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genshin-impacted · 2 years ago

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three ways to say goodbye

Never once does Alhaitham ever say the words ‘good-bye.’ (And one time he doesn’t need to.) OR You die in four three different ways; Alhaitham deals with your death differently each time.

Word Count: ~3.5k (one shot)

Notes: Alhaitham x Reader (3+1 fic), gender-neutral reader, Alhaitham POV, major character death(s) (you), ANGST, mainly hurt with comfort at the end, exploratory fic on how Alhaitham deals with grief & death-- his devotion, each part has specific notes

[anticlimatic]

notes: slight description of dead body (you), blood, ambiguous relationship status; implied roommates with Kaveh and Alhaitham, could be ot3 if you squint, mild profanity

Your death came without warning, without rhyme or reason. It doesn't make sense for you to die here, your potential on the brink of being fully realized, your journey cut abruptly before it has even started. As a narrative, your death is almost anticlimactic, unpredictable and hidden away in the forests of Sumeru where the rangers found you, body broken and eyes closed forever. Your wings must have failed you midflight, plummeting you down to the ground without a safety net. If there were any signs of foul play, it is hard to tell; there is so much blood to wash off of you.

Tighnari was the one to set your limbs straight to make you look more comfortable, and Cyno was the one to tell Alhaitham to come and identify your body.

It's only a formality at this point. Cyno and Tighnari-- Alhaitham thinks they would not have let Collei see your body, bruised as it is-- would have been ample identification checks. They know you well, consider you a friend. It may also be a sort of mercy from Cyno to inform Alhaitham of what has happened so he can be one of the first to know, the first to see you.

They know Alhaitham was more important to you than any of them-- Alhaitham included-- could truly understand. So, of course, it is Alhaitham who gets to know first.

Cyno peels back the cover from your head. It must be the least injured part of your body because the only tell-tale sign that you are dead is the stillness of your face. You are the most animated person he knows, even if you aren't aware of it. You constantly move your eyes to see the world for what it is, lips always upturned subconsciously, though Alhaitham can remember the days when you went without for quite some time. It was a trying period for you, but your smile came back eventually, and all felt right in the world.

Alhaitham knows it will not come back this time.

"It's them," he says, though you look far from the person you were when you were still alive. "Where will the body be stored?"

"The Sumeru morgue," Cyno replies. He pauses. "Will you-"

"They have no family. No next of kin." Alhaitham says, "I will arrange their funeral."

Cyno only nods, and Alhaitham watches as he goes to cover your face up with a foreboding sense of dread he cannot place. Cyno does not apologize to Alhaitham for his loss. Neither of them is the type to placate others even in their grief. As for "his" loss? Certainly not just his. You were well loved, a bud in bloom among the vines of the Akademiya with your reputation built from the soil up. Those that knew you will mourn.

Yes, Alhaitham is in mourning, right now, isn't he? Everyone else believes it to be so. Tighnari tells him ‘my condolences' even though his own face is tight with regret, as though he could have single handedly prevented this from happening. He doesn't see Collei but perhaps that is telling enough of her grief. Cyno tells him that he will let Dehya and Candace know, and Alhaitham can only nod in agreement.

Alhaitham thinks he knows the reason for the dread when he comes home and Kaveh is there. His roommate has been pacing around in the living room, Alhaitham can tell. Without either you or Alhaitham present, Kaveh was worried but trying not to think of the worst-case scenario. Alhaitham has to be the one to break the news to him of the worst-case scenario, and he braces himself for the torrent.

If Alhaitham is the person who knows you best, then Kaveh is right behind him. Your death will devastate Kaveh, even if Kaveh does not know it yet.

"You're lying," Kaveh tells him. His face is as impassive as Alhaitham has ever seen. "You're lying to me, and it's not fucking funny-"

"I’m not lying," Alhaitham says. When Kaveh opens his mouth to argue, spit vitriol, call him a liar again, Alhaitham feels his own temper rise, and for a twisted moment, it almost feels familiar, him and Kaveh at each other's throats, except they've never argued over something as serious as this. "I wouldn’t lie about this. And you know it."

Alhaitham expects it to escalate. Kaveh will raise his voice and Alhaitham will too, both of them feeding their animosity into each other like they have never done since their Akademiya days. Even their latest bickering is nothing, and with you added into the mix, it becomes even less than that-- more eye rolls and snarky remarks than anything close to an argument.

But you're gone. So everything is different now, even if no one wants it to be. And when Kaveh's lips begin to tremble, his face falling upon the realization that oh god, Alhaitham is telling the truth, Alhaitham realizes something too. Telling Kaveh about your death was worthy of dread, but the thought that nothing will ever be the same with you gone, makes the foreboding feeling gape and widen.

He will pass by Lambad's Tavern and walk in, expecting you to be there at the third seat of the bar, writing your essay, but you will not. He will sit at the table nearest the window in the House of Daena and read while waiting for you to come and ask him to find a book, but you will not. He will walk home, noise canceling headphones off despite the bustle of the city, because he expects you to come up from behind him, hoping to surprise him for once, but you will never come. He will enter an empty home, quiet and devoid of sound, and instead of being relieved, he will only feel the same heavy dread, knowing you will never come home again.

Alhaitham never said he loved you aloud, and now he never will. Did you know anyways? Without him telling you, did you know that he loved you? Through the way he believed in you, the way he said your name, the times he's helped you, eaten with you, let you sleep on his shoulder and in his bed when you were tired. You knew him best, cherished him more than he could understand. Did you know he loved you like you loved him?

The unspoken questions, the unsaid words. As abrupt your death is, it is permanent, and Alhaitham will have to live life knowing there is an empty space where you once were that will never be filled again.

[stay]

notes: slight description of dead body (you), blood, established relationship

Alhaitham cannot control things that are beyond his abilities to do so. The heavenly principles are far beyond him, beyond even the archons themselves, so it only makes sense that the events that transpire involving them are out of his control.

This upsets him less than most people would think. He's a thinker, calculating each of his steps before implementing them, so it would make sense when he can’t plan out every step of the way. People would be right to an extent, but Alhaitham is logical enough to understand there is no use trying to change something that he cannot. And why waste time being upset over that when he can focus on the things he can control?

Only… he is human, and even he miscalculates. When he thinks of the things within his power to control, he thinks about your happiness, his ability to make you laugh and blush, the ways he can keep you safe. He did not anticipate, as he holds your hands slick from your own blood, that your safety is beyond his control.

"Let me stop the bleeding," Alhaitham tells you, scanning his surroundings for anything he can to help him staunch your wound. You look at him, breathing shallow, his grip not once faltering even as you seem to lose the strength to hold onto him. "Don't fall asleep. Keep looking at me. I'll use my cape for now-"

"Alhaitham."

"I’ll lift your body up," he says, clicking his tongue when his hands slip from under you with the blood. "Tie this around you for now. The Traveler wasn't far from here-"

"Haitham."

"-even Paimon can help carry your legs if you can't walk anymore. I know she can-" Alhaitham stops when you start to push his hands away from your abdomen where the bleeding is most heavy. "What are you doing?"

"Can you," you begin to say, rasping these words as though it is taking every breath to speak, "can you just hold me? Haitham."

Alhaitham shakes his head. "I’ll hold you later.” He tells you, swallowing thickly as you look into his eyes as though searching for something. The next words makes his mouth dry, but he must say it. He must try. “I promise. I have to do this-"

"I can tell I'm not gonna make it."

Alhaitham shifts his legs under him and feels his knees soak in blood.

"Respectfully," Alhaitham says icily, "you may be more well versed with medicine than me, but you aren't at full capacity right now to judge accurately."

You laugh at this. Alhaitham doesn't see how any of this could be funny to you. He doesn't understand you. He never has. But, oh, he wishes he does; wishes he had all the time in the world to get to understand you more.

He feels your hand paw at his wrist, your fingers cold as ice.

You shake your head so slowly, and the smile you give him blooms just as slowly as the Padisarah flower he gave you last week. Your smile is no less beautiful though, no less bright despite it all.

"Maybe." You sigh. "But I’d like for you to hold me anyways. Please?" You say, "I feel so cold."

Alhaitham swallows his protests, because in the end, it is logic that will always win against all else: there is a low percentage that any help will arrive, and Alhaitham cannot do anything to save you.

“Okay,” he says quietly, gathering you up into his arms. Strong as he is, he is so gentle with the way he brings your head to rest against his shoulders, bringing your legs over his lap so he can cradle your body against his to share the warmth. He hears you sigh in relief, though he doubts it’s because you feel any warmer. It is purely comfort that he is providing, until the end.

For the first time since his youth, Alhaitham feels helpless.

“Your eyes are so pretty,” you tell him, words slurring. He lets out a huff of laughter– he feels delirious almost– that is shakier than usual, taking your cold hands and kissing your fingers as though it could bring it some semblance of warmth. “Lots of colors.”

‘Thanks,’ he could say dryly, like he always does. ‘I think I might like yours better,’ he could say; it would get a laugh out of you, and isn’t that what he always wants for you? ‘I love you’ would work too; it always works when it’s you.

Alhaitham opens his mouth to reply, but instead of anything he has planned, he says to you instead with all the desperation in his heart, “Please stay.”

“I love you,” you tell him instead; you always made it sound so easy to say.

In the aftermath, when the dust has settled and those who have not toppled remain, Kaveh finds Alhaitham hours after your death, cradling your body, his face buried into your neck.

[anticipatory]

notes: next two parts have the same back story- you have a leyline curse similar to Dainsleif; some fluff here! established relationship

“How long,” you ask as you lie in bed with him, “do you think I have?”

Alhaitham’s hand stops tracing lines on your back over the curse marks that paint your skin abyss blue. It’s not an unfamiliar question. You ask every once in a while, because you can’t see the progression of the ley line curse on your back, so you rely on him to tell you how far it’s spread.

Based on the growth, which only seems to go faster by the day, Alhaitham calculates you have about another year before it consumes your entire body.

Only six months ago it was invisible to the naked eye. Tonight, the blues spread outward like butterfly wings from the middle of your spine to reach your shoulders. You’ve already stopped wearing sleeveless shirts to cover the marks, but when they go past your neck or onto your hands, it’ll be difficult to justify wearing turtlenecks and gloves all the time while in Sumeru.

“Let’s take a vacation to Shnezhnaya at the end of the year,” Alhaitham says instead. “I have three months worth of sick days and breaks.”

You pause for a moment before letting him guide the conversation away. “Isn’t one of their main cuisines soup dishes? Borscht or something like that.” He hears you say, amused. “You hate soups.”

“It makes it difficult to read,” he explains, tracing lines into your back again. You sigh in contentment as he spreads the expanse of his palm along your shoulders, memorizing the abyssal stars that align along the path he makes. “I can deal with it for a little bit. I can cook something else while we’re there.”

You’re quiet for a little bit, breathing even and steady that Alhaitham thinks you’ve fallen asleep while he was memorizing the dips and curves of your body. You shift when he lifts the blanket up higher over you. He can hear you swallow audibly as though readying yourself to say something, probably to redirect the conversation back to your initial question, he suspects. Before he can say anything, you say with a voice as equally shaky as it is steady, “I’m sorry.”

Alhaitham’s heart stops. “Why are you apologizing?” He asks as calmly as ever when you do not answer, “Because I’ll have to cook on vacation? Not really that an inconvenience, isn’t it? I’m assuming we’ll split the responsibility.”

No answer.

“I wasn’t going to use the vacation dates anyways,” he continues. “And I hardly get sick. Though now that we’re talking about it, three months in one place is a long time. Perhaps we should consider traveling-”

Then he sees you crumble before his eyes, shoulders shaking, face burying into your hands as you start to cry.

Experienced at loving you now, Alhaitham is quick to bring you close. Lucky enough for him, you still melt against him, welcoming his embrace as he coaxes you to turn his way and bury yourself into his nape instead of your hands. He can still hear your apologies mixed between the gasps of air you take, your tears seemingly unending. He holds you steady, voice calm even though his heart is leaping in his chest as it always does when you are upset.

“What’s wrong?” he says, voice hushed. And like every other time you are upset, he asks you, "What can I do to fix it?”

“I don’t-” you say, voice cracking, “I don’t want to leave you.”

“...You don’t know that you will,” Alhaitham says. And it’s true. Neither of you know what will happen for certain. A lone blond traveler with a curse similar to you had passed by and told him of his eventual fate, and you had likened it to your own. But there’s no proof proving the two of you are the same, though it can’t be said that there is no connection between your fates at all.

“How long do you think I have?” You ask again, and he knows he cannot hide it from you any longer.

“A year at most,” he says. Your eyelashes brush by his collarbone when you close your eyes shut. He stops you before your thoughts can even form. “I am not leaving you.” He scoffs and you make a noise of indignation. “Don’t even think about saying something like that.”

“You didn’t let me say anything yet,” he hears you grumble, and he lets a huff of laughter out at the sound of your petulant voice.

“Do you really think I would do something if I didn’t want to?” Alhaitham says dryly, “And what’s the thought process behind me leaving you before you can leave me? I’d love to know.” When you are quiet, he continues softly, “Do you think I am that fragile to fall apart when you are gone?”

“...No,” you say finally. “But I think you underestimate how strongly you feel.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, really,” you say, and your voice is light again, as it always is when you talk about how much you love him. “‘Cause I know better. How much you really feel, even if your face is… like that.”

“Like what,” Alhaitham says bluntly. When you only laugh into his shoulder, he can’t help but smile with you.

If Alhaitham could describe it, it feels like the longest goodbye. ‘Live every moment like it’s your last’ becomes the mantra between the two of you, though neither of you has said those exact words out loud. You love in abundance, laugh in abundance, bicker in full as though you are trying to live out the rest of your lives in one year.

The day Alhaitham takes you to the snowy lands of Snezhnaya is sooner than later, the scarves and gloves worn more days than not. As promised, you two do share the cooking duties for those months, getting cozy by the fireplace and learning how to icefish from the locals. He learns how to barter with the merchants there and commissions the two of you rings to wear. Though he never sees you wear it outside, he can always feel the ring when he holds your gloved hands. He thinks you never take it off.

When Alhaitham returns from Snezhnaya, he comes home alone with nothing but a golden band on his ring finger. The people that know him know better than to ask.

[priorities]

notes: connected background as previous but different ending; fluff! established relationship; happy end

Alhaitham has always been the type to stay in the background. People might be inclined to call him the ‘mastermind’ but that’s giving him too much credit considering how much he wants to remain unknown and unperceived. But he supposes having a hand in toppling the heavenly principles and destroying the castle in the sky and being unrecognized is asking for too much.

“You’re an… interesting guy,” you tell him, a few days after the climactic battle which, fortunately, neither of you had to have a large part in. (Well, there was that key role for you… and another for him, but that is neither here nor there.) You snicker into your hand when he shoots you a strange look.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Alhaitham asks, and before he can continue his retort, you are sitting on his lap even though the two of you are supposed to both be on bedrest, in separate beds. Tighnari is going to kill them if he finds them now that he knows neither of you are going to die any time soon.

“It means you’re an interesting guy,” you say. “The first thing you tell me is that you hate involving yourself into tedious things. And then you get yourself into making strategies to take down literal gods, which sounds pretty tedious to me.”

Your smile is beautific when you look at him, your arms finding their way around his neck and legs over his lap. Instinctively, he puts a hand around your back and holds onto your legs so you don’t fall. He takes a peek at your back and sees that the abyssal blue has not moved a single centimeter beyond your shoulder blades. He knows that was what was calculated, but still, he breathes a sigh of relief upon its confirmation.

“I always make a basic list of pros and cons for a plan,” Alhaitham says. “I just deemed overthrowing gods to be less tedious than the alternative outcome.”

“And what could possibly be more tedious than overthrowing a literal god?” You laugh, looking up at him as though he hung the moon and stars. He thinks if he hung the moon and stars, then you must be the one holding up the sun in the sky.

“Losing you,” Alhaitham says simply. “I’d prefer not to imagine a life without you in it, so I made sure that a life with you would happen.”

Alhaitham knows you are smart enough to know what he was going to say, but you seem surprised anyways, eyes wide and tears welling up at his admission. Perhaps some time ago, Alhaitham would not have believed it would have ever been worth upheaving his life for the sake of another person. But Alhaitham has never been one for halves; the moment he decided to have you in his life, then there was no other option for him.

“I love you,” you say, and he thinks overthrowing gods is an easy choice to make if three words is enough to make him feel this happy, if your arms around him is enough to make him content.

He’s said it before, and he’ll say it again– it’s only a matter of priorities. You just happen to be right on top of that list.

#alhaitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham #i think this may be my first genshin angst fic #like the fact some of these parts dont end happily? crazy for me #OFF BRAND i would say #couldnt resist adding a happy part tho :)

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aestheticsuwu · 3 years ago

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I like You , And You , And Both Of You Like Me ?

High school Au

Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw x Carole Bradshaw x Ron ‘Slider’ Kerner

Kernshaw ??? OT3 (what is their ship name!?!) 🔼

And Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell

(Slider hates Maverick but affectionately )

@bearsinpotatosacks @pollyna (it’s me @littleroosteruwu , this is my main account where I post all my moodboards. )

WARNING : Bad Writing !

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♥️🔺♥️~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

High/3

“Ice . . . C-can one be in love with two people at the same time? “

The question was wrecking his brain for a good while now . Ron has had an epiphany , but it just left him more confused than ever. He thought now was the best time to share his frustration of the situation with his friend, that he trusted who was in some degree more mature and serious than Ron.

Slider didn’t think playing with his lunch would solve his problem but for the first time he wasn’t hungry . If his ma could see him now, he would get an earful.

When Ron realized that Tom hadn’t uttered a single word , he glanced at the blonde and realized he was being to preoccupied to acknowledge his despair .

“Ice? TOM!” Ron had to kick Tom shin to get his attention since busting his eardrum didn’t work. Only then he managed to get his attention even if it came with a glare. That didn’t even scare him .

“What?” Ice hissed , rubbing his shin .

“Can you stop eye-fucking the pipsqueak for 5 seconds to help a brother out.”

“Eye fucking ? He wishes .” Tom scoffs but goes back to the stupid staring contest with a shark-like grin and in response Mitchell, who tilted his head coyly and batting his dumb eyelashes. Ron didn’t know how Ice repress the urge to not vomit .

It might be affecting him differently , Ice might be lying about how much hate he has towards the short stack .

“When I asked for a friend , I didn’t ask to be put through this torture .” Slider complain, looking up at the ceiling to speak to God, Slider shook his head goes back to eating his lunch making accidental eye contact with Carole who was grinning , and her boyfriend ,Nick ,who gave him a cheeky small wave then went back to talking to Mitchell. Even if Pete was not paying attention.

Slider doesn’t blush nor fumbles dropping his spork . He’s just a clutz at times and the heat on his face is the cause of the weather and not being caught talking to himself like a lunatic by a pretty girl and dorky-cute guy.

He glue his eye strictly to his tray until lunch was over. Doesn’t even try to take Toms attention away from Pete . Rons mind swirls back to his question , Can someone be in love with two people?

The bell rang , the sudden sound makes him jump , He and Ice pack up their stuff and throw away their trash . Ice is ahead few feet ahead, As he struggles with his zipper to close his bag ,only managing to get it more stuck and getting his skin pinched , he runs into Ice back who suddenly is stopped by Maverick (Ron wonders if one day his eyes might get stuck with how hard he rolls his eyes by the presence of Mitchell but now is not the time to fuzz about him because Nick and Carole were on Mavericks left and right side.

He just gagged, He sounded like a girl right now.

Showing off their pretty smiles , Slider could smell Carole’s glossy strawberry scented lips and Nick watermelon chapstick from here.Don’t ask how he knows , The pair told him after being caught staring at a particular area ; Their lips .

And that one time in the boy locker room , Goose chapstick fell without him noticing . Slider kept it , not like a pervert way , but just out of curiosity . He also has Carole’s floral scarf that she told him to hold on to and never asked for it back.

Again not in a perverted way . He swears on his ma . He carries the chapstick in his pocket and scarf wrapped around his wrist . Just in case they ever need it . And not because he feels closer to them .

“We are having a party for Maverick’s birthday and we want to extend the invitation personally .” Goose voice cracked halfway , what can you do it’s puberty , but spoke with the same glee from the beginning .

“I’d imagine you wouldn’t want us to go anywhere near your party .” If Ice was not a master of blank expression , he’d have confusion written all over his face. Slider is guessing since he is confused as well. They were far from enemies . They actually got along well with Nick and Carole , Ice had soft spot for Carole , at one point Slider thought he had feelings for the girl, it didn’t sit well with him. Because she was in a relationship already !

The problem is and always will be Pete Mitchell . He makes his friend act all …. Not like himself to put it the least .

“I don’t” Maverick mumbles like the little shit he is . Carole elbows Maverick not so discretely, Slider grins at her direction “Ow!” Maverick yelps dramatically .

“I would love for you and Slider to be at Goose house ,that he graciously offered to host with the graciousness of his heart ,and Carole ,beautiful ,Carole who planned the whole thing to be the best party . “ Maverick read the written speech off of his palm . Carole whispers into Mav’s ear ‘You were suppose to memorize it’.

Goose looked second away from face palming , “You want to RSVP right now. Just to get it out of the way.”

“We are going to be late for class “ Ice makes a move to leave but Nick kept talking making him pause. Like those salesman that is trying to convince you to buy a car, except Goose isn’t fat or ugly —- He meant he’s not a salesman !

“Let’s make this quick then , will we expecting you the grand extravaganza celebration of the day that the one and only Pete Mitchell was born .” Goose did wild motions in enthusiasm with his skinny arms .

“Yeah ….No .” Ice said dryly , looking to the side like the idea of going to the party seemed a bore . Slider actually thought he was going to say yes , since the guy can’t go a minute without being near Maverick .

Mavericks shoulders drop and his grin tugged down into a frown looking like a spoiled little girl that just heard no to her demanding wishes. For a second, Tom looks like he regretted saying no when he casted his eyes back at the group. Maverick is quick to hide his expression and scoff bitterly“Good , I won’t have to be worried about your presence ruining my day.”

Carole shared a panic look with Goose . Maverick and Ice had a mini stare off and then went their separate ways when the second bell rang. He made a move to follow his now annoyed friend when a hand pulled at the strap of his backpack .

Turning around Goose pulls him closer by the front of his shirt , surprising him how easily he let himself be moved. Slider palms began to sweat , He discreetly wiped his hands dry.

Slider wasn’t usually like this . He is a confident suave dude that can charm his way with any girl but suddenly he is anywhere near these two and he becomes a stuttering mess , chokes on his tongue and stutter his words .

“Those two idiots .” Carole words were full of warmth and no trace of malice , shaking her head her blonde curls move gracefully .

“If we have any luck , those two will get it on in the party. Fingers crossed for somewhere with a locked door.” Goose jokes making himself laugh.

Carole crosses her fingers on both hands.

“If they don’t , we just dangle a piece of yarn and Maverick will follow and lock his ass in said room.”

“Hey ! What about Iceman.” Goose smacked Slider shoulder, Goose will not let his friend be talked that way.

“That Tomcat will follow the little rat .” Slider rolled his eyes and laughs, Ice and Mavericks game of Cat and Mouse was getting pretty old , if it takes three to get those two to finally realize they feel anything but hate , then so be it.

Carole snorts and Goose is doing a terrible job trying to hide his laughter.

Slider might sound dumb ass fuck but he felt like he was handed a trophy for making them laugh.

“How about we ditch class .” Carole blue eyes gleam with mischief . Her and Maverick were a pair of rebelliousness.

“We already did missed half of the class already .” Goose added trying to help Carole to coax him into agreeing . Which was a surprise since Nick usually was rule follower between the three.

“What do you say , Ronnie . You want to treat us to ice-cream .” Carole and Goose lean against each other and smile broadly . Kind of like what Maverick was doing, the tilt and batting lashes , only difference , it made him swoon and have butterflies like a girl.

“Yes!” Ron cringes internally at how fast and loud he responded. How much is he going to embarras himself today .Carole and Goose looked pretty happy with his reaction or maybe that’s his brain playing tricks on him .

“I want 3 scoops big guy .” Nick raises 3 fingers and wraps his arm around Sliders bulging bicep, Carole does the same to his left side, “Me too and sprinkles .”

Both arms adorned with Carole and Goose , Slider felt like he just won the lottery. He was smiling ear to ear like a lunatic but it’s not everyday he is graced to have Carole and Goose latched on to him.

Is it a date? No it couldn’t be. Or could it ? No way , Goose and Carole had eyes only for each other . Then why is Goose free hand on his chest and Carole is now holding his wrist , her small fingers almost touching his ?. Man, he just reading into things, he’s confused with his mix feelings because he can’t really be crushing on the couple .

Can he really be in love with both of them at the same time ?

He really has to go back on that question with Tom or he might be in deep trouble . But for now , he is buying his babygirl’s ice-cream , 3 scoops with sprinkles to be precise.

#goose x carole x slider #goose x carole #icemav #nick bradshaw #ron kerner #carole bradshaw #tom kazansky #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #nick goose bradshaw #ron slider kerner #high school au #au moodboard #top gun au #ot3 #kershaw ot3

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cherryfinolahobbes · 3 years ago

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Prompt: ❝ oh, i am one of the monsters. but that just means i can keep all the other monsters from ever hurting you again. ❞

A/N: I love working on prompts and little mini scenes like this. This one is highly inspired by @doctorottooctavius and my RPs. I saw this prompt and it just screamed villain!Otto. I had to find a reason to use it. Enjoy!!

Warnings: OT3, M/M/F (honestly, very very hinted at, nothing overt, but I really want to write more with these three)

Credit: Cherry belongs to me. All characters belong to their corporate entities. This is just fangirl fun! Otto is heavily based off @doctorottooctavius interpretation of him

Tagging: @silvergryphon @diaryofawriter @kakashibabe02 @empressofthelibrary (if you would like to be tagged in my work, please let me know)

It was hell around them as the trio exploded from the rubble. Wong had done his best to keep the three protected from the crushing weight of the collapsed building but had a broken wrist for his troubles. He had at least managed a shield of some sort to give them a small capsule of space to work with. It was Octavius and his arms that saved them, digging and carrying them out to the surface. The air was cool and sweet as they clambered out of the rubble. Otto had them both held close to him as the actuators finally pulled them out and set Cherry and Wong on their feet. Otto emerged last once his companions were safe. Soot smudged the air from the explosion.

His actuators rattled like snakes, hissing and snapping at the air and Octavius's face was dark with intent. They tried to hurt them. His family. His new family. It would not stand. He would not tolerate it. Old black feelings pumped into his veins like a poison as he glared at the sky. He thought he had seen something familiar in the sky. Too small to be an aircraft…

"I will kill them," Octavius's voice came out low and guttural the actuators raised him above the smoldering rubble. "I will peel the flesh from their bones, I will make them suffer...I will /kill/ them,"

Wong stared in shock at the other man he'd gotten to know over the past several months. Someone he'd been slowly been moving past friendship with and moving into something more intimate. The Sorcerer was very aware of Otto's checkered past, but had never heard anything so malicious fall from the other's lips.

“You are not one of those monsters,” the small woman had cried out at the scientist’s rage. She stepped away from the wounded Wong. her brows knotted above her large blue eyes. Octavius turned to look at her as he hung there in the air like some old god on his metal arms.

Her fair skin was streaked with blood and concrete dust, a particularly nasty gash on her brow that left her dark hair matted and sticky to her head. It seemed sacrilegious to see her amongst the destruction. A broken flower in hell's circle.

❝ oh, i am one of the monsters. but that just means i can keep all the other monsters from ever hurting you again. ❞

He had lowered himself down just enough so he could cup her cheek in his dirty hand. Cherry pressed into his touch; a tear cutting a clean path of fair skin down her face. The four voices in his head were clamoring for blood. Beside Otto himself, they were most protective of the soft, small Cherry that had befriend them without question or fear.

Hurry, hurry or we will lose the trail, Father. Snap their bone and stab them through. Hurt for hurt. Hurry. Hurry. We must hurry, Father.

Otto was granted a vision from Flo, the sky with a filter for specialized smoke trails was bright behind his eyes, fed into his brain by his connection with the AIs. The trail from whatever craft he saw was quickly being smudge by the ever changing wind currents. He needed to go.

"Otto," Wong's voice caught him as the Sorcerer stepped forward, cradling his maimed arm close to his chest. "You come back to us," Wong was a warrior himself and he longed for his own pound of flesh for this injury to their family and his person, but a sorcerer with a maimed arm was a liability. There was also the protecting the most precious thing either man had and that was Cherry. "Do you hear me?" His voice was both an order and plea. The bond between the three strong and felt intensely in the aftermath.

The doctor inclined his head in quiet agreement, body hanging between his metal implements, sharing a last gaze at what he valued and craved most in this world. His past tragedies taught him that lesson. It wasn't his machine that regretted losing most. It was the death of his beloved Rosie. Octavius fully believed she lead him to this second chance, to these two souls that accepted him and helped him heal. He would not lose them as he lost her.

Never again.

Without a word, the actuators Octavius surged forward, cement crunching under claws as he climbed the side of a building and disappeared between skyscrapers.

Wong gestured shakily as the sound of sirens grew louder, opening a portal into the Sanctum Sanctorum. "Come on, Cherry. We need to go,"

The young woman stayed glued to her spot, looking at the space Octavius had been before finally shaking herself free. She padded over to Wong and he heard her murmur to no one as she slipped through the gateway.

"He isn't a monster,"

#fanfic #mcu #mcu oc #otto octavius #doc ock #doctor octopus #doctor otto octavius #spider man #wong #sorcerer supreme #dr strange #marvel #cherry masterlist

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faorism · 3 years ago

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with a love so deep and warm and true [masterpost]

a 50k parker-centric character study, featuring ot3 and all of the significant friendships in parkers life. most fanart is sfw and can be shared without connection to the fic itself other than my mention of it in the body of the post. please note that while this is not a dark fic, this fiction is an extended depiction of a character reclaiming intimacy, healing their relationship to their body, and establishing a sense of safety after experiencing childhood sexual abuse at the hands of a foster parent. as such, it includes many major themes that many readers may want to skip. full list of tags and content warnings are included on ao3, but some major ones are csa, food issues, light d/s, canon character death, references to alcoholism and sobriety, homelessness, and ableism. please take care if you choose to read.

read on ao3: Parker chose young to be really good at being bad—the very best—and since has made a lot of other choices of similar magnitude, like falling in love and in friendship, like seeking help and support, like deciding to not be alone anymore, and (perhaps the hardest of all) finding shelter for a wounded heart. || Eleven times Parker shares a bed and heals along the way.

tumblr promo post, with parker fanart in the header.

i'll be your shelter by taylor dane [lyrics used for title]: version one and version two, both are highly recommended.

parker/hardison [fanart]: Shortly after Dubai, when Hardison hums to her to keep her calm and proves he's got her back and won't let her fall, it starts to click for Parker. Slowly. Surely. And maybe it started before that, too. But…Parker looks at Hardison after Dubai and thinks, yes. She kisses Hardison and thinks, can't wait for the next one. She gets sleepy after playing video games with him and thinks, maybe tonight I stay.

parker/hardison/eliot [fanart]: They are in sync, coordinated through their familiarity built over the past four and a half years. It's why they came back after every walk away, and it's why they own a brewpub together now, and it's what saved them in DC, and it's why when they do finally do it for the first time, Parker knows it's gonna be so good; it's a familiarity held within this potential thing between them for as long as they've kept it, even before Parker and Hardison named for each other Eliot's place in their hearts.

parker & peggy [fanart]: Friendship is a kind of work. It’s a kind of opening up. It’s a kind of something. Something stable. Something important. Parker wants Peggy to know Parker as herself. It’s not a question of if that’s gonna happen—Parker realizes just before she closes her eyes to sleep—but when.

bunny | parker/eliot | parker & bre | parker & hurley [four fanart grouping]: She chose to be good as a bad guy, and she's long chosen to be herself, and she's chosen to fall in love and in friendship, and she's chosen to not be alone in leadership. And that background has given her the ability to become an awesome boss and, she thinks, a good partner and a fun friend.

parker | parker & sophie | parker & nate [three fanart grouping]: She sinks into the vanity chair, ignoring how unnerved she feels at the faint line of her reflection in the mirror. Parker is used to the slivers of herself caught in lowlight, obviously, but there's a humility in how she's hunched that makes even this—a contour in her periphery—seem like a stranger rather than a friend.

#with a love so deep and warm and true #of hearth and home and other promises #faorism work

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schrijverr · 4 years ago

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Hold Me Together

Chapter 2 out of 4

Eliot gets hurt on a job and then sick. Hardison and Parker waste no time to jump in to care for him and it becomes harder and harder to say no to their care when it’s just so nice. After he has a nightmare, they’re there for him and feelings come to light.

AKA Eliot has a terrible time physically (and partly emotionally), but gets lots of cuddles and two partners in the end.

On AO3.

Ships: Thiefsome OT3

Warnings: Eliot's low self-esteem and the flu

~~~~~~~~~~

Pull Me Close

When he awoke the next morning, he was pinned down by two warm weights at his sides. He kept his breathing steady, as if he were still asleep while he assessed the situation, before last night came back to him.

He felt a heat rising to his cheeks as he cracked open one eye to look, the other having swollen shut throughout the night. It was indeed Parker and Hardison who were pinning him down and he knew he couldn't sneak out without them noticing right now. He was trapped and sooner or later he would have to face them again.

Quietly he sorted through everything, hoping to come up with a plan to make this less awkward for everyone involved.

If he moved now, they would wake up and know he was awake and he would have to talk to them, but if he pretended to still be asleep maybe they’d leave him alone, however that would be unrealistic, because he would never sleep through them waking up and it was creepy to pretend to sleep just so that you could enjoy laying in the warmth of your two coworkers that you were in love with without having to deal with the mess that made.

But, fuck, he was comfortable. More comfortable that he’d been in years. The pain had dulled a lot and he was warm and cozy under the sheets with Parker and Hardison there. Hardison snored softly and Parker’s fingers skittered over him in her sleep, almost miming a pickpocket.

It was something nice that he would never have, never deserve. And while it was selfish, he didn’t want it to end just yet.

Still, he had no say in that and all his thinking was for naught when his door slammed open and the familiar silhouette of Nate appeared, saying: “Ah, there you all are. It’s eight, we want to leave as soon as we can.”

“We’ll be there,” Parker chirped, having gone from fast asleep to awake in a moment. Nate nodded at her, before leaving.

On Eliot’s other side, Hardison was taking his time, burrowing his face into Eliot’s uninjured shoulder as he whined softly. Eliot couldn't blame him, they’d gotten to the hotel around three in the morning, so they’d had less than five hours if it was eight now. Still, the hot breaths on his neck were not good if he wanted to keep this platonic, so he poked Hardison and grouched: “Get off me, man.”

“Wha?” Hardison looked up, smiling in a way that made Eliot’s heart twist when he saw it, before he said: “Hey, it’s you. How you doin’?”

“I’m fine, slight headache and sore muscles,,” Eliot told him honestly. “I’ll be up and running in no time, now just get off me so that I can get up.”

“Your eye is bruised,” Hardison frowned, noticing the black eye that had been a light bruise a few hours ago.

“Yeah,” Parker agreed poking it and making him wince.

“Don’t touch it, Parker,” he said, leading her hand away from his face. “It’s fine, just a bruise that I forgot to cool, it’s nothing. Now stop pinning me to the mattress.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, man,” Hardison got off and Eliot could see the other man was just wearing sweatpants nothing else and his face got a bit hot again, so he looked to the other side, only to discover that Parker was in nothing but a shirt and underwear. God either loved or hated him very much.

So, instead of focusing on them, he focused on getting to a sitting position, pleased to find he could do that on his own.

He was still in Hardison’s hoodie and his own sweatpants and he really didn’t want to change. This was comfortable and warm and it would be easy to take off at home when he was by himself again, which twisted something cold in his chest. Besides he could always wash it and give it back later, an excuse to keep it for a little while. He asked: “Hey, man, can I keep this for today?” as he rubbed the sleeves between his fingers, trying not to think how sad it was that he wanted to keep it, just craving a bit of comfort for today. He still felt groggy and generally uncomfortable.

Hardison looked over, a strange look coming over his face when he saw how the sleeves fell over Eliot’s hands, before he nodded: “Yeah, course.”

“Cool, thanks.” Now this was just getting awkward, so Eliot swung his legs over the side of the bed where Parker had been, since she had disappeared a few seconds ago.

Before he could stand up, however, Hardison was crawling after him, nearly toppling off the bed, before he said: “Wait! Stop. You can’t just do that, Eliot. Your ankle is hurt.”

“Me and my ankle will live,” Eliot informed him. It would be slightly painful to walk, but not impossible.

“Just let me help for a moment,” Hardison asked, quickly pulling on a shirt he found on the floor, before offering a hand.

Eliot rolled his eyes at the fussing, but he was also selfish enough to allow it. It was going to be over soon anyway, why not enjoy a bit of contact? Hardison wanted to help, so it wasn’t taking advantage of it, and not putting any weight on his ankle would be a smart move.

So, they made their way downstairs, with Hardison carrying Eliot’s bag and laying his hand on Eliot’s waist again, while Parker met them at the elevator, her and Hardison’s stuff in hand almost as if they’d planned this.

He tried not to think about it as Hardison led him to the table where Sophie was sitting, before telling him he was to stay there and that Hardison would get him a plate from the buffet. Once he was gone, Sophie leaned over and asked: “So, good night?”

“Was fine,” he replied, eyeing her suspiciously after she’d grinned at him and flicked her eyes towards Hardison and Parker. Had she figured out his feelings? Was he being obvious? Did she think something happened between them? Trying to play it cool, he added: “Got more than 90 minutes of sleep for a change.”

“Oh, your productivity out the door like that,” she teased, luckily dropping any suggestiveness and prying.

“I was productive in healing my body,” he shot back, hiding his relief.

Sophie frowned at his face, cocking her head. “I can see that,” she said sarcastically.

“Come on, Soph, this is not my first black eye,” Eliot said. “My stitches are clean, my ankle is wrapped, my shoulder is back. I’m as good as I can be, little swollen eye is nothing. Could be much worse. Has been in the past.”

At that point Hardison came back with a plate of stuff Eliot actually liked, which touched him more than he’d liked to admit. He put the plate down in front of Eliot, inserting himself into the conversation: “Is he trying to tell you he’s fine by telling you everything that’s wrong with him and reminding you that he’s had a shit life?”

“Yes, it’s not really working,” Sophie said, before Eliot could protest that it was useful, because he was reminding them this was his job and it was okay, that he was okay and taken care off, because all his wounds were clean and it wasn’t that bad.

Instead of saying all that, however, he shoved a fork of food into his mouth and glowered: “See if I ever tell you about my injuries again.”

“He’s grouching, that means he’s okay, right?” Parker asked, poking his cheek again.

“Stop that, Parker,” he snapped, not really mad at her, because he was weak and would do anything to make her happy.

“Jup, he’s okay,” Hardison said, smiling and Eliot wanted to smack him, but he was right and cute, so he couldn’t. “And he’s telling us about his injuries next time.”

“Or we’ll force him!” Parker added enthusiastically.

“Was it that bad?” Sophie was immediately worried again and Eliot wanted them to stop fussing, because it felt weird and twisty in his chest when they did and he hated that he didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

“No, it wasn’t, I’m-” he got cut off by Hardison, who said: “He was kinda out of it for a bit, but nothing we couldn't handle. He was a bit grumpy about the whole thing, but he’s always like that. We just need to keep his leg up and as cool as we can during the drive and he should be set. Probably sleep a bit on the way too.”

“And how am going to sleep in that crappy van?” Eliot grouched. He wanted to protest it all, but no one was listening to him, so protesting seemed a bit redundant. Besides it was hard to be mad at them about it when it seemed like they all cared about his well being and the twisty feeling in his chest was only getting twistier.

“Excuse you, Lucille is a beautiful lady and you will treat her as such,” Hardison began. “And second off, you can sleep in the backseat. There’s a storage area between the front seats that you can rest you foot on. Promise me and Parker won’t bother your little nap.”

“I’m not sleeping in the van,” not between the two of you, he added mentally. “And why don’t I get to sit up front? Don’t I have injured rights?”

“No, there’s more space on the backseat and Nate’s driving and you’re horrible when Nate drives,” Hardison explained.

“I’m not horrible when Nate drives, he just sucks at driving,” Eliot frowned.

“He turned on his blinker once and you got annoyed, because it was too early, Eliot,” Sophie pointed out.

“Yeah and what about that time you said he switched lanes wrong,” Parker said. “You were very scary. You’re not even that scary when I drive and everyone hates my driving.”

“I can’t help that Nate can’t drive,” Eliot crossed his arms.

From behind him Nate’s voice said: “I’m glad you think so highly off my driving skills. You’re in the back seat, I don’t need you to grouch at me for hours about holding the steering wheel wrong or whatever you come up with.”

Eliot had registered him coming up behind him, but he didn’t care that Nate heard. He wanted to be mad about being injured and unable to fight, but he wasn’t able to, so he was going to be mad about something else and right now that was Nate’s driving and being in the back seat. He frowned (frowned, not pouted, Hardison): “I’m still gonna yell at you from the back.”

“Sure you are,” Nate said as he started to walk off with a cup of coffee. “Our mark has officially been taken into custody and the victims have been repaid. I want to be home before dinner, so buckle up everyone.”

They grumbled and groaned about it being too earlier to pack up, but no one stayed seated. This time it was Parker steadying him while Hardison carried all their stuff to Lucille.

Getting back into Lucille was another problem and Eliot was glad Nate and Sophie had already gotten into the van, because this was embarrassing enough as it was without onlookers.

Hardison had to support him fully on the left side, where his injured ankle was, but not his ex-dislocated shoulder, while Parker physically put his uninjured foot into Lucille. Then Hardison hoisted them into the van with Parker making sure they wouldn't fall back, until they were in and they could shuffle forwards and get seated.

Eliot was determined not to be visibly injured, so he crossed his arms and planted his feet on the ground, before staring ahead, vowing to keep his one, not swollen eye firmly open for the entire ride.

His plan was ruined by Parker the moment she settled on his other side, because she leaned forwards and put his leg on the little platform and right as he was about to protest, she put a bag of ice cubes on his foot and that actually felt really nice, so he cut himself off with a soft, grumpy thanks. She smiled: “Of course,” before handing him another ice cube bag for his eye.

Still, he could be awake and grumpy about everything, even when they were treating him like he was terribly injured, which he could understand after the fucking spectacle he made of himself last night. So he just told Nate that he shouldn’t pull up so fast, which earned him a glare from the man through the rear view mirror that he ignored.

Parker was on his right fiddling with one of her locks while she gazed out the window. Hardison was on his left and tapping away on a screen that was moving too fast for Eliot to follow. It was peaceful and they talked with each other softly, though Eliot didn’t have the energy to add his own commentary.

He felt bad about being in the middle of them again when they had already missed each other last night because of him. They hadn’t even seen each other during the job either with Hardison on tech support and Parker running between stealing and grifting.

He didn’t know how to bring it up that he wouldn’t mind switching with Hardison so that they could be next to each other and he could lean against the window. It wasn’t that he was tired and wanted to lean against something, he just wanted to have a clear line of sight, that was all.

The ice was slowly melting, until he had two bags of water and they were nearing their first stop, where Nate pulled over. Sophie would be driving the next stretch, because car-safety and all that jazz.

“Want me to get you anything?” Hardison asked when it became clear that Eliot wasn’t leaving the van.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said. “Maybe switch places with me? I can’t lean against anything in the middle.” He didn’t add: ‘and I’m sure you missed Parker,’ partially because he knew it would have come out sounding bitter and that was something he did not need to deal with, both mentally and in real life.

Hardison raised a brow. “And where are you going to rest you foot if you’re on the left? And I know you ain’t going to be on the right, I heard your shoulder that shit was just wrong.”

“I’ll be fine without resting my foot anywhere. Dammit, Hardison,” Eliot frowned, not sure why the hacker was even fighting him on this.

“You can lean against me, promise I won’t draw on your face,” Hardison said, before walking away so that Eliot couldn't reply. Parker skipped up next to him and asked about the drawing on the face with a bit too much glee.

The words caught up with Eliot and he could feel his cheeks getting warmer, which he pushed down immediately. Hardison had offered it so casually, like it wasn’t weird at all that he was turning down the offer of sitting next to his girlfriend so that Eliot could lean against his shoulder. But maybe Eliot was seeing things where there was nothing, he was injured (minor injuries but that didn’t seem to stop Hardison from worrying), so it could just be a normal offer. It wasn’t as if Hardison hadn’t fallen asleep on his shoulder from time to time.

It wouldn't be weird, he didn’t need to make it weird. Besides, he didn’t needto take him up on the offer and lean on Hardison. He could just not sleep and keep on looking forwards. Yeah, that was a plan.

Soon the others came back, piling into the van once more, with Parker shoving two cold things in his hands as she proudly proclaimed: “They sold ice packs!”

“Oh, thank you, Parker,” he smiled at her, starting to lean forward with a grunt only to find one of the ice packs stolen and being placed on his foot again. He nodded his thanks to Parker, before settling down against the backseat and putting the other ice pack against his eye.

The swelling had gone down already with the ice cubes from the hotel, but the fresh coolness of the ice pack was still welcome.

On his other side, Hardison said: “I managed to convince her not to take the markers, so you’re welcome.”

“And who gave her the idea in the first place,” Eliot shot back, getting an idea. “I’m not risking it by sleeping. You never know if she doesn’t have them anyway.”

“Come on, man, you need the rest,” Hardison tried to argue.

“I already had more sleep than normal, Hardison. I’m fine,” Eliot replied. He did feel tired, but he wasn’t admitting that.

“But I promise I don’t have the markers,” Parker inserted herself into the conversation as well, showing that she only had some hundred dollar bills in her pockets along with some earrings that weren’t hers and a small stuffed mushroom.

“You literally just asked me if we could switch places so that you could lean against something,” it was clear that Hardison wasn’t believing him.

“I thought that you would want to sit next to Parker, sorry for trying to be nice,” he huffed out the truth, hoping it would get them off his back. They stayed silent, so he called out to the front: “Soph, can we please listen to something else, I am so not in the mood for opera.”

Sophie did change the station to something more generic with less high notes that made his head hurt, even if she grumbled: “Someone’s in a mood today.”

He snapped back: “You try getting beat up on a regular basis, see if you’re still sunshine and rainbows after.”

“No, for real, man, you’re never this grouchy,” Hardison frowned, trying to subtly check him over and failing on the subtle part. “Is something wrong? What’s going on?”

“Is there an alien in your stomach controlling you?” Parker asked with wide eyes.

“Dammit, Hardison, I told you not to watch those stupid alien movies with her,” Eliot focused on something other than the uncomfortable questions Hardison had asked.

Because yeah, he was more grouchy than normal and something was wrong, but the something that was wrong was the fact that he had discovered that he was in love with his two best friends and now he was stuck on an eight hour car ride between them after they had seen him vulnerable and he feared that they would catch on or that he was coming between them and it was all the confusing twisty things he had tried to avoid and didn’t want to talk about.

Grouchy didn’t entirely cover that.

“Uhm, excuse you, alien movies are a staple of American culture that everyone should get to experience, so don’t even start there, also you didn’t answer my question,” Hardison told him, leveling him with a stare.

Eliot now had a choice. And it was easily made. “I have a huge headache, Hardison,” he sighed a partially lie, before going on with a whole lie, “I have a headache, I barely slept on the last con and you’re all very loud. I don’t need anyone’s fussing, I just wanted to sit quietly and everyone is making it really hard.”

“Thank you for being honest with us,” Parker said and it was obviously something she’d learned from Sophie and Eliot felt guilty about pretending to be open about his injuries a bit, just so they would get off his back.

“Yeah, man, we’ll be quiet,” Hardison added.

Hardison turned back to his screen and Parker to her locks and Eliot tried not to miss their soft chatter as he closed his eyes and tried to find his zen place.

After how much he’d insisted he wasn’t going to sleep, he was slightly embarrassed that the next moment he was waking up, having been asleep for some time. He could tell Sophie was behind the wheel, which meant he either hadn’t been asleep for long or they were on the last two hour stretch home.

He now registered that the ice pack on his foot had was cool again and the one on his cheek was held in place by someone – Parker his mind supplied – but he was leaning against something, someone, else with his other cheek. He was kind of groggy and he struggled to wake up, blinking bleary until he heard Hardison’s voice near his left ear: “Hey there, finally joining us in the land of the living again, huh?”

“Wha?” he was still feeling disorientated, the headache was much worse than when he’d drifted off and his muscles were sore, he was also cold and his throat ached slightly in the background. He levered himself into a sitting position and tried to take a deep breath to wake up, only to find his nose stuffy.

No.

Fuck no.

It all clicked into place after a second. The confusion, the chills, the headache, sore muscles and throat and then also a stuffy nose. He was sick. He had managed to get himself sick.

“You okay?” Hardison asked, obviously concerned and Eliot felt guilty about having been asleep on his shoulder after everything, as well as guilt because that couldn't have been comfortable and Eliot just cozied up to him again, even when he knew Hardison had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who had been holding his ice pack for him.

He owed those two so much in just the last 24 hours alone, not to mention the past few years. That was something he couldn't pay back and he had treated them like shit and had caught weird feelings for them and gotten in between them.

Tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away as a hole started to eat away at his heart and he couldn't fully push that down, even if he tried.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that his too emotional state of being was due to his lower defenses since he was sick. He felt too exhausted to fight it, but did it after a moment anyway, replacing it with enough grumpiness to be believable.

“‘m fine,” he mumbled, trying not to make his sore throat obvious as he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake up. They didn’t need to know he was sick, they would only worry. He would disappear when they got home and come back when he felt better again. “Are we near the brewpub yet?”

“Yes, you slept for so long, it was a bit boring, but your nose whistled and that was funny,” Parker informed him. “Hardison was trapped under you the entire ride.”

Now at that he did blush and avoided Hardison’s eyes as he softly apologized.

“No worries, man, you obviously needed the sleep,” Hardison assured him. “And I wasn’t trapped under you the entire ride, we managed to lever you over to Parker’s shoulder when Nate took Sophie’s place again. We only switched you back last stop.”

“I didn’t wake up?” Eliot asked, frowning, he must be sicker than he thought.

“Slept like a baby,” Hardison said. “Are you sure you’re okay, man?”

“‘m fine, I already said that,” Eliot grouched, trying not to let show how much he wanted to not be okay and wrapped up in a hug or a blanket or something. He was the tough one, he couldn't be weak, because his job was being strong. Just hold on, Eliot, he thought, then you can crash on your bed.

“Your voice sounds off,” Parker observed, “more gravelly than normal. And you didn’t wake up in a second and your eyes are still drooping.” She cocked her head, before her eyes got a knowing gleam in them. He was made. “Do you feel hungry? Or are you nauseous? Are you in any discomfort? Cold, perhaps? How’s your headache?”

“Hey, mama, why don’t you give the man a rest,” Hardison came to his defense. “You’re kinda overwhelming him with questions right now.”

“When has Eliot ever been overwhelmed?” Parker shot back and Eliot cursed her observation skills, there went his plan to hide until he was better.

“What are you getting at, baby?” Hardison frowned.

“She figured out I’m sick,” Eliot snapped, before Parker could tell him. “And I’m right here. No need to talk about me like I’m not.”

“You’re sick?” Nate asked. “How long has that been going on?”

“I only noticed it when I woke up,” Eliot replied, remembering one of Nate’s rules. “I would have told you if I was sick on the con. I wouldn’t have put you all in danger over me being sick, you know that.”

“Is his wound infected?” Sophie asked and before Eliot could tell them that no it was not, because he would have noticed that, two small calloused thief hands crawled under his shirt, feeling at the bandage, before lifting his shirt to inspect it. Parker reported: “The wound is fine.”

“Do we have supplies for soup at home?” Hardison asked.

“I think we have a blanket for him somewhere under the chairs,” Nate said.

“Oehh, we can build a pillow fort!” Parker exclaimed.

“I’m right here,” Eliot grouched, he didn’t need their care. Craved it? Yes. But he didn’t need it and he wasn’t going to let them. He was supposed to be invincible and while they were long past believing that, he couldn't let them see how pathetic he was. “And I don’t need a damn blanket or soup, or a pillow fort. I’m just a bit under the weather and I am fine on my own. I’ll take a few days and then I’m good to go, don’t be so dramatic.”

Hardison looked him over, then looked at Parker and raised his brow in an ‘are you hearing this guy’ manner, before he said: “I can be as dramatic as I want to be.”

“What? No,” Eliot said. “I’m the sick one and if I say I’m fine and you gotta stop being dramatic about it, then you stop being dramatic about it. Simple.”

“Sure, simple,” Hardison said, pulling out the blanket and teamworking with Parker to get it around his shoulders. “Except I worried my ass off last night because you could hardly walk, or even stand on your own and you dazed out constantly while trying to tell us you were fine. So when it comes to you telling me you’re fine, I’m not really trusting you, alright.”

The blanket around his shoulders was warm and he wanted to burrow into it, but he wasn’t giving in so easily.

“Dammit, Hardison, I said I was fine. I don’t need any of your fussing near me, alright. I’m not incompetent. It’s not even that bad,” he yelled, snapping because he had no energy to do anything but snapping or giving in at this point. And giving in wasn’t an option.

“I know you’re not incompetent, Eliot, we all do,” Hardison said, Parker agreeing: “Of course we don’t think that, you’re skilled.”

He crossed his arms and looked away. He knew they didn’t think he was incompetent, they wouldn't trust him with their lives otherwise, but that could change at any moment. He’d seen it happen before, so he wasn’t risking it.

“And I’m also hearing a lot about you don’t needing anything, which I also believe,” Hardison went on in a tone that had Eliot’s guard up. “But I ain’t hearing nothing about wanting. And we care about you, man, how many times have I got to tell you that? We want to take care of you, even if we know you don’t need it.”

“I don’t need anyone playing nurse,” he protested again. It was weak and he knew it, but he had to protest, he had to warn them without explicitly warning them, because that would also be a weakness and- His head hurt and the thoughts in it were swirling and confusing him.

“That kinda looks like a lie to me,” Hardison said, looking him over with concern in his eyes. “And you’re again talking about needing not wanting.”

“Are you okay, Eliot?” Parker was also not happy with his face it seemed, but he knew he must look like a confused, sweating, hurt mess, with a swollen eye and a shivering frame. He had even pitifully burrowed into the blanket without even realizing.

“I’m- I’m- I don’t know,” he finally admitted. He was just tired and upset about feelings he couldn't place. He wanted to crash someplace warm and not have to think for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said again, voice unsteady. “It’s- I- I can never want something. ‘s a weakness.”

If he was paying attention, he could have pinpointed when Hardison’s heart broke by the look in his eye, but instead he was distracted by Parker pulling him into a hug as she said: “I get it, but Hardison taught me how to feel stuff and you taught me how to like stuff, we can teach you how to be taken care of.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Sophie’s voice was slightly fake in her enthusiasm as it came from the front seat, cutting off any half-formed protests from Eliot.

“Me too,” Hardison quickly agreed, throwing an arm over Eliot’s shoulder and pulling him close, until he was leaning against his chest, Parker on his lap like a pretzel. “We’ll teach you how to be taken care off and then you can work on your verbal explanations by teaching me how to make soup for you from the comforts of a bed.”

“Wha- I don’t-” Eliot’s mind was too confused to properly fight the argument, he somewhere knew needed to be fought, while also not wanting to fight it.

“It’s been a lot of don’ts from you, just accept it, alright?” Hardison said, pulling him closer and he wanted to protest again. Really, he did. But he was also very comfortable and warm and he was tired and they’d be home soon. He could fight them again when they were home.

In the end, it turned out that fighting them when they got home was a terrible plan. The sleeping had left him groggy and Nate and Sophie had already disappeared, leaving him with just Hardison’s comforting chattering and Parker’s puppy eyes. He couldn't drive home in this state and both had refused to drive him and he already had a room above the brewpub, so he could go home tomorrow if he felt like it and-

And he gave in, the great Eliot Spencer, defeated by cute little eyes and too many arguments about a comfortable bed nearby. What had his life come to?

His life had come to waking up in a soft bed, that Hardison had managed to get exactly right before he’d even arrived in Portland all those months ago, with a sore throat and muscles, while being nicely warm on his right side where a bony elbow was wedged into his side, while on the other side there was a consistent, comfortingly familiar tapping noise.

He blinked blearily and groaned when a wave of nausea rolled over him, before a coughing fit overtook him. Parker’s warmth disappeared, but Hardison’s voice came: “Hey, hey, you’re alright, you’re alright.”

A glass of water appeared and he took it gratefully, sipping it slowly and letting it sooth his throat and wash away the itch at the back of it.

“You’ve been clonked out for the past few hours, about sixteen. How you feeling?” And Eliot was grateful that Hardison knew him well enough to first tell him how much time he’d lost before asking him about his state.

“I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice was barely a whisper.

“That response is really ingrained, isn’t it, huh?” Hardison said, but there was no judgment in his voice.

“Oehh, is that one of the things we’re teaching him to stop with? Like how I had to look further than the alarms in a museum?” Parker piped up.

“Yeah, exactly, mama,” Hardison’s smile was obvious when he talked. “He can start by telling us how he really feels.”

And Eliot was honestly too tired to follow the conversation, so he gave up on trying and just answered honestly: “Like I’ve been hit by a motorcycle.”

“Not a truck?” Hardison asked.

“No, motorcycle hit is very distinctive.”

“You and your distinctive,” the mutter was more for Hardison himself than him, so he ignored it. “Parker, baby, if I go get the soup, can you make sure he doesn’t drop off again. He needs to eat if he wants to recover.”

“Of course, I’ll keep watch!” Parker saluted and Hardison left the room.

Eliot let his eyes close, content to just lie there, but Parker obviously thought he was falling asleep again, because she poked his right cheek where the bruise was. It was less tender than last time, but still sore, so he hissed: “The fuck, Parker.”

“I need to keep you awake,” she said with wide eyes and he wanted to roll his, but that would make her sad, so he just sighed and leaned back into his pillow, this time with his eyes open.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to put together the little bit of information his brain was willing to give him.

“Well, you were out beating people up in the rain,” she launched into an explanation, “and Hardison says you don’t actually get sick from the rain, but you did get sick and me and Hardison are taking care of you, but you were really grumpy on the drive back, but then you fell asleep. And your nose whistled.”

He let her voice wash over him as she went on.

“But then you woke up and you were really sad about something, but also grouchy and then Hardison did his thing, where he gets people and has like the voice that tells him what you need to hear. He and Sophie both do it, it’s fascinating, he’s teaching me how to do it too. And you gave in, because you wanted to, but you didn’t want to tell us, so we had to crack your emotion safe with our words and now we’re going to teach you how to be taken care of,” she finished.

Wait what? He had put most of the pieces together and part of him had only partially questioned why they were in his bed, but he hadn’t remembered this. He thought they were just here to see if he woke up again and now that he had, he could throw them out of his room (going to his apartment seemed too hard at this point), but not this.

Before the freak out could fully set in, Hardison entered with a bowl of steaming soup. “Here you go, chicken noodle soup, the best for when you’re sick and homemade,” Hardison grinned. “I really want to say by us, but we set a pan on fire and then asked the kitchen staff to make it.”

He wordlessly accepted the soup, still trying to figure out what was going on exactly, how he felt about it and how he would get out of it.

Yeah, okay, what the fuck had his life come to?

A/N:

I really like the idea of Eliot being fine with the insane driving off Sophie and Parker, because it’s at least functional in a getaway situation, but he can’t stand Nate’s just below average driving (personal headcanon) in an everyday situation. It tickles me.

Also I know that Lucille doesn’t have a backseat bench, but the vibes were too good so just go with it

#RR writing #tw: self esteem issues #tw: flu #tw: sickfic #leverage #leverage tv #leverage ot3 #hitter hacker thief #thiefsome #eliot x hardison x parker #eliot spencer #eliot spencer angst #alec hardison #parker #leverage parker #nate ford #sophie devereaux #Hold Me Together #Hold Me Together Part 2

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years ago

Text

The Crown of Gilded Bones live reactions 🌹👑

VERY SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT (you’ve been warned)

CHAPTERS 1-5

Right okay so to recap. Poppy is a god because of course she is.

love how the Queen makes this whole grand gesture of kneeling and offering up her crown, proclaiming Poppy the new Queen of Atlantia despite her despair at the thought of it, and that’s how the last book ends.

and two pages into this book, the King is all “lmao my wife. ever the dramatic. anyways. no <3″

like idk if it was intended that way but it’s comedic gold *chef’s kiss*

I love Poppy but she is SO DUMB. Like. We figured out the wolven were attuned to her in AKOFAF this is old news and she’s literally staring at a horde of them ready to rip out her hubby’s throat because he’s a potential threat and she’s like “why tho? :(”

anywayysss

Poppy straight up looking at a naked Kieran is giving me life. My OT3 senses are tingling... 👀

lmao we love a feral couple who would tear the world apart for vengeance. He ain’t dead tho. We’re only like 2 chapters in skdjs

Alastir’s a lil bitch huh? I mean I know he’s the dude she can never remember from her nightmares. I just thought he was maybe more of a grey character than he was made out to be.

But nah. Dude’s a puddle of wank.

Wait who tf is Jansen, I legit don’t remember 😂 (tbf, I did skim the whole first half of FBAA rip)

Jansen is also a puddle of wank.

CHAPTERS 6-10

oop and they came for her! We knew it but still :’)

Feral Couple Tearing The World Apart For Vengeance Part II

Poppy, looking at Casteel slaughtering every man in sight: "God, I love him." GLKVAJSLKDJLKJD

Okay we love a supportive father but I really don’t think Valyn is there for Poppy. He’s there to make sure his only viable son/heir doesn’t get kidnapped/killed.

Kieran is my fav. He’s just resigned to the fact that Poppy is gonna unleash hell once he breaks her out of those chains.

Lmao he’s also my fav cos he’s concerned when she doesn’t unleash hell.

Why does Casteel being in the middle of tearing out hearts and ripping out spines in a rage-fuelled frenzy, but then heeding Poppy’s orders to stop without a single hesitation make me 😳🥵

“I made him a promise” STOP I’M ALREADY BI 🥵🥵🥵

ah shit :/

the whiplash of “your plans have been foiled! haHA! no your plans have been foiled haha! no your plans have been foiled! no yOURS!”

how are we only on chapter 7??? feel like i’ve read ten books already so much has Happened.

anyways. Poppy’s been skewered. and not in a sexy way :(

Okay I don’t normally cry at books but I am On The Verge Of Tears y’all.

Casteel crying is wrecking me.

The unfettered angst of him telling her he loves her for the first time and her not being able to say it back!!!! I’m ruined, your honours

oh shit he’s gonna turn her! I mean we knew this was gonna happen but !!!!

Kieran stepping up to the plate like “oh shit we doin this frfr? fuck okay then.” the real ride or die MVP.

So I know we’re in the middle of a tense scene rn but the romanticism of “No we will deal with what comes next. Together.” has me swooning :’)

GVSLKJFALKSJD “THE GODS WILL NOT STOP ME EITHER” HE READY TO KILL SOME SUPREME BEINGS FOR HER 😭

The “Rest. I will watch over both of you.” *sniffles* :’)

The bathing-her-while-she’s-wounded/unconscious trope I SOB

skfjskdj she pounced on poor Kieran 😂

“Unworthy.” 🥺🥺🥺

Alright somebody better tell Casteel he's worthy >:(

Casteel telling her she’s strong and brave and that he knows how it feels to be lost in bloodlust and promising her she will find herself again while cradling her against his chest while she feeds is making me so soft 🥺

OHMYGODJFSKSJFSDLAKJS KIERAN IS IN THE ROOM. THEY ARE HAVING SEX AND KIERAN IS JUST. WATCHING!!!!! I’M LEGIT SCREAMING I CAN’T HANDLE THIS 💀💀💀

idk if i’m dying from second-hand embarrassment or sexiness. I really can’t distinguish my feelings rn.

Okay I’m sorry but the idea of Poppy mutilating Casteel’s wrist while fucking him is sending me, I can’t sldfkjalskj

HOLY SHIT KIERAN IS RIGHT THERE???!!! HE’S HOLDING POPPY’S JAW TO KEEP HER FROM FEEDING AND CASTEEL JUST. KEEPS FUCKING HER???!?@!?!?@?

Laughing cos their glorious reunion sex was basically a sex-pollen threesome sfkgjd

Alright, Kieran left and Poppy remembers Casteel’s name now we’re all good.

(Kieran was fully clothed during all of that btw, in case it wasn't clear lmao)

#the crown of gilded bone #tcogb #tcogb spoilers #the crown of gilded bone spoilers #fbaa #from blood and ash #akofaf #a kingdom of flesh and fire #poppy x casteel #jennifer l armentrout #em reads #citrus

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heliopauseentertainments · 4 years ago

Note

I can’t think of anything specific but I am craving fluff featuring the OT3 UltraMegaRod if you feel up to it 👀💙

I don’t know that I came up with anything particularly fluffy, but here we go!

Under the cut for length, just shy of 900 words

Summary: It’s hard to plan a birthday present.

Warnings: Suggestive themes, nothing remotely explicit just implied

Rating: Teen

—

"Rodimus, he doesn't particularly care for surprises," Minimus said, having clambered up into chair at the desk normally meant for Ultra Magnus. Meanwhile, Rodimus doodled on the wall's built-in light-board with a pen under the heading "The Big Guy's Creation Day." It would be easier to participate in the planning if he could actually see the board without having to either stand on something or lean around a race-car. Several ideas—suggestions such as “candy” or “handcuffs” or “movie night”—were already scrawled across the surface, most already crossed out from before Minimus had arrived. “You ought to know that by now.”

"Are you kidding? This'll be great. He's gonna love it." Rodimus emphasized the point by hopping once in place, spoiler fins twitching up.

"I hardly think hiding under his desk and jumping out to startle him is an appropriate way to provide him a creation day present." It certainly wasn't a way to say "we love and cherish you." Not that Minimus was an expert in expressing that anyway.

"Okay, okay, maybe not. You'd think he'd be less jumpy at his age," Rodimus said, as though Minimus weren't even older than Megatron. It wasn't as though Rodimus was quite that young either, despite how he tended to act. Minimus crossed his arms as he sat down on the books piled into Ultra Magnus’ chair.

The speedster tapped his chin in thought, clearly trying to come up with something else. Minimus could only hope it would be something rather less likely to result in furniture getting broken in the chaos of a giant tank's exaggerated startle response or that wouldn't result in a call to the medical bay from said tank potentially experiencing sudden spark failure. Either could happen depending.

"What if,” Rodimus began, a wide, less-than-innocent grin stretching across his face, “we tied ribbons into cute little bows around ourselves and waited in the habsuite for him to come home from his command shift?"

Minimus was sorely tempted to tell the exuberant speedster to put that naughty smirk away, but he knew that would only encourage him.

"That seems unnecessarily risqué and, most importantly, doesn't include actually giving him the present." Besides, Minimus felt like perhaps that was not the best way to set the tone, at least not upfront. Rodimus pouted and crossed out some more… private suggestions that really shouldn't have been on the board in the first place, not as a gift anyway.

Minimus cleared his vocalizer with a cough.

"Furthermore, we haven't even gotten him anything yet. Did you even ask what he would want?" You know, like a thoughtful person would have already done before trying to plan a surprise.

Rodimus pshawed and waved a dismissive hand at the smallest member of their relationship.

"Of course not. He'd just say something like 'don't get me anything' or 'it's not important.' So we'll just have to intuit what we wants." The red speedster paused, like he doubted himself. "Somehow. We'll figure it out. It's gotta be something flashy, you know?"

"Flashy" was a word that didn't really apply where their largest conjunx was concerned. "Opinionated" and "loud," though in a different way than Rodimus was, were better descriptors, but despite that Megatron tended towards subtlety in aesthetic taste. Well, minimalism and utilitarianism were more accurate. The only possessions he owned tended to be whatever Rodimus and Minimus had given him over the years, with the exception of his surgical kit. That made selecting an appropriate gift all the more important.

"You gave him a rock last year." Minimus tutted, waving an admonishing finger. Never mind the fact that the rock now lived on Megatron’s desk in the captain’s office as a paperweight. It was a rock and Minimus felt certain the only reason it remained was because Megatron didn’t want to hurt Rodimus’ feelings by being rid of it.

"Yeah, but it was shiny and cool—"

"—And the year before that was the Rodimus Star for 'not putting Whirl in the brig'."

Which was ridiculous.

Megatron should have just done it. Whirl had been playing tag in the hallways with Misfire and getting too carried away with the foam-dart guns. A brief stay in the brig was the most appropriate response but Megatron had overruled Minimus in the guise of Ultra Magnus while in the middle of making the arrest.

"That wasn't his creation day present. That was just convenient timing. I gave him his actual present later." Which Minimus had the misfortune of walking in on after work.

Rodimus stopped doodling and pointed the writing utensil in his hand the green minibot.

"And last year you got a new light-pen." He mockingly waggled the pen pinched between his fingers.

"He goes through so many, Rodimus! It was practical." All that writing Megatron did in his spare time, it was a thoughtful gift to get him something he would actually need and use. “It was an exceptionally sturdy one.” Because someone was a heavy-handed writer.

Still, this discussion and planning session was getting them absolutely nowhere.

"Why don't we simply ask him what he wants and just do that? We can't go wrong that way."

"Fine, you ask him what boring thing he thinks he wants and I'll surprise him with something awesome."

How many ways could that plan go wrong?

#fic #megatron #rodimus #minimus ambus #ultramegarod #maccadam #autobuttsanddecepthicccons #ask #one shot #idw1

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fonulyn · 5 years ago

Text

fonulyn’s 2020 in fics

this is kind of exciting since in 2020 I did get a lot writing done, and it marks the second year in a row that I’m able to actually make one of these posts after that horrible not good at all terrible disastrous three and a half years when I wrote absolutely nothing. so it’s a triumph to get another one of these up! personal victory haha.

in total, in 2020 I wrote 148 fics, ranging from like 200 words to 34k (idk if those short things can be called fics but i just did). by pairing, there’s

13 of Joe/Nicky

58 of Piers/Leon

56 of Chris/Leon

(1 with Piers/Leon and Chris/Leon)

5 of the ot3 (Chris/Leon/Piers)

11 of Krauser/Leon

3 of Wesker/Chris (lmao still can’t believe this)

1 of Chris/Leon/Krauser

so. in retrospect, i did okay.

it’s over 300 thousand words and I am kind of. surprised. and that is not counting the approximately 50k of wips i’m ignoring :’D

I’d also like to take a second to thank everyone who has ever sent me nice messages, commented on the fics, left reblogs or kudos, and the like. you’re what kept me going, I wouldn’t have gotten even half as much done otherwise.

without further ado, links to all of the fics under the cut! they’re organized by pairing, and the links take you to tumblr posts (bc I’m lazy) and a lot of them have a link in the post that takes you to ao3. (also can you see I put ~~so much~~ effort into naming the tumblr ficlets :’D feel free to laugh at me)

Joe/Nicky

a dog by any other name | 1,5k | The one wherein they end up owning a dog.

within the heart a flame of desires | 5,0k | Nicolo watches Yusuf have sex with others, desperately wishing he was with him instead. Until things change. He much prefers having Yusuf all for himself.

the world will wait | 2,4k | The one wherein Joe takes a lot of naps and the whole team gets to relax.

catch this | 650w | Every time Joe gets distracted (by Nicky), Andy tries to take him by surprise.

nobody’s perfect | 1,9k | Even immortal warriors have their weaknesses, Nile learns. Those just aren’t what she expected.

only in these arms | 780w | Nicky has trouble sleeping alone. Andy is a decent substitute, but only when Joe returns so does Nicky’s ability to get a decent night’s rest.

(please don’t explain) that time in Malta | 580w | Nile doesn’t think at first it would even be possible for Joe to be embarrassed. By anything. Until one evening, they talk about Malta.

cool it down boys | 400w | Andy gets no sleep. She gets revenge, though.

cowboy, baby | 340w | Nicky has the fashion sense of a sack of flour, and he is fine with that.

that day is not today | 4,9k | They struggle through the whole lab-experience. It isn’t the time yet to forgive Booker.

tea, soup and tlc | 2k | The one wherein Joe is not sick. At all. Nope. He isn't.

two drinks too many | 770w | Nicky is a little drunk. Joe loves him anyway.

safe haven | 3,9k | The one wherein everyone gets quality cuddles from Joe.

Piers/Leon

it was you that I found | 23,4k | Leon doesn’t really do relationships. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he always seems to be so bad at them. Of course entirely by accident he manages to build one without even realizing it.

unexpected visitor | 690w | Piers is forced on bed-rest. At least Leon stops by.

got me all tied up (never let me go) | 4,0k | Piers doesn’t like suits. Leon loves Piers in a suit.

not so subtle | 210w | “Soo, were you checking me out all night, or was that just my imagination?” Leon asks suddenly, Piers chokes on his drink in surprise.

nighttime fools | 4,8k | Piers and Leon get arrested for public indecency. It’s not their fault, honest.

piers isn’t sick, really, he isn’t (he is) | 670w | “Oh, hi,” Piers said immediately, a goofy smile slipping onto his face. Man, he was happy to see Leon. So happy to see him.

so you’ve met Xena | 620w | “Xena?” Leon turned to look at Piers, decidedly unimpressed. “You named your dog after the Warrior Princess?“

you’re cute, you know | 680w | Piers took the opportunity the second their gazes met. He grinned, as charmingly as he possibly managed, and said “You’re cute, you know that?“

kiss the nightmares away | 470w | Sleepily Piers blinked, trying to make his eyes work properly. He squinted at the digital clock on the bedside, and its harsh red numbers that told him it was 3:30, and confusedly he turned to frown at Leon. “Why aren’t you sleeping?“

smooth talking, Nivans, very smooth | 1,4k | Piers can not control what comes out of his mouth.

dream a little (dirty) dream of me | 1,3k | Piers wakes Leon up. That's it.

your shirt is my shirt | 950w | With a sigh Piers grabbed the only shirt available that wasn’t battery operated and obnoxious. It was Leon’s, so old that the print had faded completely, leaving only faint outlines behind. And when Piers pulled it on he grumbled again, realizing how tight it was.

here for you | 620w | Leon can’t sleep, but somehow Piers makes his anxieties bleed away.

grand plans | 260w | “Are you seriously going to wear that?”

new puppy | 430w | “Hey there little guy.” Leon bent down to pick up the little puppy, straightening again to hold it against his chest. His hands looked almost comically large as the dog was so tiny, and carefully he cradled it close.

a little bit funny | 850w | So maybe Piers hadn’t slept properly in days, and the sleep deprivation was making him a little hysterical, but he didn’t even remember when a stupid comedy would’ve made him laugh so much.

for now our time is here | 4,4k | When Chris had told them to wait up and left them alone for a while, this probably wasn’t what he’d been expecting, but the second he’d closed the door behind himself the tension that had been brewing between Leon and Piers had snapped like a cord.

wanting too much | 1,1k | “Fucking hell, never do that to me again,“ Leon huffed out, clearly relieved beyond anything.

the prettiest agent with the prettiest hair | 1,2k | Piers stress-braids. Leon doesn't mind. And besides, Piers always undoes the braids whenever he's done with them. Until one night he forgets.

you can be the air that i breathe | 1,0k | It wasn’t the first time Piers got punched in the face by a gigantic BOW so hard that the hit sent him flying. It was, however, the first time he was sent careening off a bridge and into the river below. And it was, definitely, the first time Leon saved his life.

before I found you | 890w | The second Piers realized that the spikes covering the monster actually came off, and it was able to shoot them towards its attackers, it was already too late for him to react.

you don’t need to stay | 950w | Piers did his best to take care of Leon. And as much as Leon appreciated it, he didn’t want to be a goddamn nuisance.

need me, baby, just a little stronger tonight | 2,1k | Leon really has to practice perfecting his poker face. At least he gets what he wants in the end.

be my valentine | 920w | “Are you sure?“ Piers asked for the tenth time, frowning down at the bar of Fazer blue chocolate. “I still think it’s… not a lot?”

you're the world that I wanna discover | 7,5k | The one wherein they buy a house, fall even more in love, and Leon reaches a breaking point.

call me (tell me what you feel) | 1,7k | Leon is stuck at the airport. At least he gets a nice phone call with Piers.

incentive to stay alive | 1,0k | "Hey, Nivans, wake up,” he tried, but there was no answer, and he couldn’t help but let the worry in his voice. “Piers. Don’t you dare die on me. Chris would kill me if I let anything happen to his best sniper.”

blanket hog Leon | 880w | Grumbling, Piers turned around, and as he’d expected Leon was cozily wrapped in at least four blankets, leaving nothing for Piers, who was currently freezing his ass off.

I give you all I am | 2,0k | “Leon?” Piers approached in quick steps, watching recognition flicker in Leon’s eyes as he lowered his own weapon too. Leon was slumped against the wall, hunched over and holding his side, and there was something feverish about his eyes. Yet as soon as he realized it was Piers he gave a shaky grin, even if that was all he managed.

why are the gorgeous ones always taken | 810w | Piers blinked his eyes open slowly, expression scrunched up, and it took a long moment before he managed to actually focus his gaze on Leon’s face. When he did, a smile immediately bloomed on his face, and he even tilted his head a little. “Have I died and gone to heaven?” he croaked out, his voice rough from lack of use.

still intact | 1,1k | It took a week before the level of painkillers was correct and Piers woke up with a gasp instead of a scream. And the first thing he asked was for someone to kill him.

of guns and ...guns | 270w | Leon likes the way Piers handles his rifle. There’s drool involved.

always fashionable | 540w | Apparently having a crush on the well-dressed, professional Leon translated into being absolutely fucking in love with the sleep-mussed and squinty Leon.

misplaced phones and revelations | 660w | Chris finds Piers’ phone. Which turns out to be Leon’s phone. The two turn out to be dating. Chris feels kind of blind.

yee-haw! | 1,0k | Leon rides Piers. Wearing a cowboy hat.

you’re cute when you’re angry | 620w | When he’s stressed, Piers washes the dishes. Angrily.

want to drink (with) you | 1,1k | Piers is an embarrassing drunk. Leon loves him anyway.

and each one of us is a path somewhere | 22,2k | Piers gets thrown twenty years back in time. Into Raccoon City, 1998. He’d heard about what Leon went through that night, but he never thought he’d have to actually experience it himself. Together with bright eyed rookie Leon.

hold me close | 560w | Leon falls asleep against Piers’ shoulder.

goatee man | 890w | Piers thinks growing a beard might make him look more manly.

promises kept | 2,9k | Leon finds out Piers isn't dead after all. He's just locked up in a BSAA research facility with no one allowed in to visit.

stay with me tonight (stay until the end of life) | 2,2k | Leon doesn’t know I’m contacting you, but a fair warning, because I’m worried. He was found unconscious on the bathroom floor at 10AM. They took him to the hospital, but he checked himself out. Look after him, okay?

4am | 760w | “What can I say,” Piers grinned against Leon’s neck, “I was dreaming of you.” He had no reservations about moving his hips, letting Leon feel just how nice the dream had been.

caffeinated | 550w | Someone gives Piers coffee. Leon knows what to do with that excess energy.

and i'm you and you're me | 7,0k | The one wherein Leon and Piers accidentally swap bodies.

girls’ day in bed | 780w | Piers and Leon wake up one morning with boobs and other assorted lady parts. It’s a fun day. (Spoiler alert: they have a lot of sex.)

worlds apart | 3,2k | Krauser kidnaps Piers to lure Leon to him. (feat. past Krauser/Leon)

not again | 530w | Watching Piers’ mutation brings Leon some very unfortunate flashbacks. (feat. past Krauser/Leon)

gorgeous | 300w | Piers calls Leon gorgeous.

the most comfortable pillow | 350w | Leon falls asleep with his head on Piers’ lap.

beautiful | 840w | Even after losing an arm and ruining half of his face, Piers is the most beautiful thing to Leon.

as seen in adult films | 580w | Piers doesn’t know one damn thing about dishwashers. He volunteers to fix one anyway.

never letting go | 260w | Leon is goddamn comfortable right here. He isn’t going to move a single inch.

nose kisses | 390w | Piers is cute when he’s cranky. Just ask Leon.

no other half could ever make me whole | 6,3k | The one wherein they get a scare and there's a proposal.

the luxury of being held | 690w | The fabric of Piers’ hoodie is the perfect place to hide. (feat. Theo’s amazing art)

just one step from heaven, one step from paradise | 2,7k | The one wherein Piers makes sure Leon doesn’t freeze, and they enjoy their vacation.

all is fair in war, love and Mario Kart | 600w | Piers sucks at Mario Kart.

Chris/Leon

if i never see all my dreams come true, the one that mattered the most was you | 5,9k | Chris enlists Leon’s help on a mission as a clever ruse to make the man take a break he so obviously needs.

and I don't want to know how slow the time must flow | 11,1k | Chris and Leon try to fight their way out of a castle and feelings take over.

you are my heart, you are my home | 3,2k | Chris is sick, and he’s being extra dramatic about it.

from the gates of longing | 5,5k | Chris volunteers to take Leon home, but ends up getting a lot more than he bargained for.

how to accidentally get adopted - a guide by Piers Nivans | 2,3k | Piers accidentally keeps calling Chris dad, and Chris and Leon sort of unofficially adopt him.

right here by your side | 1,9k | When Chris shows up to check up on Leon, four days into his self-imposed flu-exile, at first Leon wants to just throw him out. But then it turns into a relationship-building moment and suddenly he can’t mind all that much.

about time | 1,8k | Leon is freezing. Chris warms him up.

yet you'll lose yourself in me | 3,3k | The one wherein Chris is generously proportioned and Leon kind of loves it. (whispers: size kink)

beyond tomorrow | 1,7k | Leon ends up in the hospital after a mission, Chris hurries to see if he’s okay. Claire is already there.

look at those heart-eyes | 180w | Quickly Chris shook his head, reluctantly pulling his attention away from Leon.

there’s a cat in the sink | 220w | “There’s a cat in the sink, and we don’t own a cat.”

from the future | 300w | It’s 1998 and Leon comes face to face with himself, from 2017.

surprise redfield | 250w | “Don’t worry,“ Chris says, nonchalantly as if it’s an everyday occurrence that he’s standing in Leon’s kitchen.

need this feeling to last (there's no denying) | 2,4k | “Why don’t you fuck me yourself, you coward!“

something solid, something good | 520w | Chris was so warm, and that together with all the glorious skin-on-skin contact made Leon happily sink back into the embrace.

come closer | 520w | Leon is done with Chris being so careful around him.

your arms around me | 690w | Chris woke up cold and alone.

a needed break | 440w | Sometimes Chris got so single-mindedly stuck on a task that he forgot everything around himself.

the iron maiden | 820w | Suddenly it was hard to breathe, like he couldn’t fill his lungs with oxygen no matter how much he tried, to the point that his vision started to get blurry.

robin hood: chris in tights | 480w | Chris’ face was twisted into a theatrical grimace as he tugged a little on the green tights we was wearing. They were like painted on and although he didn’t really have body issues in general, he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about it.

luckless romance | 4,0k | Leon and Chris turn a drunken argument into something better. (Please note: The link takes you to the last part of six.)

take my hand | 920w | The worst part, by far, is not seeing anything. There are sounds, people talking like he isn’t even in the room, machines beeping and doors opening, quick busy steps against the floor.

let me take you to the edge of the stars and back again | 3,0k | Chris takes his sweet, sweet time before he gives Leon what he wants.

I’m going to seduce you | 1,1k | Jesus Christ, they’d had sex. Leon groaned again, this time less because of the headache and more because he felt so unbearably dumb. He’d probably had the best sex of his life, and he couldn’t remember it.

a little help | 430w | Those fucking idiots, Claire thought for the millionth time, as she watched her brother give the biggest dumbest heart eyes at Leon, who was blissfully oblivious about everything going on around him.

the way to anyone’s heart (the answer is food, good food) | 2,4k | Chris asks Leon to teach him how to cook. (Spoiler: Leon doesn't know how.)

oh the horror | 270w | “I seriously don’t understand why you want to watch this shit,” Leon groaned, pressing his face into Chris’ chest.

jealousy | 670w | Chris swallowed hard, downed the last of his beer, and took the leap. “I’m jealous okay.”

twist me up | 510w | Sure Chris had always known that Leon was flexible. Sure he had seen him even do these weird-ass yoga poses more than once. There was nothing new to it.

meet the parents | 600w | Leon brings Chris home for Christmas.

precious cargo | 930w | Chris lugs Leon around like luggage.

it's always been you | 870w | The hardest thing for Leon was when someone he cared about was in danger but there was nothing he could do about it. And then Chris fell into a ravine.

come away with me (to another world) | 2,0k | Leon finally gets a vacation.

first time sucker | 930w | “I don’t know, because it’s fun?” Leon said. “I promise you, you’re missing out.”

read my scars | 1,9k | Chris learns about Leon's scars.

battered and bruised | 650w | Ignoring the bruises and scrapes he had, Chris turned around and sprinted towards Leon, gritting his teeth against the strain moving put on his side.

a different kind of proposal | 500w | “If you keep fucking me this good,“ he breathed out, unsure if Chris even heard the words, “I’ll have to marry you.“

welcome home | 370w | The door had barely fallen shut behind Chris when Leon was in his personal space, grabbing him by the lapels of the trench coat he was wearing so he could pull him in close for a kiss.

I’d always choose you | 280w | Ada was something they didn’t talk about. When someone, anyone, brought her up Leon clammed up and changed the subject. And Chris had tried to be understanding, had tried to be patient, had tried his very best to respect Leon’s boundaries with this. But Chris was only human.

fuck or die | 1,7k | Chris gets hit by a weird plant, and his hard-on just will not go down. Until Leon takes matters into his hands.

i need a hug | 470w | “I think,“ Leon sighed, but then it was like all fight bled from him and he slumped a little forward. “I need a hug.“

oh no there’s only one bed | 990w | “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just one night. I’m sure you’ve slept with worse persons than me.”

the butt that became a pillow | 420w | Chris falls asleep on Leon.

like father like son | 2,8k | Leon finds out he has a son.

monster magnet | 1,1k | Leon didn’t know when it had become something he recognized so easily. When had it become so normal for mutated creatures to look at him with such unadulterated lust.

please be okay | 620w | Leon faints from sheer exhaustion.

like father like... grandson? | 4,1k | Liam proposes to a girl but ends up with Piers anyway. Chris and Leon are the friendly neighborhood grandpas. Their grandson is adorable, and Leon thinks he takes after him. Obviously. (feat. Piers/OMC)

black lace | 790w | Chris gets to come home to Leon in thigh high black lacy stockings and matching lingerie, instantly sending Chris’ brains into an overdrive.

at least let me help | 790w | Leon opens the door an inch, Chris uses the given opportunity to slam it wide open. Metaphorically speaking.

bridal style | 200w | Leon refuses the medical check up. So Chris carries him.

dance with me | 1,0k | Wedding planning with two schmoopy idiots in love.

drunken cravings | 480w | Chris and Leon are drunk, hungry, and incapable of cooking.

blow me | 650w | Chris gets his brains sucked out through his dick.

Claire knows best | 610w | Chris tries to set Leon up with Claire. Then Claire does set Leon up with Chris.

chase the demons away | 940w | Chris struggles with nightmares, Leon is there to hold him through them.

dance me to the end of love | 550w | Leon struggles to learn to dance.

Piers/Leon, Chris/Leon

fate changed (we keep loving as if the story isn't over yet) | 34,3k | In hindsight, Leon knew the second he opened the door and saw Chris standing there, dressed in his service uniform, mouth pinched to a grim line and unable to meet Leon’s gaze straight. There was only one logical reason for it, only one way to explain why he was standing there like he would rather be anywhere else, and Leon almost slammed the door right in his face. -- Or the one wherein no one really knows how to handle their grief, but somehow life goes on anyway. (I’m still so proud of this one negl)

Chris/Leon/Krauser

hearts beating fast (let's make this moment last) | 5,7k | Chris gets invited in for a threesome. The clever thing would’ve been to refuse, knowing his unrequited, helpless feelings. But then again, he’s just a man.

OT3

double the fun | 3,1k | Truthfully, Leon hadn’t thought his day could get this much better. Everything had gone wrong from the second he’d woken up and he’d already written the day off entirely, until the moment Chris had looked him dead in the eye and asked “How do you feel about two at once?”

of cuddles and blanket forts | 620w | Piers and Leon build a blanket fort. Chris would think they’re idiots, but they might actually be kind of brilliant.

hair straightener or waffle iron? | 310w | Chris and Piers break Leon’s hair straightener.

the last piece of the puzzle | 2,7k | The one wherein two becomes three.

not alone | 2,3k | Completely on accident, Piers and Chris happen to be there to save Leon from a tight spot. Cuddles ensue.

Krauser/Leon

drive me crazy (your eyes made me crave for this) | 2,3k | It was the best sex Krauser had ever had in his life. That’s why he kept coming back to Leon, kept saying ‘yes’ every single time the man as much as hinted that he might be up for meeting. He was getting off, and he was enjoying every second of it, and that was the extent of it. There certainly weren’t any feelings involved. None. None at all.

enjoying the view | 200w | Krauser likes ass-watching.

carry me to bed | 440w | Slowly Leon was coming back to his senses. Sweat was cooling on his skin, the hard surface of the table underneath him starting to feel uncomfortable.

and I lied that we would be fine | 1,1k | Leon knows he isn’t supposed to be doing this. There’s a vague recollection of something more important, something he should be focusing on, but the vast majority of his world has narrowed down onto the slick slide of their bodies, on the cheap scratchy sheets on his skin, on the sound of Krauser’s voice in his ear, and he can’t bring himself to care.

yet never enough | 1,9k | Krauser likes mirrors.

of wanting | 400w | Leon’s laughter echoed in the room as Krauser pinned him against the wall, before shutting him up with a ravenous kiss.

better with you | 590w | Despite knowing Krauser had his back, Leon was genuinely surprised when the man sat down right next to him instead of telling him to suck it up and get moving.

breakfast | 530w | Lately things had slowly begun to shift. And Leon wasn’t sure yet what was going on. Or how he felt about it.

kill me now | 900w | It was more than clear how much Krauser enjoyed their frantic attempts to kill one another, and Leon’s traitorous body shivered in response, the memory of times long gone returning like no time had passed at all.

lust that I've already spilled | 1,4k | “C’mon, Leon,” Krauser taunted, grinning as widened his stance. “This cock isn’t gonna suck itself.”

will you just look at me | 650w | Krauser refuses to do feelings.

Wesker/Chris

I am the light that shall lead you to darkness | 1,8k | In all honesty, Chris wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up here: a panting mess, bent over a massive wooden table with Wesker holding him down laughably easily.

the light to drown in darkness | 2,0k | Wesker craves Chris. So Wesker takes Chris.

love-hate-(obsession?) | 470w | Wesker is a lovesick fool. If he wasn’t also a homicidal maniac, Jill would almost feel sorry for him.

#the old guard #resident evil #kaysanova #chreon #metaltango #nivannedy #chrisker #kreon #idk what i'm forgetting it's 2 am and i've spent seven hours on this #have pity on me :'D #my fics #2020 #this was so much work #i am praying for the links to work properly #so i don't need to touch this again nnhhh

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nickkkdoesstuff · 5 years ago

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general 24 w/ lewvithur maybe? :0c

Prompt list.

“I haven’t seen (her/him/them) smile in months.”

I’m not really used to write about lewvithur (or ot3 in general) and I apologize if this is a little odd or off character <: i’m trying

Summary: None of them had genuinely smiled since their lives had torn apart. Arthur finds his old keyboard and plays an awful familiar song.

Song: “Slow Dance” by Saint Motel

Vivi licked the melted marshmallow off her fingers with as much enthusiasm she had. Definitely the idea of taking her boyfriends out in the woods for a nice little evening soiree, technically they were on a mission hunting down a werewolf but it wouldn’t hurt if they stopped for a second, and the night above them was lovely-

The blue leader couldn’t avoid the dark sky filled with stars and lights of distant cities, she had told them to rest for a while, they all deserved it anyway. Arthur had brought the idea of building a fire when the sun started to set behind them and Lewis suggested s'mores because “it wasn’t a real campfire if it didn’t had s’mores”, the ghost couldn’t eat anymore but who were they to deny such a delicacy.

So there they were, their faces red because of the heat and a little sweaty too. The van’s radio had gone off a few minutes ago and they had run out of conversation topics. The three of them sat on a fallen log, pressed together like a human sandwich one next to another, a little awkward if you asked, but way more comfortable than try to get a real conversation out of anyone.

Vivi sighed tired. “Looks like we ran out of cookies.” she stood up. “I’m going to see if there are some more in the van.”

Arthur nodded and Lewis just didn’t mind at all.

She jumped on the back of their van, a lamp on her mouth to leave free her hands. She brushed with her eyes the tall, metallic shelves that held many of her supernatural artifacts that she assured held properties and could be handy on one of their jobs, she had never used them, true, but you never knew when a spirit could strike, so she kept them to collect dust on tagged cardboard boxes like forgotten items, one of those boxes should have the food supplies, she was sure, but after Lewis died, nobody had reorganized the shelves, and nor she or Arthur cared enough to do it, so now the “food supplies” were strange books Vivi didn’t remember collecting and a few shiny rocks Arthur probably picked up during their trips.

The blue haired girl emptied all the van and couldn’t find those damned cookies- she had looked everywhere except for the higher level of the shelves, “They must be there”, she thought. “I swear for the love of fuck, Arthur, that if you ate them I’m starting a war”.

She picked the box but it slipped out of her hands and landed on top of her hair.

“Ow” she patted herself. Many other things fell along with her, Lewis wasn’t going to be happy with the mess she made. The girl kicked some stuff out of her way until a strange one came across her path, she didn’t recall having that one when 99% of the stuff stocked there was hers. It was a black square bag, it was dusty and a little heavy but the lazo on one of its sides made it easier to carry around.

“Arthur, sweety,” she called, popping her head out of the van. “what 's this?”

Half asleep Arthur turned to her. “Oh.”

He moved to inspect the bag and put it on the floor, his slim hands slid open the zipper to reveal an old keyboard piano.

“I have been looking for this for ages!” Arthur kneel before it and ran his fingers through the white and black tiles. “I haven’t pla- played this since- since… well…”

The hurt look on his eyes said it all. The boy turned it on, wondering if it still worked after a year of abandonment. To his surprise, it did, the screen came back to life and lights shone brighter than before. A small smile crept upon his lips, shy as himself.

“C’mon, Artie.” Vivi hurried to sit down next to the ghost, right in front of Arthur like they were a crowd. “Delight us, please.”

Arthur looked at her hesitantly, and then to the keyboard, unsure if he even knew how to play it anymore. “I don’t- I don’t know, Vi, it’s been a- a while…”

“Pweaseeeee.” Vivi wore puppy eyes. Oh no, please don’t, he thought, not the eyes.

“Fi- fineeee. I guess I can play something.”

The blond man ran through his memories, he should remember how to play any song, literally any song was good…

“This is one that everyone knows.” And then he played the first chord.

“I'm waitin' for that slow dance.”

Vivi gasped.

“So I can feel your arms around me.”

Oh, she definitely knew that song.

“Wait ‘till the music turns to romance.”

Arthur laughed a little at his girlfriend’s reaction.

“Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

With a hand on her hip, she stood up, smiling brighter than she had ever done it. Vivi fixed her messy blue hair, tied her scarf tighter and tucked under her skirt her oversized sweater. Offering a hand to the ghost, she invited him to dance. A funny expression broke the specter’s skull and took her hand in acceptance. They pretended the dirt under their feet was a fancy dance floor and the moon a disco ball.

“Well, they don’t know that much about it.”

They began to move around to the beat of the song.

“Been waiting every single day.”

Vivi spinned around, holding her boy’s hand as he catched up with her.

“I could be your best friend, I could be your centerpiece, I could be your soulmate, I could be your everything.”

She planted a kiss on his forehead.

“Thunderbolts and lighting queuing up the symphony.”

He carried her bridal style and leaned her to the floor, taking a laugher out of her.

“You know I’m waiting for that slow dance.”

Vivi escaped from his grip with a jump and rolled a little on the dirt.

“So I can feel your arms around me. Wait ‘till the music turns to romance. Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

They both danced a silly dance, no longer making sense.

“Hand on my back, panic attack. Pull it together, don't overreact! Keepin' her close, don't step on her toes. Leave enough room for the holy ghost.”

Now Mystery had joined them.

“Romance”

Arthur grinned at the sight.

“Too slow but this is how you showed me.”

For a moment, Arthur was no longer in the woods but the Kingsmen’s mechanics garage. He was a small boy once again.

“We could talk for forty hours.”

He was sitting outside, watching the sunset over the mountains, time didn’t matter, he was simply staring at the beautiful magentas and lilacs the sky had painted.

“We’d end up right back at the start.”

It reminded him of Vivi and Lewis, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from it. He thought it was beautiful. It was the night of the prom, he knew he should be sunking his problems on punch and dancing cheesy songs with his friends, but nobody had asked him out, Lewis and Vivi should be there, enjoying their night.

“I could be your best friend, I could be your centerpiece, I could be your soulmate, I could be your everything.”

They made a nice couple after all.

“Thunderbolts and lighting queuing up the symphony.”

He was lost on himself until both of them showed up with bright smiles at him and asked him out.

Arthur had never been so glad to say yes.

“You know I’m waiting for that slow dance.”

Suddenly, without a warning, a cold hand pulled him. It was Vivi.

“So I can feel your arms around me.”

“Oh, no no no no, I’m- I’m not a good dancer.”

“Wait ‘till the music turns to romance.”

His girlfriend laughed. “Who cares?”

“Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

She gently took both of his hands -flesh and metallic- and dragged him along with her where Lewis awaited.

“Vivi- wait, no-!”

“There’s no doubt about it.”

She kissed his cheek to make him shut up, it worked indeed. Flustered, Arthur surrendered.

“It’s something magical.”

She never lost her grip on his hands, and, as if they were little kids, Vivi spun around slowly.

“Feeling our surroundings.”

The world around him moved fast, the couple stayed still, or that was what Arthur felt when he could only stare at her beautiful blue gaze.

“And time is slowing down for us.”

Arthur sank in the moment. Looking at her toothy smile directed at him, Arthur welcomed that warm gesture in his heart and let the feeling of being all right washed over him.

Vivi slowed down and when they weren’t that nauseous she quickly grabbed him in a suffocating but nice and fitting hug, right when he was about to return it, he was pushed towards a black suit.

“You know I’m waiting for that slow dance.”

“¿Me concedes esta pieza?” Lewis said in fluent spanish, Arthur looked up to meet not a terrifying skull but a human face with a gentle smile on him.

“So I can feel your arms around me.”

“Huh?” Arthur didn’t even pay attention when Lewis talked with that accent.

“Wait ‘till the music turns to romance.”

“Would you grant me this piece?” He laughed and Arthur just limited himself to nod as his blush warmed all his face.

“Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

A hand went to his back and another one lifted his robotic arm, the blond boy followed him, taken back a little, was he really dancing with Lewis-?

It didn’t feel real, but he loved it.

“Hand on my back, panic attack.”

Arthur rested his head on his boyfriend’s big chest just like a pillow.

“Pull it together, don’t over react!”

How long had it been since he had been this happy?

“Keepin’ her close, don’t step on her toes.”

He hadn’t seen any of them smile, a true smile, one that didn’t lie.

“Leave enough room for the holy ghost.”

A smile that could warm your soul for decades.

“Romance.”

No, he hadn’t seen one.

“Too slow but this is how you showed me.”

The music ended and Lewis didn’t pull away his boyfriend, instead he kept him close and placed his lips on top of his tall hair. Vivi came to finish the hug, her short arms doing their best to hold them together until she was tucked under both of her boys.

No, Arthur hadn’t seen them smile in months.

He opened his eyes to snitch on them, beautiful smiles decorated the moment, he couldn’t help but think that things were going to be alright.

#doodleanswers #nemesis-is-my-middle-name #lewvithur #msa #mystery skulls animated #i'm editing this later :>

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yetremains · 4 years ago

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♡ + can I also have our OT3 and/or OT4 plz?

SEND ME ♡ + A SHIP AND I’LL TELL YOU…

I've been found dead in keyboards Under another read more for length! I will always indulge you and so you get both

OT3 with Hanzo/Ryou/Yang

Who is the most affectionate? Out of the three of them all capable to indulge one another, the affection between them is very high. But out of all three I feel it might just be Hanzo in this regard. He has been confirmed to be a cat. While he will be the larger affectionate one, Ryou and Yang will have him in the middle of a cuddle puddle.

Who initiates the handholding? They each will more than likely take turns on who is reaching for the others hands first, and will absolutely rely heavily on the moods and what the touch can convey. It more than likely would end up with snuggling in the end and quiet conversation. But if they were just going for the hand touching, it might just be Yang.

Who worries more for the other? It's three varying levels of dangerous choices and getting themselves into danger. Hanzo is at the top who will do literally anything for those he loves and won't hesitate to throw down. Then in the middle is Yang, she will protect the other two adamantly and without fear while carefully debating if she should snap someones neck or not. Warning: She just might. And of course, while he is just as dangerous as the others, Ryou is the more collected of the three. And he is no doubt the one that worries the most.

Who is more likely to ask for help? So what happens when you have a room of stubborn people trying to do things on their own? A lot of frustrated grumbling with one calm one sighing. Okay but seriously, all three of them are quite capable in their own way and can handle a majority of things on their own. But in the end it is possibly Yang that would willingly ask for help first.

Who is the one always losing the keys? Between three of them, no keys are lost, ever. And if anything should even remotely be hard to find then one of them will be able to locate whatever the lost object might be.

Who leaves little love notes for the other? There would be a series of notes left around to communicate too each other. Little loving comments and gentle reminders of the simple things. Maybe one day they are all grumpy and moving about the house a lot, so a series of built up notes ends up in this long ridiculous line on a table at some point, of arguing and grumpy one liners. Yang would be the one to crack and burst out laughing at how utterly silly it all is and the three of them doing this.

Who can’t sleep unless the other is there? A problem with sleep is a trait all three share. And becoming workaholics is only made it worse. But while two of them might be able to rest, it wouldn't be entirely peacefully until the third is there to climb into bed, to be immediately snuggled and enveloped by the two who have been waiting. But I see out of all three of them, Ryou and Hanzo would be the worst of them with being unable to sleep.

Who is more likely to propose to the other? Being in a poly relationship such as this one means that if the prospect of marriage came up, the three of them just might propose too each other with simple, yet heartfelt rings that reflected the ones they were meant for. First there would be deep conversations about it, and then keep it a secret what rings they were getting one another.

Who introduced the other to their family first? Again, there is no real family left here for any of them. But the friends of found family is absolutely a thing, and potentially adopted children they each have. It might be a lot of the same circles of friends, but still. This would be something they wouldn't exactly keep a secret I feel, and absolutely tell those close too them.

Who is more likely to play with the other’s hair? TWO partners with gorgeous hair? Yang is spoiled! Once again she'd be at the top of this list given the chance. But more than likely it would be like a rotating door of a sort of just who was stroking whose hair the most on the given day or hour. But if it is very late night and Yang awakes, while the other two are still sound asleep, then she will softly stroke their hair and tuck it back, enjoy the quiet moment, before snuggling back in.

Who makes sure the other has meals/stays hydrated? In that home there is no one going without food or drink. The kitchen is very well kept, stocked on groceries, and has enough space for them to cook together, or take turns.

Who is more likely to stand up to anyone for the other? If it's the random public problem or nuisance, someone trying to be judgemental at all on Hanzo and Ryou or all three of them, then Yang is going to square the fuck up. Ever seen someone murdered with words? Now you will here because that will happen, unless she needs to throw a punch. However if it is a truly dangerous situation that involves a fight, then I feel like the one going to go off the most and stand up is Hanzo, complete feral territorial and protective cat, while Ryou is ready to play the defense to pull him out if he goes too far, keep him safe even from himself, while Yang can tap in and give them both cover.

Who is the most likely to prepare a surprise for the other? I can see any mix of two planning a surprise or gift for the third, and this often times swapping between them all in some way. But honestly, Yang would make a small whittle carving made from wood of the three of them together, as to surprise the other two.

Who makes the other pinky promise not to do certain things? Between all three of them, it is no doubt a need to make each have their own individual pinky promise depending on moods and events that could set one of them off. But Yang would certainly have to make a pinky promise not to let herself go too far.

Who puts a blanket over the other when they fall asleep on the couch? All of them. There is no when or why reason, there more than likely has been at some point, one of them each has fallen asleep on the couch, and one gets a blanket, while another gets a pillow. But they will make sure that each other doesn't sleep too long there in the end.

OT4 with Johnny/Hanzo/Ryou/Yang

Who is the most affectionate? With an entire Quad Squad, the most affectionate can vary with the mood and demands or needs. But I feel like in the end it would be Johnny with his words and flirting, or Hanzo with his poetics and warm touches the most. But be careful, Yang and Johnny will feed off each other in the flirting stage and turn it on both Ryou and Hanzo. More than likely making Ryou take the reigns to turn the tables back with Hanzo taking initiative real fast. But in the end, it will all become a very content loving group together to just enjoy the safety each other brings in their warmth.

Who initiates the handholding? This is a wild card, and it's anybodies game! With so many hands to hold, this changes throughout the day and depends on whom ever happens to be closest and near by. But with the currently events and three of them together, more than likely it will be Ryou taking the initiative on hand holding, a reminder they are all here together, and ground them all.

Who worries more for the other? Yang probably worries most about the other three, even though all four of them absolutely can take care of themselves. She will still be very worried over their welling being. And on the flip side, the paranoia all of them have of even coming close of loosing each other, oh the fear is real if things get critical.

Who is more likely to ask for help? It will be a toss up between Johnny and Yang more willing to ask for such. There is a lot of stubborn energy with each of them in their own varying ways, but it is not impossible for opening up and admitting a need for assistance.

Who is the one always losing the keys? With all of them, this isn't exactly a problem. Even with each of their own lives outside of the home, someone can help, even if loosing keys is rare. But between all four of them, Johnny Cage is probably the most likely to loose his keys. Only to find them later rather quickly.

Who leaves little love notes for the other? The most likely to do this is Hanzo and Ryou, leaving messages and notes for all of them. Yang would leave lyrics or poems, while Johnny will send cute as fuck text messages.

Who can’t sleep unless the other is there? Someone is missing? They will be questioning where the hell they are if it's not the usual times they are back or around. But if schedules collide and clash, there will always be at least two capable at any time for sleeping together. The worst out of all of them would be Hanzo or Ryou more than likely. Followed not far behind by Yang, and then Johnny. Cage looking at the other three and going to make sure they sleep one way or another damn it.

Who is more likely to propose to the other? Johnny Motherfucking Cage. Because if he doesn't do it, then it might be too slow, and not all of them have eternity to wait. If it isn't him, then Hanzo would make that leap himself.

Who introduced the other to their family first? Again here we have Johnny doing this first. All of them introducing their close friends and adoptive family in whom they have found, but Cage want's to gush about his family, and he will show you pictures too. But keep in mind, he will also probably show his followers on twitter or instagram, or whatever he might use, just who he is involved with. He'll share selfies with all of them.

Who is more likely to play with the other’s hair? If I could post a gif of overwhelmed I would. Because here we are, Yang will run her fingers through each of their hair, letting them lay in her lap as she does so to help ease away stress, nerves, anxieties. While taking great enjoyment in such. The next one after her would possibly be Ryou I feel. That calming nature he has with the soft touch could make any one of them just sink into it.

Who makes sure the other has meals/stays hydrated? Ain't no one going hungry or dehydrated in this house, not at all. Someone will be cooking and taking care of each other, or even taking responsibility on meals. Even if it is Johnny noticing the other are tired or drained, then he's going to god damn order a take out feast to spoil them. Yang can handle the dishes after, she will insist to do that much.

Who is more likely to stand up to anyone for the other? Depending on the situation, it will vary. Someone being rude or assholeish either in public or online? Then Johnny Cage is going to put someone in their place real fast of Yang doesn't first. But if it ends up coming down into Kombat, then this Quad Squad Team won't leave anything standing by the time they are done. Wildly different skill sets and varying fighting styles they can change between, someone is going to end up on the ground real quick.

Who is the most likely to prepare a surprise for the other? There are always going to be sweet little gifts and surprises left from one another, heartfelt ones and carefully thought out. But if a real surprise is going to happen, Johnny is going to be the one to do it. This is a man whom, even despite his age and wisdom, still knows how to go all out and awe someone if he wants to. Even if it's something simple and not extravagant, he will go out of his way to make sure it's a good one.

Who makes the other pinky promise not to do certain things? Ryou will absolutely make the others promise not to go feral or do something completely stupid or off the wall. He probably has to worry the least about Johnny doing that, but there are still moments where he could get himself into trouble. However if things were to get bad enough, then it's the Edenian making the promise instead.

Who puts a blanket over the other when they fall asleep on the couch? It rotates really on whom is on the couch, but it will more often than the other two, be Johnny or Yang that gets found snoozing on the couch. But this scenario pans differently. While pulling the blanket over is all well and good, more than likely one of them will be picking up who ever is sleeping on the couch and carry them too bed instead.

#sonxflight #sasorikigai #bastardsunlight #Quad Squad Rollout #Warriors Spirit Never Fades || MK Verse #(( gently offers this for you ))#(( wildly waving hands as i attempt to make this comprehensive ))#(( my brain is but one singular braincell running the hamster wheel ))#OT3 VERSE #Triad Of Wrath. Peace. Balance

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consumedkings-archive · 5 years ago

Text

ancient names, pt. xxi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xxi: what went we

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 15.3k

Rating: Explicit: sexual content ahead.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, some slight gore/blood (it's very mild), the aforementioned sexually explicit content.

Notes: Hi guys. I don't really know where to begin this post, because I am incredibly emotional. It feels so very fitting and special to me that I am bringing in the last chapter of Ancient Names just as 2021 rolls in, and so yes, I AM crying, yes, this WILL be an exceptionally sappy notes section, and yes, this is going to be all about you!

There are so many people that are in part responsible for this fic actually getting finished and put out where the world can see it. @empirics, whose unending support even when she doesn't even GO here and cheerleading me through writing sprints; @lilwritingraven, who is so sweet, so supportive, so incredible and just an overall gigantic sweetheart; @faithchel, whose tags are incredible and always just give me LIFE, I love that our girls be out here really feral like that; @shallow-gravy, who not only lends me her eyeballs but also lets me complain and whine, send her memes nonstop, and participates in my very elaborate fantasies of Elliot and Diana living out their lives as dog moms on a farm (and sometimes in our unholy OT3); @baeogorath, also an eyeball-lender, also incredibly sweet, ALSO lets me send them memes, and does so good in talking me down from my adrenaline anxiety pre-posting and post-posting, was the first person to welcome me into this fandom and is also just a dear, dear friend who happens to be incredibly talented. And, of course, @starcrier. As always, this would have never ever ever been possible without you, not even a little bit, not even at all. From the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you, and the people who have left kudos, have left comments: thank you thank you thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Here is ALL my love, just for you!

The emotional journey of writing this fic has been an incredible one. And a taxing one. Elliot is a character near and dear to my heart for many reasons; I pour so much of my heart into her, so when I hear people say that they love her, and love this journey, and love these things that I've created and written, I mean it when I say that it makes my whole entire day. It means so much to me. Thank you.

In the essence of time, I will not go through all of the feelings that are in my brain right now because there are SO many and I am already crying lol. Please just know you have made the experience of joining a new fandom, and writing in it, so incredible!

There is going to be an epilogue following this chapter, and then I'm going to take a short break and start in on a sequel fic, tentatively titled Witching Hour. Please feel free to hang out/chat w me/plague me with your thoughts at any time of the day; I would love to visit with all of y’all!

John was lying to her.

Or, at the very least, he was withholding information from her, which was just about as bad as lying, Elliot thought. She didn’t know what exactly he wasn’t forthcoming about—but did it matter, at this point? She could tell he was lying; he’d been all kinds of ready to leave and go and get out of Hope County, and now he was scrounging up some kind of ass-pull reason for them to stay. So did it matter? Did the distinction count?

Yes, she thought absently, as John’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles along the small of her back. Yes, I have to know what he’s lying to me about.

“Good morning,” John murmured against her neck. “How did you sleep?”

It had been three days since her baptism-gone-awry, three days of Burke occupying the bunkhouse she had been in while she had wordlessly moved into John’s space, three days of avoiding eye contact with the marshal and deferring questions about him. I don’t know, I really only knew him for a day, she’d say when John asked, or does it matter if I told him? He wouldn’t get it, the unspoken words being ‘not like you do’. She hoped, anyway.

Three days of trying to figure out what it was John wasn’t telling her.

“Like shit,” she replied tiredly as his mouth trailed along the curve of her shoulderblade. The pressure of his fingers against her sternum had her rolling onto her back to look up at him; his gaze swept over the exposed skin.

“Bruising’s clearing up,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep. But he didn’t elaborate; he didn’t say, should we reveal your sin today, my love? the way that she thought he would try. It felt as though the gears in her head were still sluggishly turning, trying to piece together the entire picture of what was going on, a picture that she felt like John didn’t want her to see.

She knew exactly how it would go if she asked. What’s the game? she’d say, and John would look at her with those eyes, and lean in to kiss her, and he’d say, no game, hellcat, and she’d have to believe him because she didn’t have any empirical evidence that he was lying to her. Just a feeling, deep in her gut, twisting and wrenching.

It made it worse to know that John was looking at her with adoration.

Trailing a lazy circle below her collarbone with his fingertips, John asked, “Do you want to do it today?” and she stifled a sigh.

“I don’t know yet, about staying,” she replied, even though she did know: she wouldn’t. She would die before she crawled into a stupid fucking bunker at the behest of Joseph Seed. “I want to wait.”

John’s eyes flickered a little at her words, but he nodded. Elliot reached up, catching her hand with his and skimming the pads of her thumbs along his palm. The words sat there on the tip of her tongue: what aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you just tell me? Haven’t we been through enough, the two of us?

“Your heartline,” Elliot said instead, forcing her voice into playfulness because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Burke had told her to carry on as she had been. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

“No,” he answered amusedly, letting her nail skim along the curve of the line on his palm. “Are you an expert in palmistry?”

“My mama used to entertain tarot cards and palm readers with her ladies,” she replied. “So I listened in a lot. I suppose it isn’t very Godly to have your palm read.”

“It isn’t.” John’s eyes glittered. “But go ahead and tell me what mine says.”

She shifted a little against the pillows. On the floor by her side of the bed, Boomer let out a long, suffering sigh—like he was tired of listening to this flirtation already. For a small second in time, that feeling of peace swept over her, and she let herself bask in it. Elliot thought that she deserved that much at least.

“Your heartline shows your personality, and your quality of love,” she explained, skimming her finger along his heartline. “Yours comes all the way over, see? All the way across your palm.”

“Is that good?”

“Very,” Elliot said somberly. “It shows you have an abundance of love, and high expectations.”

John worked his jaw a little, clearly trying not to smile like he was proud of himself—like he had any control over the lines of his palm and how they worked. “I could have told you that.”

“And it curves upward,” she continued. “Which means you have great verbal dexterity.”

“I could have also told you that.”

“Undoubtedly,” she deadpanned. “Are you going to let me finish my reading?”

He flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Please,” he said, “continue.”

Elliot clicked her tongue, turning her attention back to his hand. Inspecting for a moment, she said, “You have a upward split here, you see? That means you’re willing to sacrifice a lot for love.”

John rumbled his agreement at the statement and leaned down, kissing her shoulder.

“And these little forks here,” she added, pressing her thumb against them, “indicates a dispute on marriage.” Her eyes lifted to his, playful. “Are you intending on marrying, John? Palm says that’s a bad idea.”

For a second, John stared at her—his eyes fluttered, and he looked like he was collecting himself. Elliot sat up a little, frowning, but when she did it seemed to trigger whatever it was that was needed for him to come back to being present. Interlacing their fingers together, he pulled her forward and kissed her; and kissed her, and kissed her, until her lungs ached and she thought she was getting dizzy from not being able to take a full breath. His free hand slid down between her legs; when her lips parted to allow her to whimper, John’s teeth caught her lower lip with bruising force.

Already, heat was pooling in the pit of her stomach. Already, she could feel those telltale signs of desire, the way that John inspired it in her with just a few simple gestures.

“Want you,” John said against her mouth, guiding her onto him, settling her on his lap. Something was wrong, something she’d said had struck a strange nerve in him; but undeniably, it felt good, that his hands were trembling whenever his grip on her lessened a little. It felt good, because it felt like he needed her.

“Reading my palm is a cute trick, but—”

“How badly?” Elliot asked, before she could stop herself. John’s eyes, dark with want, raked over her as the sheets bunched at her hips. When she rocked her hips against his inquisitively, a low, strangled noise came out of him. “How badly do you want me?”

“You’re—in a mood,” John managed out. He opened his mouth to keep talking—something insufferable, Elliot was sure—but as he did, she adjusted and sank down against him, drawing out of him a low, vicious moan. His fingers dug into her hips and he hissed, “Wicked thing.”

She slid him out of her, and he groaned, miserable.

“How badly?” she asked again, less cloying this time. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that wound up in her, hot and humid, when John let her do this—let her take, let her sink her nails and her teeth into him wherever and however she wanted. Like he knew exactly what it was she needed and didn’t mind giving it to her.

Liar, something inside of her said, he’s a fucking liar, there’s something he isn’t telling us, but then John looked at her and said, “So badly, more than anything, Elliot,” and her chest tightened.

Her fingers found his shoulder and she tugged him up into a sitting position. Her mouth found his; she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled just as their hips slotted together and she sighed his name in a hitching breath. The delicious burn was almost enough to fizz her focus out of existence—with so little sleep on her agenda, it was hard enough, but then she canted her hips wantingly and sparks of red-hot pleasure went racing up her spine.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” John ground out, burying his face against her neck. “Can’t believe you’re mine, El—can’t—after all of this—”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered at his words, the uneasy sprint of happiness making her stomach churn. Something else, though, wrenched around the cavity of her chest—those words. Can’t believe you’re mine.

“John,” she managed out, breathless, “I—”

“—and I’m yours.” John kissed her and guided her hips down against him until she was moaning unsteadily. “Fuck, yes, I’m—all yours, baby, just take w-what you—need from me, give you anything, anything—”

I’m all yours, he said, in the same breath as can’t believe you’re mine, and it shouldn’t have but it felt different: in that moment, having John buried into her up to the hilt and digging his fingers into her skin and sighing her name, it shouldn’t have felt different, but it did. It did, because they belonged to each other.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, on his shoulder. She thought, he’s a liar, and she thought, I’m so afraid of losing him, too, and she thought, we belong to each other.

“Please,” Elliot moaned, but she didn’t know what she was asking for; to finish, to hear him say it again, to hear him say more, to tell her the complete and absolute truth? Did it matter, anymore?

It does matter. The distinction matters.

So she said, “You’re mine,” and she kissed him, and she said it again, and again, like a prayer; until John was saying it back, feverish and panting the delicious words against her skin, I’m yours, I’m yours, all yours.

Wicked, and wretched, and maybe a liar, but all hers.

Later, tangled together in bed, John pulled her flush against him and said against her skin, “Don’t you want it, too?”

“I do,” Elliot murmured, knowing that he was talking about the Wrath he was going to put into her skin. “There’s just... A lot after that, to think about. And I know you’ll want an answer right away—”

“Is it that hard?” he asked. “To make a decision about staying or leaving?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

John frowned. “I just—”

“You just want me to say yes to whatever it is you want,” Elliot snapped. “I’d like to remind you that you told me we’d go as soon as this was done.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, Elliot. I’m just—”

And then he paused, like something wanted to come out of him that he didn’t want to say, like he’d caught himself before he’d make a fool of himself. All this time, and Elliot thought she’d never see John vulnerable, not really in the way that she wanted—he’d seen her crying and broken and grieving, and she’d seen him in intimate glimpses, but not completely.

“You’re just what?” she asked, brows pulling together.

John’s fingers traced along her sternum, spelling out WRATH, much like he had done that evening at her mother’s house.

“They’re my family,” he said after a moment. “He gave me everything.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. “I know.”

“That includes you, too.” John leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “He brought me you. I know you don’t believe, hellcat, but if nothing happens then what did we lose? Nothing. I just get to keep my family.”

Her lashes fluttered, exhaustion seeping over her bones again. It was late into the morning, but already she wanted to close her eyes.

“I told you before,” she whispered. “I told you. You can’t have both. You can’t put one foot in both worlds, John.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He ducked his head against her neck and kissed there, and she thought about what he’d said that night in the bar.

Outside of my loyalty to Joseph, there’s you, and I want both.

I want you too, Elliot.

We can have a place to belong.

She thought about Jerome’s voice over the radio. You don’t have to Atlas this thing, deputy.

She thought about Joey, holding her tight. I never doubted you’d be able to get me.

She thought about how, at twenty-five, she had to bury her best friend in the fucking ground.

John was lying to her about something. He wasn’t telling her everything, and maybe she had always known that it would be like this, between them: maybe, down in the marrow of her bones, she had always known they would end up at odds with each other, John trapped between two worlds that he wanted and neither side willing to budge.

Something has to be done, she thought tiredly, as John’s fingers smoothed along her hip, and I’m going to have to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’ve gotta get them out of here, Rook.”

Burke’s words stayed there, lingering in the air between them. It was late in the afternoon, and John was with his brothers and Faith in the chapel, and she’d ducked into Burke’s bunkhouse between guard shifts to grab a quick word with him. As soon as she told him that John had been pushing to get her sin revealed sooner than the original week he’d told her, Burke’s frown had deepened.

“They’re planning on getting it over with and getting the fuck out,” he said, pacing the tiny bunkhouse room. “There’s no way I’m getting to that radio with them all here. They think the world’s going to end, and that they need to be in their bunkers to survive it. If they get locked in there, Elliot, then—”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get them all out of here,” she replied irritably. “You do realize that I’m only—John’s the only—”

Burke waved his hand to stop her from elaborating. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss the nature of her relationship with John beyond what the base information: they had indulged in a physical relationship, and an emotional one, and now Elliot’s priorities included him. As best they could.

“He wants to do the… Ceremony,” Elliot continued, mouth twisting around the only word she could think to say without making it macabre, “soon. And I just think that if I push it all the way out, then it’ll stir up suspicion, after I told him I wanted to—”

“What if you didn’t?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“What if you didn’t push it out?” Burke continued, slowly, pitching his voice quieter and more urgent when he noticed movement outside. “What if you asked for it to be done sooner? But just—somewhere else? Not here? Make up something about how you don’t have good memories here, and…”

“And ask for his family to be there,” Elliot finished, “so that they have to leave you here?”

Burke nodded. His gaze darted to the window again, and she knew that they were running out of time. “You’ll still be guarded.”

“I can handle a few of these fuckers,” he replied, waving his hand. “Most of them are scattered out, getting supplies. I hear them complaining about it outside all the time. I’ll get that radio, see if I can hear any chatter, and tell them where to find you. ”

I need more time, she thought, but she knew that she wouldn’t get it. Not now. Her deadline had been set for her—by Joseph, by John, and even a little bit by Burke. She was this close to being done, to being—

Free.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, yes, I can do that. I’ll ask them to take me to the ranch, and—I can do that.”

“I know,” Burke said, and he had never sounded more confident; he planted his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, the clarity having returned from his Bliss-induced high. He hesitated, and then said, “The ceremony—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want you to know,” he plunged on, “it doesn’t matter, but I want you to know that you aren’t… That isn’t all of who you are.” His hands squeezed shoulders, the pressure welcoming and comforting and nauseating all at once. How strange, that kindness sickened her, now. “Wrath.”

Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. “I should go,” she said, because Burke still didn’t know what she’d done to Kian, still didn’t know the full extent of her body count or the way she’d felt when she killed a man. How it felt good, now—satisfying, an instant hit of dopamine centered around control.

“The back window,” Burke said, gesturing. “So the guards don’t wonder.”

“It’s all very exciting,” Elliot added. She tried for lightness, pushing the window up. “Subterfuge.”

“Just try not to say that where anyone can hear you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We’ve nearly collected the last of the supplies,” Joseph said, pacing absently back and forth. “How long do you think, Jacob?”

“A day, at most,” the redhead replied. “They’re working quickly, without all of these interruptions.” Jacob paused, and then turned his gaze at John. His mouth twisted for a moment, and John could tell his older brother was trying not to smile when he continued, “What’s your timeline, John?”

“The same,” John replied tightly.

“A day at most?”

“No, the same as before,” he clarified, even though he knew Jacob was doing it on purpose. “You gave me a timeline and that’s what I’m working with.”

“It’s just, you sounded very confident about your ability to wrangle the deputy,” his eldest brother continued, “and you’ve always been an overachiever.”

Joseph was looking at him expectantly. John knew that they wanted him to say that Elliot had insisted on doing it sooner, that she’d fully acquiesced to staying with him, that he had fully convinced her, down to every molecule of her being, that what they were doing was right and just and undeniably truthful.

But he hadn’t. Their conversation this morning only proved that more to him. You can’t have both, she’d said, like she still thought of herself as a separate entity from him, from his family. But she wasn’t; where else would she find people who would accept her, unconditionally?

Well, mostly unconditionally. There was one condition: believing. The most difficult one for her, he thought.

“I can spend more time with her,” Faith supplied, helpfully. “Maybe she’s tired of being around you boys all the time. You can be...” Her gaze flickered, and she tilted her chin a little, smiling. “A little heavy-handed. It’s possible that a lighter touch is necessary to bring the deputy around.”

“First, you should stop calling her that,” John pointed out, and he felt a little more than petulant saying it. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Elliot was naturally inclined to open up to Faith more easily, and he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it did still bother him, sitting right in the back of his mind. Always away but never forgotten. “Continuing to refer to her as “the deputy” is only going to further cement her ties to her past life.”

“Well,” Jacob demurred, “we can’t all call her baby, can we, John?”

“If you have a problem with me enjoying the marital bed,” John bit out, “then I think perhaps you spend some time reflecting inwardly on why that’s such a—”

The door to the chapel creaked as it was pushed open. Swallowing back his words quickly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see Elliot, hesitating in the doorway. Boomer lingered just behind her, sat at the bottom of the stairs, ever obedient.

“I can come back,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Not at all,” Joseph replied, before John could tell her maybe that would be best. “Please, come in.”

She did, letting the door swing shut behind her, and moved tentatively toward the front. He wondered how it felt for her—coming in here, with all of them looking at her, much the same way she had the day that set the events in motion that brought her back to them.

John wondered, too, if Joseph had known this all along; if the things that he heard and saw had shown him that Elliot would always come back here, to them. Our deputy, he’d always said, without fail.

“I want to do it,” Elliot said, as she approached. “Soon. As soon as possible.”

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, before John said, “That’s great, Elliot. We can get started with—”

“But I don’t want to do it here,” she interrupted, bringing John’s mouth to a full stop.

“More fucking demands,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Joseph said, watching her curiously. The way they had been, he was the closest to Elliot, with a table separating her from John. His fingers itched. “If you’re worried about the safety of it, I am sure John is more than equipped to—”

“This is supposed to be cleansing, isn’t it?” Elliot asked. “Regardless of how you feel, Joey’s body was put on display here. I don’t want this to be the place where I...”

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze darted elsewhere, mouth pressing into a thin line. John said, “I don’t think going somewhere else would be a problem. Where did you have in mind?”

“The ranch,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Feels fitting.”

As John stifled a smile, Joseph said, “Well, we’ll need to clear out the bodies, but I’m sure that can be done.”

“That’s manpower,” Jacob protested.

“You were just talking about how quickly they were getting things done,” John replied. “Weren’t you? Ahead of schedule. Over-achieving, I think.”

Jacob’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and grind of his molars, and for once, John felt a sweeping thrill of victory. It was coming together, right there, in front of him—in front of his brothers, and Faith. All of the witnessing the fruits of his labor.

“Fine,” Jacob acquiesced, at last. “But it’ll take them a few hours.”

“Perfect.” John smiled, looking at Elliot across the table, Joseph’s figure nearly eclipsing her. “Then Elliot and I will head out as soon as we hear that the bodies have been properly disposed of.”

“There’s one more thing,” Elliot began, looking uncertain, and drawing all eyes back to her again even as Joseph had moved to place his hand on Faith’s shoulder. When they had watched expectantly for long enough, she continued, “I want—everyone there.”

“Everyone?” John asked, the word souring in his mouth.

“Not—of Eden’s Gate. Just… All of you,” she elaborated.

John could feel the surprise, bubbling fresh and unexpected, between his siblings as they exchanged glances.

“Even me?” Jacob asked, and John saw the grin splitting across his face.

“Even you,” Elliot replied, dryly. “Against my better judgment, I’m sure.”

“I’m touched, honey.”

Clearing his throat, John walked around the table briskly, muttering a quick excuse us as he guided Elliot away from the front of the chapel and down the walkway a little.

“You want my family there?” he asked, keeping his voice low as his siblings chatted quietly amongst themselves. Jacob was grinning wolfishly, looking very pleased with himself, which was something John didn’t necessarily like. “Normally, it’s more of a—a private affair, and that’s how I pictured it with you—”

“This is important to me,” Elliot said, watching him. “And they’re important to you. Aren’t they?”

John swallowed. “Well, yes, but…”

“John,” she murmured, her fingers loosely tangled with his, “I’ll stay, after.”

He blinked at her. “You’ll—?”

“Yes.” Her gaze flickered over his, her voice low as she struggled through the words. “I’ll stay here, with you—and your family. After it’s done. I just… Need to close the chapter.”

I fucking did it, he thought, certain that he was going to grin like a complete maniac if he didn’t keep himself in check. I fucking got her. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they doubted me.

“Of course,” he managed out, somehow keeping his voice steady despite the rush of butterflies banging against his rib cage. “Of course, hellcat, anything you want.”

“Okay.” She paused, and then reached up and kissed him—willingly, of her own volition, in front of his siblings, she kissed him, and then sat back on her feet. “In a day, then?”

“In a day,” John promised, their noses brushing. “We’ll really belong to each other.”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered. She looked a little more tired than before, but it was hard to tell this close; and if it bothered her at all—if it was changing her mood—it didn’t show. He felt her smile against his mouth.

“Yes,” she murmured, just the way that he liked. “Completely.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jacob stopped by the bunkhouse with Joseph that evening to let him know they’d dispatched the men to clean out the ranch of any remaining corpses; they’d do it through the night, to better assist Elliot in her revelations. It seemed that the members of Eden’s Gate were just as relieved as the siblings themselves that the deputy was no longer and adversary, but joining them.

Which still left the matter of Cameron Burke.

“I say we kill him,” Jacob announced, glancing over John’s shoulder to ensure Elliot wasn’t there—and never before had John been more grateful for the blonde’s need to go on exorbitantly long walks out of the compound. “Quick and easy.”

“Well,” John said, “that is what I had thought you intended before, yet here we are, with him still on our hands.”

“We are lucky that our brother cares so much as to run our deputy through such trials,” Joseph interceded serenely, before a spat could break out. “And that she passed. With flying colors, I think.”

“That’s a little generous.”

“At any rate, that we’ve moved up this celebration for her is good,” the blonde continued. “I hear that the Family may not all be finished. Jacob mentioned that his scouts saw movement, out close to the Whitetails.”

John frowned. No good, he thought, but then—what about all of those dead couples he and Elliot had seen? Paired, holding hands, flowers blooming from wherever they could fit them? How was it determined which ones would off themselves and which ones stuck around?

“Now that we have all of the supplies we need,” Jacob said, “we don’t have to worry about getting rid of them.” He shrugged. “Let the apocalypse finish them off.”

“Well.” John clapped his hands together. “I’ve quite a day to prepare for tomorrow, I think. And when it’s all done, we’ll be ready to settle in.”

Joseph and Jacob exchanged looks, just for a moment, before Jacob said, “Night, Johnny,” and set off, leaving Joseph alone in front of the doorway to the bunkhouse. When he looked at John, his expression unreadable, something uneasy crawled and settled down at the base of his spine.

“I have something for you,” Joseph said. “Come with me to the chapel?”

Trying not to recognize that dread, lest he give it more legs than it already had, John nodded his head. “Of course. Though, you know you never have to…”

“It’s the least I could do,” his brother interjected lightly, waiting patiently as he closed the door to his temporary base of operations and then fell into step with him to the chapel. The evening was brisk and chilly, and when Joseph said, “And where is our deputy?” John stifled a rueful smile.

“Taking a walk, with Faith,” John replied. “And the dog, of course.”

“Of course.” He saw a smile ticking the corner of his brother’s mouth, small and almost imperceptible. “It’s nice that they get along, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he agreed, “like she was always meant to be with us.”

Joseph paused outside the chapel’s doors, reaching up and giving John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just like.”

They stepped inside. It was cool and quiet; nobody remained. The radio flickering through channels was the only noise, and they rang empty and static, not a peep out there. He wondered if the remaining members of the Family were just looking for a place to rest, or a way to get out; maybe they didn’t want anything, anymore.

He followed his brother to the front of the chapel. On the table was the map they’d been using, a few scribbled notes in Jacob’s hand-writing, and a manila envelope.

Joseph picked up the envelope and held it out to John. He took it, and then glanced inquisitively up at his brother.

“Is this—?”

“Her file,” Joseph confirmed. “What we gathered on her prior to the Collapse. Also in there are my notes from her confession, as well as what appears to be diary entries, recovered from where Kian had tried to hunt the two of you.”

Holy shit, John thought, because sitting in his hands was the exact thing that he’d wanted from the beginning. Everything that he wanted to know about Elliot was right there: waiting to be read, devoured, committed to memory. He would know every single part of her, every wretched thing she had ever done, every loss she had ever suffered, every—

“And,” Joseph continued, “your marriage certificate.”

John glanced up at his brother. Suddenly, the envelope felt—different. Like an ultimatum. If he learned all of this about Elliot, and she got suspicious because he suddenly knew so much about her, and she asked where he found out and he told her—and he would have to tell her—she’d want to see it and then. And then.

And then.

“I think it’s time, John,” his brother said. “I know that you haven’t told our deputy about this arrangement. She is your wife, after all, before the eyes of this congregation and God.”

“Right,” John murmured, swallowing. “Yeah, of course. I planned on it. After tomorrow. It feels fitting, to tell her then.”

Maybe it would be better to tell her in the bunker, he thought absently, and then shoved that immediately away. No, fuck, no, I have to tell her. Tomorrow, after we finish everything.

“Good.” Joseph smiled, and for the first time in a long time he smiled with teeth, and the expression on his brother’s face almost unnerved him. He reached up, and his fingers brushed the nape of John’s neck, tilting him forward so that their foreheads pressed together.

Relief, hot and overwhelming, washed straight through him. They had been so at odds that John thought he might have forgotten what it was like to be in his brother’s good graces, but here he was.

“I am so proud of all that you have done for me, for our family, for Eden’s Gate.” Joseph’s voice rang in the hollow of his bones, vibrating straight through him, spiking in him a delirious rush of pride. “You have done so well, John, despite all that God has done to test you.”

Oh, there it was: everything in him said, finally, finally, finally, someone sees me, and he was reminded of why it was he owed Joseph so much. Because he gave him this.

“I’m—” John felt the words choke and stutter on the way out of him. It was almost too much—the finish line was in sight. Elliot had said, you can’t have both, but he could. He could, and he was going to, and it was here right in front of him.

Waiting.

“Thank you,” he managed out. “Thank you, Joseph. I only ever wanted to make you proud.”

“I know.” Joseph smiled, hand pressed against the back of John’s head, holding him gently. “I know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leaving the chapel, John was cruising on cloud nine; he had everything. Everything. Nobody was going to take it from him. No stupid cult, no last-minute hail mary’s from the opposing team—

As he passed by a window into the bunkhouse that had been Elliot’s before Burke had made it his home, John stopped and leaned against the siding of the house, tapping on the window. Burke was sitting at the table, leaned back, eyes closed; when the sound of John’s finger against the glass rattled again, he opened one eye.

John waved, and grinned. “Hi, bud.”

Burke stared at him. He gestured for the Marshal to push his window up, and after a few exasperated gestures, he did—reluctantly.

“Seed,” he said, tiredly. “Particular reason you’re not fuckin’ off?”

“Just wanted to stop by,” John replied slyly. “See how you were holding up. The impending apocalypse must be weighing heavily on you.”

Burke stared at him for a moment. He worked a toothpick between his teeth. His hands and feet were both cuffed, and the guards standing outside of the bunkhouse seemed to be concerned with his tone when he said, “Can’t wait to beat that shit-eating grin off of your face.”

“That’s not very professional,” John drawled. “Won’t that look poorly, in front of all of your little friends?”

“They’ll avert their eyes to let me give you some extra special attention.” Burke lifted his chin, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and spitting out the window, nearly landing on John’s shoes. “Promise.”

Impudent, John thought. Burke really just couldn’t let him have a moment, could he? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Marshal,” he said, straightening up from the window and taking a step away. “I like it rough.”

And then he paused, turning on his heel like a swivel and lifted a finger thoughtfully.

“If you want some pointers on what I like,” he added pleasantly, “you can always ask Elliot.”

Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Your little brainwashed cultist? I think I’ll pass.” he asked, and John’s smile plummeted, wiped off of his face.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “You’re the failing party here, Cameron Burke. You’re going to be the one suffering when the End comes for you.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Burke replied, “better get goin’, shouldn’t you?”

John’s teeth snapped together with a click, pain shooting up through his jaw as his molars ground. Petulant and arrogant, all the way to the very end, wasn’t he? He supposed that made it a little bit better that Jacob was going to off him.

He had everything he wanted, and not even Cameron Burke was going to take that from him.

John flashed a smile, all teeth, and held his arms out. “I suppose I should,” he replied. “Have a nice ceremony tomorrow to prepare. Though, I don’t have to tell you—you’ll be there for it, won’t you? A front row seat and all.”

Even in the dark of the growing evening, he could see Burke’s jaw clench. The Marshal pulled back from the window and slammed it shut, signaling his exit from the conversation; if John had been in a worse mood, he would have stormed right in there and shown Burke exactly what the consequences were for trying to run the show.

But there wasn’t time, because just as he was debating the logistics of doing so, he heard a dog barking in the distance and the sound of familiar voices.

“Hi, John,” Faith sing-songed at him, swinging Elliot’s hand in her own as they approached. “Isn’t it a bit late? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” John replied with a quick smile, which was not necessarily a lie.

“Too excited,” his sister agreed playfully.

As they approached, he could see the circles beneath Elliot’s eyes had darkened. She really wasn’t sleeping, was she? Reaching up with his free hand as soon as she was close enough, he brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and guided her close, his fingers tangling into her hair at the base of her skull and his mouth finding her temple. Faith giggled and waved her fingers at Elliot, breezing past him on her way to the chapel.

He asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“It was dark,” Elliot replied, by way of explanation. Boomer sniffed around their feet and then cocked his head, listening while his eyes fixed on the dark treeline. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” John asked, distracted by Boomer’s sudden alertness. “Oh, the envelope?”

“No, John, this stupid fucking Hot Topic belt I’ve seen you wear all the time.” Elliot pulled back to look at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Yes, the envelope.”

He opened his mouth to respond, trying to decide if he wanted to be upfront with her about it or not; he was so caught up in his decision that he didn’t even have the time to be offended by her remark about his belt before he said, “We should go back to our house, don’t you think? The company here’s a little sour.”

Elliot’s gaze swept around curiously, and when she spotted Burke through the window, she said, “Ah.”

“You never did tell me how your talk went,” he added, taking her hand and beginning to pull her away. “Good? Bad?”

The blonde watched him for a moment, like he’d said something a little too suspicious. “It really bothers you when you don’t know what exactly is going on, doesn’t it?”

John feigned a pleased smile. “It’s my job to know what’s going on.”

“I thought it was your job to talk incessantly?”

“I am multi-faceted.”

They reached the door to their shared space—and that was a nice little thought, their space, like they had a place that belonged to the two of them—and as Elliot stepped inside, she said, “Burke wanted to know what had happened.”

John closed the door behind them, pausing and looking at her for a moment; he tried to glean any insight he could out of her expression, but he couldn’t. He could only see quiet exhaustion sitting on her face, just there, just within his reach.

“And?” he prompted, when she failed to elaborate. She walked into the bathroom and turned the water on, washing her face; quickly, John opened the envelope and thumbed through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He slid the paper beneath the nightstand beside the bed and shut the envelope, smoothing the metal pins out. There, he thought, like it was never opened.

“I told him the truth,” Elliot replied from the bathroom, shutting the water off. “About the Family. About—you. And your siblings.”

“Well, he did refer to you as my ‘little brainwashed cultist’, so I imagine that conversation didn’t go well.”

The blonde stepped out of the bathroom, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him for a moment. That was answer enough, he supposed—whatever friendliness had lingered between Elliot and Burke seemed to have been decimated by the reality of their situation.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“It’s your file,” John said, plainly. Elliot’s jaw tensed.

“My file,” she reiterated.

“Yes. All of the things Joseph had on you before, including your confession to him and some papers they found in Kian’s bag of belongings. Back in the woods.”

Her eyes flickered, and she exhaled, long and tired. He could tell that she didn’t like that he had it. She had so desperately tried to keep him from knowing what it was that haunted her, though he had mostly pieced it together by now—an ex-boyfriend gone bad, the resulting fallout, all wadded up into a tiny ball of trauma that sat right in her ribs. All of those times Elliot had tried to cling to those shreds of control—and everything about her had been handed to him in a manila envelope. He imagined that it was quite frustrating.

John offered, “I haven’t looked at it.”

“Why not?”

“I thought,” he began, carefully, “that you might want it. For yourself.”

Elliot looked at him warily. “You’re just going to give it to me?”

“Elliot,” he said as he closed the space between them, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’ll give you anything you want.” John reached up, brushing his fingers against the slope of her neck, feeling the way her pulse jumped at the contact. “Besides, I have you. What do I need the file for?”

He wanted it. He wanted to read her file, learn every gritty detail about her, memorize them the same way she’d memorized his scars and tattoos with her fingers; to know her, inside and out, so that there wasn’t a single dark corner of her that he didn’t have completely.

“Throw it away,” Elliot murmured. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it anywhere. Please, just throw it away.”

“If that’s what you really want,” John agreed.

“It is.”

She leaned up and kissed him; her hands cradling his jaw and pulling him there, her mouth soft and compliant against his. He dropped the envelope in favor of getting both of his hands on her, walking her back against the nearest wall and sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. Elliot’s breath stuttered and hitched prettily, but she pulled back until her mouth was just out of his reach.

Still, though her head was tilted otherwise, her fingers tugged on the front of his shirt and crowded him against her, close. If he thought about it too hard—about the way they had begun, hissing and spitting, and how they were now—he’d have thought he was dreaming, how she wanted him in her space now.

“Let’s go,” the blonde said, her voice urgent. “Tonight. To the ranch.”

“You—” John paused, watching her. “You want to go tonight? Why not tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she murmured, “in the compound. I want—”

Elliot stopped, then, worrying her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I want to have some time,” she continued, “with you, before... Everything. Just us.” Her mouth twisted in what John thought could only be a playful smile. “Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, narrowing his eyes amusedly. “Which times are those? The times where you told me to go fuck myself, or—”

“I think you liked it.”

“Your mouth is one of my favorite things about you, yes.”

“So,” she continued, “can we go tonight?”

John, propped up against the wall with her caged between his arms, studied her for a moment. It wouldn’t be bad to get some time away from the compound that wasn’t some kind of macabre venture out into Fall’s End, haunting her with all of the things she used to have and had once been.

“Sure,” he said finally, “I don’t see why not. Just a little time for us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though he had been less than thrilled about the idea of Elliot being outside of the compound, Jacob had confirmed that the ranch was cleaned out of bodies and ready for them. When they swept past Burke in the bunkhouse, watching them through the window, John’s eyes went to Elliot—trying to see if there was anything in her expression, trying to see if there was a blink of affection or recognition.

There wasn’t. Elliot walked past without looking at the U.S. Marshal and swung into the driver’s side of the truck, and when John reached across the console to drop the keys in her hand, her gaze and expression were clear of any cloudiness.

When they got to the ranch, it was quiet; the lights had been left on, and while John knew that the bodies were gone and cleaned out, he still braced himself for impact when they walked in. The bookshelf had been righted again, and the strong smell of cleaning solution lingered in the air, but for the most part, everything was exactly where he’d left it.

It was a shame, then, that soon they’d be slipping underground.

“Bleach,” Elliot said, walking up the stairs after him. “How romantic.”

“It’s your mess they were cleaning,” John replied dryly, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “In case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He pushed the door open to the master bedroom, taking in a little breath and turning to look at Elliot. She was inspecting the room, and for a second, John almost felt self-conscious—that she was here, now, with him. In his home. Touching his things. Looking at him.

It was almost unnerving to think about; that some time ago, she had been viciously looking for any way out. But of course, she had come around. She was always going to come around, one way or another. He thought about the way she’d spit Go fuck yourself, John, the way she’d tried her hardest to be as obtuse and unhelpful as possible, how she’d said in the bar you can’t have both but here he was.

Here she was.

There was only one thing left standing in the way, and it was something he had all the power in the world to change if he wanted to.

“What are you thinking about?” the blonde asked, arching a brow at him loftily.

“You,” John said, and it wasn’t a lie. Her lashes fluttered and she almost looked shy, for a moment; when he reached out and tugged her close by the belt loop of her jeans, he added, “What do you think about getting married?”

With her hands steadying herself on his chest, she barked out a laugh. “In general? Or us getting married?”

“Primarily the latter.”

“I—” Elliot blinked, and shook her head. “I don’t... What do you mean, what do I think about us getting married?”

“Do you like the idea?” John prompted. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the slope of her jaw.

“We’ve barely been together,” she murmured. “And—you still piss me off.”

“That’s amore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot groaned, and John grinned, sliding his arms around her to pull her closer still. He hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the bed; when he’d settled her there, on her back and with her legs looped loosely around his waist, she watched him for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to get married.”

John cocked his head. “Not even once?”

“Not even once.”

“And why not?”

“Why would I?” she retorted. “The only marriage I ever saw was my dad dragging my mama’s credit through the dirt and then fucking off the second he got tired of playing house. Giving up my last name to someone? Letting someone take that away from me?”

John leaned down, pushing her sweater up and pressing his mouth to the curve of her hip cutting up and over her jeans. Her breath stuttered for a moment, and she squirmed when he let his tongue slide along one of her scars.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” he said, “but marriage isn’t all about giving. It’s about receiving, too.”

He watched the heat crawl into her cheeks, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them down until they pooled on the floor with a whisper. She said she’d never wanted to get married, but he thought after tomorrow—after she saw how beautiful it would be, to have her sin revealed and in the open—she would change her mind. For him, she would.

Elliot let out a sharp, stuttering breath. “Come here,” she said, tugging on him a little to guide him back up to her. He obliged, and she tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him; long and patient, lips parting beneath his and her tongue flickering playfully against his mouth. She skimmed her fingers along his chest, down until she could undo his belt and pull it from the loops, discarding it on the floor.

“Miss Honeysett,” John murmured.

“John,” she replied, as her fingers deftly undid his jeans.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“You did take my pants off.”

He laughed, the sound sweeping out of him just before Elliot pulled him down into another kiss. She shifted and squirmed against him, pushing and working with her fingers until they were skin on skin. There was a second, a heartbeat of time, where Elliot paused, her gaze flickering over him.

“I want—a home,” she said, her voice quiet, “with you. I don’t have one anymore, and I...”

John dragged his fingers along the exposed skin of her sternum, down and down and down, and she sucked in a sharp little breath the second he found exactly he was looking for.

“You have it,” he replied against her mouth, and a spike of heat sprinted up his spine when he beckoned his fingers against her and she whimpered. “You have it, El, I told you—”

Elliot’s nails dug into his shoulder and she said, “John,” and her voice plunged a little when she did, pitching high and sweet and just the way that he liked it; he mouthed a spot on her neck, sighing against her skin.

“Love those sounds you make,” he murmured. “So good for me.”

“Yes,” Elliot said breathlessly, turning her head so that their noses could brush, “yes, I am, for you—so, please—”

So, please, she said, so sweetly, wanting and hurting and needy as she clutched him, as her breath hitched in anticipation when John pressed up against her, slow and without urgency.

“Is this what you wanted to come here for?” John rumbled against her mouth, breathing unsteady. “So I could f—fuck you in peace and quiet?”

The blonde moaned her agreement as she kissed him. Her body arched up against his, impatient, and when he finally pressed into her all the way, she let out a sigh, her fingers twisting in his hair.

It was too good; too tight, too hot, and the way Elliot held him close, like she thought she was going to disappear if she didn’t keep her grip on him, made the trickle of heat turn into a wildfire splitting through his body. He groaned, the pace excruciating and delicious as he made sure to take each drag as slow as possible.

“F-Fucking—faster,” Elliot whimpered against his mouth, “John—”

“No,” he ground out, slotting his hips against hers tightly before drawing back out again. “You have to—I want you just like this, hellcat—”

She made a sweet keening noise and rocked her hips up, impatient; each time she did sent another sharp jolt of desire sprinting through him, and he bit out a low swear and gripped her hip with one hand.

“Brat,” he moaned. “Wants everything her way but can’t—f-fucking—behave.”

“Fuck you,” Elliot replied, but there was no real heat in her words; she said it in a broken, stuttering breath. “What if I want you faster? What if I want you to fuck me until you just can’t stand it—”

“Stop.” John gritted the words out between his teeth; if there was one thing that sent him to his undoing, it was Elliot and her filthy mouth. “God, you—fucking—”

Elliot dragged him in for a kiss, open-mouthed and slick and wanting, and she begged, “John, I want you so badly—I need—”

And her words stuttered for a moment, like she was catching herself before she could say something that she thought might be embarrassing. John’s hand came up and pressed to her jaw, tilting her face back to him so that he could see her; gazing at him through her lashes, flushed and lips kiss-reddened and eyes dreamy and dazed.

“Tell me,” he managed out, through the haze of his own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Elliot moaned, “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” John ground out. He was powerless to go against her wishes when she was looking at him like that, and saying I need you, and twisting her fingers in his hair and—

And when he snapped into her, she sighed his name like a prayer, like he was holy, and he thought that it would have been a crime not to give her what she wanted. It was almost as good as taking it slow; hearing Elliot whimper yes yes yes into their liplock as he fucked her, rough and a little unforgiving, nearly sent him spiraling.

When he slipped a hand between them, dragging the pad of his thumb across the neediest part of her, he felt her tighten; closecloseclose, it said, and Elliot made a wrecked, desperate sound and kissed him just as she came unraveled, panting his name.

His followed close behind—it hit hard, a strange, empty moment just before the ricocheting pleasure rattled around in his skeleton. John buried his face into Elliot’s neck and moaned, gripping her tight to him, and she arched up a little into him and made him hiss.

“You,” he said breathlessly into her neck, “are getting too comfortable using that filthy mouth of yours to get what you want.”

She laughed, raking her fingers through his hair. “You like it.”

“I’ve said that I do.”

“How much?” Elliot idled, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Wicked thing, aren’t you?” he asked, instead of answering her question. Her lashes fluttered, and when John leaned down and dragged his teeth against her pulse point, she made a soft, sweet sound, squirming in his arms.

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced. Having disentangled themselves and slipped under the covers, she settled back against the pillows and he was reminded, once again, of the dark circles lingering under her eyes. “Feels like I have slept a fucking wink in the compound.”

“Fine,” John agreed, kissing her temple. “You’ll need your rest for tomorrow, anyway.”

It took some time for them to fall asleep; Elliot slept more fitfully than he, and each time she shifted or sighed or rolled it woke him up, too. Eventually, the blonde settled with her face tucked against John’s chest, her fingers absently tracing over the shape of his scar until her breathing slowed and she drifted back off.

Sometime around three in the morning, she stirred, sliding out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. John reached over to the nightstand and picked up his watch to squint at it in the dark. He heard the sink running, and the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

“Can’t believe it’s almost the end of November,” he said, out loud and to no one in particular, though Elliot’s head peeked out of the bathroom. She’d wrapped herself in his robe, cinching it tight around her waist.

“It is?” she asked, tiredly. “What’s the date?”

“The twenty-first.”

Elliot stilled for a moment. A strange emotion swept over her face; he thought that it was almost sadness. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

John set the watch back down on the nightstand. “Well, perfect timing then. I just gave you an incredible birthday present. How old are you turning? And why do you look so terribly distressed?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered when he grinned at her. “Twenty-six, asshole.” And then, like an afterthought: “It’s just that normally by now, I’m—”

The blonde cut herself off, and then shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly and walking back into the bathroom to turn the water off.

“Elliot?” he called. “What is it?”

“Just weird,” she replied after a minute, “being... Having a birthday. Here. Like this.”

He settled back against the pillow. “Come back to bed.”

She did as he asked, obliging him as she slid back under the blankets and covers. The robe was still on, and he pulled at the hem of it playfully. Elliot somehow looked more tired than before; and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, like she was somewhere very far away from him.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot’s attention snapped to him. “Faith said the same thing.”

“Great minds.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting to the other side in bed so that John could tug her back against his chest, burying his face into her neck. When her breathing finally slowed a little, and regulated, John felt himself finally start to relax.

I can have both, he thought, as he began to drift back off. I can, and I will.

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

When Elliot awoke the next morning, the first thing that she thought was, I’m late.

It hit her differently in the cold light of day, to think her period was delayed. That’s probably what it was, anyway—a delay. Lots of things could fuck around with the timing of a period, right?

The second thing she thought was, today’s the day.

Things did seem oddly calm, as they went about their morning; they showered, and John kissed her smelling like expensive soap, and his hands went to the places he loved the most—her hips, her hair, her jaw. It was like they’d fallen into a routine with each other, in just this short period of time; but then, she supposed, that was very natural to have happened, considering that they spent so much time with each other now.

“We should do it downstairs,” Elliot said as John busied himself with some coffee. Boomer had sprinted outside at the first opportunity, taking off into the treeline to burn some of his energy off.

“Downstairs?” he asked, glancing at her. “In the room?”

“Seems fitting.”

He shrugged, sliding a cup of coffee her way and leaning across the counter. “Whatever you want, baby.”

The sound of car doors closing and voices outside stirred her attention away from John’s mouth—a wholly distracting thing—but when she turned to see the Seeds walking through the front door of the ranch, she felt her stomach plummet.

“Brought a plus one,” Jacob announced, shoving Burke forward. “Hope you don’t mind.” He fixed Elliot with his gaze. “Caught him snooping around the chapel. Isn’t that weird?”

“I—” Elliot’s brain fuzzed viciously, static biting through all other noise. Burke’s lip was split and he had a nasty black eye forming. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no, no, no, no. This is so fucking bad.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I couldn’t trust anyone to keep an eye on him, so unfortunately, that is now my job.”

“No,” Elliot said abruptly, drawing all eyes on her. “I’m—I don’t want him here.”

“Elliot,” John murmured.

“Then what do you propose I do with him?” Jacob demanded.

“I don’t know, that isn’t my fucking job,” she snapped. With the siblings all looking at her, Burke took a second and very gently, very resolutely, shook his head no.

Her mind went frantic. What does that mean? Does that mean stop kicking up a fuss? Does that mean he got to the radio? Or that he didn’t? What the fuck is the plan, now?

Joseph said, gentle, “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to lose track of him, Elliot.”

She felt fingers brushing hers. John had come around the kitchen island, and now their fingers were interlaced. It felt like she was on some kind of precipice, some great, plunging cliff into a void, and all she could do was stand by hopelessly as everything pushed her towards the edge.

She didn’t want Burke to watch. She didn’t want him to see her let John carve WRATH into her skin, but most of all—most of all, she didn’t want Burke to see that maybe it would feel good, for her, a catharsis.

“Fine,” she managed out after a moment, watching Burke’s eyes flutter shut in what might have been relief. Or suffering. “Fine, whatever.”

“Well,” Joseph murmured, “shall we get started? There’s a full day ahead of us.”

As they moved down the stairs, Elliot swallowed thickly and tried to clear and compose her brain. Everything did feel just a little bit like it was too much. Joseph there, his shoulder brushing hers; Faith and John, chatting like it was nothing to have her sit down in a chair in the middle of the room where she had been kept captive; Jacob, shoving Burke into the room and on his knees.

It was too much. She would just have to pray that Burke had gotten a chance with the radio before Jacob found him.

“We’re going to have to take your shirt off,” John said, moving into her vision, and didn’t sound like he regretted that in the least. A little rush of relief coursed through her when she realized she’d be able to focus on someone familiar—none of Joseph’s prying eyes or Faith’s sweet smiles to unsettle and unseat her. Just her, and John.

“How long is this going to take?” Burke asked, his voice bordering on vicious. Jacob gave him a little jostle.

“Why? You got somewhere to be, friend?”

Elliot barely heard them. Her eyes, her thoughts, were on John; when her shirt was discarded to the side, he skimmed his fingers along her sternum, eyes bright.

“It’s going to look so good,” he murmured, and she knew that he wasn’t paying attention to them, either. He’d seemed disappointed when she asked someone else to be there, but now, it didn’t seem like it mattered at all. “Ready?”

She nodded, feeling a little swoon of adrenaline kick through her body when John left the room and returned with a knife. John looked at her expectantly. The physical acquiescence wasn’t enough.

“Yes,” Elliot said, and John’s eyes fluttered closed just for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed her—hard and open-mouthed, his fingers bruising where they gripped her shoulder.

“Fucking Christ,” Burke ground out, and John pulled away with a wicked grin.

“You and me,” he murmured against her lips, and she nodded.

John sat down. Over his shoulder she could see Burke, sitting on his knees, his face resolutely turned to the side. She turned her gaze away, too, because she didn’t want to see—didn’t want to see Burke sitting there, biting his tongue and trying not to look at her, look at her scars and the one John was going to give her and—

The sting of the first cut barely registered through the fog of her brain. It didn’t quite hit, and then her eyes flickered down and she saw the first stream of red, and it really hit, immediately slicing through the fog of adrenaline to hit sharper, harder, nastier.

Elliot exhaled a stuttering breath. It felt exactly the same as she remembered; it wasn’t so soft, on her chest like this, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation to her either. Something in her brain tripped at the pain, neurons firing rapidly; we know you, they said, as John meticulously carved the W into her skin, we know you, pain, we missed you, missed you missed you missed you.

“John,” she said, because there was a burst of panic going off in her brain like fireworks. The two parts of her—the one that self-preserved, and the one that craved this exact sting and bite—wrestled with the reality of her situation: that she was both doing and not doing the thing she had tried to deprogram out of herself.

“So good, hellcat,” John murmured, his eyes fixed on his work as he started on the R. He was fixated; he was somewhere far away from her, even as close as he was. “It’s going to look so good on you.”

And behind him, Jacob said, “C’mon, Burke, don’t you want to see what your little deputy asked for?”

“Fuck. You,” Burke bit out.

The sting, the bite; the push and pull. Elliot breathed her way through each excruciating moment, and they were excruciating, these moments, because John was utilizing every second that he had her here, like this.

And that was fine. She needed him to; both for her sake, and for Burke’s.

Something sounded like thundering up ahead, distant but out of place. It gave her a little jolt of panic. If that was what she thought it was, then—

Elliot saw Jacob’s eyes flicker up to the ceiling, narrowing; she managed out, “Slow down,” just as John paused too, to draw his attention back to her.

“Slower?” John asked, and the way he said it felt intimate, with his eyes fixed on her and his fingers red with her blood.

“Please,” Elliot breathed. Jacob looked at her for a moment, long and hard, but she didn’t meet his eyes; only looked at John, only waited patiently for him to begin.

After a moment, John said, his voice pitched low, “Anything you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jacob said. He dropped his hand from Burke’s shoulder; John made a non-committal uh-huh sound, finishing off the unsteady cross of the T. She hissed, squirming in her seat at the pain, drawing Jacob’s attention for just a second long before he made his way out of the room.

The H followed next. As soon as he finished, John pulled back to admire his work; there was still a bit of bruising, but most of it was up on her shoulder, not her chest, which was now doused in crimson. Wiping his hands off with a towel, he beamed at her; all teeth and bright eyes.

“What a relief, don’t you think?” Joseph asked, his voice idle and distracted as he glanced up at the ceiling inquisitively. “To have it all out there.”

John flashed a smile at his brother, clearly pleased. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said to Elliot, coming to a stand. “We’ll have to let it heal for a while to see how it’s going to scar, and then we can go back in and—”

Before John could finish his sentence, Elliot heard the sound of car doors slamming outside, and Jacob’s voice, asking something in a demand, and then a volley of responses: it was hard to hear, a floor down, but she thought they were saying get down, get down.

“What is going on?” Joseph asked, his voice verging on something other than cool and calm, and the sound of it filled Elliot with a bright spark of joy: yes, she thought viciously, coming to a stand and feeling around for her shirt while her eyes stayed on the Seeds, yes, you fucking cockroach, squirm.

“I don’t know,” John said, stepping toward the door. “Stay here.”

He only took two more steps before the sound of Jacob shouting something above them, followed by a gunshot, and then a loud cacophony of footsteps above them.

“Jacob,” Faith breathed, her eyes wide and panicked. “Something’s happened, Father, we have to—”

“Stay,” John barked out, suddenly all business as he was hauling Burke up to his feet. “I think our friend the Marshal would like to take a look first, make sure nothing is dangerous.”

But Burke was grinning when his feet righted themselves on the ground. He sucked his teeth, looked directly at Joseph, and said, “Time’s up, fuckhead.”

Burke’s words send her stomach somersaulting. So he had gotten to the radio. He had, just in time, which meant he’d been caught just after, and now—

Now he was here, and so were all of the Seeds, too.

I fucking did it, she thought hazily, bracing herself on the chair. Holy shit. I fucking did it.

The sound of footsteps storming down the stairs made John’s eyes flicker to the doorway, and he let go of Burke, gripping the bloodied towel loosely in his hands.

Her heart was thundering in her chest. It was hard to think through the haze of pain, the stinging and burning of the cuts on her chest, but it was there, if she tried hard enough to look: hope.

But Joseph wasn’t looking at John. He was looking at Elliot.

“You,” the Father hissed, as Elliot pulled the shirt away from her chest, sticky-wet with blood. “You did this. I know you did, you fucking locust, I knew it the second you stepped foot in my chapel—brought us all here, rounded us up like lambs for the slaughter—”

“What do you mean?” John demanded. “Elliot has been with me since this whole—”

Things moved very quickly, then: through the fog of pain, Elliot heard one, two, three heavy thuds against the door before wood splintered and came crashing down, the instant array of green sights set on them—all of them, her included—and the sound of voices demanding their hands go up.

Elliot watched Joseph, hands at his sides.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Joseph ground out, his voice vicious, the rage splitting across his face almost as delicious as the fear. Faith was crying, and saying something through her tears, as John lifted his hands obediently.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the SWAT members hauling Burke out of the room first. She looked at Joseph and arched a brow at him, lifting her hands obediently when the order was shouted again.

“Oh, Father,” she sighed, her voice cloying and sweet and just between the two of them, “did God not tell you about this part?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things were going poorly.

That is to say, Jacob had a gunshot to the shoulder that was currently being patched while he was in handcuffs—“Can’t have you bleeding out on us, can we?” the medic said, a little too gleefully, until Jacob said something along the lines of I’m gonna rip your fucking face off—and Faith was crying, and Joseph was seething, furiously whispering to himself and held in place by one of the other U.S. Marshals.

Elliot was in cuffs, too, but Burke seemed to be talking furiously with the man who had cuffed her, occasionally interrupted when Elliot would try and draw his attention back to John.

This won’t do, he thought, as panic pounded through his body, as his heart hammered against his chest. All of his siblings, in handcuffs, and Elliot too; she was, too, but she looked—

Fine.

She looked fine, and he thought about what she’d said. You can’t have both, and then she’d immediately gone back on that. Of course she had. Of course, because she was wretched and wicked and clever, and she had never truly let go of her hatred for Joseph, but they were married. They were married, and the U.S. government was going to know about it before they stuck her on a stand to testify against any of his siblings.

“I need to speak to her,” John said to the officer holding him. “The woman, there. That’s my—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” the man replied sharply, “except shut your mouth and wait patiently for us to load you and the rest of your fucking brood into the van.”

“She’s my wife,” John bit out viciously. “And she’s in cuffs, I would like to speak with my wife—”

“What did you just say?”

It was Elliot’s voice, sharp and clear and splitting through the distance between them. In the chilly Autumn afternoon, John felt the spike of pure adrenaline race through him at her tone, at the way her head snapped to him and she shouldered her way past Burke. The officer had taken her cuffs off.

Burke said, “Rookie,” in warning, but it didn’t matter, John knew; they had never been able to ignore each other, in love or in war.

“I said,” John reiterated, “you’re my wife.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Elliot demanded.

“That night,” he began urgently, “that night that you were feeling unwell after your walk with Faith, and we talked about leaving—”

Elliot started, her voice hitching, “John, what did you do—”

“—we talked about other things, too,” he plunged on. “I didn’t tell you, Elliot. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be the right time. I was going to tell you today, after we were done—I was going to tell you that we talked about it and I asked you if you wanted to marry me, and you told me yes—”

“Stop,” she moaned, agonized. “Stop—fucking—talking—you didn’t, John, you fucking didn’t lie to me again about this thing that you know I hate—”

“And you signed the certificate. It’s back at the compound,” John finished, trying to lean around the officer. “We’re married. You and me, hellcat, just like we say, you and—”

He saw the slap coming before it hit, but it definitely took a few seconds for the pain to actually register in his brain. And oh, then it hit; Elliot had swung her hand with the same amount of force she might have if she were close-fist punching him, but her palm connected with this side of his face and sent a sharp, red-hot shot of pain blooming and blurring behind his eyes.

Dazed, John blinked and tried to focus his attention again as the officer jostled him out of her reach. He was vaguely aware of Burke moving toward them as Elliot gritted out between her teeth, “How fucking dare you.”

“Ell,” John said, and there was blood in his mouth, his lip split from the impact of her hand. “Listen to me—”

Burke, louder and closer: “Elliot.”

“No, you listen to me, you fucking rat!” Elliot’s voice was pitching higher in volume, and higher in frequency and hysteria. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I told you, I fucking told you what was going to happen if you lied to me again—you fucking—I’m going to fucking kill you—”

John saw Burke sling an arm around Elliot’s waist just as she lunged again, seething and furious, holding her tight against his chest as she clawed at his arms to get free. His mouth against her hair, he said, “Rookie, take a breath.”

“You take a fucking breath!”

He hauled her, all five feet and four inches of her, turning her away from John, like breaking her eyesight with him would save him the trouble of having to cuff her.

“Elliot,” John called, trying to lean past the officer, “I forgive you—”

“Fuck! You!”

“—marriage is hard work, but I know,” he continued, grinning when she finally pulled herself out of Burke’s grip, “that you’re just the woman for the job.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Every line in her expression was pulled tight with fury, and yes—John thought he should have told her sooner, maybe, but if she was going to find out, what better time to find out than in front of the very men who wanted to put her on the stand?

“Don’t you remember what you said last night? You need me,” he tried again, and he could tell the officer holding his shoulders was getting tired of him leaning around all the time. “I love you, Elliot, through sickness and in health, no matter how many—”

“Oh, John,” Elliot breathed out, like she almost couldn’t get a full lungful of air, she was so out of breath. She swayed on her feet exhaustedly, her mouth twisting around the next sentence that came out of her mouth: “I want a fucking divorce.”

The words plunged John straight into a panic, the kind that made it feel like there was a feeding frenzy going on under his skin. This was not how things were supposed to unfold. This was not how it was supposed to go. Elliot was going to be upset, sure—but he had taken great pains to make sure that she knew he was the only thing left for her, after it all. She was supposed to upset, and then see that it had been for her, it was always for her, for them. Everything he’d done, every step he’d taken, every—

She’s mine, he thought, his face still stinging, dull and hot, from her slap. Burke was saying something to her. That’s my fucking wife, whether she likes it or not.

No one was going to take her from him. Not Joseph or Jacob, not Cameron Burke, not even her. No one was going to put a serial murderer and the wife of a religious group’s lawyer on the stand. He’d make fucking sure of that.

“You think you’re gonna move on from this, El?” he demanded, managing to shoulder around the officer to make eye contact with her. His voice came out tight, sharp—slowly and purposefully careening, but he hated the strike of strange hysteria that wormed its way in there, too. “I watched you slaughter at least a hundred people in the name of “justice”—you beat a man to death with a blunt object, and you liked it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot ground out. She made to move at him, nails digging into her palms, but Burke hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her back again, much like before.

“You think you’re gonna move on and meet some nice little country boy who’s gonna love you even with all that fucking red in your ledger?” Oh, he was careening—all of the control slipping out from between his fingers, like sand. “No fucking way, baby, I’m it for you!”

“Rook,” Burke said, but there was no follow-up which made it worse; Burke said one word—one tiny little pet name—and Elliot’s attention immediately snapped to him.

John had never been made to feel like he was nothing; not like this.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and Elliot’s eyes turned to him; but he saw the fury split across her face, the absolute indignant rage. “You’re going to spend one day back in polite society and come unglued, Elliot Honeysett, and when you fucking do—you’ll be begging for me to take you back, and I guarantee you I fucking won’t.”

“That’s enough,” Burke said, but he was speaking to Elliot, looking at her.

“Maybe,” she hissed, pushing at Burke’s arm as blood seeped through the wound on her chest “you should have considered how I would react to you being a pathological liar before you fucking came inside me, you cunt.”

Her words sent a strange, uncomfortable sensation sprinting down his spine. She couldn’t be, John thought, alluding to—

But she had been surprised when he told her it was her birthday, like she hadn’t realized what day it was, and had said something like, normally by now I’m, and just hadn’t finished her thought.

“Okay.” Burke pulled her back a few more steps, his voice strained. Pulled her away from him. “We’re taking a walk. You and me, Rookie.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” John called after her, panic rising in his voice. “Elliot? Tell me what you—”

“I mean I’m late, fuckhead,” Elliot spit at him over Burke’s shoulder.

The officer pulled him back towards the truck, dragging him by his arm as Burke took Elliot around the corner of the ranch house. His stomach was lurching nauseatingly, trying to piece it together. Had it been long enough? Of course, it had—it had been over a month, probably, maybe even more because he didn’t know how to keep track of time when he’d been drugged and kidnapped and dragged around.

If she is, he thought, frantic; if she does have my child, if she’s—

“John,” Joseph said, his voice eerily quiet as he was pushed into a sitting position across from his brother. He seemed to have recovered from his outburst earlier; there was an odd grimness about his expression. “We must remain focused.”

“She—” John blinked rapidly, trying to gather his fraying, desperate thoughts. “Joseph, she might—”

Joseph lifted a finger to his lips to signal silence. Jacob’s breathing was labored but controlled, and Faith’s gentle crying had been snuffed out. She’d only been the damsel for a few minutes before she tried to storm her way out of their grip.

“The task at hand,” Joseph cautioned him. “Then, we will figure out what to do for your son.”

My son. The words echoed hazily in his brain as the van doors slammed shut, eclipsing them.

“How do you know?” John demanded. “You know? You know that she’s—with my—”

“Of course,” his brother replied, still keeping his voice soft.

“God told me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Take a breath.”

“No.”

“Rookie.” Burke’s voice was hard. “Look at me and take breath.”

She couldn’t. Every inch of her body was screaming—desperate for a reprieve, but there was none to be had because she was still nursing her WRATH wound, because she was heaving out great, panicked breaths between ragged cries.

“I can’t,” Elliot moaned, her hands shaking, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

Burke snagged her hand and pressed it to his neck, just like before, but this time it didn’t do anything; this time, she just felt the spiral hit harder, the overwhelming sensation of touching and being touched sending her brain sprinting in panic.

She yanked her hand out of his grip and clutched her knees to her chest, ignoring the warm seep of blood even against the bandages the medic had patched her with and the sting of the pressure of her bones pressed up against the wound.

Burke stayed, and she noticed. He stayed, and he didn’t have to—he was done, free, could leave and go home—but he stayed sitting there with her, against the side of the Seed ranch, wherein many ways, things for her had began.

So, she cried; she sobbed into her jeans until she thought she was going to be dizzy from gasping for air, and Burke stayed, and waited until her hand fumbled for his blindly before he touched her again. His fingers gripped hers, firm and soothing.

“Is it true?” he asked, when she had stopped her crying, when she had breathed so much there was too much oxygen in her brain. His gaze flickered over her. “That you’re… With that fucker’s…”

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied, exhausted. “I’m—fuck, I’m late, and I didn’t realize until yesterday, because it’s been so fucking—”

Burke passed his free hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” and the words came out of her agonized; because she could hear the disappointment in his voice, or what she thought was disappointment. “I thought—I thought he—Burke, I—”

“I know, Rook,” Burke murmured, not unkindly. “Just focus on breathing. I know.”

A few more moments of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of voices and out and the kick of an engine starting and pulling out from the ranch. After her breathing had evened out again, Burke said, “They’re going to be retrieving Kian’s body.”

Elliot stared at the ground, feeling numb. He didn’t have to say; she knew what that meant. Government officials were going to see what she’d done to Kian. They were going to see it, and see that she was legally married to one of them, and see that she was carrying the child of one of them, and see her history, and all of these things were going to add up.

The picture was not going to be a good one.

“I’ve gotta take you in, Rook,” Burke said quietly. “At the very least, to a therapist.”

She sniffed. I love you, John had said, after he’d lied. Lied, and lied, and lied, and used her, and lied, and if he loved her, he didn’t love her in any way that she understood.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I know what you’ve been through, and you know I’ll vouch for you. I saw firsthand the kind of—the shit that was going on,” he insisted. “I just—want you to have a realistic picture of what it’s gonna look like, when we get back. They’re gonna autopsy Kian’s body, and—”

She took in a long, suffering breath. “I’m really tired,” Elliot said, her voice breaking a little. “Can we—are we going straight there, or?”

Burke paused, his expression softening, and shook his head. “We’ll hit a motel or two along the way.”

Elliot nodded, closing her eyes and pressing her face back into her knees. She stayed like that for a while; it was hard to tell how much time passed, but eventually, someone came around the corner and said something to Burke, and he tugged her to her feet and walked her to the car.

The sensation of Burke’s hand slipping out of hers sent another burst of panic flooding through her; her body was so tired, so very fucking tired of managing the adrenaline, but the more she tried to calm down the more tired she got.

“I want to stay with you,” she said, feeling hazy and tightening her hand around Burke’s. The Marshal looked at her for a long moment and then nodded.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, reaching up and squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll stick together.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Time passed differently, after that. Elliot couldn’t have said how long it took them to get to the first motel; it couldn’t have been seconds, or minutes, or months for all that she knew. She was numb when they set her up in a motel room with two beds, she was numb when they checked her scar and redressed it.

“Fucking Christ,” the medic said under his breath when he saw the WRATH wound, still hot and trying its best to scab over. “You poor thing.”

It’s not me, Elliot thought miserably, opening her mouth; but no words would come. All she could think was, I asked for this, I’m not the poor thing, please don’t.

“Hey,” Burke barked out, his voice sharp as he took in Elliot’s crumpling expression. “Let’s get it cleaned and let her sleep, buddy.”

The medic nodded, thoroughly scolded, and worked quickly after that. When he’d finished and she had swallowed two Tylenol dutifully, Burke watched her climb under the covers of the bed and said, “I’ve gotta make a call. You okay in here?”

She swallowed thickly. He was looking at her like he was wary of her. The same way Whitehorse had looked at her.

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a tight, tired smile and then stepped out of the motel room, closing the door behind him. Silence lingered there for a little while; Elliot tried to close her eyes and sleep, her fingers brushing through Boomer’s fur as he dozed, but the low, murmuring sound of Burke talking just outside stirred her anxiety, and each time she closed her eyes she just saw John’s face.

John, holding her face and kissing her, You and me. John, burying his face into her neck, I love you.

John, their noses brushing, We can have a place to belong, Elliot.

John, vicious and unyielding, I’m it for you.

She lurched out of the bed, pushing her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her just in time to lean over the toilet and throw up whatever was left in her stomach—which wasn’t much, if the amount of dry-heaving were any indication. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she thought if she didn’t get a breath of air she was going to fucking die.

Elliot pushed the window open and tried to steady her breathing. Rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she shut the water off and paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

The person that looked back at her was unfamiliar. A stranger. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but each time she did, she felt less and less familiar with the gaunt, sharp-faced, dark-eyed stranger gazing back at her from the mirror. Some bruises along her neck and shoulders still remained.

Who are you? She thought, tiredly. The one that killed all of those peggies? The one that killed Kian? Why don’t I recognize you?

“... understand that, sir, it’s just—if you saw what was going on...”

Burke’s voice drifted in through the window. He must have been pacing, because the volume of his words drifted and moved, as though he were walking around the corner and then back again.

His footsteps paused. “No, I have not read the autopsy report yet. I didn’t think it pertinent at this time, considering we only just—”

She heard Burke’s words cut abruptly, the sound of his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale, and then he said, “Jesus Christ. No, I didn’t know.”

Oh, she thought hazily, oh, he knows. He knows what I did.

Her body moved automatically. Something inside of her kicked—we’re not done yet, it said, ferocious and furious, sinking its teeth into her and operating her body outside of her own executive function. We’re not fucking done yet.

Elliot pulled her sweater and her shoes on. The late autumn chill drifting through the open window made her mind feel sharp, and clear, and she thought, somthing has to be done, and I’ll fucking do it.

She stuffed a couple of things that felt essential into a bag—painkillers, bottles of water from the fridge, Burke’s gun he’d left on the nightstand closest to the door—and then waited until she heard his footsteps pacing around the corner again before she ducked out of the window.

When she looked back, Boomer had already leapt through the window after her. His eyes were on her, bright, ready.

And then she ran.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s twenty-six, and she’s in a bar.

Or that’s how it would go, anyway, if she was asleep. If she were dreaming, or remembering. But she wasn’t. Elliot was twenty-six, and she was in a bar, and she wasn’t waiting for her best friend to come back with a different drink, and she wasn’t making eyes at a handsome blue-eyed stranger from across the bar. He wouldn’t come over and call her beautiful, and he wouldn’t make her want to be kissed by someone whose face looked a little sharp, and she wouldn’t one day think that maybe she was in love with him.

I’m just a girl, she thought tiredly, staring at the water glass on the counter in front of her. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But it was. It was her life. Here she was, sitting in a seedy bar halfway to Georgia, with a U.S. Marshal’s gun she’d lifted sitting in her bag. She’d hitch-hiked a ride back into Fall’s End, grabbed what remained of her things—her ID, what little cash she still had on her, a debit card she was too paranoid to use, dog food—and then she’d taken the jeep parked out behind the Keller’s old place and drove.

And drove. And drove. And drove.

Now, she was twenty-six, sitting in a bar, and there is no Joey coming to rescue her, and there is no John to be a monster that she needed rescuing from.

I’m just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She left the cash for her water on the bar top, hauling herself out of the stool and back out into the parking lot. It was late; the sky was speckled with stars; if she thought hard enough, if she really thought about, Elliot thought maybe, somewhere inside of her, she was going to be okay.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep, Elliot turned the key into the ignition and reached into a grocery store bag on the passenger seat, fumbling around for the cigarettes she’d purchased. Her fingers hit hard plastic and she glanced over.

The two little tiny lines on the pregnancy test stared back at her. Her stomach lurched, nausea welling up inside of her, and she tossed the hard plastic back into the bag and left the cigarettes untouched. Boomer, dozing in the back seat, pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquisitively.

She was just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be her life. But it was—and there was only one place left to go from here.

Home.

#my writing #fic: ancient names #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed/deputy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #not gonna melt down in the tags even though i wanna #just. thank you all so so so much. this has been incredible to write and enjoy and make so many friends #yes i am crying do not LOOK at me

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sibillascribbles08 · 5 years ago

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If you could take creative control of ninjago what would you change

Christ...

WELL

Actually no idk where to start with this there’s so much anon there’S SO M U C H I guess I’ll do a run of MINIMAL changes tho (for as long as I can)

I don’t think I have to change much in the first two seasons, thankfully, since the writers actually sat down to think about what they were writing at the time but g o d did it go to hell afterwards

Season 3 - This Zane focused season is going to be ZANE FOCUSED DAMN IT. We’re focusing on his loss over his Father, having salt rubbed in the wound by having his father’s work turned into an evil army, and being faced with the fact he’s obsolete compared to it all. He keeps trying to stack up numbers to win, recalculate things, and it’s why his line at the ending ACTUALLY has impact. The thing that sets him apart from the nindroids, his ability to love, is what allows him to defeat the Overlord.

Jay, Cole and Nya love triangle is DESTROYED. Pixal, Zane and Cole is the new love triangle and later OT3

Season 4 - The explanation for the other EMs being around is far less stupid. Garmadon establishes that oh yeah all of your parents had elemental powers and even talks about a few of them because holy SHIT. Cole mentions his mom because he should have done that a g e s ago. Is this supposed to be a Kai season doesn’t feel like it. Open the season with better explanations of why the ninja split. Emphasis the fact that Kai blames himself for what happened to Zane, and continues to do so throughout the season. Add that to why he’s so desperate to save Skylor from her dad (not willing to lose someone else). We still lose Garmadon, Kai and Lloyd have a talk at the end of the season. Also ZANE IMMEDIATELY GOES TO GET PIXAL A NEW BODY WTHHH????

Season 5 - Idk this season was pretty good over all I think. A bit better lore established into the cloud kingdom, hints that they don’t actually control fate they just think they do. Explain where the FUCK NIMBUS CAME FROM?? Water can still beat up ghosts but idk feel like there should be some other factors involved, some magic. Kai and Zane figure out they can make water a LOT sooner. Also why doesn’t Kai just set the preeminent’s house armor on fire??? Should have. OH I did forget since this season is supposed to be for NYA GETTING HER WATER ELEMENT how about she actually GO WITH THE NINJA AND DO SOME SHIT SOMETIMES??? I don’t mind her training, specially Ronin helping her but like??? Wtf why not have her ENGAGE, idiots.

Season 6 - I’m the weirdo who actually likes season 6 but that doesn’t mean it’s not without its issues. I don’t mind Jay wondering about where he stands with Nya but his behavior throughout the season has to stay consistent. When he agrees with Nya he needs to let it go he needs to LET IT GO. IT LITERALLY SHOULDN’T BE BROUGHT UP AGAIN UNTIL THE LIGHTHOUSE. He also needs to linger more on his birth father (and besides he should have suspected he’s adopted since season 4 cause he knows neither of his parents had lightning powers). Zane doesn’t ignore Pixal’s warning about Nadakhan but if she’s off somewhere else idk how she gets threatened I’m sure Nadakhan could figure it out. OH and time can still reset and stuff idc but like, Jay and Nya need to talk about it and they need to GO BACK FOR ECHO. EVEN IF THEY DON’T FIND HIM THERE.

Day of the Departed - just wish it was longer tbh, but major changes: Why do the ninja not seem to care that cole is FADING OUT OF EXISTENCE and Lou should be a lot more worried about his son.

Season 7 - I mean, it’s mostly a trash fire, but I think it’d be a lot more enjoyable if they actually had good sibling dynamics going on. Acronix following his brother because he always has, but starts questioning their plans as things go. At first their relationship is much better, which is why they best Kai and Nya, but by the end that flips over. Actually have Kai and Nya having an ISSUE. Kai thinks their parents could have been traitors, Nya seemingly doesn’t care because she’s so wrapped up with her samurai x stuff being stolen. They end up fighting and don’t make up until the boiling sea. ALSO GIVE RAY AND MAYA A BETTER FUCKING EXCUSE FOR BEING GONE THEY COULD HAVE FUCKING SHANKED KRUX WHEN HIS BACK WAS TURNED GET OUT OF HERE HE HAD NO LEVERAGE.

Also Machia isn’t dead okay she’s just in the past she WILL COME BACK

Seasons 8 and 9 I’d say are pretty solid honestly? My minor changes: Garmadon isn’t Garmadon he’s a fucking fake get out of here with that shit THE REAL GARMADON WOULD NEVER. We actually learn where Mr. E came from I don’t even care if it’s just Harumi and UV talking about how they found him in a scrap heap and got him fixed just give me something. Stop treating Dareth like SHIT. Ronin and The Commissioner plan a jail break long before they’re let out in season 9. Teen Wu is a lot less... air headed. Like seriously he seems to have more logic when he’s a child it doesn’t add up. I’m not saying he has to remember everything but wth?? Oh, and Mistaké isn’t dead fuck you.

Season 10 - ............................................ delete it and start over. Literally, hate all of it, get it out of here. Four episodes for villains you built up like FUCK in the last two seasons??? All of them fucking as big as people???????? cowardly, weak, uninspired, I don’t want it I’m just going to have to redo this whole gd season. A) Oni leader is a QUEEN now and she can be up to 30 feet tall no I do not give a FUCK B) Fake ass Garmadon is revealed to be a different oni entirely he was an agent for the queen the whole time but never finished his mission C) She can still paralyze a bunch of people but man Lloyd you’re going to need more than a shiny tornado to fight her off. D) In fact you need to summon your other great grandma so the two of them can get over their divorce spat. E) Where’s the mask of vengeance bring that back into play. F) Mistaké shows back up to help. I suppose plot wise it can?? Mostly run the same but I think they’re going to have to run much farther than the city with how fast she spreads her reach. Also she’s weak for Lloyd because he’s the smol great grandson and he has to use that to his advantage to slow her down. Mistaké makes something that can unparalyze people and they get some of their allies back before the finale thank god. Faith isn’t just in a coma the whole GD time.

Season 11 - Fire half? Good. I need a much better reason why the ninja go to the never realm tho because wow did they just make everyone out of character in that last episode. The ninja have no reason to just ignore Wu and shove him out like that. Wu has no reason to NOT NOTICE LLOYD IS BREAKING INTO HIS ROOM WHEN HE WAS KICKING THE NINJAS ASSES IN THE FIRST EPISODE. Ice half?? ... h Yeah no they should have known Zane was the emperor from the start LMAO. Or at least suspected the possibility. The decades of time passing??? Deleted. Maybe give it a year. Idk why it’s just Lloyd snapping Zane out if why aren’t the other ninja involved like p l e a s e. Also kill Vex with an ice spike, thanks.

Season 12 - Over all I liked what this season had going but there... should have been more. And that ending felt so crunched together like damn... Unagami was a p cool villain at least BUT idk, despite all the focus on the plot so much of it didn’t feel tangible enough. Even if we’re going to focus more on the video game world I want to see more of what these NPCs are up to. Should have tossed in a couple of filler episodes. Also can someone just kill the Mechanic too SMH (and they should have tied Wu up in something sturdier how did he not just break out of that WHATEVER)

Suppose I’ll stop there I haven’t season season 13 yet.

Oh, the timeline itself needs some fucking work too. At least establish Wu and Garmadon’s sudden aging. At least establish how old Zane is (I’d believe he was built 40 years ago but I find it hard to believe he was active for all of it). Establish that yeah the FSM really did basically fuck off like idk 14 years ago and idk why the show acts like it was so long ago it couldn’t have been based on the other facts we know have Wu learn that his dad is a bitch ass motherfucker and he needs to ditch.

Honestly there’s more but like................. this is the simple version

#scribs speaks #ninjago #you asked I suppose #Anonymous

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hecohansen31 · 6 years ago

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Boxer! Ivar The Boneless+Reader+Boxer! Roman Godfrey.

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

Still not in the best headset, but since I don’t like leaving my projects to die, in my Word, here it is a little thing I manage to “finish” for @walkxthexmoon, who introduced me to this OT3, plus those two, plus boxing and my ovaries are on the ground begging for mercy... don’t mind me...

I am rather sorry I wasn’t able to write smut, I swear I honestly tried, but also... I just haven’t felt up to smut till this morning and I think that this fit better without it, so that your imagination can do a better job than my writing (and if you have any request, REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN... I am just very slow at catching up and write fanfic in the middle...).

So that was all and I hope you’ll enjoy this.

WARNINGS: Mention of Sex, Threesome, Jealousy, Poly-Relationship, Jealousy and Envy, Mentions of Substance Abuse and Blood.

Ivar couldn’t help but have a problem with her.

With “her” being his best friend’s girlfriend.

He couldn’t help but have this kind of awkwardness around her.

At first, he had thought it was because he was used to it being only him and Roman, the golden bachelors of boxing, with them always supporting each other through their ups and down.

It was an understatement that he had been less than thrilled to meet the ‘special lady’ Roman had been lusting after since a month.

But she had been truly angelical, and never ever had tried to break apart them, giving to them their own time and their own thoughts, never interfering with their nights-out and being gentle and calm towards him.

On his part he had been quite grumpy with her, mostly due to that uneasiness that he felt whenever she was around.

Mostly in some kind of undressed state.

Such as the one time he had come to wake up Roman early for practice, just to be welcomed by her on the threshold, wearing Roman’s sweatshirt, a bit too big for her and slightly short…

… enough that as she had raised to kiss Roman’s cheeks as a “goodbye” he had caught the elastic of her lacey panties, a cerulean blue that he had dreamed after his workout, coming onto his hand, in the shower.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he got it bad for his best friend’s girlfriend.

But there was no way that she would be even slightly interested into him, not to talk about the fact that Ivar was Roman’s dearest friend and he shouldn’t have even thought about her like that.

That time after he had gotten himself off, he had just felt dirty and hadn’t been able to look either her or Roman in the face for a week.

He had tried avoiding her, but Roman had asked worried, if maybe… he just didn’t like you:

“I mean… she is perfect man, but if you…”.

“No no, Roman, you look great together” he had tried to stop the question, but sometimes Roman would just irk him badly and he would need a cold shower, since the exhibitionist that Roman had always been didn’t save him any details about his fiery nights with her.

One night, he had dreamed about him doing those things with her.

But it had all stopped when he had realized that, in the dream, his legs were working.

And he had been horrified by it enough that he had spent the first sleepless night of many.

He respected Roman with all his heart.

He had been one of the first to believe in Ivar, even with his legs, getting him not only to start his own try-outs, but also continuously supporting him through the entire journey to fame, no matter the fact that he had himself quite some problems, mostly with substance abuse.

That is another reason why she was perfect for him: Ivar hadn’t seen him shoving anything up his nose, since they had started going out and he appreciated her for that.

“Sometimes I wonder whether I am just another pretty thing on his arm” she had mumbled once, after Roman had won the umpteenth match, they had been watching from the stands, just for a flock of girls in scant-clad costumes running up to him, with thrilling screams and promises.

Ivar had seen her truly scared as if she didn’t understand that Roman was the one lucky being with an angel like her.

He would have cherished her enough that she wouldn’t have ever wondered whether she was the only one or not.

But he had just muttered that Roman would never cheat: yeah, he might have a wandering eye, but he would never disrespect her like that.

“Uhm” she had mumbled, not convinced, before coming close to him, closer than he felt comfortable with, since he could totally smell the pretty perfume she had worn, although it would be soon covered by smelly fried food and sweat, something flowery but discreet, with a deeper accent to it “… sometimes I am jealous of you… you know him so well… and sometimes… I can never guess what is going on in that pretty head”.

Ivar had just blushed and shrugged off, before he had moved to the locker rooms to talk with Roman.

“Shit… I am pretty lucky to have her, am I not?” had asked, there, Roman, meanwhile he unlaced his bandages from his hands, confronting with Ivar his technique, since he was the only one, he truly trusted.

“Yeah, you better not forget it” he had mumbled, almost not even thinking about his words, which had taken Roman quite by surprise, and he had immediately shot him a confused look, with his sharp eyes.

“What do you mean?” he had shot back, stretching his fingers and his legs, quickly before slumping up, meanwhile Ivar settled himself onto his crutches, almost wanting to escape this conversation, although he knew it was impossible.

“She doesn’t feel very cherished… with you fawning over those girls, instead of coming to her, once the match is over” he had replied, knowing that he could have simply said nothing, and he would have seen his friend maybe lost his pretty girl.

Then he might have had a chance.

But he knew better than to try out this, since he knew perfectly that it would have destroyed Roman.

He couldn’t do it to his best friend. Just for a girl.

“You mean I need to do the entire “Adriana” thing” had joked Roman, before strutting off the locker room, waiting for him to catch up “I’ll keep it in mind, my dear friend”.

And he had.

For the entire house party, on Halloween he had followed Ivar’s suggestion, remaining attached to his girlfriend, even for the silliest of things: Rocky and Adriana indeed, with her looking like a true angel, even in that awkward and last minute costume, meanwhile Roman comfortably stayed shirtless, joking about both Rocky and him being great boxers.

It was low key awkward for him to be standing between them, but things soon got even stranger, when she leaned onto him, moving softly closer to him to whisper something stupid in his ear, which he didn’t quite grasp, suddenly concerned with the nearness of her hand to the bulge in his pants, spurred by her action.

“… Ivar are you listening to me?” she asked, when she saw his unfocused gaze, and he simply shook his head.

“Sorry the music is just too loud” he justified, before moving away, with the suggestion that he could get them some drinks, which was welcomed by Roman, with full thumbs up, but he used the occasion to get away from them just to breath properly.

Accidental touches like that weren’t something he was unused, but other people avoided him like he had the plague, thinking that whatever he had on his legs might spread to them.

So, he couldn’t help but be a bit shaken by the way she had moved onto him, giving him a good show of her cleavage, although he was sure it was totally accidental.

He truly didn’t understand how could such a girl would go for him, when she could have had someone like Roman.

His friend was one of the best boxers of the year, training and getting his life back from the tunnel of serious drugs he had started his career with; he had been the one sponsoring Ivar’s training, since nobody in his family wanted to support what they had called “his decision to kill himself”, alongside the fact that coaches wouldn’t even try anything with him.

He was too broken for anyone.

Except Roman.

So, he honestly needed to cool himself down, before he stood up to face them, again.

When he came back, she was alone and he made himself a mental note to tell Roman that he shouldn’t leave such precious girls all alone, mostly with him as a big bad wolf, wanting desperately to taster her.

She seemed totally ok, comfortable with him, meanwhile she explained that Roman was on a smoke break.

“Can I ask you something silly, Ivar?” he was low key busy trying to understand whether it would have been considered rude for him to join Roman, leaving her there, or if he could stand next to her, without popping a boner.

There was no chance he could when she smiled like that and blushed so divinely.

“Go ahead” he tried not to seem too affected by it all, meanwhile he played around with his costume, a simple “this is my Halloween costume” sweatshirt, since he honestly couldn’t be bothered by these commercial things.

(He low key had thought about going to the party, in his Viking costume, but he hadn’t wanted for anybody to ask him who the hell he was, alongside somebody spilling his beer onto it).

“Do you not like me?” her shyness could be heard in the softness of his voice, meanwhile she played around with her hair.

He was honestly taken aback by this, but he could seen where this was coming from, although he was sure that Roman had probably just told her that he was simply grumpy.

She took his silence as a confirmation of her thoughts, but this didn’t stop her from moving closer to him, nudging her shoulder against his.

“… you just never seem happy to be around me, and I thought that at first it was simply missing your best-friend, but nothing seems to work”.

How could he tell her that honestly was attracted by her, but had this grumpy persona to keep himself from ruining his friendship with his best-friend?

“It’s nothing personal…” he started, trying to avoid facing her, but she somehow found a way to face him and make him face her: she was pretty headstrong, and Ivar could see why Roman liked her so much.

And why he, himself, did too.

“Then, please tell me, because I don’t want to put some dent in your relationship”.

‘Then please just go around with a bag of paper on your head’ he would have gladly mumbled, but he just couldn’t and before he could do anything, she was damnably close to him and he felt her perfume all over him: she had changed it, to something darker, much more dense, although it was still extremely feminine.

It had remained tangled in her hair and he could see the power of it shifting as she played with them, to keep her mind off, and waiting for an answer.

But he was too focused on her lips: she had worn some kind of red lipstick, which had been roughly smeared by Roman’s kisses and the few drinks she had taken, letting Roman finish them for her, in a disheveled detail that drove Ivar wild.

And crazy enough that with no knowledge of the entire thing he pushed himself to finally kiss those smeared lips, pushing himself onto her with such a strength that he felt her tighten under his hold, before she gently relaxed, somehow her lips becoming warm as if they were accepting his, as they gently delved to return the kiss.

And in that moment Ivar realized that he had fucked up.

For Odin’s sake he was kissing his best friend’s girlfriend!

He pushed himself away, meanwhile she gently looked at him, surprised as if she hadn’t expected it.

Which was probably the reality of the things, since Ivar had kept up this entire “I don’t like you” persona with her.

“So, this is what happens when I go out for a smoke break?” Roman’s voice caught him by surprise, and he felt her tremble against him, since they were close enough, and he pushed himself even closer as if to shield her from Roman.

He wouldn’t be certainly violent towards her, but he wanted to avoid his drunken state making him do something that he might regret.

And in the end, it was all Ivar’s fault.

But as he turned around, he found that his friend wasn’t in the slightest annoyed but instead was smirking, hiding it barely behind a glass of whiskey, he had probably picked up from his smoke break.

“Honestly I was hoping this might happen, sooner…” he mumbled, as he set himself down on the little sofa in front of them, setting his glass down”… it was kind of annoying to see you dance around each other… so painfully awkward”.

“You knew about my crush?” asked Ivar, suddenly realizing that it was true: Roman had known about it all “You knew about my fucking crush and let me fucking continue on this road, you fucked up son of a bitch”.

In the meanwhile, she raised up, looking at both the guys, before throwing a pillow in Roman’s face, who quickly caught it.

“You lead us onto this” realization shook also her face.

“Oh c’mon, you couldn’t expect me not to do anything, after you confessed me that you thought that Ivar was fucking hot in that match in Chicago”.

Her face turned flushed red and Ivar’s mind went back to that match: he had gone down a few times, eventually coming on top of the entire match, with his nose broken and his lips swollen, and he was barely able to stand enough to be called the winner.

He remembered that since it was summer she had worn a pretty sundress, with sunflowers on it, and it somehow had highlighted the type of innocent beauty she owned, and to think that she had lusted for him almost as much he had lusted for her…

… well it was a strong aphrodisiac.

Meanwhile they were both bashing in embarrassment, Roman finished his glass of whiskey, settling it down with enough force that the noise startled them both.

“Now that you know, don’t you want to act out on those fantasies?” he almost seemed the snake that had tempted Eve to eat the forbidden fruit, his own tongue coming up from between his lips, licking them.

“What would you gain from it?” asked Ivar at the same time she mumbled.

“Are you trying to prostitute me to your best friend?”.

Roman shook his head laughing, before he sent a look at Ivar.

“I know that little Ivar here is a bit shy on these things, alongside the fact that he is quite the loyal dog so he is too scared to even go and try anything with you, but I can see that he fucking wants it, and I know that he won’t control enough for longer…” and then his face grew softer, facing her and holding an hand out for her “… I don’t mind sharing, if you don’t, too”.

The choice was in her hands, and Ivar felt like it was already going to be a “no”.

Yeah, she might have returned the kiss, but he was pretty sure that she would be too ashamed to event try anything with him.

She wouldn’t be the first and she wouldn’t be the last to think that

“… you won’t get pissed at me, will you?” she asked, shyly.

Roman shook his head slowly, although Ivar was thinking that he was simply lying.

Roman was pretty territorial with his things and his people, but…

… no sign of annoyance was found in his pretty eyes.

And she gently turned toward Ivar, offering her hands to help him up, which he automatically took, steadying himself, meanwhile he raised from the sofa, and Roman quickly exited from his pockets his car keys.

He was definitely in for a thrill.

When they all arrived at Roman’s apartment, Ivar couldn’t help but feel extremely nervous mostly because he felt like Roman might realize that this was just a HUUUGEE mistake and she might do the same.

But as soon as they were behind closed door, she returned the soft kiss he had laid onto her lips, at the party, with definitely much more passion than what he had expected, gently pushing him against the door, meanwhile Roman chuckled, throwing the keys of his house aside, as he slipped out of his shoes.

Ivar didn’t know what had gotten over you and before he even knew it, her hand had gone back to his thigh, and this time he was definitely unable to avoid popping a boner.

He was extremely thankful that she didn’t move further, although he felt himself almost moaning at the loss of her body against his, immediately cold and her fragrance mixed with her arousal, definitely less strong than when she was all over him.

She swayed her lips to move towards Roman, who looked like he quite enjoyed the show (almost as much as Ivar, who got to see all of her ass), leaning down to kiss her slowly, showring Ivar the entire anatomy of the kiss, as he pushed his tongue gently in hers, after he had bitten her upper lip, soothing the small hurt with a delicate kiss on it.

It was definitely quite arousing and Ivar couldn’t help but be slightly ashamed of his inexperience, immediately comparing his clumsy kiss to their, but he tried to avoid looking further, meanwhile Roman gently pushed her down in an half dip, getting her to giggle for him.

“Don’t be silly, Roman” she mumbled, before turning to Ivar, a bright smile on her face, almost making him blush even a more reddish color, with purple hues “… not in front of a guest”.

“Sweetheart” he gently took all her attention, bringing his hips onto her forehead, facing him as if he was expecting him to do anything and then turned her around, making her giggle “… don’t be a meanie, in front of the guest, or what will he think of us?”.

“That we are heathens” she muttered and then turned towards Ivar, sending him a deep look, before she pushed her lips out, sending a kiss in the air for him to catch “… but I don’t think that he minds it”.

He didn’t and gently pushed himself closer onto his crutches, grinding lightly against her till her mouth opened in a soft “O”, meanwhile Roman hid a smirk in her neck, before he donned it with pretty marks.

He could share but he still needed to mark his territory.

“… I don’t think that you could ever be an heathen, sweetheart” he whispered in your ear, softly, before biting down on your earlobe, making her yelp and push herself closer to Roman, who hugged her tenderly, but his expression held nothing of the sweetness he showed.

“This is just because you haven’t slept with her…” Roman’s smirk was seriously a Cheshire cat’s smile “… yet”.

“Well than shouldn’t you be doing something about it?” she taunted him, smirking softly, before she ran away from the two men, gaining a head start from them both and sprinting towards the bedroom.

Roman and Ivar just shared a look, before they moved to follow her.

Almost bumping into each other in their rush to reach her.

That would be a fun night.

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