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holllandtrash · 2 years

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may the best man win | lando norris, pierre gasly

pairing: lando norris x reader, pierre gasly x reader part 7 (final part) to better left unsaid (the better series)

time passes, feelings changes and sometimes they grow stronger. do you attempt to return to the history you know, to what once made you feel comfortable? is it even possible for you to love again, but more importantly, are you ready to be loved?

word count: 6.6k tags: heartbreak lmao but its not all heartbreak, or is it idk all i know is im team max

Two Months Later

Pierre should have been ecstatic as he crossed the finish line in Abu Dhabi. It was his last lap, his last race of the year. He finished in the top ten in the driver standings, ahead of his team mate, which was something he should have been proud of, and he was.

He was also proud of the fight he put in this season, especially when the points became close, specifically with Lando. The two of them spent the better part of these last two months battling it out for the same finishing positions.

But competition with the British driver had been tense ever since Monza. While it was unspoken, they both took their frustrations out on the track. Both of them blamed the other for why you weren’t there.

Fans had picked up on it. Noticing that the two of them didn’t interact as much as they used to. There were no inside jokes shared in the paddock. They barely glanced at each other if they had press conferences lined up. There was a clear line drawn between them and that line was you.

Pierre told himself that you were at home watching the races, that you were still cheering him on, but there was no way of telling if that was true or not.

He had thought about inviting you to the last race of the season, just out of kindness, but he didn’t want to push you further away. You needed time.

So there was no one to congratulate him at the end of his last race. No one to drive back to the hotel with and reminisce about the season's highlights and no one to accompany him to the club where everyone was celebrating. It didn’t help that the girlfriends of other drivers were all there as well and Pierre just had to smile and greet them, pretending he wasn’t jealous even though all he wanted was you at his side.

Pierre stepped up to the bar. He’d be blind not to notice the tall blonde girl sitting on the stool wearing a tight black dress that made her legs look even longer. She eyed Pierre up as he approached, a coy smile on her face.

Pierre was polite, he smiled and nodded. She could have been a fan of motorsport for all he knew, he wasn’t going to be a prick. He rested his forearms against the surface of the bar and when the bartender approached, Pierre ordered a rum and coke. He didn’t need anything fancy tonight, he just wanted to get drunk.

The girl next to him adjusted herself on the seat, nearly slipping off. Pierre glanced in her direction, strictly out of concern, “You alright?”

She let out a breath of a chuckle, “Yeah, all good. Just-” she glanced around, but Pierre knew these tactics, he was familiar with them. “-just waiting for a friend, but I think I may have been ditched.”

Pierre hummed, turning his attention to the bar again, tapping his fingers against the counter as he waited. It was rum and coke. How long did it take?

He froze when he felt a freshly manicured hand rest on his arm. He glanced at the contact, trying not to let the distaste show, but why was this girl touching him?

Since you left him in Monza, Pierre hadn’t even bothered looking at another girl. He’d go out with his friends and other drivers, but he’d always end up back at his hotel room alone. He no longer cared about the chase, he didn’t care about getting in a quick fuck.

If he was being honest, there were dozens of nights where Pierre hovered his thumb over your contact name, debating calling you after a long day. He wanted to hear your voice, even if it was just for a second, even if you didn’t answer and he was left with your voicemail, he just wanted to hear you.

But he never called. He didn’t text. Didn’t even like any of your photos on instagram, giving you the space that he knew you needed. Granted, you made it clear it was Lando you were trying to distance yourself from, but Pierre knew that trying to interfere while you were in the process of moving on wouldn’t be beneficial.

So he waited, in the hopes that you would call. Or text. Or like one of his fucking tweets, literally anything. Anything to show that you still cared. That you weren’t done because he certainly wasn’t.

No one compared to you, and Pierre had known that for a while, long before that night in the club.

Ever since Lando joined F1 and you showed up at his side, Pierre took an interest in you. In the beginning, he didn’t know what sort of relationship you and Lando had, so he kept things respectful so as to not cross a line.

But he could hear your laugh from halfway across the paddock and instantly recognize it. Your smile lit up whatever room you walked into and it wasn’t long before Pierre came to realise that he wanted to be the reason for it.

So he tried talking to you, but at that point, he already had a reputation. You were polite, sure, but you didn’t give him the time of day that he wanted and your attention always went back to Lando.

Pierre noticed it pretty quickly, how in love with him you were. He could never figure out why, he still couldn’t. You deserved someone better than Lando, someone who put you first in their life.

And even when you started to see that someone else could love you, that Pierre could possibly love you, you still went back to Lando.

Pierre should have accepted this as something that would always happen. He should have gotten over you and flirted with the girl next to him in an attempt to forget you ever existed.

But that just wasn’t possible. You had made too much of an impact on his life and left too large of a gap when you left.

“You seem lovely, but I’m really not looking for anything,” Pierre let this girl down gently, slowly peeling her fingers off of his arm. He turned his head forward before she could say anything else and it was only a second later when she hopped off the seat and walked away.

The bartender came and placed the drink in front of him, apologising for the wait. Pierre brushed it off, it was a busy night in this club. He reached for his wallet to pull out his card and start a tab, knowing he’d be here for the next little while.

But the bartender shook his head. He wasn’t about to take the payment.

Pierre chalked it up to him being recognized. Not that it happened often, but every now and then he’d get a meal comped or his drinks paid for if the employee or manager of the establishment was a fan.

“Thanks mate,” Pierre put his wallet away and grabbed the rum and coke.

The bartender only nodded his head towards the opposite end of the bar, “Don’t thank me. Thank her.”

Pierre’s smile dropped. If it was that blonde girl again trying another move he would feel bad because he’d just have to let her down a second time. Pierre took a sip of his drink before working up the courage to look towards the end of the bar.

But that blonde girl wasn’t there. In fact, no one on that side was even remotely paying him attention, all focused on their own drinks and conversations or trying to shout their orders to the bartenders.

Pierre didn’t let himself think too much about it.

Until he felt a tap on the back of his shoulder.

He sighed, “I already said I’m not looking for anything.”

Pierre turned around, fully expecting to come face to face with the girl from earlier. He was bracing himself for the tight dress, shy smile and long blonde hair.

What he didn’t expect was you.

Standing there wearing a baby pink long sleeve shirt with a neckline that showed off more cleavage than normal and a white skirt that sat high on your hips, giving you a very barbie-esque sort of feel, especially with the coloured heels to match. The lights from the club were flickering, highlighting the features that Pierre had burned into his mind. Your full lips, the small birthmarks you tried to hide with make up and your eyes that weren’t as important in colour as they were in the way that completely absorbed him.

You were standing right in front of him.

You glanced at the rum in coke in his hand, that familiar charming smile appearing on your lips as you darted your line of sight upwards to meet his own eyes.

“I owed you a drink,” you said, then you swallowed, eyebrows pinched together. “Or maybe I just owed you a thank you, I couldn’t remember.”

It was a cute call back to that night in the club, the first time you had given him more than just a friendly smile. He charmed his way in that night, and the rejection from Lando made it all the much easier to agree to leave with him, but you were thankful the night didn’t end with the two of you tangled between the sheets.

A relationship started that night. It started the second Pierre bought the drink for you, knowing he’d have an excuse to approach you later. Neither of you could have predicted how the next few weeks would follow.

Now here you were, after avoiding him for two months. And Pierre wasn’t one who often found himself speechless, but there were no words in any language that could describe how he was feeling.

He wanted to be happy to see you. He wanted to pick you up and spin you around and kiss you like no one was watching.

But the fact that you were in Abu Dhabi and he wasn’t the one who invited you, the door creaked opened for more insecurities to slide in.

If you weren’t there because of Pierre, you were there because of Lando.

Two Weeks Earlier

You flipped through a manila folder, slowly spinning back and forth in your chair. Recently you’ve been dedicating more time to your job and it was a helpful distraction. Most of your coworkers knew you had connections in the F1 world, but none of them knew what was going on behind the scenes.

And because this motorsport series was so popular, you found yourself walking in on various conversations. Someone asked for your input on the Circuit of the Americas and you said about five words before changing the topic. Someone else asked what your thoughts were on the unexpected Alpine podium and you just shrugged and smiled, saying something along the lines of it was well deserved. When another coworker asked about an incident Lando faced during the qualifying session in Mexico, you said that it probably wouldn’t affect his race and then you pulled out your phone to tune out the rest of what was being said.

You couldn’t escape these drivers, you couldn’t run from this sport. The most you could do was at least try and avoid the conversations about them.

But when your coworker, Sam, walked by your desk at the end of a work day, he did a double take and knocked on your cubicle wall.

“Hi,” you glanced up from the documents in your hand. “Heading out?”

“Yeah, but I meant to ask-” Sam looked over your head at the row of windows on the opposite side of your work station. “Since when does Lando Norris let you borrow his cars?”

You scoffed, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“There’s a McLaren 720S outside,” Sam pointed out. “Isn’t that what he drives?”

“I don’t know what Lando drives but I can assure you, that man wouldn’t let me behind the wheel of any of his cars,” you spun to face your computer, wanting this conversation to be over. You wished no one knew you were friends with him.

Sam didn’t leave though. Instead, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. You could hear the keyboard sound effects as he furiously typed away before shoving his phone in your face. It took you a second to understand what you were looking at, but on the small screen was an image of Lando next to a blue McLaren 720s, a huge smile on his face.

“What am I supposed to do with this information?” you looked up at Sam.

“It’s the exact same car that’s outside.”

“Well I didn’t drive it.”

Sam’s eyes widened, “Is he here? Is he picking you up from work? Do you think I could-”

“Okay slow down,” you laughed, trying to make light of this situation but internally you were panicking. Was Lando here? In London? “I’m sure he’s not the only one who owns-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Not when the man of the hour himself came walking around the corner, being escorted by two other employees who were undoubtedly fans. Why else would they have let him into the employees only area? Lando wore a baggy jumper, his hands tucked into his pockets as he looked around with wide eyes until he finally spotted you.

Sam’s jaw dropped and you understood why. You never tried to hide your friendship with the driver, but him showing up at your place of work was not something that ever happened. And you couldn’t understand why it was happening now.

Lando’s feet shuffled against the floor. He thanked the two employees for showing them where you sat, but they didn’t return to their work, they just hovered a few feet away, curiosity getting the better of them.

He nodded at Sam, offering him a smile as well and when Sam glanced your way you nodded your head for him to get the hint, hoping he’d give you at least a bit of privacy. Sam cleared his throat, still starstruck, but he walked away, joining the other employees who stood near the corner.

Lando stepped into your cubicle and leaned against the desk. You weren’t a fan of the height difference and you didn’t want to feel as though he was talking down to you, so you stood up from your chair. You leaned against the wall opposite of him, making sure to keep as much room between you as possible.

“This part of the gallery usually isn’t open to visitors,” you pointed out, not even bothering with an actual greeting. You didn’t like that he used his status to enter this side of the building.

“Look I said I was fine waiting for you to get off work and they just-” Lando glanced over his shoulder and at once, the three coworkers of yours all scurried off in their own directions. Lando sighed and looked at you again, “I needed to talk to you.”

It had been just over two months since you last spoke. Since you left Monza without giving him an explanation. Since you stood in his driver's room and said ‘this ends here’. You were firm with that statement.

Lando respected that, for the most part. He gave you space. He didn’t call or text, even though Max told you that there were a handful of times when he almost did and he had to physically force the phone out of Lando’s hands.

But he should have waited until you decided you were ready to reach out again. He had no reason for showing up at your place of work.

Now that he was here, you felt so unprepared. You didn’t know what to say to him, you didn’t know what he was going to say. Usually you worked your way up to any difficult conversations but Lando showing up out of the blue completely blindsided you.

I needed to talk to you, he said. You hated that. The word need. Lando always needed something from you. He took so much. Your energy, your time, your love, and never gave any of it back and you put up with it for way too long. He didn’t have the right to need anything from you anymore.

“This couldn’t have waited?” You asked, gesturing to the work space around you. “Better yet, you couldn’t have waited until I wanted to talk?”

“No, because I was starting to get the feeling that time would never come.”

“So instead of respecting the space I asked for, you decided that what you wanted took priority?” You crossed your arms over your chest, “Do you sort of see how that’s not fair? How it’s selfish? Or have you just not learned anything in my absence?”

“I learned you don’t need me,” he shrugged his shoulders, as if that conclusion was one he could just brush off, like it still hasn’t fully resonated with him.

But it was a true statement. Your silence said it all.

Lando nodded slowly, “So you don’t- you don’t miss me at all?”

That’s where you still conflicted.

You did miss Lando, there was no denying that. He was your best friend, you shared hundreds of memories with him and it did feel like something was missing in your life these last few months.

But you needed him gone to get over him.

Being in love with him took so much out of you. Knowing that he didn’t, and never would, love you back was something you needed to accept and grow from. Taking this step back, you realised just how much of yourself you dedicated to Lando and to his life.

So you kept taking those steps back until he was no longer within reach. You needed to keep putting the distance between yourself and him. You needed to be your own person. You couldn’t just be Lando’s best friend anymore. As much as he wanted that, it wasn’t doing you any favours.

“Of course I missed you,” you dropped your head, jaw tightening for a second. “But I don’t love you anymore, Lando.”

Again, Lando nodded. If you were looking up, you would have seen the way his features softened, making him look so much younger than he actually was. He always had a boyish charm to him and when he was hurt or unsettled, those young mannerisms in him jumped out.

“Sort of feels like a break up,” Lando forced a smile on his face, as if it made this any easier.

But he was right. This was, in a sense, your relationship coming to an end. There was a dull ache in your chest as it hit, but deep down you had known this was coming for a while. The conversation, the confrontation and eventually, the conclusion.

You once loved Lando. How could you not?

You once loved everything about him. From his different types of laughs to the way you could tell his smiles apart better than he could. You supported him for years, you were his rock and one point, you thought that he was yours.

But he was a crutch. Something you could learn to live without. Something you didn’t need, but was too scared to give up.

He would always be someone you cared about, but his place in your life meant something different now. More importantly, you took away his ability to crush your heart in his hands without so much as a second thought.

You both noticed a few employees sliding on their jackets and heading for the door. Lando ran a hand through his hair before glancing at his watch, “Did you want a ride home?”

“No, I’m meeting a friend for dinner,” you denied his offer, but you noticed the way his eyebrows momentarily raised. You rolled your eyes, “It’s not a date if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“No I-” Lando stammered over his words. “I mean, it’s natural to be curious. But you’re allowed- obviously you can date whoever-”

“Lando,” you cut him off before he could say something stupid. He instantly closed his mouth and let you speak. “I’m going to walk you out, okay?”

And that was that. You grabbed your jacket and turned off your monitor. Lando grabbed your bag for you and waited until your coat was on before handing it over. The two of you walked side by side towards the doors of the gallery, elbows brushing occasionally.

As you stepped outside, you were thankful that the silence wasn’t heavy. There was nothing left for you to say and Lando knew he couldn’t change your mind. Your friendship, while not completely destroyed, was certainly tainted. The space between you might become less distant over time, but it was permanent.

You could still watch the races and support him, but on your own accord, the way you decided to. There would be no more McLaren paddock passes. There would be no more hanging out in his motorhome, you would just be a friend who could cheer him on from afar.

Sure enough, Lando’s McLaren was parked outside. You walked with him towards the driver's side door, but you weren’t surprised in the slightest when he made no effort to get in or say goodbye.

He inhaled a heavy breath and you just knew whatever words were to follow weren’t going to be good.

“What if things were different?”

You had spent so much wondering about the what if’s that hearing Lando ask it now was almost humorous.

“That’s a dangerous game, Lando.”

He leaned against the side of his car, “What is?”

“Asking what if.”

Lando chuckled, dipping his head momentarily. “It’s a genuine question, though. What if things were different?”

“But they’re not,” that was all you could say. It was the truth you accepted and now it was his turn to accept it as well. “Things will never be different. You don’t love me, you never loved me and that’s all I wanted from you. I can’t hold that against you and in return I need you to be okay with me taking a step back from your life.”

There were so many thoughts travelling behind those bright eyes of his, you could tell he was trying to figure out which one to land on.

You made it easier for him, “Why did you come here?”

That seemed to catch him off guard, “What do you mean?”

“Well I know you didn’t come here to ask me what if things were different so why are you here? I mean, you have two races left. You’ve gone this far without me. If you’re trying to pull some sort of grand gesture, could you not have at least waited until the end of the season?”

Lando hesitated before answering you, thinking of the right words first before just opening his mouth, “I won’t lie, Y/N, I wanted to see how you were doing. I think part of me expected you to come back or reach out and when you didn’t-” he shrugged, he always shrugged. “I just wanted to check in. No grand gesture, don’t worry. I know where you stand, but I’m allowed to still care about you.”

A gust of wind hit your back, blowing a few strands of hair in front of your face. It was early November, not an ideal time of the year to be standing outside and having a conversation, but this might be the last opportunity you two had to air things out.

So you sucked it up and dealt with the cold, shoving your hands in your pockets and watching as Lando licked his lips. He also avoided your eye contact, something he only did when he was nervous.

“I also want to apologise.”

Your eyebrow twitched, “For what?”

This man definitely owed you a few apologies, but you didn’t know what was going to come out of his mouth next.

“Everything, really,” Lando laughed softly and it almost made you smile in response. You were only human, you could miss his laugh.

You nudged your foot against his, “I’m going to need a little more than that.”

He finally looked at you. There was a time when his grey eyes would have floored you, but not anymore. You were still standing.

“Everything,” Lando repeated, quieter this time. “For taking you for granted. Your friendship, your support, everything you gave me. For not appreciating you how I should have. For leading you on. For getting in the way of you and Pierre. For not loving you the way you wanted me to- I could go on, Y/N, but I need you to know I’m truly sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed.”

Maybe he did learn something in your absence.

You didn’t know what to say. There were no words that could show your appreciation for his growth, for his ability to take responsibility and acknowledge what went wrong.

So instead of trying to rely on words, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Lando hesitated, unsure if he was even allowed to hug you back before slowly raising his arms and snaking them around your waist.

He knew this would be the last time he’d get to hold you like this.

You knew this would be the last time you’d ever allow yourself to be this close to him.

So there was no hurry to pull away. You could feel Lando’s heartbeat against his chest, his body heat pulling you in like a moth to a flame, his heavy breath as his face dipped right next to yours.

You held each other for a minute, maybe two. No more words were exchanged, but you and Lando had a bond that couldn't be described by anything the English dictionary had to offer.

Even in these uncertain times, you could count on his embrace to make the world around you freeze. You both had your own problems, your own reasons for needing space from each other but in his arms, they didn’t matter. You felt safe, comforted, this was the Lando that you had loved and it was hard to believe you weren’t going to have this anymore.

And then it was like Lando knew he had to be the one to let go. He had to be the one to release you, to stop giving you a reason to hold on.

He dropped his arms, both of you deciding not to speak about how painful this was, but your staggered inhale of a breath said it all. The way he sniffed and rubbed the back of his neck told you that this wasn’t any easier for him than it was for you.

For a brief second, you were almost crazy enough to apologise. It always hurt you to see Lando struggling, but your absence was something he was going to have to learn to live with. You didn’t need to apologise for it, for trying to better yourself.

“There is, actually, one more thing,” Lando suddenly said, reaching for the handle of the door, propping it open. You watched as the door to his luxury car swung upwards instead of out as Lando reached inside and grabbed an envelope. When he turned back around and handed it over, it was impossible to tell what it was.

Lando didn’t say anything as you opened it. His lips curled upwards when the realisation of what was inside slowly hit you.

“A Paddock pass,” you swallowed, recognising the lanyard.

“And plane tickets,” he added. “And a hotel booking. For Abu Dhabi.”

“The last race.”

“You should be there,” he said, taking in a sharp breath. His shoulders tensed, like he was suddenly debating if this was the best idea.

“Lando I can’t hang out in McLaren,” you sighed, wondering if the last five minutes of your conversation had already escaped him.

“No, you should be there for you,” Lando clarified. “You love the sport, Y/N, you’ve always attended the last race of the season. That shouldn’t change.”

You pulled the pass out of the envelope and twirled it around your fingers. The bright font of Abu Dhabi Grand Prix stood out along the black and you had to admit, it was a kind gesture, a selfless one for a change.

“You should be there,” Lando repeated. “And I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

Your eyebrows pinched together as you looked up at him again, dropping the pass into the envelope. “What do you mean?”

This man actually had the audacity to look at you like you were stupid.

“Oh come on Y/N,” a chuckle passed through his lips. “Pierre?”

You hesitated, “What about him?”

“He wants you there.”

“We haven’t spoken in weeks.”

“He still wants you there.” Lando shook his head, putting a stop to your doubts before they could creep up. “He’s just got more restraint than me and isn’t about to reach out or make you feel like you have to be there.”

You shrugged your shoulders. There was no question about it, you missed Pierre, but you were the one who ended things with him. You weren’t sure if you had the right to go back to him now and ask for a fresh start.

“Think about it, okay?” Lando extended his hand to give your arm an encouraging pat. He then made the move to get into his car and you took a step back to give him space. His eyes raked over you once more, probably wondering if this was the last time he would see you in the next little while, but he didn’t comment on it. He chose not to acknowledge it either, instead saying a quiet, “See you later,” and hoping those words would come true.

You had a few weeks to decide if you wanted to attend the last race of the season. You wanted to be strong and stay home. You nearly ripped the tickets up at one point, thinking it would make the decision easier, but everything was digital nowadays so it wasn't like that gesture mattered.

You wanted to watch the race. You wanted to cheer on your favourite drivers. You wanted to see Pierre.

And eventually it was your desire for all of those things that overpowered the distance you knew was better for you.

So you found yourself in Abu Dhabi that last weekend in November. You walked into the paddock when you knew the drivers would be busy with their teams and headed straight for the Paddock Club, choosing to watch the race from there. You kept your sunglasses on and made yourself as unapproachable as possible as you silently watched and rooted for the French driver.

When word got out of a few drivers heading to a specific nightclub, you knew that would be your chance to talk to Pierre. After the race and before he got drunk.

You weren’t even sure what you were going to say. Lando said he would want you to be there, but you still had your fears. You had called things off and there was no guarantee that he would want to pick things back up, that he would be so open to letting you back into his life.

When he ordered a drink, you saw it as an opportunity. When the bartender was near you, you quickly paid for Pierre’s rum and coke. He didn’t question it and neither did Pierre.

You walked around the side of the bartop, behind all of the other patrons and watched as Pierre tried to look for who had paid for his drink. You thought about saying his name to get his attention, you even thought about just walking away because was this really a good idea? But when his back was towards you, something in you pulled you forward, just enough so you could tap on his shoulder.

He turned around, wearing an expression you couldn't quite read. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“I owed you a drink,” you blurted out, thinking of the first night you finally decided to give him more than thirty seconds of your time.

Pierre had approached you in the bar and bought your drink, telling him that you could thank him later. His words were laced with dirty intent, and while you were nowhere near as charming as Pierre was, you still tried.

“Or maybe I just owed you a thank you, I couldn’t remember,” you quickly added.

Pierre was silent for a few seconds, mouth slightly agape. He certainly hadn’t expected you to show up and now he was speechless. There had been hundreds of things he wanted to say to you over the course of the last few weeks but for the life of him, none of them came to mind.

You had no choice but to take control of the conversation for a change, “It was a good race. Good job. A top ten finish, and you beat the McLarens that must-

“You watched?” Pierre asked. He hadn’t meant to cut you off but he was still trying to process that you were actually right there and now to find out you were also in the audience watching? He was about to implode.

“Of course,” you nodded. Someone tried to step past you so you moved closer to Pierre to make room. And it was like nothing had changed, Pierre raised his hand to rest on your waist, automatically feeling that urge to reach for you, to be touching you.

He quickly put the drink down on the bartop, he had no desire for it anymore. The absolute last thing he wanted to do right now was get drunk.

With his other hand free, Pierre raised it to cup the side of your face. He tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing over your cheek. You were really there.

“Chérie,” he spoke so quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the music playing from the speakers around you. But you watched his lips as he spoke, taking in every word, every breath. “You don’t know how bad I missed you.”

That was a weight lifted off your shoulders. Lando was right, Pierre did want you there.

And you could have said you missed him too. You could have laughed it off and teased him for it. You could have rolled your eyes, something he was all too familiar with seeing.

But instead of doing any of that, you grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt and closed the last bit of space between you. You kissed him like you were making up for lost time, you basically were. Pierre’s hand slid to rest where your neck met your jaw and there was a desire to rush, to taste every bit of his tongue against yours, to let him intoxicate all of your senses, but Pierre’s moves were slow. He wanted to take his time, relish in this moment and to keep you in his grasp for as long as he could, until you were both desperate for a breath.

Pierre pressed another kiss to your lips, and then another, and another and then to your cheeks and your forehead and every visible spot on your face that he thought needed some attention. You giggled like a schoolgirl as his arm slipped around your neck, pulling you tight into his chest to hold you, hug you, feel you in his arms.

“I missed you,” Pierre said again, still quiet but there was no underlying ache in his tone. He missed you, but he didn’t have to anymore. You weren’t going anywhere.

Neither of you cared that you were sharing this embrace in the middle of the club, but other people certainly didn’t like it. When someone made a playful 'get a room' comment, Pierre laughed into your ear. God you never wanted to go two months without hearing his laughter ever again.

“Let’s get out of here,” Pierre suggested, placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your face up. He kissed you again, his hand slipping into yours before turning around, his eyes set on the door. You happily followed.

The club was crowded. You recognized a few paddock employees and members from various teams and of course the drivers who were out partying, but everyone was in their own little world as the two of you walked past.

Well…

Not everyone.

It happened so fast. You turned your head at the right second and caught Lando’s eyes from where he sat in a booth. Not only was he watching you, he was watching you leave with Pierre.

Someone walked in front of you, cutting off your line of sight for a brief moment. You felt Pierre’s grip on your hand tighten. Looking up, and saw that Pierre was staring straight ahead. If he noticed Lando, he didn’t hint towards it.

Glancing back at Lando one last time, you watched as he lifted the drink in his hand and nodded once, a toast-like gesture, but in this case it was so much more than a little congratulatory one-sided cheers.

He released his final hold over you. There were no more strings tying you to Lando. He wasn’t going to get in between you and Pierre. He was going to let you be happy with the French driver.

Lando would still continue to want what was best for you, but that wasn’t him anymore. That was Pierre.

So he watched as a sliver of a smile appeared on your lips, so quick he almost missed it, before following Pierre outside. You were gone.

Feeling a nudge on his arm, Lando turned his head and met the concerned eyes of Max. Max, someone who had been a witness to everything these last few months, was definitely happy to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“You alright?” Max asked him and Lando just nodded, glancing at the spot you just abandoned.

“Yeah,” he didn’t sound very convincing, but Max knew that eventually he’d say it and mean it.

He brought his drink up to his lips, “I guess the best man won.”

Lando rolled his eyes, shoving Max with his elbow. Not hard enough to hurt him but enough that he spilled his beer over the front of his shirt.

“It was never a competition you numbskull.”

Max plastered his best dumbfounded look on his face, “Oh, you mean Y/N? I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about the driver standings.”

Lando snorted, knowing that Max was most definitely not talking about the driver standings, but it was a good retort to fall back on. Pierre had beat him in the last two races, putting him ahead of the two McLaren drivers in the championship.

Lando put up a good fight throughout the season but towards the end he managed to come to the realisation that no matter what, he wouldn’t pull ahead. Beating Pierre wasn’t in his cards.

Neither was keeping you.

But not all hope was lost. Lando would fight even harder next year. This year’s competition made him a better driver. And motorsport aside, he knew he’d still see you around. At a distance, only in passing, and most likely with Pierre, but you’d be there.

Losing you forced him to grow up. He had no choice but to better himself, and he would.

The what if’s would continue to haunt him, they would haunt all of you. The ghosts of what could have been. The paths you never took. What if Pierre hadn’t hit on you that night in the club? What if Lando spoke to you the morning after? What if you spent the summer break alone? What if what if what if.

The thing was, though, none of it mattered.

You were happy. Lando would learn to live without you. Pierre played the long game and it worked out in his favour. The lingering questions didn’t matter. The only thing left to do was look ahead. The past held nothing, whereas your future, all of your futures, were brighter and better than they had ever been before.

why am i crying lmao

and with that, the better series comes to an end :') thank you everyone for reading and for sharing your thoughts and being so invested in their silly little lives.

i will most definitely be writing another mini series, and if you have ideas or see something on my prompt list, pls send me a request here! i can't promise it'll turn into a 7-part fic but i do love getting requests and who knows?? maybe i'll write a lando fic and turn u all back into lando girlies??

love u all so much and for the record, i was always team pierre

#pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly #lando norris one shot #lando norris social media au #lando norris au #lando norris #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 one shot #f1 requests #f1 au #formula 1 #holllandtrash

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niki-phoria · 1 year

Text

⋆｡°✩ enha reaction - their bf being taller than them

includes: fluff, tall reader, apologies if these are super repetitive, this is all my opinion pls don't get mad at me

a/n: mini apology post bc my motivation has been so bad lately <//3

txt version

male reader (no pronouns used)

heeseung is indifferent about your height difference. he’s content with his height and he loves you for more than your looks. he doesn’t tease you unless you start teasing him first but is RUTHLESS once the battle begins heeseung will ask you to do things for him as a way to include you in activities. when he gets tired he’ll pull you down so you’re at his level so he can sleep on your shoulder or cuddle into your chest. adores when you kiss him anywhere, but especially loves forehead kisses. they make him feel so loved <33

jay could not care less. adjusts to your height difference incredibly quickly. doesn’t really care if you tease him. he has a retort for each one of your jokes. sometimes he’ll lean upwards or pull you down to whisper stuff into your ear just to fluster you. really likes forehead/temple kisses but whines if you don’t follow them up with proper kisses afterwards. he will chase you around until he can return the favour. sometimes jay asks you to grab things from high shelves from him but otherwise doesn’t really bring it up unless you do it first

jake doesn’t mind it. sometimes he’ll yank you downwards when he wants a kiss. he’ll go out of his way to stand on his toes just to look you in the eyes. jake likes to hide behind you when he gets embarrassed. when he gets tired he’ll pull you down to his level so he can lean his head against your shoulder. maybe makes some dumb jokes every now and then but also goes out of his way to make sure you don’t feel bad about yourself. fiercely protective over you. WILL go after people for taking their teasing too far

sunghoon’s ego is a little bruised but he gets over it pretty quickly. also the type to yank your head down to whisper something in your ear or kiss you. he teases but also takes full advantage of your height forcing asking you to get things from high shelves for him, hiding behind you, etc complains about having neck pain from constantly having to lean up to see you and get free massages it always works he acts like he hates it but sunghoon is a sucker for forehead kisses. pretends like you’re embarrassing him but you both know he loves it

sunoo loves your height difference. brags to all of his friends about you and is constantly showing you off. he whines when you use his head as a headrest but doesn’t ever push you away if anything he gets upset when you try to walk away from him enjoys forehead kisses but prefers being able to actually kiss you. he pouts if you tease him about being short as a ploy to get kisses it always works sunoo loves when you wrap your arms around him and pull him back against your chest. he’ll nuzzle himself closer to you with a smile

jungwon likes your height. the type to curl up against you like a cat and lay there for hours. he’ll let you use his head as a headrest without complaints. starts buying more platform shoes to even out the difference so he can look into your eyes more easily. playfully asks which brand of stilts you wear so he can also get some. jungwon honestly cherishes everything about you. he’ll put up with your teasing and short jokes as long as he still gets to feel your arms wrapped around him at night lulling him to sleep

niki hates it (/hj) the type to purposely stand on stools or buy ridiculously tall platform shoes so he towers over you but in a loving way will push you down so he can rest his head on top of yours. makes dumb jokes and is constantly teasing you. even tho he pretends to hate it, it has some perks. niki likes leaning his body weight against you and using you as a human shield to hide from paparazzi. he also jokingly threatens to stick you on the other member’s like you’re his guard dog lmao

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drabbles-mc · 2 years

Text

After Hours

Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & F!Reader

Whumptober 2022: No.31 A Light at the End of the Tunnel- Comfort

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking, grief/mourning, mental health, mentions of suicide, family deaths

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I trulyyyy cannot believe I made it to the end of Whumptober. A fic a day. Love it. Anyway. I wrote this fic in particular for me more than anyone else. It hits incredibly close to home.

A/N pt2: Shout-out to @narcolini and @garbinge for being my cheerleaders this whole month and listening to like??? Every thought that has popped into my head lmao. You two deserve medals. 🤝🏻💖

The Bear Taglist: idk how much i'm going to write for this series but if i do and you want to be tagged, let me know!

The two of you made your way down the steps of the church together. The door had barely shut behind him before Carmy was pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. He placed one between his lips and was about to tuck it away before he thought better of it. Glancing over at you, he held it out to you in a silent offer. You knew that you probably shouldn’t, but given everything that was going on, you figured it wasn’t going to be the end of the world.

You let him light it for you when you reached the bottom of the steps. You tucked the hand that wasn’t holding onto the cigarette into the pocket of your jacket, and he mirrored your actions. The air around the two of you was thrown into a haze of smoke for a moment as the two of you stood there in silence.

You cleared your throat as you tapped the ashes off the end of your cigarette onto the ground. “Wanna grab coffee? Or a bite?”

He raised his eyebrows, a little surprised by the offer. But he shrugged, nodding. “Yea, yea sure. Got a spot in mind?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Figured I’d leave that to you. I don’t want to pick the wrong spot to take the chef to.”

A tiny smile curled his lips before he took a drag off of his smoke. “Fair. Come on,” he nodded towards the crosswalk, “I know a spot a few blocks away.”

You walked side-by-side. You thought it was going to be weird walking together, not saying anything, but it wasn’t. The cigarettes were enough of a distraction, the fleeting streams of smoke passing between you putting just enough of a barrier as you walked.

Carmy stopped outside the front door of a restaurant that was definitely closed. All of the lights were off. He snubbed his cigarette out on the ground, crushing it beneath his shoe. You were about to say something when you heard the jingling of keys as he pulled them out of his pocket. He sifted through the ones on the ring until he found the one that he needed, putting it into the lock on the front door.

He’d flipped a few of the lights on, but most of the place was still dark. You were sitting awkwardly on one of the stools at the counter, waiting for Carmy to reappear with coffee. You had tried to reassure him that you really just asked to grab coffee or food as an opportunity to talk a little more—it wasn’t a request for him to start actually working. You figured he’d done enough of that all day before he even turned up at the meeting.

He reappeared with two coffee mugs held in one hand, and two plates balanced on the other. Your eyes widened at the slices of chocolate cake he was bringing out. You weren’t sure what he was going to come back with, but this was better than whatever you had been trying to think of.

“Holy shit.”

He chuckled as he set the plates and mugs down. “Good—was hoping that would be your response.”

You eagerly picked up your fork and dug in. “You make this?”

He shook his head. “No. My one chef here, this is like his fuckin’ thing. This and donuts.”

“Donuts?” You couldn’t pretend that you weren’t interested.

“Yea,” he took a sip of his coffee, “Come back when we’re open and you can be his taste-tester.”

You nodded as you took another bite of cake. “I just might.”

Things were quiet between the two of you for a minute, the only sounds were the clinking of your forks against the plate and your coffee mugs against the counter. Every now and then you’d look at him as he stood on the opposite side of the counter from you. He was leaning onto it, bracing his forearms against it. You thought about telling him that he could take a seat on the side next to you, but something told you that he wouldn’t. That’s not what he did here—he was always moving.

“So,” he broke the silence as he scooped more cake onto his fork, “are you, what, my fuckin’ sponsor now?”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you took a sip of coffee. “I don’t know, do you want me to be your fuckin’ sponsor?” You paused, looking at him as you each watched for the other’s facial reactions. You toyed with the mug in your hands. “I just, I don’t know. Just felt like there was more to say?”

“Baring my soul in group wasn’t enough for you?” he joked.

You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s not what I said.”

He nodded. “Right. Well,” he gestured with the fork in his hand, “this place says it all.”

You smiled. “It’s a nice addition to the trauma-dump. Adds extra flavor.”

He fought the urge to smile, instead just taking another bite of the cake on the plate in front of him. He tried to drag it out for as long as he could before he finally looked back over at you. “Your turn. You know all about me, but I don’t think I ever heard you talk at any of those meetings.”

“Well,” you leaned, bracing your arms almost the same way that he was, “maybe if you had showed up a little sooner, you would know all of my shit too.”

“Sorry my brother didn’t die on a convenient enough timetable.”

You laughed. “Siblings never do. It’s really fucking inconsiderate of them to be honest.”

He paused. “That why you’re there too? Sibling shit?”

You nodded. “Mhm. Been about…” your voice trailed off, “It’ll be three years tomorrow.”

Carmy’s eyes widened, “Shit.”

You chuckled, not because it was funny but because what the fuck else was there to do? “Yea.”

“I’d ask you about it, but I don’t want to take away your possible talking points tomorrow.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like I’m writing it all out like a fucking commencement speech. I don’t,” you shrugged, “I don’t even know if I’m gonna go tomorrow.”

“No?”

You toyed with the little bit of cake that was still on your plate. “It’s different every year. Last year I went. It was nice. I talked but I didn’t say what day it was or anything. Didn’t really matter, you know? She’s still dead all the other three hundred sixty-four days of the year too. Year before that I didn’t even get out of my fucking bed to brush my teeth, let alone go to a meeting.”

His tone was hushed, “Fuck.”

You let out a quiet, sad laugh, “Yea.” You shook your head. “Fucking middle child.”

“You? Or your sister?”

“My sister.” You took a bite. “I’m the youngest too.”

“You really know how to pick the people you don’t sponsor, huh?”

You laughed. “Like a sniper I sit and wait in the back of those meetings waiting for the perfect target.”

“And then you don’t sponsor them?”

You smiled. “And then I don’t sponsor them.” You paused for a moment, trying to turn the conversation back off yourself. “I know this place comes with a lot of fucking baggage for you,” you gestured around the seating area of the restaurant, “but I think it’s…it could be good for you.”

“My fuckin’ stomach ulcers that are coming back beg to differ.”

You smiled at that. “You’ll be stressed enough for ulcers no matter where you go.”

“Got that from three monologues at meetings?”

You nodded. “That and the fact that you look like you maybe wash your hair once every two weeks and get more than four hours of sleep a night at about the same rate.”

He shook his head at you but didn’t argue. “Fuckin’ sniper.”

“Fuckin’ sniper.”

“What about your sister?”

“What about her?”

He shrugged. “What was she like? You know, since I’m a few years behind on the stories.”

You smiled. “Coming in mid-series, Carmy?” You chuckled, shrugging. “She was, you know,” you paused, “she was the worst sometimes, to be quite honest.”

He choked on his coffee for a moment, not expecting that response. He looked surprised and amused and unsure of how to reply to that all at once.

It got you to laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But, I mean, it’s true. I love her. I love her so much. I would’ve taken a bullet for her. But we weren’t, you know, we weren’t those siblings that were best friends. We didn’t have a sibling group chat where we would text all the time. The three of us didn’t do weekly dinners. We didn’t party together or whatever the fuck siblings do.”

“Siblings do that?” he asked with a quiet laugh.

You shrugged, smiling. “Apparently.” You paused. “But yea. I mean, she was smart, you know? The kind of smart where she didn’t even have to fucking try. Which was infuriating for me personally, if you were curious,” you chuckled, “She could’ve done anything that she wanted. She could just…focus on something until she was great at it. And it never even took that long. Baking, drawing, photography, writing, you name it. Everything she did, she was good at. Fuckin’ annoying.”

There was a small smile on his face. “I bet.”

“She used to decorate cakes, actually.”

He perked up slightly at that. “Yea?”

You nodded. “Yea. Didn’t leave me a bakery or anything, thank god,” you laughed, “but that was her thing. She was good at that too, in case you were wondering.”

He chuckled. “Of course.”

It was quiet between you for a moment before you said. “We didn’t really start getting along until a few months before she died.” You noticed the way that Carmy stilled on the other side of the counter, hands motionless as he listened to whatever you had to say next. “Like I said, it’s not like we were best friends growing up. I always loved her, but we definitely didn’t always like each other, you know? Things were finally getting better and then, you know, she killed herself. Which, you know, rude,” you chuckled.

Carmy’s eyes widened as he shook his head, but he couldn’t help but to let out a laugh too.

“Like I said,” you took the last bite of cake on your plate, “inconsiderate.”

“Would you rather you didn’t?” he asked.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Didn’t what?”

He hesitated, like he regretted saying it but it was too late to take it back now. He raked his hands back through his hair. “You think it would’ve been better if you didn’t start getting along again?”

“Not to sound like an asshole,” you prefaced your statement, “but given what you’ve said about you and your brother, I don’t think there’s really a good position to be in with it. I think the only thing that would make it better is if they didn’t kill themselves.”

“That feels…obvious.”

“It is,” you gave a weak smile.

“I didn’t go to his funeral.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“Did you?”

“We had a wake. We cremated her so there wasn’t a burial or anything. I went to the wake, though. I thought I was gonna cry, or be a whole mess or whatever, but I wasn’t. I cried once. Everyone else was crying a lot though. My mom said I didn’t have to go if I didn’t want to.”

“You wanted to?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t not want to go. But I mean, come on, you know what it’s like. No one wants to do anything when it comes to their brother or sister dying. It’s not…it’s not a good gauge.” You paused. “You regret not going?”

He shook his head. “It’s not gonna make him any less dead. He…he doesn’t care that I wasn’t there.”

“Yea. It all feels kind of useless, huh?”

“Most of it, yea.”

You toyed with you nearly-empty coffee cup, spinning it between your palms. “I like this.”

“What?”

“Being here. I don’t know, it’s better than sitting in some diner or something somewhere where other people can hear you.” You paused. “Most people don’t like when I make Dead Sister Jokes.”

“That’s because they don’t have a dead sister.”

You pointed at him from across the counter. “Exactly.”

“Does it get less shitty?” he asked. “Do the meetings actually fucking help?”

You shrug. “They help, yea. But it’s more than the meetings. You gotta, you know, you gotta do the fucking work. Grief sucks. Having other people who get it is nice. You can say flippant things like we do that other people would gasp at because how could you say that about them they’re dead. But you gotta feel it. Meetings are only a few hours of your week. You live with yourself all the fucking time.” You took a sip of your coffee. “The feelings don’t get smaller. You just, you know, you grow bigger around them. The grief is still there. The pain sucks just as much now as it did three years ago. But I have more breathing space around it now than I did back then.”

“Was really hoping you were gonna say some shit like, ‘yea five more meetings and you’ll be good to go’,” Carmy said with a quiet laugh.

You shook your head with a smile. “You got a lot of legwork to go before that. Can’t fast-track it. You…you know about that, though.” You saw his brows knit together and your smile grew a little wider. “What? I listen. All the work you did before you got here?” you tapped the surface of the counter. “Same shit.”

“It’s not the same shit.”

“It is. It sucks. You’re gonna lose sleep and throw up and lose track of hours. It’s going to feel like it’s your whole fucking world sometimes. And it is. But it isn’t. The work is constant and it’s thankless and infuriating. But you can’t stop doing it.” You paused. “You seem like a glutton for punishment. You’ll be fine.”

“Real fuckin’ reassuring,” he said with a chuckle.

“It doesn’t have to be terminal,” you motioned back and forth between the two of you, “We’re proof of that.”

“Or it’s gonna take more than three years to kill us.”

You laughed, nodding. “Or that, yea. Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” You paused, using your fork to point at his plate. “You done with that?”

He smiled slightly, sliding it across the counter to you without a word. You didn’t say anything as you tucked into what was left of his piece. The stillness of the restaurant around you felt calming in a way. You knew it probably wasn’t really ever like this once there were other people there. You wondered if Carmy ever stayed here off-hours to enjoy the peace and quiet of it. You wondered if he was even capable of enjoying it.

“You had mentioned that you were a chef,” you said as you corralled the crumbs left on his plate, “but I never thought about where.”

“This is it,” he said with a nod.

“So if I come back during the day, you’ll be running around back there yelling and screaming like a chicken with your head cut off?”

He laughed. “Yea. Me and everyone else.”

“Who’s everyone else?”

“Come back and you’ll see,” he said as he swiped up the forks and empty plates. He was disappearing back into the kitchen again before you could even try to pry or crack a joke about it.

Neither of you said it, but you both knew that it was time to go. You could’ve stayed and talked the rest of the night away, but the reality of it was that you both had lives to get to when the sun came up. Very different lives, but still.

“Does it get less weird,” Carmy asked as he put his jacket back on, walking towards the door as he spoke, “getting to know people in the opposite fucking order than you’re used to?”

You laughed, knowing exactly what he meant. “Yea. But the tradeoff is that the more time that goes on, the weirder it gets getting to know people who don’t know this stuff about you.”

“Hell of a way to break the ice,” he said as he locked the doors again.

You shook your head with a smile. “Yea, it breaks it for sure.” You took a deep breath as the two of you stood, each of you debating on how to say goodbye. That was another thing that never got less weird no matter how much someone knew about you. Your hands were tucked safely in the pockets of your coat as you said, “I’ll see you around?”

He nodded. “Yea, for sure.” He paused. “Think you’re gonna go tomorrow?”

You shrugged. “Don’t know. I’ll see how I feel in the morning. Either way,” you nodded towards the door, “I might come back for one of those donuts you mentioned.”

He chuckled, tucking his chin for a moment against the cold night air. “Alright.”

“Later, Carmy.”

“Later,” he offered up another small smile before you turned and started down the sidewalk.

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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bruh-anator3000 · 2 years

Text

I wanna get back into writing but its so tedious, how do you do it? How did i do it so often last year? Anyways if enough people like this, maybe I'll finally do something with it

Warning; angsty lmao, viktor x reader, pretty sure its gn!reader so go ham, less than 800 words, get ready to feel the love ya mother never gave you points at mirror bc this bitch cried over this

Have fun :D much love <3

...

"Why did you break up with me?" You felt the words build up in your throat, making it so sore they fell from your lips like a damn bursting. "What did I do wrong?" What we had, I thought was something good.

Viktor stayed silent. His back faced you as his focus never left the mechanics in front of him. On his desk. All his focus and hands on it. His gaze on it. How could something so small keep his attention from something so important.

You scoffed. "Just tell me so I don't make the same mistake in future relationships, okay? Then we can pretend we never happened."

The machine he was working on clattered to his metal desk. It made a loud clunk as it dropped. His hands went into his auburn brown hair. Those dexterous fingers curled around his locks and you got the message.

With a sigh, you let out a soft 'goodnight, Viktor,' and headed for the door.

"You scare me." His accented voice carried through the empty lab. Your hand froze above the doorknob, mere inches away from freedom. Inches away from escaping the crushing weight the man had just dropped on your shoulders.

He shifted in his stool with a huff. "No, no...you terrify me." He let out a dry, emotionally drained laugh. Viktor dragged a hand over his face.

You cast your gaze over your shoulder, your hand dropping. Your heart was being torn up all over again. The same splintering notion as the night he took you out to dinner, stood abruptly as the words he had said and left. You weren't sure how to react. How was someone supposed to react to this? You couldn't yell, that would further prove his point. You couldn't ask him to reiterate, you didn't want to know more. It was you. You were the problem.

You always were, weren't you?

"It's the way you talk." Viktor started again. You shook your head, you didn't want to hear this anymore. Opening your mouth, you felt a choked sorry try to pry it's way out out your lips. But Viktor continued. "Every word, it's like a siren song and I suddenly can't think straight. You speak with such confidence, I fear I get light headed from the sound of your voice. How your tone gets lighter when you're excited. How it darkens when you're serious."

"The way you handle problems, the way your eyes get so intense with focus, the jealousy that overwhelms me wishing it was I who held your attention, wishing I was deserving of that intensity, it frightens me. Knowing I could spend days upon days here in these very labs on a project no one else could figure out but if you- if you asked, I would burn it to the ground in attempts to see you smile. If you wanted - if you simply asked - I would drop to my knees and let you take my very life."

Viktor finally faced you, golden eyes glazing with tears. "I'm scared of how passionately I wish to love you."

You were stuck in place. That was something you didn't know how to react to. Those words... how would anyone react sensibly unless it was scripted. Was this scripted? Some joke?

"Viktor..." You said his name and watched as a tear rolled down his hollowed cheek. His eye bags had gotten worse, his complexion paler than you remember.

He sighed, moving his hand to rest his forehead in the heel of his palm. "I'm sorry, you deserve someone better."

You said his name again, softer as you took a step closer. Again you said that name, that name you wished was connected to yours. Again, you took a step towards him. Another and another until your practically ran to him as he stood up.

He caught you in his arms, shaking with silent tears. You wrapped your arms tight around him, burrying your face in his shoulder, feeling so sad yet so full of love. He held you closer and his hand craddled your head, as if he let even a fraction of space between you, he'd loose you all over again. Apology after apology, in the language you knew well and the other you only heard from him, tumbled out of his lips. You only shook your head against the junction between his neck and chest. Holding him just as tight, fingers digging into his shirt.

"I love you, miláčku." His breath shuddered with tears. "Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted what was best for you."

"You are what's best for me. I love you, Viktor. I always have."

#viktor #viktor arcane #arcane #viktor x reader #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #viktor headcanons

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minilpark · 2 years

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rooster taking care of drunk s/o🤭

i know usually that the crew wouldn't realistically stick together after the mission in the movie but lets pretend they do-

y/c/s - your callsign

another successful mission called for a celebration of course

and so you, bradley, and everyone else headed into the hard deck

of course, hangman and coyote got settled real quick in playing a game of pool

bob settled into one of the stools with a beer and trail mix listening to fanboy and payback argue about something stupid

while you, bradley, and phoenix drank a couple of beers and played a round or two of darts

and to up the ante, you all decided whoever lost had to take shots of the winner's choice

so of course phoenix bested you and rooster both

at this point you were already feeling buzzed but rooster drinks beer like its water so he was fine

once phoenix returned with the shots, rooster downed his real quick with little trouble meanwhile you struggled a bit

"aw fuck is that tequila??"

phoenix just laughs at your pain

"i mean, we agreed on dealers choice right? maybe you should get better at shootin y/c/s"

and being as competitive as you are, you challenged her and bradley to another game

you tragically lost once again but this time to rooster, i mean how could you not, you had like 3 beers and a shot of tequila already so vision and focus was fucked

and this man doesnt take it easy on you or phoenix

setting down a silver bullet shot (gin and scotch) in front of you and phoenix, you just glare up at your boyfriend

"you trying to get me fucked up roost?"

he simply smirks a lil and "bottoms up baby"

you and phoenix throwing back the shot while he takes a swig of beer

once you two set the glasses down he pats you both on the back and raises an eyebrow while nodding his head toward the piano

you both get the hint and nod back

all three of yall (more so you) stumbling your way over to the piano

bob takes notice and unplugs the jukebox

which makes everyone in the bar groan before realising what's about to happen

bradley begins playing some notes and clears his throat a bit

you lean onto the piano a bit and phoenix stands beside you while everyone gathers around begining the lil ritual yall have of singing great balls of fire (multiple times lmao)

and when bradley sings out the line

"kiss me baby"

he grabs your hand and twirls you into sitting on his lap

of course you give him a kiss on the cheek

and he continues the song just bouncing you on his knee

"wooo that feels good baby-"

"hold me baby"

and you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck while he continues playing

and when he's finally done he looks up at you and makes the executive decision to take you both home

honestly as a drunk you're not that hard to manage, you're pretty compliant

so when he helps you to your feet and says it's time to go home you just nod in agreement and tell everyone you'll see them later

of course rooster isnt completely sober enough to drive you both home so you decide to walk back

or at least try to

it's luckily only about a 5 minute walk to his family home

but you are just so fucked up you can't even walk straight and so he just laughs and

"damn babe if you couldn't hold your liquor well you couldve just asked me to take your drinks-"

and he just stops and picks you up piggy back style

and you wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist securely and mumble into his shoulder

"well it was a celebration after all,, i wanted to join in on the fun!"

he just shakes his head and smiles

"alright sweetheart we're almost home"

and once you both get there he just helps you into bed, get changed, and brings you a cup of water before you two finally settle down for the night

and he of course is willing to big spoon you if you like that and he pulls you in close gives your cheek a kiss

"mmm goodnight roost- thank you for taking care of me"

"anything for my partner, i love you"

"love you too bradley"

#top gun maverick #topgun #topgun maverick imagines #bradley rooster bradshaw #topgun asks #topgun maverick asks #topgun hc requests #topgun maverick hc requests #ask answered

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bowieandqueen11 · 3 years

Text

Karl Heisenberg As A Dad Headcanons

Request: Would you happen to have any wholesome Dad!Heisenberg HCs? 👉🏻👈🏻 Your writing is absolutely wonderful btw! ❤️

Oh my goodness thank you so much my lovely!!! This is such a sweet request <3

If you enjoy, please comment and reblog!

(Gif credit goes to: @robotoco-fanart, character and Resident Evil do not belong to me, all rights and credit goes to its creator)

OKAY OKAY OKAY

softdadsoftdadsoftdadsoftsoftsoft

At first, the man literally has no idea what to do with a kid. His idea of looking after children is to just to just let them go wild so they can go live in trees or whatever.

So, when his daughter first arrives into his arms at the factory, the first thing that pops into Karl’s head is whether he can ship the poor thing off to go live with Donna and her house of dolls because he thinks a baby would cramp his style too much.

Much deeper down inside though, right down at the fragmented shards that nestled and poked at the bottom of his heart, he was also worried for the kid. He knew he couldn’t give them a proper life. Heck, he could barely look after himself with his crazy family around. How was he supposed to protect a kid from Mother Miranda?

Although everyone was sure the frown on his face when he first saw the kiddo was one of distaste, in reality he was just really sad because he believed he could never be the father this child deserved.

Then one day, he decides to take a break from experimenting on soldats down in the basement levels of his factory to go up and check on the kiddo, mainly just to make sure Donna hasn’t let her crawl out of her crib and eat any important old documents or blueprints he left lying around his bedroom’s cabinet. But when he goes into the room, peering down with those falling glasses on the bridge of his nose into the little cot by the corner window, he finds himself scared.

For the first time in his life, something pains through his chest. But this time it isn’t horror, or arrogance, or repugnance, or fear anger hatred loneliness - no, this thing was warm, running jolts around his stomach until he felt almost queasy with the power of it.

Love. What he felt, for the first time in his life, was love. His little kiddo looked up at him with these big, kind puppy eyes - the same colour as his, and reached up to wrap her little pudgy fingers around his coarse, shaking thumb that leant on the wood.

And boom, that was it. Game over for vengeful Heisenberg. Cue protective dad mode.

(Although he was a little less certain when the little trickster grabbed his sunglasses from off his face, but that’s okay. He can make a new pair of those any time. But her, she was irreplaceable in his heart.)

Okay, but can you just imagine Karl holding his little daughter in like a little knitted blanket, coddled up against his ragged chest as he rocks her with tears in his eyes omg???

As kiddo grows up, there’s a protective ring of Lycans standing guard around the outskirts of the factory’s fields at all times, 24/7. No one from the village is allowed in or out under any business, which is where the rumour of the Lords being like vampires or werewolves begins (although sometimes Karl will pop down into the town and spend some time spreading rumours at the inn just because he likes to see people’s faces when they realise he is THE werewolf Heisenberg their family have told them never to go near.)

Kiddo isn’t allowed to go out anywhere near the village either unless Karl comes with her. When she’s young, he’ll have massive coats on the two of them so they don’t freeze in the snow that dusts the rocky ground with its tendrils, carrying kiddo on his hip. If she’s a bit older, he has an arm tight around her shoulder so she’s tucked just inside the edge of his trench coat, and he growls at any person that dares to look at her for longer than two seconds.

He spends a long time trying to make her first word dad - he sees it as like a source of pride that it should be. Sometimes he’ll sit her down on a workbench and just stare down at her all seriously, until his mouth drops open and he pulls a silly face to make her laugh. Then, when he works, he keeps on just repeating ‘dadda’ or ‘come on kiddo, you can say it’ but ends up being so annoyed when her first word is her trying to say Angie lmao.

For like a week he disappears, and Donna becomes worried about what he’s doing, and why there’s no noise or sound from him except smoky tendrils of steam and licks of fire bellowing out from the belly of the factory every so often. Turns out, as he sneaks in to kiss his daughter on the forehead one late night while she’s sleeping, and takes a moment to hang it over her cot, he was making a little mobile of two wolves chasing the sun and moon.

Since our man ‘works from home’, when kiddo gets to become a bit older he invites her down to learn the tricks of the trade with him. Mostly this just involves her sitting on a stool down in his office room with a bored looking face as he wildly and animatedly throws shards of metal into the pictures of Alcina and Miranda, explaining why she should never go near them.

In the end they’re both kind of knackered, so by the time lunch rolls through they’ve both laid down on a bench and fallen asleep on each other’s shoulders.

Although he’s not the best at showing affection, he is trying, he really is. This usually comes through as him reading bedtime stories to his kiddo, lying down on the duvet next to her and nearly shoving the poor child out of the bed. He totally gets coerced into doing silly voices for all the characters, and although he pretends to groan and roll his eyes he gets way too into it.

Usually, though, he’s the one to fall asleep first. Kiddo usually wakes up to find her dad still asleep against the headboard, with the book collapsed on the floor and Karl’s hat hanging half over his face as he snores.

When she’s younger, and Karl doesn’t want to go to family meetings, he’ll dress her up in his long coat and hat that hangs over her eyes and sends her off, laughing his ass off the whole while at the way the frayed fabric ends trail across the floor as she tries to walk.

He says Alcina is so tall anyway she wouldn’t notice the difference.

Most of the time he just takes her with her though, because despite how gruff and how much of a lone wolf he pretends to be he has pretty bad separation anxiety. She’ll just sit on his knee as he makes her laugh by pretending to mimic Miranda, telling everyone to shut up anytime she starts babbling, giving her his full attention.

He also says the babbling makes more sense than anything Alcina has ever said, which ends up with poor Donna holding the baby while the two of them tussle about the pews.

Also please imagine Donna roping him into doing tea parties.

He’s not a great teacher, so Moreau steps in. Heck, sometimes even Karl will be sitting next to his daughter on the floor in confusion because he has no idea what algebraic fractions are.

His daughter is the most important thing in the world to him, and he will do everything in his power to protect her from the outside world.

#resident evil #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg imagine #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg headcanons #karl heisenberg fluff #resident evil imagine #re #re village #resident evil village #heisenberg #heisenberg re #re 8 #resident evil 8

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allthingskakashi · 4 years

Text

• Bells and Balls •

[ Kakashi x Reader ]

Tags : NSFW, Smut

Words : 4.8k

A/n: I wrote over 4k words just to get some dick.

Okay sbsbajash idk I'd been working on this for like a whole week and i couldn't concentrate on anything unless i finished this lmao so here it is whatever, I can't drag this around anymore. Uhhh hope you like it I'm still not very good at writing smut im sorry. This takes place in the post Anbu and pre team 7 era and Kakashi’s a bit of an asshole but you know you still love him. This is also a little similar to my other fic ‘Yearning’ but here you get the s e x and i’m sorry if the characterization is bad, i put more focus on making it hot i guess ok ill shut up now i hope you like it

You give the sheet of paper in your hand one final glance, and look around the room. There’s a long line behind you and you’re surrounded by your fellow jounins, each here to submit their respective lists.

You were extremely happy with the performance of your team and didn’t have to think twice before passing them. You had no doubt that they would make wonderful shinobi. You looked forward to teaching and guiding them, and judging by the chatter around you, most other jounins had passed their teams too.

The trouble, however, remains with Kakashi Hatake.

A few weeks ago, you had all been named squad leaders and put in charge of a squad, and today was your very first day with your assigned teams. As instructed, each of you conducted a test for the genin and depending upon whether they passed or failed, the final list would be announced.

No one till date had ever passed Kakashi Hatake's infamous test, and everyone was sure that no one would this year either. Most genin trembled in fear of him, being aware of his strict methods.

And as it happens, at this moment, this infamous man is right in front you, standing with his back hunched forward as he hands his paper in to the woman behind the desk.

You wait for your turn, your eyes fixating on the red symbol on his vest as you wonder, ruefully, about the fate of the students he must have failed this time.

You take a step forward as he turns around, having submitted his paper, and the line moves up behind you.

Kakashi peeks briefly at your paper as he passes, letting out an audible scoff at the list in your hand before walking on ahead, hands tucked in his pockets.

You’re momentarily confused by this sudden act, but something is already starting to boil up inside you. You aren’t exactly known for being placid, nor for sitting by and allowing people to give you crap. Your eyebrows furrow as you hastily thrust your sheet onto the desk, before making your way to follow after him.

“Do you have a problem?” you call to his back as a few heads turn towards you.

He stops, taking his time turning back to look at you, half lidded eyes looking as indifferent as always.

His demeanour pushes you further to the edge and you take a few steps closer, craning your neck to meet his eyes, waiting for an answer.

“Well?”

He peers down at you unfazed, completely oblivious to the audience around you, as if they are not even there.

“You’re too soft”, he shrugs. “You don’t know how the shinobi world works” he says bluntly, piercing you with his unwavering gaze.

You glare back at him, your mouth twitching with the sled of retorts forming at the back of your tongue.

“Who gave you the right to—"

But he’s already turning away from you, your eyes meeting with the red symbol of his vest once again.

“Hey don’t you fucking walk away from me!” you yell, going forward to stop him, but he saunters on ahead without turning back; his scent lingering in the air as you stand there, watching his figure disappear slowly along the hallway, your fury seething inside you.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

--------------------------------------------------

“Thank you! This is just what I needed.” you chime, digging into the hot bowl of ramen in front of you, your mouth salivating just at the look of it.

You take a big mouthful, revelling in the immediate burst of flavours on your tongue.

“Mmmm.” You moan, “You’ve outdone yourself, Ayame!”

The young girl smiles at you in delight, proceeding to serve you another helping.

You take another blissful bite, closing your eyes to relish the moment.

The streets are quiet around you except for the faint chirp of crickets, as is expected at this hour of the night. It must be past midnight by now, you’re not exactly sure.

You had been tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep. For some reason, the encounter with Kakashi from earlier today had you feeling bitter and edgy. You hated that he was in your head, you didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like you to be this bothered by some mindless comments from someone. You’d had altercations before, worse ones, but they were never enough to steal away your night’s sleep.

And yet, this time…

You had to do something to take the edge off, ideally punch him in the face, but since that was not the plausible choice, you settled for the next best thing. Going for a run and treating yourself to your favourite comfort food later.

So here you are now, out at night all by yourself. The Ichiraku shop was still open, bless the lords.

You slurp some of the soup from the bowl and let out a loud smack of your lips.

You can feel your spirits lifting, and you’re glad for it. He wasn’t in your head after all, you were just having a bad day, that’s all.

You shift your focus back to the bowl in front of you, moaning and slurping as you go.

“Whoa there, Get a room.”

The sudden interruption of the familiar voice makes you stop cold.

Are you fucking kidding me?

You look up from your bowl, turning your head around to see none other than Kakashi Hatake, standing smug in all his glory.

The strange pang of bitterness is back in the depths of your stomach and you resist the urge to punch that smug look off his face.

“Ah, if it isn’t Kakashi Hatake, the all-knowing wisenheimer.” you say, your tone snide. “Say, don’t you have somewhere else to be? Some genin to fail?”

He comes around to take a seat on the stool beside you, a smirk evident through his mask, almost as if he’s enjoying this.

“I’ve already failed them” he smiles sweetly at you. “Worked up quite an appetite too.” He says, looking away from you to place his order.

You notice as Ayame notes his order down, the distinct shade of pink that tinges her cheeks as does, before turning away and disappearing into the supplies room at the back of the shop.

Ugh. What is with this guy? Why is it so….

You don’t realise you’re staring at him until he looks back at you, raising a questioning eyebrow. You supress your startlement at being caught, pretending as if you’d meant to be glaring at him.

“What the hell are you even doing out here so late?” you spurt, trying to sound irritated but it comes out sounding almost…concerned?

Thankfully, he doesn’t notice. “I could ask you the same.”

You look away, unwilling to answer. You were out here to get him out of your head, and now here you are, sitting beside him in a ramen shop while the entire village sleeps.

It almost feels like you’re the only two people in the world. The feeling makes something churn inside your stomach.

You dab your mouth with your napkin, before swivelling on the stool to face him. You look at him intently, studying his features. He stares back at you, as if waiting for you to say something.

“Why?” you ask, catching him off guard with it.

“Why what?”

“Why does no one pass your test? What’s so difficult about it?” you ask, gaze fixated on him. You expect him to look uncomfortable but he just shrugs.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious” you reply truthfully, watching him smirk at your answer.

You hate it when he smirks, how his face looks when he’s being cocky.

Ugh.

He swivels in his chair now, turning his body towards you. “Is that so?”, he says through the smirk, resting his elbow on the counter and leaning in.

You don’t know why, but something about his tone and the way he leans in makes it difficult for you to breathe all of a sudden.

But you’re not one to be fazed.

“Yes” you reply, refusing to let yourself crumple under his gaze. Your voice comes out sounding hoarse, and you clear your throat.

He smirks wider at your reply and stretches the next words out.

“If you’re so curious…Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Your heart thuds like clapper clanging against a bell. You resist the urge to gulp.

Was it this hot when I left the house?

You clear your throat again. “I don’t have the time to take part in your stupid games”

The smirk is adamant on his lips, his gaze unnerving.

He breathes, “Do you not have the time…or do you not have the balls?”

His tone is challenging. Or inviting. Or both, you’re not really sure, you’re not thinking straight anymore.

Your jacket is too hot against your skin, you writhe beneath the thick material.

Sliding off the stool, you walk slowly towards him, erasing the space in between you bit by bit with each step, until your bodies are a few inches away from touching. Your eyes bore into each other’s as if in silent battle. It’s your turn to smirk now.

“Training Grounds in 20 mins” you whisper. Despite the hitch in your breath, your voice is clear. “Don’t be late.”

You walk past him without breaking your gaze, brushing your shoulder against his arm as you walk by, perhaps a little harder than necessary, leaving Kakashi to stare after you.

--------------------------------------------------

You sit on the damp grass with your back against a tree, waiting. Your jacket lies in a puddle beside you.

You count the weapons in your bag, you hadn’t exactly come out prepared for a fight tonight. Two kunai knives, that’s all.

Would that be enough to take down the copy ninja? You hope so. There’s no way you’re letting him win. It’s time someone taught him a lesson and you would love to be that someone. The nerve of him…to actually challenge you.

He really needs to get a life. But then, here you are too…

Why am I here? What am I even doing?

You close your eyes and tilt your head back against the hard bark, your eyebrows furrowing the way they always do when you’re deep in thought.

Back at the shop… the way he spoke…the look in his eyes— God, Stop. Stop it.

Who the fuck cares about the look in his eyes?

Not me.

It’s okay. I’m good.

We’re here to teach this asshole a lesson. An asshole, that’s what he is. Insufferable and stupid and smug and ridiculously ho— horrible. Ridiculously horrible.

You take a deep breath, opening your eyes and standing up so fast that it makes your head dizzy for a brief second. You start walking around, jerking your arms and legs, stretching your neck, even slapping yourself a few times on the face to make yourself focus.

Yes, I need to focus. The lack of sleep is getting to me.

You crouch down to tighten your shoelaces, before getting up and starting some stretching exercises. Gotta loosen the muscles, make sure you have full flexibility. After all, taking on Kakashi Hatake all by yourself is probably not going to be a piece of cake.

You look down to check your attire: running shorts and a tank top, not fully ideal but it’ll do.

You’re bent over, in the midst of doing rotating toe touches when your eyes fall upon a silhouette far ahead, nearing closer and closer. You pause, standing up straight with your hands on your hips as the figure walks slowly towards you, a faint jingling noise ringing through the air, as Kakashi finally comes near enough for you to make out his face in the dim light.

“Late as always” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

Kakashi stands a few feet away from you, holding something in one hand, other hand inside his pocket. He’s not wearing his jacket anymore either, you observe.

“Sorry, had to go get this” he says, holding up what looks like two small bells with strings attached.

You squint at it, coming closer to get a better look. “What the hell is that?”

“Bells”, he smiles. “That’s the test. You have to get these bells from me. You can use any attack you want but… since you’re not a genin, I’ll raise the stakes a little higher for you. You cannot use ninjutsu or genjustu. It has to be purely physical attacks. You have till dawn.”

This little fucker. He knows taijutsu is not my strong point.

But fine. If that’s how he wants to play this, so be it. I’m taking him down one way or another.

“Dawn?” you chuckle, fixing him with your gaze. “I don’t need till dawn” you sneer, coming forward with a kick aimed to his head. He blocks it just as you’re about to make contact, grasping your ankle in his strong hold.

“I didn’t say start yet” he says through a smirk, letting go of your foot.

You take a few steps backwards, glowering at him as he ties the bells to a loop on his trousers. They hang over his thighs with a jingle, silver metal glimmering in the moonlight.

He looks back up at you, eyes twinkling with an unusual sparkle.

There’s that look again…

“Go” he commands, his body tensing up into a defensive stance immediately, ready for you.

You fix your gaze on the shiny metal of your goal and hurl yourself forward, your arms meeting each other’s in blows and defences. You throw a few kicks to his stomach, making him tumble but not enough to knock him out.

You shift your stance, before directing another punch to his face; he deflects it, sniggering.

Okay okay okay, I’m not focusing. I need to focus.

You take a deep breath.

Kakashi stands waiting, his features emanating pure amusement.

You feel a restlessness brewing within you, a strange energy buzzing through your veins. You’d been itching to punch him in the face and now’s your chance.

You watch him, mentally calculating all your options. His silver hair shines like moonbeams in the dark.

FOCUS.

Drawing a kunai from your bag, you lunge forward, distracting him with a kick to the head as your kunai slashes through the air, just about to cut across the strings when— your hand is caught in his grasp, a ‘slap!’ cutting through the air as his palm clasps around your wrist.

He bores into you, your wrist held firmly in his hand as he turns you around swiftly, gripping both your wrists at the back.

You feel the muscles of his chest against your body as he comes closer, the metal bells hanging over his leg brushing against your fingertips behind you.

You wriggle your hands, trying to break free but it’s in vain. His grip is firm, slender fingers digging into your skin as he leans into your ears, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“Not so fast” he whispers, his lips almost brushing the top of your ears.

The words send a shudder through your spine. You feel the black sky closing in on you, there’s a hum springing through your veins.

He loosens his grip as your hands fall, the kunai held limply in your hand. You turn around, your heart skipping a beat at how close he is to you. You feel your resolve weakening.

No.

Stop.

Your hand flies to the collar of his shirt, the other hand holding the kunai to his throat as you push him backwards with your body, your eyes blazing into his.

Keeping the kunai at his throat, you lower your other hand slowly, brushing it down his chest, his muscles taut under your hand. You trail your hand down along the line of his sternum, down the firmness of his stomach and further down, your fingers lightly caressing the bulge of his trousers before they almost make contact with the bells alongside, right there, just a flick away—

so close—

Before your wrist is caught in a sudden, fast clutch again.

His grip is much stronger this time, unyielding, hungry. Your bones ache beneath his hold.

You watch something ignite in his eyes as his shoulders rise and fall in rhythm to your heaves. You suddenly realise how out of breath you are.

In the flash of a moment, Kakashi grips your kunai holding hand, holding it away from his throat as he pushes you, the weight of his body pressing onto yours as your feet scrape along the ground, stumbling backwards till your back slams against a tree, the force making your body jolt. The kunai slips from your hand.

His arms pin you defenceless against the tree, his gaze holding you hostage, burning through your skin.

The touch of his skin against yours feels alien. When was the last time you felt the warmth of someone’s skin? You cannot recall.

He’s so close to you, you cannot see anything beyond him.

In the dark, under the moonlight, the edges of his face look softened.

A wind passes by, the sound of rustling leaves filling through the silence. A volcano erupts within you.

Now.

You gulp. Up this close, you can make out the outline of his mouth.

Now.

Your lips press into Kakashi’s in a desperate lurch, your neck straining to meet him as far as his grip on you allows. Your heart explodes like firecrackers inside your chest as your tongue pushes against the cloth of his mask, demanding to be let in.

You feel his grip loosen around your wrists as the mask is off and he reciprocates, his lips on yours, his hand gripping your chin up as his tongue moves in fervent swirls inside your mouth.

A thousand questions swarm inside your head, buzzing but you’re not being controlled by your head anymore. You can feel the thud of his chest against your own.

He trails his hand down to your throat, holding you in place, other hand exploring every edge and curve of your body before it snakes down the waistband of your shorts, down the elastic of your underwear.

You gasp, arching your back as you feel the touch of his long fingers down there, moaning helplessly into his mouth as he rubs along your wet entrance in rapid strokes.

Your head is a dizzy mess of jumbled emotions as yearning overpowers your senses, your previous resolve weakening into a mushy puddle with every stroke and thrum of his fingers inside you.

He pulls away from your mouth to leave sloppy kisses down your neck, his tongue painting patterns along your skin as you catch a glimpse of his face and you see it— his face, glowing under the moonlight. And you realise.

He’s…beautiful.

An overwhelming ache breaks through your senses, creating a frenzied whirlwind of passion and agony in your mind. Your detestation for him crumbles into pieces underneath the weight of your desire, as you realise…

You don’t hate him.

You never did.

Not even close.

Not even a little bit.

Not even at all.

You pull his face up to meet your lips again, planting urgent kisses on his mouth as your hands tease the hem of his shirt. His fingers slip out of you and you can feel the wetness of your panties, soaked through with arousal.

“Kakashi…” you whisper in pleasure as he looms over you, your foreheads touching, out of breath and heaving with exhilaration. His eyes burn with the same passion that you feel inside.

“We can’t…shouldn’t…here…people...” you mutter in struggled breaths, as he plants another kiss to your lips, the sparks from it fogging your mind

“Since when do you care about people?” he whispers against your ear, his raspy voice enough to strip you off of all your remaining sense and judgement.

You pull his shirt over his head in one swift motion, throwing it to the ground beside as he follows, taking off your shirt and then unhooking your bra, tossing both away as his hands reach for you in hungry clutches.

His hands caress your breasts, pressing them and pulling on your hardened nipples, his mouth following soon after. His lips lock around them, sucking hard as you bury your face into his broad shoulders, biting lightly to keep yourself from screaming.

You sink your fingers into his hair, tugging softly as his mouth moves in a wet trail further down your body, strands of his hair tickling your stomach as he goes, his hands tugging your panties, sliding them down the curves of your hips.

Your heart thuds in your ears as Kakashi sits crouching in front of you, parting your legs. He looks up at you, as if asking for your permission, and you give it to him by pulling the back of his head closer between your legs.

He puts your right leg over his shoulder, spreading you for him, his other hand clutching the back of your left thigh as his mouth teases you down there.

The tip of his tongue flicks at your entrance, before it finds your weakest spot, and you feel your body shuddering, barely able to keep your balance.

You tug at his hair harder as his tongue moves skilfully inside you, fingers rubbing your swollen clit simultaneously. You feel every nerve ending in your body come alive as you moan out his name “K-Kakashi…” through trembling lips.

Your insides shudder and a deep moan forms at the back of your throat, threatening to escape as Kakashi puts his hand over your mouth, before pulling you down on top of him with a sudden tug.

You come down with a thud on his thighs, your body jolting with the force as you watch him in front of you, the copy ninja… bare bodied and heaving in front of your eyes.

Who would have thought…

You straddle him, admiring his unclad torso, before pushing his shoulders down with your hands, making him lie back on the grass as you stoop over him. His eyes are fixated on you, pure pleasure making itself known on his face.

He really is beautiful.

You bend forward, your mouth exploring the smoothness of the skin on his chest, as a strange cold feeling down there distracts you.

You look down, squinting in the dark to find yourself sitting on two glimmering metal balls placed over his thigh.

The bells.

A thrill runs through your nerves as you smirk, glancing up at him.

He’s noticed it too.

His eyes return the same sparkle of mischief as yours as he lies still, waiting.

You press your hands down on his chest, locking your gaze with his as you position yourself over the bells, tilting your head back as you move back and forth over them.

The cold metal of the bells rubs against you, sending tremors through your entire body.

Your gaze at Kakashi again, watching him squirm at the sight of you, his hands twitching to feel your skin.

You keep your eyes on him as you slide down slightly on his thigh, tugging his trousers down as you go. Your hands find the base of his cock as you allow yourself to admire his throbbing length.

He leans his head back on the grass and you feel him getting harder in your hands.

Forming your hand into a fist around him, you move it up and down along his shaft in slow steady strokes, leaning down to bring your mouth closer to his tip, before swirling your tongue in circles around his skin.

His hips tremble as he clutches onto the grass, writhing.

Your lips clasp around his cock, mouth slurping up and down his length, taking your time sliding down to the base and back up, your hands following suit.

You tease him, switching between the tip of your tongue and your whole mouth, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

He quivers and you sit back up, bending forward over his face and pressing your lips on his. A groan from his mouth erupts inside yours as he clutches your hips.

His hands guide your hips back and forth over his length, your lips trembling as he slips into you, his cock finally inside you, pushing into you, filling you as deep as you can be filled.

A new rush of pleasure burns through your senses, your insides stretching as you move your hips around him, back and forth and then in circles.

“A-a-ah...mm…yeah…”, your muffled moans cut through the depths of the forest in the silence of the night.

Kakashi breathes your name, the eruption of your name from his lips enough to send you to a frenzy, filling your heart with drunken fervour.

You moan his name back in reply, hopping up and down on him as his arm snakes behind your waist and he flips you over in a sudden, swift movement, the weight of his body falling over you now.

You arch your back, pushing your hips up to meet his, unwilling to break away even for a second.

You want him so, so bad.

The pointy peaks of grass underneath poke your skin, your nails digging into his back as he nibbles on your neck, thrusting deep, deep into you.

You feel the familiar shudder from earlier again, your mind getting clouded with waves of pleasure coursing through you. Kakashi’s grunts quaver in your ear as you feel his hips jerk in tune to yours.

There’s a tantalizing jolt of ecstasy through your body as you scream out, your quivering voice matching his grunts as you both put a hand over the other’s mouth, your muffled moans melting into each other’s skin. He quivers inside you for a final time before you feel him slipping out of you, as hot wet cum trickles along the insides of your thighs, dripping into the dewy grass beneath.

Droplets of sweat from his hair drips down on you, tasting salty in your mouth. You heave together in exhaustion as he plops down on you, before rolling to the side.

You lie on your back panting, your entire body damp with sweat.

Languor threatens to take over you as you struggle to keep your eyes open, looking up into the night sky.

You see a firefly glowing above your head. You lift a lazy hand to reach it, but it flies away far above, becoming one with the twinkling stars in the sky.

Soft sounds of Kakashi’s breath echo beside you, his foot still touching yours lightly as the both of you lie heaving under the stars.

He turns his head to look at you and you can feel his eyes on you as you try, with all the fibres in your body, to not look back at him.

You know you won’t be able to hold yourself together any longer if you do.

He extends a hand towards you. “That was…”

“Sshhh… Shut up” you say in a slumberous whisper, moving closer into his arm, putting your own around him, your head buried into chest as you feel your eyes getting heavy…not able to stay awake anymore. You feel Kakashi envelope you in his arms, the warmth from his skin against the cold air lulling you to sleep, your mind becoming foggy as you close your eyes, slowly drifting off somewhere far, far away…

--------------------------------------------------

Your eyes open to the chirping of birds perched on the branches above, rays of morning light casting a rosy glow in the horizon.

You watch the half light in the distance, rubbing your eyes, smiling to yourself.

The night had taken with it the black clouds of denial fogging your mind, your heart is as clear as day now.

You turn your head just in time to see Kakashi opening his eyes, his eyes puffy, imprints of grass marking his soft cheek.

You smile at him as he looks at you, lips curled into a sleepy smile. “Good morning” he yawns, tapping over his mouth with his palm.

“I won.”

“Hmm?” he asks groggily, eyes still adjusting to the light.

You hold up the two small bells in front of him, they jingle over his face.

He chuckles. “I don’t think so. It’s past dawn”

“I took them off before. I won.”

He laughs again, his face lighting up in a way you’d never seen before. He looks even more beautiful in the daylight.

“In all fairness y/n, there are no losers here.”

You laugh along with him now, reaching across and smoothening the imprints on his cheek, keeping your hand there, cupping his cheek.

“So, I passed?” you ask, looking at him, inching closer.

He looks back at you, with the same look from earlier in his eyes.

But you’re not turning yourself blind to it anymore.

“Top of the class” he laughs, pulling you closer, nuzzling your nose with his before pressing his lips into yours.

Notes :-

Did I quote 10 Things I Hate About You on a Kakashi Smut?

Yes, yes i did.

#kakashi #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi x reader #kakashi smut #kakashi x reader smut #naruto #naruto fanfiction #naruto x reader #kakashi fanfic #kakashi x reader fluff

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echos-newlegs · 3 years

Note

Hi!! Can I please get wolffe with 1 and 4 smut please!!!! Thank you!!!!! 🥰

Playing Around

😏 heck yeah you can- but I apologize if it’s bad. It’s nearly 1am, I’ve never written anything for Wolffe before and I started writing another story halfway through the smut??? So if you get lost, I really do apologize. I think I fixed it though. I had to reread it a good three times lmao.

A small PSA to the others who requested, I see em all and I will get to them when I can. I start a job on Thursday so stories may be a teensy bit delayed from my posting at least once a day ordeal!

Wolffe x Reader: “It’s okay, just pretend to be my date until they leave,” and “your hair is so soft...”

Warnings: Sexual content, language, female receiving, protected sex because it is frowned upon using kids as distractions during war.

You sat at the bar with Wolffe and his brothers. 79’s was slowly starting to get more crowded. You wouldn’t really mind if the moment Wolffe walked off someone hadn’t stole his spot at the bar next to you and began hitting on you. “What’s a pretty gal like yourself doing in a joint like this?” He wasn’t a clone, but even if he was one. You still wouldn’t be amused.

You were a Jedi. Trained by General Plo Koon himself. Which was how you were so close with Wolffe— yet it still took everything in you not to knock the guy next to you off the bar stool and walk out. “I’m here with some friends.” You told him, truthfully. The man snorted, and you frowned. “Where are they then?” You motioned your head to Boost and Sinker, catching a glimpse of Wolffe heading back your way. Eyes locked on the intruder in his seat.

“And him,” you spoke. Pointing off towards the commander with a small smile and a wave. The guy turned. Flashing a glare to Wolffe then looking back to you with a dopey smile. “Well, doll, if you want to hang out with a real man..” you glared. You couldn’t stand random people giving you pet names. “I’m just over there,” he pointed to a table with a few other guys. Who all looked away when you looked over.

Wolffe finally made his way over and stood next to you. Practically towering over the man. Eyes still locked on him with a look that could kill. “Is he bothering you, Cyar’ika?” He asked, then glancing to you. Gaze softening for a second. Before hardening once he looked back to the other. “Who’s this, your boyfriend?” The guy snorted, and you grabbed your drink, taking a sip to try and calm yourself down. “I’m whatever she wants me to be, now get out of my seat.” Wolffe growled, and you glanced over to him. Brows a bit raised. Smirking behind your glass and the man cowered away.

Wolffe sat next to you with a sigh, and you leaned over. Pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Wolffy.” You teased. You were the only one that was really allowed to call him that without him getting pissy. “Anything for you, general.” You snickered, watching as his face heated up a bit. It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed his cheek before, but he always acted so nervous. Even if he knew you just meant it in a friendly manor, or so he thought.

“Wolffe, don’t call me General when we aren’t on the field. I don’t like it when you call me that. Makes things feel, too formal.” You told him, and he nodded. Sighing, and glancing over to you with a small smile. “Yes, y/n.” “Better.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, watching him with a grin. Wolffe looking back to you with furrowed brows. “What?” “So you’re my boyfriend, hm?” You giggled as you watched his eyes narrow on you, then widen in realization. “I was just trying to get him to leave, I didn’t mean-“ you interrupted him by raising your fingers to his lips. “Wolffe, it’s fine.” You spoke with a small smile. “I really do appreciate it, if it weren’t for you they’d probably be waiting for me outside for when I left.” Wolffe looked back to the men at the table. Then moved his attention back to you. “Well..” he started in, “if it’s okay, just pretend to be my date until they leave?” He spoke, and you were the one to shyly look away now. “I’d appreciate that.”

You had to remind yourself throughout the night that you two weren’t actually on a date. You were just being friends. You’ve known one another since General Plo got Wolffe in his Battalion. It was nothing new for the two of you to hang out outside of work, but you wished it was more than just in a friendly manor.

You sighed, the guys had left a while ago, yet you still felt on edge. Turning to Wolffe, you tapped his shoulder to get his attention. Since he was talking to one of his brothers. You could tell he was frustrated by the way his shoulders tensed when you touched him. He quickly relaxed though once he realized it was you. “I think I’m gunna head,” you spoke, and he turned around fully to face you. “Oh okay, you want me to walk with you back to your quarters?” He asked, and you nodded. “If you could, please?” He smiled, you were one of the few that were able to make him smile by just offering softly spoken words. “Plus since you’re my date, it’s the right thing to do.” You shot the tease at him. Snickering at his signature eye roll.

You jumped from the stool, landing on your feet. The two of you, well mainly yourself. Said your goodbyes to the others left in the cantina. Then off the two of you went. Wolffe holding the door open for you, and following you out.

The two of you walked down the street a ways until you could find a cab to wave down. Climbing in and heading back for the hanger. The ride wasn’t really too long, though it was quiet. You were thinking of what you could say to him. What you could do to maybe tell him that you wanted to go on a real date sometime, but before you could. The cab was stopped and you had reached your destination. Wolffe paying the fee and the two of you climbing out and heading back for your quarters,.

You walked the halls in silence, as usual. Though you really didn’t hate it. You weren’t too fond of silence when you had so much to say all at once. “Thank you again, for tonight.” You spoke the first thing that came to mind. Once the two of you reached the door to your room. He gave you a bit of a grunt, and nodded. “ ‘f course.” He spoke, hands resting at his side. You reaching over and grabbed his one hand. Both of you watching your movement closely. “I mean it.” You spoke, the two of you catching one another’s gaze. “For a fake date, I enjoyed every second of it.”

Wolffe was practically staring into your soul at this point. You squeezing his hand, and then relaxing your fingers in attempt to let go. Thinking you upset him, but he had a firm grip on your hand. You weren’t complaining though. “I enjoyed it too,” he murmured and you bit your lip. Glancing to the side, then back to the commander. “Did you wanna come inside?” You nearly whispered, and he nodded slowly. You opening the door to your room. Then pulling the male in behind you.

He paused for a moment, and so did you. You both back in the same position you were in in the hallway. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, and your breath caught in your throat. “Yes,” you said, nodding your head along with your words. Freezing up when his calloused hand reached up to cup your face and stroke your cheek with his thumb. Leaning down to press his lips against yours.

You had been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever. You’d dropped hints, kissed his cheek, hugged him, held his hand, everything that you thought he would notice. Since he wasn’t the best with understanding flirting. It flew over his head half the time anyways.

He pulled back after a moment. His fingers moving to trace your jaw. Whimpering a bit and your eyes fluttered open. Just in time to see a switch flip in his eyes. He pressed you up against the wall. Kissing you again, though this time it was rougher than the last. You yelping into it when your back pressed against the surface. Arms moving to wrap around his neck. Moaning into his mouth when he shoved a leg in between yours and up against your warmth.

He took this to his advantage, shoving his tongue into your mouth and the two of you battled for victory. Though it was stupid of you to even try. He was winning from the beginning, and soon his tongue was roaming every inch of your mouth.

You brought your legs up to wrap around his waist. Hands moving to undo his upper armor and he helped you out. His top half now left in his blacks. As his armor fell to the floor with a clank. Now it was your turn. Wolffe pulling the little armor you wore off, and the two of you were ripping each other’s shirts off like that was your jobs.

His mouth traveled to your neck in nearly an instant. While your hands roamed his exposed chest.. Moaning when he sucked and bit down on your skin. Thankful he was leaving most of the bigger marks where you could cover them. You’d have a lot to explain to the council if they found out you were sleeping with the commander you were occasionally the general of. When Plo needed the help or was off doing something else.

You ran your fingers through his hair. Tugging a bit when he moved down to your breast. One hand squeezing while his mouth sucked. Making you squirm, especially when his mouth swapped over to the other and your ignored one was left with cooling saliva.

It wasn’t long before he was peeling you from the wall and slamming his lips back against yours while walking you to your bed. He placed you down, parting from you for a second so he could remove the rest of his armor. Which he did effortlessly. You doing the same, slipping your pants off as he did as well. The two of you left in nothing but your underwear now. Eyeing one another like you were starving and each other’s bodies were the only thing that could feed you both.

He climbed back over top of you. Eyes roaming your skin, then moving back to your face with a lust filled gave. Though he had a look of admiration as well. “We can stop, whenever you want,” he assured you, and you nodded. You knew he wouldn’t force you into anything you didn’t want, but the words were still so sweet to you. Reaching up to hold his face with your hands, and pull him down for a short kiss. Pulling back and he was chasing your lips for more. “I can assure you I’ve wanted this for longer than I’d like to admit.” You spoke, and he smirked. “Good to know I’m not alone.” He nearly growled. Beginning to trail kisses down your body once more.

You were squirming so bad. Needing some sort of friction and attention. Basically shaking as he licking and bit your skin. Panting like a dog in heat when he moved to your thighs. Now pinching along your sensitive skin. “Wolffe, Kriff, please,” you mewled. The commander smirking as he moved his fingers to lightly trace over your underwear. “Please what?” You were going to get him back for this, but right now you couldn’t think clearly. “Please touch me,” you huffed, and he listened.

He pulled your panties down your thighs, bringing his face even closer to your entrance. Arching your back when he blew against you. You were already so sensitive and you needed some form of release. Wolffe moving his fingers to rub against your folds and then up to your clit. Flicking his tongue out to imitate the same movement his finger did. Which had you unwinding. Hands moving to tangle in his short locks while your legs wrapped around his head.

He continued licking you and sucking, like you were all he wanted to eat. Fingers pushing in and out in an upbeat tempo. Your body beginning to shake as your climax started nearing, “oh Kriff, Wolffe.” You gasped, and he could tell you were close just from the shake of your voice. Pulling back and you let out a whimper. Looking up to him with a pout, and he grinned as he kneeled between your legs. “I’m not done yet,” he assured. The gruffness of his voice making you shudder.

He pulled his boxers off, and readjusted himself between you. You eyeing him for a moment, and watching as he held something between his fingers. Then slipped it over his dick. You weren’t sure how he was keeping a condom hidden, but you weren’t about to ask. You were just thankful he wasn’t about to unintentionally knock you up.

“Did you have this idea all along, or were you planning on taking someone else home.” He chuckled at that. Leaning down to kiss your cheek and press the head of himself against your entrance, making you squirm again. “I’ve had this idea for a while, but never had the chance to act upon it til now.” He murmured against your skin. Kissing your temple, then down your face to your lips as he pressed inside you. Your arms and legs moving to wrap around his body.

He was a lot to take in all at once, thankful he moved in slowly. Thankful for the kisses and sweet nothings he used to help distract you. Once you were finally ready though, you moved your hips up a bit. Nearly melting at the feeling of pleasure that coursed your body. Wolffe obviously feeling the same by the grunt and the way his nose scrunched.

His one hand held onto your hip while the other was pressed beside your head on the bed. Rocking his hips while your finger tips pressed into his back. Eyes locked on one another. Giving him a nod and he picked up the pace. The sound of skin on skin and your guys’ short and ecstatic breath filling the room. Both your eyes falling shut as your both neared the end. “Kriff-“ Wolffe grunted, and you leaned up to burry your face in the crook of his neck while his thrusts quickened. Getting sloppier and more uneven as he chased his orgasm and pushed you to your own.

You let out a small cry, muffled by the skin of his neck as you reached your limit. Your walls clenching around him was enough for him to topple over as well, letting out a cry of his own. Riding out his orgasm with a few more sloppy thrusts, before pulling out of you and rolling off of you with a groan. The two of you laying on your backs panting. Trying to live out your highs. Once Wolffe was down from his he moved to remove the condom, tying it and tossing it in the bin next to the bed. Then climbing back next to you in bed.

He lied on his side, facing you. Unsure if he should touch you or not. Both your chests still heaving and sweat was beading on your forehead still. “You just gunna.. stare at me?” You asked, turning your head to look at him, smiling tiredly as a small lop sided smile crept onto his own face. “Wasn’t sure what else to do,” “you can hold me, for a start.” You didn’t have to tell him twice.

His arms reaching out and pulling you close to his body. You pulling the covers over the both of you, since the cold was slowly staring to creep up on you. Humming a bit when his hands repay through your hair. “Your hair is so soft,” he muttered. Making you smile, kissing a few of his scars on his chest while you cured up next to him. “Maybe I’ll let you use my conditioner in the morning,” and you did. He loved it, too. Because each time he caught a whiff of the shampoo and conditioner out on the field, all he could think of was you. Which was enough to keep the commander fighting, for you.

#commander Wolffe #commander Wolffe x reader #Wolffe #Wolffe x reader #lemon #star wars #star wars writing #the clone wars #writing #clone wars x reader #clone wars #the clone wars x reader

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erimeows · 3 years

Note

Could we maybe get some Sentinel falling for a human and hating it headcannons/scenario? The human is just really nice and very smart! An ex Sumdak scientist who moved in with the bots and Sari after Sari got kicked out? They help them find the AllSpark? Magnus has a lot of respect for them as they've helped find the All Spark shards and done a lot of research on autobot and decepticon history and found out weaknesses. Sentinel is so angry cause Magnus clearly favors them over other humans so he has to get used to that and them? Maybe Optimus likes them and that sets Sentinel off?

Sure thing! May have twisted this a bit, but hope you enjoy!

Oh my God, he hates it with everything in his entire being.

It starts simply enough. When he arrives on earth, he notices that, like the tiny rude organic known as Sari, you’re around the Autobots all the time. Like... All the time. Helping them find All Spark fragments, doing research for them, helping Isaac Sumdak with his creations, taking care of Sari.

So, since you’re a tiny adult human and he has unchecked mental health issues that he likes to take out on others, he starts off trying to be mean to you.

The first time, he trips you while walking past you in the hallway. You don’t notice it was intentional, but fall pretty hard and scrape your hands up so badly that you’re tearing up. Sentinel refuses to apologize or acknowledge that he’s in the wrong but feels oddly guilty and decides to help you take care of your hands. You’re very thankful, offering him a hug, which he denies and runs off because of, spewing some half-assed insults on his way out.

He can’t get you off his processor after that. He feels like a shitbag for not even owning up to being the one who tripped you and feels like a loser for helping you. You’re an organic, he hates you like the rest of them, he doesn’t feel bad for you.

Next time he sees you, he tries again to be mean to you, making a comment on what you’re wearing and asking what trashcan you dug it out of. Most humans get frustrated and yell at him or insult him back when he talks to them like that unprompted, but you only shrug him off and asks if he’s feeling alright or wants to sit down to cool down for a moment. Uh. Huh? He’s confused at first, utterly perplexed that you might think he’s weak, upset, or hurt, or... Something, but then his confusion turns to anger, and again, he storms off, unsure of how to handle someone who’s not angry at or annoyed by him.

You pay a lot of attention to him after that and he hates it; always trying to offer him things, share smalltalk, take him places, etc. He hates it even more when he notices just how much everyone else loves you, too; Sari was fine, and so was Optimus and his stupid pile of scrap metal that he called a team, but ULTRA MAGNUS? Oh, it had him fuming from his exhaust pipes. Even Ultra Magnus was charmed by you and looked for whatever excuse he could get to talk to you on earth.

Okay, whatever. Everyone and everybot likes you, so Sentinel is convinced he hates you for that and for having a holier-than-thou attitude that won’t allow you to retaliate against him when he’s rude to you even though all he wants is for you to feed into it. Totally.

That is until he starts getting... Jealous, namely of Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime for talking to you so much. The embarrassing thing is that he can’t even pinpoint it at first; all he knows is that he gets pissed off when he sees Optimus giving you a shoulder rub after a long day and having a conversation with him over dinner (for you) and energon (for Optimus) and gets pissed off when he sees you, a human, walking by Ultra Magnus’s side and casually conversing with him like he’s your equal.

“I don’t get it, Jazz! Why is she talking to both of them like that? Why is it making me so mad?”

“Could it be... You aren’t so much mad that she’s a human who’s close with Ultra Magnus, but that you’re jealous of O.P. and Ultra Magnus for being so close to (y/n) when you’re not?”

The conversation with Jazz had been impromptu and a big mistake, as he blew a fuse immediately after and had to be taken to Ratchet for some minor repairs. Everyone is concerned, no one has any idea what’s going on, but he’s stuck in Ratchet’s medbay for a day and you’re asked to watch him overnight since you’re the most qualified to do any fixes should he have any issues, and Ratchet needs to recharge.

“So... What happened?”

“Don’t worry about it! Primus, you humans are always so nosy-” Sentinel starts scolding you and moves to get up from the medberth, but you place a gentle hand on his servo and he can’t help but freeze in place.

“I’m not doing this with you tonight, Sentinel Prime. Recover and let me stay by your side to make sure you’re okay.”

“Just leave! I’ll be fine, I’m a member of the-”

“I know.”

“Then why do you care!?”

“Because I know you can be kind, and whether you want to or not, you need to rest and have someone monitor you over night! You blew a fuse in your head, and while that itself is a minor injury, if you do it again it’s going to be harder to fix and you could blow more. I’d rather not extent your stay in here.”

Naturally, he asks what you, as a human, could possibly know about robots/Cybertronians and their health. After getting him to lay back down, you tell him about how you used to work for Isaac Sumdac as a scientist before you started taking care of Sari when he disappeared, and that right after the Autobots arrived on earth, you studied them closely enough to figure out most of their anatomy and received some training under Ratchet to act as a second medic for them.

Oh. That makes sense. Sentinel feels a bit foolish but doesn’t say anything and waits until he can fall into recharge, but when he wakes up the next morning, you’re sitting on a stool by his berthside, passed out with your head resting on his thigh.

He doesn’t have the heart to wake you up and pretends to still be resting with his optics shut until Ratchet comes in and wakes you up himself.

He’s released with a clean bill of health and immediately goes to find Jazz.

“What do you mean by that!?”

“Uh, slow down before you blow another fuse, S.P., but you know what I meant,” Jazz laughed at him, and naturally, Sentinel took a few to process what had been said the previous day.

Jazz was implying that Sentinel wasn’t mad at you for being a human and interacting with Optimus/Ultra Magnus, but that he was mad at Optimus and Ultra Magnus for interacting with you because...

Oh. Sentinel realized that he was jealous, and in not being able to be mean to you anymore, he found himself watching you a lot. You were intelligent, kind, attractive... The opposite of him, to be honest, but when it hit him all at once, he ends up having a melt down of sorts.

Locking himself in his berth on Ultra Magnus’s ship for days on end, not drinking enough energon, going between sleeping to escape his feelings and pacing around doing nothing but dwelling on them, Sentinel Prime is a mess when he realizes that he has a crush on you. It makes sense, but... Why did it have to be an organic? He can’t even cope with it.

Eventually, he snaps out of it and decides that he’s going to take the logical approach with this; ignore his feelings and push them deep, deep down in his spark so he doesn’t have to acknowledge or deal with them. He shouldn’t like you anyways, right? You’re just a stupid human!

Except... You’re not. You’re beautiful, you’re brilliant, you’re caring, and a million other things he cares not to admit. So he’s stuck. He won’t confess his feelings to you or really think about them because he knows all he’s ever done is be mean to you, and honestly, he doesn’t deserve you and is afraid of you rejecting him.

Things stay stagnant for a while, but he’s a little nicer to you. Still rude, still making unnecessary comments about you being a human, but hey, he doesn’t try to trip you anymore and is always defending you when anyone/anybot brings up your name behind your back. Every other Autobot catches on to what’s happening but just doesn’t say anything because they know Sentinel will try to pummel them LMAO.

But then... Valentine’s day rolls around. For whatever reason, he decides to hang around earth that day and learn about the customs since you and Sari seem excited to teach him and the other Autobots about it.

A day of romance where lovers give each other gifts... Okay, so basically, nothing to do with him, but he notices that Sari, Bee, and Bulkhead decide to go see a movie since they don’t have anyone/anybot to do anything with, and Ratchet goes off to work in his medbay, while Jazz and Prowl suddenly disappear to do their own thing and Ultra Magnus is preoccupied with work on his ship. That just leaves Sentinel, you, and Optimus.

The amount of frustration in him when Optimus hands you a bouquet of (f/c) roses is something he can’t even comprehend. So, when you walk off to go find a vase to put them in, Sentinel turns to his old friend with a glare.

“Who do you think you are? How long have you felt that way towards her?”

“Uh, Sentinel? (y/n) and I are just really good friends? I know she’s what her species would refer to as “single” at the moment and I didn’t think you’d do anything for her, so I got her those to make her feel special tonight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Sentinel exclaims at Optimus’s bold assumption that he wouldn’t do anything for you for Valentine’s day... Which was totally true. He didn’t have the guts to buy you flowers or chocolates or any of the other things that Sari said humans liked for the occasion, but apparently Optimus did, and while he now knew that Optimus didn’t have any romantic feelings towards you, it still hurt.

“It means that even though you’ve been obsessed with her since the Elite Guard got here, you treat her with no kindness whatsoever because you’re too prideful to admit your feelings and want to cover them up,” Optimus puts a hand on his shoulder. “Now, I’m going to go spend the rest of the night with Ratchet so he isn’t by himself, but I’ll leave you to figure this out. Good luck, old buddy.”

Optimus walks off, and the words hit hard. Sentinel knows that what his friend said is right, so when you get back with the roses in a vase to set down on the table and ask him where Optimus went, he decides it’s time. Without dwelling on it too much, he grabs your hands to hold in his servos, standing in the middle of the living room and spilling his guts out to you before telling you “Happy Valentine’s Day... Or whatever,” and pulling you in for a kiss.

Thankfully, you reciprocate.

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darealsaltysam · 3 years

Text

what your paladins main says about you

a comprehensive essay by a paladins player of right around 4 years

this is like really long so i’ll make it under the cut so my followers don’t have to scroll through this if they don’t wanna

(for context i’m a current maeve main, i used to main skye and sha lin and played tyra a long while ago)

Androxus

it’s not a phase, mum

“i don’t care we don’t have healer, i’m really good at him i swear”

you ult every time it loads in and you die before the final shot

your favorite mode is siege because you can fly up and shoot the whole point on ult

you’re usually really stand-offish and don’t communicate much and/or a 13 year old boy with anger issues

Ash

you are level-headed but in a scary way

you will hold the point solo even if it costs you your streak

“get on the point” “guys get on the point” “attack the objective”

you’ll ult to save yourself 99% of the time

good leader

Atlas

you probably used to main lex or androxus before he came out

“he’s like a flank, but a tank, he’s great!”

you chase after solo kills instead of sticking to the point

healers hate you, flanks and damages fear you

your favorite mode is death match

Barik

you’re a former/current tf2 player looking for something fresh

you don’t like working too hard so you spam turrets on the point and hope for the best

“healer stick to me i’m boutta ult”

actually really nice between rounds

but you don’t communicate much mid-game and kind of do your thing

Bomb King

you’re a really old player. you have the beta makoa skin and you were there when lex was first released. veteran’s discount.

your favorite maps are the old ones and they barely show up any more

the team always underestimates you

“who plays bomb king in 2021 lol?”

you need a hug

Buck

“wait, he’s a flank? i thought he was a tank??”

you’re also a veteran in the game

you’re a dying breed. i like never see you. do you even exist?

you’ve been here since like the first day of the game

buck gets so many skins and you want all of them but the best you have is a random recolor

Cassie

sweetest person alive

“we can do it guys! let’s try to all rush the point this time!”

you are the bane of every flank

the opposing team hates you, your own team kind of doesn’t notice you’re there

*casually gets a pentakill*

Corvus

you know those weirdly political kids who like ww2 and know the details of every tank to ever exist? yeah that’s you

but like that’s corvus. as a character.

but no one ever plays him.

like i never even see him do you exist???

you are a cryptid.

Dredge

yo ho you’re a hoe

no seriously the other team views you and they FEAR you

“yeah i just got a penta kill” “YOU WHAT?” “eyes on the point mate don’t get distracted”

hella good at the game and hella casual about it

you like onslaught on the one sea map the most

Drogoz

another veteran, are we?

you’re either useless or can wipe out a whole team in seconds. there is no in-between.

you always have a really cool skin.

dovahkiin, dovahkiin...

“i don’t care about the point i gotta get them trips”

Evie

you bought her because you thought she was cute, admit it

*turns into ice right before dying* *turns into ice right before dying* *turns into ice right be

your personality type is identical to her. no question about that.

always buys faster reload and better speed

strangely good communication with the team

Fernando

gay gay homosexual gay

“he’s kinda hot if you look at him the right way”

fernando is the tank for gay people

you are gay people

i don’t have much more to say

Furia

mum energy. not as much as inara mains, but still, mum energy.

will protect every member of the team with your life, even the flanks

you’ve been maining her since she was first added

i bet you didn’t even know she’s canonically seris’ sister

“we’ve literally failed to capture the point the last 3 times we might as well give up and go to another game”

Grohk

“yeah i have a gremlincore tumblr blog, how could you tell?”

i honestly have no words

you’re kind of like a catboy but a racoon

do you even heal the team or do you just pretend

you were there when lex got announced and thought he was cringe, now everyone finally agrees with you

Grover

he was your first purchased character and he’s stuck around ever since

he’s the only healer you can play well

“i am groot lmao”

you would never say a word to your team

would give your life for the tank but that’s about it

Imani

daenerys targaryen on drugs

your favorite anime is my hero academia

your husbando is todoroki

you see where i am going with this

“team protect me i’m gonna ult” *dies 5 seconds into ult*

Inara

BIG MUM ENERGY

your team is your family. you will protect them with your life.

can only hold your own with a good healer so you have good teamwork going for you

*cutely places wall in front of your ult*

useless in tdm so you stick to onslaught, siege and koth

are you a furry, furry, or a furry?

“victow! dont ult on my tweam pwease! uwu!”

you 100% find her attractive in some way shape or form

you are either a 30 year old redditor who enjoys loli content or a 16 year old teen who is playing a shooter for the first time

she’s kind of cute, i guess

Jenos

i can never tell if i’m going to absolutely destroy you or if you’re gonna kick my ass

*cutely holds you up so the whole team can shoot you to death*

kamehameha

you’re a healer??? i guess???

your character has such deep lore and i bet you don’t even know half of it

Khan

one day you were playing and your team desperately needed a tank. you picked the first one you saw. suddenly, you’re lian’s foot stool

despite 2 layers of heavy armor, you’d still let this man walk all over you

“this skin is really cool, wish it wasn’t behind a pay wall...”

YEET

you actually know the game’s lore, for some reason

Kinessa

i never trust people who are good at a sniper. if you’re bad that’s natural and you’re 99% of the population. if you’re good you are definitely up to something

you’d sell your sister for 5 pennies if you could

you’re missing from the team all game and somehow have the most kills

“we have a kinessa???”

you are an urban legend to your team

Koga

someone’s been watching naruto

you are so shit at the game. like i’m sorry. no one’s good at koga i’m so sorry

how do you have so many skins for one character???

you’re always missing from the point

healers hate you. so does the enemy kinessa.

Lex

quit the game /nm

“who mains lex in 2021??? lmao???”

wall hacks, aimbot, and it’s all legal for you as an ability. you are a hacker in a world of puny vanillas. you like it easy so you go for the easy min max character. have fun getting hated

you think he’s hot and press on his loading abilities just so he can scold you and you can hear him being mad at you

*bonk* go to horny jail

Lian

"she could step on me”

you used to main some sort of healer but switched over when you got sick of everyone being needy

you can hold a point all on your own for a really really long time but the moment your team gets there you start flunking

you wish you had more skins for her

you don’t

Maeve

so imagine this. it was like 2018 and you were just chilling playing the game. you kept getting killed by maeve. in every game. she was in every game you went to and she kept killing you over and over and over again. you got frustrated, snapped, and bought her to see if you could do the same to others. you are now the maeve in every game. the cycle repeats.

your whole team doubts you but then you casually get a quad kill and they just sort of look away

you die a total of two times each round and 99% of the time it’s because you go too fast and fall off the map

you repeat everything she says in her accent because you think it’s cute

“welcome to ze meant streets, kitten!” “can you shut the fuck up” “i hate to cut and run, he-he!”

Makoa

you have the plushie skin or the beta skin, otherwise you don’t main and only play casually stop lying to yourself

“attack turtle go brrr”

you’re really good if you get paired with a good healer

otherwise you’re useless

you wish you could get better teammates because you could really thrive with an organized group. but on paladins you won’t get that, i’m sorry-

Mal’Damba

i always forget this guy is even in the game

you’re definitely under 6 foot IRL

you have an older sibling you always fight with

you’d love to have a snake irl

you’re really chill outside of the game, but when playing you hella rage

Moji

you are so precious

but also such a little shit

you annoy me but i also want to give you a hug

“let’s go guys!! to the point!! wheee!!”

please never change but also get out of my sight

Octavia

you always main the new character until the new person drops

somehow always have enough credits to buy the new champion whenever they come out

you don’t like having a stable main cuz you get bored

you like hanging out at the training rage

hate siege and love team death match, you like your games quick

Pip

you are the worst and best thing to ever happen to this game

you only pick him to heal yourself and hardly ever heal your team

no one notices you there until you ult

then you get focused

honestly you just seem like you wanna do your thing and i can respect that

Raum

you probably go to therapy or desperately need it

“BIG MAN BIG. HE IS BIG. BRRRR”

you always love the demons in media

you like being in charge of the team and wreck the point any time you are there, you like fighting on your own but having a healer nearby is nice too

you probably have daddy issues

Ruckus

you think ruckus’ and bolt’s dynamic is cool and that’s one of the main reasons you started playing him

he’s the only tank you can play

you used to main either inara or ying at some point but chose violence instead

really short irl. you physically relate to ruckus and spiritually to bolt.

“funny goblin man :)”

Seris

certified girlboss

you can hold an objective all on your own or heal your whole team no problem. either way you are SLAYING

“alright. who’s ass am i kicking today?”

mum energy is inferior to inara but still kind of there

i’m like 50% sure you have a foot fetish

Sha Lin

*pointing and chanting* incel, incel, ince-

whether that’s about you or the character you can decide

you like minecraft bedwars on the side

“if i don’t get this headshot i am literally going to spontaneously combust”

really useful when there’s no other long distance people - otherwise a nuisance

Skye

AWOOGA *jaw drops to ground, eyes roll out of head* BOOBA BOOBA BOOBA

you bought her for the tiddies, didn’t you?

she’s actually really satisfying to play once you get the hang of her, but can be real tough on rough days

you need a break i think - maybe play some other game for a bit?

*casually gets team kill with ult*

Strix

you own at least one pretty knife

you played him when he was unlocked on rotation, fell in love, and spent a whole evening collecting credits to buy him fully

“haha bird man”

i’ve said what i said about snipers. if you’re actually good at him you are hiding a body somewhere. i fear you.

why does everyone ship him with viktor????

Talus

little furry child

he reminds me of tommyinnit because he is small and annoying

if you play him you are tall and intimidating

i’m friends with a tall scary talus main

i can’t say bad things please spare me

Terminus

you always ult at the worst time and just get killed again 5 seconds after

“hey losers watch this” *goes on the point, dies, revives, kills one person and dies again*

you’re only a good tank if you cooperate

you don’t

on your own you’re a pretty good player

Tiberius

*sigh*

you think the cat is hot, don’t you?

“his accent is kinda cute tho hehe”

you saw that one ending scene in zootopia with the dancing tigers and it CHANGED you

you are probably a furry. if not your awakening is coming. be ready.

Torvald

you’ve been playing this game for too long

you’ve seen skins rise and fall. you’ve seen nerfs and buffs. you’ve seen reworks and remakes. you are ancient. older than the dragons and wiser than makoa. respect.

people see you on the opposing team and get really annoyed

“the point is really crowded, we can’t move in” “don’t worry guys, my ult is charged up”

you’re really good at all the characters but you like this guy a lot because you think he’s funky fresh

Tyra

you’re either new to the game or have been playing for too long

either way you can KICK ASS but you need to keep behind your team to do the most damage

flanks are the bane of you, especially the fast jumpy ones

you really want one of the cooler skins but you can only ever get the basic ones. such is the curse of maining one of the OG characters.

“bite me”

Viktor

you are level 100+ guaranteed, and everyone fears you

“oh shit they got a victor. flank focus him”

you probably play COD and CS:GO normally and wanted to go with something familiar and easy. your skill from the other more advanced games DWARFS everyone else

but why are you playing “guy with gun 132″ in a game with magical elves and fairies. like come on bro.

you don’t have any in-game friends because paladins is your guilty pleasure game you would never admit to

Vivian

“step on me” syndrome cranked up to 100%

this woman could spit on you and you’d still respect her more than your own mother. good for you

“i’m not a simp. i’m just tier 3 subbed to pokimane ironically”

you sweat the game hardcore. former victor main or he’s your secondary.

you’ve got her on level 50+ at least

Vora

like the maeve mains but somehow worse

bought her out of spite or played her while she was on rotation, now here you are grinding credits for her a day after she became unavailable

honestly you’re really good at the game i have nothing else to say

you enjoy the newer characters more than the OGs - you’re either a former vivian or lian main

you miss the play of the game feature in the game because you’d get all of them with this girl

Willo

you seem like the moji mains at first but show your true colors soon after

“fuck you” x50

you are a trash talker on max overdrive. you need to sit down, do some breathing exercises and have a drink.

you hate your own team more than the opposing guys

when you see a willow on the opposing team you make it your sole goal to eliminate her as many times as humanely possible

Yagorath

i bet you didn’t know she was canonically female until you read this

you don’t like sweating too much so you pick the tank that leaves you heavily relying on your healers and damages

you can hold a point really well so you like siege and onslaught

“are vora and yagorath connected in the lore somehow and do i really care?”

you have a friend who you always party up with to be your healer, otherwise you might switch to another character

Ying

“tanks love me, flanks hate me”

you are too powerful. literally. how are you so strong

you’ve mastered the most difficult healer in the game. the others are really easy for you to play but you have trouble with seris

motivate your team a lot but start shading and trash talking if they don’t cooperate

you’ll gladly play someone else for a long while and like taking breaks from her

Zhin

this is your first main after switching over from overwatch. we can smell it on you.

you’re really annoyed with his personality and voice lines but the character is too good to play for you to pass him up for that. you respond to his voice lines aloud very aggressively to let him know he’s an ass

“YES ZHIN HEALERS AREN’T USELESS YOU SELFISH PRICK”

you try your best but you’re not a great team player

infinite trips on a good day, die repeatedly without kills on a bad one and you switch over to vora or skye for a bit.

this took me hours to write out pls leave reblog and note thanks uwu

124 notes · View notes

spencersawkward · 4 years

Note

not to go full fluff central but omg can you write a one shot about matthew hanging out with his kids?? i see him as a girl dad and he would 100% play dress up with them and they would be wrapped around his finger and itd be so sweet it could cause cavities lmao i just want that man to have children so bad

ugh yes i want him to have kids so bad and YES he 100% is a girl dad i definitely agree. this was super interesting to write tbh bc i did it from his perspective but i'm glad i did and i'm glad you asked for it bc we love a saccharine one-shot! also i'm so bad at names for characters i'm sorry lol.

summary: Matthew has a day off with his two daughters!

content warnings: none! literally just fluffy fluff with a side of fluff.

word count: 2.1k

masterlist

when Matthew wakes up to the press of a crayon on his forearm, he nearly startles. his head jerks up to see his daughter, Juniper, trying to draw on him. her hair is neatly braided and the other side of the bed is empty, indicating that his wife has already gotten up.

"good morning, sweetpea." he says to Juniper with a tired smile, wincing when she tries in vain to draw on him. wax on skin doesn't work that way.

"it isn't working, Dad." she pouts. she throws the purple crayon onto the bed and stares at him. she's got dark lashes framing huge, beautiful eyes, and a gap between her front teeth. she pried out the baby tooth a week ago-- seven years old and already determined to take it out herself-- and has been showing it around the house like a trophy.

"maybe we can try with markers after I get up." he suggests. she peers at him with an impatient expression.

"fine." although the word is venomous, she crawls up the bed until she's tucked beneath his arm and he kisses the top of her head. Matthew smiles to himself as he holds her, happy to have the whole day to spend with his kids. he hasn't had a day off in forever.

"should we make breakfast for you and your sister?" he asks cheerfully.

"yes!" she leaps up to stand on the bed, jumps around a little bit on the cushy mattress. "come on!"

"okay, okay," he chuckles, throwing off the covers. "let me brush my teeth first, sweetheart."

"I'm coming with." Juniper is insistent as she follows him. he takes out his toothbrush and toothpaste while she paws through her mother's makeup drawers and skincare. she grabs a bottle of perfume and examines it carefully. "what is this?"

"let's be careful with that." Matthew turns from the mirror, where he can see the rat's nest of hair on his head while he brushes his teeth, and gently puts the glass bottle back on the counter. Juniper crosses her arms.

"what is it?" she repeats. her father finishes up, then lifts her into his arms like she's a sack of potatoes.

"it's your mom's favorite smell." he clarifies. after kissing her little cheek, he walks into the kitchen with Juniper's arms wrapped around his neck. she clings to him like he is everything in the world, and he realizes that this is one of his favorite parts of the day. whenever he holds his daughters, he feels the kind of joy that simply can't be replicated. his heart overflows for them.

"morning, sleepyhead." Y/N looks up from the counter, where she's biting into a piece of toast and talking excitedly to their other child, Autumn. Matthew grins at the sight of her, so beautiful when she's laughing with her daughter.

"morning." he's smitten.

"I have to go in a minute, but I figured you'd be able to handle a day with them?" she comes over to him and kisses his lips, saying the last part softly. Juniper leans her head on her father's chest, staring at her mother with those enormous eyes.

"with these two devils?" Matthew nods to the girls. "of course."

Y/N shakes her head with a laugh and gives each of her daughter's foreheads before grabbing her purse.

"bye, Mama!" Juniper and Autumn say in unison.

"bye, my angels. I love you very much." she smiles warmly, ruffling Autumn's silky curls before touching Matthew's arm tenderly and heading out of the kitchen. he watches her go, waits for the sound of the lock clicking into place, before he looks conspiratorially between the remaining household.

"who wants pancakes?" he smirks. their ensuing squeals are affirmation enough.

...

"Dad, can I show you my ballet tutu?" Autumn surprises Matthew by grabbing onto his leg while he's making pancakes. Juniper is standing on a stool beside him, watching and helping to flip the flapjacks.

"nobody wants to see that, Autumn." Juniper scowls impatiently at her younger sister. Matthew turns to his little one and smiles.

"I would love to see your new tutu, sweetheart." he says. Autumn gives the other girl a triumphant look before running off to her room. when Matthew looks at Juniper, she blushes. "be nicer to your sister, Juni." he says gently.

the little scolded creature crosses her arms over her chest and turns her gaze to the pancakes. she knows she's not supposed to be mean, but sometimes Autumn is just so annoying. Matthew can't even pretend to stay mad for long, however, and offers the spatula to her.

"do you wanna flip it?" he smiles.

"yep!" Juniper quickly slides the utensil under the pancake, her father's hand guiding hers to make sure she doesn't accidentally burn herself. she's a smart girl, but she's inherited his lack of coordination (and his nose). they giggle together at the sound of the batter slapping the pan.

"dad, look!" Autumn tugs on the leg of his pants and he glances down to see her wearing a bright pink tutu over her leggings. his jaw drops open in wonderment, tinged with a smile.

"oh my goodness!" he gasps, hoisting her into his arms and burying his face in her curls. "you look just like a princess!"

she giggles. Matthew turns off the stove for a moment to spin her around in his arms before setting her down again and crouching to look at her. "can we see your dance routine after breakfast?"

Autumn nods shyly. he holds her tiny hand in his and kisses the back of it before standing back up. Juniper waits for him on her stool. they get back to cooking, both girls chatting about anything and everything while their father listens intently.

once they set the plates out on the table, Juniper volunteers to distribute forks and knives, and soon they've got a whole spread of golden brown pancakes, whipped cream, and fruit. they heap their dishes with food. the girls have a tendency to take more than they can actually eat, but that's okay. he loves the look of excitement in their eyes when they drizzle syrup over everything.

"nice job, kiddos." he nods, impressed, like they've made the whole meal themselves. both siblings grin back at him proudly. "let's dig in!"

he's hungry. Matthew cracks a couple jokes while they eat, pokes Autumn's stomach when she gets full halfway through her third pancake, and then both he and Juniper watch her do her ballet routine for them. she spins, twirls, smiles as she finishes the dance by throwing both arms into the air like she's won an Olympic gold medal. in his eyes, she has.

even Juniper is supportive and claps with a smile at her sister's achievement. although she teases and can be a bit too harsh with her younger sibling at times, the truth is that she's proud of her. it's evident in the way they play together in the summer, running around beneath the sun while Matthew and his wife sip on glasses of iced tea.

"brava!" he cheers when she skips back to her seat at the table. "a royal performance!"

"dad, can we have more whipped cream?" Juniper eyes the canister on the table with hungry eyes. he mulls this over for a second, enamored with the fact that she is so clearly his daughter. down to her features and mannerisms, her tendency to crawl onto the couch and watch the scary movies with him that she probably shouldn't be watching at her age. Autumn looks more like her mother, sweet and optimistic. a dreamy expression on her face.

he grabs the canister from the middle of the spread and pops the cap off the top.

"only if you don't tell your mother." he laughs. Juniper shakes her head vehemently like a half promise and opens her mouth as he puts a pile of whipped cream in it. he does it to Autumn next, then himself. they lean back in their chairs, rubbing their bellies with satisfaction.

"yummy." Juniper grins.

"whipped cream is the best topping in the world," Matthew says matter-of-factly, passing down a pearl of knowledge that will stay with them forever. "don't ever let anyone tell you different."

the three of them clean the dishes together, blowing suds all over the room while they listen to Sam Cooke and dance. the house rings with their laughter and the sounds of feet hitting the ground in rhythmic elation, the kitchen their personal concert hall.

if he could only bestow a few life lessons on them, one of them would be the importance of listening to old music.

Matthew wishes that he could spend all his days with them, making breakfast and hearing their crazy ideas. the world is so full and open to them, he sometimes finds himself thinking about how they're going to conquer it. they've got a grittiness to them that they could only get from their mother-- an absolute sureness that stiffens their little spines-- and an imagination that could fill books with stories. he wants to paint for them, do everything for them.

but for today, they head to Autumn's room and play dress-up with the enormous chest of costumes by her bed. should he work on not spoiling her so much? maybe. he doesn't care. she's absolutely adorable when she hauls out princess dresses, doctors' jackets and stethoscopes, other disguises. he thinks she's going to be an actress; she loves to take on different jobs and throw herself into them, walking around the house ordering that her next patient be brought in or for someone to prepare her microscope. her mind is full of ideas.

Juniper pretends to be disinterested in dressing up, but she gives up the act once Autumn hands her a tiara to wear and pours her imaginary tea.

"what flavor is this?" Matthew takes a sip from his miniature cup, fanning his mouth like it's hot. "it's divine."

"it's normal tea, you cuckoo bird." Autumn giggles. she sets the teapot down on the plastic table.

"I'm a cuckoo bird?" he pretends to be offended. "you're a cuckoo bird!"

"no I'm not!" Autumn protests, but Matthew is already wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his lap. he tickles her sides.

"you're the cuckoo bird!" he repeats through her fits of laughter. she squeals and kicks with joy until he sets her back on her feet.

"your hair is crazy." Juniper scolds. Matthew sighs and runs a hand through the unruly curls. they always tease him about it, and somehow it never gets old.

"probably because this one messed it up with her claws." he pokes Autumn's side and he suppresses a gleeful smile.

"Dad, you need a tiara, too." Juniper points to the empty spot on his head. "Autumn, get him one."

the younger sister looks like she's going to defy her sister's bossy demand, but decides against it and runs off to grab another bejeweled piece to place on her father's head. it's comical, the way the tiny thing sits.

"thank you, sweetpea." he smiles at his youngest, pinching her cheek before glancing between the two of them seriously. "how do I look?"

"silly." Juniper giggles. she straightens it out on his head and he wrinkles his nose.

"hey! boys can wear tiaras, too," he defends with mock attitude. "now, can I have more tea, please? I finished mine already."

"of course." Autumn stands diplomatically and pours him a new cup while they pretend to snack on baked goods. Matthew tells them about the new movie he's directing, dipping into his storyteller voice and wiggling his fingers with every mention of a spooky plot point. the girls sit at rapt attention, hanging on his every word, despite the fact that he's got a miniature tiara on his head.

they adore him, and every second he's there, they revel in it. they love their mother, too, of course. but days with their dad are just... different. he lets them eat whipped cream by themselves and tells them stories, kisses their foreheads and dances in the kitchen with them. they always have fun together, no matter how dreary the day is. and those feelings won't change as they get older; he's their rock, their security. he always will be.

#mgg fluff #matthew gray gubler #fluff

135 notes · View notes

drabbles-mc · 4 years

Text

Protective Detail (13/?)

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Warnings: language, light angst, Miguel being...a little insufferable

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: I know that 5.1k is a bit much for a chapter but this one really just got away from me lmao. We out here trying to get things set up for life post-lockdown for our reader. And also....I can’t lie I kind of thrive off of making Miguel a super frustrating character. Idk why I gotta do him like that but I do 😂

Chapter Index

Protective Detail Taglist: @masterlistforimagines @sillygoose6969 @mydaiilyescape @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @the-radical-venus @gemini0410 @garbinge @slutformayansmc @paintballkid711 @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @sesamepancakes @mayans-sauce @tigers2019 @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @xladymacbethx @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @amandinesblogofstuff @bucky-iss-bae @capnsaveahoe @encounterthepast @everyhowlmarksthedead @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @blessedboo @holl2712

“Was starting to think he might’ve stolen you away from me,” Jade said with a laugh when the two of you walked through the door.

You smiled and shook your head as you stepped in to hug her, “He would never do that to himself.”

As much as you had been wanting to stay home and do a whole lot of nothing, it was nice to be back at work. You needed the structure. It was a pretty busy night and you didn’t really get much down-time. There were a few times that you forgot that Nestor wasn’t a typical patron and you almost offered him a drink on multiple occasions before stopping yourself. He’d chuckle and shake his head at you as you took off to take care of the next thing.

“So, are we still pretending that you two aren’t dating? Or can I finally ask how things are going?” she looked at you out of the side of her eye as she poured beer from the tap.

You shook your head as you set out shot glasses to fill, “We aren’t dating, Jade.”

“If you saw the way he’s been staring at you, you might think a little differently.”

You wanted to choose your next words carefully, “I think you’re just projecting your wishful thinking onto him.”

“Bet if you gave him a couple of those shots, you’d figure it out real quick,” she laughed.

“You’re full of good advice, huh?” you chuckled before walking away.

As things were slowly but surely starting to calm down, you finally got the opportunity to stand still for a minute and look around. It wasn’t quite time for last call yet, but people were starting to filter out. You took a second to look over at Nestor, who had been smiling at you. His expression shifted, you saw the way his shoulders fell slightly and he looked up at you, vaguely gesturing to his phone. You nodded to let him know you’d be fine if he had to step out to take the call. He nodded, offering a weak smile as he got off his stool and made his way out the door.

“Wow,” Jade remarked as she wiped down the bar, “He must really trust you. I don’t think he’s ever gotten off that stool during a shift before.”

You let out a hollow laugh, “I don’t think it has anything to do with trust. He’s got a lot on his plate right now.”

“You mean other than trying to keep you in line?” there was a hint of humor in her voice.

You smiled, shaking your head, “Yea, other than that.”

“Damn. Figured that was a full-time job. What else could he possibly be doing?”

You shrugged, “No idea. It’s above my paygrade apparently.”

She heard the edge to your voice, “Might be better that way, baby.”

It took you a moment to concede but you nodded, “Yea, maybe.”

He had only stepped out for a couple minutes but you were incredibly aware of his absence. It made you wonder what your first shift without him was going to be like when the time came. You tried to push the thought from your mind, focusing on the tasks in front of you. When he came back inside, you shot him a look that asked if everything was okay. He smiled and gave a slight nod in return, and you decided not to push it.

“I gotta admit,” Jade laughed as the two of you finished cleaning up after everyone else had gone home, “no one else makes a shift go quite as smoothly as you do. I miss you when you’re gone.”

You laughed, “You just miss being able to pick on me.”

“Well, that too,” she paused, “I won’t pry, but everything’s good right?” she looked back and forth between you and Nestor.

Your response was immediate, “Of course. I really did just have an event to go to for my dad. Everything is quiet.”

She nodded, “Good.”

The drive home was quiet. Nestor’s expression was one of deep thought and you could only try to guess what it was that he was thinking about. You wished that he was a little more of an open book—that he would talk to you the same way you talked to him. You wondered if that was something that was ever going to change.

“Was it Galindo? Or my father?” you were looking out the window as you asked.

Nestor let out a quiet sigh, “Your father.”

You whipped your head to look at him. That wasn’t the answer you had been expecting, “What’d he say? Is everything alright?”

He nodded, “Everything is fine. He was just asking me to look into a couple things.”

“Like what?”

“He wants me to look into those guys from the party.”

“Oh. You tell him you already did that?”

“No,” he chuckled, “Didn’t want him to ask why.”

You arched one eyebrow, “What’s the why?”

He looked over at you with a small smile as he shook his head, “I’m a little extra invested in who is talking to you these days. Investment that falls outside the scope of my job assignment.”

“You can just say that you like me, you know,” you laughed as you gazed over at him, “Don’t gotta make it sound so clinical.”

He laughed, eyes focused on the road, “You know that I like you, Y/N.”

“Would it kill you to say it every now and then?” you chuckled.

“Is showing you not enough?” his hand came to rest on your leg.

You placed your hand over his, “What can I say? I live for the verbal validation.”

He gave your leg a light squeeze, “I’ll keep that in mind from now on.”

For the rest of the drive you lazily traced patterns onto the back of his hand while you looked out the window. If nothing else, Nestor had taught you how to enjoy silence. As someone who always needed music on in the car if you were driving, it was a big adjustment to be riding around with someone who preferred things to be quiet. However, there was something about the silence with Nestor that felt peaceful.

You lingered on the front steps while Nestor checked the house. When he walked back towards the door tucking his gun back into the waistband of his pants you strolled inside. Part of you was exhausted, but the other part of you felt a little wired. After a few days of not doing much of anything, your body wanted to stay in motion.

After changing into one of Nestor’s shirts and a pair of shorts, you grabbed your headphones and busied yourself by cleaning a few small things around the house. You were bobbing your head to the music, lip-syncing as you swept the floor and got the garbage together to take out.

You stood there and watched Nestor for a minute as he typed on his laptop. With a small shake of your head you made your way towards the front door to take the garbage out. You pulled your headphones down so that they were resting around your neck and you could hear anything going on around you—you hadn’t completely forgotten why Nestor was living with you, after all.

You threw the bag of trash into the bin and let the lid fall with a loud clap. You brushed your hands off on your shorts before turning to walk back towards the house. You glanced up and down your street, soaking up the quiet of the small hours of the morning. It was a peaceful scene before you saw an unfamiliar SUV parked on the street a couple houses down from yours. Your brows furrowed as you tried to make out any details of it that you could.

“Hey, Nes?” you called back towards the house.

A few moments later he came outside, gun in hand as he looked around, “What’s up?”

“That car look familiar to you?” you nodded in the direction of the SUV.

He shook his head, “Haven’t seen it around here before.”

“Was it there when we got home?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“We gonna go check it out?”

He shot you a look, “We aren’t going to do anything. Go inside, I’ll go and check the car.”

“I’ll wait here for you.”

“Y/N, please.”

You shook your head, “What if some shit goes down?”

With a heavy sigh he conceded, “At least stand back on the steps so you can run inside quickly if you have to.”

Without another word you backed up onto the front steps of your house. You watched as Nestor made his way down your driveway. However, before he even got to the edge of the road, the car turned on and drove away. It didn’t sit right with you but you knew that there wasn’t anything that the two of you could do about it now. Nestor was shaking his head as he made his way back to you. Softly resting his hand in the small of your back, he ushered you inside.

“You see anything before it drove away?”

He nodded as he locked the door behind both of you, “Got a plate number. I’m gonna run it,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “You should head to bed. It’s been a long night.”

“I can stay out here with you.”

He saw the tiredness coming over your features and shook his head, “Go to bed,” he leaned and kissed your temple, “I’ll be there soon.”

Yawning, you nodded and made your way towards the bedroom without another word. You collapsed onto the mattress in the dark, managing to wiggle your way under the covers. After concentrating on a few deep breaths, you felt your body starting to get ready to drift to sleep.

You stirred slightly when you felt Nestor climbing into bed with you. He wrapped his arms around your middle and pulled you back tight against him. You melted into the heat radiating off of his chest and rested your hands over his. He nuzzled into your neck as he slid his legs between yours.

“Find anything?” you mumbled, hardly coherent.

“Everything’s fine,” he pressed a soft kiss on your neck, “Go to sleep.”

“Promise?”

His laughter vibrated lightly against your skin, “Promise.”

Nestor didn’t bring it up again in the days following that night. You figured that he got some kind of answer and he didn’t clock it as a threat. You pushed the incident from your mind as you got wrapped up in other things. To pacify your father, you had agreed to meet up with the men from the party. Realistically, it couldn’t hurt to hear what they had to say. After all, if you decided to say no to it in the end, it would at least be an informed decision. Or, at least, that’s how your father would see it.

After a series of emails and phone calls, you had agreed to meet with them at your father’s house. It was the safest option for you, and it wouldn’t raise too many suspicions on their end either. Your father didn’t exactly want to tell his future investors that there was a possible hit out on his daughter.

You walked into the living room dressed in your business attire and Nestor’s eyes went wide. You laughed and shook your head, “C’mon, don’t look so surprised.”

“I didn’t even know that you owned a blazer.”

“I was on track to be a businesswoman, remember?” you smirked.

He nodded, “Right, right. Forgot about that,” he stepped in closer to you, hands trailing lightly on your sides above your blouse.

“Behave,” you looked up at him with a smile.

He rolled his eyes, “You are the last person who should be telling anyone that.”

You laughed, “Maybe, but still.”

He slid his hand around to the nape of your neck and pulled you into a kiss. A moan instantly slipped out past your lips as you leaned into him. His fingertips pressed hard into your neck and you wrapped your arms around him. The way that his lips moved against yours made you completely forget about the fact that you had places to be and people to meet. You were only snapped out of your daze when you felt Nestor pulling your hands away from the buckle of his belt with a soft, breathy laugh.

“I don’t think we have the time for that.”

You smiled and kissed him hard on the lips, attempting to dissuade him, “Are you sure?”

He shook his head, a smile etched into his features, “Let’s go, c’mon.”

You huffed, playfully rolling your eyes, “Like you didn’t start it.”

He followed you out to the car and couldn’t help but to smile at the way you automatically went to the passenger side. It wasn’t so long ago that you had been insisting that he not drive you much of anywhere. Very rarely did you ever insist on driving these days, though, and for whatever reason Nestor found that to be comforting.

You were scanning over some of the paperwork you had compiled about the other businesses that the gentlemen owned. It all seemed legit on the surface, but you knew that there must’ve been some smoke and mirrors if they were getting into business with your father, and if your father wanted you to become a more integral part of it. The numbers all looked good and made sense, though. Whatever it was that they were doing, it was working.

“Looking pretty pensive over there,” Nestor commented.

You shook your head slightly, gnawing lightly at the cap of your pen, “Just trying to figure out what exactly I might be getting myself into.”

When Nestor parked in the driveway at your father’s, you looked down at the time. You were fairly early, which was reassuring—you wanted to pick your father’s brain a little bit more before sitting down with these gentlemen. You hopped out of the car and made your way across the driveway, Nestor not far behind. Before you reached the base of the front steps of his house, you noticed a familiar car parked farther up the driveway. You stopped in your tracks and stared hard at the SUV.

“You alright?” Nestor landed next to you.

“That car look familiar to you?” you asked as you nodded towards the vehicle in question.

He sighed and nodded, “Yea, about that. I was gonna tell you, but—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the front door of your father’s house swung open and you were met with an all-too-familiar voice, “Y/N, Nestor,” Miguel descended the steps towards you, “What a pleasant surprise,” he extended his hand to Nestor and pulled him into a hug.

He turned to you, but before he could offer sugar-coated pleasantries, you cut right to the chase, “What the fuck were you doing at my house?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, trying to rein in his expression, “I’m sorry?”

You jerked your head towards the car, “That SUV was parked outside my house when I got home from work the other night. At three in the fucking morning. What were you doing there? Who gave you my address?” your eyes shot over to Nestor.

“He had nothing to do with this,” Miguel immediately shot down your suspicion, “But you should know that there isn’t much that I don’t have access to.”

“You’re truly something else, Miguel,” you shook your head.

“Thank you,” he had a smug smirk on his face.

“It wasn’t a fucking compliment,” your voice was low.

He jumped to a completely different conversation topic as he looked you over, “What brings you here, anyway?”

You didn’t want him privy to what was going on for as long as you could manage it, “He’s my father, do I need a reason to be here?”

“I just…don’t remember the last time I’ve seen you so put-together.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, “That’s the consensus lately,” you shook your head, wanting out of this conversation as soon as possible, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go speak with my father.”

“Of course,” Miguel stepped out of your way, “Good seeing you.”

You rolled your eyes as you blew past him, heels loud against the steps, “I’m sure.”

If there was a goodbye said between Miguel and Nestor, you didn’t hear it. The front door was closing behind you when you heard his footsteps on the floor, quickly trying to catch up with you as you sped-walked through the house.

“Y/N, please, I can—”

You spun around to face him, causing him to nearly slam into you, “Oh, believe me, this conversation isn’t over,” you shook your head, “But I need to go and get ready for this meeting. While I’m doing that, you can try to put together the reasons you didn’t think to tell me that Miguel fucking Galindo had a car sitting on my house.”

Nestor knew that there was no trying to reason with you. He stood back, allowing you to storm off to your father’s office. He watched as the man opened the door for you, his smile quickly shifting when he sensed the unease in your body language. Nestor watched you shaking your head, dismissing whatever your father was attempting to get you to talk about as you shut the door behind the both of you.

“So,” you asked as you sat down across the desk from your father, “what was Miguel doing here?”

“Is that why you’re so frustrated?”

“One of the reasons,” you replied honestly. You gnawed on your lip for a moment before elaborating, “He had someone staking out my fucking house, Papí.”

“Miguel?” when you nodded, your father sighed, “I’m afraid I might’ve had something to do with that.”

“What?” you couldn’t hide your confusion.

He shook his head, “I didn’t tell him to. Nothing like that,” he leaned back in his chair, “Nestor had let me know that Miguel had reached out to him about a few things, some work-related, some not. I very kindly reminded Miguel that if he’s going to loan out his men, he needs to accept that they are working for other people for the time being.”

“Yea, because he’s the posterchild for accepting the consequences of your actions,” you rolled your eyes.

“Be that as it may,” your father didn’t want to get wrapped up in that conversation, “he had made a comment or two to the effect that Nestor couldn’t possibly be that busy with you in a professional capacity. I assured him that that was something that he was not at liberty to say since he didn’t know how busy either of you were and, well, you see where this is going, right?”

“He’s a fucking child,” you couldn’t hold it in, “He’s a child in charge of a goddamn cartel.”

“I apologize for all the trouble he’s causing, mija.”

You shook your head, “It’s not on you to apologize. He needs to get his shit together. Next time remind him that if it ends up being me that he has to have that conversation with, it won’t go so smoothly. I don’t have shit to lose.”

“Y/N—”

You cut him off, “Anyway. The reason I got here early was because I wanted to talk to you about Jude and Raymond before the official meeting.”

He could tell from the look on your face that he wasn’t going to be able to get you back to your previous conversation point, so he let it go. He watched you as you pulled out your folders of paperwork and started to outline eve rything that you had been looking into. Despite the frustration in your system from the situation with Miguel, you had to admit that it felt kind of nice to see the way your father’s expression emanated so much pride as you told him about all of your concerns and things that you wanted to discuss before even thinking about moving forward with anything. You knew that your father would never be disappointed in you, but you knew that moments like that made him feel like you were really going to fall into line with everything that he had been envisioning for you his whole life.

The meeting was interesting. You would be lying if you said that what the men had to say didn’t intrigue you a little bit. You were in no rush at all to be committing to anything, but they certainly gave you some food for thought. They were as pleasant as they had been the first time you met them, and you could tell that they were actually listening to you when you spoke. It was refreshing.

“Thank you so much again for meeting with me,” you shook each of their hands as the four of you walked out of the small meeting room at your father’s house.

“It’s us who should be thanking you,” Jude flashed a smile, “Like we said, no rush at all. But if you think of anything else that you would like to discuss, don’t hesitate to reach out. We are very excited to be working with your family.”

You let your father walk the two of them out as you stood in the foyer of his house. You took a deep breath, letting the last of your nerves evaporate out of you. It wasn’t intimidating to speak with them, but you were out of practice when it came to those kinds of conversations. Apparently it was like riding a bike, because you felt like you were able to keep up just fine.

Nestor was waiting patiently, silently, for you to acknowledge him. You looked over at him and gave a slight nod, “I’m just going to say goodbye to my father and we can go home.”

Your serious expression faded away when he walked back into the house. He held his arms out for you to step into a hug, “Muchas gracias, mija,” he wrapped his arms around you, “I appreciate you coming here today.”

“Anything for you,” you smiled, stepping back, “I’m going to look over some of the stuff that they gave me and I’ll keep you posted on what I think, yea?”

He nodded, “Sounds good. I’ll talk to you soon,” he kissed your cheek, “Stay safe. Te quiero.”

“Te quiero,” you smiled at him before turning and heading towards the door. You gave Nestor a slight nod to let him know that it was time to go and he made his way over to your father to say goodbye.

Both of you were silent as you pulled out of your father’s driveway. Nestor kept looking over at you as he drove, and for the first time in a long time he hated the silence that was filling the car.

“I should’ve told you,” he finally said.

“Yea, you should’ve,” you looked over at him, “Why didn’t you?”

“Because what good would it have done?”

“He’s a fucking control freak,” you shook your head, “I told my father about it, by the way. He was…not surprised,” you paused, “He said that you mentioned Miguel asking you for favors.”

“I did,” he tightened his grip on the steering wheel for a moment, “I…I’m still figuring all of this out, alright?”

“All of what out?”

“How to work for both of them,” he glanced over at you for a moment, “I know that you’re my priority, Y/N. But also, long-term, your father is not the person who I’m going to be working with. And I have a lot of ground to make up with Galindo.”

You were frustrated, but you weren’t unsympathetic to what he was going through, “I know.”

“Are we okay?”

“You promise you won’t keep shit like that from me anymore?”

“I won’t. I shouldn’t have in the first place.”

You didn’t say anything more but instead reached over and brought his free hand so it was resting on your thigh. You kept your hand over his as you turned and looked out the window. His fingertips lightly pressed into your thigh, the car falling back into silence once more.

A couple days ticked by, and neither of you brought up the discussion from your car ride. It helped that things had been quiet on the outside of your house as well. The two of you were sitting on the couch together. Nestor was leaning back against the arm of the couch and you were positioned between his legs, your back pressed against his chest. Your eyes were closed but you were still listening to whatever Nestor had put on the television. His heartbeat thudded rhythmically in your ear, making you want to drift off completely.

The peace was broken by the sound of his phone going off on the coffee table. He reached for it, trying to grab it while disturbing you as little as possible. He answered the call, his body tensing up slightly as he did.

“Hello?”

You tried to listen but you couldn’t make out what the person on the other end of the line was saying.

“Why are you calling me about this?” he paused, brows furrowing, “I can’t do anything about that right now.”

You sat upright and Nestor took that opportunity to get up off the couch. You could hear him as he walked down the hallway to the guest room, “This was your decision, Mikey. I have other priorities right now,” there was a pause, “Well then you can call her father and talk to him about it.”

That was the last thing you heard before he shut the door behind him. You sighed, situating yourself where Nestor had just been sitting on the couch. You glanced down the hallway for a few moments before returning your attention to the television.

A few minutes later he came back out, annoyance written all over his face. You looked over at him, eyebrows raised, “What was all of that about?”

He didn’t want to meet your eyes, “Just some shit with Galindo.”

“Still playing double agent?”

“I don’t think it’s technically being a double agent if I’m not feeding information to anyone.”

You cocked one eyebrow, “You going to tell my father about it?”

“Are you?”

You shook your head, “No. I’m just proving my point.”

“Does it bother you?” he seemed genuinely curious.

You paused, trying to really consider your answer. You sighed and shook your head, “No.”

“You’re not a good liar, Y/N.”

You chuckled, “It’s not the fact that you’re doing shit for him that bothers me. I’ve told you before, I know you’re probably really fucking bored here sometimes. It’s the fact that he is asking you to do shit that bothers me, especially after my father already spoke to him about it. He should fucking know better.”

“Why is that what bothers you?”

You rolled your eyes, “Because he’s fucking,” you huffed, trying to come up with the right word, “he’s fucking entitled. Everything has to revolve around Miguel. It’s always been that way and it’s gotten more exhausting as time has gone on.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

You shook your head, “It doesn’t matter—it’s all old shit,” you could tell from the look on his face that you weren’t going to be able to get yourself out of this conversation. You sighed, “My knowing Miguel is the result of a generational curse—I only know him because his father worked with my father.”

“Why didn’t you ever mention that you’ve known him for so long?” the look on his face reminded you that you weren’t the only one who got roped into Miguel’s circle because of family—Nestor and you weren’t so different when it came to that.

You shrugged, “Does it really matter? What does that have to do with you and I?”

“He’s my boss.”

“And what am I?” you looked over at him and he paused, unable to meet your eyes. You gnawed at the inside of your cheek for a moment before saying, “Then maybe you’re better off asking your boss why he never mentioned anything, either.”

You got up off the couch and went to the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. Part of you wanted to slam it, but you knew that it wasn’t going to get you anywhere. And really you weren’t angry, just hurt. You knew better than to get in over your head with him and yet you did anyway. That wasn’t on him, that was on you.

The afternoon passed in silence and you had lost all track of time until you smelled food sifting in from the other side of the door. You sighed, sitting up on your bed. It might’ve been time for dinner but eating was the last thing on your mind.

There was a soft knock at the door, and as much as you wanted to ignore it, you told him to come in. He cracked the door, poking his head inside, “I made dinner.”

“Enough for two?”

He smiled, “I don’t think I’m allowed to let you starve, remember?”

You wanted to stay upset but it got you to let out a quiet laugh, “Right.”

“Want to eat in here?”

You shook your head, “I’ll come out to the living room.”

You were camped out on the couch when Nestor walked over and handed you a plate. He sat down on the opposite end from you, waiting for you to look at him and say something. You wanted to, but you didn’t know what to say or where to start.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“Stop. Don’t be. We said that this didn’t need to be anything more than what it started off as. I shouldn’t have put that on you.”

“Y/N, I—”

You held your hand up to stop him, “We don’t need to talk about it, seriously. It’s fine,” you took a deep breath, “You don’t owe me anything. I’m fine, we’re fine.”

When dinner was done and the dishes were in the sink, you came back to the couch. You sat down next to Nestor, taking a deep breath before leaning so that your head rested in his lap while you looked up at the ceiling. He set his phone off to the side and looked down at you, thumb tracing lightly along the edge of your forehead.

“You know I care about you, right?” you were surprised that he was still speaking so gently to you considering you’d been so snippy with him.

You nodded, “I know.”

He lifted your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. You allowed yourself to smile as you settled against him, eyes drifting shut. There were only so many problems you could deal with in a day, some things would just have to wait.

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva imagine #protective detail #chapter 13 #multichapter #my writing #drabblesmc #fanfiction

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worldwidemochiguy · 5 years

Text

Ours (yandere! rapline x reader)

You've always known that Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok are ‘dangerous’, but when one of your classmates decides to try and approach you, you learn just how dangerous they really are....

Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE A MINOR, Yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, graphic sex scenes, Dom/sub dynamics, name-calling, face-fucking, comeplay (this is rly nasty y’all I'm sorry)

Word Count: 3.4K

a/n: thanks to anon who requested rapline x reader when a guy tries to approach reader! tbh that part only accounts for like the beginning and the end and the rest of it is just smut y’all im sorry idk how this happened lmao

OURS

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

The man in front of you slumps slightly, before mumbling out a desolate “Jongin,”

“Well, listen, Jongin, uh, it’s really flattering that you… think of me like that, but I’m not single, so… sorry?”

The man shuffles off without another word, disappearing into the library stacks, head bowed in embarrassment. You cringe slightly. Jongin was your partner for a group project a while ago and ever since then you’ve been able to feel his gaze trail over you sometimes during class, but you never thought he would actually make a move on you.

It’s pretty well-known at your college that you’re not available. Your boyfriends take pains to make it as clear as possible. They even have a rota, taking turns to pick you up each day after class, each time in a ridiculously ostentatious car. This morning you had been dropped off in Hoseok’s red Aston Martin, and you’re pretty sure it is Namjoon’s turn to pick you up in the Lamborghini once you’re finished studying.

Even though your boyfriends always want to hear everything about your day with no detail omitted, you decide to not disclose the fact that one of your classmates had approached you. Jongin was a nice guy, after all, and you didn’t want to see him come in one day covered in bruises, or worse, not come in at all.

Your phone buzzes, and you start putting away your books without even having to check who it is. Only your boyfriends have your number now — they bought you a new phone because the old one mysteriously went missing. You take a quick glance anyway.

[groupchat: You, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon]

Namjoon

I’m outside waiting for you, Princess.

[4:02PM]

You

I’ll be out in a sec!

[4:02PM]

Can’t wait to see you! <33333

[4:03PM]

You tap out a few brief responses — they hate to be left on read — before swinging your bag over your shoulder and leaving the library. As you expected, Namjoon is leaning against the Lamborghini illegally parked in front of the main entrance, subject to more than a few admiring glances tossed his way, though you can’t tell whether they’re checking out the car or him.

As soon as he sees you, his full lips tug into a smile, exposing his dimples as he reaches out to take your bag for you. You go up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek in thanks, and pretend that you don’t feel a curl of smug possessiveness flare up when you see the girl who was checking him out scowl and turn back to her friends.

He opens the door for you and helps you into the car, before walking around to place your bag in the trunk and getting in the drivers seat. Soon enough, the rolling purr of the engine starts up and the college library starts disappearing in the rear view mirror.

The two of you sit in companionable silence, Namjoon’s hand resting comfortably on your thigh.

“I didn’t know you were so possessive, Princess.” Namjoon breaks the silence with a seemingly casual remark, though it is easy to detect the self-satisfied undercurrent in his voice.

“Huh?”

“Oh, so you’re playing innocent? Cute.” He smirks, beginning to smooth his hand along your thigh. You try not to squirm under his attention. “That girl who was watching me, you didn’t like her, did you? You smiled when she turned away after you kissed me. Don’t you realise I notice everything you do?”

Your cheeks burn as Namjoon deftly unravels your thoughts, embarrassed that he finds you so easy to read. You mumble something quietly under your breath, and within the blink of an eye Namjoon pulls over, takes his hand off your thigh and uses it to grip your chin, tilting your head up firmly so you are forced to meet his eye.

“What was that, Princess?” He smirks, and you know he won’t let you get away with not replying.

Your cheeks flush deeply, and Namjoon briefly trails his thumb over the inflamed skin, before catching it on your bottom lip and tugging, a cue for you to speak before he gets impatient.

“I said, wouldn’t you be possessive if you saw a guy checking me out?” You ask meekly, and Namjoon’s gaze darkens.

“I’d destroy anyone who dared to even touch you. You’re mine. Ours.” His fervent response does not shock you, but just solidifies your resolution in your mind.

You hate lying to Namjoon, and Yoongi and Hoseok as well, but you know that if you tell them Jongin asked you out, it would only end in needless bloodshed. Anyway, it’s not like he was persistent or anything, it was a one off and you don’t think it’s necessary for him to be punished so harshly.

By the time you make it back home, Namjoon’s sucked three fresh bruises into your neck to join the already-present necklace of love-bites. Having three deeply possessive boyfriends simply means having three times the hickeys a normal person might receive — not that you are complaining. You like to feel like you belong to them.

Before Namjoon can even type in the code to unlock the door, Hoseok has swung it open and gathers you into his arms eagerly, tugging you backwards into the house.

“Princess!” He exclaims in between the kisses he peppers over your face, your hair, anything that he can reach. Behind you, Namjoon chuckles quietly. “Oh, you were gone so long! I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Hobi.” You giggle, and his eyes widen with joy.

“I wish you didn’t have to go at all. Do you really have to get a degree?”

“She should get an education.” Namjoon asserts, and you nod at Hoseok, agreeing with your other boyfriend. Hoseok grumbles, before leading you towards the couch, tugging you on top of his lap as he sits down.

“It’s not like you’re gonna need to get a job or anything. We’ll support you, won’t we, Namjoon?” Hoseok raises his voice so Namjoon, who’s gone to the kitchen to arrange a small meal for you, can hear. Yoongi, the resident cook, won’t be back for a while, but Hoseok and Namjoon would rather let themselves starve than let you go hungry, which could be possibility since Namjoon really is an atrocious cook.

“Of course she won’t get a job.” Says Namjoon as he brushes into the room with a bowl of microwaved popcorn for you. Hoseok’s already started the film, some kind of horror flick, and he settles you comfortably in between himself and Namjoon, who’s just sat down. They love to make you watch horror films because you always get scared and hold onto them tightly, it makes them laugh so loud it almost drowns out the monstrous noises coming from the TV.

~~~

“Is it over yet?” You mumble, voice muffled in Namjoon’s sweater. You feel his chest rumble as he laughs, Hoseok’s high-pitched giggle joining even as he runs a comforting hand down your back.

“We’re only forty minutes in, Princess.”

“How much is there left?”

“About an hour.”

You release a whine which induces their laughter again, until they are interrupted by the opening and shutting of the front door.

“You guys are watching Saw again?” You hear Yoongi’s dry voice ask and you point your arms in the direction from which you think it came from, fingers splayed, needy. He immediately joins you on the couch and wraps you in his arms, displacing Hoseok who lets out a dismayed noise.

Yoongi hates horror films just as much as you do, no matter how tough he is in real life. You survive through the next hour with your face pressed into Yoongi’s chest and his hand gently stroking your hair. After the ordeal concludes, you join Yoongi in the kitchen to make dinner, sat on a stool by the kitchen island and watching, since Yoongi doesn’t want you close to any of the hot surfaces or cooking knives in case you get hurt.

Namjoon sits and does his paperwork on the dining table, and you occasionally drift over to sit on his lap and mouth along his collarbones, trying to help with the stress that his job brings. Every so often, you go and check on Hoseok, who is practising in the studio. Seeing him so focused and sweaty from the exercise causes something to surface within you, and when you stumble back to the kitchen with mussed hair and swollen lips, Namjoon takes one glance at you and drops his pen.

“That’s not fair.” He breathes.

“What?”

“Hoseok can’t keep you all to himself like that. Especially when you look like that.”

“Like what?” You ask with faux innocence, and he rises from the table and begins to stalk towards you slowly, a predator cornering its prey.

“Like you’ve just been ruined. Like you’ve just had a cock in you and can barely stand. Like you’re still hungry for more.”

“And what if I am?” You whisper as he comes closer, so close your back hits the wall and his chest touches yours.

At your question, Namjoon groans and he wastes no time before crashing his lips against yours, all tongue and teeth and fire. His hand reaches down beneath your skirt and wrenches your panties aside, shoving his fingers inside you to play with Hoseok’s cum, still warm inside you.

“Fuck,” he bites out against your lip, “Already had one cock in you and yet you’re still so fucking tight.”

You moan breathlessly as he plunges two fingers into you, already scissoring them and twisting them mercilessly in a way that has your legs weakening so much that he has to support your weight.

“You need my cock, don’t you Princess? You need me to fuck you loose and sloppy, huh? I can’t believe you want two cocks within the space of a minute, you little fucking slut.”

His words cause the heat building in your gut to ratchet upwards, already on edge and over-sensitive thanks to the two orgasms Hoseok strung out of you. You’re almost delirious, panting and whining and begging as Namjoon fingerfucks you.

“Well, Princess? Do you want my cock or not?” He growls impatiently, and you moan loud enough that Hoseok can probably hear you in his studio, even over the music.

“Yes, I want- I need your cock. ‘m want you to fuck me sloppy, please, c’mon-” You whined against Namjoon, your head slumping down onto his shoulder, and he curses harshly to himself.

Somehow, he removes your skirt and panties — though he is still fully clothed with the exception of his open fly — and thrusts into you in one long, smooth motion. There is something so degrading about being basically naked while Namjoon is completely covered, but it just turns you on even more.

You’re so sensitive, having just been taken Hoseok up against the mirrors in the studio, his dancer’s hips fucking into you unrelentingly, and it doesn’t take much to bring you to the edge. Namjoon pounds into you, so hard that your head knocks back against the wall, and you know you’ll have bruises on your back where you’re being pressed against the wall too hard.

The pain only makes everything more overwhelming, makes it better, and you come on his cock with a wailing scream. His thrusts do not falter, and he only pushes you further up the wall, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist and taking you in his arms so that he is bouncing your body up and down on his cock like a fucktoy.

“Yes, Princess. You take it so well, you were made for my cock, weren’t you? Made to be used like my own little fuckdoll. My precious slut.” The new angle is hitting that perfect spot within you, the spot that makes your vision swim, and you are barely coherent, babbling nonsense and encouragement as he just keeps going.

You lose count of the amount of times you come before he eventually slows down, spilling into you and then pumping it through you slowly, mixing in with Hoseok’s from earlier. As he pulls out, his seed trickles down your thigh and dries there. You go to wipe it off with your discarded skirt — it would ruin the skirt, but they would always just buy you a new one — but Namjoon stops you with a tight grip on your wrist.

“Leave it there.” He commands, and you nod, wide-eyed. “You look so pretty with my seed marking you. You look like you’re mine.”

“She’s mine too, you know.” A low voice utters, and you startle when you remember that Yoongi was still in the kitchen, and could have been watching the whole time. Must have been, considering the impressive erection he’s stroking with one hand, eyes hooded as they watch you. Despite yourself, you lick your lips, and Yoongi coos.

“Baby still wants more, huh? Even after two cocks inside her?” You nod, just like you know he wants you to, and he gives you a satisfied smile. Yoongi takes his time, moving towards you in slow, measured steps. Behind you, Namjoon forces you to your knees, holding your hands behind your back.

“Does the little slut want her dinner now?” You try to nod, and Namjoon tightens a hand into your hair, making you whimper.

“Take her shirt off.” Yoongi says and Namjoon rips it off your body without a warning. You gasp as your skin is exposed to the cold air, a gasp which tapers into a whine and Yoongi reaches down and pinches one of your nipples hard.

“So sensitive.” He chuckles, before cupping your jaw. He moves his shoe forwards so it presses in between your legs, right up against your too-sensitive core. You mewl and wriggle away from it, but Namjoon holds you firm.

“Listen, baby.” Yoongi starts, his hand at your eye level stroking up and down his cock leisurely, “I’m going to fuck your mouth, and while I do that, you’re going to get yourself off on my shoe.” You start to whimper, shaking your head but Yoongi hushes you. “That wasn’t a question. If you don’t come before I do, you’ll be punished.”

You shiver, but still try to protest meekly.

“Yoongi, it’s too much, please, I can’t-” But Namjoon forces your jaw open and Yoongi shoves himself into your mouth before you can finish.

You moan around his cock, the feeling of being full always mindlessly satisfying you and, after a moments hesitation, you start grinding against his shoe. The sensitivity makes it almost painful, and you sob around his cock, eyes already leaking tears as Yoongi thrusts deep into you over and over again, at one point holding your nose against his hip until you thought you were about to pass out, before pulling out and slamming back in.

“Fuck, look at you.” Yoongi grunts, fucking your face like there’s no tomorrow. “Such a fucking slut. Look Namjoon, she’s panting on my cock, getting the come of all the men she’s fucked all over my shoe. I hope you know you’re going to be licking it clean, Princess.”

At his last statement, all the pain and arousal and humiliation forges itself into one white-hot surge of pleasure and the orgasm rips through you almost violently. Your throat tightens against Yoongi’s cock and a few seconds later he’s yanking himself out roughly and coming all over your face and chest.

“So beautiful.” He murmurs as you slump backwards against Namjoon’s thighs. “Covered in our essence. You’re ours, and you always will be.”

Since Yoongi practically abandoned dinner and let it burn, the three of you order take out, and they take turns feeding you as you perch — still entirely naked and covered in their dried come — on Hoseok’s lap. After dinner, the four of you have a warm bath where Hoseok uses his magic fingers to massage all the aches and groans out of your body, all the while praising you for how well you took them, how beautiful you are, how proud you should be. It ends up with him taking you slowly against the side of the bath, water rushing around you while you stretch yourself enough to take Yoongi as well, leaning over to take Namjoon in your mouth.

By the time you stumble into bed, you are well and truly exhausted, and you fall asleep right away, wrapped in Hoseok and Namjoon’s arms, with Yoongi sprawled on top of you, feeling safer than you’ve ever felt in your life.

~~~

Next week, you are getting a coffee during a break between classes — normally your boyfriends would come and visit you in this time but Yoongi was being held up at work, as was Namjoon, and Hoseok was trying to nail down a new routine — when Jongin approaches you again.

He looks nervous, and you surprise a sigh.

“Look, Jongin, I’m flattered, but-”

“I know you’re dating those men, but honestly, Y/n, they are not who you think they are.”

“Excuse me?” You ask incredulously, anger flaring within you at the criticism of your boyfriends.

“Listen, I’ve looked into their backgrounds a little and they’re dangerous, Y/n, you don’t want to associate with them.”

“I think I can decide what I want for myself, thanks.” You reply frostily. “I know you have a crush on me, and I was willing to let that slide, but this really is pathetic. Maybe you should think for a second; if they’re so dangerous, then what do you think is going to happen when you try to take what’s theirs?”

His eyes widen in fear, and for a second you feel smug that you managed to cow him into such a level of fear, and then you feel an arm wrap securely around your shoulders.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Princess.” Namjoon says, giving a now-trembling Jongin a death glare.

“Telling lies to our girlfriend is certainly a dangerous thing to do.” Hoseok purrs, flanking Namjoon’s shoulder.

“And telling her you have feelings for her is even worse.” Yoongi smirks, moving in between you and Jongin.

“Honestly, if I were you, I would start running.”

Jongin turns tail and flees out of the coffee shop, followed by many curious glances. Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi exchange a smug smile before they start leading you to the car — a modest Rolls Royce today.

“I- I thought you couldn’t come today?” You ask, confused, and Namjoon huffs a laugh.

“We wanted to surprise you.”

“Of course, we should have realised we’d have to scare off one of your admirers.” Hoseok laughs, though his eyes are tight.

“I didn’t realise he would go that far. I just felt kind of bad for him, but if you hadn’t arrived today I would definitely have told you the second I got home.”

“You should always tell us everything, Princess.” Yoongi growls, before pushing you into the back of the car.

Hoseok slips into the drivers seat whilst Namjoon and Yoongi flank your sides in the back seats.

“From now on, you tell us everything, ok? No secrets.” Namjoon says sternly, and you nod.

“What about Jongin? Are you going to catch him?”

“Don’t think about that filth.” Hoseok instructs from the front, “We’ll take care of him. You don’t have to worry about any of it. We’ll call the college and say you’re sick for the rest of the week so you can have time to recover.”

“Ok.” You reply quietly, burrowing into the car leather.

“You really don’t have to worry, Princess.” Yoongi reassures you, taking your quiet behaviour for fear.

“We won’t let anyone take you from us. Ever. You’re ours. We’ll kill anyone who tries to lay a single finger on you, sweetheart. And if anyone tries to take you away? I’ll make sure they suffer so much they’ll be begging for death. That’s how much I love you, baby. We love you, so much.”

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

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WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic. chapter twelve: the desire to devour

word count: ~10.3k rating: m warnings: naughty language, .000002 seconds of spiciness (but not really), john goes "we were vibing, right? we had the vibes? right?" for like the entire last half. also mentions of self-harm and elliot's previous trauma. notes: hi friends! i hope you enjoy this chapter! this is going to be the last sort of in-between chapter before we really get into it, and from here it's going to go faaaaast. i had a lot of fun writing it and feeling out these different dynamics. not to mention john being a gigantic fuckhead (but like what is new, lmao). special thank you as always to my wifey and beta reader @starcrier for your impeccable eyeballs, and also to @vasiktomis and @shallow-gravy for lending their eyes as well because i did fuss a bit with this chap. i would be lost without y'all. thank you everyone for your love and support, esp with comments! it really fills my heart so so much to hear back from you, and i am always in the market for friends so do not be afraid to reach out to me <3

She is twenty-five.

She’s twenty-five, and it's her first full day of work. Or, it was; now, she's sitting in the Spread Eagle listening to Pratt talk about everything that's happened while she's been gone, because he'd said, c'mon, let me take you out tonight. He grins a boyish, toothy grin at her—the same kind that's mimicked in the multiple school dance photos her mother covets—and tries to sound nonchalant when he asks how she liked being in the city.

It's hard not to think about how this is the first place she had ever met John Seed, then-Duncan, and how it feels like it's spoiled the whole place for her.

Elliot redirects her attention as best as she can to what it is Pratt is saying. He's fishing for information. They've always been each other's safety net, the person they can fall back on when all else fails. School dances. Picking partners in class. Graduation walking buddies. He'd driven her to the airport when she left for the Academy, even. But even though she knows he's trying to figure out if she's still a safety net, Elliot can't disguise the way thinking about Mason makes her feel—disgusting—so she brings the beer bottle to her mouth and takes a swallow.

The result is her face scrunching up. Pratt laughs.

“Geez, Elli, slow down,” he says, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Bet money you're still a lightweight. When'd you start drinking beer, anyway?”

“I didn't,” she manages out around the taste, swallowing thickly. “I just won't let your money go to waste.”

He shrugs, as if to say, could, if you wanted, and swivels on the stool a little. He wants to press again—she can tell—but seems to have the good sense not to, instead busying his mouth with his own beer.

“Mama said Whitehorse let you right on,” Elliot says casually, trying to ignore the twinge of envy in her voice.

Pratt shrugs again. “He's known my dad a long time.”

“Known my mom too,” Elliot replies, dry.

“Yeah, well.” Pratt pauses, and sounds a little smug when he says, “Just because your mama likes me doesn’t mean I don’t know how she is to everyone else.”

“Likes you, does she?”

“Obviously,” the brunette replies confidently. “She still keeps all those photos of us. Remember senior year, she had all of her gal pals over when we were getting ready for prom—”

“Ugh.”

“—took us about 45 minutes before we were exactly where she wanted to take pictures—"

She rolls her eyes. Pratt grins, and then bumps his shoulder against hers. He says, “Aw, c’mon. Not so bad, is it? Having your mom like me?"

Elliot can feel the flush spreading under her cheeks. Not because she's embarrassed, or flustered, but because the beer sitting in her stomach feels rotten, and because Pratt's looking at her with the same kind of eyes he did before—always, always there's the before—and she doesn't know how to say I'm not her anymore, I'm not that girl, I'm different and changed and I don't know how to go back.

It doesn't matter. If Pratt can see it on her face, he doesn't let it show; just pats her shoulder and pretends he doesn't see the way she flinches from his hand swinging into her peripheral, pretends he doesn't notice the way she covers it up by swallowing another mouthful of beer she doesn't want to drink.

“Hudson’s really glad to have you back,” he says after a minute, when she doesn’t confirm nor deny that it’s not so bad knowing her mom thinks he’s a fine enough person. “Been talking about it nonstop.”

A smile creeps its way onto her face. “I’m glad to be back. With her, especially.”

“Yeah, you two always been thick, huh?”

She nods, swallows more beer, and Pratt rolls his eyes and snags the bottle out of her hand.

“Don’t keep drinking if you don’t like it,” he tells her, and then finishes it off himself, setting the empty bottle on the countertop with a grimace. “Can’t have people telling Whitehorse I bullied the probie into drinking.”

“‘Probie’,” she scoffs. “I could kick your ass.”

“Bullshit!”

“Could’ve done it before, Pratt.”

“Now that is lies and slander.”

Elliot only grins at him, the only time since coming back sans Joey getting her from the airport that it’s been a genuine thing; lopsided and a little sloppy but a grin nonetheless. Pratt finishes his own beer now, coughing a little into his fist before he blurts out, “I’m glad, too.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“That you’re back,” Pratt clarifies. “Y’know—nice to have my friend back. Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway.”

He doesn’t know. He can’t know, because her mother won’t talk about it and Joey would never divulge what it was that had brought about her speedy return—but even though he doesn’t know about the way she has to swallow back a flinch every time he waves his hand in her peripheral, or the way the smell of beer on a man’s breath makes her stomach clench with anxiety, or how her hands are so fucking cold all the time because her heart hammers in her chest, the way he says that (Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway) feels a little like vindication.

“S’okay,” she murmurs, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Came back in one piece, didn’t I?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The scent of roses wafted over her in waves. The sound of bathwater murmuring against the sides of the porcelain tub rippled each time she moved, each time she used the grip of her hands against the lip of the sides to sink herself under; her knuckles went cold with the ferocious grip, but when she went under she was submerged in quiet once more. Blissful, serene, quiet; just what she wanted.

Elliot pulled herself out of the water. Downstairs, she could hear her mother’s voice, spiking frantic even through the floors and the two closed doors that kept her separated.

“...years, Mr. Seed, I have lost years of my life agonizing over what she did to herself...”

She dipped below the water, closing her eyes. No sound; no shrill noise; just the heavy, bloated static that existed underneath the surface of the bath. Only her and the baby.

It occurred to her, absently, that she needed to start picking out names for the baby. Now that they had a guess at what the gender was, they’d have to decide about a name; not only a first, but a middle, too—the last name—

“...find it quite intriguing, actually, that the second she comes back to me after being involved with your kind that she’s got all this—this—”

Oh, don’t say it, Elliot thought tiredly, closing her eyes.

“—tear, just wretched wear and tear, Mr. Seed, don’t you? Don’t you find that intriguing?”

John was sitting down there, enduring a thorough verbal lashing, and she hadn’t even asked him to. She’d said, I don’t care if she thinks it was me, and he’d guided her upstairs and cupped her face and kissed her, long and open-mouthed, and swept his thumb over her cheek. Now, Elliot could hear the sound of his voice—calmer, empathetic, like just knowing that her mother was hysterical was giving him some kind of control over himself—but that he was speaking in a normal tone meant that his words didn’t come through quite so clearly.

She heard the sound of her mother saying, “I suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re not bothered in the least?” just before she dipped under the water again.

What was she going to name the baby? Did she even have an idea of what kinds of names she liked? Exhaustion pulled at the edges of her attention; she thought, I’m too tired to come up with a baby name, and gripped the edges of the bathtub harder. More fierce, more firm; grip and pull, maybe spill the entire bathtub over, tilt the clawed feet until it hit the tiled floor and the porcelain broke and the rose-scent water flooded the bathroom, her room, the hallway.

Then they’d have to leave. Then they couldn’t stay, surely, in a house flooded with rose water.

Fingers brushed over hers where they’d gone white at the edges of the tub. She pulled herself out of the water to find John sitting there, knelt at the side of the tub—not unlike the way he’d sat back at her mother’s house in Hope County, when she’d drank too much in the bathtub and said that he could mark her.

Because that’s what it had been. As much as she had wanted it, as much as she had enjoyed it, no matter what John said—he had been marking her as his. Like that Oscar Wilde poem.

The same sin binds us.

Elliot brushed the water from her eyes and settled her head back against the tub, regarding him. He looked less bothered than she thought he would, having sat through her mother’s grilling and interrogation—though he did look like he wanted to say something, like maybe it was sitting, burning into ash in his mouth, the way she could see the flex of his jaw and the way his free hand clenched and loosened.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he wanted to ask her what she’d been doing under the water, and the even more bothersome knowledge that she had, at some point, become painfully aware of his body language, Elliot said, “We have to think of a name.”

John blinked at her. Less than an hour ago, he’d been saying Of course I’d come for you, I love you, with or without the baby I love you, and she’d been sobbing into his arms and clinging to him.

He said, “And a middle name.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

A smile finally ticked the corner of his mouth, his fingers uncurling hers from the edge of the tub. Reluctantly, she let him.

“Your mother’s upset.” He paused. “She still wants you to play nice for her Christmas party, but she’s upset.”

“I know,” she replied sullenly. The despair of her shame, which had at once both overwhelmed her and hollowed her out, had dissipated in the wake of her indignation. What would she know, that vicious thing inside of her said, replaying the way her mother’s expression had crumpled. What would she know of our suffering? What would she know of our pain? ‘Wretched wear and tear’, like we haven’t been torn up for ages, like she didn’t throw us to the wolves and scoff in disgust when we came back bloodied and battered.

She wanted to be angry, really angry, but like most things that had to do with her mother, Elliot found herself more exhausted than anything. Scarlet had always found it impossible to comprehend the scars she’d given herself, had always claimed to feel disconnected to the ways Elliot had searched out meaning and comfort.

Absently, Elliot wet her lips and let her gaze flicker up to where John had perched himself beside the tub. He looked mighty pleased with himself, having finally gotten his words out. I love you, he’d said, palm flat against her window, I love you, with or without the baby.

And John, I want a home with you.

And John, Marriage is hard work, but I know you’re just the woman for the job.

And John, No way baby, I’m fucking it for you.

Blood rushed through her head, thunderous. John was saying something to her, but the words felt distant, and far away, and everything felt like it was underwater when she moved—not just the parts of her submerged in the bath, but all of it, the air too-thick and dragging on her skin and pulling her down slow as molasses. She blinked a few times as she disentangled their hands and reached for the towel, but John pulled it off of the hook first.

She watched him. She watched his mouth move, and his brows pull and furrow together at the center of his forehead, and the way his breath rose and fell in his chest, pushing and pulling the Sloth scar scratched across his sternum. Just like me, dream John had said, gripping her blood-covered hands, you’re just like me.

His voice, muffled and bogged down by the blood rushing through her ears, quirked up at the end. Elliot’s eyes darted back to his, and she asked, “Sorry, what?”

“The water’s cold,” he replied, waving the towel a bit. “Aren’t you getting out?”

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. She felt hollow. Her fingers itched. She wanted—

John caught her hand as she stepped out of the bathtub, steadying her while her free hand gathered the towel up against her front. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, the lukewarm temperature of the bath still lingering; his fingers interlaced with hers, and she used it to steady herself.

He was close. They were close. A part of her resented it—that she let him be so close to her, that she let him kiss her and fuck her but mostly that she let him hold her when she cried, miserably, that she wanted to go home. Because after everything, after all of it, Hope County still felt—

She closed her eyes. Of course it still felt like home. Joey was there; now she knew Pratt was, too.

And among all of that, if she waded through the weeds spreading in her mind, if she hacked and cut them away, there was John.

“What are you thinking about?” John murmured, his cologne washing over her, their noses brushing. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a little breath, that wanton little creature in her head chanting it over and over. There’s John, there’s always been John, nobody will love us with this much red in our ledger. No one but him.

“You,” she managed. Her head felt swimmy, the words coming out of her mouth sounding like a stranger’s—thick with want. John’s eyes flickered up to hers, having fixed on her mouth.

“If you want something, Ell,” he rumbled, the pressure of his fingertips against the back of her neck guiding her forward just a little but not all the way, “you only—”

Elliot leaned forward and kissed him, her hand lifting so that she could curl her fingers into his hair, the towel slipping to the floor. His body had tensed, like he wasn’t expecting it—like he was waiting for something else—and she thought about the way he’d kissed her with Kian’s blood in her mouth, the way he’d been just rampant with desire, the way the way the way—

Her teeth caught his lower lip, a little sharper than she’d intended, and his hand gripping her wrist tightened and he moaned, and she felt that same little thrill as before surge through her. It’s my magic, too, the itch in her fingers subsiding when she dug her nails in and pulled his hair a little, parting her lips against his; John leaned into her, crowding her up against the counter in front of the mirror, the hand at the nape of her neck threading into damp hair.

“Ell,” he said against her mouth, his voice rougher than before and hands planted on the counter on either side of her, “what are you doing?”

She murmured, “Stop talking,” and kissed him again, fingers clumsily working through the buttons on his shirt—her voice came out even but everything else about her felt wobbly, unsteady, craving craving craving the way it felt to have him begging her. Anything, to feel in control. Anything, to feel whole. Dig, and dig, and when you hit the bottom you keep digging some more, right?

What do we do with grief, right?

Burn and erase the image of her mother’s disgust and horror at seeing a part of her she might actually like, scrape it from her mind, dig her trenches deep deep deep and hunker down where she could feel safe, where she could feel strong; soon she would be home and—

And John’s teeth snagged her lower lip in retribution, sparking violent and red-hot behind her eyes with pleasure lighting her neurons on fire.

“Off,” she ground out against his mouth, pushing helplessly at the shirt she’d only halfway unbuttoned. The brunette grinned; his hands resumed her work, and she instead devoted her attention to the belt at his waist, yanking at it as John’s face dropped to her neck, hot breath fanning across her skin teeth dragging against her pulse point to pull a moan out of her.

There was a split second between John discarding his shirt on the floor and gripping her hips to lift her onto the countertop, his mouth seeking hers out again as she wound her arms around his neck. She had never been completely naked and felt not vulnerable at all, felt more in control—but she did, now, when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled and he moaned her name, a little frantic, Ell, Ell, hellcat, he said into their kiss, let me let me, greedy and wanting as he glided fingers up along the inside of her thigh.

He tensed, like he was going to drop to his knees, and she kept her hand in his hair and said, “Don’t.”

“Hm,” is what he replied, “pulling on my hair, ordering me to take my clothes off—”

“I’m about to tell you to shut up again.”

“—but won’t let me eat you out?” John grinned against her mouth, the scent of his cologne—expensive, stupid shit, but it never failed to feel like it was overwhelming her senses—washing over her. “What is it, baby? Want me to say please?”

Yes, something wicked inside of her said, John’s eyes lifting from her mouth to hers, narrowing playfully. Yes, I’d like that, I’d like to hear you say it like that.

“I know you,” he purred. He dug his nails into her hips, a sound—the wanting kind—trying to crawl its way up her throat. “Know exactly what you want from me. Yeah? So, Ell, won’t you please—”

There was a sharp knock at the door, a pause, and then: “Elliot?”

A near-silent laugh billowed out of John, stifled into her neck when her mother’s voice came through the door. Elliot’s eyes fluttered; her fingers, knotted in John’s hair, loosened and smoothed down the back of his neck, the intoxicating tension relaxing just a little. Heat had coiled in the hollow of her chest, spreading warm fingers at the same leisurely pace that John’s hand drifted up to her hip, his mouth finding the hollow of her jaw.

“I can’t believe her,” she muttered. “Yes?”

“Miss West is here, with her brother.” Scarlet’s voice was tight. “Returning your vehicle.”

Fuck. Elliot sighed, her eyes closing for a second while she tried to gather her thoughts. It was difficult to focus with John’s breath on her neck and his hands on her skin and that fucking cologne—and boy, did she not want to dwell on the fact that he’d shown up with barely anything but somehow also remembered to pack his stupid fucking cologne. But there was a different, special kind of warmth that spread through her when she realized that Sylvia was coming to check on her.

“Hair’s wet,” she called after a moment, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Fine.” There was another pause, and then her mother’s voice, scathing even through the door: “Ensure you are put together, Elliot.”

John murmured against her neck, “So no hickeys, then?” and she swatted his shoulder, rolling her eyes and sliding off of the counter. He seemed reluctant to let her disembark, thumb sweeping the slope of her hip before he dropped down—just far enough to plant a kiss on the gentle slope of her tummy. It was—sentimental, unseating her with incredible ease.

And then he ruined it by saying, “Your mommy won’t let me fuck her filthy, but I hear the second trimester throws a woman’s hormones through the roof, so we’ll see how long that lasts,” to her bump as he grabbed the towel from the floor to offer to her.

She snatched it from his hands, wrapping it around herself. “Don’t say that shit to the baby. You think I won’t end your life?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he offered, head cocked to the side. “Leaving the hickeys, anyway, I mean. Well, and the second part too. About sex. Not the murderous part. Actually, you know I find it—”

Choosing to ignore the latter statement, Elliot narrowed her eyes. “You’d risk Via’s opinion of you dropping so severely?”

“You know what they say.” John spread his hands, almost in a gesture of helplessness; though she knew he was far from it. “Old habits die hard.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“She’s killing all of my angels!”

Faith’s voice was sharp, piercing; Isolde’s fingers fluttered over the bridge of her nose to fend off an impending headache, pen held poised above the notepad where she’d been writing down her thoughts but had paused in time for the girl’s interjection. She couldn’t stand a messy page—ink smears, jarred letters. Unacceptable.

Two hours ago, she’d had Jacob drive her out to where the service was strongest. A flood of emails and texts from her family had been waiting to overload her phone. Her dad, things are looking poorly, where are you?, her sister, I’ve been trying to reach you for days.

“Jacob,” the blonde plunged on, interrupting her train of thought, “you have to do something. They’re being—gutted like fish!”

“You should have locked them down,” Jacob told her. “And you’re not the only one losing things.”

“I put—” Faith cut herself off, clearly taking a moment to compose herself before she pitched her voice low and said, “I put just as much work into them as you do into yours.”

The red head’s voice bloomed with annoyance when he said, “Oh, did you?”

“No fighting, please,” Joseph called from where he sat next to her. His voice was even, elbows rested on his legs and fingers interlaced in thought. “I know this is stressful. But you must keep your faith in God.”

“Santi told me that—whoever she is has been leaving their corpses all around!” Faith’s voice pitched high with distress, now, sweeping around Jacob to come to where they had sat, big doe eyes wide. “We have to do something. Please, Father—I don’t want our people to wonder if they’re going to be next.”

Joseph paused, looking pensive for a moment; Isolde thought he might have been trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase something, but before he could speak, Isolde looked at Jacob and said, “You were going to hunt her down anyway, weren’t you?”

The eldest Seed’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start with me too, Sol.”

“Get some fresh air,” she replied curtly, “go for a drive, clear your head. Eliminate a problem. You’ve been wearing a hole in the floors anyway; put that energy into being productive.”

“P—” Jacob’s voice spiked, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

He was agitated. She could tell—Pratt, and the phone call with the deputy in Georgia, and the Hunter on some kind of one-man rampage. But more importantly, Isolde thought, Jacob was agitated because there had not been a single conversation between him and Joseph since their argument.

Well, not even an argument. Just a lashing. A public one.

Isolde scooted her chair back from the table that had been set up at the front of the chapel, setting her pen down and stepping away. Her hand landed on the crook of Jacob’s elbow as she passed, and though he made a noise that implied disdain, he followed—not without shrugging her hand off by the time they got to the front doors of the chapel, leaving the other two to talk in low, murmured voices.

“You have got to stop letting this get to you,” she hissed.

“Nothing is ‘getting’—”

“Listen to me,” Isolde interjected. “I’ve been keeping as close an eye on the news as I have been on you. Things are—” She paused, mouth twisting around the words. “There is no room for you lot to be bloody fighting with each other. Do you understand me? This has moved far past needing to prepare PR and build a legal defense.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked suspicious. “So why are you still here then, Sol?” he asked.

The words burned insult in her chest. Why are you still here, stinging fresh and hot, because it was a fair question. It was the most fair question. Unlike any of these people, she had a family outside that she still loved. Her sister, and her parents. She should have told John and all of the Seeds to go fuck themselves, to enjoy the end of the world, while she went to be with her family.

But she wasn’t. She was here. Doing—this. Finding fresh new ways for Joseph to connect with his people to keep their morale high, keeping the infighting at bay to make sure they looked like a united front to everyone, second doomsday cult included.

“My parents will take care of Avery. You know they’re close with—government,” she replied after a minute, shaking off the unease. “And I told John that I would.”

He snorted. “John says jump, you ask how high?”

“No,” she bit out, “I say jump and you kiss the fucking ground I’m standing on because I cobbled together what the fuck is left of your congregation.” Before Jacob could say anything, Isolde added, “My hands are full, Jake. Do not add to my pile.”

Dark brows furrowed, his mouth thinning in disdain. He clearly wanted to say something. But true to his nature, Jacob straightened back and settled himself before he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he reiterated with his eyes narrowed. “I’m going to the Veteran’s Center.”

“That doesn’t sound like where we heard about the killings happening last,” Isolde protested, eyes narrowing.

“But she was there,” he replied. “Or someone was. Someone was there enough to steal my files.”

“Your—” Isolde snapped her mouth shut, sucking her teeth as she glanced back at Joseph and Faith; haloed in the dim lighting of the chapel, she could see them looking back at Jacob and herself expectantly. She wondered how much they could hear, from there.

Turning her attention back to Jacob and pitching her voice down in volume, Isolde hissed, “I don’t think prioritizing files is the best move right now.”

“Thank you,” Jacob idled, “for your input.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have fun,” he added, opening the door and letting in a waft of biting, cold air, before gesturing to the Book of Joseph on the table that she’d had her nose stuck in. All the better to make Joseph’s sermons hit home harder, after all. “You know—with your light reading.”

Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching him trudge down the steps for just a second before she said, “Jacob—”

“Yes, Isolde?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Don’t get shot.”

For a moment, he looked almost surprised at her words—but it was only a moment before he said, “Don’t worry, I’m taking Vidal. He makes a suitable meatshield.”

“God, he’s a talker.”

A tiny ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Jacob’s lips, before he said, “John and the deputy should be making their way here any day now.”

Isolde grimaced. “I was there for the phone call.”

“Are you going to leave?” Jacob pressed, expression stiffening again. “When he does?”

She paused, clearing her throat and shifting on her feet. I should, were the words that wanted to come out of her mouth. I should go. I only came down here because John wasn’t here. I should go, and get back to my life, and maybe get to my family and try to stay out of the crossfire and—

After a heartbeat, she said, “I don’t know.”

Jacob shrugged, as if to say, see? Told you, though to what he could be referring to, she had no idea; she only knew that she didn’t like the way he swung around and sauntered out of the chapel, leaving her alone in the tepid warmth with Joseph and Faith’s eyes on her in favor of the blistering cold outside. Snow had continued to dump throughout the day and night, and had only just let up recently; the members of Eden’s Gate—those who had survived the Family’s relentless assaults, and those that had been pulled from the bunkers—had been tirelessly shoving pathways, only to have their work tidily undone each night.

Fingers brushed the palm of her hand. Isolde startled; she glanced back just as fingers interlaced with hers to be met with sweet, bright eyes and Faith’s adoring attention planted on her.

“It means so much to me,” Faith murmured, “that you would help. Not just me, but all of us.”

Soli watched the blonde for a moment, trying to gauge. The physical closeness was not something she was accustomed to; carefully, she disentangled their fingers, skin prickling with unease. When she glanced up, Joseph’s eyes were on them, on Faith’s fingers falling from her hand but skimming the inside of her palm in a lingering touch of affection.

He was always doing that. Watching. Watching, and waiting, and pinning each movement and gesture and thought and word out perfectly like the wings of a butterfly, just the color he liked and just the shape.

“Don’t thank me,” Isolde replied, mustering a smile and brushing the hair from her face.

“It’s my job.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, Miss Honey, John!”

Wyatt’s cheerful voice broke through the late-afternoon chill; the sun setting early, people’s breath coming out in puffs of smoke. It all felt oddly normal, given the circumstances of the morning and the way she’d forgotten to call Sylvia once she got home, and that her friend had fished up a reason to come by the house and make sure she hadn’t—

Well.

Still, if there was any remnant of the morning in Sylvia’s heart, it didn’t show in her face, and it certainly didn’t show in Wyatt’s. Instead, both blondes beamed at her, radiant, the second she came out with fuzzy, fresh-from-the-blow-dryer hair and swaddled up to her chin in thick fabrics to fend off the cold.

And, truthfully, to hide the bump. John had reminded her of it, and even though the moment had been a...good one, it had also reminded her she hadn’t expressed this truth to Sylvia or Wyatt. As John closed the door behind her and jogged down the steps,

“Howdy,” Ell greeted, albeit a bit awkwardly thanks to her stuck-somewhere-nowhere-sort-of-accent. “You didn’t have to drive it back all the way out here, you know.”

“Sure we did.” Wyatt chirped. “Wouldn’t be very neighborly of us if we let it sit and the battery died out, now would it?”

“No,” John demurred after a moment even as Elliot’s cheeks went warm, “I suppose not.”

“You all recovered from this morning?” Via asked cheerfully, purposefully avoiding the actual question. Elliot shifted on her feet. John’s hand skimmed the small of her back, and even through the layers of fabric, it felt warm; she wondered if this was what it would have been like for them, had their life been normal. Had John been truthful with her from the get-go. Now, with everything laid out between them—the lies unearthed and only the brutal, unapologetic knowledge that they wanted each other, in one way or another—it felt like they might have been normal. Sometime, somewhere, someplace else.

It was still hard to swallow, all of it. The lies and the now-truths and the knowledge that she did, in fact, want.

“Oh, yeah,” Ell replied faintly. “Took a bath and...” She tried for a smile. “Decompressed.”

“That what smells so good?”

“Y’all get that tired from dress shoppin’?” Wyatt tsked, having pulled his coat out of the jeep and started to pull it on. He grinned at her and skillfully dodged a side-swipe from Sylvia; he had a good foot of height on her—and Elliot—so it wasn’t difficult. The siblings fussed for only a moment before Sylvia managed to fetch the Jeep’s keys from Wyatt’s coat pocket and held them out to Elliot, puffing.

She was in the middle of saying, “Your keys, madame,” when John’s head tilted and he muttered, “Now what is this?”, drawing her attention to the end of the drive. A police cruiser made its way slowly down the drive, carefully pulling up behind the Jeep.

Not beside it. Not further up toward the garage, not on the other side of the four of them chatting. Behind it. Blocked in.

Sheriff Pritchard stepped out, shuffling a little as he adjusted the black, fur-trimmed jacket on his shoulders and closed the driver side door. He’d come alone, which made Elliot certain he wasn’t here to arrest her—and what a ludicrous thought, that he might have considered it a possibility, because the mere mental image of Pritchard grabbing her arm and keeping his eyes in his head made a hysterical kind of laugh want to bubble out of her.

Not me, not me and not my baby, that thing inside of her said, lifting its hackles and baring its teeth when Pritchard began to saunter over. Not my baby.

“Afternoon, you two. And Wests,” Pritchard greeted as he drew closer. He’d earned himself a curious murmur from Sylvia. “Havin’ a little shindig out here, Miss Honeysett?” Elliot opened her mouth to respond, but he lifted his hands quickly in defense. “‘M sorry, forgot myself. Mrs. Seed.”

It caught her off-guard, sucked the air right out of her lungs. It was one thing to hear her mother say John is Elliot’s husband, to hear her say John is my son-in-law, but it was another entirely to hear herself referred to as Mrs. Seed. It had never, ever been that she was John’s wife, except out of his own mouth, but now—

John seemed eager to engage with Pritchard, because he said, “Something that you needed, sheriff?”

“Yes, actually. Believe it or not, I ain’t in the business of drivin’ out to the rich part of town just for shits and giggles,” Pritchard replied coolly. “Your mama home, Elli?”

“Probably resting,” Sylvia offered, smiling politely. “We just finished dress shoppin’ for her Christmas Party not but an hour ago.”

“Yeah,” Pritchard rumbled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Heard about your little trip to the boutique today.”

John asked irritably, “Do you need to smoke that right now?”

Elliot swallowed thickly. Her lashes fluttered, eyes desperate to close; the warmth that had flooded her face now felt like it verged on feverish, threatening to make her head swim again. This was bad. This was bad-bad, chop her hair off and run run run again bad, the kind of bad that made a girl change her name and burn her birth certificate and make sure that nobody would ever be able to find her again.

“I don’t,” she began, “think mama’s feeling up to visitors right now.”

Pritchard eyed her, taking a puff of his cigarette while completely glazing over John’s pointed question. “Imagine not. You know, you been a hot topic of conversation lately, Mrs. Seed. Gotten loads of questions about you. Lady from out of town, Federal Marshals. I don’t like folks sniffin’ around my town, you know, especially not the fuckin’ Feds, but it’s gotta make me wonder.” The smoke curled out from his nose, the smoke of a lazy, self-righteous dragon wafting around her.

“Sheriff,” John continued tightly, clearing his throat, “you’re going to need to put that out.”

“We’re outside, Mr. Seed. You ain’t ever seen someone smoke a cigarette outside?”

“Do you make a habit of smoking around pregnant women?” John snapped viciously, and oh, she thought, oh, I didn’t even think of that, because her brain was too busy kicking into overdrive and parse out the absolute confirmation that Federal Marshals were asking after her and strange women, too. Oh, I didn’t even think about the baby.

And then Sylvia said, eyes wide as saucers as she laughed, flustered, “Oh, John, that’s very kind of you, but I’m not—” and her eyes landed on Elliot, and she blinked rapidly.

Wyatt was looking at her, too. Big, big eyes, surely having not only learned that she and John were married but that she was also pregnant in the span of only a few minutes. At least, Elliot didn’t think Sylvia would have divulged that information, and if the shock he was clearly trying to cover up in his expression was any indication, that gut feeling was right.

No, she thought, no, this is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted at all. It wasn’t his to tell, it wasn’t his to tell, it was mine, my choice, mine alone.

Her gaze snapped to Pritchard. She said, “It’s time for you to leave.”

Pritchard lifted his eyebrows. “That so? Well, good for me I ain’t here to talk to you, missy.”

“Get. Off. My. Property,” she bit out through her teeth. “Scarlet isn’t taking visitors, and I’ll cut the decay out of my own teeth before she makes anything close to the time of day for you.”

Now, his eyes narrowed and the cigarette sat between his fingers, still burning amber at the end. “Excuse me?”

“And tell the fucking Feds whatever you want,” she snapped, fingers curled tightly around the keys until the metal edges dug into the nooks and crannies of her hand. “But whatever you do, get the fuck out of my driveway, sheriff.”

Something flickered in the corner of her vision. John started, “Ell,” and his hand went to her shoulder, but she jerked back from him before he could make much more than a brush of contact.

“Don’t,” Elliot snapped at him, her voice wobbling and the tears—shameful tears—welling up and burning, “touch me.”

“Alright, okay,” Sylvia murmured, “Elliot and I are gonna go inside, and John can—”

“Ain’t here to talk to Mr. Seed,” Pritchard drawled venomously.

“If you’re asking questions about Elliot,” Sylvia replied calmly, taking Elliot’s hand with a firm squeeze, “I can imagine there is no better person to ask than her husband, don’t you think so, Sheriff?”

Pritchard’s eyes were squinted into poisonous little slits, and he took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Mrs. Honeysett won’t be any type of cooperative if you get her up now,” Wyatt chimed in, eyes flickering nervously to Elliot—perhaps both because of the news and because of her outburst. But she didn’t have time to think much about it, because Sylvia was tugging her out of the cluster of folks, ginger and reassuring even as her brother plunged on, “I mean, sheriff, come on—you know how women can be when they’re gotten up too early, let alone they’ve been shoppin’ all day—”

And Pritchard said, “You want I should put my cigarette out now, Mr. Seed?” as Sylvia opened the door,

and John replied with a slick, charismatic kind of venom, “No reason to anymore, smoke to your heart’s content,”

and the door clicked shut behind her and Boomer scampered out from where he’d been snoozing under the dining table.

She had to leave.

She had to go.

She had to get out.

Federal Marshals and strange women asking after her, and now her only two friends in the whole fucking world—

(well, not entirely true, since we still have Pratt, isn’t that right? Isn’t that right, Elli?)

—had just seen her almost go fucking bananas on an officer of the law, had watched her demand he get the fuck out of her driveway for wanting to ask her mother about her, had seen her.

“Hey,” Sylvia said, “you’re alright.”

I’m not, she thought, dropping the keys into the crystal bowl by the door, smearing red against the glass. Her hand stung. She reached with the good, unmarked hand for Boomer absently. His cold, wet nose brushed against it, and he whined, feet tapping against the wood as he bumped her for her attention. I won’t go. I won’t fucking go. I won’t pay the price for what they did to me, what they made me into.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out abruptly, her voice coming out tight. “Sorry that I didn’t—um, tell you. About the—”

“It’s okay,” Sylvia told her quickly, “it’s alright, Elli, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Elli, she said, without knowing what the nickname meant. Elli, Sylvia said, it’s alright, and Joey, right now we need to leave, Elli, and Pratt, geez, Elli, slow down, an affectionate nickname saved only for folks who considered her their friend. Sans Pritchard. Fuck Pritchard.

“Lots of people wait to tell,” Via continued, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder and jarring her out of her thoughts, which were quickly and rapidly devolving back into the urge to march outside and ensure Pritchard was obeying her command. Out out out, something vicious inside of her demanded, we want him out we want him gone.

Elliot said, “Yeah, you’re right,” but she felt far away—not lost, not gone from herself, but thinking. She could pack fast. She could pack fast, and John had brought barely anything, and they could leave right now, her mother none the wiser. They could leave now and be gone and Cameron Burke would have to—

But are we sure it’s Burke? Are we sure it’s Burke and not someone else, come to haul your ass to a fucking psych ward, for what you did in Hope County?

For what you did?

No. She wasn’t sure. She could only hope it was one singular Federal Marshall on her tail, and not an actual piece of the government body. That was all.

But whoever it was that was asking after her—strangers, government officials—it didn’t matter. That old mantra had kicked in again; something has to be done, the same kind of calm before the storm that she’d felt when Joey had been killed, something has to be done.

Something has to be done and I’m going to have to be the one to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pritchard dropped the cigarette into the snow and stamped it out with his bootheel, his eyes fixed on John. Sylvia had rushed Elliot inside, but he didn’t think that had been purely necessary—only in the instance they had wanted to keep Pritchard out of a blood bath. Elliot hadn’t been checking out, trying to keep herself together; she had been angry, and he’d had half a mind to let her say and do exactly as she pleased to the man now standing in front of him in the cold.

“She always been that volatile, Mr. Seed?” the sheriff asked.

“Not undeservingly,” John replied tartly, his eyes narrowed. “Did you have specific questions, sheriff, or did you just come by to terrorize my pregnant wife with your theoretical judgment of her soul?”

“More your speed?” Pritchard replied, lifting a brow.

“Pardon?”

“Heard about you Seed boys,” he continued coolly, “and your...” He gestured with a calloused hand vaguely, looking for the right word.

John smiled, with teeth. “Before I grow old, if you don’t mind, sheriff.”

“Proclivities,” Pritchard elaborated, “for religion.”

Fucking Burke, he thought, with no absence of venom; fucking Burke can’t resist the urge to try and fuck up my life when he’d be better off trying to find a place to hunker down for the end of the world.

“We’re red-blooded Americans,” John idled coolly, “freedom of religion goes hand in hand with that.”

“Mr. Pritchard, you wanna get that car started?” Wyatt cut in abruptly, glancing around like he thought maybe the rest of the patrol might be rolling in any minute. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got any questions for Mr. Seed.”

“That’s sheriff to you, boy,” he snapped. And then, after a heartbeat, he fished his keys out of his pocket and said, “I s’pose I got all the information I needed, after all.”

“Mmhm.”

John had turned back to the house, spotting Elliot and Sylvia through the front window, when Pritchard announced, “You make sure Scarlet gives me a call when she’s recovered from your wife’s antics, Mr. Seed.”

His gaze returned to the sheriff, narrowed. “Certainly, Sheriff Pritchard.”

“But if I don’t hear from you, no worries,” the man continued, opening his car door, “I’ll make another special trip out here.”

“Goody.”

John flashed another grin when Pritchard’s eyes flickered over him. Wyatt said, “Have a safe drive,” and Pritchard slammed his door shut, his cruiser’s engine roaring to life before he began to slowly back out and make a u-turn to head down the long driveway again. There was a moment of silence, stretching between himself and Wyatt that he didn’t feel particularly inclined to break—after all, Wyatt had been taking liberties with Elliot that he shouldn’t have been—before the blonde finally broke the silence.

“Congrats,” Wyatt said after a minute. “About—uh, the baby, I mean. I didn’t know!”

Ah, he thought, feeling a strange little surge of pride at the way the man across from him shifted on his feet with discomfort, and that’s why Elliot’s mad I brought it up. Her friends didn’t know.

Well, it was better this way, after all. He wouldn’t have taken it back even if he’d gotten the chance, knowing what he did now.

“Thank you,” he replied amiably. “It’s certainly a blessing.”

Wyatt’s mouth twisted for a moment, looking like there was something he wanted to say specifically and didn’t know how to say it without foregoing social niceties, but the sound of the front door opening caught both of their attentions.

“Wyatt, you gonna stand out here like a lemming all afternoon or what?” Via called. “Get the car warmed up, you caveman.” She took a few steps down the front stairs and looked at John. “You’re wanted inside, Mr. Seed.”

A very polite way of telling him that Elliot, perhaps, was in the mood to throttle him with her bare hands. Though he didn’t really see the harm in spilling the news—perhaps with Via, sure, but Wyatt? The cowboy? Like that was ever going to be anything.

“Thanks for your help,” John said, clapping Wyatt on the shoulder before he made his way to the front steps. Via hadn’t moved. In fact, her normally polite expression was eerily cool—whatever amicable, feigned interest she had manicured for him in the past seemed to have evaporated in the wake of Elliot’s own fury.

As he neared, he said, “Something else you needed, Miss West?”

Via’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Wyatt, now inside the car, and then back to John. “You must think I’m mighty dumb, don’t you?”

John lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. “If you think I instigated that little outburst on purpose—”

“What I think,” Via replied, “is that you know exactly what she’s capable of handling. Just because you didn’t do it on purpose doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking of letting her physically assault a police officer.”

His easy-going expression flattened. Sylvia, and her seeing, the same kind of uncanny people-reading skills that Joseph had, too. Seeing his delight at knowing that Elliot would have taken on a man a foot taller than her, pregnant, if it meant keeping him away from the baby, if it meant keeping herself out of the grip of a greater power that wanted her in a psychiatric evaluation.

“I want to like you,” Via continued, taking the steps until she reached the bottom, “and I thought maybe you were here to make a real effort. But it seems like you’re the same person you were before, John Duncan.”

The name sent a jolt of red-hot anger flushing down his spine, filling him up suddenly with a sort of molten rage that only the reminder of his adoptive parents could have inspired in him. When Via went to move past him, he snatched her elbow, holding her in place.

“And where,” he ground out, “did you hear that name, Miss West?”

“It’s called a web browser, John,” Via replied coolly. “You ever heard of Google? Imagine how many John Seeds there are in Hope County, Montana. I don’t need to tell you that the articles regarding you and your brothers, though a bit old, are unflattering. And all I want you to know—” She paused, arm still in his grip. “—is that we’re aware of each other, and that I don’t want anything happening to Elliot.”

“Neither do I,” John replied tightly, “and I especially don’t want someone digging trenches where there’s not a war zone.”

Via regarded him with an even gaze for a moment, glancing back at the car where her brother sat, before she murmured idly, “Kindly take your hand off of my arm, John.”

“Ellliot’s already aware of the any of the information in those articles,” he continued lowly, “just so you know.”

“My point, John,” Via replied casually, “is that I know, and I can—and will—deal with it as I see fit. Now, you gonna take your fuckin’ hand off of my arm, or are we going to have a problem?”

He watched her for a moment—just long enough to consider the dopamine rush of killing her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her face into the top of the porch, doing something, anything to ensure that Sylvia West was not capable of messing up anything that he was doing—and then he planted a big smile on his face and dropped his hand from her arm.

“Careful,” he said, louder now so that Wyatt would hear, “it’s icy.”

The blonde didn’t respond. Instead, she brushed her hand absently where his had been, as though to brush herself free of his touch, and picked her way across the driveway and to the truck idling just on the other side of the jeep.

Well, that would be one less problem to deal with, in the end.

John made his way inside, closing the front door quietly behind himself and taking a moment to gauge. Just to see what was going on. The house itself was quiet, and Boomer’s little footfalls were nowhere to be heard, and Scarlet wasn’t sipping her vodka in the living room—so.

So.

Taking a breath, he started up the stairs, turning into the hall to find Elliot’s bedroom door halfway ajar. He paused in the doorway; she was rifling through drawers, pulling sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and jeans and sweats out and dropping them into a duffel bag, furious little exhales occasionally coming out of her.

“I was told I was being summoned,” John said, Elliot’s attention razor-sharp and snapping to him immediately.

“Pack your shit,” she said briskly, “we’re leaving.”

He blinked. Taking a step inside, he glanced at Boomer—perched protectively between himself and Elliot—and said, “I thought we were waiting until after the Christmas party?”

“You’re not fucking deaf, John, you heard Pritchard,” she snapped. “The Feds have been asking about me. The only reason they don’t know exactly where to look—whoever it is—is because Pritchard’s a fucking asshole and likes to be as obstinate as possible.”

“And if we sprint out of here,” he replied, “you’re just going to draw their attention.”

“It’s what Pritchard wants.” Elliot zipped the duffel bag shut and then brushed past him into the bathroom, gathering up her toothbrush and toothpaste and the sleeping pills. “For me to be gone. He’ll piss off if I go. And there’s no way he’s going to put up a big fight to cozy up to the government.”

“Elliot.” John watched her furiously gathering things up, and then when she came by again he caught her with his hands. “Ell, just slow down—”

“Stop,” she bit out, “stop telling me what to fucking do, John, and—I told you not to touch me.”

He lifted his hands from her, but not far enough that she could duck past. “Are you that mad about Sylvia and Wyatt knowing you’re pregnant?” When she didn’t answer, and instead hauled the bag over from the other side of the bed to be close to her so that she could dump the collections from the bathroom into it, he sighed. “I didn’t know you hadn’t told them, but I don’t understand what all of the secrecy is about. The baby isn’t—”

“I felt normal!” Elliot replied sharply, her voice pitching a little higher now, and John heard the wet wobble in it too—the way the timbre of her voice thickened and rounded out with the threat of oncoming tears, her cheeks flushed with anger and maybe shame and pain, too. “Okay? I felt—I f-fucking felt normal, for once, and it was enough that Sylvia knew you and I had been—that we’re married, which I don’t even want to dig into right now, but it was another to be like—yes, the father of my fucking child, who I’m actually married to even though I didn’t want it, is here and oh, by the way? He’s part of a cult. Yeah, a fucking doomsday cult. I’m carrying the child of a doomsday cultist.”

“How was I supposed to know?” he demanded. “How was I supposed to know that you didn’t want Sylvia and her brother knowing you were pregnant? You never said. And what does it matter?” And then, feeling the petulance well up inside of him: “I know it probably felt nice, to have Wyatt giving you attention—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re really pulling that now? So, what—you dumped the news because you wanted to make sure my friend found me as off-limited as possible?”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I know this may come as a shock to you,” he said, feeling the tension peeling apart behind his eyelids, “I really didn’t want Pritchard smoking near my baby.”

“My baby.” Elliot jammed her finger into his chest, just above his heart, her words vicious. “It’s our baby, or it’s my baby, but there isn’t a single fucking universe where the only person this baby is beholden to is you.”

“He’s,” John corrected, tartly. “He’s our baby. And at the end of the day, whether you like it or not—”

“Have you ever,” she cut in over him, biting the words out between her teeth, “done anything for me that wasn’t for you too?”

Watching her, the words sat sticky in his chest. His instinct was to say, of course I have, but that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to pretend like it was, either—because he wasn’t ashamed that everything he had done had been for them, that if Elliot wasn’t his then there would be no point in it, that it was a zero sum game where he either had her or he had nothing.

He said, evenly, “No.”

Elliot looked unseated by his honesty. She swept her fingers across her forehead tiredly and turned back to her bag. “Then do me a favor and pack your shit so we can go.”

John sighed. “Don’t you think—”

“John,” she bit out, “I am making an executive decision.”

“Alright, Ell.”

“And—”

John had turned to the door to go gather what few of his belongings he’d had when Elliot cut herself off, drawing his eyes over his shoulder to her again. She looked unwell—stressed, feverish, her hands buried into the duffel bag maybe to hide the shaking and her face flushed and her brows furrowed together.

“Thank you,” she managed out after a minute, “for being honest. For once.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pratt brushed the snow from his hair, teeth chattering as he waded through knee-deep snow out towards the water. It had been three days, and Helmi had told him to meet her out there—how she was going to get past the compound’s security, Pratt didn’t know, but he also thought it probably was best not to dwell on the things that Helmi would do (and could do) to get where she needed to be.

Which is why he found himself less and less surprised to find her standing at the edge of the water, in the middle of the night, swathed up to her jaw in dark, heavy fabrics. The only part of her that wasn’t covered were her hands; the closer he got, he could see she was turning a smooth, dark rock over and over in her hands, passing it between them as she watched him come nearer.

“You remembered,” was how she greeted him, most of her face cast in shadow thanks to the high position of the moon behind her. Pratt shivered and jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

“Yeah, well, kinda hard to forget,” he replied. “Considering it’s been looming over me for the last few days.”

“Poor thing,” Helmi agreed, not sounding sympathetic at all. “Did you call her?”

Pratt paused, clearing his throat. There was something that didn’t quite sit right with him, knowing that he had called Elliot not out of a cry for her help—not really, anyway—but because this other cult wanted her. This cult, which had tore its way through Hope County splitting and gutting its residents, wanted her. And Helmi didn’t seem keen on telling him why.

“I did. They just got word that she and John are on the road now,” he said after a moment. “What, uh—do you want her for, anyway?”

Helmi quirked a brow at him, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards. “Shouldn’t you have asked that before making the phone call, if it was going to bother you?”

A little lick of shame and embarrassment crawled red-hot into his cheeks, and he scoffed, turning his face away. “Well, you said you wanted her alive. Can’t say the same for the Seeds.”

“She’s carrying John’s child,” Helmi pointed out. “You think they’d kill her still?”

Pratt grimaced. It was still hard to stomach—the idea that Elliot was with John. Or had been, at one point. It didn’t sound like things were going great, and he could only imagine why. Still—

Still, he thought there was a lesser of the two evils, and Helmi sounded like it. Maybe not the others, but Helmi.

“They don’t have a problem killing babies,” Pratt replied after a minute. “What are you going to do, once she gets here? They won’t let her leave, and they definitely won’t let you in.”

Now, the blonde grinned—pearly teeth in the dark of the night, surprisingly satisfied with herself. “Big one’s pissed at me, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Well, you know, Faith too. You've been killing her angels.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got a plan. You know exactly as much as you need to know right now. Are you eating?”

The question came so quickly that Pratt didn’t have time to register the oddness of it, replying on automatic the same way he had been with Arden’s consistent, gentle pestering: “Yeah, I mean—don’t have much of an appetite, but...”

His voice trailed off and he glanced back at the woman. Her head was cocked and her eyes were fixed on him expectantly. “What?”

“Eat,” she told him. “Take advantage of as much as you can. And most of all, listen. Any information you can get will be helpful.”

Pratt’s throat felt a little tight. He kept thinking about the way Jacob had grabbed his shoulder, laughing when he’d insulted the woman doing the heavy lifting for Joseph—grinning like a fucking wolf, like he was going to be dinner, next.

He managed out, “He’ll kill me. If he suspects. He’ll take—everything, from me.”

Helmi planted a hand on his shoulder. The gesture made him want to flinch, but he bit back the urge, and he thought maybe she’d seen but didn’t say.

“He already took everything from you,” she replied lightly, “and do you know what that means?”

The dark of her gaze was intense, piercing even in the late night; it made it hard to look away. Voices echoed back in the compound, and briefly, he thought maybe they’d noticed his absence—but he only shook his head.

“It means you have nothing to lose,” Helmi murmured, “and everything to take back from him.” Her hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, the pad of her thumb sweeping up to his pulsepoint pensively. “See? Your heart is beating, and hard. Your blood knows it’s what you want, even if you don’t yet.”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded his head once. Nothing to lose, and everything to take back. Could he? Could he get things back? Is that what Helmi had done? What Elliot had done?

“And don’t fuck it up,” she added, dropping her hand from his neck and zipping her coat up. Leaving so soon. She grinned. “Or I’ll gut you myself. And I guarantee, it won’t be an Återfödelse.”

A nervous, almost hysterical little laugh bubbled up out of him. Helmi shot him a look and then brushed past him, heading back into where the brush became the thickest, calling over her shoulder, “See you in a few days, Staci Pratt.”

A few days. A few days, Elliot would be back, and John Seed would be back, and Helmi would be seeing him. Seeing them. Maybe it would be better to make a break with Elliot, once she got in—but what if she didn’t want to? What if she was one of them?

Pratt let out a puff of hot breath, digging the heel of his palm into his eyesocket while the pain bloomed just there, turning and beginning to trudge back to the compound before anyone noticed his absence. Each scrape and puff of snow fell in line with his heartbeat, the mantra on and off again.

Nothing to lose.

Everything to take back.

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