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5sospenguinqueen · 1 year ago

Text

Bedtime Stories Pt 2 | Daniel Ricciardo x Author! Reader

Summary: Daniel made a silly little comment that lost him everything. Over a year later, he tries his hardest to fix his mistakes.

Warnings: Swearing. A tiny smidge of angst but mainly fluff. Redemption for Daniel.

Female reader with various faceclaims (pics found on pinterest). Takes place in 2023. For the purpose of this, Daniel has been with AlphaTauri the whole time.

Main Masterlist

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28•05•2023

danielricciardo just posted

liked by redbullracing, YourUserName and others

danielricciardo monaco, always a delight. P11. so close to the points but racing through your streets feels like being on a podium

4,337 comments

landonorris and whose attention are we trying to grab with that sexy last pic 👀

→ danielricciardo only yours, mate

→ User1 don’t act like you’re not dying inside because y/n liked this

→ User2 relax, they never unfollowed each other 🙄

maxverstappen1 you’ll get them next time, mate

→ danielricciardo fancy giving me a tow?

→ maxverstappen1 never

→ User3 i love their friendship so much

User4 um, did anyone see that y/n liked and then unliked this post

→ User5 omg yes! sis was caught stalking and we love her for it

→ User6 i too would thirst over my ex if he looked like that

kellypiquet we were watching the whole time

liked by danielricciardo

→ User7 what a weird comment to make?

→ User8 who’s we, kelly?

→ User9 what does this mean?

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04•06•2023

Tweet 1

User10 @ kikiki babe did you hit your head? is that why you were in the ER? they broke up

User11 @ kikiki maybe ask them to do a head scan whilst you're there 'cause ain't no way you saw here there

→ User12 literally. like why would she even be in spain right now?

Tweet 2

User11 i think we might have to apologise to @ kikiki

→ User10 can we really trust the wag page though? They did report that Lando was having a secret love child the other week..?

Tweet 3

User13 asking the real questions because she's not even hinted that she’s been writing so it’s not like she’s on a book tour or anything?

→ User14 some people are saying she could be on vacation but please, why would mother choose a holiday destination during a time that she knows is a GP?

User15 guys, guys, I think our sacrifice circle worked

→ User16 please, please, 🕯️🕯️

User 17 how poetic would it be though if they got back together during the spanish GP when they broke up at the spanish GP a year ago

User18 shouldn’t you know these answers, and that she was in spain, if you're her so-called updates page

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22•08•2023

YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and others

YourUserName some big news approaching

6,349 comments

kellypiquet i can’t wait, my beautiful girl

→ YourUserName thank you for being my #1 support

→ kellypiquet thank you for letting me help plan

→ User1 what does this mean?

→ User2 miss piquet stop being so cryptic on socials

maxverstappen1 i’m very excited

→ YourUserName did kelly force you to write that because i could feel the excitement oozing through the screen

→ maxverstappen1 i wanted to say something worse

→ YourUserName i hope she leaves you

→ kellypiquet behave, you two!

→ User3 i live for max and y/n terrorising each other, even without danny ric being around to encourage it

bloomsburypublishing we look forward to the end result

User4 i’m sorry but is this a soft launch?

User5 who is that in the last slide, miss y/n?

→ User6 the inspiration behind a new romance we hope

User7 don’t be shy. tag him

User8 soft launches have recently become my least favourite thing

charles_leclerc are you perhaps writing my next plane read

→ YourUserName depends how long the flight is

→ User9 confirmation of a new book ya’ll!! everyone say thank you charles

User10 i like to be edged by her books, not by her hiding her man

User11 don't try and distract us with news of a new book, we wanna know who the feet belong to!

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01•09•2023

danielricciardo just posted

liked by maxverstapen1, yukitsunoda0511 and others

danielricciardo ciao a tutti. lovely sightseeing in beautiful Italy

6,445 comments

User12 you’re telling me that i’m currently in the same country as THE daniel ricciardo?

kellypiquet i’m still trying to recover from that hike

→ User13 kelly and max went on a double date with daniel and the new girl?!

→ User14 omg please be y/n. i can’t imagine kelly agreeing to it otherwise

User15 i know he's trying to distract us with his beauty but we see the last slide, daniel. we see it

pierregasly so you’re telling me that you were in milan and didn’t bother to come and see me? that’s it. i'm ending our friendship

→ danielricciardo i’m sorry, mate. i was doing more important things

→ pierregasly clearly ;)

User16 someone check on y/n, please

→ User17 babe is clearly having the time of her life in italy (yes, i'm delusional)

User18 does nobody find it odd that he’s posting a soft launch not long after y/n posted a soft launch

→ User19 i know! it’s only been three weeks since hers and he’s posting one

→ User20 i can’t decide whether they’re soft launching each other or he’s trying to make her jealous by flaunting a new relationship as well

→ User21 it HAS to be each other or i will die

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15•10•2023

lando.jpg just posted

liked by YourUserName, danielricciardo and others

lando.jpg so i attended this event… and no, it’s not mine before you all freak out

8,223 comments

charles_leclerc it was a beautiful day ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux i’m so thankful to have been a part of such wonderful memories

kellypiquet the most beautiful bride i have ever seen

maxverstappen1 this was a nicer caption than i expected from you

→ danielricciardo agreed

→ landonorris i take offence to that

User1 guys do we think kelly and max got married? they’ve both commented on this?

→ User2 yes but so did charles and alex so…

→ User3 plus, i know kelly is stunning but do we really think she would call herself the most beautiful bride in 3rd person?

georgerussell63 i’m surprised you remember much after the state you were in

→ landonorris excuse you but most of that was just pure happiness

hulkhulkenberg an amazing day

estebanocon so happy to have been a part of this

alex_albon how’s the hangover, mate

→ landonorris i didn’t drink that much!

→ georgerussell63 tell that to the bouquet that you puked on

→ landonorris i caught it so it was mine anyway

carlossainz55 beautiful photos. she’ll love those

→ User4 who’s she?!

lewishamilton🤍🩵

fernandoalo_official congratulations to the happy couple

User5 the entire grid are commenting on this post, clearly having been in attendance. who IS IT?

pierregasly c’était une belle mariée

liked by YourUserName

User6 guys, y/n’s name on socials just changed from y/l/n to ricciardo

liked by danielricciardo

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03•04•2024

YourUserName just posted with danielricciardo

liked by kellypiquet, maxverstappen1 and others

YourUserName my husband helped with this project. baby ric coming aug 2024

9,550 comments

kellypiquet you will be the most beautiful mother. i’m so honoured to be part of this with you 💕

→ YourUserName stop you’re going to make me cry. you’ll be the most perfect godmother

→ kellypiquet i still think you should've married me instead

maxverstappen1 i call godfather

→ landonorris no you don’t get to call godfather! you already got to be a groomsman

→ maxverstappen1 yeah because who helped get them back together

→ YourUserName kelly

→ danielricciardo me

→ YourUserName no, babe

danielricciardo and before you all ask, no I haven’t stopped crying since she told me

→ kellypiquet me too, dan, me too

maxverstappen1 on a serious note, i am very happy for the two of you. y/n will be a wonderful mother, and daniel, he’ll be there also

charles_leclerc i am so excited. alex keeps telling me to stop buying baby things for you guys but i just don’t listen

→ YourUserName well at least you can safely say that uncle charl bought little mcqueen’s love

→ User7 uncle charl!!!!

lewishamilton congratulations, you two. y/n looks amazing

fernandoalo_official how lovely 💚

User8 omg it WAS their wedding lando attended!!!!!

hulkhulkenberg baby ricciardo!!

pierregasly congratulations. i can’t wait to be uncle GASSLYYYYYY

alex_albon welcome baby ricciardo

→ lilymhe it’s not an alien, alex. you don’t have to greet it so formally

redbullracing we’re all so excited for the upcoming grid baby. working on a racer stroller right this minute

→ mclaren you stole our gift idea!

→ redbullracing you stole our driver!

carlossainz55 congratulations y/n and daniel 😄

mercedesamgf1 what wonderful news 🍼

landonorris i’m just so glad i can go back to calling you mum and dad without daniel wanting to drive his car into the barrier

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Please don’t hate me for this! I did say from the beginning that Part 2s would be redemption.

I’ve had this planned and written since before Part 1 was published so when half of you then asked for her to get with another driver/move on, I was like noooooo I’ve already planned their baby 😂

As always. Requests welcome. If you have requested, I promise I’m not ignoring it, it’s been added to my queue

Baby Fever Angst Series

Tag list

@bibissparkles @barcelonaloverf1life @rlalliehayes @dullypully @softtina @callsignwidow @lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @majusialikesfastcars @luckyladycreator2 @bborra @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @spanishcorndogs @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @sbrn0905 @hc-dutch @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @reguluscrystals @peachiicherries @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @weekendlusting @leclercsluvs @hannannannannannah @lifeless-firefly @sinofwriting @exotic-iris13 @imperfect-paragon @dan3avocado @barcelonaloverf1life @avillagesperson @hard4ndsoft @justzluv @laneyspaulding19 @danielshoe @chocolatefanunknown @redcrescentmoons

Sorry if I missed anyone!

2K notes · View notes

yeyinde · 6 months ago

Text

PRAIRIE WOLF | hinterland

John Price x Reader

MASTERLIST. AO3. [PREV]

“So,” he drawls, eyes skirting down the length of your body before coming to a pointed stop on your midsection, belly hidden under a thick cable-knit sweater he gave to you to wear. “What's the plan?”

It takes you a minute to realise he's talking about the baby.

allusions to abuse. descriptions of injury. trauma.

The sound of rain pelting against glass rouses you from a threadlike sleep, one full of loose, spooling dreams and fractured memories.

(dirty, blood-drenched snow. a hole in your belly. the acrid burn of heated, melting metal in your nose. a grunt—

come on, Coyote, hold still—)

It hums there, even with your eyes open. Even as you blink into existence. Sitting on the edge; little clots, microcosms you can reach out and pop like bubbles. Hypnopompia. A strange place where dream and reality blur—surrealism in fatigue blue. Ghosts pulled into consciousness.

It's dark in the truck when you blink again, sluggishly mapping the features that stretch out before you, all shaded in black.

Through the windshield is a world of dark green. Thick, dense clouds gather above the angular tops of conifers and giant evergreens. Thunderclouds rumble overhead, groaning with the heavy rainfall that pours down over everything in a howling baptism.

Only the orange of the truck cuts colour through the thick deluge of blue-green and slate. Warmed by the heat of the engine. The cable-knit throw covers the red leather seats. It's as close to comfortable as you think you've ever been. Swaddled in a Levi's jacket tucked under your bare feet resting on the bench of the truck, hanging loosely over your shoulders. It smells of smoke—thick and dense, but sweeter, earthier than nicotine. Scorched pine and soot. Bonfires. Laced with sweat and oil and dirt—humus. Like the soil after a rain shower. A summer storm.

It smells good. You sink into it a little more—into this cosm that you know won't last. A blanket of succour, soft wool that tickles your nose and warms your cold hands. Chases away the tendrils of a grasping dream reaching for the edges of your periphery—all claws and teeth and misshapen memories.

Fractured bones. Burst blood vessels. A knot your belly—

The radio crackles as the truck drives down the winding highway, crooning something low and melodic through the static:

—stopped into a church I passed along the way—

The clock on the radio reads that it's just after seven. A jarring thought; the slow, sinking realization that everything happened in the span of hours. Ended only an hour ago. And now—

He's a wild animal you're not sure how to breathe around. A bear. His hand curls loosely over the steering wheel, the other braced on the ledge of the window, fingers tapping to the music spilling out, filling the cab.

He doesn't look over at you, but you get the feeling he knows you're awake. Watching him. Hunter. Hunted.

—well, I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray—

You thought you knew better. Come on, Coyote—

“Gonna stop and grab some burgers,” he grunts, a low growl barely an octave higher than the brassy singer on the radio. Softly spoken—or as soft as a man like him could manage—to not startle you. “Takeout. Tha’ alright with you?”

You're not sure what to make of it. Him, this. Being asked, maybe. That alright with you?

When you don't speak, he peels his eyes away from the road, glancing towards you. A brow raises. Waiting.

You shrug.

He grunts again. “Fine.”

His eyes slip down briefly to the metal name tag still pinned to the faded pink of your shirt, staring at the slanted words stamped into the enamel pin.

Taking them in. Their shape. Then:

“Why Coyote?”

Another shrug. It pulls at the hand-shaped, fist-sized ache in your shoulder blade. “It's what everyone calls me.”

“It's not your real name.”

“No.”

“Why do they call you Coyote, then?”

You think of a different weight on your shoulder. Heavy metal. Stale, warm beer and cigarette smoke coming in a puff of air over your cheek. Stay still for me, pretty girl. Gonna be in a world a’hurt if your squirmin’ makes me miss my shot—

A hand on your thigh. On your neck.

Hole in your belly. Blood on the snow.

“They just do,” you mumble around the crooning verse that swallows the tremble in your voice. “They always have.”

Come on, Coyote.

John brings to you a small, rustic-looking drive-thru with a menu that has less than ten items on it.

It's made of log and glass and smells of sizzling grease. There's a small parking lot to the left of the rectangular shack with a big moose's head on the front. All long antlers and a broad snout.

MOOSEHEAD the sign reads in faded, firetruck red. home of the moose burger.

When he said drive-thru, you assumed McDonald's. Burger King. Harvey's. The small shack nestled in front of a looming, slate-coloured mountain was not what you were expecting, and as he twists the wheel, navigating the winding path to the bright yellow menu behind a brown box, something shifts in your belly. A knot. Hunger, maybe.

You can't remember the last time you ate. Not good for the baby.

“What d’you want?”

You blink through the haze of rain, the thick plume of condensation that gathers at the bottom of the window, and read the boxy letters pressed into the lit board. HAMBURGER. CHEESEBURGER. MOOSEBURGER. FRIES. SOFT DRINKS. MILKSHAKES.

John rolls the window down. The heavy scent of wet, oil-slick pavement and rust fills the cab.

The speaker crackles. “Hi. What can I get you tonight?”

“Moose burger and fries,” he grunts. “Coke to drink.” A glance is sent your way. “And—?”

“Um. The same.”

“Make it two of those.”

“Sure thing, hun. Come ‘round the front. Your order will be ready. Total is twenty-two seventeen. Thank you.”

He doesn't roll the window back up. Mist sprays against your arm, glistening under the smear of neon lights glistening through the wet windshield. It's cool outside. The mountain air is clean. Crisp.

You've never been to this part of town before. To this town, you suppose. An hour out from the flat valley that made up the port city. The bay at your fingertips. Claws in your neck—

It's nice here. Green. Dark. Everything shifts, like it's on an angle. A slope. And you know it is with the towering mountain that looked like craggy chevron from the valley below pressed, imposing and massive, at your back. Your ears pop at the elevation, and breathing is both easier and heavier at the same time.

The air is thin here, but you're so far away from that city, from him, that it doesn't matter if you suffocate now because it'll be your choice and not—

His hands on your neck. Ever try to run away from me again, Coyote, and it'll be the last thing you ever fucking do—

The bag is wet when he presses it into your arm. Dropping it down on your arched legs when you don't take it from him quick enough. You startle. Blinking. He doesn't glance over, just slides your drink into the cupholder beside his, and after a moment, mind reeling because how much did you miss just—

Thinking.

You hurry to settle into place. Legs twitching, sliding out from their protective curl against your chest—

A hand on your covered ankle stops you. “Don't need to move,” he murmurs, glancing at you briefly. But not—

Not really. Not looking at you but out the window, you realise, the truck dipping down on an angle as he hovers near the exit, waiting for the thin line of cars to pass before he turns back onto the highway.

“Get comfy.” It's a suggestion. “Eat.” But that's a command.

Your inside twist at the sound of it. Military, you remember Elliot saying. You feel it acutely in your bones, still thrumming, pulse tripping over that growling demand. Eat.

Your body moves without thought. Obeying. Hands snaking out of the warmth cradled on the back of his Levi's jacket, one he must have thrown over you in your sleep, and peel back the rolled paper bag that smells of grease and meat. It's warm in the bag. You fish out the first burger and can barely close your hand around the thick of it, blinking slightly in startled awe at the size.

Moose burger. A fitting name, but you think of home, suddenly, painfully, and wonder if it's real moose. Feel the clench in your belly at the thought. Of moose steak drenched in fat, seared on the stove. Moose stew in the slow cooker, left to tenderise in the simmering broth.

“Ain't real moose.”

You wonder how he knew, and can't be sure if you like the fact that he did. Guessed right. Chiselled inside of your head. Read you like an open book. It makes your pulse thunder, a roaring in your ears that dulls the scattered thunderclaps from above.

“Oh,” you say, and feel the disappointment trickling in, thick in your throat. “Just the size, then?”

He hums, and reaches into the bag, rifling around for a handful of fries. “Yeah. Jus’ the size. Ever had it before?”

You think of then, of being tucked inside pants that don't fit. A shirt that's too loose. Feet in boots a size too big. All tattered and aged, worn down. Holes. Patches where the fabric was ripped and sewn back together. Jagged lines from an unpractised hand. Loose threads. Knots. The scent of cigarette smoke clinging to your skin. A plastic bag. A bruised apple that your teacher slipped you during the first recess. Leftovers.

Moose meat stew. Rabbit. Ew, Coyote's eating something weird again—

Thirteen and crouching behind a bush as your dad angles the gun over your head. Big boy, he whispers. Gonna be eatin’ good this winter. Look’it the size of ‘im.

The smell of duck fat sizzling in a pan. The crack of a beer can. Squeals of wood on slippery, cheap vinyl. Fried dough resting on the counter next to a tower of pop cans and an old Costco popcorn bottle filled with tabs. remind me t’send Robbie in the mornin’ to drop ‘em off. need the money for cigarettes.

Then:

Moose tonight. Go’an an’ get your sister.

It's mild. Like beef but better, you used to think. Less tangy. Less thick. Depends on the season, your dad would say. Best cut is when they're just on the end of their rut. When they're eating big. Getting nice and fat. Tastes better like that. A bull not in rut, a skinny one, ain't as good.

Moose is a strange meat. Prey animal, but it tastes nothing like a caribou or a deer. Rabbit. Not gamey, like a predator, either—like bear (braised black bear with gravy to make it tender; the fat stored away for later—another staple you think about). It's good. Different.

You miss it—even if the idea, the memories, that come with it make you feel scraped out and raw. Hollow. Empty.

Your tongue thickens. You don't think you can speak. Not right now. So you nod instead—this shallow, jerking thing. Too solemn. Too low. Chin to your chest.

John hums, and sinks the handful of fries into his mouth before he turns on the highway, one hand on the wheel. Knuckles raised. Marbled mountain peaks. Purple and red. Blotchy in the washed out glow of the dashboard. Swollen and painful looking but he doesn't even flinch when he grips the wheel, and the clotted scab peels, lifting off skin. Oozing thick, syrupy blood out from under the cracked shell.

He pulls back when it beads too much, wipes it on his shirt, careless and unbothered by the stain it leaves, and then puts his hand back on the wheel. Smeared ink black in the gloom.

That hand sunk into his—Sam’s—face. Caught on his sneer, knuckles tearing. Leaving blood between Sam's teeth. A split on his lip that made you think of the one—the ones—he left on yours. Tender and painful and swelling up in an instant. A pulsing throb, a heat.

Over and over again—

His hand rifles through the bag. “Eat,” he says again, low, muffled around the dangling end of a fry. “s’gonna go cold.”

It already is. Somewhat. A soggy, grease-soaked bun. Patty still warm. Dripping ketchup and mustard down the sides and onto the plastic wrapper. It's heavy. Thick. You bite the end flattened by the press of your thumbs, teeth sinking into the burger. Taste familiar on your tongue.

It's good, you suppose. Filling. You eat half before dropping it back onto the paper, reaching for the fries in the bag. Thick cut and crispy. Salted.

The truck smells of salt and grease, and when your stomach knots—too much food after too little for so long—you wrap the leftovers up and slip it back into the bag for later.

He doesn't say anything after that. His hand slides over the wheel as he turns up the winding road. Up, up. Deeper into the mountains where the air thins, and the trees thicken. An endless sprawl of darkness cut only by the muted gold glow of his headlights illuminating the wet, twisting pavement.

You sink into the silence. Feeling the heavy, warm weight of the half-eaten burger on your thighs. The stretch of leather beneath your ankle.

Heavy-lidded. Stuck in the sticky cobweb of fatigue and hyperarousal. Never really sleeping for more than a handful of hours at a time. Survival, you think. It's what the text in the pamphlet said, the one the lady shoved into your hands when you went to buy a pregnancy test from the store. It's not your fault: how to seek help for domestic abuse.

Her eyes were kind—like the paramedics. Oh, hun. It ain't your fault.

The problem is you don't think that's true.

He—Sam—was a good man before he met you, wasn't he?

But every so often, your gaze will slide towards his hand still curled around the steering wheel, knuckles split. Eyes suddenly heavy enough that you think you could fall asleep again.

His cabin is perched on the maw of a bay, accessible only by boat.

He seems hesitant as he unloads the luggage from his truck, throwing them into a sleek-looking fishing boat bobbing from where it's anchored in a dock. Wary. Watching you closely like he expects you to run.

And you know there should be trepidation. A strange man you've had less than a handful of conversations with, one who stuck his nose where it didn't belong, and is now herding you into a boat late at night.

Jarvis Inlet, he grunts. A place called Dark Cove. And then he looks at you, just stares, as if waiting for something. A fight, maybe. More questions. But you've slept in worse places, and the idea of being out of the rain as quickly as possible is more appealing than your potential doom.

You slide into the boat, hands curled into his jacket. He follows after a beat, unlatching the ties holding it to the dock, and steps inside, murmuring something when it shifts under his weight. Starts it up. He digs under his seat for a moment, rifling through a box, before grabbing something out and turning towards you. A blanket. He tosses it your way, grunting under his breath about keeping warm.

It's a short trip through the water. You spend most of it huddled under the blanket, hands squeezed between your thighs as he navigates around a massive, jutting rock with thick, dense conifers clustered along the sloping edges of the island.

You expected it to be higher up. Hidden in the mountains. But it sits at an arcing curve that cuts through the ocean. Tucked in the protective curl of his land is the still, ink blue waters of the bay before it bleeds into the sound.

Mainland is a craggy, green rock on the horizon. The ocean dips, dizzyingly vast and unfathomable, behind the jagged mass littered with the lights. A city in light polluted pointillism.

He pulls the boat up to a bigger one. A yacht. Sleek and white and bobbing in the waters. It's tethered to a dock out in the lake. A bridge connects it to the shore.

He reaches over when he cuts the engine, yanking on the makeshift hood you crafted from the loose throw until it covers more of your face. “Hold onto the railings when you walk. Gets slippery.”

John turns away after, hefting your meagre luggage on one shoulder as he pulls the tarp over the boat, shielding it from the rain. You step back onto the dock, back nudging the pristine boat behind you.

The world is awash in shadows. Dark, jagged peaks. Crooked trees drooping in the downpour. Ink black. An abyss that yawns out for an unfathomable stretch before kissing the dark mass of a mountain cutting out from the sprawling pool.

You've heard people say before that places like this can swallow you whole. Slip beneath the waves, turn behind a tree, and no one will ever see you again. But you've always found that sentiment to be wrong.

Cities are where you disappear. Indifferent places made of concrete and money. No one cares if you go missing, but out here—

You think this land spit you back out.

“Come on,” he grunts, sliding beside you. His hand is heavy on your waist. Urging. “This way.”

You follow, clinging to the firm hold he has on your back as you wobble along the slick bridge to the rocky embankment just up ahead.

The bridge continues even on land, sloping up in a set of stairs before coming to a stop on a small cliff above the beach.

You turn back towards the mainland when John stops, hand rifling through his pocket for the keys.

The distance, the knowledge that this mass you stand on—all soft, wet moss; peat soil—is so far away from that place that it clumps, black and jagged and imposing, against the shoreline is calming. In shades. Small increments, like the loosening of your shoulders. The ache there, too. The breath in your lungs comes a little easier when you stare down at the mainland, at the stretch of blue between it and you. The little thread in the distance that ties it together.

He nudges you quietly with the muted clearing of his throat. Not touching you, but—

Hovering. In sight. On the edge of your periphery. Making his presence known.

You're not sure what to make of it.

What to make of any of this.

His chin jerks towards the cabin bracket between a dense thicket of trees. “C’mon. Let's get you outta the rain.”

His cabin is modest in size.

The entrance is on a deck overlooking the bay. All open. Big, ceiling-to-floor windows. French doors. It's framed in thick cured timber. Logs stained a warm, honeyed brown.

Inside is simple in design, too.

The kitchen is to the left. A living room to the right. Straight across is a loft with a staircase angled into the kitchen. A small, dark hallway rolls out from beneath the balcony and leads to two bedrooms, the laundry room, and the bathroom.

The living room is cosy. An old, worn couch is pushed against the vaulted window overlooking the deck. A chair tucked beside it. Against the right wall is a hearth next to another big, open window angled into the forest.

A coffee table sits in front, cluttered with stacks of books—carpentry, woodwork—and pieces of wood. Blocks shaved down into the idea of an object. Incipient creations. A knife lays overtop. Pens, markers scattered around.

Along the log walls—all the same warm honey-coloured—are trophies. A moose head. Antlers. Books line the shelves. Newspaper rests in a thick stack by the armchair.

The kitchen is tucked into a nook, hidden behind an island. The same rustic brown as everything else, save for the faded, yellow refrigerator and the off-white stove.

Where a dining table might sit, is a workbench. Tools. A saw. It spills over the surface.

It's lived in, you know, but something about it feels detached. Cluttered madness, but—

Not really.

Everything, even in this disordered chaos, has a place. From the scattered markers to the books on the walls. It all fits some unseen cohesion even if you thought his house would have been neater. Military.

There's a blanket on the couch that catches your eye. The design—the pattern. Achingly familiar.

“Loft or bedroom?”

You tear your gaze away from it, swallowing down the acrid longing that surges in your throat. “What?”

He jerks his chin towards the balcony. “Wanna sleep up there or in the spare bedroom?”

“Don’t you sleep up there?”

“No. Used to. S’more of an office now.”

There's a guest house to the left of the cabin. A bachelor with the kitchen running into the bedroom. The washroom closed off. But it's not finished, he says, something frissoning over his expression. Knotting between his brows. Something about the look on his face screams don't ask because he'll never tell.

You glance away. It's not in you to pry. To care. Whatever secrets he keeps are his and his alone. Just like yours. Why Coyote—

The only other choice is the spare bedroom tucked inside the dark hallway beside his. Close. Barely an arm's length away—

“Loft.”

He nods like he expected it. Jerks his chin again towards the back, holding your duffle bag out for you to take.

“Showers through there. Go get warmed up. And I'll heat up some stew.”

The bag dangles on the width of his hand, swaying from the momentum. This ugly, tattered black backpack—

“I don't—I didn't bring any clean clothes—” it's embarassing to admit now that inside your meagre bag is nothing but four hundred dollars and an old, tattered blanket. A sweater. Dirty, bloodstained pants. Everything else is with—

With Sam.

The plan had been to cash your last cheque, and go back to the motel. Grab the rest. A stupid decision in hindsight.

There's a tick in his jaw. A terse set to his shoulders. He lowers the bag, letting it fall to the floor, collapsing in on itself. Empty.

“Nevermind,” you say, slipping the wet blanket from your shoulders, letting it pool in your arms. “I can just wear this—”

His eyes rive over the crumpled, wet uniform shirt. Faded pink—bubblegum, you think; with chocolate brown trim—and stained with grease. Coffee.

Another tick. His brow furrows. Knots. Anger slashing over his face, rucking three, jagged lines through his forehead.

“No. I'll bring you somethin’ to wear. Somethin’ warm. Gets cold out here. Go.” Another jerk of his chin. A command.

He does that a lot, you realise, shivering at the bite inside the cabin, the chill ghosting over your damp skin as he turns away from you, walking deeper into the house. Towards his bedroom. The broad expanse of his back bigger than anything you'd ever seen—

All height, and heft. Soft in the middle, but thickened with muscles. And with it, he commands. All biting, unignorable demands. Do this, eat. Go. Get warm.

You're used to it, you think. Being told what to do. How to act. Marionette on strings. All you're good for.

Sam used to say the reason you made him hit you so much is because you never listen. Gotta box you around the ears a bit, just for you to even pay attention to me, Coyote. It's not my fault, baby, you make me do it—

But there's something about his commands that sink beyond noise. Reaching into the slick, pulsing gyri, and sending off his own current of obeyance. Innate. Unconscious. He says eat and you find yourself taking a bite of a burger you didn't think you even wanted. Weren't hungry for. Chewing. Swallowing. Another bite. Chew. Swallow. Again. Again. Again. Utters watch your step and your eyes drop to the slick ground, carefully treading the planks.

Get warm. Go shower. You drop the blanket on the back of the chair, covering up the other one, and walk towards the bathroom. Thoughtless. Head silent. Empty and still. Quiet for the first time since you were thirteen—

It's because you're tired, you think. Exhausted.

That's all.

But when you finally sink into the bed—lumpy and thick and perfect—sleep evades you. Skirts just out of reach until you're staring up at the log ceiling, thinking about nothing. Everything.

Sam. Blood on the pavement. The split in his knuckles. Grease. Burgers. Come on, Coyote—

The knot in your stomach—

Your hand goes there. Slips under the thick cable knit sweater he gave you to sleep in, the boxers that fit like loose shorts, and curls around your lower belly. Flat and empty because this thing inside of you isn't even really there. Small, the book said. Tiny. A speck.

A life-changing, mind-melting thing.

You—

A mother.

The thought is soaked in the rotten, fetid sludge of the past. Of your own mother with her dark hair and her hard eyes. Her strange moods. Don't touch me, Coyote. I don't wanna be touched right now, fuck. Can't you ever listen? Mercurial. How come you never hug me? Actin’ like I ain't your mom an’ shit. Shifting. Evolving. Changing shape depending on who she was with at the time—

Unravelling at the seams ever since your dad died. You look like your dad, Coyote. It makes me fuckin’ sick—

You can't think about it. Won't.

So you don't. Swallow it down. Cotton in your ears. Noise in the back of your head.

Memories on your skin. Ghosts in your veins.

Come on, Coyote.

You'd be a terrible mother, you think, and peel your hand away, knotting it into a fist by your side until your nails sink into skin.

There's something a little grounding about the pain this time.

You stare up at the ceiling all night until the sun rises, golden and warm, and spills in through the vaulted window.

Below you, you hear John stir. Rising.

You follow his lead.

He does odd jobs, he says.

Carpentry. Woodwork. Makes things that people want. That they need. Most of it gets sold in town—patio chairs, kayaks for the tourists—or by the few locals in the bay who need things made. Repairs, too. Easy fixes.

Most of it is on backlog, but he'll get the occasional phone call asking for something to be done.

And that's where you come in.

The loft has a small space made up of a makeshift office. A phone. A ledger. Papers. Pens. It's pushed up against the railing of the balcony, right across from the top of the stairs.

All you really have to do is answer when people call, take their information, and find out what they want him to build. He doesn't do cabins, he grunts. Say no. Always.

Everything else goes into the ledger for him to look at later.

“Don't worry,” he rumbles, scratching at the thick curls beneath his chin. “Most of the orders come from Elliot. You'll just be fielding local work. Kayaks, mostly.”

And he's not wrong. The first week, you get all of a single phone call—a woman down in Osoyoos who wants a kayak. Her information is penned into the thick, waterlogged ledger next to the other names. Contact information. He'll get back to you soon, you say, but John just grunts when you tell him about the woman.

Its mostly just—

Laying around. Organising the mess in the loft. The boxes he shrugs at, and tells you to put them in the closet along with whatever else is clogging the upstairs. Forgotten remnants he seems disinterested in going through.

Or watching him.

John fills space as easily as breathing. Makes noises. Commands. The order he's working on is spread out over the deck, and spills into the cabin. Little saws on the workbench. Tools. He wanders in and out with purpose, grabbing things, using them, putting them back. Silent as he works.

He's a mystery. An enigma. Seems unbothered by you being here, sinking your fingers into his things. He adjusts in that strange, quiet way of his. Makes dinner for two as if he'd been doing it the whole time. Leaves clean towels in the bathroom. Runs into town and comes back with clothes—from Savannah, he grunts out, thrusting the bag in your direction; Elliot's wife, said she'd be about your size—and pads, tampons, that he shoves under the bathroom sink. An extra toothbrush. Shampoo that isn't five-in-one and smells of honey and oats.

But it's not seamless.

Sometimes, you think he forgets. Walks in—caked in sawdust and covered in sweat—and peels his shirt up, baring his thick, hairy damp chest without a second thought, scrubbing his face, his neck, with the bottom of his stained shirt. Or rips it off. Comes in drenched in sweat, and reaches behind himself, one hand curling into the fabric against his nape, and pulls—

Broad, slick skin. All covered in a dense layer of fur.

Bearish.

Remembers himself only when you make a noise. A huff. Silent laughter because this whole thing is a little unreal—

He doesn't apologise, though. Just shrugs. Reaches for a face cloth he keeps slung around the back of the couch and pats himself dry.

Dinner is quiet, too. Sombre. He leaves food out for you, but eats between work. Often outside, reclining on the patio chair on the deck. Pours himself a glass of whiskey. Has a cigar. Inhales his food before you've even put together a plate, and then the saw starts up again. Back to work.

It's tense. The atmosphere is thick. It feels like you're dancing around each other, trying to make room in a space too small for even just himself.

You stay upstairs most of the time. Staring out at the sprawl of glinting blue. The jagged green.

The bay is prettier in the daylight when the sun is high in the sky casting a golden yellow arch across the veridian world around you. Still. Silent.

The city was loud. Cars on the pavement. Horns. Chatter. Noise. People. An endless spill, a cacophony of life. Sirens. Motors. Barking commands.

Sam's condo downtown was never quiet. Too close to the harbour—foghorns, the roar of ships entering the port. Television playing something he was interested in at the time. The radio on. The sounds he made spilling out—fuck, Coyote. Can't you do anything right?

Noise, noise, noise—

More coffee. When's my breakfast comin’ out. Hey, cutie, what time you done work at?

You should really leave him, Coyote, because what the fuck? Have you seen your eye? It looks worse with makeup, come on, girl, you're fuck up our tips!

And now—

The saw. Scrape of a knife on wood. A grunt. Fuck. A loon in the distance. A splash. Watch your step on the deck, Coyote. Got shit everywhere. The lap of the sea against the rocks. The rustle of the trees in the breeze. Makin’ stew tonight. Want some? The ringing of the telephone. Etta James crooning on the radio. The knock of the metal boats against the dock. Grab yourself a beer if you want. Only got that or whiskey. Help yourself. The soft shlick of the fridge peeling open. The hum. Clink of a bottle on glass. The hiss when you open it. A saw. A splash. Rain on glass. The thunk of his boots across the deck. The soft thud of a door.

Anyone call? A grunt. The rip of laces as he peels his boots off. You shake your head, reaching for a bun. No. A sigh. Good.

Most of the noise is in your head.

Memories. Malformed dreams dancing in the recesses of your mind.

Crack of a twig. Hands on your throat. Come on, Coyote—

Inescapable.

Inevitable.

And that's what it all is, isn't it?

He stares at you, too. Sometimes you catch him watching in that careful, measured way of his. The same look on his face as before, in the diner—anger: what happened to you; wariness: whatever it is, don't bring it over here—but morphing. Shifting. Dropping from the curve of your neck tucked under the fold of a pink collar, bruises melting seamlessly into your skin, to the roll of his sweater over your midsection. Pausing there, like he's expecting to see something more than the curl of cream yarn woven together.

It makes you a little sick. Like that time when he and the paramedic hovered. You hate them both, you thought. Felt. An acid burn in your chest. Go away, stop staring. Stop gawking. Leave!

The woman in the drugstore. Oh, you poor thing. Pushing an unwanted pamphlet into your hands. Don't worry, hun, it'll get better.

People look at you and see what they wanted to see. Unwrapping you until they found the hurt below. A reason for their sympathy.

Because girls like you aren't deserving of pity unless you're all broken up. Shallow graves and forgotten names. A box collecting dust.

They looked for the marks, the bruises, and sighed with relief when they found them. Oh, you poor thing.

It's petty, and you hate yourself for it. Just a little bit. But you know how far sympathy will go before it dries up and oh, you poor thing becomes well, you kinda deserved it.

You're not special in this regard. All of your friends had similar stories growing up but what always set them apart is that people would have looked into that room, seen a grown man with his hand on their thigh, a sixteen-year-old child, and thought oh, your poor thing.

When it happened to you, their lips curled in disgust. Stay away from my husband, you slut—

Because at the end of the day, it's always your fault for looking the way you do.

("Like you want it," he grunts into your ear, spiteful and ugly, fingers digging in because they can.)

You figure it's only a matter of time John, too, stops finding reasons for his pity.

His charity.

Because, really—

"What makes you so special, Coyote?"

A pretty face. Split thighs.

The only thing you're good for is being on your knees—

Come on, Coyote. You should know this already.

But the dance continues.

He leaves in the mornings. Goes on runs. You haven't gathered the courage yet to go farther than the deck, too worried about the call of the forest. The sprawling blue. Of sinking into evergreen and sleeping forever—

John doesn't seem to mind your reclusiveness. Only a matter of time. He brings back books when he leaves the island. Little things for you to occupy yourself with. You never ask, won't. The fewer favours you owe, the more of yourself you can keep when the good Samaritan act has run dry.

You don't say thank you. It wasn't your choice to begin with. You clean up after yourself, but that's it. A guest in his house. Nothing more, nothing less.

You do your job, even though it's obvious it was a joke.

No one calls besides the woman in Osoyoos and Elliot—

Something that shouldn't have surprised you as much as it had. Military dogs, he once said as you poured him another cup of coffee. We tend to mingle.

But hearing his voice is a cruel relief. The only exception to the rule has ever been Elliot, a man who seemed to adopt an uncle stance when it came to you.

Kin, he'd said, and laughed when you scoffed. We're practically cousins.

“Might stop by soon. See how you're holdin’ up.”

“Don't bother. I'm fine.”

“Well, maybe I'll come bother Price. He loves it when I visit.”

“I'll pass on the message.”

“No, don't do that,” he laughs, loud and free. It tickles your ear. “He'll call the dock and tell ‘em not to rent me a boat.”

“Should take it as a sign, then. That John—Price doesn't wanna be around you.”

“Ah, cruel girl. You wound me.”

“You don't wanna get hurt, then stop calling.”

“Gotta check in on ya. You get into all kinda trouble when I’m not around.”

It makes you tense. Belly knotting. “No one asked you to do that, Elliot. I didn't ask you to.”

“You're a lot like Price, you know. Both of you…you don't like askin’ for help even if you need it.” He breathes into a line. A heavy sigh.

Elliot is a good man, you know. The best. But—

“I'm fine, Elliot.”

You tend to hurt people like that.

“You're a good kid,” he says instead. “Just—be gentle with him, huh? Been through a lot.”

“He's six foot and like, three hundred pounds. How much damage could I really do?”

More’in you think, is what he says after a long pause, low and solemn; voice full of things you can't unravel. Unwrap. And you scoff in response because what does he know? Huh, Elliot? Be so serious, ta.

A man like John—Price—could rip you apart before you even put a scratch on him.

“Not everyone hurts with their hands, Coyote.”

John's been through a lot. Please remember that.

Something has to break, you think.

And you can feel it, too. This thickness in the air. In the coil of his shoulders. The line between his brow. Anger, inward. The heavy, measured way he stares as he dances around you. Moving in circles. A clumsy routine built on mutual avoidance.

It's I didn't ask for help and don't bring that over here merging into a whitewater confluence. A narrow channel where one must go under first in order to fit.

You're tired of it being you, but you don't think a man like Price has ever backed down from anything in his life.

Stalemate, maybe.

Or—

It cracks after dinner when he lingers. Hovering in the kitchen as you slip down the stairs in search of something to fill the chasm in your belly. The thing growing—

He meets you there, shoulders tense. His head is bowed between them, hung low as he looks over the plans spread out on his workbench. You make to skirt around him, but he looks up when you get close. Pins you in place with his stare.

It takes you a minute to realise he's talking about the baby.

“Adoption,” you force out, squeezed between the ache of the past chiselling inside rotted marrow and the shape of your future; a hole in your belly. Blood on the snow.

You were always meant to die, you think. Snuffed under the heel of a boot or at the end of a shotgun—the how never mattered much over the spread of a carcass on the ground. Inevitable, maybe. Just like—

Just like your mother.

But at least this way, this little thing leaching off of you, an unwanted seedling, will grow. Might have a chance to be different. Escape the generational trauma that plagues your lineage—an inherited curse. Inescapable. Maybe it'll be different. Better.

“I think—adoption might be best. Maybe.”

He says nothing, just stares in that strange, measured way of his. But then—

Why would he? It's not his kid. Not his choice.

It seems to dawn on him all the same. His jaw clenches tight, bruised knuckles peaking as he curls his fingers into a fist.

Something fractures over his expression. Gaze turning inward. Shuttered. Haunted by ghosts older than you, maybe. But he's good at shaking them off. Putting them away.

He catches your stare, eyes following it down to his bloodied knuckles, and his mouth pulls into a taut, absent smile. He knocks them on the wood once, twice. Leaves a drop of blood smeared on the grain.

“Alright,” it's strained, pinched. “If that's what you want.”

It is. It's an unfathomable kindness you wish your mother graced onto you. It—it—will understand. Eventually. With time. Once they realise the only thing in their future was sleeping in the back seat of a car while you worked odd jobs—waitress, stripper, labourer in a factory—and barely having enough money to scrape together to get a happy meal, they'll come to thank you for this choice.

You nod instead, and his lips twitch again in that mockery of a smile. Something shatters. Breaks.

There are more ways to hurt, Coyote, than with teeth and claws.

He peels away after a beat, muttering something under his breath about an order. A kayak the neighbours ordered.

You don't watch him leave. You're too busy staring at the smear of blood left behind, the smear he didn't seem to notice.

for those wondering what John's cabin looks like. Jervis Inlet is just perfect for this little fic.

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #fic: prairie wolf #i hate picking names for people/ocs but i also have plans so the exbf couldn't be a nameless entity 😮‍💨#cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price #captain john price #price/reader #price x you #captain price #cod price

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mih-nuh · 1 year ago

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[id: a screenshot of tumblr tags courtesy @deme-real-life. they read: #and it'd be all like 'the dataset? all aperture science artificial personality driven artwork is officially licensed #due to all test subjects explicitly giving aperture science permission to use their artwork as training sets' #'oh? you didn't know that was in the contract? so you're lecturing me on ethics when you lied to aperture science about reading and agreeing #to the terms of service? i didn't know you were a liar too. just another box to check on your long list of war crimes.' end id]

glados would love making AI art. she would be like heres a picture i drew, for you. thats you falling in that fiery pit. your arm is on backwards . i did that on purpose, as a metaphor for how you're so backhanded. here, let's pull up another one. that's you dying from neurotoxin. oh, dear, your hand's been replaced with an image of anvil. i also did that on purpose. honestly, youv'e got to figure that one out yourself, you can't possibly expect me to explain all my symbolism.

#mina's posts with amazing prev tags from mutuals who are awesome and amazing #you're always so real as fuck

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httpsserene · 1 year ago

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relationship reveal — 𝐥𝐬. 𝟏𝟖 lance stroll x fem!black!reader requested! smau. vacation romance. profanity. a couple of suggestive lines. one line of dark humor (toaster bath). fluff and angst. sibling dynamics (bullying). hard launch (but sad). heartbreak. this might count as breaking up.

synopsis: if you love her, you have to let her go. who the hell came up with that?

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i think my tags are overdramatic but, i’m not trying to getting jumped in my inbox for miss tagging anything. also, i know lance isn’t a fan favorite, but i’m in love with this smau, and i will not be accepting any judgement xxx

instagram • ynplays • december 14th • cozy in a cabin ⚑

liked by valkyrae, yourbestie, segagenesisthedawg, and 43,879 others

ynplays: falling love with canada🇨🇦🍁🏒⛸️🌨️

tagged yourbestie, segagenesisthedawg, nhl

view comments

ynplays: sega cries after he walks us back to our room at night and leaves 😫

➥ user1: she’s just a liddol girl 🥹

➥ user2: the puppy has spoken u have to keep him i don’t make the rules 🤷🏿‍♀️

➥ user3: so...you have no choice but to run away with him into the sunset.

yoursister: booooo we get it you've been brainwashed by a canadian man 🙄🙄🙄

➥ ynplays: when was the last time you smiled today

➥ yoursister: it's difficult when ALL you do is yap about your crush on this hockey-core man 🤢

➥ ynplays: he gives himbo hockey player IM TELLNG YOU !!!

➥ user4: so he's canadian 😶

user5: his name starts with an L, he's approx 6'0, is brunette with brown eyes, and he's canadian with hockey player vibes👐🏻

➥ user6: i could walk two (2) steps outside of my house in ottawa and i'd run into a man who fits this description 😭😭

➥ user7: he sounds like every other bitch???

➥ user8: let's go through every minor and major hockey league roster again

➥ yourfriend1: "again?" who TF has time for that

user9: tagging THE nhl is crazy 💀

➥ user8: i'm telling you he's a hockey player

➥ user10: idk man he doesn't look like a hockey build in either of these photos🤔

igstory • yoursister uploaded!

[caption1; me and sis] [caption2; fuck. i guess they're kinda cute together 😒]

yourfriend2: did you see them doing snow angels together 🥺🥺☹️ yourfriend2: that had me smiling ngl...they're adorable yoursister: yeah, i'm just happy there's no red flags she's ignoring, he seems like a genuine dude

user11: do you improve of this lance? 6'0, brown eyes, brunette, canadian hockey player 🙂 yoursister: uhh i fear for his life,,are u gonna put a hit on him or smth yoursister: also he is not a hockey player lol user11: oh🫣 yoursister: i'm pretty sure he's like a car engineer or smth? i think i heard him say that

twitter • december 16th

instagram • ynplays • december 16th • sanctuary ⚑

liked by nhl, yoursister, yourbestie, yourmom, and 42,313 others

ynplays: i don't want to leave.

view comments

nhl: not me crying 😩 - admin

➥ user12: huh

➥ user13: nhl admin relatable

yourbestie: aw babe. enjoy your last five days here :)

➥ ynplays: i only have five days left 😟

➥ yourfriend1: oh girlie...it'll be alright

➥ yourfriend2: i always hate this part of the vacation

yoursister: please ask lance if he's willing to take you off my hands. permanently preferably.

➥ ynplays: are you familiar with the term sympathy?

➥ yoursister: oh you're sad for real

➥ yoursister: 😕 therapy session in the hot tub now ladies

➥ user14: this is depressing me

user15: hey, you can just elope? i don't think you've added that to your toolbox yet

➥ ynplays: too sad to even consider it rn

➥ ynplays: nvm he invited me to his cabin later 👅✌🏽

➥ user15: use protection 🙂‍↔️

user16: i feel like this should have a sensitive content warning

➥ user17: my day is ruined

➥ user18: and my disappointment is immeasurable

➥ user19: THERES 104 DAYS OF SUMMER VACATION🗣️🔊

➥ user20: read the room man @/user19

twitter • ynplays • december 21st

instagram • lancestroll • december 24th

liked by estebanocon, chloestroll, astonmartinf1, and 2,109,764 others

lancestroll: winter break has never felt so short. i missed you the second you stepped away from me. happy holidays, baby.

tagged ynplays

view comments

estebanocon: it’ll get better eventually mate ❤️‍🩹 believe it or not

➥ lancestroll: finding it hard to believe rn

chloestroll: come have some hot cocoa with me

➥ lancestroll: yn liked hot cocoa

➥ scottyjames31: oh mate…

➥ user21: okay, i'm concerned for my health. there's some sort of clear liquid leaking from my eyes

➥ user22: FUCK man this is sad 😕

astonmartinf1: chin up lance - admin

➥ alpinef1team: feeling for you mate - admin

➥ mercedesamgf1: sad it ended up like this for you lance - admin

➥ user23: the f1 teams are assembling like the avengers in infinity war for this

➥ user24: an unforgettable day in f1 history

yourmom: fix this. liked by lancestroll

➥ user25: w mama 🤩

➥ user26: tell him ma'am ‼️‼️

yourbestie: thank you for being good to her when you had her

➥ lancestroll: don't thank me for that.

➥ user27: cooking up my toaster bath actually

user30: well this is not the hard launch i wanted to confirm our theory.

➥ user31: brb about to create them in the sims and make them get married and have 6 children, sega, two cats and let them get old together

➥ user: realest cure for heartbreak

user28: no way they decided not being together at all is worse than being long distance

➥ yoursister: that's what i sad but nobody listens to me

➥ user28: why'd they do it???

➥ yoursister: my sister can be incredibly stupid about returned feelings. and for some reason she chose now to "protect her heart"

➥ user29: she deserves her happy ending and needs to allow herself to have it 😭😭😭

twitter • ynplays • december 25th

imessage • lance -> yn

#f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 x black!reader #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll x black!reader #lance stroll smau #lance stroll x y/n #f1 x y/n #lance stroll fluff #f1 angst #f1 fluff #f1 x female reader #serene’s chapters.#⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: ls.

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strwbryien · 9 months ago

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｢ ᝰ.ᐟ entry 02: ARE YOU ALRIGHT?⭑.ᐟ ｣

kunikuzushi dropped his phone in shock. what do you mean kumi is [name]?! this has to be some sick joke, right? there's no way they're the same person... right? but it was obvious. he could recognize that (pretty) face anywhere—the face that made him fall in love like a high school kid.

“...ni... kuni! KUNI!” venti’s voice snapped him out of his daze.

“WHAT?!” he shouted.

“i've been calling you since i got here! what happened to you? you're so spaced out you even dropped your phone!” the braided boy exclaimed.

“it's none of your damn business. why are you here anyway?” kunikuzushi scowled. he probably came just to annoy him, as always. despite being friends for years, venti still gets on his nerves sometimes.

“i'm here to annoy you!” i fucking knew it, kunikuzushi thought bitterly.

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synopsis:

IN WHICH—you, although faceless, are a very famous streamer known as KUMI. you were streaming as usual, playing games and interacting with fans. but when you're about to exit the stream, you accidentally pressed the wrong button that led to you opening your cam and showing your whole face to your audience. this wasn't supposed to happen, no ! so you panicked and quickly ended the stream. numerous screenshots circulated on twitter, which broke both the fans and the internet. this reached a certain someone, SCARAMOUCHE, your rival in streaming. when the said boy saw the trending photo, he almost fell off his gaming chair. because—lo and behold! KUMI was actually [name]?! now who is this [name] in his life, if you may ask? she's the girl that scaramouche has been admiring from afar in real life! quite shocking, right? have i told you that he’s also been sending you anonymous love letters? oh well...

notes ᝰ.ᐟ

— i apologize for the wait! school has been a bitch to me (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠) — ajax joined the fandom at the right time lolol

— the # is literally kumi, kumi, kumi, then scaramouche LMFAO — taglist are still open! if you wanna be added/removed, please lmk! — thank you for reading as always!

ꪆৎ taglist

(if ur @ is not in bold letters, it means that i can't tag you)

@imnotyizhuo @simonisferal @lovelypadisarah @justkira-143 @yourfavoritefreakyhan @yuminako @035814 @lily-lmao @kazufavor @shutingstar @squigglewigglewoo @lxkeeeee @blvdmrcnry @tazuduck @wth121 @lloovvv @lovemiyae @sketcheeee @minhosprettywife @3lectraheart @akarisuzuk1 @danhenglovebot @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @kinanahana @najaemism @heusalettle @automaticpatroltragedy @kyon-cherri @featuredtofu @tamikahoshiko @lalalaloveallmydays @musings-of-miss-j @jayzioxx @ilxandra @kleeboomed @lazy-sanns @saechiro @vixialuvs @shyentsmissingink @poemzcheng @extherial @bananasquash @dxrling-xing @rifran

#CAMERA FLIP HEART LEAP .ᐟ #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smau #genshin smau #genshin impact au #genshin au #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche au #scaramouche smau #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader

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landograndprix · 2 years ago

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「Feel the magic ๛ l.n」

part iii

✧.* things with lando get serious quickly and while your'e going through a rollocoaster of emotions with everything that's going on the public voices their own opinion.

✧.* this was supposed to be a cutesy, fluffy series but would it really be a landonfour story if it doesn't turn angsty? 💀 reader is older. Taglist is open. I always see your requests to be added to the list in the comments and I do add you but if you can't find your name in the list, it's probably because I was unable to tag you and therefore put you off the list. Feel free to ask again though, we'll keep trying! 😊

✧.* prev part - next part

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mclaren

liked by landonorris, y/nusername and 98,765 others

mclaren dream team..literally 😴

tagged: landonorris, y/nusername

view all 362 commente

julieeeexo admin is going to be the biggest y/nlando shipper out there 😂

norry4 match made in heaven

norrislandofan y/n be sleeping so much because she's of old age 🤪

hamilt44n so funny..I'm so quirky..landos definitely going to fuck me.. 🤪

bott_ass didn't know there was a fucking age limit to taking naps..damn

jackson88 they better be wide awake when the season starts, I'm expecting big things!!

hannahh me and who, when?

mclarenslando stop it, the season hasn't even started yet and McLaren's already exposing them 😂

carlandosainz 🤮 🤮

chilisainz babe, do we need to call an ambulance or are you overreacting again?

landonorris cute

norrizz I think you forgot the heart emojis and everything

y/nusername can't live in peace anymore

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y/nusername posted to their story

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y/nusername

liked by landonorris, milouberger and 201,853 others

y/nusername ..and we shall call it family 💕

view all 876 comments

hamilt44n okay but what does it take for y'all to accept me in the family?

y/nsmclaren hope you have fun bbyyy 🥰

laaaandonorr do your parent know you like little boys?

milouberger where was my invite? Tell dad he forgot to text me the location..

y/nusername dad just told me he's disowned you..

milouberger oh 😔

f1gurlz ..and another family torn apart :(

nor4iss they better hide those children knowing y/n loves her boys young 💀

sainznorriss are any of your nieces, nephews or siblings looking for a girlfriend? Asking for a friend 👀

gaslyslando ur disgusting

bobnorris get out of here if you're so disgusted 🙄

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y/nusername

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell and 199,653 others

y/nusername recharging 🔋

view all 786 comments

mcbully/n yessss y/n, kick back and relax because we need you back on the track in top form!

charlos16 okay girl, keep being an absolute vibe. 😍

grussell63 imagine being lando and getting to call her yours 😭

landoscar don't know who to be jealous of 😭

pierreswife she's for real or of his league!

teamlando4 nah lando's way out of y/n her league, she should find someone hey own age 🤨

grussell63 @.teamlando4 nobody asked for your WRONG opinions.. thank you.

julieeeexo pls tell me where you got that necklace from, I need it 😍

cecilemoulin beauty 🥰

y/nusername no you 🥰

leclercnorriss leave lando alone and retire already

hamillewis why's everybody hating so much? Let her live her life..

landonorris 😍😍

norrizz okaaaay boy said I'm not hiding anything

lan4lan I mean he's been waiting to call y/n his for years 😂

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landonorris posted on his story

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taglists->

Feel the magic taglist: @celesteblack08 @mrsmaybank13 @cha-hot @judesgfirl @roseseraj @kissesandmartinis @jpg3 @amulhermaisfelizdomundo @marialovesf1 @silkenthusiasts @luvrrish @laneyspaulding19 @emily-b @formula1bby @buckybarnessweetheart @itsjustkhaos @strawberrychita @iifloweringnightsii @buendiabebeta @jjsprobablywrong

Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @softboystarkey @buffysummrsx @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4

Lando taglist: @beatricemiruna @simp-for-fictional-people @ihrtdan @landossainz @christianpulisic10

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x oc #lando norris fanfic #lando norris smau #lando norris au #lando norris imagine #lando norris #lando x reader #f1 x reader

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daydreamgoddess14 · 2 months ago

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💫 For Your Consideration - Act 3 💫

actor!Bucky x fem!actress!Reader (no use of y/n, l/n, reader is not described in any great detail. I save that for the gowns 💃)

Warnings: Hollywood AU, language, internet nasties, flirty!Bucky, a little power imbalance, age-gap (Bucky is around 40, actress reader is closer to 30 or younger if you prefer 🤭)... more to be added later.

Bucky Barnes, the suave and talented leading man of the 'Winter Soldier' movie series, finds himself on the red carpet circuit during awards season with his latest film 'The Howling Commandos'. But the season takes an unexpected turn when he crosses paths with a mesmerizing newcomer - the actress who has become the talk of Tinseltown with her captivating performance in her most recent film. Sparks fly as they navigate silly season in Hollywood, with a spotlight on their every move will their chemistry ignite a real life romance?

Note: I used Daisy for these insta posts just because their chemistry was so great, and the pictures fit perfectly. She's just here for the ~vibes~, not as a descriptor.

Tagging: @winchestert101 •

< Prev Act | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Next Act >

NOVEMBER 2025

It was a small set with only a tight crew, so it was easy to pick out her voice amongst the group. She had her back turned, talking animatedly with someone from her studio. Her posture, her laugh, everything about her pulled him in like a magnet.

"You're staring," Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Bucky shook his head and turned to look at his best friend with a glare, but Sam’s grin was too knowing.

"I’m not staring," he muttered, his face flushing.

"Right. Sure, just... looking intensely." Sam shook his head, still smirking. "You should just go talk to her."

Bucky turned his attention back to her. She hadn’t noticed him yet, but his heart still thudded in his chest.

“I don’t do this,” he muttered.

“You do today, buddy, that's the whole idea of the segment. And behave yourself, she's already nervous.” Sam slapped him on the back and headed in her direction, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Bucky exhaled slowly, trying to relax himself. He’d been in front of cameras more times than he could count, had done press junkets in five different time zones in the same week. But this felt… different.

When she finally turned, her eyes scanned the room, then landed on him.

The shift was immediate. The polite, professional smile she'd just given Sam faltered, just for a second, as recognition dawned. Then it curved into something more genuine. Something warm.

He raised a hand in greeting.

She hovered in the space between them, clearly debating whether or not to cross the studio floor and go to him.

He was surprised when she did.

“Hi,” she said, and her voice was a little breathless, like she hadn’t expected any of their surroundings to be real until now.

“Hi,” he echoed.

“It's nice to meet you,” she held out her hand and he took it.

“You too, properly this time.”

They sat in the two velvet seats angled toward each other, while production assistants moved the lighting, the table, shifted her chair a little more, adjusted the set dressings…

For a second, they were quiet while they were fussed over.

Then she grinned. “So… this is happening.”

He laughed, relaxing an inch. “This is happening.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do I get to tell you I’m a fan now, or should I wait until it’s being recorded?”

“Depends,” he said, leaning back. “Do I get to tell you I’ve seen your movie twice?”

Her eyes widened. “Twice?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about the chair,” he deadpanned.

She burst out laughing just as the producer called “Rolling in thirty seconds.”

You heard laughter before you realised he'd arrived, you'd had your back to the door talking with a publicist from the studio.

They were lovely, and calming, but you couldn't help wishing you had Dani or Lulu around for moral support.

They could read your emotions and fears from a single breath.

When Sam Wilson, the man whose laughter you'd heard, gently placed a hand on your shoulder as he walked past, and smiled warmly, you turned to see Bucky in the doorway.

He looked just as composed as you remembered from the festival, though this time… there was something else. A softness around the eyes, maybe. The faintest smile tugging at his mouth as he spotted you.

Oh.

He was more handsome up close than you remembered. That wasn’t entirely fair.

“Nice to meet you,” you managed, your voice steadier than you felt as you stepped forward and held out your hand.

“You too, properly this time.” He said, his palm was warm against yours.

You were still recovering from the feel of it when the producer’s voice called out final cues.

As you both sat down, the lights flicked brighter and people milled around you.

It felt like you needed to get it off your chest, the fact that you were a fan, that you enjoyed his movies.

“Do I get to tell you I’m a fan now, or should I wait until it’s being recorded?” You asked cautiously, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You couldn't believe it when he said he'd seen your movie twice. Once, yes, you'd seen him there with your own eyes, but twice?

“Couldn’t stop thinking about the chair,” he told you calmly just as the director called rolling in thirty.

The sound of your laughter filled the set, the red light on the camera blinked on.

And just like that, it began.

“So, how’s playing Sally Bowles been for you?” He asked, leaning forward slightly, genuinely interested. More interested than he probably should be.

“Well, it’s a challenge,” she admitted, her body settling into the chair like she was finally letting herself breathe. “It’s so much more than just the party girl act. You have to balance the darkness and the energy, but also stay grounded enough to play a woman who is truly struggling with addiction and self-worth. There’s a quote I think about a lot by another Sally: ‘The contradiction of playing Sally Bowles is you have to be sober, rested, well fed and hydrated to play a drunk, addicted party girl.’”

He smiled, something catching in his chest. The way she spoke about her work, there was no performance in it. She meant every word. “That makes perfect sense,” he said. “Sounds like all of my prep.”

“Yeah? Hydration is the key, right?” She grinned.

That grin knocked something loose in him.

“So what drew you to The Commandos?” She asked, tilting her head. “Other than the obvious chance to play the brooding leader?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “That was pretty high on the list. No, I liked that it didn’t let the character off easy. He’s messy, broken. Still trying to be good. That kind of struggle… it’s human.” He paused, then looked at her, really, looked at her. “Same with your Sally.”

She paused, just for a moment, and then nodded.

“Yeah. People think Sally’s all glamour, but there’s this slow erosion underneath. You can’t fake that. You have to build it in piece by piece. You had a guy that was already on his knees -”

“And I had to build him back up, piece by piece,” he echoed, feeling the words settle somewhere deep. She got it. Not just the performance, him.

“You made it feel like Sally didn’t know she was falling apart,” he added, softer this time. “That was the most devastating part.”

“Thank you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat quickly, like she was trying to shake off the weight of his compliment.

He wanted to say something else. Something funny, maybe, to let her breathe again.

“What about you?” She asked before he could, “you’ve done so many action-heavy things, do you ever just want to sit in a room and cry on cue?”

“I mean, I basically did that on set anyway,” he said with a smirk. “They just edited it out.”

She laughed again, and he couldn’t help but lean in closer, drawn in by the sound.

“Yeah. I like work that cracks something open,” he admitted. “Makes you feel a little exposed. You can tell when you’re in the room with someone doing that.”

“Like you were saying before, messy and human,” she nodded.

“Exactly,” he murmured, his eyes not leaving her face.

As the interview moved on, he found himself wanting to just listen to everything she had to say.

He usually hated interviews and talking about himself, but she seemed so open and curious, he wanted to mirror her.

“So, how did you end up working with Yelena Belova? She’s amazing,” she held her hands up in awe.

“She just called, out of the blue, said, “I wrote this with you in mind.” Which is either really flattering or really threatening,” he started eagerly.

“Or both,” she added.

“Or both. She has such a clear vision, and the way she directs people is incredible. It's made me really appreciate the creative process from a new perspective. I couldn’t say no. She's sharp. Fierce. Kinda terrifying in the best way… I've got a friend for life in Yelena. How about you? How did you end up swapping a stage for a movie set?”

“I guess this film was kind of an extension of where I already was, I’d been doing musicals on stage, and this just... happened completely by chance.”

“That old chestnut,” he rolled his eyes in jest and she reached out to swat him gently.

“It's true,” she insisted. “When I auditioned for this role, I wasn’t even on the list. I’d got my times mixed up, showed up at the wrong place. The stagehand shoved me on without checking anything. If he had, he would’ve sent me away… I was meant to be there. Otherwise I never would’ve gotten this role.”

He sat back in his seat with a soft smile.

“Haven't told anyone that before,” she blushed.

“And now you're here. Fate, huh?”

“Fate.” She whispered.

You were suddenly fully aware of his eyes on you. It felt like he was seeing straight through you, right to your bones. The air between you was taut.

“Fate,” you echoed, barely audibly, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Bucky cleared his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching. “So... can I ask how you feel about being immortalised by that poster?”

Your jaw dropped as you were momentarily caught off guard by the shift from intense to relaxed, then let out a laugh. “Well… it's weird because my face isn't exactly the main focus of our movie poster.”

Bucky grinned, settling back into his chair like he’d been waiting for the joke. “Really? I hadn't noticed.”

“Is that so?” You dared.

“Yeah, like I said earlier, I was taken in by the carpentry, to be honest.”

“You studied it, then?”

“Purely for research. I’m very thorough when it comes to furniture.”

“Well, if you know anyone that needs a chair model, my rates are negotiable.”

“I’ll talk to my agent,” he smirked. “That chair’s been living rent-free in my brain ever since.”

You couldn't help your grin widening at his comment. “Wow. Must’ve been some impressive craftsmanship.”

“It really was. Clean lines. Great structure. Memorable silhouette.”

“Memorable, hmm?” You pinched your lips together in an effort to hide just how amusing you found him.

“Unforgettable, actually.”

“You’re a lot more dangerous than you look,” you said, half-laughing as you settled deeper into your chair.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? That so?”

You nodded. “You’re funny, you’re sharp… people should be warned.”

“I’ll put it in my bio.”

Your smile lingered as you looked down at your lap. “Honestly? I was terrified to do this interview.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. You’ve got that super cool guy, intense stare, probably hates small talk kind of reputation.” You shrugged, sitting back in your chair.

“I do hate small talk,” he agreed with a smile.

“I knew it.” Your laughed before adding, “You’re way more fun than I expected.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he warned, “I’ve got a brand to maintain.”

“Ahh, too late! I’m screenshotting every joke for future blackmail,” you giggled.

“Guess I’ll have to keep being funny, then.”

He smiled like it was a promise.

You vaguely heard the crew calling wrap, but neither of you moved.

He glanced over as a technician leaned in to unhook his mic, and you stood, brushing your hands down your skirt, suddenly aware of his eyes still on you.

“It was really nice talking to you,” you said, your voice lower now, a little softer. It felt strange, trying to close the distance with words after talking non-stop for two hours.

“Yeah. You too.”

His gaze hadn’t dropped. It didn’t waver.

You hesitated, then stepped closer, heart racing. “I feel like... we’ve earned a hug?”

His mouth curved, his smile giving you butterflies. “More than earned.”

He pulled you into his arms, and for a second, the ground under your feet slipped sideways. He was solid warmth. His steady breath lingered against your ear, a contrast to your own shaky exhale, he had one large hand low on your back, the other pressing just firmly enough to make you forget how to stand.

You didn’t mean to linger. But you did.

So did he.

When you finally pulled back, your fingertips skimmed his arm a second too long, like they didn’t want to let go. He looked at you and you felt his gaze trap you, like a spark catching the hem of something flammable.

Someone called your name. You turned your head reluctantly.

And when you looked back at him, it was with a smile you couldn’t quite contain.

Bucky stepped outside into the fading light, the buzz of the interview still vibrating under his skin. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake the ridiculous grin tugging at his mouth.

She’d surprised him. Undone him, a little.

It wasn’t just the way she looked, though, sure, that didn’t hurt, but it was the way she talked. The way she held her ground, made him laugh, made him feel like maybe he wasn’t so closed off after all.

They were supposed to be promoting their films. Instead, he’d spent most of the interview feeling like he was on a date.

He could hear Sam in his ear; “You should just go talk to her.”

He had. And now he didn’t want any of it to end.

His thumb hovered over Instagram. Her profile was already pulled up.

He didn’t even remember doing that.

His jaw flexed.

Her laugh still echoed in his ears, real and effortless. God, he hadn’t expected her to be funny. It messed with his head a little, how fast she’d gone from “the girl from the festival” to someone he couldn’t stop trying to impress.

Sam was waiting in the hallway, scrolling through something on his phone. “You gonna ask her out or just write sonnets about her in your Notes app?”

Bucky shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“Bucky-thinks-he’s-slick-but-he’s-smitten,” Sam’s singsong voice followed him down the corridor toward the exit.

But Bucky’s heart was thudding louder than Sam’s teasing.

She was unexpected.

Sharp, grounded, warm. And more than that… interested. Maybe?

And he already wanted more.

He wondered what the appropriate amount of time was to wait before sending her a message.

What did normal people do?

He didn’t do this. Didn’t date, didn’t flirt. Barely socialised.

He finished his movies, promoted them when he was told to, and then disappeared back to quiet routines and the safety of anonymity.

But The Howling Commandos was different.

It was already generating as much buzz as his Winter Soldier series ever had, maybe more… but this wasn’t just popcorn cinema. This was the first time his name had been mentioned in conjunction with awards season.

And to campaign? To be in with a shot?

He had to step out of his comfort zone.

Maybe that started with a DM.

He mulled it over for a day or two.

Then the promotional clips dropped.

And because the studios had money to make and investors and fans to please… They started with a clip of the hug.

He knew it had reached a fever pitch when Sam sent him a TikTok with the caption “That’s not an interview, that’s foreplay.”

He read Sam's accompanying message and gritted his teeth, speaking his own reply into existence, “this is all out of context and you know it.”

He scrolled past another fancam titled ‘I fear we are in our enemies to friends to lovers to Academy Award-winning power couple era.’

He shut the app. Opened it again ten seconds later.

This was ridiculous. He’d done movies with Oscar winners, shared red carpets with people he grew up watching.

But she was the one he couldn’t stop thinking about.

He watched it all unfold, his heart bouncing off the walls of his chest, but he still hadn’t messaged.

It wasn’t just the hug, or the interview.

It was everything.

He stared at her profile photo in his DMs.

Typed a message. Deleted it.

Typed again.

hey, was great meeting you yesterday. you did great, it was the most fun I’ve had in an interview in a long time. BB

You watched the promo clips drop from a hotel room.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. You were curled under the duvet, your phone held inches from your face, the screen cast a pale blue glow over you.

There’s ship names, screengrabs, slowed-down footage of you both, memes, headlines… So many headlines.

“Interview Chemistry Sends Fans into a Frenzy”, “Cabaret Queen and Commandos Star: Something Brewing?”

You curled further into bed, feeling more overwhelmed with each flick of your thumb.

Twitter was a war zone.

Your name was trending. His name was trending.

Every clip of the interview had already been dissected, subtitled, turned into thirsty little edits that made your stomach flip with secondhand embarrassment.

“the way he LOOKS at her???”

“they’re already married in my mind”

You dropped the phone to your chest, breathing out slowly.

It had all felt so real in the moment. You weren’t performing. You’d forgotten about the cameras halfway through, forgotten about the entire world watching.

And now you had to wonder - you couldn't not - was he performing? Was he playing up to the camera? Knowing it would generate… this?

Every time you refreshed, there were a hundred more posts.

Edits. Threads. Think pieces.

Some were calling it PR genius.

Some were calling it love at first sight.

You had to laugh at that one.

It was just an interview. Two people talking.

You'd had coffee dates with less eye contact.

And yet...

You watched another clip, muted.

The moment right after you'd teased him, when he looked at you like he knew things he wasn’t supposed to.

Your stomach flipped, traitorous and warm.

You opened Twitter again and switched to the Trending page.

Big mistake.

It sent you spiraling.

Should you have said less? More? Did you come across too eager? Was it that obvious that you liked him?

The internet certainly thought so.

You watched clips of the interview stitched next to slowed-down footage of the hug.

That only sent you further downwards.

How long would it be before the comments turned? Before you were portrayed as desperate? Fake? Scheming?

It wouldn't be the first time.

You locked your phone, tossed it to the other side of the bed like it had burned you.

Tried to breathe.

Tried not to care.

Your chest felt tight, your heart raced.

You needed your dad.

He'd pick you back up, with a hug, a large gin and his famous lemon drizzle cake.

Across the bed, a notification lit up your screen.

Followed by a buzz against the soft sheets.

You sighed, expecting another alert, another headline.

But it was a message. From him.

You stared at it.

Read it twice. Three times.

Your stomach twisted, then swooped.

Ok.

You weren’t going to read into it.

You picked the phone up like it might bite, thumbs hovering uselessly.

What were you even supposed to say?

Thanks? You too?

God, you were an adult. A professional. Get it together.

You typed a reply.

Deleted it.

Tried again.

Sent.

Regretted.

Immediately locked your phone again and buried your face in the duvet.

You didn't expect a reply, but there was another buzz.

He called you doll.

Who were you kidding, he probably called everyone doll.

You replied again, another response that absolved him of any need to reply.

You set your phone down slowly and stared at the ceiling with a stupid smile.

You were in so much trouble.

God help you if he replied again.

God help you if he didn't.

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staybabblingbaby · 8 months ago

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Best Friend Protocol #12 (Blackmail part)

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: You're Felix's childhood friend, and you and he have been planning a visit to see him for his birthday for what feels like years now. Unfortunately, SKZ is a very busy group, and the week-long vacation you'd planned for doesn't seem possible. Until Felix decides to ask his bandmates a favor...

Word Count: All images, so N/A. Unless someone wants to make these accessible but I don't really know how.

Notes: I swear I meant to post more than 1 chap in Oct T^T Things just happened. I lived tho. SG got some updates tho! Love that for her. Anyways, to make it up to y'all, I'm queuing for Nov. I have two Chapters (including this one) ready to go, and I'm hoping to have at least 4 out, potentially up to 8 if I get REAL inspired and obsessed. But I have the plans all drawn up for 4. Also, I made a timeline for this fic! I know absolutely no one cares, but It's helped a lot, actually. If anyone is interested in it (Literally 1 person is all the validation I need) I'll post it! Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader.

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks

Additional Note: I'm always taking interaction requests. Just fyi

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

an: Fun fact- The stuff Lino quotes is from my blog. Direct quotes, too. Same for the ss. They are abt Hyunjin, Felix, and Han, in that order.

Beloved Worm List <3: @thatgirlangelb , @hyeon-yi, @velvetmoonlght, @missvanjiii, @hanniemylovelyquokka, @vegetablesarefuntables, @scribblesnsketches05, @kkamismom12, @alexateurmom, @baribaaari, @tayla2351, @heart-trees @unicornwhisperer666, @aalexyuuuhm, @stilldontknowhoiam, @brbwritingfanfic,

Perma Tag List <3 : @mbioooo0000

#skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #skz fic #stray kids x reader #baby writes #skz fanfic #w.i.p fic #w.i.p #fake texts #skz fake texts #skz smau #smau #stray kids texts #stray kids smau #stray kids fake texts #skz texts #BFPSMAU

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strwbryien · 9 months ago

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｢ ᝰ.ᐟ entry 03: ADDRESSING THE SITUATION⭑.ᐟ ｣

“hey, everyone. this feels... really strange to do on camera, not gonna lie. i’m used to just being a voice behind the screen, but here we are. so, um, i just wanted to address everything that's been going on.”

“i know a lot of you have seen what happened last stream, and i’m sure it was a shock. it definitely wasn’t supposed to go down that way, and i really hope i haven’t let any of you down.”

“streaming has always been something i love, and i hope this doesn’t change how you see me or what we’ve built together. i appreciate all of your support more than you know, and i hope we can keep going strong. thank you for sticking with me through this.”

kayekumi: we love you no matter what! face or no face, you're still the best streamer! ezravish: this doesn’t change anything, we’re here for you always <3 hartz4u: you’re so brave for addressing this head-on, we’re all behind you kumism: you’re beautiful, kumi!! no need to hide! da1suk4e: the real-life kumi is just as amazing as the one we knew! no disappointment at all

"wow... i don’t even know what to say. you guys are seriously the best. i was so nervous about this whole thing, but seeing your reactions just makes me feel so relieved. thank you, really. i don’t deserve you all.”

“it means the world to me that you’re still here, supporting me like this. i was scared i’d lose some of you after everything, but knowing you’ve got my back makes me so happy.”

“i promise i’ll keep doing what i love, and i hope we can keep having fun together—face or no face! you’re all amazing, and i’m so lucky to have you. thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

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synopsis:

notes ᝰ.ᐟ

— i've been gone for so long, i feel so bad ಥ⁠╭⁠╮⁠ಥ — i honestly don't know what i was yapping about in kuni’s letter LMFAO i hope it's at least understandable — ik it's short TT, but i'm currently working on part 4 rn! hopefully, i'll be able to post it soon!

ꪆৎ taglist

(if ur @ is not in bold letters, it means that i can't tag you)

(taglist are unfortunately closed)

@imnotyizhuo @kazufavor @najaemism @simonisferal @lovelypadisarah @eternallykira-143 @yourfavoritefreakyhan @yuminako @035814 @squigglewigglewoo @lxkeeeee @blvdmrcnry @wth121 @lloovvv @3lectraheart @lovemiyae @danhenglovebot @heusalettle @automaticpatroltragedy @kyon-cherri @lalalaloveallmydays @musings-of-miss-j @ilxandra @lazy-sanns @vixialuvs @bananasquash @kochothehoe @lily-lmao @shutingstar @sketcheeee @minhosprettywife @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @kinanahana @featuredtofu @tamikahoshiko @jayzioxx @kleeboomed @saechiro @shyentsmissingink @poemzcheng @rifran @projectsfantasy @yejiswifex @peachystea @vi0let-writes @sicuit @hee-jinn @6blxe @viannasthings @trulyylee

#CAMERA FLIP HEART LEAP .ᐟ #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact smau #genshin smau #genshin impact au #genshin au #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smau #scaramouche au #kunikuzushi x reader

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noxitsnox · 3 months ago

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rivals in rhythm - ch. ii

jake sim x m!reader

tags: angst (?), bonding, use of m/n

a/n: i had to divide the chapter in two to post 😭

m.list prev next

you hoped jake would forget about the guitar lesson proposal.

but he didn't.

for a week he kept asking about it until you were forced to do it. for some reason, this afternoon jake and you were the only one at the dorm, everyone else was out for one reason or another. no excuse could've saved you, the two of you were there with nothing to do. you told yourself that even if you were going to spend so much time with jake at least you were doing something that usually brings you joy.

the biggest problem was that while you had a problem with jake, jake didn't have a problem with you. it would've been so much easier if the hatred was reciprocated. he wouldn't want to spend time with you just as much as you didn't want to spend time with him… in an utopian world you guys would live off of polite greetings and minimal interaction in front of the cameras. utopian, indeed, not real at all.

jake did not have a guitar, sadly. you gave him yours and called jay to ask him if you could take one of his. which was another thing that drove you crazy, jay too played the guitar so why did he have to ask you if you could teach him…

heeseung should've minded his business that day. he knew really well the reason why you didn't like jake and still he found a way to put you in this situation. how could you teach someone who lacked will and energy?

“well, i'm not a teacher so i don't promise you that this will be good”. you covered the situation, washing yourself out of all responsibility. jake smiled, passing a hand through his hair. "yeah, it's gonna be fun regardless.”

you put two chairs across from each other, so that he could see the way you moved your hands and replicate the movements on his own guitar. that's how you were taught and you believed it was the best way to do so. “obviously you know about music and stuff, so i'll just tell you the chords and how to go from one to the other.” he nodded eagerly and took his- your- guitar. first mistake, even the way he was simply holding it was wrong. you sighed, took a deep breath and corrected his form. there was no use in getting angry, you too used to get this stuff wrong.

promising not to let your biases take over, you started showing him the first chords. unfortunately, jake wasn't able to move his fingers.

crazy, another thing he couldn't do. double crazy, a great part of his job was about moving his body with harmony.

you corrected him a few times, but he kept doing it wrong. maybe you simply lack patience, but it was getting ridiculous. you angrily got up, you noticed his eyes widening. you were standing behind him, took his hands in yours and moved them to the right position with more violence than you originally intended. he looked dazed, unable to act accordingly to your sudden change of mood.

“sorry…”, you whispered while walking back to your chair. that single word was filled with shame and guilt. patience. you promised to heeseung you'd be patient.

“no haha it's nothing… i mean calm down but you corrected me multiple times.” “no. you're just learning, i shouldn't have reacted this way.”

jake offered you a small smile and you guys went back to the lesson.

tension was still in the air, not even the music you were playing could clear it up. even after it was done things were still a little awkward between you two.

regardless of your slip up, it was a productive afternoon. jake was almost able to play let me in by himself. you almost changed your mind about him, maybe your perceptions of him were wrong.

but as you were about to tell him a loud noise stopped you. the sharp sound of something falling to the ground. stern, decisive. a loud bang followed by heavy silence.

slowly your eyes moved from jake to the floor and finally you saw it. your guitar laying lifeless on the ground, broken in half. neck cracked, attached to the body only by those fragile six strings.

jake immediately started apologizing but you could barely listen.

“i'm so sorry! i was about to put it on its stand but i tripped and it flew off my hands… i didn't mean to break it!”

you wanted to get mad, but you couldn't. couldn't bring yourself to be mad and couldn't afford to get mad, not after the mess you did earlier. as if you chose the wrong answer in a multiple choice game and now you had to see all your progress disappear in front of you, unable to stop it.

jake's face spoke for himself. just by looking at him one could understand how mortified he was. getting angry at someone who's already about to cry is too much.

taking a deep breath you walked over to the guitar. before kneeling to pick it up, you gave him a reassuring pat on the back and a knowing look, one that said ‘i get it, we'll find a way.’

you observed the instrument in silence for a few minutes, one half then the other, the breaking point, the strings, the pegs. jake's impatient eyes on you. he wasn't talking, you could barely hear his breath.

“y'know… it's better than i thought. i'm not an expert,” you said in a whisper as your eyes met his again. “but i think i could fix it, maybe.”

“i'll pay for the repairs!” you laughed at this. you really needed him to calm down. “nah, you don't have to.” jake didn't look convinced, shame still coloring his face as he bit his lip.

“look on the bright side, at least the guitar is mine and not jay's and i was there when it broke, which makes everything easier mh?”

---

“he broke my guitar! i don't understand why i was the one comforting him. and the way he acted today?! he barely acknowledged my presence.”

everyone noticed the growing tension between jake and you. jungwon as you were getting ready to leave the practice room told you that yes, there's always tension between you two but that today it was more annoying than usual. and, of course, heeseung walked to you with a raised eyebrow and asked you to tell him how the previous afternoon had gone.

“if i, the person who's instrument has been broken by you, didn't make a big deal out of it, why are you doing it?”

heeseung sighed, tired of going on about the same stuff over and over again.

“put yourself in his shoes, he'll be drowning in guilt right now and you're not exactly helping either…”

“how? i didn't yell, i didn't do anything. i even patted his back!”

heeseung chuckled, “m/n, i know you, you don't need to yell to show your anger- see! this is what i'm talking about… look at those eyes.”

you sighed dramatically, but a slight smile appeared on your face. “so? what do you think i should do?”

“have you tried talking with him?” “don't make me laugh, c'mon. also why can't he come talk to me? again, he's the one that broke the guitar, not me.”

your best friend put both his hands and your shoulders looking you in the eyes. “in all seriousness, you've been hating on him for ages and this is the first time he gave you a legitimate reason to be upset. in almost five years this is the first time jake did something that justifies your hatred. you have to be the one starting this peace.”

you nodded. it was annoying when heeseung was so right you had nothing to say back. “yeah, i guess…”

@exactlyinfp @rairaiblog @nootnootpinguuu

#sim jake x reader #jake x male reader #jake x reader #jake sim x y/n #jake sim x reader #jake sim #enhypen jake #sim jake #enhypen #enhypen x male reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you

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landograndprix · 2 years ago

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woman ✾ l.n - ii

❧ you love max, you really do but your little brother has been getting more on your nerves each day as he tries to set you up with one of his friends.

❧ verstappen!reader who's older than max so if age gaps freak you out, don't read 💀

❧ prev part – next part

☆☆☆☆☆

y/nverstappen

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by kellypiguet, landonorris and 178,672 others

y/nusername only valid reason to visit Monaco if we're being completely honest 🥐

tagged: kellypiguet

view all 462 comments

maxkellyp y/n taking her aunt duties very serious

bott_ass where to apply to have you as my sugar auntie? asking for a friend?

zhou_ey time to have your own babies 😍

y/nverstappen I'm actually good with being the wine and sugar aunt for now 🍷

zhou_ey that's a pretty cool job too!

kellypiguet bring her home before dinner? 😂

y/nverstappen what do you mean, we're already on our way back to the netherlands, this my kid now.

lewham44 still a better mother figure to p than kelly 🤡

landonorris I know a few spots in Monaco you can't miss 😉

fewtrelllando spot number one: my bedroom

carlito55 lmao @.fewtrelllando jail for you 😭

dandoo mate, this is a post about her niece and you're flirting with y/n or making and attempt to do so? 😂

☆☆☆☆☆

y/nverstappen posted to their story

☆☆☆☆☆

landonorizzzz

liked by 563 others

landonorizzzz lando in Monaco last night after the GP ❤️

view all 188 comments

norr4slan screaming crying throwing up 🤯

lanlan frothing at the mouth..

norstappen wait a damn minute, was that y/n verstappen?! 😭

norrizzfour yeah but if you look closely she's just walking past with her friends and kelly lol they probably all went to the same place

maxiell nah my girl is avoiding him for real 💀

landoscar oh my god he's so pretty 😍

supermaxv MOTHER AND LANDO?

☆☆☆☆☆

y/nverstappen

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 199,752 others

y/nverstappen Monaco dump 🇲🇨

tagged: sannetje, maxverstappen1, kellypiguet

view all 988 comments

dannyricric man I'd do anything to live a life like this

tom1967 she's living off her brothers wealth..

dannyricric I'm pretty sure she makes enough money herself to live a life like this. 🙄

julieeeexo you and sanne served absolute cunt on the grid! 🤩

bobnorriz not the picture of the charles, max and lando podium :')

kellypiguet was really nice to have you around this weekend, we should definitely do this more often, P absolutely adores her auntie 🥰

Comment liked by y/nverstappen

charles_leclerc it was very nice we got to hang out together☺

Comment liked by y/nverstappen

sharllekler this guy makes me cringe so hard but it's so endearing, like did he pull all his girlfriend's by being awkward? 😭

sixteenleclerc girl have you seen y/n? She's got something that'll make most men awkward as fuck

victoriaverstappen so sad we couldn't join you two this year

y/nverstappen we should already plan for next year then 😉

☆☆☆☆☆

y/nverstappen

📍 Amsterdam, the Netherlands

liked by landonorris, kellypiguet and 201,432 others

y/nverstappen protect your peace 🌸

view all 999 comments

bananaclerc hey, yes, hi..I'd like to be you 😭

norrisoscar I've only known this woman for a week but I'm already obsessed with her

keirarobins do I spy new products for the store? 👀

y/nusername keep an eye open 😉

zhou_ey I don't know if I want to be you or if I want to be with you 😭

sannetje is that my hat?

y/nverstappen don't know what you're talking about..

sannetje sure..

landonorris I need that candle

maxv1 boy go to her store lmao, this is no webshop 💀

landonorris 🔥

grussell63 man I really thought you had more game than this..who taught you this, Charles? 😢

☆☆☆☆☆

taglist

@hockeyboysarehot @beatricemiruna @starwarssavy23 @be-your-coffee-pot

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris au #lando norris smau #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #ln4

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23swife · 11 months ago

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remedy (ii) — sam winchester

>prev | series masterlist

summary: jessica and gen explore what’s between them by forcing you and sam to do the same —tags: underage!reader, 22 year old!sam, med student!reader, insecure reader.

“You never told me what happened with Sam.” And with good reason too. Jess, she’s your best friend and your roommate, naturally she got worried when you kept avoiding the topic. The topic being: ‘You and Sam spent an awfully long time outside. Alone.”

“Nothing happened. We smoked.”

Her eyes widen and she lets go of her phone. You’re both in your two room apartment, but currently in hers. She’s on the beanbag, you’re on the bed. She’s about to scream. “You what?”

“Yeah.” You say a little reservedly. You trust Jess wholeheartedly, she wouldn’t tell anyone, and it isn’t like it’s a secret even if she does, but she’s very overprotective. As in, she would go give Sam a piece of her mind if you say anything that could piss her off. Again, not like he did anything, but still. You can never be too careful.

“Come on, slut, I want details.”

“Those are the details. We smoked.” Oh fuck it. “And he asked if I’m a sophomore.”

“Why would he ask—” It hits her quickly and her eyes widen with an exaggerated gasp. “No way. Sam freaking Winchester likes you?”

“He doesn’t.”

“I beg to differ. He’s a senior, you know that, right?” You nod, pulling you head down as you play with your fingers in your lap. There’s not much you can do with Sam without him looking at you like a kid. It’s only a five year age difference— hell, your parents are eight years apart, but in university it’s different. He’ll want to feel mature, it’s hard to date someone who— yeah, hasn’t actually done anything. Ever.

Scratch that, he probably wouldn’t date you if you were twenty. Okay that’s more of your insecurities talking but still.

“C’mon, you so don’t like Sammy. That hair? Are you serious?”

You suddenly catch her tone and look up with a small laugh, “You’re kidding!” And yeah, you're theory is right, she’s blushing. “You like Sam?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t deny it—”

“I don’t—”

“Lying whore—”

“I swear.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“It’s Gen.” You furrow your eyebrows into a frown and tilt your head. What’s Gen? “I like her. Not Sam.”

“Okay… what does that have to do with—”

“She’s his best friend. She’s into girls but they’re roommates and I used to date Sam so I don’t know what he said about me— I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I used to date him.” You get out of your seat at her slightly trembling voice. She says the last sentence like it’s an afterthought, like it’s not supposed to mean much. It fuels your insecurities, but other than that, nothing. “I’ve liked her for a year now but she’s… I’m scared to tell her.”

“Gen’s hot. You’re hot.” You sit up on the desk so your legs are dangling in front of Jess, she places her hands on your thighs. “Come on, don’t be stupid. I haven’t paid attention but I’m sure she’d feel the same way if you made a move.”

“Maybe,” but she doesn’t think so, you can tell, “I don’t wanna— I mean, I know you haven’t seen her around a lot but she’s cool, okay? Like really cool. And Sam’s like her German Shepherd bodyguard.” That earns a genuine laugh from you and she slowly smiles into it too. She loosens up even as she’s panicking slightly because, seriously? How ridiculous is this?

“‘S okay, Jess. Cool or not, you're cooler. You’re the coolest. No one has anything on you, and don’t even worry about the German Shepherd bodyguard.”

Famous last words.

Sometimes, in life, it’s better to shut up than comfort your friend. So much better. The most better, no matter how grammatically incorrect that sentence is. Because if you don’t shut up, you end up on double dates (three days before your final) with a guy who probably hates your guts.

And it’s all your fault really. Your self control and Jess’s pouty face. God, it’s cruel for her to have such a beautiful weapon. Real shame it doesn’t work on Sam to make him back down— which is why you’re here. On Gen and Jess’s date. With Sam. This isn’t a double date. This is just… torture, in its purest forms.

“I could be studying right now.” You whine while Jess parks her mustang at the mall entrance. It’s a last-ditch attempt to go back home.

“You studied enough. I quizzed you on the flashcards three times.”

“But I missed a few the last time.”

“You’ll pass.”

“Jess, c’mon, does he even know?”

Last ditch attempt turns into a complaining session. It doesn’t work. Doesn’t make you feel better. And definitely doesn’t stop you from stuttering and blushing like a ten year old when you see Sam.

Gen and Sam meet you at the shooting range where you’re supposed to have your ‘date’. You greet Gen with a hug while Jess does the same for Sam, and when you switch… he’s smiling but you decide to play it safe and put out your hand. He glances at it for a second before extending his and saying a quick ‘hey’. It works out, there isn’t any of that initial awkwardness, and it’s almost like four friends going out.

You decide to get food first so you end up at a cafe/restaurant type of thing called mince.

“Why’d you choose here?” It’s the first thing you’ve said that actually sounds like you want to be here and Gen’s smiling as she answers.

“Used to work here last summer, best freakin’ burgers ever!” She’s so bubbly, her shoulder-length brown hair is in loose waves that you just need to ask how she does, her smokey eyeshadow has a hint of glitter on the sides and it’s all very pretty. She’s pretty. You get what Jess is on about.

“And the—” Gen interrupts Sam to shout ‘milkshake’ at the same time he says it which is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. She gets excited about the smallest stuff and is showing it constantly.

“You used to work here too?” You ask, just because you’re proud you spoke at all.

“No, would annoy Gen to get me half-off meals the whole summer.” Gen rolls her eyes like it’s true which makes the rest of you laugh.

And it goes on with casual conversation; when are your exams, what are you doing this summer, did you hear about Lily’s new party. It’s mostly like all of your outings until the food comes, then Gen and Jess start to close their conversation in.

Gen and Jess. They should have a joint name. Genevieve and Jessica. Jenica? Jessevieve? Nessica? Maybe you should take a break. But God these burgers really are as delicious as she says. Incredible. All that flavor put in one? Maybe you should work here.

It seems like your (practically) moans aren’t so quiet because Sam’s amused expression says it all when you look up at him. He’s sitting opposite to you and watching you eat more than he’s touching his own food. “That good?”

You swallow and quickly nod. Yeah it’s that good, what kind of joke is that? It’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Best burger, anyway. You take a sip or your cherry cola before he shakes his head, “You’re missing out.”

“What?”

“On the milkshake.” You smile a little and play with your necklace’s charm, something you’ve picked up doing since you stopped smoking regularly (the small wins in life). “Here,” He moves his across the table. With his straw. So first you share a cigarette and now a straw? You may as well kiss at this point, it’s all the same.

You lean down to try it and— wow. You’ll be personally giving every chef in this place a raise, who cares if you don’t have the right to do that? You will make the right when their food is this flavorful.

Even a vanilla milkshake feels different— is that cinnamon?

“Right?” And if your feverish nod wasn’t something to go by, then the fact that you were the first to finish your food says it all.

After you’ve all eaten till you couldn’t get up (thank God for friends who you can accomplish that with), you walk around, hand linked in Jess on one side with Gen and Sam on her other. You don’t want to make Sam uncomfortable, no matter how nice he acted in the restaurant so you try to stay as far away as you can. Which okay, in retrospect you might look like a toddler holding onto Jess but no one seems to mind.

Until they do. “Me and Gen are gonna look at something, okay?” Jess says, her voice a little low so only you can hear. Jess wouldn’t hate you for refusing, but you can see how much she wants this. You nod and swallow your fears. That would leave you alone with Sam. “Don’t worry, okay? He’s a good guy—”

“‘M not worried. Have fun, baby.” She beams and runs over to where Gen’s standing. Sam is on the phone somewhere so you settle for walking around ‘till you stop at a jewelry store. If anything reminds you of your parents, it’s stores like this. Gold jewelry. Your tradition. Other people would get phones or shoes when they achieved something, you’d get an 18 karat ring— and it’s not to say you’re a multi-millionaire (you definitely aren’t), it’s much much cheaper where you're from.

You got your first earring when you were two days old from your uncle. A necklace from your grandfather. Three bracelets from your father. All gold.

“You like it?” Sam’s voice startles you, jumping back, you look at him. He’s looking expectantly.

“Yeah, I guess,” They’re beautiful earrings, matching the ones your mother wears all the time back home. “Reminds me of someone.”

He nods and when you look up into his eyes he’s quick to blurt out ‘I’m sorry’ like he’s scared he’ll talk himself out of saying it. What does he have to apologize for? You guys didn’t even flirt, it was nothing.

“It’s okay. I mean— obviously you have nothing to be sorry for anyways.”

“I shouldn’t have done that—”

“What, talking to me?”

“Leaving.” Does the action of breathing include air being sucked out from your lungs forever? Thag Shouldn’t be happening. “It makes it seem like I'm an asshole and you’re cool, didn’t mean to make it look like that. I’d love to be your friend, give me your number?” you hesitate for a moment too long, “if you want, of course. If you want to be friends with a senior.”

He says it like he’s a fifty year old senior resident which forces a laugh out of you and helps you relax a little. “Yeah, of course, I just didn’t want to assume anything, you’ve been nice, Sam, haven’t been rude or anything. It’s just, you looked pretty scared when I mentioned my age.”

He rubs the back of his neck with a small huff, “Yeah, that’s my bad.”

“Okay, yeah, give me your phone,” He opens the contacts app and you easily add your number along with your name. First and last. Who knows how many people he knew had your name? Could be hundreds. Thousands. Millions even.

“It’s not a bad thing that you got scared— but anyways,” you hand him his phone back, “if it makes you feel any better I’m turning eighteen in a couple of months.” It’s not a total lie, you’re turning in January. It’s May. So if you think about it, it’s a couple of months… multiplied by four. Really only eight months. Same thing.

“It doesn’t,” he snorts and you frown a little. His eyes widen and he shakes his head, “not in… I meant that there’s nothing to feel bad about anyways. You’re a cool person, I like hanging around you.”

You try to lighten the mood, smiling and waving your hand, “Keep the lies coming.” He laughs a little but you can see he’s about to explain himself again. “It’s fine, Sam. I understand what you mean. I liked hanging out with you too.”

“Yeah?” Flirting, friendly banter, pity— who cares, you’re talking and he’s being all cute while you make your way around a mall that you have no interest being in.

“Definitely. And I tried blueberry cigarettes for the first time with you.” You say excitedly, and it’s really true. It was thrilling (when compared to your routine of studying, eating and going to the gym everyday) to try cigarettes with flavor— not that it was really prominent, but at least you tried it. “And your car’s amazing. A Mazda, right?”

His eyes seem to twinkle in the way-too bright light, “Got it last year actually.”

“I noticed, ‘s a newer model.”

“Yeah, twenty one.” You're both somehow closer as you walk, your arms brushing against each other in the white short sleeve top you decided to wear and his Zeppelin t-shirt. You’re about to take your phone out (because God knows that that's the only thing you can do when you’re stuck in an awkward situation) before he points at a shop and practically shoves you to come with him. Not that you need a push, you would’ve gone very very willingly.

“What are we doing here?” You ask when you stop right in front of a dollar store.

“‘S a tradition me and my brother had— have. We buy fireworks every first of the month.” You feel a light laugh escape you even as you want to pout in confusion. What does that have to do with you? “It helped us save money instead of buying them all at once on the Fourth of July. Still haven’t bought my May ones, we should go in.” It doesn’t take you five seconds of looking into his sparkling eyes to agree. Those eyes. They’re just brown so you can’t say that the color is what captivates you, it’s the way he uses them. So so insanely innocent when you’re sure he isn’t, when he's shown you he isn’t. The fact that he’s still hanging out with you is proof enough.

“It’s the twentieth of may, anyways, why did you wait so long to buy them?” The question is born out of curiosity as you both walk around the different aisles, you examine any piece you find remotely interesting.

“My brother and I… we don’t talk as much, anymore. Just reminds me of him a lot, I guess.”

His eyes are trained in front of him so he’s avoiding your gaze and his voice is so soft you’re afraid you might not catch what he says. “Then why are we doing it now?”

“I miss ‘em. My family. Just wanna stop doing this avoidance thing— which is Dean’s thing by the way, not mine— and actually remember them.” He shrugs like his voice isn’t about to crack and his hair isn’t covering his eyes as faces down. You decide to ask a stupid question. A very stupid question.

“Oh, why are you talking about them like they’re gone?” Lesson number two: Sometimes, in life, it’s better to shut up than try and comfort your friend acquaintance. So much better. The most better, no matter how grammatically incorrect that sentence is. Because you just don’t know them well enough, and it’s inevitable to sound like a total dick.

“They’re… they’re not. Or actually—” oh please no, if one of them is dead, being a ‘dick’ is the least of your worries. “Mum died when I was six months old but I was talking about my dad and Dean, he’s my older brother. We fought when I got accepted into Stanford, dad didn’t exactly approve.” His mother died? You’re a total bitch is what you are. An abomination at best.

“God, Sam, I’m sorry—” You hurry to push out the most sincere apology of your life but he stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. You freeze automatically.

A, there’s a hand on your shoulder. B, it belongs to a guy… from the male species— of men. C, you like Sam and want him to keep touching you.

“Stop, don’t, it’s fine. Mum was a long time ago and dad, guess it’s just the way it is.”

You’d think. You’d believe, that after all of this you would shut up and mind your own business at the very least— but no such luck. You hear yourself asking, “what about Dean?”

“What about him?”

“He's your brother—” It’s as if the universe is on your side because you never get to finish your sentence. A toddler runs over to you to hug your legs so tight you can't move and she’s crying out ‘mama’ too many times for her head not to pound. Yours certainly is. “Hey, hey,” it’s no use, she’s as sure that you’re her mum as you are that Sam is never going to open his mouth around you again.

She starts crying. As if you sold her to the highest bidder and she’s just now finding you again. You would if she keeps holding on and crying like this.

Sam doesn’t share your same sentiment because he starts cooing at her, leaning down to pick her up. He lifts her in the air and the crying comes to an immediate halt. You love kids, nothing against them— in fact, you cared for your little brother since the second he was born. First to hold him. But right now? When you’re embarrassing yourself to last you a lifetime, your affinity to kids is decreasing ever so slightly.

“Hey, princess, where’s mommy?” Right here. Is what you want to say, instead you cough a little too obviously, making Sam send a smirk your way. The little girl with two ponytails on each side, she couldn’t be older than five, shakes her head. “You don’t know? Is she here?” He points to you and your eyes widen for only a second before you glare at him. Now that the girl has gotten a better look she shakes her head. The small things you're grateful for. “What’s your name?”

“Rory.” She pouts out but she seems content in Sam’s arm. She’s leaning her head on his shoulder and you’re willing to bet money your heart's beating so fast you might pass out. It’s so heart-warming, he’s so frickin’ good with kids. Why is he so good with kids?

“Okay, Rory, let’s go see where mum is.” He glances at you to make sure you follow him and you make your way to the register. He tells the cashier what’s happening and he announces over the speakers that someone should pick up their child. Sam keeps holding her and glancing at you frequently while he’s playing with her, as if willing you to do something too.

You won’t. He’s stupid to think you will. It isn’t like you would’ve left her there in the middle of the store if you were alone but you definitely wouldn’t have held up a stranger (even if it’s a child) and then played with her. Bringing her to the lost and found (cashier… whatever) is more than enough.

Her mum picks her up a few minutes after and you’re both checking out with the fireworks in record time, mostly because he grabbed them when you weren’t looking— which really begs the question of how the hell is this man so good at something that sounds illegal?

Should you be concerned? Yes. Will you be? Probably not. Which is why you keep walking before you ask questions again. It’s bound to happen. It will happen. Exhibit A:

“About your brother, you said you guys don’t talk. Why?”

He doesn’t seem to mind even if it looks like he’s a little sad talking about it. “Oh, it’s nothing. He’s just always traveling and he wasn’t really happy that I went off on my own.”

“That’s a dick move,” you’re a dick, is what he should say to you so you try to save yourself, “I mean that you did a really incredible thing. You got into Stanford on a full scholarship— he should be proud.”

It takes him a second to answer, he’s staring in front of him and it isn’t to avoid your gaze, it’s to come up with a genuine response. And his response is genuine. “He is. Dean’s proud.”

You don’t push it after that, you get a matcha strawberry drink, you both buy some snacks that you don’t open and then Jess calls to see where you are.

“You know,” maybe you don’t want to know. He seems to catch your thought because his smile widens, “this was fun. We should do it again— alone, next time.”

Is this what being asked out looks like? Should you get Jess to answer for you— maybe you should—

“As in a date, sweetheart. Is that okay?”

If he keeps calling you that then yes.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” He says fairly and leans down to kiss your cheek. “Good night.” And then he walks past you to Jess, throwing a quick ‘night Jess’.

“Oh. My. God.” Jess all but sequels next to you as you both walk back to her car.

“You can say that again. I just got my first kiss!” Jess’s eyebrows furrow.

“Oh you poor poor sheltered girl.” Which throws both of you into a hiss of laughter while she leans up against you in victory. You both got what you wanted. Even if you didn’t know you wanted it.

You definitely knew you wanted it. part three; holding onto thin lines ‘till we just walk between them.

title from: softly by clario

main masterlist

hi guys so here’s the second part, I think it’s gonna be 3 parts because the last two have been 3.5/4k so the last one could be 6/6.5k and I can end it there. Glad you guys like it so far and comment if you wanna be tagged!! & if you’re wondering, yes gen’s faceclaim is gen padalecki our beautiful beautiful girl. her and adri are a power couple.

ALSOOO I REACHED 100 FOLLOWERS I love u guys sm and I’m so glad you like my writing enough to want to follow me and I love talking to you and getting your thoughts on everything so let me know what I should do for 100!!

tag list: @angzls @chxrrybomb22 @pinkpantheris @ang3ldool @iloveragdollcats

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the-s1lly-corner · 4 days ago

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48 hour requests

That's right! It's that time again! As always there is the info! TLDR on the rules under the cut, I do recommend skimming through the Fandom list real quick though as the tags likely don't cover all

Rules and fandoms

NOTE that this blog runs off a queue system, so be patient! The queue is set to post two x reader posts a day by default, should the queue exceed 40 requests it will be bumped to three posts daily

WHAT I WILL WRITE

romantic, platonic, familial... angst, and fluff! anything that isnt NSFW is fine (Ive got a blog for that... requests are... partially opened... kinda... you're free to ask for it so long as you have an age indicator somewhere on your blog. otherwise if you stumble upon it and interact w/o an indicator you will be blocked on sight no exceptions.).. poly is allowed!

readers with traits (can be anything really! hobbies, looks, and so on!), readers are GN by default but you can request a specific gender I just cant say how relevant haha/lh

maximum of 3-4 characters per request, no specified characters will be thrown to a wheel to choose characters. prompt/alphabet requests are limited to 3 prompts 1 character per ask for masterlist purposes

AUs are allowed to a degree- if its a specific AU by someone else it might be rejected due to me not knowing the source/AU

Suggestive requests are allowed BUT there is an unclear line. I will communicate when something teeters too close to NSFW territory

WHAT I WONT WRITE

full on NSFW or hard topics (rape, incest, ect). topics such as ED or SH or past abuse may be asked so long as its not on screen or an endorsement, but even then it may still be denied. fully hinges off of admins mental health that day and what exactly is being requested

some characters are locked for platonic requests only, any requests for romance will be deleted

no character based readers, mostly due to fandom wiki being unreliable and annoying to navigate

NO concealed kink requests. im not dumb, i know what youre trying to do. i do not kink shame but this is not the blog for your request. if you REALLY want to you can ask me about my NSFW (see above in the prev mention of the blog)

WHERE/HOW TO REQUEST

Requests are only to be sent to the inbox. I am not comfortable with requests being sent to my PMs, plus its harder to keep track of. Same goes for requests left in the comments

Asides from that so long as it abides by the above rules you're free to go whack! You may send in multiple requests just be mindful that there are other people requesting and I am only one admin

GENERAL BOUNDARIES

Just be kind man. If I do not see your request or get to it faster please just be patient. Requests will open again soon- do not spam me in my inbox or messages. And because it needs to be stated, do not follow me to my other blogs to badger me about it either

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orangez3st · 2 months ago

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In Some Other Lifetime - Chapter 2

Torture me to sleep

Clone Commando Scorch × F!Reader

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✧ Chapter Summary: For a fleeting moment, there seems to be the tiniest glimpse of hope. Although, the future remains uncertain—with Scorch's constant and cold presence towering over you.

✧ General Tags & Warnings: reader is a jedi turned bounty hunter, soulmate au, clone commando scorch fix-it-verse, the bad batch season 3 canon, rescue mission, prison break, other tags will be added

✧ Word Count: 3.3k

✧ Chapter Warning: f bomb, female body search done by a male (non-con, so beware! you may skip that part, it's almost at the end. tried to make it as vague as possible. really vague, nearly nothing graphic.)

Story Index ✧ Join Taglist ✧ Other Clone x Reader

Tantiss is supposed to imprison clones.

Oppressing them under a medical routine to fuel Hemlock's underground cloning project where they draw blood out every single day.

Witnessing Crosshair, drained and his back hunched, as they pass each other every morning twists something in her stomach.

Omega no longer casts a concerned look, though. It breaks her a little to see her brother suffering that way, but she has to be more clever than wearing her heart on her sleeve in enemy territory.

Tantiss is supposed to imprison clones, she affirms herself—again—as she watches your calm meditative form through the bars of your cell. It's understandable. Part of your routine. You need peace. Tantiss is stressful. She gets it. Gungi taught about the essence of finding inner peace through meditation, after all.

And especially since you and Gungi are similar.

The thought must be a jinx somehow because when her attention returns to you, you're already acknowledging her presence.

“Oh. Hello,” Omega says with a small wave of the hand. Wandering in the detention block and chatting with prisoners are not part of her daily assignments, so she'd want to appear small when sitting by the door.

And a single raised eyebrow from you is all she gets for now. Your attitude kind of reminds her of that bounty hunter. Fennec Shand.

“What's your name?” she starts carefully, understanding your stance. “I'm Omega.”

You know Omega. You'd been the one hunting her down through systems and back. It was exhausting, especially when Clone Force 99 always put up quite a fight—especially since you weren't fully present for the cause. Everything about it was wrong. You were hunting a kid.

And loud voices aren't meant for the detention block. It incites trouble.

“Call me Eight, Omega,” you say, making your way to the door and lean close in the kid's direction.

“But–”

“I'm no longer associated with my birth name,” you interrupt her firmly. “You can look it up in the system. But I don't answer to that name anymore.”

The Empire never knows of your past existence as a Jedi. It was a protocol of the Order to erase every single exiled Jedi profile from their database for their own safety. You crafted a new identity the moment you were released into the wild. Your fellow bounty hunters and the rest of the damned galaxy recognize you by that name. The Empire has no idea of your real birth name. It'd been swallowed into the void long ago. The ones who know of your true name are either dead or have forgotten already.

Omega studies you, surprise and pity present in her eyes. Eyes which color are quite familiar to you. “Why?”

The question somehow puts you on edge, reminding you that the kid roams free instead of getting incarceration like you are—looking less of a prisoner than you are. “The Empire does things to you,” you answer curtly.

Omega looks away momentarily. “Does it involve you to throw away who you were before the war?”

Who you were before the war was a lovesick young adult who thought ignoring the Soul Mark was ridiculous. Even though it's just numbers. You clench your left fist, where it is. There had been someone out there who loved you. Scorch. Not the commando who tails Hemlock like a massiff pup. Your Scorch.

And as always, you deflect the thought in the presence of others. Reminiscing on how it went and how it's supposed to be with Scorch is private. You feel like you're desecrating him somehow. Desecrating the bond. Kriff, you don't even know if the bond still exists. Your dreams remain empty—no more whispered voices. Your heart is left hollow and floating in the darkest of chambers.

“What are you doing here, kid?” Shaking your head, you swallow the bile in your throat. “You'd get caught. You better go and do whatever you're supposed to do.”

Seeing you getting up to your feet, Omega starts, the panic creeping in. “Wait!”

You're a potential ally. She can’t lose you—not when she barely gets past building the start of a good rapport.

“I promise I don't mean any harm. Sorry. I admit that was kind of a bad start.” The Empire. This place. It's doing something to her, alright. You're right. “But just to be sure… You’re one of them that hunted us down in Bracca, right?”

You look at her long enough to be hopefully considered apologetic. “I am.”

Omega's uncertainty was shown as clear as day. She still needs to work on it if she wants to survive under the watchful eyes of the Empire. Trying to befriend you? The kid is onto something. It's in this moment where you wish you could lean onto the guidance of the Force. You sigh and settle your shoulder against the wall. “What do you want, Omega?”

“I just want to make sure you can be trusted first,” she says..

You deadpan. “You're talking to a bounty hunter turned you hunter, both qualities of which are tending to stab people in the back for the most profitable gain.”

“So you're stabbing the Empire in the back that it got you in this cell?”

It gets you to smirk. Omega eagerly leans in seeing your expression.

“I want to make sure you can be trusted,” you challenge.

The blonde teen sighs heavily. Comically. Her chin drops to her chest in the dramatization. Then, she looks back up at you sharply.“I want to break out of here so bad.”

“Good for you. The walls are listening.”

“I dread every second being in here.”

“You and me both,” you bitterly respond, not convinced yet.

“I've been domesticating one of this facility's lurca hounds because I have no friend and I really wanna get out of this place.”

You blink.

“You're impossible,” you muse.

Omega looks at the ground sadly. “I just want to be reunited with the rest of my brothers.”

Brothers. Clone Force 99. Their existence reminds you of Delta—or whatever it had been in the past. “Crosshair is here too, isn't he?”

Omega nods. “Yeah. Just on the other side of the block. Yours is quite solitary,” she says, before hesitantly adding, “He's your Sergeant, right?”

Your body flinches in remembering every muscle reflex when you hunted her down. “Was, kid. Remember that. The Elite Squad is toast now. It's the clone commandos over stormtroopers now.” Then, you let a small wry smirk slip through. “Rampart did his best.”

Omega lets out a small noise of amusement. “I guess so.” You can read her hesitation to properly comment on your statement. Kriff, you'd have to remember you're talking to a kid, and not a drink partner at a bar. Nevertheless, she looks more mature than her age. How old is she—15? The current cruel state of the galaxy has taught her so much, then. She's a survivor. Just like you are.

The conversation lulls—you can see Omega mentally formulating another prompt to ask or to talk about with you behind the apparent stress in her youthful features, behind the slightest frown that scrunch her dark brows.

Then, you feel it.

That tug in your gut. That pull when something unfavorable is about to happen. In the silence, as if an alarm has been set, your chest too twinges with the familiarity. Even though you've been carried away in this conversation, you never forget the occurrences around you. The stretch of corridor that spans before your door is your arena, after all. You are aware of the comings and goings like clockwork, and something's coming. And it's familiar.

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if that was the Force giving you a warning.

The footfalls grow closer.

You alarmingly meet Omega's gaze, who surprisingly shares the same look at you. “Go,” you shoo her, “It's the commando. Don't get caught.”

Her head bobs in a series of urgent nods, already on her feet and scanning around for an escape route. Her eyes meet yours in certainty. “I’ll come back in a minute.”

You sigh. “Omega—”

“If I don't make it then it's nice meeting you, Eight.”

You watch her petite figure retreating as far as your peripheral allows you to. During the shift of the atmosphere, you're driven to your knees. You try to listen closely, your eyes closing. In the darkness, you try to seek light—as what you always do in the first minutes of your meditations—to seek the warm tendril of the Force to reconnect the bond once more.

Please. I'm sorry. I need you.

“Were you engaging in any suspicious activity, ES-08?”

Your eyes snap open upon hearing the boyishness of a certain voice—a sound that should never belong in these cold dark corridors. Tricolor painted boots beyond your cell door reign over your entire periphery, and you have to crane your neck back to find the commando’s blue HUD staring down at you in cold helmeted observation.

“Is meditating dubbed as suspicious activity now?” you retaliate.

Scorch fixes his blank gaze at you.

Then he tilts his head in the direction of your worn inmate mattress. “This is now a surprise inspection. Go stand in the corner, slide down the wall, and sit on your hands with your back straight against the wall and tuck your legs close to your body.”

He gives a jerked nod to a stormtrooper in the middle of the corridor behind him whom you didn't notice before. You hope Omega made it past security. You watch him in disbelief, even when the door slides open in a blocky noise of metal against metal and him chambering his ICWS to his backpack. But even then, you know you can do nothing.

“What could I even be possibly hiding? My fork?” You sit as instructed, trying to look intimidating even when he's the one dominating the room. “You're wearing katarn, for gods’ sake,” you mutter, undoubtedly picked up by his audio receptors.

The door slides close. Preventing any escape. Safest for both parties. You could throw a punch born out of your mounting frustration right here and then, he could easily deck you into unconsciousness. The sight would be similar to one of those cage fight gigs that you often ran into in the underworld of Coruscant.

Your hands begin to unsettlingly yet comfortably warm underneath the weight of your body. Setting your gaze down to the floor, you decide it's wisest to say nothing—for now. Your privacy breached, Scorch plucking off the sheets off your pillow and mattress to hopefully obtain misplaced objects.

His height towers far above you. You swallow heavily. You had never seen him in armor in the before—only images from your dreams that he projected where he posed in the mirror to draw gleeful laughter out of you—and now you're graced with intimidating, broad-framed katarn up close. You used to adore his armor, especially the striking choice of yellow, and his quirky and comedic personality that matched. The view of cold and dark corridors beyond your cell forms a pit in your stomach again—you don't think you would ever see him in his armor the same way again. Then again, it looks wrong. Too hospital-clean, void of scratches and battlefield grimes. Assigned to guard duties similar to clone troopers isn't what commandos are supposed to do—not even in the before.

You have to remind yourself again—the Republic fell. Scorch, the man you're supposed to love and perhaps still is, who was decanted during its glorious era or so it seemed, fell along with it. Your heart mourns for the man he is now. What wouldn't you give to have him back and see his broad smiles and savor his jokes? First things first, you want to be reconnected to the Force.

“Love drives you to do crazy things,” you mutter out loud, tone distant.

You notice a slight pause in Scorch's movement as he lifts the mattress of your berth, standing in silence, seemingly scanning the structure with his HUD. If you don't know any better, you think he's probably stalling to listen to you.

“In these dark times, out of all scenarios, we’re cursed to love. We're cursed to live,” you continue, “Funny that one needs the other. Love needs life to thrive like a plant in soil. Life needs love to feel complete.” Scorch's helmet tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You feel a surge in your body. “Like a pair of lovers.”

“Are you feeling unwell?”

Of course he thinks you're delirious. But you ignore his question, your eyes can only speak the truth there is, glimmering and unladen with meds or exhaustion. Inside, there is hope for your other half truly is listening. “If according to your textbooks feeling unwell equals speaking the truth, then yes.”

I hope you know I'm willing to be held prisoner. I hope you know I'm here solely for you. I hope you know I want to be near you. I hope you know that I still exist. We still exist. We could exist.

A mountainous amount of fool's hopes. Dangerous things to say in Tantiss because the walls have ears.

Once satisfied with his observation, Scorch turns to you. “Stand up.”

You comply.

“Turn around and face the wall for a mandatory body search procedure.”

Your heart suspends, horror washes all over you at the thought of the cold hands of your supposed lover running across your body. “You're kidding me.” The last thing you need is Scorch's hands on your body when he isn't even half the man you'd known him. “I demand a female trooper.”

His hand now is placed on his sidearm strapped to his belt. “Do as I told you.”

“And I'm just gonna let you touch me where your hands shouldn't even belong?!”

Scorch's helmet tilts to the side. His tone mocking and arrogant as if picking the trait up from Royce Hemlock himself, with the boyish softness that sounds both familiar and wrong, when he says, “Shouldn’t they?”

You feel your heart twists inside your chest. His stomach-lurching words, wringing the pain throughout your body. “You—” Tears sting the corners of your eyes and begin to cloud your vision. Before you can stop it, the urge to throw a hopeless hook to his helmet surfaces, seemingly worth the split knuckles and a stun bolt you'd definitely get—you take one step forward into his space, your fists clenching. “Say that again. Word for word. I dare you.”

“Last warning, ES-08.”

“Say it, Scorch! I double dare you!” you cry angrily.

Before you can anticipate, he roughly yanks you around and pins you to the wall in front of you, the abrupt motion drawing air and a sob out of your lungs. You feel your body tense uncomfortably, your cheeks pressed against the cold durasteel wall. For a moment, you think you'd rather die than be touched by a person who loves you not.

You try not to imagine the time of your first and last date where he'd been stealing glances to your lips and not even trying to make it not obvious. Accompanying the admiring gleam in his warm eyes, the excess cream and bagel seasoning stuck to his upper lip made him even more adorable. You try, too, not to remember the moment where his hands carefully yet confidently cradle your face, as if handling one of his explosives, before kissing you under the neon lights of Coruscant. It was lovely, the type of kiss that makes one addicted—even you got to deepen that kiss. In the end, it left both of you breathless and smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt.

It was beautiful.

“I advise you not to question order and continuously be difficult to deal with.”

Unlike now.

“Speak for yourself,” you rasp, your lips brushing the durasteel wall as you talk but you don't care. “I hope you know you're torturing me inside and out, Scorch. I'm going to make you eat a fucking live thermal det that you have in your pocket so you'll carry your fucking name to the fucking grave. If there's any left to be buried.”

“Cease talking,” his monotonic voice orders behind you. With a hand on your shoulder, he tugs you back slightly so you're standing in form. “Spread your arms. I won't touch you in certain areas.”

Gray walls. Gray walls. Durasteel insults you again and looks down at your pathetic fate—truly pathetic this time. Swallowing another oncoming sob, you spread your arms and close your eyes, anticipation already swallowing you and turning your stomach inside out. You're helpless. Utterly, hopelessly, helpless.

You twitch terribly as Scorch's gloved fingers swipe across your ears first. Then down your neck, where you flinch again at your own vulnerability—the possibility of getting choked and having you gasping for air right there and then if Hemlock decides he no longer needs your damn blood samples. Scorch inspects your back, his palms flat across your shoulders and down to your shoulder blades back and forth exactly twice.

Moving to your arms, his pats had been firm, allowing you to breathe in relief for a moment. Down your torso, you gasp when he lingers a split second too long on your waist that you nearly don't notice. His hands leave the vicinity of your body a second later, and you can feel the hesitation radiating off his form even without looking.

Then, in a blinding speed, Scorch slightly lifts your shirt and runs his gloved fingers along and underneath the waistband of your trousers.

It was over before you could even comprehend.

He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable.

It drives another sob out of your body, your forehead meeting the wall in front of you with a quiet thunk.

Without even being given the chance to breathe, Scorch progresses downward to your legs. You start to register his search is no longer with pressure as he did to your arms. He'd definitely hadn't done this before—patting down a woman. You can feel the slightest hesitation in his movements that indicates his unfamiliarity with female anatomy in this instance as his gloved hands proceed to pat down each of your thighs, inside and out, down to your ankles.

“Turn around.”

He doesn't reprimand you for your loose form— your arms already tilting downwards, more toward the underworld for the doomed ones rather than straight to either walls of your cell. Whether Scorch has enough of your reactive outbursts or something else, you foolishly allow yourself to hope that there may be still a single bone in his body that actually cares about you.

You comply, your eyes still closed. You’re scared of yourself—you don't know what will happen if you pretend to look into his eyes through the glaring blue light of his HUD.

Scorch repeats his search from your ears and neck, you try not to shiver in addition to hearing his calm, rhythmic breath through his helmet's filters near you. The trousers have no pockets whatsoever, so he doesn't linger on your thighs. Once his hands leave you, you dare open your eyes. With the same distant movement as if he's merely another clone, he turns his back on you and signals to have the door open while reaching for his blaster.

The ghosts of his touch remain on your body. Suddenly you just can't wait for the next shower session.

“There is order in this facility we all must abide by,” Scorch says to you from beyond the confines of your cell, “Remember that, ES-08.”

You watch his form receding from your periphery.

It wasn't always like this.

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