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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 4 months

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Alastor - [ DEVOTION… PT.1 ]

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[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SLIGHT AGE GAP ] + [ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ] + [ BREEDING KINK ] - ( there’s a lot to unpack in this one, I know, but you’ll enjoy it.. also pls kindly lmk the artist for the fanart I used so I can tag them thx! )

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Alastor Hartifelt was a fantastic husband.

No one could deny that.

Especially not his darling wife of one year and counting.

You, his sole companion during childhood, dawning from a rich family that occupied an estate near his family’s plot of farming land, and exceptionally infatuated with him early into your friendship.

From the very first time you met him out in the sprawling green meadows of Louisiana’s swamped countryside you found comfort in each other even amidst being ignored or teased by other children.

Their shared hatred and resentment towards you and the older boy cultivated an odd but strong bond between you two, and soon your strife to fit in seemed less appealing than being his truest friend.

Alastor immediately became protective of you, finding your shy nature welcoming like his own mothers, but also irritated by those who wished you harm for the simple fact that your family was better off than their own.

If anyone dared to pick a fight, tease, or berate you Alastor was right there to come to your aid. You’d tell him time and time again that fighting for you wasn’t worth it, that seeing him hurt wounded you more than their words, but for some baffling reason he’d never head your pleas.

Why?…

In retrospect Alastor wasn’t sure of the reason himself but he was certain it had something to do with the way you returned the favor by protecting him in your own subtle ways.

Your arms remained wide open when he needed an embrace, voice full of tender understanding when the two of you held quiet conversations late into the evening, and generally being his safe place when the rest of the world refused to be.

You were his darling from the very beginning…

His everything…

Yet, Alastor wouldn’t dare say it aloud..,

The two of you couldn’t be more different to those who observed your relationship from the outside. Alastor held an air of confidence wherever he went, suave, and well mannered. He could be cunning when provoked, dangerously charming to get his way, and refreshingly decisive under any amount of pressure.

A man every woman in New Orleans wanted, craved even, but it was well known the famous radio host had you at his side.

You, the city’s undisputed princess, daughter of a wealthy businessman, but regarded as the furthest thing from a ‘spoiled brat’. It was expected for those in higher circles to have sour and condescending attitudes but you proved to be different. Soft spoken, interested in the arts more than being out on the town, and some might’ve considered you ‘sheltered’ in terms of upbringing.

The contrast between Alastor and yourself brought about many whispered rumors and questions.

“How’d a sweet little thing like her end up with him?”

“Doesn’t he want someone better suited? Whats so special about her?”

“I hear, he married her for the fathers money. Don’t blame him for it either…she’s a real peach…”

“A little young for him don’t you think? She’s a lovely broad though…”

You’d heard it all. Every sort of rumor or piece of gossip people had to offer you’d picked up on rather quickly and at first it bothered you, but overtime seeing Alastor act indifferent to the scandalous comments made you less weary of them.

He’d never entertain the scrutiny, choosing to remind you his decision to marry wasn’t fueled by any ill will and as his wife you’d never need to worry about him caring for you.

Alastor’s always had, even when he’d left New Orleans to build his career he still thought of you from time to time, but that’s all he’d ever done.

Cared for you…

Love seemed to allude his spectrum of emotions and vocabulary. Yes, he shows you affection, buying expensive gifts, making sure you never lifted a finger for anything other than cleaning or cooking when needed, and proudly showing you off on his arm at parties and social events he attended.

Yes, he strived to hide his murderous tendencies, taking extra lengths to shield you from his ‘hunting’ escapades by planning them weeks before, and then going as far as discreetly cleaning his bloody clothes and weapons the night he returns while you slept soundly in your shared bed.

Alastor took great care in showing you he cared but defining his love for you was never addressed.

Not even on your wedding day.

It was as if he’d scripted his vows to say nothing of the emotion and even avoided saying “I love you” back when you’d accidentally let it slip out during your own speech for him.

You hadn’t pressed the issue at all, knowing Alastor struggled with concepts of intimacy and devotion since childhood, but the lmawing teeth of doubt pricked your skin harder with each passing day of your marriage.

Had you made a mistake agreeing to marry him?

Was he seeing someone else?

Someone knowledgeable of the world, maybe more experienced in life than you were, or more attentive?

Was she prettier?

Were you not his kind of woman?

Where did he go so late at night, at random times of the month, with a leather bag in his hand and a wide smile on his face?…

Had Alastor been seeing another woman for a whole year and you were just too oblivious or infatuated to notice?

Did he even like you anymore? Could he ever love you…?

Were you not enough for him?

Thoughts plagued your mind constantly, causing you to be quieter than usual, and less receptive to Alsstors lingering presence.

Your back was to him, giving a good veiw of your small frame as you cooked in the large kitchen. The familiar sight brought a smile to Alastor’s face. You were so focused, hair tied back by a white silk bow, and a sheer floor length robe to match.

He’d bough both for you only a week prior, claiming he couldn’t just let the items sit in the display window when you’d been staring at with such bright stars in your eyes, but in truth Alastor had imagined you wearing it just as you were now and couldn’t resist buying it on the spot.

Your husband remained silent as he watched you waltz around the kitchen, chocolate brown eyes peering over the top of his glasses as he did, but his smile faltering seeing the distress in your delicate features.

You weren’t the type to frown often, always emitting warmth and sweetness, so the rare appearance of anguish in your expression perplexed Alastor.

What had upset his darling wife?

Who would he have to kill?….

Asking what was troubling you would surely give him answers to both questions.

He stepped forward, coming from round the corner to enter the kitchen fully before striding over to stand by your side as you began to mix what he assumed was dessert in a bowl.

Albeit, he was probably right knowing you had a vicious sweet tooth.

“Strawberry cake I presume?” Alastor finally speaks, making his presence known with a cheeky remark, and you nearly jump out of your skin hearing his silky voice resonate around the room.

Your head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with slight surprise, but they quickly soften as he smiles. A blush creeps onto your cheeks as he steps closer, initiating his usual habit of brushing a stray strand of hair from your face before kissing your temple gently, and only pulling away when you squeak out a greeting back to him.

“H-hi Al…you’re home a bit earlier than I expected…” you swallow thickly, staring at him adoringly for a moment before lowering your gaze as tinges of guilt build in you. “I’m sorry dinner isn’t quite ready yet…” you whisper, feeling shameful, and more agitated with yourself than before. Alastor had and would never berate you, unlike most men of the time he saw no benefit in treating his wife like a slave, and made an effort to remind you not everything had to be perfect.

“It’ s alright, darling. You needn’t rush yourself,” his voice is low, simmering with reassurance as he lifts your chin with his thumb and pointer finger. You smile nervously as your eyes meet his again, his touch firm and electrifying all at once, and your tummy doing several flips when he smiles back at you.

Alastor studies your face, attempting to pinpoint the source of your masked sadness, “You seem…troubled, sweetheart. Is there something wrong?” His genuine question brings a shock to your heart, tongue going numb as you race to think of a believable reason for your dampened mood, “I…I just had a little mishap with this cake batter is all!..”

You step away from him, turning to face the semi clean counter with a false air of cheeriness surrounding you. The fear of sounding needy and demanding while telling Alastor the truth keeps you from being honest with him outright.

Fake it.

I shouldn’t worry him with my insecurities or doubts…

It might push him further away…

The whisk in your hand spins in tight circles as you focus on mixing the overdone batter, beginning to thicken itself more than necessary as you kept going, using the task as a distraction from Alastor’s keen observance.

Something was wrong.

He was sure of it now.

His eyes narrowed behind the circular glasses, hands finding your waist as he came to stand behind you, allowing his chest to press against your back, and his head lowering to tuck into the crook of your neck.

A shiver racked your body as he exhaled a long, steady breath onto your skin. Your hands faltered, flurried movements becoming lax as you froze in his embrace, “When’d you start lying to me, ma chère…” Alastor mumbled into your ear. Every nerve in your body was on alert, shocked that he’d went much further than his usual bounds of physical affection, but pleasantly delighted he’d given it to you.

“M’ not lying,..”you try to uphold your lie through rising pants, tempted to moan quietly feeling his lips graze behind your ear, neck, and bare shoulder while your robe shifted lower. You weren’t certain if Alastor was inching it down by his own accord or your subtle squirming against him was to blame.

The ending result was the same either way. Your upper body gradually becoming exposed to his leering gaze and the cool air. Alastor hummed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and flooding your mind repeatedly as he placed chaste kisses on your neck.

“I wish I could believe you, darling…” he chuckled lowly, hands inching towards the lace ribbon keeping your gown tied shut, and with one gentle tug he rendered the fabric useless. “Al..” you whined in slight surprise as he snatched the ribbon off, letting it unravel into a small pile on the tile floor before sliding his cold hands up the expanse of your heated torso.

Nothing.

You were wearing absolutely nothing underneath the thin robe and Alastor audibly groaned when he realized it.

Had you planned on this?

Were you just waiting for him to venture further with you?

All this time he’d watched you frolic and pace around your shared home, wondering what was hidden under you seemingly modest clothing….just to find you wore nothing at all…

Oh, what a rare occurrence it was for him to be such a blind fool.

Your hands flew to grasp Alastor’s wrists as he held you tighter, kneading your soft flesh lovingly, and taking his time to admire every dip and curve you had to offer him.

“Al…please..” you begged, visibly shuddering as he nipped at your neck and played with your breasts. “I won’t go any further until I hear the truth from that pretty mouth of yours, sweetheart…”

Damn it….you cursed yourself, slowly losing the will to think as his lips found the most sensitive area on your neck, bruising it with his tongue teeth until you whimpered and rushed out a jumbled explanation for your heavy mood.

“I…Imscaredyoudomtlovseme…th-that you d-don’t want me- Ahm…” you soft voice reached a new octave as your husband slid his free hand between your thighs to cup your mound, gingerly kicking your legs apart with a nudge of his foot against your own, and you tensed all over as he did so.

Fuck, he could definitely feel how desperate you were now, essentially a mess already without Alastor doing much of anything, and embarrassingly unable to control your arousal.

“Love, hm? That’s what’s troubling your precious mind?…” Alastor mulls over your confession, able to maintain his composure despite heat rushing straight through him to the head of his cock as he slid two fingers into your dripping cunt. You jolted from the sudden intrusion, head lulling back to rest on his shoulder as he pumped them in and out of you at a leisurely pace, curling his deft digits fowvard every so often to make you shiver.

His thumb found your clit, pressing defined circles into it as he began to ease your worries, “Love, ma chère, isn’t what I feel for you..” Alastor lets out a soft laugh, trying to calm his own mind before clarifying his vague statement all while pushing you near the edge of your first high.

“No….I feel much more than love for you, my dear. Devotion is a better term…obsession at times…” he admits the darker side of his affection through heavy breaths, cock twitching in his dress pants when you mewl in understanding. Your warm cunt suffocates his fingers for a moment, walls fluttering as the knot in your core threatens to undo itself, causing Alastor to sharply exhale from the inviting fluctuations.

Your lips parted to warm him of your impending orgasm but only a strained moan tumbled off your tongue. Alastor needed no other sign to tell if you were close, inwardly prideful he could make you come with ease.

“Go on, come undone for me , darling,” he insists in a hushed groan, his fingers stretching your walls in a fluid rhythm to drag your climax out, and you could’ve tumbled to the floor from the sheer intensity of the knot inside you snapping on his command.

Thankfully his taller frame kept you securely trapped between him and the counter that you soon found yourself sitting on the edge of after Alastor slipped his hand away from your throbbing cunt.

You watched with a dazed eyes as the older man licked a stripe of your cum off his fingers, brown eyes sliding shut as he let out a satisfied grunt before staring at your willing form perched on the counters edge.

The sight drew a his hidden hunger closer to the surface, toying with his self control as he took it in, and urging him to act on a primal instinct he’d only ever describe as “intense affection”.

Was that a flash of red in his eyes just now?

No , it couldn’t be…

You weren’t left much time to decipher the hungry glint in his eyes before Alastor reclaimed his position near you. His slender waist slotted perfectly between your thighs, the robe now draped off your back, and your hair gradually falling loose from its simple updo as his hands traced your sides.

“Love, sweet girl, is for lonesome fools…” Alastor pressed his forehead to yours, letting you chase his lips for one heated kiss after the next, and only denying you another to whisper against your soft and slightly swollen lips.

“Neither of us are alone or fools, correct?” He huffs as you nod slowly, bringing your hands up to undo his tie, and then proceeding to expertly unbutton his vest and dress shirt.

The general charm that Alastor maintained completely dissolved into pining under your gentle fingertips, an almost desperate shot of adrenaline consuming him as you peppered kisses along his jaw and neck.

If what he said was truly how he felt about you…it was enough to stamp out your doubts, allowing the adoring side of you he’d grown familiar with to resurface, “No…we aren’t,” you respond with a small smile.

He tips your chin up, placing a deep kiss on your lips as he shrugs his shirt and vest off, setting his glasses to the side as well before reaching for the leather belt on his waist.

You paid his actions no mind, busy with fighting his tongue for dominance, but admitted defeat quite fast as his wandered your mouth in expert fashion.

Your soft hands passed over his chest, moving up to tangle in his soft curls, gently tugging the strands to earn a groan from him. Alastor pulled back, a single line of spit connecting you two as he did so, and his hair falling in front of his eyes as he stared down into your tear glossed gaze, “You’re mine, ma chère. Til death and beyond…”

You nod, halfway coherent, but mustering the will to answer him with a content smile.

“Til death…” you repeat the phrase, mind reeling further from logical thinking as Alastor hummed hearing your dazed response, head nestled in your neck once more before he trailed open mouthed kisses down the expanse of your trembling frame. He brought himself as close as possible to you, smiling on your skin as you gasp quietly feeling his clothed erection press flush against your bare stomach, leaning further back in his hold embrace him better. You feared making a mess of the counter but as Alastor trailed his lips down your body and kneeled between your legs he gave one swift snap of his fingers to eliminate the obstacle entirely.

What?….How in the world did he do that?…

Your curiosity would’ve prompted you to ask him about the absurd occurrence if it weren’t for the anticipation rushing your blood as he came face to face with your cunt. “Alastor?…” you squeaked his name softly, attempting to close your legs when he sighed out a warm breath on your glistening folds, but he held them open using one hand with ease. The other resting steady on your waist, guiding you to lay back onto the cold marble countertop, and lingering there as you obeyed his wordless command.

“Good girl…” he praised, tone deepening as you whined quietly, the sound morphing into a loud moan as he lazily flicked his tongue over your slit once…twice…and a third time.

“More…” you pant in the midst of moaning, head craning to the side while your back arched and the urge to scream built in your chest as Alastor obliged your request with vigorous intent. He hummed melodically as your taste seeped onto his tongue, walls ever so sensitive as he explored them tirelessly, and a smirk playing on his lips as you writhed in pleasure.

Your face was soon flushed completely, eyes watering as they rolled slightly with each pass of his tongue over your cunt, and your small hands returning to tug at his soft brown hair. Another coil spiraled in your stomach hearing him groan in response, seeming to enjoy how roughly you pulled his hair, and his gaze drifting up for a split second to get a good view of your satiated state.

Seven hells….she looks even lovelier like this…

Alastor unconsciously drags you closer to his face, not caring at all when you lock your legs around his head and cry out from the borderline bruising hold he has on you now. “Oh god!…” you yelp, throwing him a bewildered glance before tossing your head back as he lapped at your clit like he’d starve to death without it, and the relentless attention to your bundle of nerves was the last thing you could comprehend before the knot unwinded itself.

Your vision blurred over, everything starting to spin as your cum gushed into his mouth, and the tears you were fighting to hide slid freely down your face as he downed every single drop your body offered.

It was all too much, the hunger in his eyes, his hold on you, and your high that never seemed to subside even as he broke away from your cunt with a satisfied smile on his face.

It was all too much at once….

Your head buzzed with euphoric afterthoughts, incoherency daring to cloud your senses entirely, but the sound of Alastor’s voice near your ear successfully halted the sensations long enough for you to comprehend what he was saying.

“You taste divine, ma chère…” his musing flusters you, a light shade of pink coating your cheeks as he dips his head to steal a kiss from you, “Al…” you sigh into his mouth, biting back a keen smile, and wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him near.

He chuckles hearing the unsteady tremor in your tone, adding onto his compliment after capturing your parted lips in another deep kiss, “I presume you’ll feel just as wonderful with me inside you, sweetheart…”

His assumption proved true. So much so that the moment his cock passed through your slippery folds a heavy groan of your name was the first and only thing he could manage to say. “Y/n….mon amor…” Alastor held you underneath him, not daring to move without completely relishing in the way your cunt wrapped around him first, and your broken moans dizzying the last bit of self control he was clinging onto.

You tried not to seem overwhelmed, with your legs wrapped around his waist, and your hands cupping his face to keep him as close as possible while your body adjusted to his size. With furrowed brows and a soft smile you praised your husbands well endowed length as he finally drew his hips back, leaving nothing but the head his cock resting in you.

“You…feel…s’good….” You whisper, breathless as he slams back in, swallowing your pleased cries with one tender kiss after the next. He tasted like you, hints of bourbon lingering on his tongue from the drink he’d poured himself before leaving the station, but your essence more prominent than ever.

All that he was, all that he did, and would ever do revolved around you.

His darling wife…

His one and only….

It showed through the sweet phrases he muttered against your lips as he took his time to please you, pace slow and deliberate, but the execution precise and cutthroat.

You weren’t sure when you’d raised your voice, crying out louder as he abused your sweetest spot continuously, and only going silent when a inaudible scream begged to leap from your chest while his cock bullied into cervix. Stars collected in your vision, hands clawing at Alastor’s back as you tried to hang onto reality for dear life, but failing miserably when he sped up his thrusts.

A subtle laugh passed his lips, eyes glinting with greedy lust as your head flew back, exposing all the love bites he’d left on your delicate skin, and the sight caused his cock to twitch inside you.

“F-fuck….Al!” Your eyes watered once more, sliding shut as a familiar pressure built in your core, rapidly gaining density the longer Alastor fucked into you.

He groaned at the sound of you shouting his name in such a twisted mix of ecstasy and anguish. Your soft voice becoming tainted with an edge he’d never imagined it could have. “Close already, my dear?..” he teased you, smile as smug as ever as he stood up straight, hands gripping either side of your hips, and his gaze lowering to where you two connected.

“Look…at…that…” he mused, suddenly slowing his thrusts to a painfully harsh pace, fixated on the way your cunt continuously creamed on his length. Alastor bit his tongue to keep from growling at the view, barely registering your whines and pleads for him to go faster.

“Al…Alastor…please..m’ begging you…please…” you felt your thighs shake as he continued his lazy strokes, clearly wanting to drag the ordeal out for his personal entertainment, and his lack of sympathy for your plight in that moment edged you even closer to cumming.

He knew it too…

That infamous grin on his face as he watched you resort to quiet sobs and desperate moans was a sure sign of the fact…

Alastor knew you needed him, loved him, lived for him..

“Please what, mon chere?” He bit his lip, unhooking your legs from around his waist to push them to your chest, giving his cock a new angle to stretch your cunt with.

You felt like passing out then, all strength evaporating from your body as he reached places inside you that surely didn’t exist before. His taunting didn’t make your dazed state any better, “Please, ruin you? Please, love you?… Let me hear you loud and clear, darling..”

Before you could register the words they flew from you mouth in a hushed flurry of need.

“Please…love me…fuck me like you love me…use me…I don’t care anymore…”

Alastor immediately rewarded your answer, wasting no time as his hips snapped into yours feverishly, flooding the kitchen with the sound of skin against skin.

“Lovely…” he cooed, voice thick with tension as he stared down at your overstimulated form, and within seconds of the praise slipping off his tongue you came undone. He followed shortly after, not caring to ask where you wanted his release, and you made no protest as the warm white liquid spilled inside you.

All you could do was stare, mouth falling open as he fucked his cum deeper, “It’s high time you became a mother, mon chere. You’d like that wouldn’t you?..” Alastor rambled, hardly coherent as his high coursed through him, but his statement crystal clear to you.

“Yes…” you whimper in response, walls clenching his cock as the thought of carrying his child sprung into your mind. “I’d love it…Al.”

His heart nearly stops as a genuine closed eye smile graces your face, a light blush painting your cheeks as he kisses them gently while gingerly slipping his softened cock out of your leaking heat. Alastor then lets your legs fall, lifting you to sit up straight on the counter again before wrapping his arms around your waist.

You hang onto him for balance, feeling entirely small in his grasp, and finding comfort in the embrace as exhaustion trickles in.

Alastor breathed in your sweet scent, beginning to pull your robe back on your tired form before reaching for his dress shirt. He was careful not to stir you away from his chest as he shrugged the clothing back on

“I’d love you and our child more than anything…” he nonchalantly mumbles, kissing the top of your head, and chuckling when your tied eyes go wide with undeniable hope.

“More than anything?…”

“Anything, my dear…” he repeats himself with a soft smile, bringing a hand up to push fallen strands of hair from your face.

That was when it occurred to you…

Alastor Hartiflet could love…

He’d always been able to….

And he loved you enough to share it with another…

How surreal….

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This entire 1st part was brought to you by the Great Gatsby movie soundtrack…❤️ you’re welcome… ;)

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Actually it MIGHT BE 12 inches if we are being honest… ❤️ credits to creator.

#Spotify #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor fluff #alastor hartfelt #alastor smut #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hard thoughts #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #alastor x oc #alastor human

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fandom-go-round · 5 months

Note

bg3 companions + their reactions to finding out they knocked up fem tav? 👀 (for the ladies we can say they're trans or it's magic)

I wrote my boy first because he’s the best, can you guess who it is? Hint: He’s my first romance. No guess for you lovely requestor because you know too much LOL

Also I’m ignoring cannon endings here because we want to end up happy with babies. No angst here, begone!

Warnings: Implied Sex, Implied Sexual Situations, Pregnant Tav, Babies, Pregnancy Thing (Morning Sickness)

Astarion:

At first, he thinks that you’re joking. Vampires can’t have children after all, that’s a pretty basic fact. When you’re insistent, part of him wants to accuse you of cheating, as much as it pains him. That’s a part of him still tainted by Cazador and he muffles it as best he can. Astarion is going to insist you go to a healer together; if you’re not pregnant, something must be going on you need help with. When Shadowheart confirms you’re with child, he’s at a loss. Astarion doesn’t know what to say, truly.

After the initial shock, he goes on the hunt for anything and everything about human-vampire babies. The records are hard to find and some are locked far, far away but he finds them all. He can be very persuasive after all. It’s in one of these books that he figures out how you two made a baby; he’s going to be very careful taking your blood from now on. Speaking of, Astarion will refuse to drink from you while you pregnant, no ifs ands or buts. This is a firm boundary for him, even if you smell more and more delicious the farther along you get.

The pregnancy is hard and Astarion is afraid he’s going to lose you. The birth is especially gruesome and it’s only because of Shadowheart and Halsin that you’re alive. He wants to resent the baby for how you suffered but he can’t, they’re just too perfect. He’s afraid of getting too close, of tainting this little thing but you refuse to let him be apart. The first time he holds your child he weeps and it’s over. Astarion is always going to struggle with his emotions and feelings about being a father but never about how much he loves them. Also, he’s completely in charge of their wardrobe; you’re going to have the best-looking baby in the entire city hands down.

Gale:

Gale was always on the fence about kids. Sure they’re cute but they’re also loud and he struggles to take care of himself, let alone a little squishy creature. That doesn’t mean he’s upset when you tell him you’re pregnant, not at all. He’s just doing furious calculations in his mind and it looks like he’s crashed. Give his brain a moment to reset and he’ll give you a large grin and lean down to kiss you. Tara is the first person the two of you tell and she’s excited, vowing to be the baby’s protector. Gale loves her even more which is quite the feat. His mother is next and she immediately starts offering help. He just can’t get over how perfect his family is, it feels like a dream sometimes.

He takes a very technical approach to your pregnancy, like everything. Gale is reading all of the baby books and using all of the tracking charts he can get his hands on. He even goes to talk to midwives, wanting an expert opinion. It’s very sweet of him but you have to remind him that all babies grow at their own pace. He just wants to be the best dad he can and for him, that means more information. It is funny to watch him change a diaper for the first time but he never backs down from a challenge! Maybe he can use magic…?

He’s a mess when you actually go into labor. Gale swore he would be with you the entire time and then passed out in the final moments. He wakes up to a healthy baby and immediately starts crying. He enjoys being a dad, especially teaching your child new things. Your kid is going to have a huge curious streak that Gale will feed with vigor. He doesn’t consciously want your kid to be a wizard but would be overjoyed to have more in common with them.

Wyll:

Wyll is over the moon, as surprised as he is. Kids are something that he’s always wanted to have eventually and with you, his favorite person? What could go wrong? Of course, he’ll hear out your concerns if you have any and can have difficult conversations around pregnancy and child birth. One benefit of being a noble is that he has resources to help; whatever you want will be yours. He’s nervous to tell his dad but once the older man starts to tear up, he knows that he’s made a good choice. Wyll wants his family to be whole and happy.

He’s a chronic hoverer, as cute and frustrating as that is. Even in the early stages of pregnancy Wyll will try to do everything for you; moving a trunk? He’s got that, don’t strain yourself. Trying to cook dinner? Let him help you love. Be firm that you can do things yourself and he’ll back off. Just know that when you turn to ask him for help he’ll be waiting in the wings to be your hero. He’s also a pro at helping you figure out cravings. Wyll won’t complain if you wake him up in the middle of the night to go get something from the kitchen. He loves wrapping his arms around you from behind and rocking together; you being in his arms is his favorite thing.

He’s a trooper during the birth, being there the entire time. It takes a long time and he does worry but he encourages you and is your personal cheerleader. He can’t stop smiling after the baby is born, tracing their cheeks and forehead. As much as it would be funny to say Wyll struggles with being a dad, he really doesn’t. He loves your child so much, you’re surprised he never brought up kids in the first place. He is very much the definition of doting father but don’t let that fool you, he takes no disrespect, especially towards you. You’re the ruler of the house and Wyll is your backup. He’s the perfect mix of fun and strict dad. Now if he can convince you to have others…

Karlach:

Karlach is over the moon when you find our you’re pregnant. She had noticed you felt off and encouraged you to go to the doctor. Neither of you were expecting the baby news, as silly as it sounds. That doesn’t stop her form immediately lifting you up with a loud ‘whoop!’ and spinning your around the room. She loves babies! She loves you! This is going to be great.

She insists on redoing a room just for the baby. Even if their crib is going to be in your room for the first few months, Karlach wants your kid to have their own space. She paints the walls, builds all the furniture, everything. She asks for you opinion on decorations and doesn’t do anything without checking with you first but it’s her labor of love. It’s also her project for when she gets anxious thinking about the future. What is something goes wrong with her heart? What if something is wrong with the baby? What is the birth is too much for you? All of these thoughts get washed away in making the baby’s room perfect and then she goes to talk to you.

Karlach helps as much as she can during the birth aka you kick her (lovingly) into the hall to go grab towels so she stops hovering. When she gets back the baby is almost here and there’s no time to panic, just watch with wide eyes. She thinks you’re even more of a badass for going through all that and asks to hold the baby fist. Karlach cries holding them; they’re so cute and small and they’re the perfect mix of the two of you. She’s defiantly going to be the fun mom and there will be moments where it feels like you have two kids to scold. She takes safety very seriously, however, and is the first to lecture about stranger danger. Your kid will never feel unloved or unsafe, Karlach swears it on her life. This is her family now and no one else can have them.

Lae’zel:

Lae’zel struggles with the news that you’re having a baby. Partly because she never thought that she could have kids and the other part because she’s terrified about being a mom. She wasn’t raised in a traditional Faerunian way; no where on the continent can be compared to being raised Gith. She needs time to process on her own and it’ll be a few days before she comes back ready to talk. Take her concerns seriously and, if you truly want to keep the baby, she’ll raise them with you. She loves you after all.

It takes her a bit to understand all the changes your body is going through. It’s horrifying and amazing to watch your stomach swell and she loves gently cradling your bump as it grows. She doesn’t know what to do about the crying, except when someone else makes you cry. Then it’s easy: she wants to kill them. That usually makes you laugh and you’re able to talk her out of bodily harm. You do have some nice shop discounts now. Lae’el is very much your guard dog and she fulfills her position with pride.

The entire birthing process just shows Lae’zel that you’re the strongest person she knows. She’s completely impressed by how you handle everything and has a new respect for moms everywhere. She still thinks it’s gross and inefficient but badass all the same. Lae’zel is a strict mom but soft in her own way. She’s still learning to be kind to herself and the world around her. Your child will never feel the brunt of her frustration or confusion; they will, however, be able to swing a sword much too young. She beams with pride the first time your child beheads a training dummy and you know, deep deep down, that the two of them going to be trouble.

Shadowheart:

She starts to notice the signs before you do, honestly. At first it’s little things; you’re tired quicker, you’re more sensitive to certain smells. The big one is that you start to get morning sickness, frequently. Shadowheart finally sits you down after the fifth morning in a row over a bucket and checks you over. You’re pregnant all right, not doubt there. She’s going to be as surprised as you; you were both good about protection. Surprise baby!

She’s fairly neutral about kids. She never thought that she would have any, serving Shar, but now there’s a little more appeal to them. The pooping and crying she could live without but the idea of there being someone made up of the two of you? Shadowheart likes the idea more than she would admit out loud. She starts researching pregnancy healing the midwifery right away; she doesn’t have a lot of expertise with babies but she is a healer.

Shadowheart insists on delivering your baby herself. She wants to be a part of this and while you’re going to be doing the hard part, she wants to support you. If you have an issue, she will relent but has to be in the room. Your delivery is flawless and as she holds the bloody baby in her hands, she feels full. Of love and hope and excitement, all those emotions she once would have sworn off. For the first time since you’ve found out you’re pregnant, she’s excited to be a mom. She’s a strict but loving mom, teasing her kid and embarrassing them in public (just a little, like a cheek pinch). Shadowheart loves singing to your kids, something neither of you knew until now. Your house is full of love and laughter and singing, just perfect.

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theemporium · 7 months

Note

how about💰 with lestappen ?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

“If it isn’t my favourite customers.”

Charles’ face seemed to light up as you approached their table, as though their eyes hadn’t been on you since the second they entered the yacht club twenty minutes prior. He sat up a little straighter in his seat, everything about his expression soft and endearing as you stood in front of them, dressed in your uniform with your hands politely held in front of you.

“Finally admitting we are your favourites?” Max questioned, seeming a little less eager than Charles but something in his chest still warmed when your eyes settled on him.

“You have some tough competition with Mrs Harrison,” you told them, trying to bite back the smile that wanted to grow on your face because you knew if your manager saw, he would have far too much to say. “She tips me well and she tells me how pretty I am. She was even three margaritas deep today when she said she wished I was her daughter. It made me quite emotional actually.”

Charles raised his brows. “That’s our competition?”

“Don’t worry, Charlie, she can’t compete with your looks,” you teased, the words light-hearted and playful, and yet they still made his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “You two want your usuals?”

Max nodded, seeing as the other boy was far too flustered to open his mouth. “We always do.”

Because that is what they always did. You didn’t remember when or how long ago the two Formula One drivers started spending time at one of Monaco’s elite yacht clubs, but you were painfully aware of them the second they were on your radar. The way they would always show up together, the way they always ordered the same drinks, the way they always wanted you as their server and no one else.

They never used the yacht club for the social or networking aspect all the other members used it for. They just used it for you—even if you were blissfully unaware of the fact. They showed up at the club one night on a whim and the next day they were members, they were craving any possibility they could to see you again after the first time they laid eyes on you.

And you were so, so unaware.

You were unaware of the status they really held in Monaco, despite knowing they were famous and beloved athletes. You were unaware of the resentment other servers and even your manager held towards you for being favoured by the drivers. You were unaware of their true intentions for their visits and their growing desire to see you.

“We have something for you,” Charles had said the second you arrived with their drinks, placing them down on the table with the grace of a professional.

Your eyes snapped over to Charles’, already shaking your head. “Not this again—”

“Mon amour,” Charles sighed.

“You guys can’t keep giving me gifts,” you said to them, taking a step back from the table and you felt like you were staring at two wounded puppies when you did. “It’s too much. Far too much.”

“It’s our tip to you,” Max said nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders.

“No, it’s not,” you retorted.

“It is, and it would make us—the club members—extremely happy if you took the tip,” Max countered, a look a little too smug for your liking on his face.

Because he did this every time, both boys did this every time. They would come in and try to tip you obscene amounts of money that made you feel a bit nauseous. They continued to do so until they realised your manager was taking the tips and splitting the money between the other servers too. So, they got a little more creative on how they spoiled you, on how they took care of you.

And despite refusing every single time, they always managed to make you crack.

You glanced over your shoulder warily to make sure your manager wasn’t looking before you faced the boys again, taking the box in Charles’ outstretched hand before carefully opening it. Your lips parted in surprise as you took in the dainty piece of jewellery, so soft and simple and elegant.

You almost felt guilty for touching the necklace.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, almost absent-mindedly as your fingers lightly traced the charm on the chain before you looked at the boys. “I can’t accept this.”

“You have to,” Charles reminded you with a grin. “It’s your tip.”

“It’s far too much,” you said with a shake of your head as you glanced down at the charm once again, your eyes eager to take in every small detail of the charm. You opened your mouth to say something, only to pause when the light caught some detailing in the charm,

C.L. M.V.

“Is that….are those your initials?” You questioned aloud, looking at the charm in confusion before looking at the boys.

“Hm? No, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Max answered casually in response.

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. “It’s your initials. C.L. M.V. How dumb do you think I am?”

“It’s not our names, cherie, it’s a simple coincidence,” Charles said as he waved off your assumption. “It’s just the initials of the brand.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the brand name then?” You countered.

“Some fancy Dutch one you would’ve never heard of before,” Max answered quickly. A little too quick to not be suspicious. “We just thought it would look great on you.”

“And it works with your uniform regulations, so you can wear it on shift,” Charles added with a charming smile, but the rest went unsaid between them. So you can wear our names around your neck, even when other men ogle you.

“I—” But you cut yourself off, knowing that arguing with them was a lost cause and would only catch the attention of your manager. “Thank you, both of you. It’s probably one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever received.”

“It will give us a challenge to top for your next gift then,” Charles teased despite the look you gave him.

“You two are relentless,” you said to them.

Max only grinned wider. “And you love it, schat.”

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neteyamsilly · 1 year

Text

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 2

summary ;; Your burning determination to prove your father wrong and Jake's wish to teach you a lesson both end up in a pyrrhic victory. PART 1 | PART 3 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; im speechlessly overwhelmed at the sheer amount of love you guys showed me these past couple of days. like. literally never had something like this happen to me before. i got too excited to finish this chapter to give back to yall, there was an attempt to proofread but... i hope it's not too bad, please enjoy! as always, if you see any mistakes, im sorry!

The path further into the floating mountains was all the worse to navigate thanks to the lack of light, the only useful guides you had were the faintly flickering bioluminescent lights from the forest deep below. The branches twisting around each other to create a naturally built bridge from mountain to mountain benefited from this, contrasting as a clear obscured line to your eyes against the glow underneath.

The easiest part of your journey, in hindsight, was just skipping along this line.

You weren’t exactly happy about this.

The more you left behind, the more you were freaked out that Neteyam or anyone else was onto your intentions already and hot on your trail right this moment. Imagining father making a beeline to you in the air with Bob, a cruel, merciless whistling arrow, made you all jittery and almost puking kind of nervous, pulling at the depths of your stomach.

Your rationality told you that it was a half an hour walk to your spot from the tent, and Neteyam would be hurrying the more he thought he wasn’t able to catch up with you along the way, so you had around twenty minutes until the whole family was panicking and raising the clan to look for you.

Tuk had gone missing once thanks to some hide and seek game with Lo’ak (she’d hidden so well and was waiting for her siblings to find her already, blindly sticking to the game for an entire day, not out of stubbornness but childish purity), and this was exactly what had gone down —

the resentful part of you questioned if father thinks of you highly enough to resort to that.

If something happened to you, he would maybe urge your brothers to search for you for a while, and drop it then — leaving you to your own devices happily.

Maybe.

Were you even worth it in his eyes for a search party? You wondered if he cared enough that you disappeared.

But that was a stupid, childish thought you knew you fantasized about a lot — perhaps this was why he’d called you immature. This was no mindset for a strong, independent, confident hunter. The thought father was right, even a miniscule bit was bitter on your tongue, worse than what he called black coffee.

Disappearing so you’d find out just how much he cared was unfair to mom, for one.

She had lost so much in such a short amount of time, the stories she sang poignantly about were hard to listen to without tearing up. Her home. The trees of voices, all the lost ancestors. Her father. Uncle Tsu’tey. Her first ikran, Seze. Loss upon loss you think there’d be nothing left to give anymore, but sky people’s fire was always hungry, always willing to waste more to grow bigger.

You wouldn’t forgive yourself for making her cry in your pursuit to punish father. Never.

You weren’t a child.

Just wanted to be one, sometimes.

Wanted father to babytalk you, pet your head longer than a passing touch as he walked away hurriedly to attend to other matters, make beads for your braids the way he always did from pretty stones he found on ponds, carve you little trinkets when you graciously had to give up your toys to Lo’ak and Kiri’s greed.

Your neck piece was all them in fact, he’d see it if he ever paid enough attention, or perhaps it was all insignificant to him, five kids meant countless belongings for each individual child had been passed down from his hands, it would be a miracle for father to recognize you still wore his clumsy creations. But again, it had been too long since he’d even looked at you affectionately, he wouldn’t See.

He’d transferred those habits entirely to Neteyam at one point in time.

Your older brother would always ruffle Lo’ak’s hair and tease him the way father used to, comfort him in his own playful way, and even though the younger looked discontent at being babied, you knew he was happy Neteyam was quite literally his shadow to look after him through tough times — including shielding from father’s line of fire. In return, he was suffering from being a foil to the older son, you understood the struggle because you were going through the same comparison, you just weren’t obsessed with catching and living up to father as much as Lo’ak did.

Win some, lose some, I guess.

Plus, Neteyam was trembling under the massive planet-weight pressure, he had to set the standard, he had to live up to the older brother title. He was becoming more of a father figure to Tuk as days passed and the Olo’eyktan became more transparent from his family’s life as a dad to five.

Besides, Lo’ak made trouble enough for two people to go around that you felt bad for your big brother, Kiri was thankfully more mellow (despite frequently hanging out together with him and Spider) compared to him that Neteyam could breathe, not having to divide his attention.

You were in awe of her about how disconnected she was from all the changing dynamics. She had her own problems you could never understand, more spiritual than your grandmother, and ever the ethereal soul who you thought would disappear into Eywa if flesh wasn’t holding her down to Eywa’eveng.

You were the teeniest, tiniest bit jealous of her (and Tuk) holding the softer sides of father, the boys thought he was deliberately softer because they were girls — but you were also a girl, so why weren’t you allowed in?

Well, thanks to that, you’d gotten closer with Neteyam and known him better after the whole clan had settled on High Camp, so it wasn’t all that bad. You could badmouth father all day long sitting on some rock and make him laugh abashedly, guilty that he was smiling along with the trashing of the father’s name he respected so much — it was therapy, as Norm had taught humans frequently sought back on earth. It got you trying some things with Neteyam, becoming more of a companion and ranting buddy for him who he could be honest and open with, so that he didn’t have to worry about taking up a larger role in your life to fill father’s missing presence. You were concerned about him more than he could be concerned about you.

That got you contemplating if father had noticed how comfortable his two oldest children were with each other that it was always Neteyam who he sent after you. A girl could dream, no? For one moment, it wasn’t because it was Neteyam’s responsibility, but because father was paying attention to how his kids got along.

The image of him pushed you to be frantically fast to reach your destination as the fear returned with might. If he caught you right now when you had no ikran to prove him wrong, the punishment he was sure to give would be way more humiliating, you at least wanted something in your name to taunt him with if you were going down anyways.

A smile crept up your face at imagining him discombobulated and speechless, unable to pick out one thing that you did wrong.

The carelessness that came with your speed combined with how dark it was to see where to clutch and put your feet on caused you to slip up countless times when climbing, the sharp rocks scraping the insides of your palms and insides of your forearms, lifting your skin up. What you cared about more than the pain was that the blood was now tracking material for your family to sniff you out — you couldn’t exactly wipe the rocks clean, so you carried on with a hammering heart, more afraid of father ruining your perfect moment than whatever ikran that would soon be going straight for your throat.

At least you were able to wash the blood off your hands in the waterfall.

Downside? You couldn’t see shit. With your bare back flushed straight to the wall of rock and your feet feeling out the thin edge, the shrill cry of ikrans and the roaring of water was about to overwhelm your senses too much to pay attention —

and you slipped.

The shriek that ripped out of you at the sensation of falling and the drop of your stomach alone almost made you pass out, and for a split second it was a good thing that you wouldn’t feel the moment you died, but your body, once again, was one step ahead of you, it twisted in the air the last second and your hands gripped the ledge.

The wet rock and your blood made all that your life was hanging on slippery as you dangled into the abyss, swaying with the strong winds at this height.

You didn’t know if it was the adrenaline or the nervousness, but something made you laugh out loud, and the bubbling laughter continued until you were able to pull yourself up safely at the ikran rookery, finally.

Looking around like a fish out of water, how you hadn’t cracked your skull open shooting down to the forest below was a total miracle.

You’d made it?

No one was there to witness what you just pulled off in total darkness. Your whole body was shaking, and you weren’t even chosen by an ikran yet. This was happening. Shit. This was totally happening!

Your excited and terrified, “Hell yeah!” went unheard apart from your aerial crowd.

But.

One among them answered your holler with its own that cut into the night like a battle horn. It was the closest one to you that was apparently watching you the whole time, starting to roar at you and twitching on its feet, shadow in the night informing you of its movements.

You’d seen from Neteyam and Lo’ak’s iknimayas that you only had a few seconds to pull your shit together until it attacked, this was meant to be dangerous, serious, you could end up as a late night snack to them if things went wrong, but you couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear that it had chosen you.

You were chosen.

It wanted you as its rider.

If only father could see you now. The sensation of being the one — being special was unmatched. Now you could somehow get the fraction of the high he must have felt as Toruk Makto.

The, “Let’s fucking go!” that left you kept echoing into the night as you lunged at it, dodging to the left when it snapped at your head, hooking one arm around the ikran’s slender neck and clamping your legs around it the moment it started thrashing around wildly.

You didn’t know why father had made a big deal out of it. You formed tsaheylu in no time, breaking Neteyam’s record — and you didn’t even have the rope to hoop around its neck and jaw.

Firstborn daughter excellence.

Confidence restored and triumphing wildly to the pulse of your heart, the flickering smile on your face in wonder turned into a full-fledged smirk. At that moment, nothing mattered. It was just you and your victory. Proving father wrong.

Feeling the ikran’s lifeforce through the bond, a shiver went down your back as his beady eye looked up at you, pupil shrinking and expanding rapidly while you both took a minute to catch your breaths after the fierce wrestling.

“Gotcha,” you panted. “You’re mine now.”

The adrenaline made everything sparkle and shine, your spirits soaring high and unbothered about literally anything else in the world, and for one glorious moment, lost in the memories of your brothers’ iknimayas boasting with cheers from the clan and sometimes encouraging, sometimes fearful screams of your parents, your spirit sought them out to be soaked in the same pride — forgetting that it was night and nobody was there to celebrate you.

You were all alone.

The smile dropped from your face and crashed down like paper thin porcelain upon the slightest movement.

Right.

You’d forgotten you were doing this out of spite. It snuffed every twinkle of magic away from the previously shimmering milestone of your life.

Your ikran felt the crushing disappointment through your connection and chirped at you, almost like an excited sibling pulling on your arm to show you something, weirdly comforting. Mom’s ikran was a spitfire, but also nurturing — this one felt different somehow, you felt him bouncing from wall to wall in your head, hyperactive and cheerful.

Flying! He wanted to fly!

The first flight sealed the bond, after all.

You weren’t alone even if none of your family members were here to share the joy — you had your new buddy. And the drop of gravity was thrilling this time, not the terrifying chaos that had your asshole shriveling up as it was when you’d missed your step.

The flights with mom were something you looked forward to, drying up in frequency as you aged, you’d missed the wind on your body and the greenery dancing below as you maneuvered in the air — but mom reserved nighttime rides for father only, and after the move to High Camp, the skimpering chance you could get your way if you begged cutely enough was gone too. You’d never flown at night.

The sight was out of this world. The stars leaving a glowing trail above you, the forest pulsing with faint purple, green and blue lights underneath, everything was elevated in beauty because darkness let them shine.

You made loops in the air with your ikran, got as high in the air as you could before your breath thinned, and scraped at the tips of trees before shooting up again, all the while laughter you’ve never screamed before bubbled out of you.

And you were all alone. There was no mom to gleefully taunt your ikran with hers to get both of you dancing in the air. There was no father to watch on with a small smile he was fighting. There was no Neteyam to stop you from dipping too close to the ground, and no Lo’ak to challenge you to get closer to race with him — no Kiri to complain how all of you were being so childish, how stupid this was all the while she was the worst of you all, instigating all the chaos.

No Tuk in your mom’s lap whining about you guys leaving her off the fun.

Instead, there was the scent of a bogey in the air, snapping you out of the haze of sorrow.

When had you ventured out further into unprotected territory?

Linked with your thought process, the ikran stopped advancing forward and started beating his wings downward to stay unmoving, you observed the surroundings to get a better feeling of where you were, and noticed this was around the old shack, artificial lights were gliding between the leaves and branches that obscured your view of just who was roaming the grounds at night, definitely not a natural part of the forest’s flora.

Father’s voice materialized in your head, drilled into you and your siblings’ heads over and over again. If you come across any threat at all, do not engage, fall back and inform me. Got it? You call for me first.

And that split second of being afraid was your death sentence — that father would be so angry at you for your ignorance, amateurism, carelessness and idiocy that he could throw you out of the family for almost leading the demons to base simply by being there that they could figure out what direction you’d come from. That moment of weakness was enough for someone to snipe you out, and get you falling down from your ikran straight into the forest below, the cries of your new friend falling silent on your ears as you did your best to hug giant leaves to cushion your fall to the best of your ability. .

Barely any time was left for you to shake the disorienting motion sickness off, you couldn’t even attempt to run into the accepting, protective hands of the forest before whoever just shot at you was onto you, harshly gripping your arms and raising you up.

Father’s gonna be so mad if he finds out. Shit, I gotta get out of this.

But… Avatars? In full camo, armored, even. You hadn’t heard of this from anybody in camp!

“Damn! Didn’t actually think you’d be able to land the shot from all of that tree, man! Up-top!”

Two of them high-fived, you were actually going to be sick.

Thumb between his belt and stomach, another Avatar strutted towards you. The saunter and confidence meant that he was their leader. “Now, now… What do we have here?”

“A native.” You were being pushed down on your knees, one hand being grabbed and shown like a trophy. Just how many were there? You couldn't calm yourself enough to focus! “Four fingers.”

The speaker this time was a woman. “How unusual. Those monkeys don’t leave their coven at night.”

“Where were you flying, little bird?” The leader, a sleazy smirk on his face, leaned down to take a good look at you. “Leading away from the nest, perhaps?”

“She don’t understand, Colonel, don’t bother. Ya think Sully could ever manage teaching one word of English to those?”

“Watch how she learns in three seconds.” He yanked on your queue so hard you saw white light in this hour of darkness — and when your vision came back, a screen with your father’s face was being shoved to your face. “Jake Sully. Toruc Mactoe. Where is he?”

You screamed when he pulled with increasing strength, keeping up with the act you didn’t understand. And the state of pain and terror massively helped, contributing to you looking frantic and lost, only knowing that you were being zapped to your core.

“Seems like I don’t need to ask you.” His fingers snapped your head back to get a good look at your earpiece, late to notice you had it on at all because of the dark. “Can directly ask the man himself.”

All you could form to think was, ‘Father’s gonna kill me for this. He’s actually gonna kill me this time.’

You weren't terrified of what the Avatars would do to you. You were afraid of him.

One empty shell from the reloaded machine gun flew away, tinkling hollow when it fell down, and rolled until it stopped in a small pool of water that had formed on the jagged ground of the cave systems. In the scarlet and orange glow of the campfire he’d haphazardly put together right outside of their home out of impatience after Neytiri had basically thrown him out, Jake almost mistook the liquid for blood.

An ominous cloud of dread settled on his shoulders, a paranoia every father tended to go through.

“Big Brother, this is Devil Dog. State your status, over.”

Neteyam didn’t miss a beat to answer, thankfully. “Devil Dog, this is Big Brother. I’m still en route to Foxcove, over.”

“How much longer?”

“Ten minutes at best, sir. Over.”

What he wanted to say was how come he hadn’t met you halfway, but it was empty talk. No need to stress the boy out. “Devil Dog signing out.”

This girl was half the reason for the wrinkles on his forehead, Jesus Christ. He was basically waiting you out like a father sitting in the dark to ambush his daughter who had snuck out at night, for that single glorious moment of yeah that’s right, you got caught, after the light would come on to ruin that moment of relief of successfully making it back in.

His mate had scolded him to be nice and understanding, a Marine was anything but, the closest he could compromise was not being as mean to you than he had to be. Sassing, “So how was your Iknimaya?” like he planned was out the window — Neytiri was spot-on to say the girl would simply give the same mean energy right back at him, and that could only mean another erupting volcano of a fight and a good night’s sleep ruined for him, overthinking where he went wrong and how else he could have salvaged the situation.

He’d just make you tend to the ikrans for a week for some patience practice, cleaning shit for hours on a daily basis would certainly throw the temporary whim of the rite of passage hyperfixation out of your system. The possibility of you shouting you hated him was unavoidable, but Jake had to get his point across, no matter how terribly it nauseated him to hear something like that from his child.

It was strange to remember he couldn’t care less for what people thought of him in the past. Some shithead he wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about hated Jake’s guts? Good. He was living in their head rent free, it was fun even — Neytiri too, Jake absolutely enjoyed her hating game at first.

Being legitimately resented by his very own child, though, was a heartbreak he didn’t expect to hurt him the way it did, knocking air off his lungs the first time he heard it. A burning stab right in his heart that wouldn’t go away until he had to hear it for himself you hadn’t meant any of what you said.

Because that said hate actually stemmed from hurt Jake must have inflicted. Because you could actually despise him, and never allow him to reconnect with you again if he could ever manage to garner the courage to reach out to you — a mightier challenge than hunting Toruk in the sense it actually scared him.

His teenage daughter. Scared him.

Jake didn’t know what to do about it, he couldn’t even show what exactly this made him feel, too ashamed and proud for it in the first place.

The growing distance between you and him was an uneasy, frightened bird he tried to shush and calm in his heart in favor of other pressing matters that drilled small holes in the depths of his stomach, and over time, those little holes had fused together to create one big pit with greater gravitational pull than the sun — until Jake didn’t know how to stitch them back together anymore.

He told himself he would talk to you later, for sure. The morning after every argument, every fight, every jab from you he snapped at he would try to make amends for, definitely.

And then he didn’t.

“What is this, are you palulukan ambushing prey? I told you to make up with her, not prepare for hunting.”

Jake shook his head, dropping the machine gun back inside the crate. The warmed metal was some sort of consolation to his nerves. Marine habit. Always felt safer with a gun near. (Or was it the American in him?) “Neytiri,” he acknowledged, bobbing his head. “I’m just passing time.”

“What do you think will happen when she comes back and sees you waiting for her like this?”

Ah, like the old times when Jake couldn’t do one thing right in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he said playfully, but with no mirth behind it, closing the crate with a muffled thunk. With nothing to do with them, one elbow went to his knee and the other hand’s fingers started a rhythm on the lid he’d just shut.

His mate’s hand gingerly came down on his shoulder, kneading the nerves. “Just talk to her, Ma’Jake.”

“I don’t know how to,” he admitted, he covered her fingers on her shoulder with his, and she immediately held his hand back. “Don’t know what to even tell her.” He gave an exhale from the deeper, tired parts of his soul, gazing at the path leading away from their tent. “With Neteyam and Lo’ak, it’s easy. I tell ‘em what to do and they—”

Neytiri took a seat next to him, gathering their hands together. “Suffer just the same.” Jake was about to brush her off, but she didn’t relent. “What you’re doing is hurting them.”

This now was about all of their children rather than you, specifically. Neytiri was trying to get him to see the bigger picture first before moving to cover what he did wrong with each child of his, they had had this conversation countless times before.

Here we go again, Jake thought.

“Doesn’t matter if that’s what it takes to keep them safe.”

“Does it?” Neytiri leaned in, and calmness washed over him despite the disturbing nature of what she was saying. “Does it keep them safe? Or push them to act out more, get in worse situations?”

He grimaced. “I have to—”

“You feel like you have to.” His mate shook their clasped hands, rattling his bones. “I keep my children safe with trust and honesty. Transparence, Ma’Jake. So that they listen to me when I mean it because they See me. You shut them out.” Her lips bared to show her pearly teeth as she was practically beseeching him. “You don’t get your children’s trust by treating them like a squad.”

“They trust me plenty.”

“They trust Olo’eyktan. Toruk Makto. What about their father?”

“I make sure they’re safe.” Neytiri dropped his hands with an agitated snarl, she thought they were back at the beginning again, he couldn’t make her truly understand no matter what he did. He poured his heart out through their tsaheylu everytime, but her values and beliefs were wired so differently from his at the end of the day. “I make sure they stay where I want them to stay for their own good.” Jake shook his head, his voice soft, hushed. No force behind it when Neytiri was heated in return. “One day they’ll understand.”

“They won’t if you never tell them.”

“Tell them what?” Jake asked. “That I’m being harsh on them to prepare them for war? You think they’ll take it seriously after this?”

“Na’vi were in war long before you. There will be wars after you. No parent sullied his child’s happiness for the price of becoming a warrior. You still don’t get our ways even after all these years.”

“The sky people’s way,” Jake emphasized with his arms. “I have to teach them how they think, what they go through, so they know what they’ll be facing, okay? I can’t simply teach them by telling them.”

“You’re deluding yourself, Jake. Contradicting.” Neytiri was gentle in her cruelty, the flickering flames burned less than her amber eyes. “Tuk and Kiri are getting none of this. I know your heart isn’t allowing you. Why can’t you do the same for your other children?”

Because he had gone too far already with the older three.

Trial and error.

He couldn’t take back the things he did and say back — and quite honestly? Jake was being pulled from all sides to sit down and rethink his parenting. All he thought anymore was how to protect his family, frequent nightmares of losing his children in gruesome ways were haunting his every step.

A father protects his children, that’s what gives him meaning.

Jake had his own desperate ways to do so.

He opened his mouth to say something back, anything, but was interrupted by the communication line coming on. “Dad.”

Jake immediately knew something was wrong, body sitting ramrod straight. If the frantic breathing and barely controlled voice wasn’t any indication of it, his eldest’s behavior was. Neteyam didn’t slip up in the codenames like Lo’ak did, dropped all formalities only when he was borderline panicking.

“Dad. I’m sorry, dad, sir, I can’t find her, dad, I’ve looked everywhere around here, I thought maybe she was hiding underwater, behind rocks—but I can’t, I can’t—.”

“Slow down.” Jake could barely contain his own panic rising from the state his son was in. The boy wasn’t able to see it, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in as if Neteyam was right in front of him, and started gesturing with his hand. “Slow down, son.”

“Dad—”

Jake tsk-ed. “Neteyam, slow. Slow.”

Neytiri took his elbow. “What is it?”

He told her to wait with his gaze, and turned his attention back to Neteyam. This could only mean one thing, he was praying to be wrong — needed clarification. “Now tell me calmer. What’s going on?”

“She’s never been here. She never came here in the first place. There’s no sign of her. No trace. I’ve tracked.”

Jake’s instant response was fear. Domineering, ice-cold, cutting fear. Bodily and emotionally both. You were clockwork, similar to him in having unchanging routines and patterns. Angry? Went for a walk. Depressed? No talking to anyone until it passed. Happy? Wanted to go to the forest to spend time with your siblings and always craved sweet fruit. Didn’t want to be around anyone? Hid in the little bioluminescent cove with a pond two little mountains away, always. Always.

Neytiri sensed this, observing the change of demeanor in him.“Ma’Jake?”

“Okay, son.” He seized back control. One missing child was enough. “Stay right there and don’t move. I’ll contact you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jake,” Neytiri hissed finally, at the end of her ropes.

“She didn’t go to the cove,” he said, face icy neutral as always, but his eyes showed dizzying concern. Neytiri put a hand on her mouth as Jake wasted no time in changing channels. “Night Owl, this is Devil Dog. Come in.” He couldn’t even wait two seconds before trying again. “Night Owl, what is your status? Where are you?”

Silence.

The more fear dug deeper into his skin, the more his anger and annoyance soared up, his tail was whipping the air erratically, the finger on the earpiece could send the metal right into his brain with how hard he was pressing on it. “I know you can hear me. This is no time for playing games. You know what you did to your brother? Do you know how panicked he was, not being able to find you—”

Then Jake remembered what Neytiri advised, he didn’t change strategies because she was right next to him to dig his eyes out, but because his heart was picking up its pace by the second. “Tell me where you are, I’ll leave you alone, I promise, alright? If you’re somewhere open, get to safety, I’m only asking this from you. Or else—”

“Don’t.” Neytiri raised a warning finger at him, voice just above a whisper so they could hear their daughter if she decided to cut in. “Threaten her.”

He couldn’t stop her from snatching the communication device off of him. “Ma’ite, it’s mom. Can you talk to me at least?”

His ears twitched at picking up on you responding, not quite making out the words.

Jake’s eyes shut close for a long time as his whole eyebrow line migrated upwards, he physically had to get a few steps between him and the earpiece so the obliviating worry that’d almost blinded him wouldn’t cause him to say something he’d greatly regret later. He could feel himself deflating. A migraine could be coming anytime soon.

You wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence but the moment your mother interrupted, you did? Fine. Fine. He didn’t care. Jake could live with it. At least you were alive.

A rippling shudder shook him the moment that thought hit him, an image of you lying dead in a ditch, pale blue, flashing in his mind, he had to run a hand down his face.

When Jake looked back, irked by the silence, he found Neytiri standing completely stock-still. And all of a sudden, her petrifying glare was on him, ears pinned all the way back, hands gradually starting to tremble.

“Neytiri?”

She wordlessly handed him the device, and with a deep frown, Jake put it back in his ear.

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

And the ground disappeared right under Jake’s feet, plunging him into hell itself.

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily

#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader #irma: 📝#📖: light

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lucyrose191 · 3 months

Note

I don't know if you're accepting writing requests, but I thought about it just now.

I don't know if you know that people are talking about Sebastian's “possible return” in 2025 with Mercedes. So I thought you could write part 3 of "a shared story"? Sort of like if the two of them came back, their son appeared. Anyway, it's up to you to write, that's all that came to mind.

A SHARED HISTORY: THE RETURN| S.VETTEL

Pairing; Sebastian Vettel x Wife!driver!reader

Summary; With the news of Lewis moving to Ferrari in 2025, the formula one world is in chaos and Mercedes is left to find a driver, why not ask their for their best to return?

Warnings; Lewis is perceived as a bit of a dick.

F1 Master List , Part 1, Part 2

When something was a constant in your life for so long it was hard to part with the routines that came with it which is why Y/N found herself in her and Seb’s home gym at five in the morning even over a year after retiring and only a few months after having a baby.

It was working well in her favour though because with the addition of the working out she did during her pregnancy she pretty much had her body back the way it was pre-baby.

She was scrolling through her phone to try and find a song to start her workout with when she got a notification from her f1 app and her face dropped as she clicked on it.

LEWIS HAMILTON TO JOIN FERRARI IN 2025

The message filled her screen as she simply stared in shock.

Workout forgotten, Y/N turned around and ran up the stairs. "Seb."

She jumped on their bed and aggressively shook him, "Sebastian, wake up!" She whisper shouted, not wanting to wake the baby. "Sebastian!"

He turned his head over to look up at her with half-closed eyes, "what time is it?" He muttered.

"Who cares? Lewis is moving to Ferrari."

That woke him right up, he pulled the top half of his body into a sitting position and forced his eyes fully open, looking at Y/N in disbelief. "What?"

"It’s everywhere, he’s driving for them in 2025."

Seb continued to look at her in shock, "Is he okay? How could he be so stupid?"

His words struck something within Y/N, knowing how rough her husbands time at Ferrari had been, how she had watched his demeanour shrink throughout the years he spent there, how guilty she felt winning near enough every race whilst the love of her life felt like he was getting nowhere.

It also caused her to think about Lewis himself and the things he had said about his team last season, as though Mercedes hadn’t made him who he was and now he was leaving after one particularly rough season. "Apparently he only told the team two days ago," she muttered.

"No," Seb uttered, not believing that Lewis would tell the team only two days before the entire world knew. "Poor Carlos," he added, knowing how Ferrari treated their drivers when they had found a replacement for them.

"You’d think Lewis wouldn’t have taken that seat considering he knows how toxic that environment is, I hope he doesn’t think he’ll be number one driver just because of his experience," Y/N thought aloud.

"He’ll be very disappointed if that’s what he does think," Seb scoffed, the resentment he felt towards Ferrari breaking through, it was hard not to with not only the way they treated him but the way the fans did too. Their refusal to accept that he was in fact not the problem but it’s in fact the poor communication and leadership within the team.

"I think I’ll ring Toto later, it’s four am in England right now, I doubt he’d be impressed if I rang him now." Y/N smirked.

Sebastian smiled "He’ll probably be up with the news being released."

Y/N hummed in agreement before reaching up to push Seb’s hair back from his forehead, "I’m going to go start this workout before Ansel wakes up, you can go back to sleep, sorry for waking you," she leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.

"It’s okay, liebe." Sebastian laid back down and watched Y/N walk out the their bedroom, there was no chance he was going back to sleep now that she’d woken him up but she didn’t have to know that.

Later in the day.

"Hi, baby!" Y/N cooed to her son who she held in up in the air, loving the loud uncontrollable giggles that he let out. In the past two and a half months he hasn’t lost those beautiful blonde curls he got from Sebastian, bright white coils sprouted in every direction and with his bright blue eyes, baby Ansel would no doubt be a heartbreaker when he was older.

She laid him back down on the floor and tickled his belly, enticing another round of laughter to burst from him. "God I love you so much, you’re so cute."

"Liebe?" Seb walked into the living room with her phone in his hand.

"Yeah, who is it?" Y/N paused her tickling and allowed Ansel to catch his breath.

"Toto," her brows shot up in surprise at Sebastian’s response, she didn’t have to give him a call after all. "I’ll watch him whilst you speak to him," Seb handed her the phone before picking Ansel up from the floor with an over dramatic grunt and leaving the room.

Y/N places the phone against her ear, "Hello?"

"Y/N! Hi, how are you doing?" Toto’s thick Austrian accent sounded through the phone.

"I’m doing amazing, I’d ask you the same question but I’ve seen the news and I can’t imagine you’re doing great," she sympathised.

"It’s been chaotic to say the least," Toto replied honestly, "I only found out two days ago and I was surprised if I’m being honest."

"He only told you two days ago as well?" Y/N was surprised. "I saw that he told the team two days ago but I thought he would’ve told you sooner."

"I thought he would have too but he didn’t, I’m going to be straight with you, Y/N, I am calling for a particular reason."

Y/N stared at the blank wall in front of her, curious as to what he might’ve called for. "Go on…"

"Have you done much training or simulator work since retiring?" Toto asked absentmindedly.

His question shocked her into silence for a moment before replying. "I trained all throughout my pregnancy and I’ve still been training, I’ve cut back on the neck training but other than that it’s remained the same really and I’ve done a bit of simulator work but not much, I haven’t really found the time to keep that up."

"I understand, you’ve probably been very busy with a newborn, it can be hard," Toto said understandingly.

"I think we’ve been lucky to be honest, Ansel’s quite calm."

"I’m going to be blunt here," Toto told her, "what do you think of becoming a seven time world champion?"

Y/N froze completely at his question.

She knew what he was asking but she just couldn’t allow that idea to simmer in her mind, not when it had taken her so long to become content without racing in her life. "I have a son to take off."

"I know," Toto responded, "and I would never ask you to give that up, I understand completely how he is your number one priority, you have a family to take care of and I don’t expect you to put racing above your family but Y/N, you are the best driver Mercedes has ever had and I don’t believe you’ve accomplished everything you could."

"That’s a very big ask, Toto," Y/N released a heavy breath.

"It’s for 2025, you can sit on it until half way through the season but I can promise you if you agree, it will be a championship winning car." The confidence in Toto’s voice was impossible to miss.

"You’ve already started designing it, haven’t you?" She mused.

"Yes, we aren’t taking any chances of losing in 2025, we want you back Y/N, we didn’t want you to leave in the first place. George is a great driver but he’s only been with us one season and he is not number 1 driver ready yet."

"I’ll think about it but I am not promising anything," she iterated, wanting him to acknowledge that the chances of her returning were very very slim.

"I’m glad you’re at least considering it, take as long as you need," Toto repeated his earlier words and Y/N ensured she would be taking all of the time she was given before they bid their goodbyes.

As the call ended, Y/N felt a heavy wait in her chest, the idea of returning to formula one hadn’t even crossed her mind because she never thought the opportunity would even arise and her and Seb were making their family, the family they always wanted.

She pushed the idea out of her mind and pulled herself up from the floor, she walked into the kitchen and began looking through the fridge for ideas on what to make her and Seb for lunch.

"What did he want?"

Y/N jumped and snapped her head to the doorway where Seb was stood, holding a sleeping Ansel against his chest. He frowned at her reaction because she wasn’t one to be easily frightened.

"Uhm," Y/N cleared her throat and closed the fridge. "He was just asking how we were and telling me about the whole Lewis situation, the parts the media didn’t know."

Her response set off alarm bells in Sebastian’s mind that made him thing there was something else, something she hadn’t been anticipating. "Anything else?" He asked,

Y/N swallowed and looked down at the floor, she could never lie to him about anything but especially not something this big. "He, uhm, he asked me to come back. He wants me to drive for Mercedes again."

Sebastian’s hands subconsciously tightened around Ansel’s body at the news, he stood frozen in the doorway with a blank face as he processed what that could mean. "Wow," it was the only word that expressed what he was feeling right now.

Y/N scoffed out a laugh and nodded. "Yeah."

The lost look on her face tugged at Seb’s heart and he stepped across the threshold into the kitchen and walked closer to her. "Would you want to?" He asked in an almost whisper.

Y/N shrugged weakly. "I have no idea," she replied honestly. "When I retired, I felt lost and I thought that feeling would never leave and I convinced myself I had made the worst mistake I could ever make. I had everything, I was still at the height of my career and to suddenly not be racing anymore…. It was hard, you know that, but then Ansel was born and this new life we have made it all worth it to me. I accepted I wouldn’t be going back but now Toto is literally holding out that seat in the palm of his hand and i don’t know what to do."

Sebastian adjusted Ansel so he was holding him in one arm and wrapped the other around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her into his body. She rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around her boys, smiling as Seb pressed a kiss to her head. "How long do you have before you need to make a decision?" He asked.

"Until about halfway through the season, I told him I’d probably need every bit of that time," Y/N muttered before looking up at him. "Can I ask you a question?"

Sebastian smirked, "you just did," he teased causing her to roll her eyes. "Go on." He added seriously this time.

"Would you be okay with it if I did say yes? I’m not saying I want to but I definitely wouldn’t if you want things to stay how they are, without all of the travelling."

It was one of the things that truly made their marriage work, they both understood that it was in fact a partnership and would never agree to something that the other person wasn’t a hundred percent on board with.

He thought about her question for a moment before answering. "I didn’t retire because of the travelling, I retired because I wasn’t enjoying it anymore. I wasn’t meant to be a midfield or back of the field driver and that’s the only place I ended up. If you find that you do want to return then Ansel and I will follow you."

The two of them left the conversation there, not speaking of it anymore for the next couple of weeks as Y/N didn’t want to stress herself with feeling the need to make a decision as quick as possible.

February 2024

"OH FUCK OFF!" Y/N groaned loudly the minute she saw Danica Patrick appear on the screen.

Sebastian tilted his head back against the sofa and laughed at her reaction.

They weren’t even half way through the first episode before she showed up onto the screen and YN wasn’t impressed to say the least. "Why the fuck is she here?"

"She wants to tell everyone what the mindset of an f1 driver is like," Sebastian teased and YN scoffed.

"Oh yes please, let this woman who knows nothing about f1 tell me how I felt when I was in that car for fifteen years. I mean, if they want a woman, ask Susie!"

"I doubt she’d say yes after last year." Sebastian snorted.

"Yeah, that’s true," YN agreed, reaching for the remote to skip until Danica was no longer on the screen.

2nd March 2024

In case Y/N did choose to return to formula one in 2025 she had returned to her full training and diet so that she would have as much preparation as possible which was why the coffee table was filled with healthy snacks, much to Seb’s dismay, as the pair of them snuggled up on the sofa with a now four month old Ansel between them, ready to watch the first race of the season.

The entire weekend her eyes hadn’t left the W15, it hadn’t surprised her that they had incorporated part of the iconic silver design that Mercedes was famous for since it was Lewis’ last season. She had watched the launch of the car and it felt awkward for her, knowing that Lewis was leaving made it feel tense but that could’ve just been her imagination.

The RedBull was a rocket which wasn’t surprising after their success last season, she doubted they had changed much, they hadn’t needed to but what was fascinating was how the W15 didn’t seem so bad in comparison, George was driving that car as if they were one.

Now being able to see the improvement from last year, the confidence she heard in Toto’s voice for next year made sense to her. She believed him in his promise that next years car would be capable of earning her a seventh title and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t now tempted.

"It’s looking good," Sebastian commented lightly, subtly side eying her.

"Yeah it is," She replied, her eyes not leaving the tv screen as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

A month later

Sebastian apprehensively walked into the living room, smiling at the sight of Y/N lying on the sofa with Ansel asleep against her chest, her hands resting on his back protectively.

She looked up at the sound of his light footsteps and smiled before noticing the wary expression on his face. "Hey, are you okay?"

Sebastian swallowed thickly. "You’re not going to believe this…."

Y/N rose a challenging brow, "yeah? Try me."

"Christian just called."

"Horner?"

Sebastian nodded, walking over and sitting on the sofa by Y/N’s feet. "He isn’t resigning Perez next year, he’s offered me a seat."

If it wasn’t for the seriousness of the conversation, the look of shock on Y/N’s face would’ve been laughable. "Seriously!?"

Sebastian nodded and Y/N let out a small laugh, "Wow," she whispered. "Do you want it?"

"I don’t know," he replied honestly. "I understand the pressure you feel under now, to make a decision. I asked if I could think it through, I also have till mid season to give an answer."

His words caused her to smile as a memory flickered through her mind.

"Seb and I entered formula one together and it feels right to leave it together too, it's great knowing that we quite literally went through the entire thing with each other"

The pair of them had never driven in formula one without the other, if they both returned then that connection between the two of them would remain too. It was a beautiful connection that meant a lot to Y/N for a reason she couldn’t really think of.

She didn’t want to lose that.

That one flicker of a memory had solidified her decision in a mere second.

"If you were in that RedBull would it return your drive and passion for racing?" She asked softly.

Seb set his eyes on his sleeping son for a moment as he thought about her question before returning his gaze to hers. "I think it would."

"Would it ignite a hunger for a fifth title?"

"Yes," Sebastian answered immediately and Y/N smiled.

RedBull was an important part of their careers, it was where she had started out and won her first title and it was where Seb had achieved all of his records and titles.

"I think you have your answer, Seb. You just haven’t convinced yourself it’s real."

Three months later, Austria 🇦🇹 (30th June 2024)

Sebastian and Y/N walked through the Spielberg paddock, a seven month old Ansel was attached to Sebastian’s chest in a baby carrier, his face covered from the cameras with a hat.

They waved to the fans as they walked by but didn’t stop to speak or take photos because they had places to be, they entered the pits and walked past eight team garages, parting once they reached the Mercedes garage, Sebastian continued towards RedBull.

Toto Wolff, the man she was looking for, was standing in the entrance and seemingly waiting for her.

Y/N walked up to him with a cheeky smile on her face and stood beside him in silence, the pair of them looking inside of the garage to where the mechanics were working on the car.

"You weren’t lying to me," she eventually spoke, keeping her voice quiet from prying ears.

Toto looked down at her with a raised eyebrow, not understanding what she meant.

"The car," she explained. "It’s going to be worthy of a title, isn’t it?"

She wasn’t talking about the car in front of her, she was talking about the W16, the one that hadn’t been built yet.

"Yes," he responded surely.

"Okay," she nodded, only now removing her eyes from the car to look him in the eyes. "Well, I want to look over your numbers and speak to the designers because I will not be driving a car that looks like a four year old picked it out and I get to choose how the news is released."

She watched as the realisation slowly took over his features, the shock that riddled his face would forever be ingrained into her mind. "Seriously?" He asked, voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope.

"Unless you’ve found someone else?" She asked teasingly, knowing he most certainly hadn’t and even if he had, he wanted her more.

Toto quickly shook his head as a smile grew on his face, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist, lifting her feet from the floor as he took her into a bear hug, the pair of them laughed as he spun her round once in utter joy before setting her back down.

No doubt the media would soon be filled with suspicions and theories about what their conversation had been about and what she had said that had caused Toto’s overly happy reaction.

Just over a month later (beginning of August 2024)

With both Sebastian and YN now giving Toto and Christian the verbal agreement that they would drive for Mercedes and RedBull in 2025, it caused for both them and Ansel to make the move back to their property in England.

The summer break had now begun so it was the perfect time for them to sign their contracts and go through all of the necessary things to get prepared for next season and to get back into the swing of things.

This included deciding on when to announce the information of their return.

Both Sebastian and Y/N had given Christian and Toto the conditions that they wanted the news of their return to be together which meant a combined photoshoot and social media post from both Mercedes and RedBull teams.

It also meant that the two team principals and their heads of social media needed to work together to come to a compromise that everyone was happy with for the release.

They weren’t very happy having to work so close together but both were eager for their star drivers back that they pushed through.

It also meant that both teams were holding a shared secret about the other team.

As of right now the only people that knew Sebastian and Y/N Vettel were returning to Formula One were Christian, Toto and each teams head of social media, and family of course.

As neither team principal wanted to step into enemy territory, it left the announcement photoshoot to happen in the Vettel household.

The pair of them were stood in their living room in front of a black backdrop with their race suits on and since they didn’t have their 2025 helmets yet, they used the helmets they retired with.

Both their visors were up as they rested their foreheads against each other and stared into each other’s eyes with serious looks on their faces, preparing to show to the world that they were back and they weren’t playing around.

"Just cause you have your good luck charm back doesn’t mean you’ll be able to catch up to us."

Y/N and Seb rolled their eyes simultaneously,

"You’ve gotten very cocky after a short lucky streak, get to seven in a row and then we’ll start talking." Toto didn’t hesitate in replying.

"How about instead of comparing cock sizes, you two can figure out a date that we launch this news because you still haven’t came to an agreement." Y/N smiled sarcastically causing Sebastian to laugh at the way they promptly shut up.

"Great. If I have to listen to you two go at it next year then I will whip both your arses, got it?"

The two team principles nodded at her words so she turned back to Sebastian, who was looking at her in amusement, so that they could continue with the photos.

November 2024

It was Ansel’s first birthday today and you and Seb were refusing anything formula one today, the entire day was for your son and you both would give him every bit of your attention.

You and Seb were still 100% serious that he came above everything else and you both would remain stern on that, both Christian and Toto understood that yours and Sebastian’s conditions were that your son came first and that was the only reason you agreed to return.

Ansel didn’t at all understand the purpose of a birthday or opening presents so it left you and Seb to open his gifts but he did have the time of his life playing with all of his new toys.

Y/N still couldn’t believe this was her life. Sebastian and Ansel were her everything and to think if Christian Horner out of all people hadn’t taken a chance on her that she wouldn’t be where she is now is crazy and now she had been given the opportunity to return to the sport that had young drivers lining up to be a part of, she knew how lucky she was and she would never take it for granted.

December 2024, Abu Dhabi

If there was one thing that Christian and Toto had in common it was their flare for dramatics, both wished for the news of the Vettel’s returning to take the world by storm and so they were announcing it the day of the last race of the season which was in two days.

Barely any of the team even knew, George now did which he was thrilled about but Toto didn’t want to tell Lewis the news, Y/N thought he was feeling a bit petty and still a bit hurt from how long it took Lewis to tell him about him moving to Ferrari and just wanted to maybe get one up on the driver.

In the meantime, Y/N was going to take George’s car out for a couple of laps today before free practice and none of the team knew it yet but that was about to change.

The garage privacy barriers were up as the team watched in shock and building excitement as Y/N got into George’s car. She smiled as an immediate feeling of content mixed with anticipation built within her, her body knowing this is exactly where she belonged.

She had her 2022 helmet on so if anyone looked carefully they would definitely know that it was not George inside the car.

"Can you hear me, Marcus?"

"I can hear you loud and clear, Y/N. It’s good to have you back."

"Let’s do this then." She put a thumbs up towards one of the team members to move the barriers, gave a nod to Toto who was watching her with a blank expression on his face, (she thought he might be worried that she’d change her mind after giving this apparent shit box a drive) before she pressed down on the accelerator and left the garage.

Leaving the pits, Y/N grinned as best as she could beneath her helmet as she pressed down further on the throttle, smoothing through the gears as she increased her speed.

As she got onto the straight after turn 5, she heard Marcus in her ear. "How are you feeling, Y/N?"

"Great! Just like riding a bike." She replied, the tone of her voice making it clear that she had a large smile on her face.

"Nice to know you’ve still got it, we never doubted you for a second." Marcus told her before cutting the connection.

Up in the commentary box where David Croft and Martin Brundle were setting up for the weekend, they both looked out onto the track in confusion at the sight of the Mercedes, they hooked up their microphones before speaking.

"And that’s the Mercedes of George Russel on the track, free practise hasn’t started yet so I’m not sure if they’re allowed to be doing that…." Crofty’s voice sounded through the track speakers.

"That Mercedes seems to be driving better than it has all season, they haven’t put any updates on for the final race, have they? Is that even allowed?" Martin Brundle continued.

"Let’s see, are we able to take a closer look at that?" Crofty asked, followed by the screens on the grandstand zooming in on the car as it drove on the track. "…..that is not George Russell’s helmet…."

"Isn’t it? Who’s driving his car?" Martin questioned.

"I’m not sure, I’m also not sure this is actually allowed."

"I don’t think Mercedes actually care at this point- sorry, I’ll rephrase that actually. I don’t think Toto Wolff even cares what is allowed at this point."

"Okay, Y/N, if you could bring it into the pits now, we’re going to keep you in the car until the barriers are back up." Marcus instructed.

"Copy," Y/N replied.

The mechanics wheeled her into the garage and put the shutters down so that no one could see inside as she got out of the car.

As soon as her feet hit the ground she was embraced with pats on the back by happy team members.

George approached her with a smile on his face and was shaking his head at her. "I’m not sure how I feel about this anymore, you’d have managed to put that shit box on the second row with that second lap time." His tone made it clear that he was just joking and he was actually more than looking forward to have her as a team mate.

"I’ve still got it then, that’s good."

"It’s great," Toto’s voice from behind her made her jump and then around. "You think we should tell the team?"

"Now?" Y/N asked in surprise and Toto nodded, gesturing that she could do the honours.

Y/N gave him a toothy smile before stepping forward and climbing on top of George’s car, standing just in front of the halo, drawing the attention of everyone in the garage.

"Hey everyone! I know this season has been quite rough on you all, not just with the lack of results the team is used to but also with the fact that we all know Lewis has made the decision to leave Mercedes and join Ferrari which was as much of a surprise to me as I’m sure it was to you guys and it’s honestly been hard for me to see a lot of you feel a bit lost as to how the team can make a comeback and be on top but I do hope that next year you’ll all be able to see just how great Mercedes is and to hopefully regain that hunger because I know I’m hungry for a seventh title and I have every bit of faith that this team can help me achieve that when I come back and drive for you next year…."

The garage filled with a series of gasps followed by cheers that would definitely be heard from outside.

"…this is a finalised decision, Toto and I have been speaking all year and we’ve both signed the contract and I do hope you’re happy to have me back."

The team clapped and the garage was filled with whistles and cheers again as she finished and climbed down from the car.

"The news is going to be released Sunday morning so if you could all keep it on the down low until then it would be greatly appreciated!" She finalised before turning to Toto and George with a raised eyebrow. "There you go, no turning back now."

And for the rest of the weekend, the entire paddock could see the change in the Mercedes team, it seemed every member had a spring in their step as they walked through the track and they all seemed to have a permanent smile on their faces.

When asked about it they all seemed to give generic answers like ‘they were just happy to be here’ but no one believed it, not even Lewis who was left in the dark and when he asked about it he just got the same response.

But as Sunday morning came, both Mercedes and RedBull was filled with anticipation as the news of the Vettel’s return to the sport was shared across four Instagram accounts; RedBull, Mercedes, Y/N’s and Sebastian’s.

The world was taken by storm that morning, not only by the news of the return but also the fact that both teams had seemingly worked together to keep it under wraps.

Seb, Y/N, Christian and Toto entered the track together that morning and were bombarded with cameras and questions making both Vettel’s glad they had left Ansel at the hotel with Fabian who was going to bring him later in the day.

"Seb! Y/N! When did you decide to rejoin formula 1?"

"Christian, did you boot Perez before signing Sebastian or did tell him you were terminating his contract after you had already asked Sebastian to return?"

"Toto, did you ask Y/N to come back to get back at Lewis for leaving Mercedes?"

"Lewis said he had no idea of Y/N taking his seat, is there a reason you told the team but kept him in the dark?"

The four ignored the questions and continued their way into the track, not batting an eye at the other teams who watched as they walked by, astounded to see the four of them together.

"Feels good, doesn’t it? Success…." Christian smirked arrogantly causing Y/N, Seb and Toto to roll their eyes.

"I’d even go as far as saying we make a good team, us four." Toto added and Y/N scoffed.

"Please, this would’ve been a complete disaster had Seb and I not mediated the last year. The pair of you are a ticking time bomb."

Both team principals sent her affronted looks at her words which she ignored, once they reached the Mercedes garage, Seb leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Y/N’s temple. "I’ll come and get you later before the race and we’ll watch it together."

Y/N nodded with a smile and bid him goodbye.

Both her and Toto walked into the Mercedes garage and were met with whoops and cheers from the team causing her to laugh at their dramatics but she soon stopped at the sight of Lewis.

He was approaching her and he looked quite disgruntled.

"Both of you returning?" He asked.

Y/N shrugged. "Toto asked me and then Christian asked Seb a month later, it was purely a coincidence."

He didn’t look like he believed her but it didn’t bother her too much. "I thought it would’ve been off the cards now that you have a child."

Y/N looked at him in confusion. She thought it was a bit rude that he was bringing her son into a conversation that they were clearing having because he felt left out of the news.

"I wouldn’t have returned if Seb didn’t get approached by Christian, we’ve always been in F1 together and as soon as he was offered I knew that I wanted to come back."

"When was this?"

"I got asked in January, after your move was confirmed." Y/N replied honestly.

"You’ve kept that under wraps for a while then." He said in a tone that could only be described as bitter.

"Because we weren’t sure that we were actually going to return. It was a shock to us as well but it felt right and so we accepted. Toto and Christian agreed to wait until closer to the end of the season for the release so that the press would focus on this season and not next."

Which in her opinion is what he should’ve done.

"The team already knew." He stated.

Y/N nodded. "I told them on Friday that I would be driving for them, it’s really upped their motivation for 2025."

"Why didn’t I know?" He eventually just came out and asked.

Y/N looked at him strangely. "Because you chose to leave the team, Lewis. After today, you have to accept that Mercedes is no longer your team and whatever concerns them is no longer your business either. The teams plans for 2025 have no impact on you whatsoever."

Lewis bit his lip and nodded before walking away, nothing else to say.

Y/N watched after him for a moment. They had been teammates for eight years and had an amazing friendship through that but for some reason she had a feeling that was about to end since she was driving for Mercedes.

Had he really thought Toto wasn’t going to find a driver to replace him?

Just before the race.

Seb and Y/N were standing between the first two rows on the grid so they could be nearby Max and George as they got ready as Martin Brundle approached them for his grid walk.

"Sebastian! Y/N! Could I have a quick word?"

"Go on then," Y/N nodded.

"So, you’ve surprised us all this morning by announcing that you’ll both be returning next season, Sebastian you’re going to RedBull and Y/N you’re returning to Mercedes. We want to know something, anything about the process cause nobody was expecting this."

Sebastian smiled. "It’s nothing exciting. After the news of Lewis going to Ferrari, Toto wondered if there was a chance for Y/N to return and then about a month later Christian also called and asked me if I would be willing to come back."

Martin nodded before turning to Y/N. "After Mercedes’ rough two year since you left, do you think they’ll be able to get back on top next year."

Y/N smirked. "I wouldn’t be returning if there wasn’t a chance for me to become a seven time world champion, Martin."

He seemed to be delighted by the news and nodded, thanking the two of them before walking away to hopefully find some of the drivers.

Sebastian wrapped his arm around Y/N as they started walking back towards the garages. "Where do you want to watch it from?"

Y/N thought for a moment. "We’ll watch it from RedBull."

2025

"Okay, state your name, occupation and your team." The woman behind the camera instructed.

Y/N smiled at the camera and began speaking. "I’m Y/N Vettel and I’m a Formula One driver for Mercedes AMG Petronas Formula One team."

She then leaned forward and stared directly into the lens. "I’M BACCKKKKKK!"

Bahrain. 🇧🇭

"Okay, Y/N, are you ready to become a seven time world champion?" Bono asked over the radio.

"You bet I am." She replied confidentially.

"Are you going to become a five time world champion, sunshine?" Hugh asked Sebastian, using the nickname from when Seb won his first all those years ago.

Seb smiled. "That depends on how nice Y/N is feeling."

Y/N kept her gaze on the lights as each one appeared and as soon as they disappeared she let up off the break and slammed her foot down onto the accelerator, both her and Seb driving along side each other as they approached the first corner.

2025 was certainly going to be an interesting season.

#formula one x reader #f1 fanfiction #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #sebastian vettel x you #seb5 #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel fluff #fluff #motorsport

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macfrog · 5 months

Text

the sweetest con cowboy like me chapter fifteen

well. this is it. we made it, kids. thank you so, so much for reading for all this time. for all your patience, and kindness, and loyalty. i will carry this pair, their story, and all of your love for them with me forever. love you guys. xx

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: every cowboy deserves his ride off into the sunset.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lotsa guilt from reader, dreamy love sequence & mention of unprotected piv/creampie, more greys anatomy spoilers, reader's dad is either Bald or has a Receding Hairline (you choose), more sex - this time reader and joel sixty-nine, face sitting, oral (f and m receiving), more (inferred) unprotected piv, making dirty, hot love ALLAT, cursing, a little smut n a lotta fluff n a droplet of angst at the end

word count: 10.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

“How the fuck did this take you three minutes? Three?”

“I’m telling you. I’m a genius.”

You snort. “Shut up. You only passed Math ‘cause you were fooling around with that nerd – Thomas? Was it Thomas?”

“Timothy. And you don’t need math to do a sudoku puzzle, loser. You just need brains. Logic.” Anna taps two fingers against her temple, tilting her head.

“Logic,” you murmur, shaking your head.

Sal’s is quiet today. He’s out of town for his father-in-law’s funeral and made the genius decision to leave the two of you in charge. Since opening at nine, you’ve had four customers. The to-do list left for you was completed by ten, and since then, you’ve been hunched over your phone at the cash register, messing around on some puzzle app Anna made you download.

It's a Wednesday. Nothing exciting ever happens on Wednesdays.

Anna’s behind you, tearing apart and flattening the cardboard boxes you spent all morning emptying. “That level,” she clicks her chewing gum wetly between her teeth, scent of mint over your shoulder, “that ain’t even the hardest one. Ooh, no, babe. Three goes –”

“Shh!” You bat her arm away, curving your hand over your phone screen. She snorts and wanders off through the back, wad of cardboard under her arm.

Anna wasn’t your closest friend in high school, and you sure didn’t stay much in touch past the odd Facebook post update when you left. But working with her, and her dad being your dad’s buddy – she’s sort of become one of those people you just can’t shake.

Like a stray puppy. Or…an annoying hangnail.

She’s nice enough – talks a lot of crap sometimes, but she cares for you. You’d go as far as saying you two have grown pretty close since you came home. Still, the acidic sting of resentment sits on your tongue, anytime you think of her involvement in the unravelling of your little lie. Think of your dad calling hers, Hank asking her where you were.

Think of the fact that, if she hadn’t been honest with him – I don’t know where she is, Dad – nothing would’ve gone wrong.

That’s not fair. If you’d never touched Joel in the first place, nothing would’ve gone wrong.

It’s just – she had a hand in pushing the first domino.

The bell above the door jingles and you lift your eyes from tiny numbers and blank squares to meet a familiar pair of hazel. An Alanis Morissette T-shirt under a denim jacket. She tucks her thick, soft hair behind her ears and smiles, then skips around the counter and links her hands at your tummy; her ear flat against the nape of your neck.

“Why so clingy?” you ask, and Sarah straightens up.

“Just excited to spend some time with my favorite person. That allowed?”

Your eyes scan her up and down as she leans against the counter, stealing a gummy from a jar beside the register. “Been staying with you for nearly three weeks now, you ain’t sick of me yet?”

She shakes her head, jaw chewing, cheeks swollen with a grin. “Are you done yet? I wanna make sure we get good seats.”

“We will,” you assure her. “It’s only, like, three p.m.”

“But it’s Barbie,” she says, “and I wanna get some snacks before we head in.” She holds the decapitated gummy worm up, eyebrows high, before pulling it between her teeth until it snaps. She drags the withered red tail over her tongue.

“That thing you just mauled,” you gesture to the masticated shape in her fingers, “candy. Snacks. Just take some of that.”

“You won’t even buy your date movie theater candy? Damn. Mom’s a cheapskate. Wish I could say my dad’s a lucky guy.”

You shove her off, disguising your laugh with a shake of your head. “You are on thin ice, I’m not even kidding.”

Sarah’s laughing, reaching for another worm. “You know what that sounds like?”

“Hm?”

“What you just said.”

“What’s it sound like, Sarah Miller?”

“Something a mom would say.”

“Alright,” you stand, “get out. Get outta my store.”

The door opens when you point to it, Texan heat sweeping in to swarm the one rickety fan you have in here. The brass bell trembles, and beneath it, a man in a tucked shirt and jeans, glum face and tired eyes.

You blink at him and he blinks back, and no words are spoken between you, but your dad understands to move, to keep walking – and you understand to let him.

“Shoot,” Sarah whispers, twisting her gummy around her finger. “That was awkward.”

Three weeks of staying with them – Sarah and Joel – also means three weeks of zero contact with your dad. The most you’ve heard from – or, rather, about him is that, last week, Joel bumped into Hank at the gas station, and the old man mentioned that he and your dad had grabbed a beer the night before.

What’d he say? you asked Joel, dragging a dish towel around the rim of a glass.

He shrugged, flicking his hands dry over the sink. Said the Rangers aren’t doin’ too good. I said, Yeah, that’s cause a’ –

No, Joel. What did he say about me ‘n my dad?

He waited a second to let the offense of your interruption soak in. Took the towel from your hand, replaced the glass on the draining board. Nothing, he said, I don’t think he knows.

It sat with you the entire night. The three of you watched a movie, occupying either side of Joel’s couch, though you’re sure you don’t remember a word of it. The image of him sat center-stage in your mind until you pulled yourself against Joel’s body in bed that night. Sat in his recliner, flicking through TV channels, the only sounds in the house that of Ice Road Truckers, the ticking of the kitchen clock, and his own fucking breathing.

Alone. Not even Hank to talk to about – well.

You’ve done your best not to think about him. And it works, most days, when you’re with Joel. Helps to go do stuff: ride shotgun while he picks up supplies for work or grabs groceries. Helps to play pretend like his house is yours, too. Tidying when he’s not home, lighting candles and sinking into a bubble bath for him to find you in when he finishes. Helps to be at Sal’s, with Anna. Sudoku and her fucking Tinder account to keep you both occupied.

Most days, you forget to consider the lonely shape of your dad at all – but that seems to hurt all the more. Like forgetting to tend to an open wound; instead, letting the infection blister and bubble so that, when you do bump it again, the pain feels sharper. Hissing at you, poison seeping from flesh.

His showing up, waltzing straight into the store – feels less like a bump, and more like a pair of hands diving straight into the gash, tearing it wide open again. Blood and poison gushing all over the checkered floor.

Anna materializes between two aisles, hands on her hips when she stands behind you. “Y’all still not really talkin’?” she asks.

You and Sarah shake your heads. The three of you watch the shape of your dad’s skull over the shelves, bobbing from bay to bay. Door hinges to fence paint. He painted the fence last summer. He doesn’t need fucking fence paint.

“Nope,” you reply. “’s been, what, two and a half weeks now?”

“Yeah,” Anna mutters, the slope of sympathy in her voice. “My dad’s been talkin’ to him about it. They’ve spoken, like, almost every night on the phone.”

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, head falling into your hands. “Are you serious?”

“Not about you and Joel. Just about the fight.”

Your jaw slowly slackens, eyes thinning as your gaze slides over to your friend, a saddened expression on her face.

Sarah nods, like an accessory sat on the dash of a car. Bobbing bobbing bobbing, until her brows drop and she turns to you, finally realizing. “Wait, what?”

Anna blinks between the two of you. “What?” she asks, lips pressing together.

“You know?” Sarah asks, glaring at her.

Anna snorts. Neither of you break. She quickly quietens and clears her throat, bending to stuff more cardboard under her arm. “Well…” She sucks in a deep breath. “At rodeo night, when you left your phone on the table, me ‘n Kara wanted to leave a bunch of selfies for you to find later. But when I went to grab your phone, you had a text from him. Joel. Something about someone winning you over like he did, or something. I can’t remember. But that was the first thing.”

Sarah’s face sours at the mention of her dad’s flirty text, scoffing as she swipes another gummy from the jar. “Real fuckin’ subtle, Dad,” she murmurs.

You sharpen your gaze at Anna, blurring the brown curls and low brows from your peripheral. “Uhuh…?”

“Then, there was the lying to your dad about where you were. That Monday – you said you were at mine. You weren’t. Your dad called my dad to ask, ‘n my dad asked me why the hell you’d lie. I figured, What a weird coincidence, right?”

You slip off your stool, legs feeling more liquid than bone. “Oh, Jesus…”

“But then…then, I saw how you were when he called on the way to Frank’s. In the car. You were…fucking weird. And then Joel punched that dude – that basically confirmed it. I don’t think either of your dads would do that for me. It felt…it felt personal. He took your hand ‘n dragged you outta there, and it felt like…somethin’ else.”

You’re leaning against the counter, head in your hands. Struggling to even listen to her piece it all together. Were you this fucking obvious, the whole time?

Anna answers for you. “Yeah,” she says, nodding, “I didn’t catch two fucking boyfriends cheating on me, and not pick up some detective skills, babe.”

You stand straight, composure slowly building over shame. “And your dad doesn’t know? My –” you flick your head across the store, lowering your voice, “– my dad hasn’t told him?”

A laugh spurts from somewhere deep in her chest. “Hell, no. Are you tryna give him a second heart attack? No. He just thinks you were somewhere you didn’t want your dad to know – a boy’s or something. Which – well, I guess you were.”

You nod, half-appreciation, half-resignation. Alright. Now shut up about it, would you?

“But listen,” Anna says, apparently not as good at mindreading as she is at secret-revealing, “y’all gotta work on being sneaky. You’re, like, really bad at it.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, “thanks, Anna.”

You grip the edge of the counter and try to draw your eye away from your dad; a little angry that he’s here, and yet, a little more thankful that you’ve had at least a tiny glimpse of him. Desperate for him to come over, to acknowledge your mutual existence in the same room, and yet – petrified that he does.

He keeps his back to you, though you notice him turning every so often, looking at you from his peripheral. Nope – your black shirt and blue jeans are still behind the counter. He turns back to the shelf.

“Hi, sweetie.” A woman in a pink blouse approaches the counter. She lays down a couple pairs of plyers and you ring her up, asking if she found everything okay. Choking a little when you inhale the scent of her perfume.

“Beautiful day for you to be in here workin’, huh?” Her rosy cheeks fill as she hands you the cash.

Oh, yeah. It’s a beautiful day to be stuck selling plyers to pink women in pink blouses smelling of pink perfume, while my dad – still reeling from the revelation that I’ve been sleeping with his best friend, by the way – pretends to peruse the store.

“I’m almost done,” you reply, blunt enough to deflate her expression only a little, sliding the paper bag stamped Sal’s back across the counter.

She nods in thanks and slinks off, suffocating aroma following her. And like a magician, when she disappears off to the side, your dad stands in her wake. A few feet from you, keeping his distance, watching carefully before he dares to move. Waiting for your go-ahead.

When you lift your chin, beckoning him forward, Anna takes Sarah’s arm and yanks her away, shoving some shredded boxes into her arms. “You wanna help me?” she asks the nosy Miller, tossing something of an alarmed glance back at you and your dad.

There’s a funny feeling behind your eyes when he steps up, empty hand resting hesitantly on the counter. “She coverin’ up the smell of a dead body or som’?” he asks.

The air pushes from your lungs, a laugh barreling with it. Your hands clasp on the surface opposite his. A scorch of white heat at the nape of your neck. “Very vibrant, huh?”

“Very.” He clears his throat, shakes his head a little, and takes a deep breath. “I figured this might be as good a place as any to find you. I didn’t want you to think I was…cornering you, or anything, if I showed up at Joel’s.”

“I wouldn’t – I mean, maybe. But, y’know…this is fine.” Your arms cross defensively, the baggy material of Joel’s shirt wrapping snug around you.

Your dad seems to know. Evidence being that it’s you, in a shirt all too big – a shirt he’d likely see his best friend in, too. It forces your arms tighter, sucking in the scent of Joel to combat the dizzying feeling of nerves.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he says eventually, fingers drumming awkwardly. “I just wanted to know you were fine.”

“I am fine. I promise. Just – working a lot.”

He nods, looking down to his feet. Twists the toe of his boot into the linoleum.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, too,” you offer, the words fluid and spilling from one to the next – something forceful in their nature.

Your dad’s eyes lift at the same time that his cheeks do. Relief. “Thanks, kiddo. I actually – I was hopin’ that maybe we could talk. If you’re free. I don’t know what time you get off today.”

“I finish in ten minutes,” you say, and hope seems to paint across his face – washing away instantly when you add, “but I’m going to the movies with Sarah.”

He’s nodding again, eyes fixed back on his boots. “Right, right.”

“…But maybe once we’re done I can swing by?”

“Oh, well – I’m workin’ late again. I’ll be out by the time…Yeah. Sorry, hon.”

“That’s okay.”

“Late one again tonight.”

“This, uh – what’s his name again? Kel–?”

“Kelman, yeah. Yeah. How ‘bout I call you tomorrow ‘n we can work somethin’ out? You and Sarah, you enjoy your night.”

You lean back from the counter, slowly more confident in your ability to hold yourself upright. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

His lips press together in a flat attempt at a smile. “I’ll leave you to it. You mind if I…give you a hug?”

And then you’re the one awkwardly, forcedly smiling. Your teeth gritting behind taut lips. “Not at all,” you whisper, and wander carefully around the counter to where he stands.

He opens his arms and pulls you against his chest, your head tilting to rest your ear on his shoulder. You hook your arms under his, feeling his wrists crossing at your spine. Like two statues, two figures of stone fixing their crumbling bodies in an embrace, suddenly disjointed and ill-fitting. Your heart hurts beneath layers of rock, swelling in attempt to reach for his, shrinking back crestfallen when he feels too far.

He kisses the side of your head, pulls away, and taps your cheek once. “You know,” he says, letting you withdraw from his grasp, “I really miss you.”

You nod. “Miss you, too.”

“Let’s talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah.”

And then he’s leaving, drifting back out into the summer sun, rock disintegrating as the light catches him again. More human, less monster-under-your-bed. He’s just your dad again, just that swaying, bumbling man who used to sprinkle rainbow flakes over your ice cream and double-knot your laces.

The shadows of Sarah and Anna appear at your elbows, the three of you watching your dad sink into his car. You still feel made of rock, splitting somewhere down the middle as you stare at his figure.

“Well?” Sarah asks.

He turns right out of the parking lot, disappears behind a hedgerow.

“Yeah,” you reply, turning in a daze. “We’re gonna…gonna talk.”

“That’s good, right? That sounds…promising.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, drawing your attention to her kind eyes and infectious smile. “We should probably get goin’,” she says, and you agree.

“What movie are you seeing?” Anna asks, filling your spot behind the counter as you turn, making for the back of the store.

“Barbie,” Sarah tells her.

“Nice. She paying?”

“Obviously. Mom duties.”

You kick the door closed on their giggles.

Two days pass without a word from your dad. No text, no call, no visit to Sal’s when you’re on shift the following day. By Monday, you’ve convinced yourself that the entire thing was a dream, a hallucination conjured up by your imagination in attempt to rid you of some of the guilt still chewing at your heart. Bat it out of your brain, like swatting the rear end of a wild animal let loose indoors.

Guilt which is only remedied, only soothed by Joel. By the feeling which overcomes your chest when you look at him – lungs faltering, heart leaping. The peace of falling asleep in his safe embrace, the heat from his body enough to keep you comfortable all night, and then waking up tangled in his sheets – the smell of bacon and eggs twirling through the house, the distant sound of his humming drawing you downstairs to his side.

Late nights on the porch, watching the sun bleed heavily into the sky. Your ankles in his lap, a guitar over his thigh. Thumb gentle on the strings, soft timbre of song lulling you to some place far from reality: the same rosy, dreamlike state you’ve mostly occupied since he dragged you through his front door, kicked your shoes and all of your worries to the side, and made you forget that anything bad had ever happened.

The most comfortable you’ve ever felt in your life, the most loved – a world where your every word is heard and weighed, rolling around Joel’s palms and slotting carefully into his back pocket. A world where his lips on your neck as you make dinner, where the crook of his arm catching you as you pass by, is all normal. Where I love you and I love you, too become the last words your sleepy ears hear at night, right before you sink into a shared sleep.

All of it becoming as natural as the pale moon switching for her golden sister at dawn. As instinctive as breathing.

“Have you ever made love to anyone?” you ask him one night, the aftershock of an orgasm still soaking into your skin.

Joel pauses, hips slowing between yours. “Yeah,” after a couple beats, “sure.”

“What’s it feel like?” you ask, honestly. Combing his dark hair through your fingers. “I’ve never…No one’s ever…”

“Baby,” he says. “We’ve done it. I’ve done it to you.”

Your body tenses and then melts around him. One blink and suddenly the world softens, seems to bow into the background – the only sharp object Joel, the twinkle in his eye piercing through the haze like blinking white stars in thick, dark clouds.

You whisper, “Can you do it again? So I can feel what it’s like?”

He pushes himself up, one elbow planted by your ear, the other hand lifting your thigh. Hooking it over his waist, lowering his arm again to cage you under his body. He nudges your chin with his nose, lifting it to line your lips with his, hold every part of your body as close to his as he can.

Deeper, in every sense of the word. Slow, hard. Eyes on you the entire time, watching the way your face contorts and your jaw slackens, holding the shape of your head in his hands, swallowing his own moans and grunts to make space between you for yours.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” he says, and by instinct, your eyes roll forward, focusing or half-focusing on the slick hair at his forehead, the red flush climbing his neck, seeping into the skin under his beard. “You feel it? Feel where I’m goin’?”

And yeah, you whine, you do feel it. Feel him dragging you further away from this world and into the next – somewhere a plain away, somewhere new and different to anything you’ve ever known before. Where physicality is a language, a fluid conversation between the melding of his body and yours; where there are a million words swirling around his pupils, hypnotizing and entrancing and drawing you in until you’re tumbling headfirst into the inky pools.

Where I love you sounds like the groan Joel can’t hold back, feels like the pulsing flood as he snaps between your legs. Where making love is as simple as the squeeze of his hand around yours; the shove of his plate over the kitchen table, offering you the last bite of grilled cheese or simply admitting that it was yours before he’d even taken the first. That addictive laugh of his when you stall the fucking truck for the fifth time: You asked me to teach you, baby, I’m tryna teach you. Foot on the gas, c’mon. You got it. That’s it – now, slow. Slower. Try to feel it. No, really feel it.

Feel it. Really, try to feel it. Can you feel it? Do you know the difference yet? The difference between everyone who was before, and the one who is now? Do you finally get it?

“I feel it,” you cry out, and his frame holds yours together as you fall apart.

It feels like – you.

How did I ever know anything before I knew you?

“That one’s nice,” Joel says, his voice jumping the short distance between his lips and your ear.

You tilt your head, body moving with his when he lifts his hand to swipe through some more of the images. The spacious living room, newly refurbed kitchen, the view of downtown Los Angeles.

He adjusts the blanket draped over your legs. “Washer dryer, walk-in closet,” and then, leaning in closer, whispers, “a balcony. That’s cool.”

“Hm,” you turn to face him, your body shelled by his in the corner of his couch, “I bet you like the balcony, cowboy.”

He smiles plainly in response, squeezing your nose between two knuckles. Yeah. Lots you can do with a balcony.

A sharp gasp from across the room pierces the sweet moment. You and Joel turn in its direction, its owner wide-eyed and blinking at the TV.

“Wait a second,” Sarah yelps. “George is the John Doe?” She gasps again when Meredith announces the same news to her friends onscreen. “Shut – the fuck – up!”

“Language,” Joel clips, chest rumbling between your shoulder blades.

“Oh, like you didn’t have the exact same reaction. George is the…Oh, that sucks. Are you kidding me?” She fishes her phone from the waves of blanket surrounding her, thumbs rapidly typing, eyes shooting from screen to screen.

You snort, turning back to your own phone in your hand, when a text appears at the top of the screen.

Dad: Hey kiddo. Sorry to keep you waiting, work been hectic. Off the rest of today if you’re free to come over.

Your thumb latches onto the message, holding it for Joel to read, too, before letting it disappear off into your notifications.

He tightens his hold on you, burying his nose into the cotton of his own hoodie over your shoulders. His breath pushes heavy and thoughtful across the material. “Still seems as calm as the other day.”

“Too calm,” you admit, “it’s freaking me out.”

“What can he do, you know? You’re here, he’s there. Your dad ain’t an idiot, baby. He knows stayin’ angry about it’s only gonna push you further away.”

“Sure made ‘im feel like an idiot…”

Joel catches the comment and pockets it before it gathers enough weight to bruise. “Well,” he clears his throat, “it’s up to you. I ain’t letting you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Mhm,” you reply, and wait for more words to fall to your tongue. An answer, a response. A decision that you know you don’t feel equipped or even rightful to make.

“Do you want to go talk to him?” Joel asks.

“I…I want to make things right. I wanna fix it.”

“Okay. And will talking to him do that?”

You turn to face him, frowning. “I don’t fucking know,” you mutter. “Will it?”

He smiles sympathetically. “Wish I knew, darlin’. Would it help if I came? Sat outside in the truck, waited for you? It gets too much, you decide you wanna leave – we leave.”

“You ain’t scared to be near him again?”

He gulps back a laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing awkwardly before he allows himself to answer. “Only thing scary about your dad is the sunlight reflectin’ off his damn head. No, I ain’t scared.”

You study him a minute longer, eyes roaming from the lips you could sketch every score of from memory, the beard you’re sure has forever altered your prints from the number of times you’ve run your fingers over the bristles. The eyes which know every secret, every whisper, every thought behind your own.

You sigh, smiling dumbly as he wraps his arms tighter around you. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Joel pulls up by the curb, parking politely at the end of your driveway rather than alongside your dad’s car, like he usually would. Like he used to.

You crane your head, looking past the shape of him to survey the unassuming house. Quiet, still. No sign of hurricane or earthquake, no tremors of rage or words like rocks raining down on the truck roof. Your thumb plunges into the buckle of your seatbelt, the webbing whipping over your shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay?” Joel asks, watching your fingers lift to the door handle.

“Mhm,” you reply, distant. “’s just my dad, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

His eyebrows lift, agreeing. He takes your hand in his and holds it to his lips. “Whatever it is,” he mumbles into your fingers, “if it happens, you come straight back out here, you hear? I ain’t moving.”

The urge to stay exactly where you are and let him carry you off back to his place overwhelms you for a brief second. To stay in the safety of the truck cabin, stay within touching distance of Joel. And as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. Overcome by the memory of that stony hug in Sal’s, the vacant, lonely eyes boring into late-night TV.

A sharp chap over your shoulder shocks you back to life. You twist in your seat, looking down at a face wrinkled by curiosity and wisdom, sheen of lipstick curved in a mischievous grin. You roll the window down, mirroring her smile.

“Joel Miller,” Rita calls, lowering her ring-adorned fist and pointing over to her car. “Help me with these groceries.”

“Afternoon to you, too, Rita,” he calls back, and she raises two thin, penciled eyebrows. His sigh trickles into a chuckle as he snaps the door open, leaning into you. “I ain’t moving,” he mutters, swinging out of the truck.

“Sure looks like you’re movin’,” you call back, letting Rita pull on your door to let you out.

“How are you, darlin’?” she asks. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

You hop down beside her, helping her tug the shawl around her arms back over her shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve, uh…I’ve been busy.”

She nods, and then her eyes drift to somewhere behind you. “They go in the kitchen, son.” She points to her house. “I’ll come help you unpack ‘em.”

Joel’s face twists, eyes wide, hands outstretched. You swallow back a laugh when he looks to you, an almost teenage expression which asks, You seein’ this? as he turns back to the Nissan.

“I better go,” Rita says then, giving your arms one last squeeze. “You take care, now. Tell your dad I’m askin’ after ‘im.”

“I will, Rita.” You turn on your heel and saunter around Joel’s truck, giving him one last twirl as he hoists two bags under his muscled arms, rolling his eyes as you spin.

You pull the weight of yourself up your drive, passing past versions of yourself as you near the front door. She’s stumbling towards her dad’s car, a bucket of soapy water sloshing around between her knees. She’s sat on the curb, waiting for Joel’s truck to roll up, praying she never hears another Marty Robbins song again.

She’s naïve, still. Knows no better, knows no worse. Chasing a high, chasing the thrill of being caught and the thrill of nobody ever knowing. A relationship built entirely on lies and deceit. A love woven with dark threads of shame and anger, a tattered mess in one corner where the edges fray and loosen.

And you think: you’ve never felt more jealous of anybody your whole life.

The front door clicks open easily, like the building welcomes you home with a relieved sigh. You follow sunlight into the hallway, feeling it easier to walk through than before – less dense, less suffocating. Less guilty. An honest thief, back to return the bleeding heart she dragged out the door with her.

Secrets like shards of broken glass on the floor, debris from that day. And as if he hears the crunch of your footsteps, your dad appears at the bottom of the hall.

“Hi, hon.”

Eyes wide with a misplaced shock, you say, “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“’m good.”

“Good. Come in, come through.” He beckons you forward, a smile only half-forced on his lips. “You want a drink or anything?”

You follow him into the kitchen, politely accepting a glass of water when he offers it.

He turns with two steady palms on the island, watching as you drag a chair free and sit at the table. “How’s Joel?” he asks, swallowing roughly.

The words come delayed, your open mouth lying in wait. Your body selfishly trying to hoard the information, protective the second the image of that six-foot, two-hundred-pound man crosses your mind. “He’s fine. He’s out front.”

It sounds like a warning, though you don’t mean for it to. Just conversation. He’s helping Rita with her groceries. She’s asking after you, by the way. But your dad seems to sense the natural amber tone of it – the sparking of a flame, daring to catch. He’s waiting for this to go south.

He nods, accepting the fact of it. His own failed attempt to separate the two of you only drove you closer together. Only made you want Joel more.

But then he’s nearing you again, pulling out the chair opposite yours. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, settling with a sigh. “Glad we’re…we’re talkin’ again, at least.”

Your head angles. “Are we?”

His body jerks, flinching from the sting of the question. “Well,” his head wobbles, jowls quivering, “I sure hope so. I was takin’ it as a good sign that you’re here.”

“I’m here,” you repeat, “but that doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

“No, I know. I know. Joel’s out front, ‘n all that.” He looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Holds his tongue behind his front teeth, waiting for the next turn of conversation.

You lean forward, elbows on the table, softening your voice. “Dad?” you say, and he looks up. “This whole entire thing – I think…I think we oughta try and understand each other, a little better. Hear each other out.”

“I am tryin’, hon. I’m really tryin’. You dealt me an awful lot to hear out ‘n understand.”

You rock back, sinking against the hard chair. Tracing the wood grains in the table, nails digging between. Shame coiling like a snake beneath your tongue, taking up too much space in your mouth. Its venom dripping between your teeth, acrid and sour; tendons in your neck jumping with the bitterness of your dad’s tone.

He sighs. “Be honest with me a second.”

“Huh?”

He waits a beat, watching you carefully. Opens his mouth, pauses, and then speaks. “Who instigated it?”

Your finger pushes harder into the surface. Digging new divots. “Um…kinda both of us. Was sort of a two-way thing from the get-go.”

His lips twist, almost imperceptible. He looks behind you to the patio outside. You can’t read what’s in his eyes. It makes you say more, say things you reckon you’ll regret later – but something to fill the silence between you. Something to let him sink his teeth into.

“There was flirting. Lotta flirting. And then it…it just sort of snowballed.”

“Snowballed.” He looks uncomfortable, lifting his hands to cup over his face. “I just didn’t take him as the type,” he says, muffled into his palms.

“As what type?”

He drops his hands, hitting his thighs with a slap, and looks you dead in the eye. Sad, almost. “Arthur Kennedy type.”

“He’s not.”

You say it instinctively. Your ears hear it at the same time your dad does. He looks at you blankly.

“He’s not,” you repeat, a little looser. Less hasty. “Look,” you sigh, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but…everything that we ever did, I wanted to do. I already told you. There ain’t nothing we did that I didn’t ask him to. I swear to you.”

You think back to the cookout, how angry Joel was at the thought of Arthur Kennedy hanging over you. How pissed he’d be, hearing your dad line him up against that old leather boot of a man. Comparing, contrasting. Here’s how you measure up, son. How much of a phantom Arthur Kennedy has been, your whole life, and how much of a sanctuary Joel is in comparison.

Your stomach twists at the thought. A tight knot, wound by a desperation to clear the name of a man whose worst offense was doing exactly what your dad would’ve told him to: leave.

“This whole thing,” you go on, “it’s a mess, alright? It’s – totally fucked. And we shouldn’t’ve lied, shouldn’t’ve been keeping things from you, but then…what did you expect?”

Your dad cuts in like a bullet: “I expect the two of you not to do what you were doin’.”

“No, I know that. But we did it, right? It’s done now. I meant, did you really want us to sit you down in the living room ‘n say, Hey, Dad – guess what?”

He grimaces at the thought.

“Didn’t think so. We didn’t even know what it was. We had no idea what it’d turn into. But you gotta hear me out: it wasn’t just…some fling, or whatever you’re thinkin’. I swear, Dad, it wasn’t.”

He still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t lift his stare from the table. You feel like a little kid, desperate to make him love you again. Desperate to make him listen. The space between you fills with the bored tick tick tick of the kitchen clock. Each second hurting a little more than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I let you down, but…I’m not sorry that I did it. If I could go back, knowing everything I know – I’d do it all over again.”

The words roll across the table to him like billiards. You lean back again, watching them as they rattle from his side to yours – your sentence delivered back into your ears. You nod, a sure thought in your mind.

I’d do it all over again. All the covering, all the hiding. The aching, the wishing and wanting. Staring at Joel’s empty hand, dying to slot yours into it. Dying to put any part of yourself near him; your head under his chin, your arms linked around his waist. Knowing you two would feel, knowing everyone else would see, just how perfectly you fit together.

The chasing your own tails: Did you lie well enough? Do they suspect anything? Did we leave any evidence? Disturbed sheets, a collar still upturned. Can they hear us? Have they noticed we’re missing? We’re always fucking missing.

You’d do it all over again. You know what it cost, now, sat directly opposite the price. His polite smiles like veneers over rotten teeth. The tremble in his lip when he opens his mouth to speak.

And it was worth it. Joel. He was worth it all, in the end.

All over again.

“Do you know that every time I look at you, there are…probably four versions that I see?”

You frown. Did he hear what you just said? All ov–? “What?”

Your dad laughs to himself. “When you walk outta that door, I see a little pink backpack over your shoulders. Gym bag in your hand, maybe. I see missin’ front teeth, I see those little clip-on earrings you used to love so much.

“And – and when you’re mad at me, when we fight, I see you at fourteen. Growing pains, y’know? I still remember you slamming your bedroom door in my face, all ‘cause I wouldn’t let you go to that girl Molly’s birthday party.” He looks up, smiling at your perplexed expression.

“I don’t even…remember that, hardly.”

“Long time ago now. My point is,” he continues, “you’re twenty-three. You’re grown. And I just can’t figure out how to make those other versions…grow with you. You still feel like my kid. Still that little girl with the pink backpack.”

“But,” you clear your throat, trying to swipe her from your own memory, “I’m not. I’m not her anymore, Dad. And I think maybe you gotta give me the space to be someone different, now.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding. “I know, I know. I just didn’t think this new version of you would…y’know. Be with Joel, ‘n all. That is something I did not see comin’.”

“You think I did?” You spit a laugh. “If you told me when I came home that this is what was waiting for me…that I was gonna fall…”

Your teeth close around the sentence, dropping your dad’s eye. But it’s too late.

He stares back at you like the sun. “…Fall in love with ‘im?”

And you cower. You wince, almost. The last secret. The last thing he doesn’t know. “I don’t…I don’t know, I –”

“You love him. You do, don’t you?”

Your thumbs run circles around one another, fingers locking until your knuckles hurt. “I don’t know,” you mumble, wishing for the tenth time since you sat down that Joel was beside you, in front of you, around you.

“’s what Anna seems to reckon.”

Your eyes flit up. “Anna?”

He hums. “She is her father’s daughter. A damn meddler. She called here, last night.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you groan, head falling into your hands. “Ignore her, please. Ignore all of it. She doesn’t –”

He holds a palm up. “Now, hold on. You don’t even know what it was she said.”

You huff a sigh, twisting your hand in the air. Go on.

“She reckons you do love him. Reckons he loves you back. More, if that’s even possible, she said. Told me all about the way he stepped in front a’ that boy at Frank’s. About your face when he picked you up from rodeo night, how ecstatic you were. The difference she sees in you.”

“Difference,” you scoff, glancing out to the backyard. “What difference?”

“Same difference I see, probably. Same difference Bill said he saw, too: you’re happier. Even I can’t deny it, hon. It’s damn hard – you never make nothin’ easy on your old man – but…but I am willing to try.”

The hurt begins to slowly fizzle away. Cooling, washing from your skin like foamy waves. Curiosity left to shine through.

“You may not understand this ‘til you have kids of your own – if you have kids of your own – but there ain’t a thing in this world that I love more than I love you. And when you love somethin’ that much, you’ll do anything to stop it from getting hurt. Anything. That’s all I want you to know.”

A silence falls between you, thoughtful and waiting. The clock’s ticking grows sharper again. It seems to consider the same as you: there should be more to this. More to be said, to be convinced. More yelling, even.

But you arrive at the same conclusion, at near enough the same time: there is nothing more. Cards flat on the table, eyes pouring all over them. To question it, to second-guess any of it, would be to tempt fate.

“Anyway,” your dad sits forward, clasping his hands on the table, “tell me what’s goin’ on. What’s been happening in your world?”

You shrug. A little, shy thing. “Work. Been hanging with Sarah a lot. And I, uh, I had a job interview last week.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?”

You shift awkwardly in your chair. “For, uh…that one in LA. They called to offer it a couple days ago.”

A smile pulls across his lips. Growing, growing, growing until he’s grinning back at you. Pride, little bit of surprise. Whole lot of amusement and joy. “You take it?” he asks, figuring he knows the answer already.

“Not yet,” you reply. “Think I’m going to, though. ‘s too good to say no.”

He lifts his eyebrows in agreement, looking down at his hands. Shoulders lurch some under the weight of your news. “There goes that little backpack,” he mutters to himself, and you smirk.

“Can’t hold her back forever.”

“I never had a hold on her in the first place. You were walkin’ on outta that door the minute you found your own two feet.”

You snort. “Good! Good for me. Let me go out into the big ol’ world; let me go fuck it all up ‘n come home for dinner once I’m done.”

“I intend to,” your dad says, nodding along to every passionate word you say. And then he asks, “How’s Joel feelin’ about it all? About LA?”

Your shoulder jerks in a half-shrug. “He’s fine, I guess. Says he’ll miss me, but then – we haven’t exactly had the most typical relationship up until now. Survived a lot I reckon would break any normal couple…”

It’s the first time you think you’ve ever said it. Couple. You’ve thought of it – flicked through the words you might use to describe him. Your boyfriend, your partner. None of them seem to fit exactly who he is to you. None of them strong enough to carry the weight of what’s shared between you. He’s Joel. He’s your Joel. Nothing will ever come close.

Your dad hears it, too. The newness of it. The crisp shape of the word, not yet thawed to this new world. Your tongue still learning how to pronounce it, how to pair it with the image of Joel.

“Guess he can fly out ‘n visit whenever, right?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, “and I’ll be back here, too. Christmas ‘n all.”

Your dad smiles. Relieved, assured. Light slowly returning to his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” your chest swells, “so Joel says. I trust ‘im.”

You both quieten, sitting back in your chairs. What once felt like a room ablaze, flames tearing the skin from your body as you dragged your heels through it – now feels like a gentle warmth. Waves wrought with enough power and force to destroy you, now seeping off with the change of the tide. Bumps on the horizon.

“Speaking of,” you say, making to stand, “I should probably get goin’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, hon.” Your dad follows, arm on your shoulder as he walks you down the hall.

The sun intrudes, tosses herself into your arms as you pull the front door open. In her golden-rayed wake sits that dark truck, same as always. The same dark tee, the same dark-speckled-gray hair. Arms folded, stood against the body, waiting. Eyes on the house, on your figure as you step down onto the doormat. Joel straightens when your dad follows you out, chest sucking in a ragged breath.

They look at one another, and that’s about it. Something of a nod from Joel – not quite returned by your dad. You figure that might take some time to come back around. And that’s okay. You can make peace with it.

You turn back. Your dad’s looking down at you, hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“You know,” you take a deep breath, “the only times he’s ever hurt me, are the times he’s left. The times I haven’t had him around.”

And then you step back, the magnet in your chest telling you it’s time to return to its partner.

In high school, your English teacher tasked the class with writing a short story. Any genre you wanted, any word count up to two thousand. The boys mostly dicked around, wrote action-packed, blood-and-guts garbage. One girl wrote something you’re sure you’d seen in a Hallmark movie before.

But you – you spent two weeks straight, writing. Awake until all hours of the night, hunched over your laptop, sunbathing in the blue hue of an open document. Fingers hammering rapidly into your keyboard.

A man and a woman meet in Central Park. She – hair the color of rust, spilling down her shoulders and lifting at the ends, twisting around the fingers of the blustery wind. A red glow around her third finger where gold once lived. Sat on a bench, alone. Hiding, perhaps. And he – sharp suit and tie, clean-shaven, a steel-blue gaze that might cut glass. Missing the city traffic by taking a walk through the park on his way home. Fleeing, perhaps.

He notices her trench coat first. Bright red, a poppy swaying in the breeze. A little hopeless, a solemn wilt to it. The quickly dampening fire of her hair in the rain, the opaque sheen of polish chipping from her nails. And he thinks he recognizes the constellation of freckles painted across her cheeks. Thinks he might’ve mapped them, once, in some kind of past-life.

She looks up and realizes she recognizes the cut of his gaze. Piercing through her, splitting her in two. Thinks she might’ve felt it before, the opening of her soul to someone who looked just like him – a little more baby-faced, a little more spirited. In some kind of past-life, too.

She stands, and he slows, and they meet somewhere in the middle. Words exchanged; body heat transferred through hugs. Is that really you? You look so different. It’s been years. He doesn’t ask about the lack of jewelry on her third finger. She doesn’t ask about the gray circles beneath his eyes. Just, You wanna grab a coffee? and, Yeah. Yeah, I do.

They sit at the window, watch the yellow taxis and the black umbrellas and the trembling traffic lights. They talk about life then, life now, and silently agree to forget about the part in the middle. They look at each other the same way they must have before they lost one another, before life and love and everything else got between them.

They agree to meet again in a week. They swear that they will not fall back in love.

They know as well as each other that they’re really promising to do just that.

Love – twisted and turned over and over, until it’s a different shape altogether. We started as one thing, and we watched it shift into something completely different. Clay in the potter’s hands. Didn’t you think it might fall apart? There was a moment I thought the heat of the kiln might break us. I’m glad it didn’t. I’m glad we’re made of tough stuff.

I’m glad I found you again, in that park. The pissing rain and the wind so strong I felt it lifting the sense from my mind. In that hardware store, in that bar filled with weed and bad intentions. I’m glad you split me open, glad you could see the good that was still inside. I thought I’d lost her for a minute. Thought she’d forgotten her way home.

Let’s go get a coffee. Let’s pretend it’s always been this way.

Let’s fall in love. The rest will take care of itself.

It takes three weeks in total to properly pack up your things. Two days after you accepted the job, you bought boxes and tape, and began to dismantle the identity you’d spent twenty-three years creating for yourself, a little bit at a time. Taking apart the pink-walled museum of your life, artefact by artefact.

Joel has helped as much as you’ve let him. Laid back on your bed when you’ve dismissed him one too many times, raised his eyebrows and laughed with you whenever you come across some old, forgotten piece of memorabilia. Something ceremonial to it, something innocent and fun. Like a little graduation for all the parts of yourself.

Soon, as the last of the summer sun dampens outside, your room lies vacant. Empty of any real evidence of your being here. Bedsheets and pillows folded, packed away; framed photos and posters unpinned from the wall and wrapped up safely. Drawers and closets barren, left with a selection of your less-loved, less-worn clothes. A wardrobe built from stuff you’ll only ever wear when you come back home to visit, if even then.

Joel’s sat on the bare mattress, looking around your room. You’re stood opposite, leaning against your half-empty dresser. The sun filters feebly through your turned shades, averting her eyes.

You look over at him. Golden, like the sunlight outside. Warm, like the breeze through the trees. Yours. Yours yours yours.

“What?” Joel asks, his eyes having finally found their way back to you. He smiles at your focused expression.

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just…”

“Talk to me. Tell me.”

“You are – this is…” You sigh. “This is good. I think it’s good. Not just all the stuff we did. But you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “You’re good for me.” You grip the wooden lip tighter, swaying nervously when you add, “But I think it was always gonna go this way, wasn’t it?”

He sniffs. Shoulders jerk in a weak shrug. “Yeah, I think so, baby.”

Your eyelashes flutter, soothing the prickling feeling of tears forming. “I don’t – I don’t know if I want it to.”

“Yeah,” Joel says through a groan, pushing himself up, “you do.”

You shake your head as he approaches, and his hands cup your cheeks.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling your body tight against his. Your face buries in his chest; your tears wet on his shirt. He shushes you, rocks you gently back and forth with a hand on the back of your head. “Listen to me.”

“Joel –”

“Listen to me.” He pulls you back, swipes the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they fall. “We’re fine. We are going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you –”

“I know, I know. But you want to go do this. And that’s okay. Both of ‘em, at once.”

Your head shakes again. Like an instinctive reaction to the thought of being separated from him.

Joel smiles softly. “I am going to miss you like hell. You got no idea. But,” he pulls your head back to face his, tucks your hair behind your ear, “I want you to go. You gotta go after this. Right?”

“I know,” you whisper, lungs lurching for breath. “I just – wish it didn’t mean leavin’ you.”

“Darlin’…” Joel coos, pulling you in again. “You know how much I love you? What do I keep tellin’ you? We’ll be alright. It’s you ‘n me, right?”

You nod, salty tears slipping between your lips onto your tongue. When you look up, you notice the same expression on Joel’s face. He blinks his own away before they fall.

“’s you ‘n me,” you repeat, and he pulls your lips together.

You roll your tongue onto his, letting him taste you – all of you. Your mouth, and your thoughts, and your tears, and your pain. You let him take it all, let him hold it for this moment as you breathe him in, let his body fill yours in every way.

Your hands are in his hair, your chest pressed against his; he’s every thought on your mind and every beat in your heart. He’s the blood thrumming through your veins, he’s the oxygen filling your lungs; he’s the words between your teeth and the flesh around your bones.

And he pulls you, and you follow, his shirt in your fist, over to the bed where he lays you gently and falls on top.

“When’s he get back?” he asks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Later,” you mumble, your fingers picking at the hem of his shirt.

He pushes back, letting you tug it up up up over his shoulders at the same rate he peels your tee from yours, both tossing each other’s clothes to somewhere else in the room. Jeans undone, shorts dragged from your hips, underwear discarded until you’re naked under him, and he’s naked over you, and there’s nothing and no one between.

Joel cradles you, holds you close as he presses a palm roughly against the underside of your thigh, opening your body to him in a way only he’s mastered. In a way you only would, for him.

His hand cups your sex, fingers nudging between your folds, pushing in when your jaw slackens and a wanton moan echoes from your throat across Joel’s tongue.

“Yeah,” he coos, wrist jacking between your legs, “’s my girl. Gotta get you warmed up, huh? Get you nice ‘n wet.”

Your back arches, arms linking around his neck to pull him closer, pull him deeper. Hold him tight enough to you that your bodies feel one, feel connected at the meeting of Joel’s hand and the most intimate part of you; the meeting of your tongues between teeth.

And you gasp, the nudging of his fingers against the deepest part of your body, the messy circles of his thumb on your clit. The shape of him, solid and warm against the seam of your thigh.

You reach down for him, wrapping your fingers around his cock, and his breath hitches. Teeth bump into yours. You’re fucking irresistible to him.

“Darlin’,” his voice is low, daring you to keep going, “you wanna cut this short ‘fore we’re even started?”

You breathe a laugh into his jaw, hot and needy. “You get to play with me,” you whine, “I wanna play with you, too.”

Joel growls, seizing his movements, leaning back in what you take as him granting full access to his body. But then he says, “Turn around,” in a strict voice you’ve come to know as meaning one thing, and you pause.

You peel your eyes from his dick to blink up at him. “Turn –?”

“– around, now.” He takes your waist, hoisting you up until you’re straddling him, holding you inches above his body. “Turn.”

“What the fuck are you –?”

“Many times do I gotta tell you? You said you wanted to play.” He twists your waist until you follow his movements, swinging one leg over the other. He grabs your hips, tugging you back towards his face. “So, play,” he mutters, lowering your cunt down to his lips.

You gasp, falling forward and hitting the mattress between his legs. “J– fuck me. Are you s-serious?” You moan, hips rocking against the feeling of his bearded chin at your clit. “You’re like – a fucking – horny teenager. Oh, fuck.”

Your head falls forward, hands splaying out over his thighs, before your eyes refocus and you notice the hardened shape of him, tip oozing precome all over the hair-spattered plain of his groin. Your hand lifts, shakily taking hold of him again, and you lean down.

Elbows hooked over his thighs, you bring his tip to your lips, letting a thick bead of saliva fall and drip down the length of him, meeting your closed fist to be dragged up and down.

Joel’s hips almost buck. He holds it, manages to catch it, but you spot it. You’ve done this too many fucking times not to notice the reaction you draw from him.

“’s good,” you whisper, circling your hips on his face, tongue slipping across his cherry-red tip. “Feels so good.”

He responds in the form of a deep groan, rattling from his chest through your clit, shocking like lightning up your spine until the very same noise is thrown from your lips. You push down, tongue molding around every vein and the slow curve of his cock until your lips meet the thick brush of hair at his base, his tip kissing the very back of your throat.

Your throat which jumps, jolts at the feeling of something intruding – before you’re retreating again, pulling him from your body, warm, wet spit linking the two of you when you come up for air. And then you sink back down, head moving up down up down up down as his stomach tenses beneath your chest.

Joel’s palms keep a heavy hold on your ass, his tongue lapping between your folds like they’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted – like he might die if he doesn’t get his fix of you. And you think, they are, and he might, as your cheeks hollow and you bow down over him again.

You establish a rhythm, two waves swirling between one another: your hips rocking, Joel’s lifting ever so slightly as you suckle on one another. Your hand fisting the parts of him you can’t quite reach, not without choking; Joel holding you fixed to his jaw, letting the tip of his tongue hook around your swollen clit, then dragging it down until he’s letting you ride the wet muscle.

The approach of your first orgasm, a tiny spark catching to life in the pit of your belly, incites you with a need to open up further for him. Your throat taking more of him, your thighs slackening as you drive your cunt harder against his mouth.

“’m so close,” you whimper, lips curving around his cock. “So – fucking – ah, keep doin’ that. Right th-there.”

His hands hook around your thighs, tongue darting across your clit. His nose nudges somewhere between your folds, quickly becoming coated in the slick you’re leaking all over him.

“Joel,” you say, fists pumping his cock. Your voice a warning: it’s coming. You’re gonna – Fuck, you’re gonna come.

His voice is looser, more of a shrug of the shoulders when he pulls away from you. He inserts two fingers, curls them like before, like he knows drives you fucking insane. “Let go, babygirl,” he murmurs, lips immediately returning to position. And then, muffled and rough: “Come all over me.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, hands squeezing around his cock, feeling that same spark ignite into flame, your entire body bursting with heat.

Your high rips through you, battering through each vein in your system, each nerve electrified. You collapse between his legs, his rough pubic hair sticking to the sweat on your chest, hips rutting wildly against the sharp cut of his jaw.

The mattress absorbs most of the desperate moan which streaks across your tongue, nails digging hard into the flesh of Joel’s thighs. And you hear the deep sound of his voice, the thud thud thud of a chuckle against your clit: the cocky fucker laughing to himself as he unravels you for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Alright,” Joel says, more to himself than to the fucked-out shape of you between his legs. He sits up and shifts you carefully down the bed, settling you face-down on the mattress and lifting your ass to meet his hips. “Okay?” he asks, kneeling behind you.

You feel his tip between your legs, slotting happily somewhere in your opening. Waiting for your response. A response you don’t feel able to give, as much as you’d like to; your lips puffy and confused, words jumbling behind them in a tangle of bliss and love.

“Baby,” Joel says, hand slinking down your back, pressing gentle circles into the nape of your neck. “You okay?”

Your head lifts, glancing over your shoulder to see his hairy torso, his thick arms caging over you. He lifts your chin with two fingers, cranes your neck up until you’re looking into his eyes, heavy lids blinking dumbly.

“Just fuck me,” you whisper, and Joel slips his tongue into your mouth.

You used to dream of coming back home. A few years away, doing whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted. Dreaming things up and then chasing them until they happened. Tiring yourself out, lungs gasping for breath and eyes always searching, always looking for a new target to pin up. But always coming back.

Austin, Texas. Its jagged skyline, the streets lined with a vibrant glow and star-spangled bunting. The river like a silver-bellied snake slithering through. Home.

You dreamt of living out your days here, once your blood had slowed and your mind settled. A quiet life in the country, a big wooden house with a wraparound porch. Two little rocking chairs, so you and whoever your husband turned out to be could sit and watch the sky fade from red into orange into white and then dull gray into deep blue.

Breeze kissing your cheek, his lips kissing your knuckles.

Joel.

Home.

You tell him, and he smirks. “That so?” he asks, wrapping his arms a little tighter around your naked body.

You nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand, breathing in the sweet scent of sweat and sex sitting in the air. “Mhm. You could play guitar until the stars come out.”

He hums in agreement. “Sounds like a pretty good dream. Tell you what: you go to LA, do what you gotta do. By the time you come back, there’ll be a big ol’ farmhouse, wraparound porch, rollin’ fields for the dogs. Coffee ‘n sunsets. How’s that sound?”

“And you’ll be there?”

He smiles. Scoops you in one arm and rolls you onto your front, chest to chest with him. His fingers ghost down the curve of your shoulder. “Baby,” he whispers, “I built the damn thing.”

It forces a laugh from your chest, something you’ve gotten used to by now. Joel and his ability to steal a giggle from you, the dumbest moments seeming the funniest. “You’re gonna build me a damn house?” you ask, chin resting between his pecs.

“That what you want?”

Your head rocks left to right, considering. “I just want you. That’s all.”

“Then you got me. I’m all yours.”

In his hazel eyes lives every moment you’ve ever shared. Every conversation, every kiss, every fight. Every minute he’s spent looking for you or at you, every minute you’ve spent looking back at him. It’s all in there. You see it like a movie reel, frame by frame.

It lands like a slot machine on that first night. Cleaning up after pizza. Shoulder to shoulder by your kitchen sink. You wish you’d just kissed him. Even with your dad right there. Wish you’d lifted your heels and put your lips on his, just for the fucking hell of it. Just to condense all of it, every second of longing and hurt and pain into one fleeting moment.

Wish you’d pulled him into you, against you, the weight of his body like an old friend. Welcomed it with open arms, like you’d spent your entire life missing it, waiting for it to come back to you. Let yourself feel your own heart, peeling between the cage of your ribs, reaching out for his. Always reaching for him.

Wish you’d looked him in the eye, tears softening the tufts of graying hair, vignetting the smirk only you can tell is there. Looked at him in that knowing way, that language only you two know; the glint in your eyes translating a thousand messy words into three. Just three – the simplest, lightest words you’ve ever known.

I love you. Let’s skip to the good part.

#welp i didn't cry when i hit post. me? no. no way #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #cowboy like me

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a-small-safe-place · 7 months

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Yandere Severus Snape x Potter!Reader

Severus didn't think much of you, even though you were friends with Lily. He actively tried to avoid you, considering you a Potter, and he harbored strong resentment towards your brother James and his group of friends. His infatuation with Lily left him entirely disinterested in your presence, as if your last name and older brother did nothing to change his opinion of you.

It was common knowledge that you and James were close; he played the role of a protective older brother, ensuring that nobody messed with his younger sibling. Anyone who dared to do so faced the wrath of James and the other Marauders. This was another significant reason why Severus chose to avoid you, fearing that getting close to you would make him an even bigger target for James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter.

Now, all of that feels like a distant memory. Lily and James are both gone, and you run a successful potions shop in Diagon Alley. Your shop boasts the best ingredients for purchase, and Severus has admired your work in potions. You do an excellent job, better than most, although Severus still considers himself a superior potion-maker.

While Severus once went out of his way to avoid you, circumstances have now led to consistent contact between the two of you. Every time he enters your shop, you greet him with a warm smile and inquire about how he's doing. He's surprised that someone so closely related to James Potter could be kind, but Severus understands that one's family doesn't determine their character.

On January 9th, you discreetly included a small cake in a protective case with a "Happy Birthday" message in the bag of items Severus was purchasing. Severus rarely enjoyed sweets, but it had been a long time since someone had made something for his birthday. He felt a flutter of excitement as he decided to taste the cake, finding it delicious. It was a simple, unadorned cake, something that might be served at a Muggle birthday party. Did you have feelings for Severus? Is that why you went out of your way to make him a cake? If it had been from anyone else Severus would be skeptical, but you two had a sound relationship even if it was strictly business.

As he pondered the implications and struggled with his own emotions. Severus couldn't possibly have feelings for you, he loved Lily. The cake, though, was so sweet, and it made him realize that Lily had never done something like that for him. The shameful blush on his cheeks revealed his inner turmoil. He couldn't betray Lily by developing feelings for you, especially after her passing.

Despite his reservations, you were undeniably kind, and Lily knew that. In fact, she had always wanted Severus to meet you, believing that you would become good friends. With James no longer a threat, there was no obligation for Severus to avoid you. Perhaps you could simply be friends.

As Severus spent more time with you, he found himself restlessly thinking about you. Lily's prediction proved true; you and Severus became good friends. He began to notice details about you that he had never cared to consider before. He diligently documented the information you shared with him in a dedicated journal. It may have seemed unusual to have an entire journal dedicated to one person, but Severus was never one to do things halfway. Your attentiveness motivated him to reciprocate in kind, though he aimed to do it even better.

However, the situation took a turn when you revealed that you had a partner. Severus felt his heart shatter at the news. He couldn't understand how you could betray him in this way, or more importantly, how you could betray Lily, who had sent you to him to ensure that neither of you would be alone anymore. There was only one option. Severus had to ensure that your partner would fall in love with someone else and he would have you to himself.

#yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere harry potter #yandere harry potter x reader #severus snape #severus x reader #snape x reader #yandere severus snape #yandere snape #severus snape x reader #professor snape #I think I could have done more with this prompt #this feels rushed

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suuuupernovaaa · 1 year

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zeykoyu

zeykoyu [zɛj.ˈko.ju] n. healer

Anonymous Request: I would like to request a Neteyam x Na'vi reader with the "you'll never be her trope", where reader is promised to Neteyam, but he loves another. He is sort of a shitty asshole to her, a girl who is a quiet not very well known member of the clan; he treats reader with the coldest shoulder. However, he overhears the girl talking to her friends about how she just using Neteyam to gain status in the clan. He then sees reader for the caring person she is, and grovels for forgiveness.

I have resigned myself to my fate.

In what feels like a very short amount of time, I will be mated for life before Eywa, to a man who does not love me. In fact, he barely seems to tolerate me.

He looks at me with disappointment, and sometimes, it even looks like he feels disgusted by me.

It wasn't always this way. Neteyam used to be a friend, and someone I trusted. He was so kind and good-hearted when we were younger, but he has turned his back on me and come to resent our pairing.

As if it is my choice! I am the next Tsahik of our people, and he the next Olo'eyktan. We are promised to each other from youth, and there's nothing either of us can do that would not cause much upset in the clan, and with our families.

Though Neteyam clearly does not want to be mated to me, even more than that, he does not want to upset his family.

The change in his heart happened just a year ago, and it was slow at first. We went from friends to acquaintances to strangers, and now to near enemies, because of her.

I don't really blame her, though. He fell in love with her, and she can't control that. I felt jealous at first, but over time, as Neteyam has treated me more and more coldly, I have started to hate both of them.

If I'm being honest, I understand why he loves her; she is beautiful, and funny, and many men have had their eyes on her. I am plain, and small, and not many people speak to me. She does seem a better match for someone like Neteyam, and I almost wish we could be free of this pairing.

As much as Neteyam does not want to disappoint his family, I don't want to disappoint our people; I am a talented healer and I will serve our people well as Tsahik.

So I have resigned myself to my fate.

Our fate.

Neteyam watches Sa'me from a distance, as she approaches the center of home tree with her friends, dropping off a full fishing net from a day's work.

His heart swells with pride at the woman he loves, and then, he gets angry. These two feelings always accompany each other.

Love and adoration for Sa'me, and disappointment towards his fate. It doesn't matter who he loves; he's promised to Y/N, and he can't get out of it. That's just not how it works.

She is the next Tsahik and he knows, despite how he wants things to be, that she will be an excellent Tsahik for their people. He has to put the people before himself.

But he does not have to be happy about it.

He approches Sa'me and her friends, but their backs are to him as they empty their nets, and as he gets closer, he hears their conversation.

"Aren't you worried, about his upcoming mating ceremony?" one friend asks.

To his surprise, Sa'me laughs. "No! I have gotten what I wanted, and I am relieved it will end soon."

He stops in his tracks, listening closely.

"Sa'me!" a friend chastises.

"Well, I have three offers for my hand, from fine men. I owe that to Neteyam. When they knew he wanted me, that made them want me. I think I'll pick Marek - he's handsome and strong. Neteyam is nice, but too boring for me. Plus, the way he's treated Y/N since we started spending time together... I almost feel bad for her. She will have a miserable life."

The girls laugh, and Neteyam spins on his heel, charging away.

He expects sympathy from his sister, but earns only an eye-roll when he tells Kiri what he overheard.

"Well, she's right. You knew you were promised and pursued Sa'me anyway, even though it was kind of obvious what she was doing. And you have been an asshole to Y/N. She's really nice to still put up with you - to even speak with you. You've treated her like dirt the last year, and she's never said a mean thing about you. Even though, she would be right to do it."

Neteyam stares at his sister, slack jawed, unsure whether to feel angry or guilty. A fine mixture of both rises in his chest, and he sighs.

"You used to be friends with her, you know. She's so sweet, and so kind. She's only putting up with your behavior so she can be Tsahik, and not because she cares about the title. She wants to help the People, and knows she'll be able to if she's Tsahik. She just has to marry an asshole to do it."

"Okay, okay," Neteyam says, waving his hand in the air, begging his sister to stop.

"Well, I just don't feel bad for you, Teyam. You need to grow up and deal with what you did."

He rolls his eyes, but he can't deny it: Kiri is right.

Without her noticing, Neteyam starts to watch Y/N as much as he can from that day in. Her daily routine is simple. She rises early, and heads into the forest to gather supplies she can use in her healing practice. Once she's done, she begins going around to people who she knows need her help, in and out of their homes all day, gaining hugs and smiles and thanks wherever she goes.

She is soft-spoken, and kind hearted, and her small stature only serves to make her seem more gentle, more dispositioned for healing.

He sees the way people look at her as she approaches - they look at her with relief, and hope, and when she leaves, she leaves people better than she found them.

Neteyam feels sick to his stomach.

He tries to remember what it is about Sa'me that drew him in. He sees her beauty, he can't deny it still, but it's clear now that her beauty is only on the surface.

Did she ever compliment him? Support him? Offer him a kind word?

He can't even remember what they talked about... for a year.

"Neteyam?"

He turns from the tree he's leaning against and sees Y/N approaching, a large basket in her arms.

"You look ill. Are you okay?"

Neteyam wants to tell her he's fine, that she should leave, but he feels light-headed and instead, he sinks to the ground, a sweat breaking out on his brow.

"I'm... okay. My head feels light."

She kneels in front of him, rummaging through her basket. She pours a few things in a cup, and mixes them together with a powder.

"Here," she says, handing it to him. He takes it, his hands touching hers for a second, and he's struck by how small her hands are.

She's so delicate, like a flower, and he has certainly done his best to trample all over her.

The shame he feels is unlike anything he's ever felt before.

The drink is bitter, but it starts working almost immediately, and the faint feeling begins to fade.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says, handing the cup back to her. She takes it with a small smile and a nod, and rises to leave. Neteyam reaches out, grabbing her arm. "Wait."

She turns, frowning down at him. He stands up.

"I want to apologize to you, Y/N. I have been... terrible. I have neglected you, and I have been an asshole. I'm sorry. I would like to start again."

She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes, staring deep into him. He wonders if she can see his soul.

Of all of the things I thought Neteyam wanted to say to me, 'I'm sorry' was not even on the list.

My instinct is to tell him to go to tell, but there is such a strange look on his face... he still looks sick, and sad, and a little bit ashamed.

Well, he should be. But also - what choice do I have? If Neteyam is offering me a chance to make the best of this situation, shouldn't I take it?

I remember how I felt about him once. Hopeful, excited, nearly in love... but that feeling is so far away now. I'm not sure if there's even a possibility of re-gaining it.

But, it seems smart to try, if we are to have any chance at a happy life.

"Okay," I reply finally. "But I don't think Sa'me will appreciate it."

Neteyam hangs his head for a moment, and then meets my eyes again. "What she appreciates does not matter. You are to be my mate. You are all that matters."

He places a hand over his heart.

I would like to trust him, but it's going to take more than one conversation where he says the right things.

It seems I cannot get rid of Neteyam now. When I gather supplies in the morning, he is there. When I make my rounds in the village, he is there. He is always... there.

Not silently, either. He is full of questions. Everything I do and say, he has a question about. If it wasn't endearing, it would be exhausting.

After a week of this, he asks me to take a ride on our ikrans with him - and I can't say no. I have been so busy working lately, that it sounds like a wonderful and welcome break.

Early in the morning, we head out together, and take one of the longest rides I've ever been on. In the air, we twist and turn and glide together, and all the while, Neteyam is whooping and throwing me ear-to-ear smiles.

He gestures to a nearby cave in the floating rocks, and we land together, dismounting. We are both wind-burnt, but smiling.

"I must ask you something," I say.

"Anything," Neteyam replies, chest heaving from the effort of riding.

"Why did you change your mind? About Sa'me?"

His face darkens, and he sighs. "I overheard her talking about how being seen with me has gotten her offers from many fine potential mates, and she doesn't care that I'm promised to someone else."

I wince. Even if Neteyam is a jerk, I don't think anyone deserves to be used like that.

"I'm sorry, Neteyam. Though, that does explain your sudden... interest."

He shakes his head. "No. After I heard what Sa'me said, I went to Kiri and she, uh, pointed out what an asshole I've been. She also pointed out how kind and smart and talented you are, probably to let me know, uh, what an asshole I've been. So I started kind of, uh, watching you. And I realized she was right."

"About what?"

"Well, I am an asshole but... you are the most kind-hearted woman in this clan. And you did not try to withdraw from our match because you deserve to be Tsahik. Not for the title, but because you are best suited to serve our people. You care about them more than yourself. You're selfless. And beautiful. And I was blind to think anyone could be better suited for me."

I bite my lip, and take a step back. "Neteyam, that all sounds very nice, but I..."

He steps forward, reaching out and taking both of my hands in his. "It isn't enough. I know that, Y/N. I don't expect our problems to be solved now. I just want a chance to prove to you, who I really am. What a good mate I can be for you. I can make you happy. I want to. It's all I want."

I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes, and I blink hard to keep them at bay. "I always thought so highly of you, Neteyam. I want us to be happy. I want to try."

He squeezes my hand tightly, pulling me to him.

"I will make you happy. I promise you, Y/N. Please, let me kiss you."

I hesitate for only a moment. The look in his eyes is so sincere, and his eyes fall down to my lips for just a moment, then back up to my eyes, and I can't resist. Everything I want seems to be within my grasp.

He places his hands around my waist, and pulls me in.

"Say yes," he whispers. I can't find my voice, but I nod.

The kiss is explosive. A year of anger, frustration and want packed into one kiss. My body is flush to his, and I feel the tears spilling over, but I can't stop them, and I don't want to pull away.

It feels too good.

I put my hands in his hair, gripping tightly, sighing against his lips, and he groans.

Finally, we pull away, and stare at each other, both breathless.

"I will make you happy, healer," he whispers.

I might believe him now.

#neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam fic #avatar #avatar twow

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kraviolis · 1 year

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i told y’all. i told y’all i was gonna go crazy over this post made by @gummy-goat-galaxy

full disclosure i drew literally all of this before looking into the details of the AU so this is 70% my interpretation of his original post but i need to explain my thought process so. here’s the post explaining the details of the actual AU!!! and below is what my brain made up on the spot

ok so belos finds tiny child luz and is like “fuck everyone. this is mine now” and treats her like a goddamn princess. to him, she is a Gift From God to remind him to stay on his Righteous Path. an innocent little girl who is just so bubbly and always tries to see the good in everything, including him. she is a reminder of how Pure and Good humanity is, and seeing as though she’s the literal only human he’s had any contact with besides caleb in 400 fucking years, he is never letting the demon realm corrupt her like it did to him.

she’s basically his Lamb and he the Shepherd, and because he’s so desperate to keep her “““pure”““ he strictly keeps her within the castle and even then not all of the castle is available to her. he keeps her contact with witches to an absolute bare minimum.

he entrusts her protection specifically to hunter, despite the fact he’s only 2 years older. his reasoning is “caleb did a pretty good job raising me so this’ll be fine probably.” when belos himself cannot keep an eye on her, it’s hunter’s job. luz and hunter end up being raised in a sorta similar situation to catra & adora from she-ra but they are actually siblings and not just best friends.

(if u havent seen she-ra, basically its their abusive caretaker creating a golden child + scapegoat dynamic, where one kid can do absolutely no wrong (which doesnt mean they cant still be abused/manipulated!!) while the other kid is blamed for literally everything that goes wrong. the caretaker also regularly pits them against each other to encourage competition & keep the all power in the caretaker’s hands.)

similar to catra & adora, the whole competition thing doesnt really work. luz is just too damn kind and too damn good for hunter to ever resent her, and she’s all he really has. because hunter is the scapegoat, he grows wise to belos’s manipulations WAY sooner. it’s easier to figure out when you’re being mistreated when you literally watch ur guardian treating ur sibling so much better than how they treat u.

unfortunately, because luz cannot help but see the good in absolutely everyone and can be empathetic to a fault, she doesnt realize belos’s game until she ends up sneaking out of the castle. she actually really loves belos and is thankful for him taking her in for a long time. she calls him uncle like hunter, despite belos nudging her towards seeing him as a father bcus he sees her as a pseudo-daughter. (but luz remembers her dad, and has no desire to replace him with someone else no matter how much she cares for belos)

belos does love & adore luz, he would do almost anything to keep her happy and “innocent” and “pure”, but not to the extent that he could still end up redeemed. he still manipulates & subtly emotionally abuses her to keep her in line, but it’s only when she sneaks out and meets eda the owl lady does she start getting clued into this. and once luz learns what belos has done to hunter it’s all fucking over.

hunter loves luz. she is his sister and always will be. but while he’s stuck to belos because of his duties as golden guard, she sees how green the grass is on the other side and doesn’t even hesitate to hop over there. watching her slowly grow more and more distant while she keeps sneaking out to visit with her new friends (eda, king, willow, gus, amity, etc.) is one of the most painful things hunter has had to deal with.

he feels betrayed at first, as if luz is replacing him with other people who arent broken like he is, and when luz actually leaves for good- belos lies to the public and says she was kidnapped- hunter is the one who leads the hunt to find her and bring her back home safely. when they confront each other, luz tries to do her whole dramatic speech about how wrong belos is and how he’s been lying their whole lives, but hunter already knows. the only reason he stayed was for luz, but she couldnt even stay from him? it fuckin hurts man.

they end up on opposite sides for a minute. hunter gains no satisfaction from trying to ruin this new life she’s found for herself but goddamnit, he has a job to do. he cant just defect. and then he defects after watching belos try to kill luz because she’s let herself become corrupted by the witches.

thats about all my brain got for this so far. TL;DR basically just listen to the “first time in forever” and “mother knows best reprise” and “broken crown” by mumford & sons and thats pretty much the gist of it.

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lovelybrooke · 5 months

Note

If you're interested in doing some headcanons for Kieran, I'd love to request some!

Yandere Kieran x Reader (Pokemon Scarlet/Violet)

I caved and wanted to write this, don't judge me. (also if you want to request anything for the games go ahead).

Masterlist

---

Kieran despises the thought that people think he's weak. He hates knowing that whenever someone looks at him, they view him as small and helpless. So it doesn't help when you, a random student visiting Kitakami, come and prove every one of his insecurities right. You're so much stronger than him, in and out of Pokemon battling. You have this deep connection with each member of your team and he just despises it.

However, even with all this, Kieran can't seem to hate you. You're kind, to him and his sister. You never judge him for his shy nature, in fact you seem comfortable around him, even going as far to consider him your friend. It makes it hard to hate you, because he knows you're a good person. But whenever he's around you he feels weird, like he's sick. He's too embarrassed to ask his sister, so instead he bottles everything deep down. Because of this, whenever he's around you he's awkward, stumbling over his words and blushing whenever you look at him. To everyone it's obvious he has a crush, but to him, he still feels this sort of resentment towards you, even if it is overshadowed by adoration.

After you tame Ogerpon, Kieran converts his mixed feelings for you into motivation to get stronger. He has to get stronger, he needs to. He needs to prove to himself, and you, that he's strong. He doesn't exactly know why, some days he feels like he's doing all this to protect you, to keep you safe. Other days it's because he wants to prove you wrong, imagining what it would be like to see you cry as he destroys your team. In truth, he doesn't know why he's acting this way, but he knows it's your fault. You made him feel this way, and he hates it.

While Kieran's away at Blueberry academy, all he's thinking about it you, about getting stronger. It worries Carmine. Unlike Kieran, she's able to recognize his feelings for you, and at first she thought it was cute. She thought he looked up to you, since you were so strong. In a way he does, just, a little too much. It's not long after she hears Kieran murmur about you that he changed his appearance, and when she asked why, he seemed almost embarrassed. He just mumbled about something about you and about something else she can't hear before rushing off. She chalked it up to him wanting to seem more confident. In reality, Kieran, even though he'd never admit it, wants to present himself as this cool person in hopes that you like that version of him better.

Carmine was so happy when you arrived at Blueberry Academy, she was so relieved. She thought you could talk some sense into her brother, maybe he'd even confess. Instead, when you meet, Kieran looks like he couldn't care less. In reality, he was a mess. His angry and harsh dementor was a facade for the chaos running through his mind. He kept wondering why you had to come now, he wasn't ready. He doesn't know why he expects you to take on the League, because deep down, he knows you're strong enough to defeat them. He starts to feel that old feeling again like back when he was with you in Kitakami, the one that made him feel sick. It's even worse whenever anyone in the league talks about you. He can't help but be so jealous, you must like them because they're strong, right? Well he's stronger, so just, look at him...please.

Kieran rejects any attempt you make to come close to him again. He's still hurt after what you did in Kitakami, and he's still dealing with his feelings for you. But most of all, he's embarrassed. He's spent the last four months non stop thinking about you, about how strong you were. He's channeled all his confused, messed up emotions into becoming the strongest, and now that you're here, all he can think about is how pretty you are, about how well you work with your Pokemon and others, about how even after how mean he's been to you, you're still kind to him.

It isn't until you beat him that he fully accepts his feelings for you, he's enamored, obsessed, infatuated, whatever you want to call it he doesn't care. He becomes completely delusional, believing that you two were made for each other, that you came to Kitakami when he did for a reason. He doesn't care if he can't beat you, if he'll never be as strong as you, because either way, you'd still be his friend, right? And that has to mean something. If not, what was all this for.

After everything in Area Zero, Kieran apologizes, and asks for a reset on your friendship and luckily you agree. He's so happy, and he can't remember a time he was happy. When you bring him into a hug, he feels so warm, and he wants to cry. After all this, Kieran becomes less demanding, at least outwardly. He's possessive, of you and your time, and very clingy. He's just afraid that if you leave, even for a second, you won't come back. He still doesn't like it when you hang out with any of the league members, or really anyone other than him. He still holds the belief that you two are one of the same, and so you shouldn't waste your time with others.

I don't think you'd really notice anything wrong with Kieran. It's easy to chalk up his behavior to the deep insecurities he has, rather than an obsession with you. It might take interference from Carmine or another League member to finally get you to open your eyes about his behavior, and even then, he's great at manipulation. Just a few tears and you're comforting him and promising him you won't leave.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yandere #yandere pokemon #pokemon x reader #pokemon scarlet and violet #yandere kieran #kieran pokemon #kieran x reader

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writerswall26 · 3 months

Text

My Sweet Cairo (Part 8)

Synopsis: The Ravens' Soccer team Captain fell in love for Cairo Sweet

Warning: Slight cursing, Emotions, Mention of death and SH.

Words: 2.4k

Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

A/N: I was so pumped while writing this. I enjoyed this part so much. We get to know what really happened and flesh out R's father's mind. We also saw Cairo being responsible and using the advices she received to get some help! Happy Reading!

Y/N tried to avoid being alone the entire day, not wanting to give Cairo the opportunity to have even a minute to talk to her. What Cairo told her a few nights ago is still stuck in her head. She doesn't know if she should be afraid or what.

"Hey, Y/—"

"Will you walk me home?" Cairo cut Jasmine off as soon as Y/N got out of her last class of the day. She was not expecting Cairo to wait for her!

Y/N looked shocked and confused. She gave Jasmine a look. But her friend just stood by and watched the scene unfold. Traitor!

"Y/N, walk me home, please?" Cairo said, sweetly this time, with a smile on her face.

"Uhm, I'm sorry but I have—"

"Uh no, we're not going. I gotta study for a pop quiz tomorrow. Winnie's coming to help me, I'm sorry dude." Jasmine cut the taller girl off.

Y/N glared at her while Cairo smiled widely. "So?" Cairo asked cutely, for fuck's sake!

"Uhm, sure." Y/N said hesitantly.

"Great!" Cairo said happily before she held the taller girl's hand and pulled her.

Y/N didn't say a single word as she turned to Jasmine and gave her a look, mouthing "I'm killing you tomorrow, you traitor!"

On the way home, the two of them did not say a word. They went with Y/N's route instead of Cairo's since Y/N has her bike with her.

"I've talked to Mr. Miller." Cairo started, causing Y/N to stop for a moment.

"Why?" She asked before she followed Cairo again.

"I went to apologise." Cairo started, causing Y/N to furrow her brows. "I'm seeing a therapist now," Cairo said, glancing at Y/N who looked really confused, and cute. "Your mom referred me to a work colleague of hers. Told me it might help with the issues I had."

Y/N is confused, like really confused. "Mum did that? Why?"

Cairo shrugged. "We were together for a few hours before you came when we had dinner. She confronted me about what I did. Told me the same thing you said, how messed up it was. Then she told me about a friend of hers, a therapist, she told me I should check it out, see if it helps. That's why I went to Mr. Miller. I want to sort things out before graduation."

"What did Mr. Miller say?"

"We sat down, talked about what went wrong, what happened. He apologized to me too. He accepted the fact that he was in the wrong too, that he wasn't careful and clear, that he stepped the boundaries and led me on."

Well that's... incredibly surprising. Y/N never thought she'd be hearing a redemption arc between two messed up individuals. Although, she's happy to hear that Mr. Miller's finally seen what he did wrong. That's a huge point. And she's happy that Cairo's seeking out help.

"So, how long would you be going to therapy?" Y/N asked, glancing at Cairo who pursed her lips.

"I don't know. As long as I need, I guess. It's not really that bad." Cairo said, smiling at the thought that Y/N is finally talking to her with anger and resentment in her voice.

"How about when you go to college? You wouldn't know anyone around there."

"My therapist knows a friend where I'm going to go. She said she'd refer me to him and continue therapy there."

Y/N nodded. "That's a good thing."

Cairo looked up at her, a smile on her face, her dimples showing. "How long have you gone to therapy?"

Y/N pursed her lips. "A year and a half, I guess? My therapist told me she was proud of my progress so she adviced that I spend my time being a normal kid. She told me I should come to her whenever I need and so far, it's all good."

Cairo nodded. "That's good. I'm proud of you."

Y/N chuckled, lowering her head. "Alright, mum." She said, which made Cairo laugh as well.

They continued walking silently, comfortable silence this time until they reached Cairo's place.

"Here's you." Y/N said, stopping in front of Cairo's house.

The brunette turned to her and gave her a smile. "Thank you for walking me home."

Y/N nodded. "It's no biggie."

Cairo leaned up and gave her a kiss on the cheek before she walked inside the house, throwing a glance at the tall girl who waved at her.

When Y/N was sure Cairo's finally inside, she rode her bike and went home where she waited for her mum to come home to ask questions.

That night, when Y/M/N came home, she was immediately cornered by Y/N at dinner.

"I was wondering," Y/N started. "What were you talking about with Cairo before I got home that night?"

Y/M/N gave her a smile. "You, Mr. Miller, dad." The older woman answered shortly.

Y/N furrowed her brows. "You talked to her about dad?"

Y/M/N nodded. "Yes, I wanted her to know how terrible of a person she was for doing what she did. But then there's Mr. Miller."

"Who's not entirely at fault."

"But he was indeed the adult in the situation."

"You're defending Cairo, mum."

Y/M/N looked at her daughter, seeing the problem once and for all. "I'm not defending Cairo, what she did was wrong, yes. But don't you think what Mr. Miller did was far worse than that?"

Y/N stayed quiet, thinking.

"Honey, Mr. Miller's case is different from your dad's case. You have to see that." Y/M/N explained, Y/N is being blinded by what happened to her dad.

"I know. I know it's different."

"And?" Y/M/N tried to probe further.

"I'm not defending Mr. Miller either, mum. If that's what you think. Maybe I'm over compensating. Maybe I thought by helping Mr. Miller, I gave justice to what happened to dad. But what if I'm wrong, mum?"

"Are you? Look at it from an outside perspective, honey. Look at it both ways."

Y/N furrowed her brows. She doesn't know where to go from here. It's weird talking about this with her mum but at the same time, the answers are clearer. Her mind wasn't being blocked by her emotions, her father's connection to the case. If there's anyone to blame, it's the both of them, Cairo and Mr. Miller. There's no one to defend, no one to side with.

"There's always a connection, honey." Her mum brought her back to her senses. "But there's a huge difference and that's what I want you to see. Yes, Cairo was in the wrong for seducing Mr. Miller. But is it entirely her fault? Is it really? Why would she act that way if Mr. Miller didn't do anything wrong?"

"Was I wrong for helping Mr. Miller?" Y/N finally asked, looking at her mum with worried eyes.

Y/M/N gave her a smile as she held her hand, squeezing it to assure her. "You did what you thought was right at the time. You saved both of them by doing so. Don't beat yourself up for it."

Y/N stayed up that night thinking of what her mum had told her. She wasn't really thinking when she lent a hand to Mr. Miller. She knew it was wrong, she heard it from Mr. Miller himself. And yet, she still sided with him for what? For her father? No, she thought. It's for personal gain. She had the power to turn the story around, and she did. So what does that say about her?

She's no different from those students she despises the most. Maybe even worse. Her thoughts are so incriminating, so powerful that she did not blink sleep that night.

So the next day when she got to class, she was noticeably tired. She looked like a walking zombie and anyone who sees her thought so too. Her friends and Cairo saw that too and they were worried.

"What happened to you?" Winnie asked over lunch when Y/N didn't even touch her food, she's usually a foodie.

Y/N gave her a tired look and shook her head. "I'm just tired."

"We can see that, dude. You have dark circles around your eyes." Jasmine said, as worried.

Y/N sighed. "Did you guys think I made the wrong decision? When I stood up for Mr. Miller?"

Winnie and Jasmine turned to one another, giving each other looks.

"I mean, what Cairo did was fucked up. She literally wrote a porn story between her and Mr. Miller." Jasmine said, as a matter of fact.

"However, I don't think Cairo's entirely at fault. I mean, she messed up but not entirely her fault." Winnie said, on the other hand.

Y/N groaned. "Maybe I should've just shut my mouth and let them do whatever to Mr. Miller."

"Hey, woah, hold up." Jasmine started, getting the attention of her friend. "You did what you thought was best, okay? Both of them fucked up, that's a fact. The other one stepped on the fine line, and the other one was led on. There's no winning in this situation."

"Whatever you did, you did it for them both. Struck two birds with one stone, as they say." Winnie said, holding Y/N's hand and squeezing it gently.

Y/N gave them a small smile and nodded. "Maybe I shouldn't really beat myself up with this one."

"Damn right, you shouldn't." Jasmine said, giving her an assuring smile.

After their class, she was already outside Cairo's last class, waiting for the girl to come out. When Cairo saw her, an immediate smile drew her face.

"What are you doing here? You should've gone home and got some sleep. Look at you." Cairo said, holding a gentle hand to Y/N's cheek to look at her face.

"Can I walk you home?" Y/N asked with a sheepish smile.

Cairo was shocked to say the least. She did not expect that. She was expecting Y/N to come around but not this fast. Still, she was happy about it.

"Sure." Cairo smiled, holding out a hand to Y/N to shake her head.

"That's reaching."

"Oh." Cairo said, a bit disappointed but she smiled it away.

"Come on."

The duo walked out of school together. They're all smiles and shit but still, Y/N cannot take her mind off her conversation with her mum. She might as well talk to Cairo now.

So when they got to Cairo's place, the brunette did not expect that Y/N would park her car on the fence and followed her to her front porch. The taller girl sat on the step and patted the space beside her.

"What's going on?" Cairo asked, sitting beside Y/N who gave her a smile.

The taller girl stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened."

Cairo nodded. "What do you want to talk about?" She asked, wanting Y/N to start the conversation.

"I don't know. I just want to have clarity. I had a talk with my mum last night. It was a hard pill to swallow but, I guess it was needed."

""What happened to him? Your dad?" Cairo asked, glancing at Y/N who was looking at the trees ahead.

"My mum didn't tell you?" She asked, confused. She thought they spoke about her dad.

"Not all of it."

Y/N glanced at Cairo, contemplating if she should tell her about it or not. A part of her doesn't want to, because talking about it means relieving it and she hates that. She hates that she's going back to that time. But a huge part of her wants to let it all out, just throw it out there and forget about it all.

She chose the latter.

Y/N took a deep breath.

"I don't know when it started. My dad was really passionate about teaching. He was really good at what he did. He's a great father, you know? He was always present and attentive to my needs." Y/N started, smiling at the memory of her father in every soccer game, every recital, every academic competitions, everything. He was always there, always smiling and looking proud.

"One semester during sophomore year, he came home all happy and giddy, it wasn't unusual really. He was always happy and giddy. But this one's just different. He told us he had met this student in class, he thought she was brilliant." Y/N stopped for a moment, trying to calm herself down before she started crying and shouting.

Cairo noticed how hard it is for Y/N to continue so she held the taller girl's hand in her own and squeezed it. "You don't have to continue. I believe I got the gist of it."

Y/N shook her head and turned to Cairo with a pained smile. "I want to continue."

Cairo looked worried, but she nodded nonetheless. "Okay. But you can stop anytime." She gave out an assuring smile.

Y/N nodded, squeezing Cairo's hand gently. "He told mum and I all about this girl. We were amazed by her. So we told dad to bring her home one time so we could talk. He did. We had a barbeque one saturday, family's all there and she was there. I thought she was brilliant, she was so fascinating with all the things she knew. Little did we know, she would cause the biggest heart break to ever happen to us."

Y/N shook her head. "During the middle of the semester, my father started to act weird. He started getting drunk, not sleeping, he started being absent. One day he came home and told us he was let go of his job. My mum and I asked why, he never answered. The days after that, he became difficult. He would pick a fight with me and mum. He would get angry. He would get drunk, pass out on the couch. I slowly watched my father become a shell of what he used to be. He just stopped functioning."

Cairo could not help it anymore. She stood up and went in front of Y/N, hugging the girl in her arms tightly as she gently brushed Y/N's hair with her fingers, wanting the taller girl to know that she's there, that it's okay. Y/N leaned in Cairo's arms, sighing heavily.

"Then my mum knew about what happened. Turns out the girl orchestrated a plan for my dad to get fired. She invited my dad for coffee one time, asked a friend to take a couple of pictures that looked intimate. The school board didn't like it. Had an entire meeting about it. My dad tried to fight with all his might. Turns out when he started acting weird, that's when he was battling with those accusations. It took only 3 photos and one girl for my dad to lose everything. One day after I won a game, I showed my medal to my dad but he didn't say anything. Next thing I know, I was running to their room. Then I saw him, blood everywhere, his body unmoving. He was gone, Cairo."

This is the most Cairo has seen Y/N vulnerable. Now she understood perfectly why Y/N wanted to help Mr. Miller. What happened to her dad was unjust. So when told the school board that Cairo's accusations were baseless, this is what she meant. What happened to Y/N's father were baseless accusations.

So, she just stood there, holding Y/N in her arms, letting her let out all the frustrations and emotions she's bottled up the entire time.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem reader #cairo sweet x reader #tara carpenter x reader #wednesday addams x reader #cairo sweet #tara carpenter #wednesday addams #miller's girl

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