell ones a while ago, if it weren’t for the colour of your skin and your tail you could probably pass as a reef Na’vi without too much trouble.
But the main problem remains — you are not a Metkayina, not in the true sense of the word. And you are reminded of that as you see Ronal drag Tonowari away from the bonfire during dinner.
Your mood shifts visibly. You play around with the fruits on your bowl, completely bummed, and Em’a and Wali share a knowing look. “Maybe she just wants to talk to him,” the latter whispers, as her friend nods. “Yeah, they butted heads allll the time when we were kids. I’m sure he just did an ugly marui pod and she wants to point out every single mistake he made with the weaving.”
You huff a bitter laugh, “Yeah, because I’m sure that that kind of stuff requires an immediate discussion.”
You go back to watching the stars atop the rocky coast that night — it’s a habit by now, because even if you feel happy here, you still miss your mother and sister. The thought of the three of you watching the same sky always manages to comfort you. Alas, now it’s helping you overcome how stupid you’re feeling, because you know that Ronal is perfect for Tonowari.
She’s been a tsakarem for longer than you, has grown up with him, knows how to ride an ilu perfectly and knows the way of the water like the back of her hand. She doesn’t come from who-knows-where, where trees grow as tall as the stars and far away from their beloved ocean, doesn’t have a useless tail for swimming, and doesn’t need to resurface constantly for a breath of air as much as you do. Wanting to be with him is selfish, because you’re fully aware that there’s already someone perfect for him out there.
Still, that doesn’t mean it hurts less.
The next day you opt to avoid Tonowari’s lessons, staying close to Em’a and Wali to help them stitch a wedding gift for one of the village’s couples on one of the empty, woven platform just above the water surface. The chief’s son had looked confused when he’d found you with the women instead of in your marui, but his questioning glance was met with a shrug. “Well, they need this gift done before the end of this week. I won’t be able to ride an ilu properly any time soon, anyways.”
His shoulders sag a bit and he looks like a grounded ikran, but he still nods and goes his way, back to the beach. “What?” you ask Em’a when she stares at you, gaping. “He looked so sad! Why didn’t you go with him? Me and Wali could’ve finished this alone!”
You go back to your stitching, fiddling with the strings. Your mind takes you back to the other day — the way his finger traced your skin — and still, a little part of you can’t help but wonder how things would be if he didn’t like another girl already. “Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude between him and Ronal, you know.”
Your friends stare at each other, not knowing what to say — it’s not like they can rebuke without knowing what the two of them talked about — or did — last night.
You spend the day avoiding Tonowari like they pay you for it, running errands in the forest for the Tsahìk and finishing baskets with the elders, and by the time dinner time arrives, you can’t evade him anymore without half the clan wondering what happened between you two.
You’re sitting beside Em’a — who’s arguing with Priya about what shells are best for a chest piece — when someone tugs at your braids as gently as possible. “Hey,”
Of course, it’s him. He looks a bit sheepish, a weird leather pouch over his shoulder as he lets your hair go and sits beside you, brushing a fallen braid behind your ear. “I like the way you did your hair– it’s really pretty.”
Well, if Priya and Em’a weren’t listening before, now they definitely are. It’s a miracle Wali is on cooking duty tonight, because otherwise, you’d have three very nosey listeners instead of two. You blush, “Um– really?” Damn him and the effect he has on you. One day, he’ll be Ronal’s — but you decide that it surely won’t be a problem if you have his attention, just for tonight.
He nods, a smile gracing his features. “The prettiest,” for some reason, it doesn’t feel like he’s talking about the braids anymore, but you’re not brave enough to point it out aloud. “You know, I was thinking that we could try again with the ilus tomorrow. Don’t let a few falls discourage you — I’m sure I fell a lot when I had to learn, too.”
You scoff, swatting him on the arm. “Really? Big, bad Tonowari beaten by a skimpy ilu?”
He rubs the back of his neck, “Well, actually, I don’t really remember — I was little — but I’m pretty sure my bad memory is just because I probably hit my head really hard while falling.”
That manages a laugh out of you — and it’s like he can go back to breathing properly, because he had really thought he had done something that offended you in some way or the other. He was more stressed than he let out this morning, when you refused to come with him to see the ilus.
The night goes on and you laugh like you haven’t in months. He sure knows how to make great company when he wants to, and his arm — leaned on the sand behind your back — sometimes brushes against your spine, causing pleased goosebumps to etch over your skin. Eywa, you want him to be even closer so bad.
And it’s just when he leans down and scoots a little closer, his hand tentatively resting on your back, that you notice her.
Ronal is glaring at you from the other side of the bonfire, her arms crossed and her fingers tapping impatiently. The charm wears off — you remind yourself that you can’t exactly pretend she doesn’t exist for a night, because even if you don’t owe her anything, you don’t want to cause any rift between her and Tonowari. It’s not like he’ll ever mate with you, anyway.
So you gently pull away, trying to ignore his hurt stare as you get up from your previous sitting position. “I– did I do something? Are you–”
“Sorry, I just need a breather,” you disappear into the forest, but not before seeing Ronal stomping angrily towards Tonowari, surely ready to yell at him. Priya and Em’a cast worried glances at your back, but you’re too distraught to actually notice.
The rocky coast is quiet in contrast to the continuous chatter of the bonfire, as the sound of the waves is the only thing breaking the silence. You hug your knees close to your chest, staring at the stars, wondering what and how Neytiri is doing right now — cuddled up with Jake, no doubt. Well, if Ronal wasn’t so perfect for Tonowari, you think you’d like being cuddled up to him, too–
A hand on your shoulder nearly makes you jump out of your bones — were you really so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the same man you were just daydreaming about approaching? Embarrassing. If your father were alive, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.
Tonowari sits beside you again, and you hug your knees just a little closer. “I, um,” he stutters, and you can’t believe a man of his size is able to get embarrassed. “Today, when I went hunting outside the reef, I got you something.” He grabs the pouch slinged over his shoulders, opening it to reveal a beautiful conch shell.
You’ve never seen one so big — it’s probably the size of your head, if not bigger. The outer shell is iridescent, reacting to the bioluminescence of the waves that crash underneath you, while the inside is streaked in blue and purple. You’ve never seen anything like it, and you gape at the sight. “Tonowari, what…”
“I saw it and it just reminded me of you,” he explains, his cheeks a pleasant indigo. He holds it out for you to take, and if you weren’t sure your eyes were playing tricks on you, you’d say his hands were trembling slightly. “And so, as it is tradition, I thought I should’ve gotten it for you– if you will accept it, that is.”
You’re too dumbfounded by the seashell to really listen to him. You take it in your hands, tasting the weight of it, admiring its colors and wondering how something so beautiful could have reminded him of you. At last, you find yourself hugging it close to your chest, even if its spikes poke a little into your arm. “Thank you, Tonowari,” you say, feeling as full as anyone can be.
He perks up, his ears twitching like he’s in disbelief, his tail moving happily in the sand. “…Really? You accept it?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?” It's a gift, and you don’t plan on giving it back to him anytime soon. It’s too beautiful to even sit anywhere near his man-cave.
The grin he makes takes up his whole face. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. Fantastic, even.”
Gently, he touches your arm. “So, how about riding those ilus tomorrow?”
The next morning, you manage to mount an ilu properly — without Tonowari behind you for support, that is. It’s nothing much, but it’s still a step forward into life in the reef, and from the way your teacher claps and hollers, you’d think you’d tamed an akula.
Later that evening, you’re still helping Em’a and Wali with their wedding gift, as well as recounting last night’s events to their flabbergasted faces. “A conch shell?” Wali asks to confirm, her thread and beads long forgotten.
You nod, mimicking the size of the shell with your hands, “Yeah, a thing this big,”
Em’a squeals, “No way! I didn’t think he was so straight forward!”
Confused, you ask, “What do you mean? He was just being nice,”
They look at each other, gaping, then back at you, “What do you mean, he was just being–”
They’re interrupted by someone sitting down next to you without asking permission, and you blanch when you see Ronal. “Oh– oh, um, hi.”
She blinks at you like it’s no big deal, then picks up a spare thread and needle and begins helping you with the netting. “So, what did Tonowari tell you last night?”
You hesitate. “Oh, um, you know — lessons stuff. A few tips on how to balance my weight on the ilus better. Um… in a– friendly way?”
She perks up an eyebrow suspiciously, her ears twitching in annoyance. “Lessons stuff, huh?” she repeats, stitching a shell in the most aggressive way you’ve ever seen — even Neytiri bad-mouthing Jake never reached these levels of hostility. “In a friendly way? Is that so?”
You share a panicked glance with your friends, laughing awkwardly. “Yes?” It sounds more like a question than a reply, and that’s probably what tips her over the edge. Her eye twitches, and she doesn’t even bother to put the needle and thread where she found them as she rises back up to her feet while grumbling, “If you’ll excuse me,”
“She didn’t even try to be sneaky,” Em’a mutters as soon as she’s out of hearing range, “what’s up with her?”
Your stomach churns, “Well, it’s probably the fact that–”
A loud slap echoes from the village, making the three of you flinch. A second slap ensues. When you look up, you notice that Tonowari is standing on the shore, holding his jaw with his cheeks already turning an ugly purple, and Ronal is marching away, fuming.
…Yeah. You probably shouldn’t have accepted that shell thinking that it wouldn’t matter if he was going to marry her anyways.
You wonder what exactly is between them, but can’t find it in yourself to ask him — mostly because you aren’t brave enough to tell him that you like him. Em’a and Wali can keep telling you that there’s nothing between them, but recent events continue to prove them wrong.
That night, at dinner, you mostly keep to yourself, deep in your thoughts, and even if Priya tries to drag you out of your misery, it’s all futile. For one reason or another the fruit you’re munching on tastes bitter, and you’re not sure if Tonowari’s absence around the bonfire helps or worsens your mood. It’s only when Ronal herself pats your shoulder and gestures for the beach that you get out of your haze.
She tugs you by your arm down onto the shore, as silent as ever. “Listen, I’m really sorry–”
“Did you do anything you need to apologise for?” she asks, jumping off a rock. You stumble, “I– well, I know you and Tonowari probably–”
“Stupid forest girl,” she huffs, not even looking at you, “thinks I want him like he’s some kind of trophy when he’s stupid like a baby–”
“Hey! That’s not nice–”
She tugs you roughly one last time only to let your arm go as you reach where the ocean meets the sand, and you fall down in the water, wetting your — newly made, you must add — loincloth. You groan, rubbing your backside, “Ow– I get that you’re mad, but this seems a little too much to me–”
Ronal points to somewhere behind you, looking tired of you. “Go.”
You blink, confused — and then you turn, only to catch sight of Tonowari, only a few klicks behind, mounting an ilu. He raises a hand to greet you, the smile on his face nervous, and you notice that he’s got that pouch slung over his shoulder again.
Hesitant, you turn to Ronal — looking for what, you don’t know. She raises an eyebrow expectantly, “What are you waiting for? Go.”
You’re not sure you want to know what kind of game she’s playing, but something tugs at your tail. It’s Nala, you come to realize, and she’s trying to drag you off to Tonowari.
You relent, following the zukzuk and mostly letting yourself get carried by the current until you’re in front of him. He gestures his fingers to his forehead as a salute and then holds his hand out to you, “Care for a swim?”
Still hesitant, you look at the ilu, then back at him. “No baby akulas trying to eat me this time?”
He laughs, “No, not where we’re going.”
You allow him to hoist you atop the ilu — because even if you're capable of doing it yourself, he always does that — and then climbs up in front of you, holding one hand behind your thigh to keep you steady and the other on the reins. “Hold on tight.”
You have to admit that riding at night is beautiful. Other than the moons and stars above you, the only light comes from the bioluminescence, and you remove one hand from his waist to brush the surface of the water, in awe. Nala swims beside you, holding up with the pace with some effort, but still looking very happy to see you and her carer together.
Tonowari stops the ilu when floating rocks and boulders — like a miniature-size Hallelujah Mountains — start to appear in the sky. “Where are we?”
He turns to smile at you. “You came here for Eywa, didn't you?” he asks, “Well, you could say we're going to visit her.”
He dives and you follow him, still a bit reluctant. He stops to let you catch up to him when he notices that you’re a bit behind him, a hand coming up to hold your smaller one — and suddenly, all of this feels very familiar. The fishes twirling around the two of you, the rocks and algae shimmering, the life you can feel buzzing within the water–
Tonowari lets go of your hand as you stare all around you, but it’s just to sign something. Come with me, our Spirit Tree is this way. His hand comes up to the small of your back, and if you weren’t holding your breath, you’re sure you would’ve sputtered.
If he notices the way you’re staring at him — like you just discovered a whole new person — he doesn’t mention it. He just guides you through the swarms of nocturnal fishes until you see it — the Spirit Tree.
Never in your life you would’ve thought that something like that could’ve existed underwater. It looks like it’s made out of dreams, shining upon anything that comes close to it, and Tonowari’s hand slowly leaves your back as you approach it — he’s letting you have some space, you realise.
Meeting the ancestors is like going back home — maybe it’s because in the spirit realm the Hometree and all the people that came down with it are alive, or maybe it’s because you didn’t do it for a long time. Either way, once you come back from it — you have to, the air in your lungs is starting to feel less and less every second that passes — you come to find out that finally, you feel truly at peace.
You swim up to a rock covered in moss to catch your breath, taking a moment to admire your surroundings — you’ve swam up to an open cave, it seems, painted and engraved with stories from the start of the Metkayina clan to the new days. Tulkuns, ilus and Na’vi twirl across the stone, set for an endless dance across generations, and you hear the water crinkle beside you.
“Do you like it?”
You nod, “It’s beautiful. Our Spirit Tree, back in the forest, doesn’t really offer any space for carvings.”
Tonowari nods, looking at the artwork scattered across the walls. “This is the Cove of the Ancestors. It’s where we bring the dead to rest, where newborns have their first contact with Eywa and ceremonies are held.”
You hum, already imagining him in full Olo’eyktan attire, his father passing down his spear to him. The man clears his throat. “I… I also brought you here for another reason other than the Spirit Tree — Ronal suggested I might’ve wanted to… clear things up a bit between us.”
You feel your heart skip a beat. Ah, there it goes. “There’s nothing to clear up,” you assure him, even if your chest feels like it’s imploding. “It’s okay. I know you have responsibilities — and we both know that Ronal’s the best tsakarem out there.”
He blinks, confused. A beat passes, slowly. Then, “But I don’t want Ronal.”
Oh. Oh.
You stutter, wondering if he’s joking — and from the way he’s looking at you, he’s not. “But– I thought you two had a thing. She dragged you away from the bonfire the other night — she’s always so close — she slapped you this morning just because we talked last night.”
Tonowari’s laughter is sincere and without any malice behind it. “What? No!”
He removes his pouch from his shoulder, and opens it to reveal another conch shell– even bigger than the last one. It’s different, though: this one reminds you of him, all turquoise and light blue accents, and you wonder just how many hours he has spent looking for it. “Here in Awa’atlu, gifting a big conch shell symbolises the start of a courtship,” he explaines — embarrassed, perhaps? “I got so used to having you around that I forgot you weren’t born Metkayina, and probably didn’t know of the tradition. Honestly, I was too happy you had accepted it to ask myself if you knew about it — and for that, I owe you my apologies.”
You soften visibly, but still hold a little resistance. “But Ronal–”
“Ronal is a friend,” he empathizes the word, “if anything, she sees me as a brother she can’t get out of her hair. All this time, she’s pressured me to make my move on you — before the other skxawngs in the village noticed all your qualities. That day at the bonfire? We kept arguing over what compliments I should’ve used for your hair.”
You blush, “I kept telling her I should’ve just told you that you were beautiful — which was true — but she kept insisting for a subtler approach. And when we came back, you weren’t there.”
You fiddle with the shells of your chestpiece, “Well, I thought you went to have some alone time with her or something,” you mutter.
Another laugh. “So, you escaped to watch the stars every time we were a little too close? I’m flattered that you kept looking at me,”
You push at his arm, “Then why did she slap you this morning? Your cheeks are still swollen, by the way.”
He snorts, “Ouli — the ceremonial tattooer — gave her a conch shell a week ago, and she has accepted it. She can’t wait to be absolved from tsakarem’s duties, but they can’t step down until the Tsahìk — and the future chief — choose who, one day, will guide the people spiritually.” Two of his fingers come up to your chin, holding your head up to stare into your eyes softly, “She was waiting for me to choose you. I told her I’d propose the shell to you yesterday, and then she found out that apparently, you saw it as a friendly talk. Needless to say, she was pissed.”
“But– I’m not even fully trained yet. She’s better at–”
He shakes his head, “I don’t care what she’s better at — I know you’ll learn everything about our ways, eventually. You’ve already proven yourself worthy enough.” he raises the shell again, his hand moving up to your cheek. “So, what do you say if we try this once more? I found another shell just to ask you again.”
You take the shell in your hands, admiring it for a moment before throwing all your self-control out of the picture, jumping in his arms so abruptly that he falls down on his backside. The kiss is mind-shattering, his hug is everything you imagined it would be, and his body is just as warm as it was in the dream where you saw him for the first time.
The funniest thing is that once you pull away, you both are gasping for air — something you’ve never seen him do, even after diving sessions that seemed to be hours long. Tightening the hold of your arms around his neck, you press your chests even closer, your noses brushing. “Is this the answer you wanted?”
He huffs a chuckle, his eyes already looking down at your lips again, “I don’t know– seemed a bit too friendly to me. But maybe, if you do that again, say, three or four times more, I might grasp the concept fully…”
You’re pretty sure the two of you could’ve stayed there kissing all night — and maybe even more than that, with the way you could feel him pressing against your crotch — if it wasn’t for Nala, who, by the time you went back for seconds for the fourth time, already had enough and positively jumped over the two of you, breaking the sweet moment with barks and flaps of her tail.
That doesn’t stop you from sharing quick, frenzy kisses whenever she’s not looking, as by the time Tonowari accompanies you back to your marui, your lips still feel swollen and are surely flushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks you, pressing one last peck to your cheek. You nod, giving his hand one last squeeze, “‘Course,”
You decide to take things slowly — you still don’t know the Metkayina’s ways to their full extent, after all. The next few months are made of exhausting training, as now you’re the only tsakarem and still have to pass your iknimaya, and you don’t want to let anyone down. You know the expectations that everyone has about the Tsahìk, and you surely have no intention to make Tonowari look bad as Olo’eyktan when the time comes.
And about him, he surely makes the intensive training easier.
Everytime he notices that you’re a little too stressed he makes sure to bring you a trinket from his hunts — let it be a weird rock that looks like a heart or a basket full of shells you can make your chest coverings with. He finds flowers to put in your hair during meal times, and just swings you over his shoulder like a pouch full of water when he decides that you’re overworking yourself a tad bit too much, dragging you to his marui for a well-deserved nap.
The day of your iknimaya marks your formal entry in the clan — one who later on becomes even more real thanks to your mating ceremony.
It’s a quiet affair — quieter than it is usual for the son of the chief — but neither of you resent the lack of festivities or celebration, because the most important thing is that you are now mated for life. Per Metkayina tradition, you rebraid each other’s kuru braids, picking beads and shells perfect for each other just for the occasion, and when the time to exchange your wedding gifts comes, you think back to Priya’s words and wonder just who she married — because the comb Tonowari carved out of coral is nothing short of stunning.
“I’ve never been to your forest,” he tells you as you brush the swirls of the flowers and trees etched along the smooth side, “but I’ve tried imagining it so many times, I can only hope I brought it justice.” It may not be completely accurate to the forest, but the thought he put into it is more than appreciated nonetheless. In exchange, he wears your armband like it’s a badge of honor, even if it’s a little too tight on his bicep. (Not that you’re complaining — the sight is scrumptious, and you can’t believe you get to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.)
You quickly settle in the marui Tonowari built with his father in the months of courting, and after a few months of blissful marriage, you don’t even notice when your belly starts to grow.
You just assumed you were getting a little too comfortable in your new life with him and maybe put on a bit of weight — after all, the Metkayina are much softer than the Omatikaya, so maybe your body’s just adapting to the environment. You think so, until Tonowari points it out.
One morning, as he’s tying his braids back, he stops to look at you — still lying half-asleep on the mat you share, barely awake yet. He crouches to stare weirdly at your belly, then pokes at your bellybutton like he’s trying to study a new species of fish. “Oeyä Tanhì,” he starts — my star, a nickname he has taken a liking to calling you since your wedding.
You hum non-committedly. “Yes, Ma Wari?”
He keeps poking at your stomach, and keeps doing so even when you try to swat his hand away. “Stop it, Tonowari, it tickles.”
He kisses your cheek, and continues doing so all the way to your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face as he leans his cheek over the top of your head. His chuckle is full of disbelief as he whispers, “My love, I think you’re with child. Your belly is rounder and stiff.”
A moment passes. Then, “Are you calling me fat first thing in the morning, Tonowari?”
A terrifying silence and a visit to Tsika later, it’s confirmed — you are pregnant, already four months along. You’re confused, mostly because your people don’t show up until five months, but one look at your hunk of a husband is all it takes to explain your questions.
Your second tattoo is to celebrate the pregnancy. While the first was above your eyebrow and went down to your cheek, this one cups the upper part of your belly and continues to your sides, still leaving some space for eventual other tattoos on your lower belly and hips.
At night, you sit on the step going onto the ocean of your marui, letting your feet float in the water as Tonowari sits on a banked canoe below, rubbing ointment on your freshly-done tattoo. “The arch symbolises the first pregnancy,” he mumbles softly, “the sides, protection for the firstborn. If another pregnancy occurs, a piece will be added here,” he brushes against the empty, rounded sides of your belly, “for protection of the second born, and then one for the third, and so on.”
You laugh, playing with one of his braids. “I think you’re getting too full of yourself, mister– let me give birth to this one before talking about other children, will you?”
He rests his head in your lap, almost purring when you start tracing lines over his face and scalp, “And when the child is born,” he adds, a hand still over your stomach, “the father gets a tattoo over the heart, one that turns into a spiral as more children come.”
A hum, “Maybe we should start thinking about names first, Ma Wari.”
The agreement is, he chooses the name if it’s a boy, you choose if it’s a girl. He picks the name Aonung; you opt for Tsireya.
His father’s illness comes as a bitter surprise to all.
It starts with a cough, then he’s getting groggy when he moves a little too much, until no remedies the Tsahìk, you or the healers try to use work, as he lies bedridden in the marui him and his wife have shared for decades.
Tonowari is understandingly broken up about it — the man who he grew up idolizing, who offered you a refuge in your grief, who helped him build the marui where you’ll be raising your child and every other one that might come after them. He won’t be meeting his grandchild, and even if Arvak insists for you to sleep properly in your own pod for the wellness of the baby, you’re not going to leave him or your husband alone in this difficult time.
You and your mate spend every night by his side as Tsika prays and chants for Eywa, not getting a blink of sleep herself, until the inevitable comes, and Arvak’s hand finally goes limp in hers.
The period of mourning doesn’t seem like nearly enough for Tonowari to handle his grief — he spends every night curled up into you, resting his head on your lap, trying to find comfort in you and his unborn child. He’s so big that if the situation was a little different, you would’ve laughed; instead, you just hold him close and sing him to sleep.
But life doesn’t stop for grief, and you know that well. Soon, he’s named Olo’eyktan and you Tsahìk, Tsika stepping down from her position with tears in her eyes as she gives you her headpiece.
Time in the village goes fast — people to heal, ceremonies to make, salves to concoct and prayers to hear. Months pass and your belly starts feeling impossibly big, so much so that the kids of the clan start following you everywhere to help their increasingly more tired Tsahìk. Tonowari always laughs when he sees them, going on about how Nala now has competition for the place in your heart reserved for children and animals, and the otterfin herself brings you a gift everyday — let it be a polished rock she found while swimming or a type of seaweed she thinks to be delicious.
The contractions start at night. You toss and turn in pain but try to avoid waking up Tonowari, just in case it’s a false alarm like the ones you had in the last three days. It’s only when he nudges you with a gentle hand — hair still mussed a bit with sleep — and tells you that the mat is wet that you understand that your child is coming.
Tsika and Ronal — now one of the best healers in the village and happily mated to Ouli — don’t spare any minute after your husband calls for them, and immediately have him carry you — now almost delirious with pain — to the birthing pond, where the water is warm and Eywa’s presence strong. The sigh you let out when your husband gently positions you against the rocky wall of it is one of pure bliss, and your clammy skin now surely doesn’t give you any problem.
Aonung is born hours later at dawn, resurfacing out of the water by himself like tradition, crying out for his father to take him. Tonowari takes one good look at him, hears his strong wails and immediately passes him to your tired, waiting arms, “A boy,” he says breathlessly, brushing your braids out of your face, “a healthy, strong boy.” He presses his lips to your forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek, “Thank you, Oeyä Tanhì, thank you.”
“Aonung,” you call out sobbing, as the babe stops his crying and latches onto your breast. “Hi, my sweet, hi,” he’s a little bigger than Omatikaya babies, but you love him nonetheless. He nestles over your chest as soon as he’s done feeding, and chooses that that’s now his favourite place to be.
In the next few weeks, your son reveals himself to be a real mama’s boy. During the day, he stays curled up in your chest in the netted wrap that Em’a and Wali had made for you, and Eywa forbid Tonowari tries to help you by taking him — because he will cry until his ears beg for mercy, only to go back to being an angel as soon as he passes him back to you.
The children coo and poke at him when you bring him to meet them, and one of the older ones jokes about how he looks just like your husband, but can only stand you. You laugh at that, because it is true — Aonung is his father’s copy, and maybe that’s why he likes you so much.
It’s only when he reaches three months of age that you gather enough courage to ask Tonowari to visit the forest — not because you’re afraid he’ll say no, but because you’re not sure if you’re ready for it. It’s been almost two years since you left now, and while you aren’t exactly ready to see the remains of the fallen Hometree again, you want Aonung to meet his grandmother and aunt, and your husband to see where you grew up.
Of course, the latter could never deny you anything, and a week later you get on Ry’ia with him behind you and set sail for the forest of the Omatikaya. The village is left to Tsika’s hands, and Aonung babbles happily against your chest as he flies for the first time in his life.
The village is in the same place it was two years ago — it’s just grown a lot since then, marui pods where the branches once weren’t even steady enough — and you laugh when Ry’ia leaves you immediately to go back to the ikrans’ nest, ready to meet her old friends no doubt. You keep one hand over Aonung’s small back and the other in Tonowari’s palm, guiding him through the branches and groves as he stumbles many times.
You laugh, “How does the forest feel, reef boy?”
He pales as he stares down the branch you’re standing on, wondering just how many people die here from falling down into the void. “Dangerous, my love.”
Neytiri screams when she first sees you — alerting all the other villagers about your arrival. She runs to hug you tight, not even noticing your son nestled between you two or the reef Na’vi awkwardly standing behind you until you pull back, a soft smile on your lips. “Sister, it’s been so long–”
You laugh, nodding. “It has been, sister. I wanted to introduce you to Tonowari–” the man salutes her with his fingers going to his forehead and then gesturing towards her as you take Aonung out of his wrap and into your arms, “and little Aonung.”
You don’t notice the way her face falls instantly. Your boy coos at her, gesturing his fat little arms towards her, and the moment is interrupted by Mo’at, far more pleased than her elder daughter at the turn of events. When your sister takes her nephew in her arms and your mother hugs you, she stares at his turquoise skin, larger tail and wide forearms with worry, “He’ll never be able to move fully in the forest with these,”
You chuckle, still in your mother’s embrace, “A good thing we live in the reef then, no?”
Her eyes skim over your sturdier arms, the tattoos over your body and the seashells braided into your hair– and before you know it, she leaves Aonung in Jake’s arms and storms off.
Being back home is nice — because while Awa’atlu became your home in the last two years, here in the forest still live your friends and family, and it’s where you grew up. Your mother spoils Aonung rotten and watches him as you go hunting on your ikran with Ninat and Peyral, while Jakesully — upon Tonowari’s insistence — tries to show him the way of the forest. Your friends chuckle every time they catch sight of your husband, asking if every Na’vi in the reef is as big as him, and if you know any Metkayina men willing to marry in the Omatikaya.
Neytiri, who you found out to be pregnant the day you arrived, mostly stays by herself, pondering, and whenever you ask if she wants to do anything with you she refuses, lamenting nausea or other pains.
You talk to Mo’at about it, worried, but she just gives you a weird look. “She’s grieving, child.”
Your eyebrows rise up to your hairline, “What do you mean, grieving? Who died?”
“She thought you were still traveling,” she whispers, caressing Aonung’s curls while he munches on the beads of your braids, “and that once you were ready, you would’ve come back to living here. Seeing you with a mate and a son… it broke her heart, because now she knows you’re not coming back.”
You think back to all the times you two talked about how your children would grow up together, being best friends and close just like you did — and your heart breaks a little, too, because in all of this, you hadn’t considered how she would take the fact of you never fully returning to the forest.
That night, you leave Aonung with Tonowari — as your son has finally started to appreciate his father a little, too — and go looking for Neytiri at the Tree of Souls, knowing that at this hour, she usually prays and chants her songcord.
She stops when she hears you approach, her ears perking up. You smile softly, “I thought we could pray together– like the old days?” When your father was still alive, your sister still arranged to Tsu’tey, and the both of you were less complicated. When she could still become Tsahìk, and you had no reason to.
She scoffs a little, “Like the old days,” she mutters, “am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t turn your back on me?”
You grimace, taking a seat next to her, “Tiri…”
“Don’t ‘Tiri’ me,” she hisses, “you have no right– I was waiting for you. Waiting for you to come back–” her voice cracks — pregnancy emotions; you know them too well. “For you to come back here and marry one of our men like our ancestors did for centuries. Instead, you marry a reef Na’vi and– and move Eywa knows how far from here without saying anything–”
She breaks down, and you shush her gently, cradling her head on your shoulder. This feels familiar, because when you were kids, she was usually the one comforting you. “Why did it have to be the Olo’eyktan?” she cries, her tears wetting your skin, “Couldn’t you find someone less important — someone you could come here to live with?”
You shake your head, pressing your cheek on the crown of her hair for comfort, “I didn’t choose him, Tiri,” you say softly, “I fell in love. That’s not something one controls, and you, out of all people, should know that.”
Still in denial, she sobs harder, “What will it be of our kids?” she asks, pressing a hand over her slightly swollen belly, “Will they grow up as strangers, like they’ll be to our father and sister? Will they look at their aunt and wonder if she’s an outsider?”
“Never, sister, never,” you hush, “we’ll visit — you and Jake can visit, too.”
As her cries die down, she asks, “Does the thought of living here still scare you so much?”
And for that, to your horror, you don’t find an answer.
Tsireya comes a little over a year after her brother, and this time, she looks like you. She still has her father’s Metkayina features — the tail, her forearms — but one good look at her face, and it doesn’t take a Tsahìk to guess that she’s your daughter. Ironically enough, she prefers her father's chest over yours — unless we’re talking about feeding time, because, let’s be real, Tonowari will never be able to beat you at that for obvious reasons.
Aonung has started to waddle a while ago, and has been restless since. He goes from your marui to his grandmother’s, visiting Ronal and Em’a on the way, falling at least twelve times in the meantime. He loves swimming with you and his father, constantly bugs his sister when she’s stealing the milk that he’s convinced should be his, and plays with Nala on the shore when the zukzuk starts following him around.
He’s a sweet boy who brings you flowers and pieces of fruit when he notices the smallest frown on your face, and loves cuddles from mom and dad before and after going to sleep. And even if he’s a little mean to his sister sometimes, you know he loves her very much from the way he begs you to let her swim with him or wants to share his food with her.
You visit Neytiri a few more times, but the visits slowly come to an end when you realize that she has no intention of ever coming to the reef to see the life you’ve built here. While Mo’at visits frequently, bringing the children gifts and swarming them with affection, your older sister seems to have accepted the fact that in her eyes, you’ll never be truly close again.
You accept the notion with far more ease than you could have ever imagined — because you have a family now, and people that look up to you for guidance. If Neytiri doesn’t want to see that, it’s okay; you’ll never manage to love her any less for it.
The kids grow quicker than you realize, because soon, Tsireya is waddling behind Aonung too, and the excruciating process of weaning her off starts.
Her brother had been even more difficult, so you’re actually quite relieved to see that she at least does not cry herself to exhaustion every night like he did. But every time she lets out the smallest whimper, you find Tonowari’s big eyes boring into yours, with that look that says, we could resolve the problem by just having another baby. You always glare at him when he suggests that, because two kids under three already feel like more than enough now, and you have no intention of having another one so soon.
But as she often does, Eywa has a different plan for you.
Tonowari hurriedly wakes you up one night as you’re resting on the sleeping mat, nearly asleep as the kids quietly snore beside you. He’d been out all evening to help his mother with some herbs while you watched the children, so you’re worried to find him so distraught. “One of the Ta’unui’s women died in birth,” he whispers, careful not to wake up Aonung or Tsireya, “they need to feed him, but none of the women in their village is nursing. Could you…?”
He doesn’t even have to ask, really, because five minutes later you’re sitting in the Tsahìk’s tent, nursing little Rotxo while the Ta’unui Olo’eyktan shares worried whispers with Tonowari. The newborn is a little chunkier than Aonung and Tsireya were, but that just means that his mom, while she could, took good care of him.
“He’s an orphan,” you hear the chief say, “his dad died a little while ago on a hunt, and he’s only got his grandmother now — but frankly, she’s old, and I doubt she’ll be able to take care of him for long…”
The solution seems clear in your eyes, and after talking to Rotxo’s grandmother about her new place in the Metkayina village, you introduce Aonung and Tsireya to their new little brother. They don’t ask why you didn’t have a big belly like the other pregnant women in the village, or why his skin isn’t a little bluer like theirs, and instead take to him instantly, putting shared efforts to find nice shells and smooth little rocks to put in the woven crib where he naps.
Everyday, you bring him to his grandmother so that she can have a piece of her daughter back with her, and slowly, she takes a liking to your children as well. They start calling her grandma like they do to Tsika and Mo’at, and you don’t miss the way she seems to be rejuvenated by being around such lively children.
“No more kids, huh?” Tonowari teases you gently one evening, the sun fading into the horizon, as you breastfeed little Rotxo while watching Aonung and Tsireya play with ilu cubs in the water.
You swat his arm, so tired but so full of love. “Oh, shut up, Tonowari. The next kid we have, we’ll have in at least ten years.”
He raises an eyebrow, amused, “Oh? So, we will have another kid?”
You blush — incredible how after having two of his kids and being bare for him so many times, he still manages to get a reaction out of you. “Maybe.”
He hums, an arm wrapping around your shoulders as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Yeah? And what do you want to call them, if it’s a girl?”
You look down to little Rotxo, his hand opening and closing around the curve of your breast, his chunky belly pressing against your ribs. It’s ridiculous — the way Tonowari can get you to think about another baby while already having three small children.
welcome to derry x reader | richard "dick" hallorann x black! fem! reader
there was something wrong with derry. you knew it... dick knew it... but so long as you both stuck together, everything would be okay... right?
OR
pt. 2 of 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄
cw - 18+, fluff, angst, innuendos, 15 year timeskip, takes place in the 60s, age gap (reader is 37 and dick is 45), gore, racial violence, reader has the shine, pennywise is a cocky, little shit.
a/n - lemme know if you guys want a pt. 3
Derry, 1962.
DING!
"Personally, I don't mind it. I mean, it's Paul Bunyan for Pete's sake. He's an American hero," Stanley Kersh idly mused, arms resting on the top of his counter.
Quietly, you stepped into the deli—another pair of footsteps following behind—hands folded gracefully at your front as your eyes settled on the older white woman he was talking to.
Mrs. Cavanaugh.
One of the "Grand Dames of Derry" and a notorious racist.
You had seen her around town with her elderly posse of supremacists, their hate palpable and recognizable from a mile away.
"I'll be right with you ladies," he acknowledged, glancing past the old woman in front of him.
"Take your time, sir. I'm in no rush," you and a fellow colored woman smoothly assured, taking note of Mrs. Cavanaugh's sour expression as her gaze flicked over your faces.
Disgust.
Animosity.
Annoyance.
It all oozed from her every pore.
"Oh," you and the woman realized in unison, turning to each other with sheepish smiles. "I'm sorry."
You both froze, before breaking into a fit of small snickers.
She was beautiful, and emitted a special mix of kindness, generosity, and reflection—one you hadn't seen in quite a long time.
Warm, brown skin... short, dark hair... soft, rounded features.
And a beauty mark right under her eye that was just to die for.
"(y/n) Hallorann," you greeted, holding out your hand to shake.
"Charlotte Hanlon," she happily took it.
"I don't think I've seen you around here before. You new to town?" you asked, shifting your weight on your hips.
She sighed, "I make it obvious, don't I? Must stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this."
"You're tellin' me..." you scoffed, waving her off. "Been livin' here for a month and I still haven't gotten the swing of things."
Her brow perked.
"You're new, too?"
You nodded.
"My husband's an airman on that base just outta town. He got his deployment a little over a month ago and naturally we had to drop everything and get here as soon as possible."
"No kiddin'," she smiled, surprised. "My husband's been stationed here, too. He got to town a few days ago, but me and my son just arrived yesterday from Shreveport."
"What a coincidence! I never—"
Just then, Mrs. Cavanaugh bristled past, your Shine picking up on her irritation as she shot you both a sharp glare, as if daring to make small talk in her presence was punishable by death.
Charlotte noticed it, too, brows furrowed as faint hum of uneasiness introducing itself to her aura.
From the moment you drove into the Derry city limits, you had felt that something was... off—not just with the land but with the people.
The sensation was hard to describe, but it was almost as if the citizens were in a constant state of emotional overcast.
Every person you passed on the street.
Every child on their way to school.
Hell, even the stray cats.
It wasn't the typical darkness you sensed in racially charged towns like these but something lingering, like the after-smell of burnt toast.
And every emotion was tainted by it.
No matter how happy or sad you saw a person to be, there was always this looming, unnamed impression in the back of their minds—one that could make an undeniably warm person suddenly cold.
You couldn't understand it.
And a certain nagging feeling in your gut said that you didn't want to.
"Alright, now, how can I help you ladies?" Kersh perked up, resting his hands on the counter once again.
"I'd like to make a roast tonight," you and Charlotte both answered in perfect unison.
Eyes slightly wide, you turned to each other, amused smiles curling on your lips.
"Mrs. Hanlon, are you tryin' to copy me?" you teased.
"That depends, Mrs. Hallorann... are you tryin' to copy me?" she teased right back.
Kersh grinned, "Well, are we talking chuck or round?"
"Rump," you both answered again.
And after a moment's pause, together, you broke into another round of snickers.
"I suppose great minds think alike," you giggled.
"If I knew any better, I'd think you're reading mine," Charlotte playfully suggested.
Ironically, you smiled, tickled by how she wasn't quite off the mark.
"I take it you two are sisters," Kersh chimed, grabbing the large cut of beef from its display before walking it over to his cutting board.
"Surprisingly, this is our first time meeting," Charlotte corrected. "We're both new to town."
"S'pose all of us look alike to you, anyway," you muttered under your breath so only Charlotte was able to hear.
Caught off guard, she let out a faint giggle, but quickly clammed herself up, swatting at your arm while his back was turned.
"Hush!"
"Well, then," he smiled, placing your two wrapped cuts on the counter. "Welcome to Derry."
"He's getting away! Get him!"
At the noise, you and Charlotte quieted, sharply turning around to look out the storefront windows.
Three young white boys were running after another one, faces twisted and arms pumping as they gave chase, their fury palpable from all the way across the street.
The hell...
Suddenly, the boy they were chasing tripped and fell to the ground, and they took the opportunity to begin beating him right in the middle of town.
Cars drove by.
Couples walked past.
Store-owners didn't blink an eye.
This was the impression.
"Jesus..." you winced, appalled not only by how viciously they seemed to be attacking him—especially for children—but by how you could damn near taste the apathy in the air.
"Why is no one stopping this?" Charlotte asked, brows furrowed, voice deeply concerned.
"Boys will be boys," Kersh shrugged, unable to care less if he tried. "What are you gonna do?"
Suddenly, the door bell rang, and Charlotte went rushing out, making a dash across the street.
Your eyes shot wide, mouth falling agape as she ran into oncoming traffic, horns blaring.
"Charlotte!" you gasped, your roast forgotten as you pushed the door wide open, rushing to her aid without a second thought.
It was honestly the fastest you'd ever moved in heels.
"Hey! Hey!" she shouted at the little gang. "Uh-uh!"
Grabbing the ringleader by the wrist, she threw him off the boy mid-punch, you making it just in time to shove away the other two.
"You leave that boy alone, you hear me?!"
Together, the two perpetrators took a step back, but rather than cower, the ringleader stepped forward, brows furrowed and gaze trained on Charlotte, cold, sharp, and numb.
There was no light, no warmth, no regret—not like a normal child who had just been caught doing something wrong.
No, he was angry, enraged even, far more than you even thought a thirteen year-old to be capable.
Instinctively, Charlotte took a step back, both startled and confused by his look.
But you rested your hands on her shoulders, stepping forward and offering the boy an equally sharp glare.
With a bit of your Shine, you were hoping to calm him down enough to back off; but just as you began, the little boy on the ground scrambled to his feet and made a break for a nearby alleyway.
"He's getting away! Get him!" the ringleader exclaimed, giving chase once again, his two lackeys trailing close behind.
"Leave him alone!" Charlotte shouted, turning to see a whole crowd watching, staring at the both of you as if you were the sight.
Brows furrowed, you glanced around, only to find that all the nearby people were staring, gazes distant and hollow, tainted by something you were still blissfully unaware of.
Even Mr. Kersh stood in his doorway, expression unreadable as he held both of your roasts in his hand.
"Charlotte," you said lowly, resting your hands on her shoulders once again. "I think it's time for us to go."
...
"Baby?" Dick called as he entered the house with a sigh, crossing the threshold, the floor boards creaking under the weight of his shoes.
"In the kitchen!" you answered, tongs in hand as you checked the sear on your two steaks.
After the day's harrowing ordeal, you and Charlotte went back to the butcher to pay for your food—you swapped out your roast for two ribeyes as your appetite for softened meat was completely ruined after seeing that poor boy get beat to a pulp.
You exchanged numbers and addresses, promising to keep in contact before finally going your separate ways, hoping to forget the troubling incident.
Charlotte seemed like a kind woman and a good friend—of which, you hadn't had much of in your life.
You hoped to keep her close, maybe even stick together through these trying times.
Smoothly, Dick wandered into the kitchen, smelling the air with a smile as he realized what you were cooking.
"Hey, honey," you sweetly greeted, glancing over your shoulder. "Steaks are just about done."
You nodded to the dining room table, which was already set with plates of potatoes and asparagus and two glasses of wine.
But he was too preoccupied with the sight of his beautiful wife, laying it down in the kitchen, making him a nice, home-cooked meal after a long day of work.
You'd been married for years, but he'd never get over it.
Don't take it the wrong way, he was about as progressive as they came—he was raised by his grandmother, and firmly believed that women should be treated with the same respect of any man, if not more.
Hell, he was completely supportive of you wanting to find a job in Derry, and even helped you with the search—would've worked too if the local hospital hired colored folk.
But something about you being home, ironing his shirts, making him dinner, staying soft and warm... the domesticity of it all, that reaaally got him going.
Call it kinky, call it whatever.
Call it the fact that he was still thoroughly shocked that a woman like you even gave him the time of day.
All he knew was that you were at your sexiest when you were being all sweet and doting on him.
"'Bout a minute more and we can ea—Oh!"
You gasped as his arm suddenly snaked around your waist, pulling your back flush against his front.
As you glanced over your shoulder, he met your lips with a passionate kiss, practically melting against you.
You smiled into it, amused by his fervor, meeting him halfway with effort before pulling back to check the food.
But he chased you, capturing your lips once again, grip tightening on your hip.
You huffed, kissing him back for a moment before attempting to pull away once again.
"Honey... the steaks..." you reminded with a whine.
"No, no, no... y'can take a break," he denied, completely lost in you as he pressed soft, longing kisses from your temple to your cheek, all the way down your neck.
Accepting this for the long haul, you quickly moved the steaks out of the hot pan and onto a cool plate before putting down the tongs, fully turning to wrap your arms around his neck.
Now with your undivided attention, he looked at you as if you were the only sun in a dark universe, as if the very heavens themselves twinkled in your eyes.
You pulled your husband in by the back of his neck and locked your lips, allowing him to press you against the counter and kiss you proper now that you were facing each other.
"Y'know how good it feels?" he muttered into you. "To come home to jus'..."
Dick pulled back to get a good look at you, damn near groaning.
"Sexiness."
You laughed, cheeks burning as you playfully rolled your eyes.
"I am covered in kitchen grease an' smell like meat."
"Don't bother me none," he moved to your shoulder, kissing all along there, too.
"Well, it better start 'cause your food's gettin' cold."
Managing to shimmy free from his grip, you ducked under his arm, grabbing the plate of steak before starting toward the dining room.
And like a lost puppy, he followed you, taking his seat as you placed his food on his plate.
Though, once everything was settled, you sat down yourself, and the two of you began to dig in.
"Mmmm," Dick groaned as he took his first bite. "Baby... this is delicious."
Coyly, you smiled, shrugging your shoulders as you put a seasoned potato in your mouth, "I try."
"How was your day today?" he asked, sincerely, glancing up.
You slightly cringed, the events all rushing back.
"Uh... not much," you brushed off. "Met this nice woman in town. Charlotte Hanlon."
At the name, Dick coughed, "Hanlon?"
Hanlonas in Major Hanlon?
As in the Hanlon he was just accessory to attacking a few days ago?
As in the Hanlon who, as far as he could tell, held no fear or fright even as he was about to be "killed"?
That Hanlon?
"Yeah?" you raised a brow. "She told me her husband works on the base, too. Do you know him?"
Something faint flickered in your husband, but he was quick to tamp it down, "Heard some things. Seen him around once or twice."
Your brows furrowed at the feeling he suppressed, but you nodded nonetheless.
"Well, maybe one day we could invite them over for dinner. Seem like kind enough folk."
He looked down at his plate, spearing a few asparagus with his fork.
"Yeah... s'pose we could..."
You deadpanned.
His demeanor was a complete flip from what it was a few minutes ago.
And you had a feeling it had something to do with that base, and what they had him doing.
Now was the time to get to the bottom of it.
"Dick, I think there's something wrong with this place," you blurted, fork clattering on your plate. "This town... these people... they're not right. And I know you can feel it, too."
He froze, gaze flicking back up as you leveled him with a serious look.
"Now, I've never pried into whatever it is you do when you're at work, but this will be the one time I do... What the hell are you boys doing up there and why is it making the people in this town act this way?"
You eyes sharpened, expecting.
"And don't lie to me and say nothin', 'cause we both know it's not."
"Well... it's not us... it's this... thing," he started, voice low, lowering his fork.
Your brow raised, "Thing? What thing? Like an animal?"
"I don't know... All I know is they're havin' me look for it... usin' my Shine to try an' pinpoint its location."
"For what?"
"S'on a need to know basis, and they don't think I need to know."
You paused a moment, a deeply worried.
"It's not... dangerous is it?" you asked, eyes filled with concern.
A heavy feeling settled in his chest at the sight of your down-turned face.
He always had trouble lying to you, could never bring himself to do it, especially when you looked at him like that.
But maybe a half-truth would do...
"Nah," he assured, shaking his head as he slid his hand into yours, gliding his thumb over your knuckles. "All they havin' me do is point on a map. M'nowhere near the action."
What you didn't know was that he had a flight scheduled in a couple of days to get a bit more up close and personal.
"You swear?" your voice choked faintly, the mere thought of him getting hurt or worse forcing your eyes to water. "'Cause you're all I got left, Dick. If somethin' happens to you I just-I don't... God, I just don't even know... Dick, I can't be alone again—"
"Hey, hey, hey, hey," he quickly rose from his seat, moving to pull you into his embrace—your arms instantly wrapped around his neck, body melting into his as your head fell against his chest. "Don't talk like that, baby. M'not goin' anywhere."
His hand cupped your cheek, lifting your face to look at him, his thumb smoothing over the soft flesh.
"I promise, once all this is over and these guys find what they're lookin' for, you and me are gone. I'll take leave, and we'll go on that vacation we been talkin' about, jus' you an' me... and leave this place behind."
His words soothed you ever-so slightly, providing a light at the end of this seemingly malevolent tunnel.
You had no reason not to believe him.
Resting your hands on his chest, you looked up, eyes slowly flicking over his face as if they were committing the planes to memory.
A part of you knew he was unsure, but you also knew you had to have faith.
Faith in your husband.
Faith in your love.
Faith that things would turn out alright.
With a shaky breath, you captured his lips in a kiss one final time, not missing the sharp pang of guilt that shot through his chest.
Regardless, he kissed you back, holding you close at the hips, thumbs drawing small circles in your sides.
Though, as quick as you came, you pulled back, resting your head over his chest once again, listening carefully to his heartbeat.
"I love you," you reminded, sincerely, a sniffle cresting at the edge of your words.
He rested his chin on top of your head, pressing another kiss into your hair, the guilt now settling deep in his stomach like a hunk of lead.
"I love you more," he muttered into you, holding your body close.
...
"Fifteen years?" Charlotte cocked brow, freezing just as she was about to take a sip of her coffee. "But if you were married when you were twenty-two... then that makes you—"
"Thirty-seven?" you smirked, amused. "Yeah, most folks don't believe me when I tell 'em."
"I can imagine why," she scoffed. "You don't look a day over twenty-eight."
Disbelieving, she set down her mug, crossing one of her legs over the other.
"You sure I'm not older than you?"
You chuckled, "I'm sure," you tucked a hair behind your ear, "Though I don't feel like it... sappy as it may be, I believe love works better than any cream. Fifteen years went by like that and not a single wrinkle."
The next day, you had invited Charlotte over lunch, and—to no one's surprise—the two of you got along swimmingly, chatting as if you'd been lifelong friends.
She had just regaled you with the rather tumultuous story of how her and her husband, Leroy, had gotten together, along with her experience with the Civil Rights movement down South, and was now listening intently to the story of you and Dick.
She grinned, warmly, "Must be some love..." she rested her cheek in her hand, "And there weren't any others? Suitors? Prospects? I find it hard to believe a woman of your caliber didn't have someone waiting in the wings."
You sheepishly smiled, waving her off.
"You flatter me," you scoffed. "But no. There was never anybody else. Sure, some tried, but I never dated anyone seriously before Dick."
Thinking back on those years, you happily sighed, their image like a firm hug to your subconscious.
"God, I couldn't stand him at first. But after months of bein' a thorn in my side, he finally sat me down and had a heart to heart, showed me that there was more to him."
You shook your head.
"We dated for a while after that, 'til he finally proposed. He'd gotten his new assignment, and didn't want to go 'less I came with. So we got married that very morning, and that very afternoon I was on a flight to Detroit."
Charlotte's eyes went wide, faintly surprised.
"Wow..." she marveled. "An' no babies? If what you're tellin' me is true, I'd think you two'd have a whole litter by now."
You smirked, a devilish grin curling on your lips, "Oh, it isn't for a lack of trying, I tell you that..."
Charlotte squealed, playfully smacking you in the arm.
"We've tried for years. But I jus'... can't," you shrugged. "Doctors can't explain it. Everythin' down there's in workin' order... but nothin' seems to take."
Your expression fell slightly.
A part of you believed it was because of your Shine, that it was acting like some kind of barrier and preventing... adhesion.
But you supposed you'd never know for sure.
"Well, I believe everything happens for a reason," she started, taking your hand with a comforting look, offering an equally comforting smile. "And you shoulder never say never."
Charlotte leaned forward, sincere, her gaze urging you to turn your frown upside down.
"Miracles happen everyday. You jus' gotta keep the faith."
Humorlessly, you chuckled, "It's not so easy..."
"Well, my daddy used to say nothing easy was worth doin'," she remained steadfast. "But y'know what is worth doin'?"
You cocked a brow, unsure.
"Fixin' that face of yours."
Suddenly, she shot up from her seat, taking your other hand and quickly pulling you out of yours.
"Charlotte, what on Earth—?"
"C'mon, you need to move!" she giggled. "Where you keep the record player?"
"Corner of the living room," you answered. "But I don't see how—"
"Can you sing?" she asked, dragging you toward it.
You scoffed, the sound cresting into a laugh, "I can barely carry a tune."
She smiled, "Good. Me neither."
Reaching into your basket of assorted records, she pulled out the first thing she set her hands on, carefully tugging it out its sleeve and placing it into the record player.
A moment of silence passed before the sound of The Marvelettes' Please Mr. Postman began to play throughout the house, Charlotte letting out a whoop of approval before turning back to you.
"C'mon, I know you know the words," she teased.
You chuckled, unable to bite back a smile, "Girl, you're crazy!"
"Oh, yes, wait a minute, Mr. Postman," she sweetly hummed, rocking back and forth with you. "Hey-ey-ey-ey, Mr. Postman."
Playfully, you rolled your eyes, finally deciding to cave.
"Please, Mr. Postman, look and see!"
"Woah, yeah!"
"Is there a letter in your bag for me!"
"Please, please, Mr. Postman!"
"Yes, it's been a mighty long time!"
"Oh, yeah!"
"Since I heard from this boyfriend of mine!"
Together, you both broke into a fit of laughter, nearly falling out onto the floor like tickled school girls.
A slowly dying cat sounded better than the two of you combined.
"I can already tell you are gonna get me in trouble," you grinned, playfully nudging your newfound friend.
She grinned right back, leaning into your shoulder, "And I can already tell you don't get in enough."
...
"C'mon, you slow poke," you huffed, glancing back at your husband as you headed up the walkway. "I seen slugs move faster."
"I'm comin', I'm comin'," Dick nodded, a smile creeping on his lips. "Y'know, the house ain't goin' nowhere."
"It will by the time you get over here," you corrected. "I have half a mind to think you're tryin' to make us late. Gettin' all distracted..."
"And who was the distraction?" he quickly replied, joining you on the porch just as you rang the doorbell, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you close, pressing a kiss into your cheek. "Not my fault y'look too good when you're gettin' ready."
"Thirty minutes was too much," you grumbled, unable to stop your body from leaning into his touch. "Made me start from scratch... had to wash up all over again."
"Coulda gone for longer," he said lowly, voice a cheeky growl. "Coulda gone all night... I knew you wanted to."
"Hush!"
Just then, the door swung open, a familiar face meeting you on the other side.
"Evenin', ma'am," Dick greeted with a polite smile, all evidence of your suggestive conversation instantly disappearing from his face as he handed over a bouquet of flowers.
"(y/n)! Mr. Hallorann," Charlotte smiled back, carefully taking them. "Why, thank you. Come on in."
"Charlotte, honey, how are you?" you beamed as you stepped over the threshold, using your free arm to pull her into a hug before stepping back to hold up your cake dish. "I brought pound cake."
"Well, we'll just have to see how it compares to my mud cake," she playfully challenged, resting a hand on her hip, trying a failing to tamp down the excitement on her face.
The two of you had been talking your husbands' ears off for over a week about this dinner, and it was finally happening.
And now that he saw the two of you together, Dick understood why you were so eager to be here on time, the sight of you so happy bringing a smile to his face.
"C'mon, let me show you to the kitchen."
You followed, nodding to Leroy as you passed, "Mr. Hanlon."
Stepping in, Dick did the same, your joy giving him an even brighter look, "Major."
Friends of yours were few and far between, given the two of you were always moving somewhere new and starting from scratch.
After a while, when you began to lose track of the pen pals, you gave up trying, opting to keep to yourself and have only a few acquaintances here and there.
Charlotte was similar in a way—though, the Hanlons' stint in Shreveport was far longer than any duration you and Dick ever had.
Whereas you had no friends in this strange town, Charlotte seemed to feel as if she had one less than that.
All in all, Dick just wanted you to be happy, and felt bad throughout the day when he'd imagine you sitting at home by yourself, no one to keep you company.
So, if you were a little extra excited, who was he to dim your light?
After you set everything down, Charlotte ushered you all to the dining room table, dinner already set.
And it was delicious.
Dick hummed, approvingly, as he took another bite of the food, "You put some Spanish saffron in this?"
Charlotte's brows raised, pleasantly surprised by his correct guess.
You playfully rolled your eyes, "He has a nose for these things. Only man I've ever met with some sense in a kitchen."
He nodded, using a napkin to wipe his mouth, "Ain't much in the way of Cajun cuisine in these parts, I'm afraid."
"Things are certainly... different here. I'll give you that," she sighed.
"We're getting into the swing of it, though," Leroy quickly added. "Startin' to feel like home."
Charlotte went quiet, gaze falling to her plate as a sudden apprehensiveness infected her once jovial mood, the stark change concerning you.
Dick picked up on it as well, a knowing look settling on his face.
"You don't like it much down here, do you, Mrs. Hanlon?"
You froze, taking note of Leroy's sharp and pointed annoyance the moment the words left your husband's mouth.
If looks could kill, Dick would be dead three times over.
Jesus...
"Oh, I like it fine," Charlotte assured, not convincing in the slightest.
Dick raised a brow.
"Y'know, it's hard not to miss the things you leave behind—"
"We don't need to get into all that," Leroy stated, he and his wife sharing a look.
You did the same.
"Dick, don't go startin' trouble in these people house," you warned, mouth closed as you chewed.
"I'm jus' makin' talk. A question never hurt nobody."
"Mr. Hanlon looks like he's 'bout two seconds away from hurtin' you."
"I was a history teacher," Charlotte pressed on anyway.
"Colored school?" Dick asked.
"There another kind down there that let me teach?"
Your husband chuckled, "Fair 'nough."
Leroy sighed, "We tried to find something at a school up here, but all they had was clerical work. She's overqualified."
"I had similar trouble ," you nodded, "The hospital would only take our kind for janitorial duties. And the base wasn't hiring for their medical wing."
"But there were other things," Charlotte added. "Meetings, marches—"
"Please," Leroy attempted to shut down.
Dick's eyes widened with surprise and impress, "The movement?"
"Mhmm," she confirmed. "The Major is worried my activism will reflect poorly on him with his colleagues. Hamper his ascent up the military food chain."
"Well, I can see how that could be a concern, ma'am," Dick shifted in his seat, eyes flicking to Leroy. "Hard enough bein' colored in the service. An' if you got any real ambition, you gon' want your personal life to be cleaner than your uniform."
Leroy arched a brow, Charlotte sighed.
"Well, I'm not surprised y'all two flyboys stick together," she teased. "If y'all 'scuse me, I'm gon' get desert started."
"You need help?" you chimed, eagerly pushing back in your seat.
If you had to sit with Leroy's annoyance for one more second, you were going to suffocate.
"Oh, no, it won't take—"
"Nonsense."
You stood up, gathering your plate and your glass before turning to your husband.
Leaning down, you quickly gave him a peck on the cheek, the two of you sharing a look.
"Be nice."
He smirked.
"When am I not?"
Your eyes narrowed, tongue in cheek as you bit back a smile, stomach fighting off a flurry of butterflies.
One of these days, this man was going to be the death of you...
Your shoulders dropped, and you turned on your heel, joining Charlotte in the kitchen.
"I'm sorry for my darling husband," you apologized, shaking your head as you placed your cleared plate in the sink. "It's one thing to hear stories of his persistence, but to see it in person..."
You pinched a bridge of your nose, letting out a quiet groan.
"I hope he didn't 'cause any trouble."
"Don't worry about it," she assured with a sigh, closing up the oven as she put the mud cake in. "Me and Leroy have been buttin' heads for the last few days. Nothin' your husband did on his own."
"Still... I—"
Suddenly, you stopped, the words getting caught in your throat as if something had blocked them.
Something like a lump.
Eyes wide, you attempted to swallow it back, but it only bobbed higher, churning at the sensation.
The hell...
In an instant, the amount of saliva in your mouth seemed to double, the contents saltier than normal as it began to pool.
"(y/n)?" Charlotte asked, brows furrowed with concern. "You alright?"
Your gut twisted sharply before you could answer, forcing you to hunch and clutch your stomach as it all came rushing up.
"Ba...throom!" you strangled out.
"First door on your le—"
You were flying before she even finished the sentence, damn near sprinting out the kitchen.
Severely worried, Charlotte was quick to follow, the two of you rounding that corner faster than any Olympian before rushing into the bathroom.
Dropping to your knees, you threw open the toilet just in time to catch the half-digested remnants of your friend's dinner, gagging harshly at the sheer volume.
Charlotte moved to help without a second thought, holding back your hair and patting your back as you got it all out.
Were you not so preoccupied with puking, you would've been mortified.
Luckily, about as quickly as it started it stopped, leaving you in a hacking fit as you attempted to catch your breath.
"Breathe, honey," Charlotte cooed, rubbing soothing circles on your back in hopes of calming you down. "Just breath."
"M'so sorry, Lottie," you sniffled, tears pricking your cheeks as you slumped against the bowl. "I didn't—"
"Hush," she shushed. "Don't even worry 'bout that right now. Jus' focus on gettin' your breath back."
Reaching into the cabinet, she quickly grabbed a small cup, filling it with some water before handing it off to you.
"Here. This should help."
You took it gratefully, gulping it down like it was the last thing you would ever drank.
"Did somethin' not agree with you?"
"No," you shook your head. "Your cookin's delicious."
"Well, what about allergies? You allergic to anythin'?"
"Not that I know of..."
A silence fell, the only other answer perfectly clear.
"Do you think... you might be...?"
Your eyes went saucer wide.
"No. Never. T-That's not—"
Sheepishly, Charlotte smiled, resting her hands on her knees.
"Never say never..."
...
You were pregnant.
After a day or two of mustering courage, you finally dragged yourself to the doctor's and found out for certain.
Eight weeks along.
And the moment you got home, you bawled, but not for the happy reason one might think.
You and Dick had given up on children long ago, after the whole of your twenties was spent trying so hard.
You both couldn't bear to get your hopes up anymore, couldn't bear the constant sting of disappointment.
Hell, you had only just recently made peace with the fact that it'd be just you two from here on out—no little ones to chase after, no babies to hold.
Until now.
The doctors said you were lucky, that thirty-seven was still a perfectly healthy age to have a child.
But you weren't sure if Dick even wanted one anymore.
The thought of his anger, of his frustration, made you cry for hours—hard—body swirling with fear and dread and everything in between.
All the stress probably wasn't good for the baby, but you couldn't even bring yourself to worry about it, or worry about anything, for that matter.
Until you got the phone call.
The blaring ring forced you up from your spot on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.
Forced you to pick up to silence the dreadful sound.
Forced you to pull yourself together for a few moments.
"Hel-lo?" you croaked, quickly clearing your throat and sucking up your sniffles.
It quite obviously sounded like you had been crying.
"Is this... uh... is this Mrs. Hallorann?" a faintly familiar voice on the other line asked, an underlying sense of uncertainty and urgency in his tone.
Suspicious, your brows furrowed.
It sounded an awful lot like Leroy Hanlon.
"Yes?" you replied, wary. "This is she."
Audibly, he shifted, letting out a long breath through his nose.
"Mrs. Hallorann... it's your husband."
The moment the words left his mouth, your body froze.
The coldest ice from the largest glacier from the furthest reaches of Antarctica crept into your chest, grabbing your heart with a violence that nearly jerked you forward.
Those words... words that filled your every nightmare, words that left you lying awake at night, even in Dick's warm embrace.
A wicked twist of fate.
What a wicked twist of fate for you to be pronounced pregnant the day your husband is killed.
"My-My husband? Dick?" you choked, praying to every manner of God that this was some sort of cruel prank. "Oh, God, h-he's...? Is he...? Did he...?"
You couldn't even get the question out.
But the man seemed to pick up what you were putting down anyway.
"Oh! No, ma'am, your husband is fine..."
In an instant, a world of insurmountable weight lifted itself from your chest
Thank God.
"Physically..."
At the last part, your face sharpened, not too appreciative of being toyed with like this.
"What the hell are you talking about? Who is this?" you spat.
"I can't explain over the phone. Just... come down to the army base."
...
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
"Dick?"
Eyes screwed shut, Dick ignored the noise, remaining curled in a ball in the corner of his barrack as he nursed his bottle of bourbon.
"Get the fuck on, Major..." he groaned, mind swimming as he attempted to block out the chaos creeping in.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
His brows furrowed, head dipping to escape the sound.
These whispers... these dead things... they were hammering away at his skull, chiseling and chipping piece by piece, gripping in hopes of pushing him off the edge.
It felt as if his head had been cracked open like an egg, its contents fried in a piping hot skillet.
And the excessive knocking was the flame.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
"Dick, honey, open the door," you called, softly. "It's me... (y/n)."
His eyes snapped open.
A lightness he hadn't felt since he went into those damn sewers—since you woke up extra early to give him a little extra loving before he went to work—reawakened in his chest.
"Baby?" he called back, hopeful.
"Mhmm," you hummed, sweetly. "M'right here. I—"
He didn't even need to hear the rest of the sentence, the man already scrambling to his feet, tripping over himself and stumbling past a ghost, who was missing half his face, to get to the door.
This was what he needed.
His wife... his woman... his everything...
You had a special way of making things all better, of making him feel like he was stronger than ten men.
If anyone could save him, it was you.
Sure, a small part of his brain believed this to be a trap.
That monster had disguised itself as his grandfather to get to him, so what's to say it wasn't disguising itself as you to finish the job?
But even that valid concern couldn't keep him from focusing on the possibility that it was you, that his baby had come to rescue him from his torment.
Reaching the door, he damn near broke the handle yanking it open.
And the moment his eyes landed on you, you could've swore you saw him shed a tear.
"Di—"
Once again, he didn't let you finish, instead dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around your waist, roughly pulling you forward so he could bury his face in your stomach.
Behind you, Leroy and the supervising sergeant gaped, eyes wide at the display of the otherwise composed man.
"(y/n)..." Dick muttered your name like a prayer, like a sacred thanks to whatever brought you to him. "Oh, baby, thank God... I-I can't... I-I... I need you..."
Your one hand gently cupped the side of his neck, thumb gliding over the taut flesh while your other threaded in his hair, gliding soothingly through his scalp just how he liked.
It was all instinct, all natural, all tried and true ways to calm him down.
You knew your husband better than you knew yourself.
And by his reaction, whatever happened to him down in that sewer was serious.
Feeling two sets of eyes burning into the back of your head, you turned around, realizing that Mr. Hanlon and the other superior had yet to leave.
You sensed their faint amusement at your husband's distress.
And didn't like it one bit.
"Ahem," you sharply cleared your throat, brows furrowed. "If you two are done ogling, y'think a husband and wife could get some privacy?"
Quickly, they remembered themselves, straightening out and meeting your gaze.
"Oh! Uh, yes, ma'am," the sergeant confirmed, Leroy nodding along before the two started down the hall.
With a huff, you used your foot to shut the door behind you, before turning your attention back to your husband.
"Jesus, Dick, you gotta tell me what this is all about," you started, voice riddled with concern as waves of both relief and panic rolled off him. "You're scarin' me."
"M'box..." he quickly answered, pulling his face from your dress to look up at you, the kicked-puppy expression on his face like a punch to the gut. "It got my box, baby."
Your eyes widened, your heart plummeting to your ass.
"It?" you asked, brows furrowed.
"Th-That monster... that thing... I-I don't know how but it got into my head... found my box... ripped it wide open... I couldn't stop him... I tried..."
He shook his head, tightening his grip on you as his eyes settled on a wartime nurse just beside you, her jaw completely gored and hanging off its hinge as she crawled out from under the bed.
"I can see 'em all... so loud..."
As his gaze began to grow distant, the light in him slowly fading.
Quickly, you cupped his face, forcing him to look at you.
"Uh-uh. Don't go there," you firmly denied, hoping to keep his mind off the things around him. "Don't let 'em trick you, baby. You're safe. You're right here with me."
Terrified, his eyes flicked up to you, gazing as if you were his only salvation.
"With me, okay? M'not goin' anywhere. I'm right here with you."
You smiled, warmly, thumbs smoothing over his trembling cheeks as your knees slowly dropped like his, bringing you both to the same level.
"Nothin's gonna hurt you, honey, not while I'm here," you assured. "These monsters... these spirits... they can't touch you... they're not even there."
But, as fervent as your words were, he was too far gone, eyes still settling on the unseen dead.
It was time for the big guns.
With renewed determination, your shoulders squared, brows knit with resolve as you prepared yourself.
You had only ever tried this trick on small cuts and bruises, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and your husband looked as if his brains were about to slip out his ears.
Taking a deep breath, you shut your eyes, channeling your Shine and your focus all into your pointer finger.
It took some effort, given that you had to gather quite a great deal of energy for this to work.
But after a long moment, you were finally ready.
Without warning, you sharply pressed your finger against his forehead, your body jerking as it began to suction his pain into you.
You tugged your lip between your teeth, nearly drawing blood as you did your best to keep your initial cry to a whimper.
The voices... the ghosts... the hurt...
Slowly, it all began to fade from his view, instead infecting your mind with their darkness.
It was cold.
It was dark.
It was loud.
But love made people do crazy things—and goddammit, if you didn't love this man.
It wasn't long before all the ghosts in the room had been cleared, transferred from him to you.
And it was then that your body broke the connection.
Unable to hold on anymore, it forced your arm to drop, the two of you letting out a synchronous gasp as you fell into each other.
Confused, Dick's brows furrowed, the space now oddly silent.
No whispers... no static... nothing.
A relief like no other sank into his bones, his lungs finally able to fully expand, his mind no longer flooded with noise.
But as he slowly began to come back to himself, he realized you were still slumped against his shoulder, breathing shallow.
Concerned, he tapped your back, hoping to snap you out of it.
"(y/n)..." he croaked, his pats growing faster. "(y/n)... what'd you do?"
With your lack of response, he grew fearful, pulling back to look at your face.
"(y/n), baby, answer me... please... what'd you do?"
"Don't... worry 'bout it," you panted, bracing your hand over his heart. "'Portant thing... is the spirits are gone..."
You looked around, taking notice of the gored nurse and the soldier with half a face.
Jesus...
"From this room, at least..."
Slowly, your hand slid up from his chest to his cheek, relishing how easily he leaned into your touch, your forehead falling forward to rest against his.
"No more hidin', Dick," you whispered. "Your problems are mine... and we face them together."
Your other hand slipped into his, and he interlaced your fingers, gaze not leaving your face for a moment.
If he looked at you as if you hung the stars before, he looked at you as if you were the very stars themselves now, as if stardust danced around your head like a halo.
Unable to help himself, he nudged his nose into your cheek, pressing limp and tender kisses into your skin.
At the warm sensation, you bit back a faint mewl, but refused to be pulled off track.
"Promise me, Dick."
"I promise," he swore, voice small and partly pathetic. "Thank you, baby... don't deserve ya..."
Dipping down, he nuzzled his face into your neck, inhaling your scent and muttering dopey praise in between.
"I love you s'much... more than life..."
Softly, you smiled, allowing him his solace as you rubbed soothing circles into his back.
"I know, honey," you cooed. "I love you, too."
...
The two of you stayed like that for hours, wrapped up in each other, muttering sweet nothings and steeping in love until the sun went down.
You swooped in to save him like an angel of mercy, like a cherub hellbent on his salvation.
Dick never thought he could love you more than he already did—as he loved you an embarrassing, extremely exorbitant amount.
But... it didn't take long for him to figure out what happened to the ghosts you "handled".
And when he did, he made you swear to never ever do it again.
What kind of husband had his wife take on his pain?
What kind of man had his woman face his demons?
His ghosts were his to confront, his to brave—you didn't deserve to be exposed to them and you didn't deserve a weak man that couldn't handle them himself.
Reluctantly, you promised, and he thanked you, going back to holding you close and showering your body with about as much love as it could handle.
Until he remembered something gravely important.
The Black Spot.
Tonight was its first real party, and he was supposed to be helping the boys make sure everything ran smoothly.
So, after a few rushed explanations, the two of you were on your way, blissfully unaware of the horror that was about to take place.
...
"What can I get ya, man?" Jacobs asked, tossing a hand towel over his shoulder.
"A bourbon and a rum 'n' coke," Dick leaned against the bartop. "Please."
"Comin' right up."
Swiftly, the man got to work, bottles clinking and taps buzzing, leaving your husband to wait.
And while he waited, Dick turned, surveying the room like a knight surveyed castle grounds.
The Black Spot was alive in that way only a juke joint could be—raw, jubilant, sweating music out its pores.
The piano wailed like a preacher in fever, bodies swayed in rhythm, and laughter shot up like sparks from a fire.
It brought a faint smile to his face, being able to see his people finally let loose and let go of the stresses that came with living in a world like this.
Hell, even he began to feel some levity.
"Say..." a woman nearby chimed, cheek in hand as her eyes greedily flicked over him. "Ain't you one of the guys who all set this up?"
Fuck.
Tired, and already annoyed, Dick let out a heavy sigh, all relaxation slipping from his body as he offered her a limp nod.
"Yeah," he answered curtly, quite obviously not in the mood for small talk.
You were changing in one of the back rooms, and all he came out to do was get you both something to drink.
The last thing he needed was some twenty-something coming onto him.
With a coy smile, she slid closer, looking him up and down like a piece of meat.
"Nadine," she introduced, smoothly. "But friends call me Naddy."
Dick's gaze remained straight as he stared into the abyss, eyes forward and face slack with an expression of utter boredom.
It wasn't necessarily her fault.
He never had the chance to bring you around his usual crowd until now, and his usual crowd just happened to be the bolder of the colored airmen on base—all of whom were notorious bachelors.
So he supposed it was fair for one to assume he was single by association.
"You got a name, too?"
"I'm married," he blurted.
All he wanted was for this interaction to be done with.
"Happily?"
Record scratch.
His expression instantly twisted into one of both dismay and shock at her audacity.
"Girl, you must be drunk. I don't even play like that."
"M'jus' askin' a question," Nadine raised her hands in surrender, amused. "I mean, I don't see a ring on your finger."
Without hesitation, Dick lifted up his opposite hand, the gold band sitting nice and obvious as he held it right in front of her face.
She rolled her eyes with a laugh, "Please, no woman in her right mind would leave her man alone at a party like this. 'Specially if he was as handsome as you."
"You think m'wearin' a weddin' ring for fun?" his brows furrowed.
Was this actually happening?
"I think you're shy," she smirked, inching closer. "I think you ain't had a girl like me take a likin' to you before, which makes you nervous... and I think you wanna have a dance."
Dick paused a moment, almost disbelieving, blinking and taking a breath to see if this girl was serious.
She was.
Deadly serious, actually.
She had balls, he'd give her that.
Dick's shoulders bobbed as he broke into a fit of uncontrollable snickers, the sound causing Nadine to jolt with surprise, and slight discomfort.
She'd never seen his expressions range anything past annoyance, so seeing him so amused seemed almost uncanny.
But he couldn't help himself.
It was almost too much.
The girl's brows furrowed, face warming at the mockery.
"What's so funny?" she huffed.
Regaining his composure, he shook his head, smiling as Jacobs finally slid over the drinks.
"Girl, you better find yourself somethin' safe to do 'fore my wife come around and see you."
"Too late," your voice struck.
Nadine jolted once again, Dick biting back a smirk as they both turned around to see you, arms crossed over your chest.
Like a dog with a bone, he marveled, mesmerized, as you made your way over, hips switching almost hypnotically.
After touching up your face, your lips had become delectably pink, the lotion you applied giving your skin an alluring shine.
Eyes scanning over your body, he took in the navy blue of your silken, pin dot dress, which cinched your waist, outlined your chest, and clung to your curves like water—save for the small flare at your calves.
You looked good enough to eat—a thought he didn't mind indulging later.
Like a puzzle piece, you fit into his side, eyes narrowed and smile wicked.
"Sorry, dear," you feigned apology. "'Fraid his dance card's all booked up."
Your look sharpened, sending a cold chill down her spine.
"'Less you got a problem with that?"
Quickly, she shook her head, "No, ma'am... no problem."
You nodded, glaring her up and down.
"Good."
But the moment your gaze turned to your husband, you softened, and proceeded as if Nadine wasn't even there.
"Whaddya say, honey?" you purred, sweetly, sliding your hand into his. "You wanna dance?"
Terribly aroused, Dick tugged his lip between his teeth, nodding.
"Yes," he practically growled, making your smile curl with satisfaction.
Lord, if he wasn't the easiest man in the world...
"Well, alright then," you cooed, tone sultry as you began to lead him to the dance floor, only taking a moment to glance over your shoulder. "Keep those drinks cool for me, will ya, Jacobs?"
The airman chuckled, having seen the whole thing from start to finish, particularly tickled by the outcome.
"Yes, ma'am," he saluted with a grin, raising his glass to you as Nadine ran off somewhere, utterly embarrassed.
With that taken care of, the two of you were finally alone.
Your arms found their way around your husband's neck, his encircling your waist as the two of you began to sway to the slow jam floating through the air.
"Seems you been savin' me all day," Dick smirked, eyes carefully running over the gentle planes of your face, chest swelling at the sight of your adorable pout.
Even without your Shine, just being around you made things better.
Like the first day you met, your presence kept the world quiet, kept the darkness at bay so he could finally let his shoulders drop and escape.
He'd never felt anything like it.
And if he was being honest, he never wanted to.
Playfully, you sighed, resting your head on his chest, "I leave my man alone for one second, and the wolves come runnin'."
Lifting your gaze to him, you cocked a brow, teasingly.
"Is that what you want? A young little thing?"
He shook his head, thumb and forefinger resting on your chin.
"Why would I want another woman?" he denied, as if the statement itself was absurd. "You got more than enough personality to keep me occupied."
"Hey!"
Chuckling, he pressed a kiss at the tip of your hairline, allowing you to look into his eyes and search for any insincerity.
Which—to no one's surprise—was nowhere to be found.
You huffed, rolling your eyes, "Lucky I love you..."
He smiled, pulling you in for another kiss, "Damn right."
Though, as your lips met, you couldn't help the gnawing pit of guilt that began to eat at your stomach.
The baby.
All the crazy events of the day had nearly made you forget.
You were pregnant... and Dick had no idea.
How on earth were you going to tell him?
When on earth were you going to tell him?
And when you did, what was going to stop him from leaving?
Eyes saddened, you looked up, the sheer devotion emanating from his body forcing your pit to triple in size.
Imagine all of that gone in an instant.
You shook your head.
Or better yet... continue to lie to the love of your life.
That thought alone was the nail in the coffin.
You couldn't do that to him.
You wouldn't.
"Dick, I—"
"Good evening!" a man's voice suddenly boomed, cutting you off. "Excuse the interruption, folks."
In an instant, the dancing stopped, the music coming to a stuttered halt as everyone's attention turned to the door, just as a group of white men in Halloween masks pour in, armed to the teeth with shotguns.
Gasps echoed throughout the place, your eyes widening while Dick's brows furrowed deeply, the same iron taut glare finding its way onto the faces of all the airmen.
Everyone's jovial mood had flipped like a switch, and their collected fear billowed in the air like thick smog.
"Get behind me," Dick ordered, tone low and dangerous as he pushed you back.
Together, they all cocked their guns, training them on the folks on the dance floor.
"Now... I am gonna make this real simple," the white man with the Dracula mask started. "Give us what we want, and we go away."
Up at the front, the airmen stood tall, unwavering, while the women kept behind, holding the few children close.
"What do you want?" Reggie asked, sharply.
"Hank Grogan," Geronimo mask answered, firm. "We know he's hiding here somewhere. You hand him over, and you can get back to your party."
"Oh, no, no, no," Dick suddenly piped up, an easy smile plastered on his face as he stepped forward—though you felt the trepidation underneath, "Seem you fellas got some bad information."
"Stay back. Keep quiet," he instructed you, mouth perfectly still. "Imma try to handle this."
"Be careful," you nodded, slowly letting go of his hand.
"See, this here... it's just a rec facility for military personnel only."
Sadly, they didn't believe him for a second.
"Well, then you won't mind if we have a quick look around?"
"Say we do," Jacobs scoffed.
"We're not asking," a man in a bear mask combated.
Your brows furrowed.
Mr. Kersh...
Dick and the airmen remained still, not a single one budging.
"Look, I'm here!" Hank Grogan announced, coming out of one of the back rooms with his hands in the air.
"Daddy, no!" his daughter—Veronica—cried, desperately grabbing onto him.
Both you and Dick fixed the same face, eyes screwing shut.
"Fuck."
"Fuck."
"Baby girl. Baby—"
"No! No!"
"Look, I don't want no bloodshed over me!" he exclaimed, making his way through the crowd. "I'll go... jus' leave these good people alone."
At the head, Dracula nodded, "You're doing the right thing."
But just as Hank made it to the front, Davis stopped him.
"I don't think so."
"Now, there's no need for this to get messy, son," Dracula stated, hand slowly slipping into his pants pocket.
But the clicks of about ten different hammers stopped him in his tracks, each and every one of the airmen in the front drawing a pistol.
Davis smirked.
"Now, would you look at that? We got guns, too," he taunted. "Ours just happen to be government issue."
"I suggest you fellas leave," Reggie stated. "Ain't nobody gettin' strung up today."
And for a moment, nobody moved.
The two parties stood off like something from a Western, or a children's action comic book.
Natives and Settlers.
Right and Wrong.
Good and Evil
The tension in the air was potent, swirling with a special assortment of fear and anger from both sides—an assortment that was making you more nauseous by the second.
"Put 'em down, boys," Dracula suddenly ordered, raising his hands in surrender. "Put 'em down. Put 'em down."
Reluctantly, they did, Geronimo, Frankenstein, Sad Clown, and Mr. Kersh all lowering their weapons.
"He's right. This isn't the way."
Turning around, he ushered his men back.
"Everybody out. Come on."
They all slowly retreated, continuing to back up before closing the door and finally exiting the Black Spot.
But you knew that was too easy.
"What we s'posed to do with you now!" Dick groaned, severely frustrated as he whipped toward Hank.
If he had just kept his mouth shut and stayed hidden...
"You know they comin' back!"
"We got a truck out back. Get him there, sneak him out," Davis suggested.
Clink-ca-clink!
Everyone quieted, turning toward the door again at the noise.
Jacobs ran up to it, trying the handle.
Nothing.
Brows furrowed, he slammed his shoulder into the wood.
It didn't budge an inch.
"Fuck! They chained it shut."
"Is there another way out?" Dick quickly asked.
"Check the back. Check the back!" Reggie barked.
"Women and kids in the middle of the room, now!" Davis ordered.
As the other girlfriends and dates began to move, you remained in place, hands slowly sliding up to your stomach as your own sense of terror gripped you like a vice, clawing up your neck like a predator just waiting to pounce.
This couldn't be happening.
This couldn't be real.
Over the years, you had only lived in the south maybe once or twice but you heard the stories.
Everybody did
Everyone knew how situations like these ended.
"Hey, call the guys on base. I'll check the phones."
"Phone's not workin'! Somethin's wrong with it!"
Suddenly, the power cut, plunging the entire room in darkness.
Yelps of terror tore from a few women's throats, the men returning from the back door to the center of the floor.
"Stay calm! Stay calm!"
"Everybody, stay alert!"
"Something's goin' on!" Dick exclaimed.
"Watch out!" the little Spanish drummer boy quickly warned.
But just as he did, a gunshot tore through one of the windows, shooting a man right through the head before a Molotov came flying after, shattering on the floor and bursting into flame, setting another man on fire.
And in that moment, that hush between your heartbeat and the subsequent screams... it happened.
One moment, your feet were planted firmly on the hardwood, and the next, the world was snapping loose from its spine.
The air in your lungs folded in on itself with a soundless gasp, and the earth tilted, spinning as you fell to your knees.
Reality unraveled beneath you, your stomach lurching as your mind gave way to everything.
The cries.
The gunfire.
The flames.
The horror.
All that hurt roared in your ears, tearing through your body like a live wire and sending the rest of it crashing to the ground.
There was no self, no separation between you and the man ablaze, just pain—raw and real and indescribably agonizing.
You twisted, kicked, gasped, attempting to fight it all away instead of allowing it to swallow you whole like before.
Frantically, your hands clutched your head, your blood-curdling screams muffled by the chaos around you.
But Dick heard.
Dick heard clearer than he'd ever heard anything before.
"(Y/N)!" he shouted, voice cracking with fear and color draining from his face when he didn't see you right away. "(Y/N)!"
Hell itself was opening up around him as his friends were gunned down, more fire pouring in from the outside, brains sticking to his shoes as he ran through remains.
"(Y/N)!"
By following the sound of your screams, he managed to find you, dropping to his knees and just barely dodging the bullet that whizzed past his ear.
You were convulsing, violently shaking on the ground as the cross between a shriek and a wail tore from your throat in a way he'd never heard before
"Shit, shit, shit! Baby? What's happening?" he asked, desperate and terrified as he cradled you to his body. "You hit?! You hit, baby?! What's happening?!"
When you didn't respond, he frantically tapped your cheek.
"C'mon, baby, c'mon! Come back to me! We gotta move! (y/n)!"
But looking closer, he realized that you couldn't, your eyes rolled so far back he could see the pink of your lower lid.
"Oh, no..."
Pearl Harbor.
It was just like Pearl Harbor.
Mass suffering tore your mind apart, inflicting the gore and horror of everyone and everything around you onto your body.
And three different burning people had just run past.
CR-R-ACK!
Dick's eyes widened as he snapped his head up, one of the roof beams already on fire and giving way, splinters falling from the sky.
"SHIT!"
Without a second thought, he snatched you up bridal style and dove, just barely dodging as it fell.
"I gotchu, baby, I gotchu," he attempted to soothe as he rose to his feet, squinting through the smoke and flames, looking for any kind of exit. "I'm gon' get us outta here."
You tried to respond, but couldn't make the words come out.
You couldn't even look at him.
And, as if by some miracle, he found something—or rather, someone.
The ghost of a native Chieftain, decked out in war paint and dressed in the hide of a regal bear.
Talking to these things only brought suffering... but Dick was more than willing to bear it if it meant getting you out.
"Hey!" he shouted, attempting to grab her attention. "Over here! Hey!"
Slowly... eerily... she turned to face him, her white glazed eyes fading for an iris and pupils.
"Help me!"
Though, even with his pleas, her gaze remained stone-like, calculating, as she stalked forward, joining your husband at his side.
It wasn't a promise.
It wasn't a guarantee.
But rather a silent agreement.
An I'll see what I can do.
And that would just have to be enough.
"Helloooo, Dicky," a shrill voice cut through the air.
Dick stopped in his tracks, the blood rushing through his veins instantly turning to ice at the familiar sound.
He knew that voice.
Together, he and the war chief turned, only to see a six foot clown standing in the middle of the flaming room, glowing eyes boring right into his very soul.
Dick clutched you tight, holding you close against his chest, his fear infectious just like everything else.
"What's the matter? Seeing things?" It asked, gore smeared all over its mouth. "Oh, I think they see you, too!"
As the monster cackled, a sudden horde of dead revealed itself behind, ghosts from all walks of life shuffling forward, sights set on your husband.
A Victorian woman.
A Union soldier.
A boy with no head.
A leprous caveman.
And so, so many more.
Dick was so distracted, he didn't even notice how the monster's nose flared, almost as if it picked up on a new scent.
Quickly, It's eyes flicked down to you in Dick's arms, unresponsive and quaking, a twisted grin curling on its lips.
"Oh, ho ho, ho! And you brought a friend!" It cheered, tauntingly. "How wonderful!"
Snapping himself out of it, Dick's gaze followed the monster's line of sight, his heart nearly stopping when he realized who it was talking about.
"No, no!" he barked, turning your body away from it. "You ain't takin' her... you ain't-you ain't takin' her!"
"Oh, I think I will!"
It sniffed the air, eyes nearly rolling back with intoxication.
"Morsels taste the sweetest when they have a surprise inside!"
Dick's brows furrowed.
A surprise inside?
What the hell could he—
Oh, no.
At the realization, his eyes went saucer wide, the news hitting him like a speeding freight train.
You were pregnant... and It wanted your baby.
"No... no, no, no, no, no..."
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"
"NO! You ain't takin' 'em from me!" Dick roared, "You hear me, you fuckin' freak! You ain't takin' 'em!"
He glared, snapping his head over to the war chief.
"Show me how to get outta here! NOW!"
"Oh, we'll see, Dicky..." It smirked as it began to slowly retreat. "We... will... see..."
Faster than before, the war chief walked, leading your husband to the kitchen where the fridge had been moved, revealing an area of the floor that had been kicked in.
Without a second thought, Dick rushed for it, climbing in with you still in his arms, clawing and crawling all the way free until the tunnel spat him out in the woods.
The Black Spot was now fully engulfed in flames, and the excruciating screams had finally stopped.
And with their loss, your body had finally stilled, eyes gently fluttering shut as you fell unconscious, your mind on the brink of deadly exhaustion.
Dick felt the same way, his nerves completely shot—he felt about two seconds from dropping face first in the mud.
But he held strong, not stopping until the two of you were safely tucked away in the woods.
And when you finally were, he sat right on his ass, resting his back against a log as he carefully placed you in his lap, still cradling your limp body against his chest.
Looking down at your face, he couldn't help but break into a bittersweet smile, a few stray tears rolling down his cheeks as he cupped yours, gliding his thumb over the flesh.
"Why didn't you tell me, baby?" he half-chuckled, half-cried, rocking you back and forth. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He sniffled, gaze gliding down to your stomach, his hand moving to rest on top of it, reverently.
"M'so happy... my baby... my baby's havin' a baby..."
THE COMEBACK LAP (part 7) • sir lewis hamilton (iamquaintrelle)
# pairings: lewis hamilton x afrolatina!fem reader
# tags: @queenshikongo3 @ggaslyp1 @snowseasonmademe @beauty-gurl @sailurmewn @lewismcqueen @purplerain-94 @vintagesoul-01 @purplelewlew @imjustheretomanifest @httpsserene-main @peaceiswonderful @scorpiobleue @deeziee @maximofflove @palefacestudentlove @justagirlwho-believes13 @boujiestpoet @gg-trini @summergirljay @kristyiana, @rethasavedlives @jajouska @determinednot2fall, @lovingayla
# summary: It's been almost five years since you last saw Lewis, and in those almost five years, so many things have changed......
# author’s note: This is a very short series, only 12 parts // join my private community!
# previous chapter | next chapter
Wednesday, August 6th - Malibu, California
Lewis stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Malibu beach house, watching the waves crash against the shore as he tried to shake off the lingering irritation from this morning's conversation with Penni. The media had finally caught wind of Luna's existence —someone had snapped photos of them at The Pink Door and sold them to the highest bidder.
The headlines were predictably sensational: "Lewis Hamilton's Secret Love Child," "Formula 1's Hidden Princess," "Baby Mama Drama for Racing Legend." The usual tabloid bullshit that made his skin crawl.
"We need to get ahead of this," Penni had said during their emergency video call. "A statement, maybe some controlled family photos. The narrative is getting away from us."
Lewis had shut that down immediately. Luna wasn't a PR opportunity, and he wasn't gonna let the media circus touch his daughter if he could help it.
But that wasn't what had him on edge right now.
He glanced at his phone: 2:47 PM. Luna and Gabe's flight from Seattle was supposed to land at 4:15, which meant he needed to leave for LAX in the next few minutes. He'd been looking forward to this for a long time—seven days with his daughter.
The sound of his front door opening made him tense. He'd given explicit instructions to his security team that no one was supposed to get through today.
"Lewis? Baby, where are you?"
Fuck. Simone.
He'd been ignoring her calls and texts for weeks now, ever since that disaster of an encounter at a club in Monaco where she'd made it clear she wanted to pick up where they'd left off months ago. Before Luna. Before everything had changed.
"Lewis!" Her voice was getting closer, heels clicking against his hardwood floors.
He turned to find Simone standing in his living room doorway, looking like she'd stepped off a magazine cover. Dark hair in perfect waves, designer dress that left little to the imagination, the kind of calculated beauty that had once turned his head but now just made him tired.
"How did you get in here?" His voice was flat, annoyed.
"Your security knows me, baby. I told them I was expected." She sauntered closer, hips swaying in that exaggerated way that used to work on him. "You've been ignoring my calls."
"For a reason."
Simone pouted, the expression looking ridiculous on her surgically enhanced features. "Don't be like that. I missed you. We were good together, remember?"
"That was a long time ago." Lewis moved toward the door, grabbing his keys from the console table. "I gotta go."
"Wait." She caught his arm, her manicured nails digging into his bicep. "I heard about the baby thing. Some kid from an old fling, right?"
Lewis went very still. "Excuse me?"
"Look, I don't care if you got a baby somewhere. Kids are cute and whatever. I can work with that—be like a bonus mom situation, you know?" Her smile was predatory, calculating. "It doesn't change what we have."
"We don't have anything." Lewis pulled his arm free, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. "And that 'baby thing' is my daughter. Her name is Luna."
"Okay, Luna, whatever. The point is—"
"The point is you need to leave. Now."
Simone's expression shifted, the fake sweetness melting away to reveal something harder underneath. "You're being ridiculous. So you knocked up some reporter—"
"Stop talking." Lewis's voice was low, dangerous. "Please fuckin' go home, Simone."
"I don't understand why you're being so difficult about this. We're good together, Lewis. The sex was amazing, and I'm not asking for anything complicated."
The casual way she talked about Luna made something dark and protective flare in Lewis's chest. "When I get back from the airport, you better be fuckin' gone. I'm not playing with you."
Simone's face twisted with anger. "Are you serious right now? You're gonna choose some random bitch and her kid over this?" She gestured to herself like she was presenting a prize.
"Get out."
"Fuck you, Lewis! You used to call me at two in the morning when you needed someone to suck your dick, and now you're acting like you're too good for me? Because of some baby mama?"
Lewis was already walking toward the door, done with this conversation. "Security will escort you out if you're not gone in five minutes."
"This is bullshit!" Simone's voice followed him, shrill with fury. "You think she's gonna stick around when the novelty wears off? When she realizes how fucked up your schedule is? She already left you once!"
The words hit their target, but Lewis didn't stop walking. He slammed the front door behind him and got into his car, hands shaking slightly as he started the engine.
This was exactly the kind of shit he'd been worried about. The vultures circling, people trying to use Luna for their own gain, the media turning his daughter into a commodity.
His phone buzzed with a text from his head of security: Issue resolved. She has left the property.
Good. Now he could focus on what mattered—picking up his daughter.
Lewis parked in the designated pickup area and fired off a quick text to Gabe with his location. The summer break couldn't have come at a better time—four weeks off from racing, no travel, no obligations except the ones he chose. And he'd chosen to spend every possible moment getting to know Luna.
The custody agreement gave him summers anyway, but this felt different. This felt like the beginning of something real.
His phone buzzed with an incoming call from Penni.
"What's the latest?" he answered, keeping his voice low even though he was alone in the car.
"Damage control. I've got three different tabloids calling for quotes about Luna. Someone leaked her full name, her school, even the address of Y/N's house in Seattle."
Lewis felt his blood pressure spike. "What the fuck? How?"
"Could be anyone. School employee, neighbor, someone who recognized you at the graduation. Point is, they're digging now."
"What about Y/N? Is she safe?"
"I've already arranged for a security consultation. Discrete team, just to assess her situation and make recommendations. She doesn't have to know about it unless she wants to."
Lewis closed his eyes, leaning back against the headrest. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of—Luna and you getting dragged into the circus that was his public life.
"I want protection for both of them," he said firmly. "Whatever it costs."
"Already in motion. And Lewis? We should probably prep Y/N for what's coming. The media attention is only gonna get worse before it gets better."
"I'll talk to her."
"Soon. Like, today soon."
Lewis ended the call just as he spotted Luna's unmistakable curls bouncing through the arrivals area. Even from a distance, he could see her animated gestures as she chattered at Gabe, probably telling him about the airplane or the people she'd met or the clouds they'd flown through.
He got out of the car and waved, watching his daughter's face light up when she spotted him.
"Daddy!" Luna broke away from Gabe and ran toward him, her little legs carrying her as fast as they could manage.
Lewis scooped her up, spinning her around as she giggled, and for a moment all the stress and frustration of the morning melted away.
"There's my princess. How was your plane ride?"
"So good! We went up in the clouds and I could see everything tiny down below! And the airplane gave me peanuts and juice and Gabe let me have his cookies!"
"Did he now?" Lewis grinned at Gabe, who was approaching with their luggage and looking slightly frazzled from the flight.
"She charmed the entire crew," Gabe said, accepting Lewis's one-armed hug. "I think she has three new Instagram followers from the flight attendants alone."
"I don't have Instagram," Luna informed them seriously. "I'm too little."
"That's right, you are. But maybe when you're older." Lewis set her down and took the handle of her bright pink suitcase. "Ready to see the beach house?"
"Is Roscoe there? Is he waiting for me?"
"He's definitely waiting for you. Been pacing around all morning like he knows something special is happening."
Luna clapped her hands together, bouncing on her toes. "Can we go now? Please?"
As they loaded into the car—Luna in her car seat that Lewis had spent an hour figuring out how to install properly—Gabe shot him a look.
"You alright? You seem a little tense."
Lewis glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure Luna was distracted by the passing scenery before answering. "Just some work stuff. Nothing major."
Gabe didn't look convinced, but he let it slide. "Well, this little one has been talking nonstop about meeting Roscoe and seeing your house. Fair warning—she's got some very specific expectations about what a 'beach house' should look like."
"Oh yeah? What kind of expectations?"
"Seashells. Lots of seashells. And she wants to know if you have a boat."
Lewis chuckled, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. "I can work with seashells. And there might be a boat situation we can arrange."
The drive to Malibu took forty-five minutes, with Luna providing constant commentary about everything she saw. The palm trees ("They're so tall, Daddy!"), the other cars ("That one's red like your race car!"), the glimpses of ocean they caught between buildings ("Is that where we're going to swim?").
By the time they pulled into his driveway, Lewis felt more relaxed than he had all week. This was what mattered—Luna's excitement, her questions, the way she looked at everything like it was the most amazing thing she'd ever seen.
The house itself was spectacular—a modern glass house built right into the cliffside, with panoramic views of the Pacific. Lewis had bought it three years ago as an investment and rarely used it, but now he was grateful for the space and privacy it provided.
"Whoa," Luna breathed as they walked through the front door. "Daddy, your house is like a castle!"
"You like it?"
"It's the biggest house I ever saw! Can I see everything?"
"Of course. But first..." Lewis knelt down to her level, grinning as he heard the familiar sound of claws clicking against hardwood floors. "There's someone who wants to meet you."
Roscoe appeared around the corner, his flat bulldog face wearing what might have been a grin. He waddled over slowly, tail wagging, clearly curious about this small human who smelled like excitement and airplane snacks.
Luna went very still, her eyes wide. "That's Roscoe?"
"That's Roscoe. He's very gentle, and he loves kids. Do you want to pet him?"
Luna nodded solemnly and extended one small hand toward Roscoe, who sniffed it carefully before giving it a gentle lick.
"He likes me!" Luna squealed, immediately more confident. "Hi Roscoe! I'm Luna! I'm your sister!"
Lewis felt his chest tighten at the word 'sister.' Luna had claimed Roscoe as family without hesitation, the same way she'd accepted Lewis as her daddy.
"Can I hug him?"
"Gentle hugs. He's getting older, so we have to be careful with him."
For the next twenty minutes, Lewis and Gabe watched as Luna and Roscoe conducted their careful introduction. The dog, who was usually reserved with strangers, seemed to understand that this small human was important and let her examine his wrinkles, his stubby tail, and his collection of tennis balls with patient dignity.
"She's a natural with animals," Gabe observed, settling onto the couch with a beer that Lewis had handed him.
"Yeah, she is." Lewis couldn't stop watching them. "Y/N never mentioned if she wanted pets."
"She's allergic to cats, but she's been talking about getting Luna a dog when she's older. Something about teaching responsibility."
Lewis filed that information away. Maybe they could look at dogs together when Luna visited during winter break.
"Speaking of Y/N," Gabe said casually, "you might want to call her soon. She was pretty nervous about letting Luna come this far away."
"I was gonna call her tonight after Luna goes to bed. Let her see that everything's okay."
"Good plan. She's been trying to play it cool, but I know she's worried."
They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the house and the beach. Luna was enchanted by everything—the infinity pool ("It looks like it goes into the ocean!"), the private stretch of sand ("Can we build castles?"), the outdoor kitchen where Lewis grilled veggie burgers for dinner ("You can cook outside?").
As the sun started to set, Luna curled up between Lewis and Roscoe on the outdoor couch, exhausted from the day's adventures.
"Daddy," she said sleepily, "can we stay here forever?"
Lewis's throat tightened. "Would you like that, princess?"
"Uh-huh. But Mama would be sad if I stayed forever. And Uncle Gabe too."
"That's right. But we can visit lots, okay? And maybe sometimes Mama can come visit too."
Luna perked up at that. "Really? Mama would like the beach. She likes pretty things."
"She does like pretty things."
"Do you think Mama is pretty, Daddy?"
The question caught Lewis off guard. "I think Mama is very beautiful."
Luna nodded sagely. "She is. And she smells good too. Like flowers."
Lewis caught Gabe's amused look over Luna's head and felt his cheeks warm.
"Alright, princess," he said, standing and scooping Luna into his arms. "Time for your bath and bed. We've got a big day tomorrow."
"What are we gonna do tomorrow?"
"Well, I was thinking maybe we could go to a place with a mouse. A very famous mouse."
Luna's eyes went wide with excitement. "Mickey Mouse?!"
"Maybe."
"Gabe! Daddy says we might see Mickey Mouse tomorrow!"
Gabe grinned. "I heard! Better get some good sleep so we're ready for all that magic."
After Luna was tucked into the guest bedroom (after insisting that Roscoe sleep on the floor beside her bed), Lewis and Gabe found themselves on the beach.
"She's incredible," Lewis said, watching the moonlight reflect off the water. "I mean, I knew she was special from our FaceTime calls, but being with her in person... she's just so smart and funny and..."
"And she's got you wrapped around her finger already."
Lewis laughed. "Completely. I'd probably buy her a pony if she asked for one."
"Please don't give her any ideas. Y/N's already worried about you spoiling her."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them processing the day.
"Can I ask you something?" Lewis said finally.
"Shoot."
"How's Y/N doing? I mean really doing. With all this custody stuff, the changes..."
Gabe took a long sip of his beer before answering. "She's adjusting. It's hard for her, sharing Luna after being the only parent for so long. But she's trying."
"Is she... is she seeing anyone?"
The question came out more casual than Lewis felt, but he couldn't help himself. The thought of you with someone else made his stomach clench.
"Nah," Gabe said quickly. "She's focused on work and Luna."
Something in Gabe's tone made Lewis look at him more closely. "You sure about that?"
Gabe shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, man. I'm sure."
"Gabe."
"What?"
"You're lying. I can tell when people are lying."
There was a long pause. Gabe sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Look, it's not a big deal, okay? She downloaded some dating apps a few weeks ago, but she hasn't actually gone on any dates or anything."
Lewis felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Dating apps?"
"Bumble, I think. Maybe Hinge. But seriously, she just looks at the profiles and complains about how everyone seems boring compared to..." Gabe trailed off, clearly realizing he'd said too much.
"Compared to what?"
"Nothing. Forget I said anything."
"Gabe. What were you gonna say?"
Another long pause. Then: "Compared to you, alright? She looks at these guys and they're all nice and normal and probably perfect for her, but they're not you. And she knows it, even if she won't admit it."
Lewis set down his beer and stared out at the waves. "She hates me."
"She doesn't hate you. She's scared of you. There's a difference."
"Scared of me?"
"Scared of how she still feels about you. Scared of letting herself trust you again. Scared of what happens if she falls for you and you break her heart again."
"I didn't break her heart the first time. Someone sent her that text—"
"I know. But she doesn't see it that way. In her mind, you let her walk away. You didn't fight for her."
Lewis was quiet for a long moment, processing this information. "Would she... if I wanted to try again. With us, I mean. Would she be open to that?"
Gabe looked at him seriously. "That depends. Are you asking because you miss having her in your bed, or because you actually want to be with her? Because if it's just about sex, then no. She's been through enough."
"It's not just about sex." The words came out more vehement than Lewis had intended. "I mean, fuck, I do miss that. I miss everything about being with her. But it's more than that. She's... she's the only person who ever made me want something more than racing."
"Then you need to show her that. Not just tell her, but show her. And you need to be patient, because she's gonna fight you every step of the way."
Lewis nodded, already thinking about how he could do that. How he could prove to you that he was different now, that losing you once had taught him what actually mattered.
"For what it's worth," Gabe added, "I think you're good for each other. You balance each other out. And Luna deserves to see her parents happy."
"Even if we're not together?"
"Especially if you're not together. But..." Gabe grinned. "I think you will be. Eventually. You're both too stubborn to let something this good go forever."
They finished their beers in companionable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Lewis found himself thinking about you back in Seattle, probably lying awake worrying about Luna, about him, about all the ways this new arrangement could go wrong.
Tomorrow he'd call you, let you see Luna's excited face as she told you about Roscoe and the beach house. He'd show you that Luna was safe and happy and loved.
And maybe, if he was lucky, he'd figure out a way to show you that you could be safe and happy and loved, too.
But first, he had a very important date with a three-year-old and a famous mouse.
Thursday Morning - Lewis' Malibu Beach House
Lewis woke to the sound of giggling from the kitchen, followed by Gabe's voice saying something about "flour explosions" and "pancake disasters." He pulled on a t-shirt and padded downstairs to find Luna standing on a step stool at the kitchen island, completely covered in flour, while Gabe attempted damage control.
"We're making pancakes!" Luna announced proudly, holding up a whisk that was dripping batter onto the floor. "I'm helping!"
"I can see that," Lewis said, trying not to laugh at the state of his usually pristine kitchen. "How's it going, Gabe?"
"Well, we've learned that Luna is very enthusiastic about mixing," Gabe said, wiping flour off his cheek. "And that measuring cups are more like suggestions than rules."
"I made them fluffy!" Luna said, demonstrating her technique by vigorously whisking the batter, sending more flour into the air.
Lewis grabbed some paper towels and started cleaning up the worst of the mess. "These are gonna be the best pancakes ever, princess."
"Are we still going to see Mickey Mouse today?"
"After breakfast and showers, yes. We're gonna spend the whole day at Disneyland."
Luna's squeal of delight was so loud that Roscoe, who'd been napping in his bed by the window, lifted his head to see what the excitement was about.
The pancakes turned out well despite the chaos of their creation. Luna insisted on syrup and whipped cream and strawberries, creating a sugar overload that would probably have her bouncing off the walls by the time they got to the park.
"Daddy, after we see Mickey Mouse, can we come back and swim in your pool?"
"Absolutely. We can swim every day while you're here."
"And build sandcastles?"
"Definitely."
"And can Roscoe swim too?"
Lewis glanced at his bulldog, who was currently sprawled on his side in a patch of sunlight, snoring softly. "Roscoe's not much of a swimmer, but he likes to walk on the beach."
"Can we teach him?"
"We can try, but I think he prefers to keep his feet on solid ground."
As they got ready for Disneyland, Lewis found himself taking mental pictures of every moment. Luna brushing her teeth with intense concentration. Gabe braiding her hair into two perfect pigtails. The way she insisted on wearing her favorite dress—the one with flowers that she said made her look "fancy enough for Mickey Mouse."
This was what he'd missed for three years. The everyday moments, the routines, the small joys that made up a life with a child. He was determined not to miss any more of them.
His phone buzzed with a text from you: Hope you're all having fun. Call me tonight?
Lewis smiled as he typed back: Absolutely. Luna's gonna have so much to tell you. Missing you.
He sent it before he could second-guess himself, then immediately wondered if that last part was too much. But it was true—he did miss you. Missed your laugh, your voice, the way you made everything feel more complete.
"Ready, Daddy?" Luna appeared in the living room wearing her flower dress, tiny white sneakers, and a backpack that was almost as big as she was.
"Ready, princess. Let's go make some magic."
The drive to Disneyland was filled with Luna's chatter about which rides she wanted to go on first, whether Mickey Mouse would remember her, and her very serious concerns about whether her dress would get dirty on the roller coasters.
"Daddy," she said as they pulled into the parking lot, "is this the happiest place on earth?"
Lewis looked at his daughter in the rearview mirror—eyes bright with excitement, smile wide enough to power a small city, bouncing in her car seat with anticipation—and felt his chest fill with warmth.
"Yeah, princess," he said. "I think it really is."
Wednesday, June 26th - Y/N and Gabe's Capitol Hill Townhouse, Seattle
You were sitting on your couch, laptop balanced on your knees as you tried to focus on editing an article about the upcoming Wimbledon tournament, when your phone rang. Luna's face filled the screen, flour in her hair and the biggest smile you'd ever seen.
"Mama! Mama, look!" She held up what appeared to be a very messy pancake. "I made breakfast for Daddy!"
Your heart clenched at how happy she looked. "That's beautiful, baby girl. Did you have fun making it?"
"Uh-huh! And Mama, I met Roscoe! He's so cute and fluffy and he licked my hand and he likes me!"
"He does? That's wonderful. Is he being a good boy?"
"The best boy! And Daddy's house is like a castle by the ocean and I can see the water from my bedroom window!"
Luna chattered for another ten minutes about the beach house, about Roscoe, about the pancakes she'd helped make. Every word made you miss her more, but also filled you with relief that she was safe and happy.
"We're going to see Mickey Mouse today, Mama!" Luna practically vibrated with excitement through the screen.
"That sounds amazing, sweetheart. Make sure you take lots of pictures for me, okay?"
"I will! Daddy says we can swim in his pool later and build sandcastles and maybe teach Roscoe how to swim even though he doesn't like water very much."
"That all sounds perfect. I love you so much, Luna."
"I love you too, Mama. I gotta go get dressed now! Bye!"
The call ended, leaving you alone in your quiet house with nothing but the sound of your own breathing. The silence felt overwhelming after Luna's excited chatter, and you found yourself staring at the phone long after the screen had gone dark.
She was having the time of her life. Which was good—it was what you'd wanted when you'd agreed to let her go. But it also made you feel oddly empty, like you'd forgotten how to exist without her constant presence.
Your phone buzzed with a text from Lewis: She's having a blast. Call tonight after Disney? She'll have so much to tell you.
You typed back: Yes, please. Thank you for taking such good care of her.
Always. Missing you.
You stared at those last two words for a long moment before locking your phone and setting it aside. Lewis did not get to miss you. Not after everything.
But the words made something flutter in your chest anyway.
"Girl, it's about damn time," Kesha announced as she swept into your house carrying a bottle of wine and what appeared to be a full makeup kit. "When's the last time you got dressed up for a man who wasn't related to you or gay?"
"It's just dinner, Kesha. Don't make it a big deal."
"Don't make it a big deal?" Kesha set her supplies down on your kitchen counter and gave you a look that suggested you'd lost your mind. "Honey, you haven't been on a date in four years. This is a very big deal."
You'd been messaging with Amari Thomas on Hinge for a week now, and he seemed... nice. Normal. Safe. Everything Lewis wasn't. When he'd asked you to dinner, you'd almost said no out of habit, but something inside you made you type yes.
"He's probably going to be boring," you said, pouring yourself a glass of the wine Kesha had brought.
"Boring is good! Boring is stable! Boring doesn't fly around the world racing cars and making you question every life choice you've ever made!"
You shot her a look. "We're not talking about Lewis tonight."
"Fine. We're talking about Amari. Tell me about him again."
"He's an engineer. Thirty-four. Has a seven-year-old son. Seems really down to earth."
"And he's fine as hell from his pictures. That jawline could cut glass."
You had to admit, Amari was attractive. Tall - 6'1", with a neat Caesar cut and the kind of build that suggested he spent serious time in the gym. His photos showed him hiking, playing basketball with his son, looking generally wholesome and responsible.
"Alright," Kesha said, clapping her hands together. "Time to knock the cobwebs off that pussy and—"
"Kesha!"
"What? I'm just saying, it's been four years. You need to get laid."
"I'm not sleeping with him on the first date. Or probably any date. I just want to get to know him, see if there's any connection."
Kesha rolled her eyes. "You're gonna die of sexual frustration at this rate."
"I'm fine."
"You're fine because you've been living like a nun. But now Lewis is back in your life looking all gorgeous and complicated, and you need a reminder that there are other options out there."
You didn't want to admit that Kesha had a point. Ever since Lewis had come back into your life, you'd been hypaware of your own body, of needs and wants you'd successfully ignored for years. Every conversation with him left you feeling restless, unsettled in ways that had nothing to do with co-parenting logistics.
"Come on," Kesha said, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward your bedroom. "Let's make you irresistible."
The next hour was a whirlwind of trying on different outfits, debating makeup choices, and Kesha providing color commentary on everything from your lingerie choices ("Just because you're not planning to sleep with him doesn't mean you should wear granny panties") to your hair.
You finally settled on a maroon wrap dress that hugged your curves without being too obvious about it, paired with heels that added just enough height to make you feel confident. Kesha had talked you into slightly more makeup than you usually wore—smoky eyes, glossy lips.
"Damn, girl," Kesha said, stepping back to admire her work. "If this man doesn't want to wife you up immediately, he's an idiot."
You looked at yourself in the mirror and felt a flutter of nerves. You did look good—better than you had in years. The dress showcased the curves you'd gained since Luna, the fuller figure that motherhood had given you. For the first time in a long time, you felt like a woman instead of just a mom.
Your phone buzzed with a text from Amari: Excited to see you tonight. Can't wait until 7.
"He's excited to see me," you told Kesha. "That's a good sign, right?"
"Very good sign. Probably unlike certain Formula 1 drivers who probably just expect women to drop everything for them."
"We're not—"
"Not talking about Lewis. I know." Kesha grinned. "But seriously, have fun tonight. Be open to possibilities. You deserve to be happy."
Amari was waiting for you outside Canlis when you arrived, looking even better in person than he had in his photos. He wore a navy blazer over dark jeans, the kind of smart casual that suggested he understood the restaurant's upscale vibe without being overdressed.
"Y/N," he said, standing as you approached. "You look incredible."
"Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself."
He laughed, a warm sound that immediately put you at ease. "I don't get many chances to dress up these days. Between work and my son, it's mostly jeans and sneakers."
As he held the door for you, you found yourself comparing him to Lewis without meaning to. Where Lewis was compact and intense, all controlled energy and sharp edges, Amari was tall and solid, radiating a kind of calm confidence that felt refreshing.
The restaurant was gorgeous—floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of Lake Union, soft lighting that made everyone look their best, the kind of sophisticated atmosphere that reminded you why Seattle's fine dining scene was so respected.
"This place is beautiful," you said as the hostess led you to a table by the windows.
"I wanted somewhere special for our first date," Amari said, pulling out your chair. "Though I have to admit, I was nervous about picking the right place. It's been a while since I've done this."
"How long since your last relationship?" you asked, then immediately worried that was too personal. "Sorry, you don't have to answer that."
"No, it's fine. Two years. My ex-wife and I divorced when Quinton was five, and I've been focused on figuring out single parenting since then. What about you?"
The question made your stomach clench. How could you explain Lewis without explaining Lewis? "About the same. Luna's father hasn't been in the picture until recently, so it's been just me and her."
"That must have been hard. Raising a child alone."
"It was. But I had help from friends, and Luna's... she's an amazing kid. Makes it all worth it."
Amari's smile was gentle, understanding. "Quinton is the same way. Sometimes I think kids are more resilient than we give them credit for."
The conversation flowed easily from there. Amari talked about his work as a civil engineer, his passion for sustainable infrastructure, his hopes of getting into urban planning. You found yourself relaxing, enjoying the novelty of talking to an adult about adult things without having to worry about little ears listening in.
"So you cover Formula 1?" he asked when you'd explained your job. "That must involve a lot of travel."
"It does. Though I'm trying to stay closer to home these days, focus on local assignments when I can."
"Because of Luna?"
"Partly. And partly because I've realized I don't need to be constantly traveling to feel fulfilled in my career."
It was true, though you didn't mention that Lewis's reappearance had played a major role in that realization. Being around him again had reminded you of what it felt like to live in constant motion, always planning for the next trip, the next deadline. You'd built a different life in Seattle—quieter, more stable, more centered around Luna's needs.
"I respect that," Amari said. "Finding balance with kids is tough. I used to work sixty-hour weeks before Quinton came to live with me full-time. Now I'm strict about leaving the office by five."
You liked that about him—the way he talked about his son, the clear priority he placed on being present. It was attractive in a way that had nothing to do with his admittedly impressive physique.
The food was exceptional—you ordered the duck breast, he chose the salmon—and you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks. Amari was funny in a quiet way, observational humor that caught you off guard. He told stories about his son's latest obsessions (currently Greek mythology and basketball), his own attempts at cooking (mostly disasters), his weekend hiking adventures.
"Do you hike?" he asked. "There are some amazing trails around here, and I'm always looking for someone to explore with."
"I used to, before Luna. Haven't had much time for it lately."
"Maybe we could try some family-friendly trails? Quinton loves the outdoors, and it might be fun for the kids to meet."
The suggestion was sweet, thoughtful, exactly the kind of thing you should want. But something about it made you pause. The idea of Luna meeting another potential father figure felt overwhelming, especially when she was currently bonding with her actual father three states away.
"That sounds nice," you said carefully. "Though I should mention, Luna's father has recently become more involved in her life. It's... complicated."
Amari nodded understandingly. "Co-parenting can be tricky. My ex and I had to figure out a lot of boundaries when we first separated. How long has he been back in the picture?"
"About a month. He didn't know about Luna before that."
You watched Amari process this information, waiting for judgment or questions about how someone could not know about their child for four years. Instead, he just nodded.
"That must be a big adjustment for everyone involved."
"It is. Luna's thrilled to have a dad, but it's been challenging for me to navigate. We're still figuring out custody arrangements, boundaries, all of that."
"And how are you feeling about it? His being back, I mean."
The question was gentle, but it hit you like a truck. How were you feeling about Lewis being back? Terrified. Angry. Confused. Aroused in ways that made you want to scream into a pillow.
"It's complicated," you said finally.
Amari smiled. "Most important things are."
You were grateful he didn't push for more details. One of the things you were quickly learning to appreciate about Amari was his ability to give you space, to not demand more than you were comfortable sharing.
The evening continued pleasantly—shared dessert, coffee, easy conversation that never felt forced or awkward. When he walked you to your car, you felt relaxed in a way you hadn't in months.
"I had a really nice time tonight," he said, stopping beside your car.
"Me too. Thank you for dinner—and for being so understanding about my... complicated situation."
"Everyone's got complications. It's how we handle them that matters." He paused, then leaned in slightly. "I'd like to see you again, if you're interested."
The kiss was soft, tentative, asking permission rather than demanding it. Pleasant. Sweet. Exactly what a first kiss should be.
So why did you feel absolutely nothing?
You kissed him back because it seemed rude not to, because he was a good man who deserved enthusiasm from the woman he was dating. But as his lips moved against yours, all you could think about was how different it felt from kissing Lewis—how Lewis's kisses had been demanding, consuming, the kind that made you forget your own name.
"I'd like that too," you said when he pulled away, hoping your voice sounded more convincing than it felt to you.
Amari smiled, clearly pleased. "I'll call you tomorrow?"
"That sounds perfect."
You drove home in a strange mood, replaying the evening in your head. By any objective measure, it had been a perfect first date. Amari was attractive, successful, kind, funny, and clearly interested in you. He had his life together, understood the challenges of single parenting, and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you as a person rather than just as a potential conquest.
He was everything you should want.
So why did you feel so empty?
Your phone buzzed with a text from Amari: Had a wonderful time tonight. Sweet dreams.
You looked at the text again, at the sweet, appropriate message from a man who clearly liked you and wanted to see you again. A man who represented everything you'd thought you wanted—stability, normalcy, a life free from the constant drama that seemed to follow Lewis wherever he went.
But as you typed back a polite response, all you could think about was the way Lewis's voice had sounded when he'd said he missed you. The way his eyes had looked when he'd held Luna for the first time. But that didn't mean you had to do anything about it. You could date Amari, give him a real chance, and see if something develops over time. You could build a normal, stable life with someone who would never break your heart because he'd never have the power to.
It was the smart choice. The safe choice.
The choice that felt absolutely wrong in every fiber of your being.
Yet sometimes, you thought as you turned off the lights and headed to bed, those safe but wrong choices were the ones that kept you from getting hurt again.
Even if they also kept you from being truly happy.
# summary: It's been almost five years since you last saw Lewis, and in those almost five years, so many things have changed......
# author’s note: This is a very short series, only 12 parts
# previous chapter | next chapter
Saturday, May 31st - Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya
Lewis sat in a corner of the garage, staring at his phone with the kind of frustration that had been building all weekend. The fucking car was a disaster—again. P12 in qualifying and Riccardo Adami's voice over the radio had been nothing but excuses and technical jargon that didn't change the fact that the SF-25 was driving like a shopping cart with three broken wheels.
"The balance is all wrong through sector two," Adami had said after Lewis had radioed in his complaints about massive understeer. "We'll look at the data."
Data. Always fucking data. Never solutions.
Lewis was trying to reel in his anger, trying not to say something he'd regret to the press or his team, when his phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call. Your name lit up the screen, and despite his shit mood, he felt something in his chest ease.
"Hey," he said, accepting the call and immediately seeing your face fill the screen.
"Rough day?" you asked, clearly reading his expression even through the phone.
"Shit qualifying," Lewis admitted, running a hand over his face. "Car's fucked, engineer's being a dickhead, and I'm about ready to throw something very expensive at a wall."
You laughed softly, and the sound made his shoulders relax slightly. "Well, maybe this will help. Luna wanted to talk to you."
The last few days had been a whirlwind of projects—the new F1 video game launch with Kylian Mbappé had been fun but exhausting, and between that and trying to extract pace from a car that seemed actively hostile to his driving style, Lewis had been grateful for the nightly FaceTime calls with Luna.
He was also relieved—more than he cared to admit—that Gabe was just a friend. The revelation had lifted a weight from his chest that he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. But it also made him curious about something he wasn't sure he had the right to ask: had anyone else touched you in the four years since you'd left him? Had anyone else made you laugh the way he used to? Had anyone else seen you the way he was seeing you now, soft and unguarded in the quiet moments between Luna's bedtime and your work calls?
He hoped not. Which was selfish and probably unfair, but Lewis had never been particularly good at sharing.
"There's my princess," Lewis said, his mood instantly improving when he saw Luna's face.
Luna giggled, then her expression shifted to something more serious. "You look upset, Daddy."
"Just a little bit of work stuff," he explained.
"Work stuff is a lot, 'cuz you are sitting very sad, Daddy."
Lewis furrowed his brow. "How do you know the way I'm sitting, silly girl?"
"Because I'm behind you, silly Daddy!"
Lewis's head snapped up from his phone, and sure enough, there you were, standing just a few feet away from the Ferrari garage with Luna by your side, both of you grinning like you'd just pulled off the greatest surprise in the world.
"What the—" Lewis started, then caught himself before he cursed in front of his daughter. "How did you—?"
He was already moving, crossing the distance between you in quick strides, his face breaking into the biggest smile he'd had all weekend. Without thinking, he swept Luna into his arms and spun her around, her delighted squeals echoing through the paddock.
"Surprise!" you said, and Lewis couldn't help himself—he pulled you into a hug with his free arm and kissed your cheek, the gesture so natural and familiar that he didn't realize what he'd done until he felt you stiffen slightly in his arms.
The kiss had been impulsive, a product of pure joy and relief at seeing you both here. Your skin was soft under his lips, and you smelled like that vanilla perfume you'd always worn, and for a moment Lewis was transported back to lazy Sunday mornings when kissing you was as natural as breathing.
"What are you two doing here?" he asked, setting Luna down but keeping one hand on her shoulder, as if she might disappear if he let go completely.
"Mama and I had fun in London, but I said we should visit Daddy for his race," Luna announced proudly.
Lewis looked at you, mouthing "thank you" over Luna's head. You nodded, your cheeks slightly flushed from the unexpected kiss, and Lewis felt his chest tighten with an emotion he wasn't ready to name.
"Come on," he said, "let me introduce you to everyone."
The next hour was a blur of introductions and barely contained excitement. Lewis led you through the Ferrari garage, introducing Luna to everyone they encountered.
"Angela," he called to his trainer, who was reviewing some data with the physio team. "I want you to meet someone very important."
Angela looked up, and her face broke into a knowing smile when she saw Luna clinging to Lewis's hand.
"This is my daughter, Luna," Lewis said, the words still feeling new and wonderful on his tongue. "Luna, this is TT Ange. She helps Daddy stay strong for racing."
"TT Ange!" Luna repeated delightedly, releasing Lewis's hand to wave enthusiastically.
Angela crouched down to Luna's level, her expression soft. "Well hello there, beautiful girl. You look just like your Daddy."
"I do?" Luna asked, looking up at Lewis with those big brown eyes that were so much like his own.
"You do," Angela confirmed.
They moved on to Ella, his communications personnel, who was charmed immediately by Luna's chatter about the "pretty cars" and whether she could have stickers like the ones on Daddy's helmet. Then Fred appeared, taking one look at Luna and stopping dead in his tracks.
"Mon Dieu, Lewis," Fred breathed, switching between French and English in his shock. "A baby! She is... she is exactly like you, non?"
"Luna, this is Fred," Lewis said, unable to stop smiling. "He's my boss. Fred, this is Luna's mummy," he added, turning to introduce you properly.
Lewis watched as you charmed his team with the same ease you'd always had, answering questions about Luna's age and personality while keeping one eye on their daughter, who was currently trying to convince one of the mechanics to let her sit in the car.
There was something both familiar and strange about watching you navigate his world again. You'd always fit seamlessly into the paddock environment, having understood the controlled chaos and intense personalities that made up a Formula 1 team. But now you were here as Luna's mother, as his co-parent, and the dynamic felt different. More permanent. More real.
Dinner in Lewis's hotel suite felt surprisingly domestic. He'd ordered vegan pasta for himself and Luna.
"Daddy, I can do it myself!"
"Sorry, sweetie," he said as he cut up her noodles into smaller pieces, though Luna was protesting that she was a big girl and could do it herself.
"It's okay, Daddy," Luna said graciously, then blew a curl off her forehead in a gesture so reminiscent of his own nervous habits that Lewis felt his chest tighten.
"You have such pretty hair," he told her, reaching over to smooth the wayward curl back into place.
"Like yours, Daddy," Luna said, pointing at his braids with a sauce-covered finger.
"Just like mine," Lewis agreed, and the simple acknowledgment of their resemblance filled him with a warmth he wasn't prepared for.
The sound of the shower turning off drew his attention, and a few minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts. What Lewis noticed immediately—and tried very hard not to stare at—was that you were clearly not wearing a bra. The soft cotton of your shirt clung to your curves in ways that made his mouth go dry, and when you reached over to steal some pasta from Luna's plate, the motion caused the fabric to stretch across your breasts in a way that had Lewis shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
"Hey! This isn't your dinner!" Luna protested, but she was giggling as she said it.
"Sorry, baby girl," you said, chewing the stolen piece of pasta with exaggerated satisfaction. "I have a few articles to finish. Is it okay if she stays with you, Lewis?"
Lewis was still distracted by the sight of you braless and relaxed, by the way the soft fabric of your shirt revealed the outline of your nipples, by the memory of how those breasts had felt in his hands, in his mouth, pressed against his chest when you'd ride him until you were both breathless and—
"Lewis?" you said again, and he realized you'd been talking to him.
"What? Huh?" he said, blinking rapidly as he tried to focus on your words instead of your body.
"Silly Daddy!" Luna giggled, and the sound snapped Lewis back to reality.
"Sorry, I... what did you say?"
"I asked if it's okay for Luna to stay with you while I work. I just need about two hours."
"Of course, love," Lewis said automatically, then immediately regretted the endearment when he saw your eyebrow raise. "I mean, yes. Of course. I've got her."
You studied his face for a moment, and Lewis tried to look anywhere but at your chest.
"Okay... I'll just grab my laptop and get set up in the bedroom."
Lewis nodded and made shooing motions with his hands, partly to be helpful and partly because he needed you to leave before he did something stupid like tell you how fucking beautiful you looked or ask if you remembered how much you used to love it when he'd pull your shirt off with his teeth.
As you walked toward the bedroom, Lewis's eyes followed the sway of your hips, the way the soft cotton shorts hugged your ass, the memory of how that ass had felt in his hands when he'd lift you onto hotel room counters and—
"You like Mama, Daddy?" Luna's innocent question cut through his X-rated thoughts like a bucket of cold water.
"Huh, sweetie?" Lewis said, still slightly dazed as the bedroom door closed behind you with a soft click.
"You like Mama?" Luna repeated, taking another bite of her pasta with the casual air of someone who didn't realize she'd just asked the most loaded question in the world.
Lewis looked at his daughter—really looked at her. Three years old and already too observant for her own good, just like him. Too smart, too perceptive, too willing to ask the questions that adults spent years avoiding.
"I love Mama," he said honestly, because what was the fucking point of lying? Luna would see right through him anyway.
"Then why don't you tell Mama?" Luna wondered, as if the solution was obvious.
The question gave Lewis pause. Because how could he explain to a three-year-old that love was complicated? That he'd spent four years thinking you'd chosen to leave him, only to discover that someone had manipulated you into believing he didn't want you? That seeing you again after all this time had brought back feelings he'd thought he'd buried, had made him remember what it felt like to want someone so completely it physically ached?
That knowing you two shared Luna, that you'd created this perfect little person together, had awakened something primal and possessive in him that he wasn't sure how to handle?
"It's complicated, sweetie," he said finally, hoping that would satisfy her curiosity.
Luna rolled her eyes in a gesture so mature it was almost comical. "Grown-ups are weird."
Lewis couldn't help but chuckle. "We are, sweetie. We really are."
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of cartoons and conversation. Luna was endlessly curious about everything—why the cars were so loud and why Daddy had to travel so much.
They watched Bluey, with Luna providing running commentary about the characters and their adventures. She was brilliant, Lewis realized. Not just smart for her age, but genuinely gifted. She picked up on subtle details in the show that most adults would miss.
She was also delightfully silly, making faces at him during commercial breaks and insisting on feeding him goldfish crackers "because Daddy still looks hungry."
When it came time for Luna's nighttime routine, Lewis felt a flutter of nervousness. He'd never done this before—the bath, the pajamas, the elaborate process of getting a three-year-old ready for bed.
But Luna was patient with him, chattering away as he helped her brush her teeth and wash her face. She showed him how to put her hair in a silk bonnet ("Mama says it keeps my curls pretty"), and selected three different stuffed animals that were apparently essential for sleeping.
"This is Elephant," she said, introducing him to a well-loved gray plush toy. "And this is Bunny, and this is Lion. They all have to sleep with me or they get scared."
"Of course they do," Lewis said seriously. "We can't have scared stuffed animals."
Story time was an adventure in itself. Luna had specific requirements about voice inflections and character interpretations, and she interrupted frequently to ask questions or correct Lewis's pronunciation of particularly challenging words.
"Daddy," she said as he struggled through a sentence about a princess and a dragon, "you're reading that wrong."
Lewis looked at the page, the letters seeming to swim slightly in the soft hotel lighting. His dyslexia had gotten better over the years, but he still struggled sometimes, especially when he was tired.
"Can you help Daddy?" he asked, and Luna nodded seriously.
She scooted closer and pointed to the words as they read them aloud, her small finger tracking across the page.
When the story was finished, Lewis wasn't sure what the sleeping arrangements were supposed to be. You'd never discussed it, and he hadn't wanted to assume anything.
He cracked open the bedroom door to check on you and found you passed out cold on the bed, your laptop still open. You'd clearly been working hard, probably trying to meet some deadline while juggling everything else.
"Mama's tired," Luna whispered from behind him, holding all three of her stuffed animals, making Lewis jump slightly.
"Shh," he whispered back. "Yes, Mama's very tired."
Luna giggled softly, then tiptoed into the bedroom. Lewis watched as she carefully climbed onto the king-size bed, moving slowly so as not to wake you.
Lewis followed, gently closing your laptop and moving it to the chaise lounge. He pulled the blanket up over both you and Luna, trying not to notice how peaceful you looked in sleep, how young and vulnerable.
He was planning to retreat to the couch in the living area when Luna's small voice stopped him.
"Stay, Daddy. Please."
Lewis hesitated. This felt like crossing a line, like assuming an intimacy that might not be welcome. But Luna was looking at him with those big brown eyes, and he found himself nodding.
"Okay, sweetie."
He slipped into the other side of the king-size bed, careful to maintain distance between himself and you. Luna immediately cuddled up next to him, her small hand finding his larger one and holding on tight.
"You have to tell Mama soon, Daddy," she said quietly, her voice already heavy with sleep.
Lewis furrowed his brow. "Tell Mama what, sweetie?"
"That you love her," Luna said matter-of-factly. "You have to, or you'll go away."
The words hit Lewis like a physical blow. "I'm not going to go away, sweetie."
"You're not?" Luna asked, tilting her head up to look at him with those impossibly expressive eyes.
"No, never," Lewis said firmly, pulling her closer. "I promise."
"Okay," Luna sighed contentedly, then after a few beats of silence: "But you should still tell Mama."
Lewis let out a soft chuckle. "Of course, sweetie."
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. As her breathing evened out and she drifted off to sleep, Lewis lay there staring at the ceiling, hyperaware of your presence on the other side of the bed.
Luna was right, of course. He did need to tell you how he felt. The question was whether you'd want to hear it, whether four years of hurt and misunderstanding could be overcome by the simple truth that he'd never stopped loving you.
That seeing you again had reminded him of everything he'd lost, everything he'd given up without even realizing it.
That the thought of you both disappearing from his life again was unbearable.
But those were conversations for tomorrow. Tonight, he was content to lie here with his daughter's hand in his, listening to her soft breathing and yours, and pretending that this makeshift family was real. Pretending that this was his life, instead of just a beautiful moment stolen from the chaos of everything else.
But as sleep finally claimed him, Lewis couldn't shake Luna's words: You have to tell Mama soon, Daddy.
Maybe his three-year-old daughter was the wisest person he knew.
Maybe it was time to admit the truth.
Thursday, June 12th - Y/N & Gabe's Townhouse, Seattle
You were loading the dishwasher in the kitchen of the townhouse you shared with Gabe when your phone rang, Lewis's name lighting up the screen for the third time that week. The neighborhood was quiet at this hour, the usual hustle and bustle of the trendy area settling into evening calm.
Luna immediately perked up from where she was coloring at the kitchen table, abandoning her crayons to run toward you with the enthusiasm that only a three-year-old could muster.
"Is that Daddy?" she asked, bouncing on her toes with excitement that made her curls bounce.
"It is, baby girl. Want to talk to him?"
"Yes!"
The routine had become second nature over the past week and a half. Lewis called every night at seven p.m. Seattle time—which was ridiculously early for him given the European time zones, but he never missed it. Luna would chatter away about her day while you finished dinner cleanup, then you'd talk to Lewis for a few minutes after she went to brush her teeth.
It was domestic in a way that felt both natural and terrifying.
"Daddy!" Luna squealed as soon as you handed her the phone, her face lighting up when Lewis's image filled the screen. "Guess what happened at school today!"
You could hear Lewis's warm chuckle through the speaker as Luna launched into an elaborate story about finger painting and snack time and how Tommy Peterson had eaten paste again, much to everyone's disgust. She had been at Little Scholars Preschool for almost a year now, but you'd been thinking about switching her to a different program for the fall—something more academically rigorous that would better prepare her for kindergarten. You'd been meaning to discuss it with Lewis, but every conversation seemed to get derailed by Luna's infectious chatter or the charged silences that stretched between you when she wasn't around.
"And Miss Carmen says we're going to have a moving up ceremony!" Luna continued, practically vibrating with excitement. "With caps and everything, like real graduation!"
There was a pause, then Lewis's voice, more serious than usual. "When is the ceremony, princess?"
"Next Monday! June twenty-first! The first day of summer!"
You felt your stomach clench, knowing exactly where this was going. Luna had been talking about her moving up ceremony all week, and you'd been dreading the moment Lewis found out about it. His schedule was insane during the racing season—barely any time for anything that wasn't directly related to Formula 1.
Another pause. "That sounds very special. I bet you're going to look beautiful in your cap."
"Will you come, Daddy? Please please please?"
The hope in Luna's voice made your chest ache. You knew Lewis would want to be there, but you also knew how impossible his schedule was. The man traveled to twenty-four countries a year, lived his life according to race weekends and factory visits and sponsor obligations.
"Can you put Mama on the phone for a minute, sweetheart?"
Luna handed you the phone with a grin, completely oblivious to the tension that had suddenly filled the kitchen. "Daddy wants to talk to you."
"Hey," you said, stepping into the living room for some privacy. Through the large windows that faced the street, you could see neighbors walking their dogs, couples heading out for dinner, all the normal evening activities of people whose lives weren't complicated by international custody arrangements and Formula 1 schedules.
"Hey yourself. So, June twenty-first. Moving up ceremony."
"Lewis—"
"I want to be there."
The words were simple, but they hit you like a physical blow. Of course, he wanted to be there. Of course, he would want to be part of Luna's milestones. But the logistics seemed impossible.
"You're busy. The season, your travel schedule—"
"I'll make time. Just give me the address."
You sank onto the couch, running a hand through your hair. "It's just a preschool thing, Lewis. It's not a big deal. Twenty minutes of four-year-olds walking across a stage."
"It's a big deal to her. And it's a big deal to me." His voice was firm, but not angry. There was something else there—a determination that reminded you of the Lewis you'd known before, when nothing could keep him from what he wanted. "She's my daughter, Y/N. I want to be there for the important moments."
You closed your eyes, leaning against the soft cushions of the couch. Everything in this house was yours and Gabe's—carefully chosen, paid for with your own money, a life built from scratch after you'd run from Lewis. And now he was inserting himself back into that life, rearranging international race schedules for a preschool graduation.
"The Belgian Grand Prix is that weekend," you said, though you weren't sure why you were trying to talk him out of it.
"I know what's on my calendar. Media day is on Wednesday morning, and qualifying is Saturday afternoon. If I fly out from London this Saturday, I can be back by then. It's tight, but doable."
Of course he'd already figured out the logistics. Of course he was willing to fly halfway around the world for a twenty-minute preschool ceremony. The man who used to complain about having to attend sponsor events was now planning to cross nine time zones for Luna.
"Lewis..."
"Please." The word was quiet, almost vulnerable, and it reminded you of the man you'd fallen in love with—not the seven-time world champion, but the Lewis who sometimes got overwhelmed by the pressure and needed someone to remind him that he was human. "I've missed three years of important moments. Don't make me miss this one too."
The plea in his voice broke something inside your chest. "Okay," you heard yourself saying. "I'll text you the details."
"Thank you." The relief in his voice was palpable. "And Y/N? I know this is all new, all complicated. But I'm not going anywhere. The sooner you accept that, the easier this is going to be for everyone."
After he hung up, you sat in your living room for a long moment, phone clutched in your hand, trying to process what had just happened. Lewis was flying to Seattle for a preschool graduation. He was rearranging his Formula 1 schedule—one of the most demanding, inflexible schedules in the world—for Luna.
And you had no idea how to feel about that.
Through the window, you could see Gabe coming up the front steps with grocery bags in his arms. He'd been at the Pike Place Market, probably picking up ingredients for dinner tomorrow. Normal, domestic, the kind of routine you'd built over the past four years.
Friday, June 13th - Kesha's New Apartment, Ballard
"So let me get this straight," Maya said, wine glass in hand, eyes wide with disbelief. "Lewis Hamilton. Seven-time world champion Lewis Hamilton. The Lewis Hamilton who was on the Met Gala red carpet, looking like a literal god. Is Luna's father."
"Yes," you said for the third time, taking a large gulp of your own wine and immediately regretting it when it went down wrong and made you cough.
"And you've been hiding this from us for three years," Kesha added, still processing, her perfectly manicured nails drumming against her wine glass.
"I wasn't hiding it exactly. I just... never mentioned it."
"Never mentioned it?" Maya's voice pitched higher, the way it did when she was truly incredulous. "Girl, you never mentioned that you dated one of the most famous athletes in the world and had his baby?"
You were sitting in Kesha's new apartment—the exposed brick one in Ballard that was draining her bank account but looked like something out of Architectural Digest. The three of you were sprawled across her expensive new sectional, surrounded by takeout containers from that trendy Thai place down the street. What was supposed to be a housewarming party had turned into an interrogation session after you'd finally worked up the courage to tell your friends the truth.
The truth you should have told them years ago.
"It was complicated," you said weakly, knowing how pathetic that sounded.
"Complicated how?" Kesha demanded, setting down her wine glass and fixing you with that look she usually reserved for difficult clients at her marketing firm. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks pretty straightforward. You dated a gorgeous, successful man, got pregnant, and decided to raise his child in secret."
"It wasn't like that—"
"Then what was it like?" Maya interrupted, and you could see the hurt in her eyes at being kept in the dark for so long. "Because we've been your friends for three years, and not once did you mention that Luna's father was Lewis fucking Hamilton."
The profanity was jarring coming from Maya, who rarely cursed and usually scolded Kesha and you when your language got too colorful around Luna. It drove home just how shocked they both were.
You took another sip of wine and tried to figure out where to start. How could you explain the whirlwind that had been 2020? The way the world had shut down and opened up in cycles, the way you and Lewis had been thrown together in quarantine bubbles, the intensity of falling for someone whose life was so different from anything you'd ever known?
"We had a relationship during the 2020 season," you began slowly. "It was supposed to be casual, but it got... intense. Really intense. I'd never felt anything like it."
"I found out I was pregnant right around the time the 2021 season started. Lewis was focused on trying to win his eighth championship, and I was scared and overwhelmed and had no idea how to tell him."
"So you didn't," Maya said quietly.
"I was going to. I had it all planned out—I was going to tell him after the first race of the season. But then I got this anonymous text telling me he didn't want kids and I should disappear before he did it for me."
"Anonymous text?" Kesha frowned. "From who?"
"I have no idea. Unknown number. But it came right after I found out I was pregnant, and it felt like confirmation of everything I was already scared of."
"So you ran," Maya observed, not unkindly.
"So I ran. I packed up everything I owned, moved back to Seattle, and tried to start over."
"And now he's back," Kesha said.
"Now he's back. He found out about Luna at the Miami Grand Prix, and he wants to be part of her life. He's already got lawyers involved, custody agreements, the whole thing."
"And you're fighting him on it," Maya said. It wasn't a question.
"I'm protecting Luna. There's a difference."
Your friends exchanged a look that you didn't like—one of those wordless conversations that close friends could have with just their eyes.
"Y/N," Maya said carefully, "I get that you're scared. I get that this is overwhelming and that you've been Luna's whole world for three years. But from what you've told us, it sounds like Lewis was manipulated too. Someone sent you that text specifically to break you up."
"That doesn't change the fact that he's never been in Luna's life—"
"Because he didn't know she existed," Kesha interrupted, her voice firmer now. "Look, I'm not saying you were wrong to be scared. Pregnancy is terrifying under the best circumstances, and you were dealing with it alone. But now he does know, and from what you're telling us, he's trying to step up. That's not a bad thing."
"He's trying to take her away from me."
"Is he?" Maya asked gently, leaning forward with that therapist voice she sometimes used when her photographer husband was being particularly dramatic about a difficult client. "Because it sounds like he's asking for time with his daughter, not trying to take her away from you."
You wanted to argue, but the words wouldn't come. Because Maya was right. The custody agreement Lewis had proposed was reasonable, designed around Luna's needs and your schedule. He wasn't trying to uproot her life; he was trying to become part of it.
"Besides," Kesha added with a grin that was pure mischief, "have you seen him recently? Because damn, girl. That man is fine as hell. Those arms, those eyes, that voice with the accent. You are so fucking lucky."
"He's not—we're not—he's the enemy," you sputtered, feeling heat rise in your cheeks.
Kesha and Maya burst into laughter, the kind of deep, belly-laughing that made you realize how ridiculous you sounded.
"The enemy?" Maya wiped tears from her eyes. "Honey, if that's what the enemy looks like, sign me up for war."
"I'm being serious!"
"So are we," Kesha said, getting up to refill everyone's wine glasses. "Look, I get that this is scary. I get that you've been Luna's whole world for three years and now you have to share her. But maybe—and hear me out—maybe that's not entirely a bad thing."
"How is that not a bad thing?"
"Because Luna deserves to know her father," Maya said quietly, her voice gentle but firm. "And from everything you've told us about him—the way he is with kids, the way he's rearranging his entire life to be present for her—Lewis seems like a good man who was hurt just as much as you were."
"And," Kesha added, settling back onto the couch with a wicked grin, "the sexual tension between you two is probably thick enough to cut with a knife. When's the last time you got laid?"
"Kesha!"
"I'm just saying! You've been celibate for three years, and now the father of your child—who happens to be gorgeous and rich and famous and clearly still attracted to you—is back in your life. That's got to be doing things to your body that you haven't felt in a while."
You felt heat rise in your cheeks because Kesha wasn't wrong. Every conversation with Lewis, every accidental touch, every moment when his voice dropped to that low, intimate tone that used to make you melt—it was all affecting you in ways you didn't want to admit.
The way he'd looked at you in that hotel hallway in London. The way his breathing had changed when you'd gotten too close. The way he'd called you "love" at the end of their phone conversation and made your heart skip several beats.
"We're co-parents," you said firmly. "That's it."
"Co-parents who used to fuck," Maya pointed out helpfully, which earned her a scandalized look from you and a high-five from Kesha.
"Maya!"
"What? It's true! And from the way you blush every time his name comes up, I'm guessing the attraction is still very much there on both sides."
You drained your wine glass and reached for the bottle. This conversation was definitely not going the way you'd hoped.
"Look," Kesha said, her voice gentler now, "we're not saying you should jump back into bed with him. We're just saying maybe don't write off the possibility entirely. You two created something beautiful together." She gestured toward the photo of Luna on her phone that she'd been cooing over earlier. "Maybe you could create something beautiful again."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?" Maya asked. "Because you're scared? Because it's complicated? Honey, everything worthwhile is complicated. The question is whether Lewis is worth the complication."
You didn't have an answer for that. Or rather, you did, but it wasn't one you were ready to say out loud.
Tuesday, June 18th - Y/N & Gabe's Towhouse
"I don't understand why you're downloading dating apps when you should just go fuck Lewis," Gabe said bluntly, drying a dinner plate with more force than necessary.
You nearly choked on the sip of wine you'd just taken, coughing as it went down wrong. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You've been wound tighter than a guitar string ever since he came back into your life. Just sleep with him and get it out of your system."
"Gabriel!" You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Gabe, who usually played the voice of reason in your chaotic life, was now advocating for you to sleep with your ex. "I don't like Lewis. We're co-parents. That's it."
Gabe gave you a look that clearly said he thought you were completely delusional. "Sure, babe. That's why you've been checking your phone every five minutes waiting for his calls. That's why you spend twenty minutes getting ready before his FaceTime sessions with Luna—yes, I've noticed. That's why you practically vibrate with tension every time his name comes up."
"I do not vibrate with tension."
"You vibrate with something. And I'm pretty sure it's sexual frustration mixed with unresolved feelings and a healthy dose of denial."
You threw the dish towel at him, which he dodged with a laugh, his dark hair falling into his eyes in that effortless way that made half the men in Seattle fall in love with him.
"I'm downloading dating apps because it's time to get back out there," you said, pulling out your phone and opening Bumble with more determination than you felt. "Luna's getting older, the custody situation is getting settled, and I need to start thinking about my own happiness."
"Your own happiness is calling you every night at seven p.m. and making Luna giggle until her sides hurt, but okay."
You glared at him, but Gabe just shrugged, completely unrepentant.
"I'm serious about this, Gabe. Lewis and I are done. Have been done for almost four years."
"Co-parents can co-fuck too, you know," Gabe said with a grin that was pure mischief.
You rolled your eyes at him, but his words hit closer to home than you cared to admit. The thought had crossed your mind more than once over the past few weeks. The way Lewis looked at you, the way his voice got rough when he said your name, the way your body responded to his presence despite everything that had happened between you.
But acting on that attraction would be a mistake. You were finally finding your footing as co-parents, finally building something stable for Luna. Getting involved with Lewis romantically would complicate everything, would open old wounds that had barely healed.
"I'm making a profile," you announced, turning your attention back to your phone and trying to ignore the way Gabe was smirking at you.
"What are you going to put? 'Single mom looking for love, please be okay with my baby daddy being one of the most famous athletes in the world?'"
"I hate you."
"You love me. And you know I'm right about Lewis."
You ignored him and focused on your phone, scrolling through photos to find one that didn't have Luna in it—which was harder than expected, since your life had revolved around her for the past three years.
"Good luck with that," Gabe said, hanging up his dish towel with theatrical flair. "But when you realize that what you want is five feet nine inches tall with braids, tatts, and a British accent, don't say I didn't warn you."
Two days before Luna's moving up ceremony, you finally worked up the courage to have the conversation you'd been avoiding.
"Lewis," you said when he called for his nightly FaceTime with Luna, "we need to talk about something."
"What's wrong?" His voice immediately shifted to concerned, and you could see him frowning through the phone screen.
"Nothing's wrong. It's about school. Luna's school situation for next year."
"Okay."
You took a deep breath. "I've been thinking about moving her to a different program for kindergarten prep. Something more academically rigorous. Little Scholars is great, but I want to make sure she's really ready for kindergarten."
Lewis was quiet for a moment. "What kind of program?"
"There's a Montessori school in Queen Anne that has an excellent reputation. Very focused on independent learning for kids who are neurodivergent, which I think would be good for Luna given how bright and special she is. But it's also more expensive, and the schedule is different."
"More expensive how?"
You quoted the tuition, and Lewis didn't even blink.
"Done. What else do I need to know?"
"Lewis, it's not just about the money. It's a bigger commitment. More involved parents, higher expectations."
"Send me all the information. Schedule, curriculum, everything. We'll make it work."
You felt some of the tension leave your shoulders. This was one of the things you'd always adored about Lewis—when it came to the people he cared about, logistics were never an obstacle.
"There's also the question of where she'll go to elementary school after that. The Montessori program only goes through kindergarten."
"We have time to figure that out. But Y/N, I want to be involved in these decisions. School visits, meetings with teachers, all of it."
The sincerity in his voice made your throat tight. "Okay. I'll set up a meeting with the director."
"Thank you. And Y/N?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm proud of you. For thinking about what's best for her, for planning ahead. You've done an amazing job raising her."
The compliment hit you harder than it should have, making your eyes burn with unexpected tears. "I just want what's best for her."
"I know. And so do I. That's why this is going to work."
Monday, June 21st - Little Scholars PreK
Luna looked absolutely adorable in her tiny cap and gown, practically bouncing with excitement as you helped her get ready in the school's multipurpose room. The moving up ceremony was starting in twenty minutes, and she was vibrating with nervous energy that made her curls bounce even more than usual.
"Is Daddy really coming?" she asked for the fifth time, adjusting her cap with serious concentration.
"Yes, baby girl. He said he'd be here."
Lewis had texted you an hour ago to confirm he'd landed at Sea-Tac and was on his way to the school. The man had literally flown from London to Seattle overnight, probably getting zero sleep, all for a twenty-minute preschool ceremony. You'd been a nervous wreck all morning, not sure what to expect. This would be the first time Lewis was fully in your world, meeting your friends, seeing the life you'd built without him.
"Will he like my cap?" Luna asked, touching the tiny tassel with reverent fingers.
"He's going to love your cap. And your gown. You look very official and grown-up."
"Miss Carmen says I'm one of her best students," Luna said proudly. "She says I'm ready for big kid school."
"You absolutely are."
The multipurpose room was filling up with families, all of them looking proud and slightly emotional about their children's milestone. You recognized most of the parents from pickup and drop-off over the past year, though you'd never gotten particularly close to any of them. Gabe had always been your main social outlet, and between work and Luna, you'd never had much time for the PTA circuit.
"There he is!" Luna shrieked, pointing toward the door.
You turned and felt your breath catch. Lewis stood in the doorway wearing dark jeans and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, proudly showing off his tattoos, and looking casually perfect in that way that used to drive you crazy. His hair was in fresh braids, and despite the fact that he'd probably been traveling for twelve hours, he looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine. His eyes scanned the room until they found you and Luna, and his face broke into that smile that had made you fall for him in the first place.
"Daddy!" Luna ran toward him as fast as her little legs could carry her, and Lewis scooped her up, spinning her around in her cap and gown while other parents turned to stare.
"There's my graduate," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You look beautiful, princess."
"Do you like my cap? It's got a tassel!"
"I love your cap. And your gown. You look very official. Are you ready to walk across that stage?"
Luna giggled, then wriggled to be put down so she could show Lewis around the classroom. You watched them together, your heart doing complicated things in your chest as Lewis listened intently to Luna's explanations of her artwork on the walls, her cubby, the reading corner where she liked to look at books.
"Y/N!" Miss Carmen, Luna's teacher, appeared at your elbow. "Luna's father made it! How wonderful. She's been talking about him nonstop."
"Yes, he... he flew in from London."
Miss Carmen's eyes widened. "London? For a preschool ceremony? He must be very dedicated."
"He is," you admitted reluctantly, watching Lewis crouch down to Luna's height to examine a painting she'd made of what appeared to be a family—stick figures with curly hair holding hands.
"That's you and me and Mama," Luna was explaining, pointing to each figure. "And that's Uncle Gabe, and that's Roscoe, even though I haven't met him yet."
Lewis's expression grew soft as he studied the painting. "It's perfect, sweetheart. Can I take a picture of it?"
"Uh-huh! And Daddy, look at this one!"
Twenty minutes later, you were seated in folding chairs watching twenty-four three- and four-year-olds walk across a tiny stage to receive certificates while their families cheered. Luna beamed as she accepted her certificate, waving at Lewis and you in the audience with such enthusiasm that her cap nearly fell off.
Lewis was recording everything on his phone, looking like any other proud parent, except for the fact that several other parents kept sneaking glances at him and whispering. You wondered if any of them recognized him, or if they were just curious about Luna's mysterious father who'd finally appeared.
When Luna and her classmates finished their graduation performance, Lewis stood up and cheered louder than anyone, and the pure joy on his face made your chest ache.
Afterward, there was a reception in the school garden with juice boxes and cookies. Luna dragged Lewis around to meet her classmates and their parents, introducing him as "my daddy who lives far away but came to see me graduate."
You were talking to another parent about summer plans when you noticed a group of PTA moms had surrounded Lewis near the refreshment table, all of them looking star-struck and flirty.
"So you're Luna's father?" Jennifer Hartwell was saying, flipping her blonde extensions over her shoulder. "What do you do?"
"I'm in... sports," Lewis was saying diplomatically, clearly trying to avoid getting into specifics about his career.
"What kind of sports?" pressed another mom, Sarah Kim, who you knew was recently divorced and had been making comments about needing to "get back out there."
"Racing," Lewis said simply.
"Like NASCAR?" Jennifer asked, batting her eyelashes.
You saw Lewis's jaw twitch slightly at that, but he remained polite. "Something like that."
"You know," Sarah said, writing something on a piece of paper, "if you ever want to grab coffee and talk about adjusting to the Seattle parenting scene, I'd love to show you around." She held out what was clearly her phone number.
"That's very kind," Lewis said, not taking the paper, "but I actually live in Europe most of the year. I'm just visiting."
"You should go save your baby daddy," Gabe appeared at your elbow, grinning as he watched Lewis try to extricate himself from the group of eager mothers. "Sarah is circling like a shark."
"He's fine," you said, but you felt a spike of something that might have been jealousy watching the women flirt with him so obviously.
"Jennifer just asked if he wants to grab drinks sometime," Gabe observed. "She's pulling out all the stops—hair flip, lip bite, the works."
You glanced over and saw that Jennifer was indeed employing her full arsenal of flirtation techniques, leaning in close to Lewis as she spoke, her hand resting on his arm.
"He can handle himself," you said firmly, but your jaw was clenched tight enough that it was starting to ache.
"Uh huh. That's why you look like you want to scratch her eyes out."
Before you could respond, Lewis appeared at your side with Luna in his arms, looking slightly frazzled and definitely ready to escape.
"Ready to get out of here?" he asked, and you noticed he was careful not to make eye contact with the group of disappointed mothers behind him.
"Absolutely," you said, perhaps a little too quickly.
As you gathered Luna's things and prepared to leave, you couldn't help but notice the way the other mothers were still watching Lewis, whispering among themselves with the kind of speculative interest that made your teeth grind.
He was yours first, you thought irrationally, then immediately felt ridiculous. He wasn't yours at all anymore.
But that didn't stop the possessive feeling that curled in your stomach as you walked out of the school together, looking for all the world like a happy family.
Dinner at The Pink Door had been Gabe's idea—"Luna needs to see her parents getting along in public," he'd said—but it was turning out to be surprisingly pleasant. The restaurant was slightly busy, and Luna was charming everyone within earshot, including their server, who had already brought her two different kinds of bread, "just because you're so cute, sweetheart."
Lewis seemed genuinely relaxed for the first time since you'd known him again, laughing at Luna's stories and asking Gabe about his work with a level of interest that seemed completely genuine.
"So you met Y/N at the women's center?" Lewis was asking as they waited for their entrees.
"Yeah, I was volunteering there during my off hours. Y/N showed up about seven months pregnant, scared out of her mind, needing a place to stay." Gabriel's voice was matter-of-fact, but you caught the protective edge underneath.
"Uncle Gabe saved us," Luna piped up, chocolate milk mustache making her look even younger than she was. "He taught me how to make pancakes and how to tie my shoes."
"He did?" Lewis looked at Gabe with genuine gratitude. "Thank you. For taking care of them when I..." He trailed off, clearly struggling with how to finish that sentence.
"When you didn't know they needed taking care of," Gabe said gently. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I wasn't angry when Y/N first told me what happened. But now that I know the whole story, I get it. You were both in an impossible situation."
Lewis nodded, his jaw working like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. "Still. You stepped up when you didn't have to. That means everything."
"Uncle Gabe is the best," Luna announced, swinging her legs under the table. "He makes the best mac and cheese and he lets me stay up late sometimes and watch movies."
"Only sometimes," Gabe corrected with a grin. "And only good movies."
"I have to go to the bathroom," Luna announced suddenly, in the way that three-year-olds always did.
"I'll take her," Gabe said, standing up. "Come on, Luna-bug. Let's wash those chocolate milk face, too."
As Gabe led Luna away toward the restaurant's bathroom, weaving through tables filled with other families enjoying their Monday night dinners, you suddenly found yourself alone with Lewis for the first time all day.
The silence stretched between you, comfortable but charged with all the things you weren't saying.
"Thank you," Lewis said finally, his voice quieter than it had been all evening. "For today. For letting me be there, for making this work."
"She's your daughter too," you replied, the words coming easier now than they had a few weeks ago.
"Still. I know it's not easy, sharing her. Especially after..." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the four years of absence, the legal battles, all of it.
"We're figuring it out," you said, which felt like the most honest thing you could say.
Lewis nodded, then seemed to gather himself for something. "Actually, there's something I wanted to ask."
"What's up?" you asked, though something in his tone made you nervous.
"I was hoping you and Luna could come to LA in August. Spend some time with me, meet Roscoe. I've got my summer break coming up, and I thought it might be nice for her to see where I live when I'm in the States."
You felt your chest tighten. This was what you'd been dreading—the moment when Lewis would want to take Luna away from you, even temporarily.
"I can't," you said quickly. "I've got assignments lined up, and—"
"What about Gabe?" Lewis interrupted, looking hopefully toward the bathroom where Gabe and Luna had disappeared.
Your immediate instinct was to say no. The thought of Luna being so far away, in a completely different environment, with Lewis—it made your chest tight with anxiety. But you also knew that this was exactly the kind of thing you needed to get used to. Lewis was Luna's father, and he had every right to want to spend time with her.
"I don't know," you said slowly. "It's a big responsibility, and Gabe has his own life—"
"I'd make sure he's completely comfortable with everything, whatever he needs. And it would only be for a week."
"You have to ask Gabe—"
Before you could get the rest of the words out, Gabe and Luna returned from the bathroom, Luna skipping ahead with her hands held up to show they were clean.
"Ask me what?" Gabe said, sliding back into his seat and immediately picking up on the tension at the table.
Lewis looked at you, clearly asking permission to continue. You nodded reluctantly.
"I was wondering if you'd be willing to bring Luna to LA for a few days in August. I have a house in Malibu—beach access, pool, plenty of space for everyone. I thought Luna could meet Roscoe, see where I live when I'm in the States."
Gabe's eyebrows shot up. "LA?"
"And," Lewis continued, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at Luna, "I was thinking we could take a trip to Disneyland while you're there."
"Disneyland?" Luna's eyes went wide, her voice rising to a pitch that made several other diners turn to look. "Really, Daddy? Really really?"
"Really really, princess. If it's okay with Mama and Uncle Gabe."
Gabe looked between you and Lewis, clearly reading the tension in the air. You could see him processing the request, considering the logistics, the implications of Luna being so far away from you.
"Well," he said slowly, "I like Malibu. And I do love Disney."
"We can't ask Gabe to do everything," you protested, even though you could see the excitement building in Luna's face. "He has his own life, his own job—"
"Are you kidding?" Gabe interrupted, grinning now. "Beach house in Malibu with a pool? Disneyland? Sign me up. When do we leave again?"
Lewis's face lit up with relief and gratitude. "August 6th? I could have my assistant arrange everything. My housekeeper can stock the kitchen with anything Luna likes to eat."
"Can we, Mama?" Luna asked, bouncing in her seat with barely contained excitement. "Please please please? I want to meet Roscoe! And see the ocean! And go on the rides at Disneyland!"
You looked around the table—at Luna's hopeful face, at Gabe's obvious excitement about the prospect of a luxury California vacation, at Lewis watching you with those dark eyes that seemed to see right through your defenses.
This was what co-parenting looked like, you realized. Not just the legal agreements and custody schedules, but the actual sharing of Luna's life, her experiences, her joy. Lewis wanted to give her something you couldn't—a trip to Disneyland, a chance to meet his dog, memories of beaches and sunshine and her father's world.
"I guess..." you said slowly, the words feeling foreign on your tongue, "if Uncle Gabe's really okay with it..."
"I'm more than okay with it," Gabe said firmly. "Luna, you want to go to the beach with your daddy?"
"Yes!" Luna clapped her hands together, nearly knocking over her water glass in her excitement.
Lewis was beaming now. "Then it's settled. I'll have everything arranged by tomorrow."
As they finished dessert and prepared to leave, you couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had just shifted. Luna was going to spend time with Lewis alone, was going to see his world, his life. She was going to fall even more in love with her father, and you were going to have to figure out how to handle being three states away while it happened.
But watching Lewis help Luna into her jacket, listening to him promise to call you every day while she was gone, seeing the pure joy on your daughter's face—maybe this was what moving forward looked like.
Even if it scared the hell out of you.
The drive back to the townhouse was quiet, Luna already half-asleep in her car seat, exhausted from the excitement of the day. Gabe sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone and occasionally making excited comments about LA weather and Malibu restaurants.
"This is really happening," you said quietly, more to yourself than to anyone else.
"It's going to be great," Gabe assured you. "Luna's going to have the time of her life, and Lewis...is trying to be a good dad, Y/N."
You nodded, knowing Gabe was right but still feeling the anxiety gnaw at your stomach.
"Plus," Gabe added with a grin, "a week in Malibu isn't exactly a hardship. I'm already planning my Instagram posts. The haters were gagging last time with my business class seats, wait 'til they see me in your baby daddy's mansion on the beach."
Despite everything, you couldn't help but laugh. Trust Gabe to find the silver lining in your parental anxiety.
Back at the townhouse, you went through Luna's bedtime routine while she chattered excitedly about Disneyland and beaches and meeting Roscoe. After Luna was asleep, you found yourself sitting on your couch, staring at your own phone, at the text thread with Lewis that had become a daily part of your life.
Lewis: Thank you. Can't wait to see her again.
You stared at the message for a long time before typing back.
You: Just take care of her, okay? She's never been that far from me before.
Lewis: I promise. She'll be safe, and happy, and I'll make sure Gabe has everything he needs too. And I won't let you down. Not again.
The message made your throat tight with emotion. Because despite everything—the years of hurt, the complicated logistics of co-parenting—you believed him.
Please stop trigger tagging with #epilepsy tw/cw/warning/etc.
I need every single person to understand how horrible tumblr’s tagging system is
I go into the tag for epilepsy and its all flashing lights. We can’t use our own tag because people without epilepsy fill it up with improper warnings.
Use ‘flashing’ in place of ‘epilepsy’ in your tags. You aren’t warning people of epileptics, you’re warning us of flashing lights. Please please tag properly. Epileptics say this endlessly and constantly and it’s ignored. You are risking lives by doing this.
Here’s proof of what I mean:
THIS POST IS 100% OKAY TO REBLOG, I ENCOURAGE PEOPLE WITHOUT EPILEPSY TO ESPECIALLY DO SO!
BOYCOTT YOUTUBE FROM TOMORROW ONWARDS!! IT DOESNT END UNTIL THEY GET RID OF THE NEW POLICIES!! IN A WORLD WHERE WE ARE TOO COMFORTABLE, GET UP AND DO YOUR PART!!!! WE DONT NEED YOUTUBE, THEY NEED US. LETS PUT OUR COLLECTIVE FOOT DOWN
“Did you know?” Stack asked, staring Mary directly in the eye.
“Know what?” Mary snapped back at him.
“About Y/N and her daughter,” Stack clarified.
He was scarily calm. It was one of the only times anyone had ever seen him that way. Even when Mary raised her voice at him and shamed him for leaving. His expression was melancholic and somber. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t even bat an eye when Mary came hooting and hollering into the juke. For the first time in a long time, Stack was silent. His mind was whirling into oblivion. Thoughts rendering him mute and unapproachable. He had tried to put on a brave face and keep his usual smiley demeanor. But it was only a shadow of who he once was. A mask to hide behind his true self. Or, more like a new self.
A father?
Mary visibly stiffened and gripped the front of her dress. Bracing herself for his reaction. “Yes, I did.”
Stack shook his head and turned to walk away.
“Wait! Just let me—” Someone immediately cut between them, delaying her pursuit of him.
It was two lovers, swirling along with the music. Completely mindless to everything and everyone around them. Mary gazed upon them. Taking in their brown skin in the low light and bright, white smiles. She, also, had inner turmoil plaguing her soul. As much as she loved Stack, she knew it was forbidden. Not because of their skin color, but because of their history. Being raised together, alongside Anne and Y/N. She knew the twins were very protective of them— their families were burned at the stake for practicing witchcraft. The four of them were orphans, something they all bonded over. Something Mary couldn’t fathom, since she had her mother. She hated the way the twins looked at them— starry-eyed and full of hope. Knowing that if they wanted to settle down someday, it would be them they would choose. Leaving her out of the union completely.
She would be left alone, possibly forever.
When Mary finally caught up to Stack, she saw him heading straight to Annie. His head was bowed, and his fists were clenched at his sides. Almost like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. He whispered something to her behind the counter, which prompted her to nod and gesture for Grace to take over. The two sauntered from the bar and into a back room.
Something that Smoke immediately caught and silently questioned.
“You know what I’m gonna ask you,” Stack said silently, almost in a whisper. As if he were too ashamed or terrified to say it aloud. It would make the situation that much more real. Make his absence that much more painful.
“About Madeline?” She raised an eyebrow, studying his face closely.
He tried not to let the look of astonishment cross his face, but failed. Stack had finally learned the little girl’s name after hours of pondering. He was happy with the choice. Y/N had named her after her mother. A fearless woman, tougher than any man he’d come across.
She was a seer. Could predict the future mere days before it would happen. Sometimes, even weeks before, depending on the gravity of the case. She had seen her own death in her dream, days before it happened. Saw the white hoods and chains behind her closed eyes. Felt the heat and pain of the fire against her skin. She was only given two days before the Klan came knocking on her door and used every second of it. She wrote down all her spells in the family grimoire, kept notes about her apothecary by her bedside, and a letter for her daughter on where to go when everything was done.
Madeline didn’t utter a sound when she was being burned. She simply closed her eyes and pictured her daughter’s smile while the flames consumed her.
At least that was what she told Y/N in a dream.
Stack nodded, unable to trust his words.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t need me to tell you that she’s your baby,” Annie replied, hands resting on her hips. “Your eyes work just as good as mine.”
He released a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wish she had told me. Things could’ve been different.”
“Before or after you started robbing trains with your brother,” she chided with a scowl.
“Anne, please,” Stack begged. “Can we not do this now?”
“We have to. Whether you like it or not,” she chastised, stepping closer to him. “You cannot come back here after seven years and think you have the right to anything. Leave Y/N out of your mess. She has moved on. I think you should do the same.”
“But, Madeline—”
“You may have fathered that child, but she already has a daddy,” Annie interjected. “She does not know you, Elias.”
He thought back to Madeline and her chubby brown face. How she looked at him with such disdain and irritation. She was so protective of her mother, but smart enough not to challenge him too much. So, she asked permission before heading over to get someone who could handle him. Her daddy. Someone who wasn't him.
“And who would that be?” He asked, after a moment of silence.
“I already told you to leave her—”
“Annie, please!” The desperation in his voice was something she had never heard.
Desperate and Stack never went together. He would always find a way to get what he wanted, however he wanted it. He wasn't above cheating, stealing, or lying. He'd rather be a criminal than be without his desires. But, he couldn't do that with Y/N. She wasn't the type to be pleased by it. Her calm spirit healed him in ways he didn’t he couldn't comprehend. Seeing her was the true homecoming. She had gotten even more beautiful with age. Still tall, thick with ass for days. But she had an air that was unrecognizable. An elegance that wasn't there before. Motherhood looked good on her.
“Please, what?” Smoke asked from the doorway.
Stack groaned loudly and clenched his jaw. “We'll be out in a minute.”
“Sure you will,” Smoke closed the door behind him. “But not after you tell me what got your head all screwed up. I'm guessing it has to do with Y/N, since you only ever bother Annie about her.”
“Leave it alone, Smoke,” Stack warned. “This doesn't concern you.”
“See, I think it does,” Smoke replied, closing the distance between them. “You're holed up in a storage closet, begging Annie for information rather than watching the door like I told you to.”
“Let him be,” Annie interjected. “He has a good reason.”
“And what would that be?” Smoke cocked an eyebrow.
Annie gave him a wary look before turning to Stack. The weight in her gaze made the man sigh heavily and shake his head. He couldn't lie to his brother, even if he wanted to.
“Sh-she was. . . She had. . . uh. . . “ Stack stammered.
“Spit it out, fool,” Smoke shot back.
“You're an uncle, baby,” Annie nearly whispered.
Smoke's entire body went frigid, and his expression softened completely. His eyes searched Annie's for any deception or mischievous intent. But there was none. She was telling the truth; he could feel it. His heart swelled as the words sank in. A mixture of sorrow and excitement. He still mourned the loss of his baby, but the idea of being an uncle made him giddy. It had been forever since there was a baby in their immediate family. Even longer for Annie's side. A child was a blessing, a truth Smoke knew all too well.
“I'm guessing you didn't know?” Smoke questioned.
“Of course I didn't!” Stack replied. “It would've changed everything.”
“It sure would've,” Smoke agreed.
A silence fell amongst them, uncomfortable and humid. Memories started to resurface. For Annie, it was the night her baby went with the ancestors. She was born sleeping, the sweet girl. Her sweet face made a thousand cuts on her parents' souls. They would never forget the shade of blue. For Smoke, it was the weeks after. The way Annie buried herself in her work and slowly shut him out. The way she could hardly look at him without crying. Without apologizing. For Stack, it was when Y/N found out about Marie. Her calm nature was fighting against the rage pooling in her heart. She screamed at him, so viscous and raw, to leave her alone. Never come back. I don't want to see you again. Like the idiot he was, Stack went running right back to Marie.
Smoke's eyes found Annie's. “How is she? Y/N, I mean. And the baby?”
“Happier than ever,” a smile fell on her lips. “William takes good care of them.”
Stack jerked back as if someone had struck him. “William? Bo's little brother? Bill?”
A soft smile fell on Smoke's face as he took in the information. He was glad it was Bill who stepped in to raise his niece. William had a kindness that couldn't be faked. He was genuinely loving and nurturing. Smoke watched him nurse a dove back to health after its wing broke. He fed the stray cats in the alley when they were younger. And when he was a baker's apprentice, Bill made sure to give them extra goodies on the sly. A donut, a bagel, or even a loaf of bread.
Smoke knew back then that Bill was in love with Y/N. The smile he wore while looking at her was raw and authentic. He would die for her. Kill for her. Do anything she'd ever ask without hesitation. Silently, Smoke wished Y/N had never gotten tied up with Stack. She was too good for him. Loving, selfless, and empathetic. Everything Stack wasn't. Everything he'd attempt to steal from himself— he was greedy in that way. The worst part was that he didn't notice it. Wasn't conscious of his exploitative ways. Something that infuriated Smoke to no end. Everyone knew Mary was his first love. The sole owner of his heart. Except for Stack. Which was why he tried chasing Y/N. A weak attempt to run away from his confusing love for the girl. Sure, he had feelings for Y/N. But they weren’t as deep. More surface-level, possessive. Almost like, “that pretty thing is mine and no one else's”. It made Smoke sad to think about. No one deserved to be caged up in that way. She deserved to be free. Free to see the past is brother and see the good that was waiting for her. See the handsome baker willing to climb mountains and cross valleys for her. Someone who would rather harm themselves than break her heart. Someone who would risk it all. Just how he would for Annie.
"Good for her," Smoke said, before leaving the room.
He made a mental note to stop by the bakery to see her the next day and hopefully see his niece.
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a/n: you know I had to post something this weekend!!! come on now. i appreciate the love y'all pour me every day. i didn't think anyone would want such an original story. y'all proved me wrong.
as always, let me know if you want to be on the taglist. leave a comment if you'd like.
also, if you have requests, my asks are open! wouldn't mind writing a drabble
finally, someone asked what Bill looks like. I envision him as Paing Takhon (see link for picture).
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
titsay
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
stormborns
