#(to be clear I’m not unhappy about this I just really want to get it right and my eyes have been opened)

[revelboo]

Looking at you with my big ol eyes to politely ask for more Skids whenever you feel in the mood to write for him. That first part was just so gooood I keep thinking about it ;u;

Sure

Hysteria

IDW Skids x Reader

• Cringing and almost dropping you as you slump against his servos, still making that awful gagging sound as he runs up the ramp while the others cover him. Looking down, he shudders. “I know you’re really stressed, but if you don’t stop purging, I’m going to be doing it, too. Nobody wants that,” he mutters trying to find someone to hand you off to as the last bot makes it back aboard and Rodimus runs for the bridge. Seeing him staring at them hopefully, everyone backs away from him and you. Wanting nothing to do with the mess or the smell. Awkwardly rubbing a servo against your spine, he roughly clears his vents. “Please, stop? Anyone know how to fix this?”

• Throat raw, you lay your cheek against the giant robots hand and cut your eyes up at him. Because you’d been able to understand him. At least you can ask him what he’s going to do to you, those other aliens either couldn’t understand you or didn’t care. They definitely hadn’t been as gentle as he is. Feeling him rub your back and the unhappy worry in his voice eases some of the terror. He wouldn’t care that you’re upset if he was just going to hurt you, right? “I want to go home.”

• Now Tailgate and Trailbreaker, the only two not driven off by your purging take the opportunity to bail on him, knowing you’re going to have to be told that you can’t go home and wanting no part of it. Cowards. And you can’t go home, at least, not yet and that’s not going to go over well. Glaring at their retreating backs, he uses a servo to nudge your hair away from your face and his servo lingers seeing a nasty yellow bruise on your neck. Is that a bite?Venting softly, he wishes he’d shot more of them. Those tired eyes stare up at him, much calmer. No, resigned. Though he’s pretty sure that’s about to change. “So, about that? We’re on a mission and far from Earth, but I promise I’ll try to get you back.” Eventually. Not wanting to tell you it might be years before that happens.

• Eyes closing, you refuse to start bawling. What good would that do? All you can do is hope his promise is worth something. That he’s kinder than your last captors had been. “You’ve been to Earth. Understand my language.” Not really a question, but if there were giant, alien robots on Earth, wouldn’t you have heard about it? That would have definitely made the news unless it was covered up by the government, which wouldn’t really surprise you. “What are you going to do with me?”

• “You’re safe here, there’s other humans onboard. Er, rescues like you. I guess you’ll stay with me for now. I’m Skids.” Not sure how he feels about having a human to care for as you just look up at him, shockingly calm considering the excitement and terror you’d just gone through. But as your eyes stay closed, still not lifting your head from his hand, he hopes that maybe you’re just too exhausted to be scared. There’s no telling what those aliens had done to you before he’d found you or how long they’d had you. Those coverings you’re wearing don’t look like what little he knows of human fashion. Making him wonder if you’re normally this docile or if you’d been broken. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

• Tired down to your bones, you just lay against his servos. Wanting to believe him. Wanting to be safe, not scared anymore. Not hurt. And more than anything else, wanting to sleep. To forget the pain. Curling yourself into his warm hand, he starts stroking your back again as he walks and even though you hate it, you start softly crying.

Previous

[oddlittlestories]

Do I NEED to rewatch all of s1-4 + “Wilson” to understand it through the lens of Wilson / Spencer’s recent post on 97 seconds

before continuing on in HH:Reprise

in order to make sure I nail his & House’s portrayal in HH:Reprise?

No, no I don’t.

I don’t.

I do not.

This is NOT in the spirit of the “make it finished” > “make it better” poll

[luveline]

Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesn’t really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry it’s long I had an idea and ran w it loollll

ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k

Spencer shouldn’t expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand? 

But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day he’d wanted to talk but hadn’t had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so you’d taken his hand and led him to the office. You’ve been taking it at your discretion ever since.  

Spencer knows something is wrong —you haven’t tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you aren’t interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. He’ll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really. 

“You’re staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,” you mutter, shades from your usual lightness. 

“I’m thinking.” 

“Aren’t you always?” 

“About you.”

“Well,” you smile fleetingly. “You should always be thinking about me.” 

“You’re truly humble.” 

His joke doesn’t land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again. 

Spencer’s pinky finger twitches across the gap. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Fine.” 

You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments they’ve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He can’t have you this unhappy again tomorrow. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, “you know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but… I’m here for you. If you want to talk. It’s been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.” 

“I’m not traumatised.” 

“Upsetting,” he corrects. “Having a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.” 

He can’t know this in the moment, though maybe one day you’ll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least that’s how you’ve always felt. You’d love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it weren’t embarrassing to think about, you’re upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important. 

Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. It’s amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He won’t mind if it’s embarrassing, he’ll just listen. 

You clear your throat. “I know I’m not to everyone’s taste. I know that the way I… present myself isn’t what most men like. People love confidence, but not when it’s bossy, not when it’s– when it’s vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think I’m beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.” You eye him thoughtfully. “Do you realise that?” 

He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. “Sort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.” 

“Right, well. It’s not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldn’t be all the beautiful to most people. And I’ve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, and–” You’re losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. “When people tell me they don’t like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldn’t like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I can’t win.” 

“Who said they don’t like how you look?” Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed. 

“Officer Friendly.” You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. “Guess he wasn’t as nice as we thought.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

You shrug. “Same story. He doesn’t like girls who wear makeup. Doesn’t like uppity women.” 

“Did he call you that?” 

“What are you gonna do if he did?” you ask without malice. 

“Morgan’s teaching me self defence for a reason.” You smile at his light joke, though it doesn’t last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. “You know you’re beautiful, with or without makeup. And you’re not uppity, you’re out of his league. There’s a difference.” 

“You’re flirting with me.” 

“No.” He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isn’t flirting. “I’m being honest with you. Men like that don’t like you because they know they’ll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isn’t anyone like you,” he adds, sliding his hand into yours. 

He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession. 

“Don’t let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think you’re not good enough,” he says. 

You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go. 

“I’ve never heard you say something mean like that,” you say. “Halfwit. That’s crass.” 

“I was going to say he’s an asshole, if that’s better.” 

Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. “That’s perfect. Say something meaner.” 

The insult he uses next doesn’t bear repeating. 

[cloudcountry]

OH MY GOD. THE MIX UP VALENTINE POST. YOU ATE!!!! could i rq a version with riddle, ace, deuce, octavinelle, and lillia? 🫶🫶

SUMMARY: you get a gift that was meant for the student you like, and the contents spur you to action.

COMMENTS: this is a spin off post of this post!! IM GLAD U LIKED IT ANON i was proud of that one myself ehehe

also the character limit is five so i picked azul from octavinelle

You stare blankly at the box of chocolate in your hands, the gift crammed into your desk haphazardly. At first, you thought it was for you—that’s what anyone would assume, right? Except...the note on top of it is not addressed to you, but rather, the guy you like. It makes you wonder if this is some joke, or if one of his friends wanted you to deliver it for him. You pick at the heart sticker sealing the note shut and peel it open, taking a peak of the contents.

Your eyes wide and your heart lurches in your chest, panic and annoyance roaring like red hot flames as you read what sounds like a genuine confession of love. Someone had their eyes on him? How did you never notice?

Was it weird to get jealous? I mean, he’s not even dating you yet...you don’t even know if he feels the same way. You can’t deny it doesn’t feel good that there’s another student trying to woo him, though. You’ve been so scared up until this point, so nervous about what he might think, but the clock is ticking. You’ve got to tell him before it’s too late.

Riddle sits up even straighter when he sees you approaching him with a heart shaped box and an envelope, his cheeks flushing pink. He clears his throat when you arrive, expression all twisted up as if you’re unhappy about something. Riddle turns to look at you, holding his chin high as he addresses you by name.

“Do you have something to tell me?” he asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“This is a pathetic gift for the Queen of Hearts.” you reply dryly, throwing the gifts on the ground and stomping on them, “Someone thought that would be enough for you, but I won’t stand for it.”

Riddle stares open mouthed at the torn envelope and crushed box of chocolates, but a giant bundle of roses blocks his line of sight.

“This.” you say, a bouquet of roses in one hand and an entire strawberry tart in the other, with the truffles from the box placed in a circle around it in your hands, “Is a far more fitting gift for courting the queen.”

Deuce freezes after he reads the note you gave him with a sour face, cheeks turning pink. He wonders why you look so upset when you just confessed how much you like him—even though the words seem a bit off...

“See, Deuce? I told you you were popular.” you scoff, wrinkling your nose in disgust.

You glare so intensely at the envelope that Deuce feels your anger and jealousy.

“Is this...not from you?” he asks softly, his heart plummeting out of his body. And here he was, getting all delighted and cheesy about it—

“Nah. It’s not.” you say flippantly, “I’m confessing my feelings in a much better way.”

Deuce gasps when you pull out a bouquet of dark blue roses, kneeling at his feet as you take his hand. He swears you see hearts in his eyes as he stares at the flowers and your face, which look up at him with determination he knows all too well.

“Deuce Spade, I want you to be mine.” you declare, and his legs turn to jelly as he babbles out an enthusiastic yes.

“I can’t believe someone who isn't me likes your dumbass.” you smack Ace’s arm as he snickers over the note, an immature gesture if there ever was one.

“Well, if you like this dumbass what does that make you, huh? A stupidass?” he quips, knocking his whole body against you.

You squeal and shove him back, sticking your tongue out at his shocked face as he falls off the bed.

“Really!? This is how you’re confessing your love to me?” Ace huffs, playful as always, “I want a divorce.”

“You idiot, I’m just speaking your language!” you snap back, throwing a pillow at his head, “All you do is tease and yap and jab so I’m giving you a taste of your own medicine!”

“Oh you’re on!” Ace jumps to his feet, pillow in hand.

It’s obvious he likes you back. It always has been. And even if that person hadn’t sent that note, you two still would have known just how much you care for each other, even if it remains (mostly) unsaid.

(You still trampled that note at least ten times during your pillow fight though.)

“Is this some kind of joke?” Azul says blandly, placing the letter down on his desk of his VIP Room, “This obviously isn’t your handwriting, nor is it your style of writing.”

“That’s because it’s not mine.” you say just as blandly, raising an eyebrow as Azul looks over his spectacles at you, “Were you hoping it was?”

“What is the purpose of this visit then? You bring me some random letter with a confession of love...don’t tell me you’re hoping to butter me up.” Azul chuckles, standing up as gracefully as ever, “You should know better than anyone that those tricks do not work on me.”

You stand up as well, arms crossed over your chest as you meet his stare with your own.

“Because, Azul, someone left that note in my desk. It was addressed to you, as you can see, so I bought it for you. What you just read is what encouraged me to take action.” you take a deep breath and summon all of your courage, there truly is no turning back now, “Azul, I am interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with you. I can assure you I’ve thought this over many times before coming to you with this proposal. If you’re willing, I would love to sit down and have a talk about the terms and conditions of this deal.”

You hold out your hand for a handshake.

Azul’s mouth forms an o shape, and for a second you’d say he looks shocked, but he composes himself quickly as is all too inclined to place his hand in yours.

“Well, well, well!” he beams, voice light and airy with what you can only assume is joy, “Let’s get negotiations underway, shall we?”

“Aww, you shouldn’t have.” Lilia coos, bringing a hand up to his mouth, “Why do you look so sour, sweets?”

“Because it’s not from me. It was stuffed in my desk and addressed to you.” you wrinkle your nose, the envelope clenched in your fist, “I don’t like the idea of someone confessing to you before I could.”

Lilia giggles, still hiding his mouth behind his hand. You stare blankly at him, tapping your foot so hard your ankle starts to cramp up.

“Oh, no need to look so anxious, dear. I’m sure you’re well aware of where my affections lie, yes?” Lilia approaches you, his fingers intertwining with yours as the envelope flutters to the floor, unnoticed and uncared for.

He doesn’t have much time left. He’s loved and he’s lost, he may as well go for what he wants while it’s still here, in front of him.

“That is such an indirect way of confessing.” you groan, squeezing his hand, “I even got you a whole bag of mystery flavored red lollipops...”

“Gifts are best shared, my dear!” Lilia laughs, pulling you over to his bed, “Now, hurry up! I want to see which flavor I get first!”

[iholdwhatican]

tension

part two to reunions - must read part 1 first!

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

length: 3.2k

author's note: this took wayyyy too long for me to do yall, i'm so sorry. these two have a tight hold on me and i'm in the trenches. i've got some good stuff lined up tho, and i'm super excited to write it heeheehee :) also smut in the future will be much longer and much more detailed, just fyi

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension ; sugar mommy y/n? ; unapologetic flirting with your bff's wife at his birthday party

warnings: sexual content, p in v, not super detailed but still there!

summary: the stressful night of the birthday party continues, and you find yourself pinging between art and patrick like a tennis ball. how the hell did you get yourself into this?

originally posted by iholdwhatican

It took four minutes and 36 seconds of Art and Patrick being alone outside before the anxiety became too much. Your dress was too tight against your skin and the chatter of the guests rattled in your skull. Your mind replayed the anger on Art’s face over and over, convinced that he’d direct it at you the moment he came back in. And if you were being honest, you couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. 

Your blood boiled with the ferocity of it, and an ache in your core begged for another taste. 

Another three minutes and 18 seconds passed while you downed half of your second glass of wine. You made conversation with a few people who caught your eye, making sure all the food and drink were up to par. Not that you really could care about that right now. Your mind was a jumble of thoughts about the two men on the balcony. 

Art, Patrick, Art, Patrick, Art, Patrick, Art, Patrick

“You look like you’re gonna puke.” 

For the second time that night, Patrick Zweig’s voice made you jump. 

You looked at him, catching sight of that damned smirk that made your stomach flip, and furrowed your brows. One quick scan of the room came up empty for your husband, forcing the anxiety in your chest to worsen. 

“Where’s Art?” You asked, not missing the way your voice wobbled slightly. 

“Relax.” Patrick responded, resting a hand on your shoulder, “He went to the kitchen, I think. I didn’t kill him. And he didn’t run for the hills either.” 

You decided not to comment on how easily he’d read your worries without you saying anything. For some reason, you were an open book to him. 

A deep sigh left you. You licked your lips anxiously- which immediately caused Patrick’s eyes to fall on your mouth. 

“What happened out there?” 

The man gave you a shrug, letting his hand fall back to his side, “Nothing, really. We just talked for a bit. He told me I could stay, as long as I stopped flirting with you.” 

“So does that mean you’re going to stop?” The idea made you slightly unhappy, which in turn filled you with guilt. Why were you so excited by his flirtations when you had a wonderful, loving husband who treated you like a queen? 

But then Patrick grinned, and you knew the answer before he said it, “Well, I’ve never been one to do what I’m told.” 

A smile grew over your lips, and you tried to hide it with an eye roll, “Why don’t you mingle? Try some food. I’m going to find my husband.” 

He didn’t miss the enunciation you put on ‘my husband’, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened as you said it. You didn’t give it time to linger, instead turning away and moving towards the kitchen. 

You knew the look Patrick had in his eyes. You’d seen it a dozen times in Art’s. On the court, over a board game, in all sorts of scenarios. And every time, even now, the look sent a chill down your spine. 

That expression was clear, resolute competition. 

Just as Patrick had said, you found Art in the kitchen. With his back to you, you had a perfect view of his tense shoulders and hanging head as he poured himself a glass of water. He was all wound up, and you knew it was your fault. Now it was your responsibility to fix it. 

You stepped up behind him, sliding a hand between his shoulder blades. He didn’t hesitate to lean into the touch, a subconscious reaction. He knew it was you just by the feel of your hand on him. And, even if he might be furious, he still found comfort in it. 

“Hey…” You breathed, leaning to the side to meet his gaze. Art looked at you over his shoulder, a half-smile quirking his lips up, “How are you doing?” 

“Hey.” He responded, turning and sliding his hands over your hips. Your chest pressed against his as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your hairline. Then he just lingered there, breathing in your smell, “I honestly don’t know. I just- it was so weird to see him.” 

“Yeah, of course it was.” Your words reached him in a soft, comforting tone. The guilt of putting your perfect, doting husband in this situation was enough to make you feel like you had barbed wire around your neck. You had to pay penance- somehow. You rubbed your hand in circles over his back, “I’m sorry, sundrop. I don’t know what I was thinking when I invited him.” 

Sundrop. A nickname that went way back to the early days of your relationship. Art was an energetic puppy dog with a halo of golden curls and a smile that made your insides feel hot. He was what you pictured a personification of the sun to be, hence the pet name. He pretended not to like it, but his eyes always sparkled a certain way when you said it. 

Art pulled his head away to peer down into your eyes, his own pensive and confused, “No, baby, don’t be sorry. It was a great fucking surprise. Just… a surprise.” 

You shook your head. He was so fucking good to you, “You’re allowed to be mad at me.” 

“Mad? At you?” In one quick motion, he picked you up and set you on the counter. Your legs opened for him without hesitation, allowing him to slot right in between them, “I don’t think that’s possible.”

You fought the blush rising in your cheeks and rolled your eyes, “You think too highly of me.” 

“No. Never.” He replied instantly. He kissed your chin. Then your jaw. Then your neck. Then down your throat, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re God.” 

“Art-” You argued, though you weren’t sure what for. You tilted your neck back and offered yourself up to him. 

“I could spend my life on my knees for you and be happy.” His words were muffled as he mouthed at your neck, sending shivers down your spine. This, combined with the kiss from earlier, was making you ache with need. You were half-tempted to end the party early and take your pretty husband to bed. 

You bit your lip when he ran his tongue over a sensitive spot above your collarbone. If he wasn’t in between them, you’d be squeezing your thighs together. 

When Art pulled away, his eyes had darkened. Dilated pupils and heavy breaths told you all you needed to know. He was just as fucking horny as you were right now. His hands held your hips tighter. 

“Do you think we’d be left alone long enough for me to show you how much I mean it?” He asked. It was almost as if he were begging. As if he couldn’t bear the idea of doing anything other than dropping to his knees and devouring you. 

And God, when he looked at you like that, you had no choice but to say yes. 

Unfortunately, fate intervened, and you were kept from making a scene at your husband’s birthday party. 

“Hey, you two, quit snogging and come entertain us!” One of Art’s tennis friends called, sticking their head into the kitchen. The big grin on their face told you it was just teasing, but you still felt your face burning with embarrassment. 

“It’s my birthday, let me do what I want.” Art jeered right back, lifting you off the counter and back onto your own two feet. You laughed airily at the comment, feeling more light-headed than anything. 

Before following his friend back into the action, he whispered a quick, “Later, okay?” to you. And then he left you standing in the kitchen- touch-starved, foggy-headed, and excruciatingly aroused. 

It was then that you realized you didn’t even get to ask him what happened with Patrick.

Upon re-entering the party, you found yourself taking note of two things- or rather, two people. One, Art- conversing with some friends from the foundation with a big grin on his face. Two, Patrick- having his fill of finger foods from the refreshment table. He was alone. And though you tried to fight it, you found yourself gravitating towards him. 

“Do they not have food where you’re from?” You teased, falling into place at his side. Your gaze slid over the spread before flicking up to his face. 

You’d caught him mid-bite, and he attempted to swallow quickly and regain his composure. Something warmed slightly in your chest. Endearing. 

“Well, I’m kinda… in between places right now.” He explained, tongue stuck in his cheek to clear out residual bits of food, “And there’s never stuff as good as this.” 

You let the compliment slide away, instead focusing on his more troubling response, “Are you homeless?” 

“What? No.” He chuckled, as if the question were preposterous, “I go all over for tennis. It’s just easier to stay on the move.” 

You raised an eyebrow, “And on off-season?” 

Something in his expression darkened, only for a moment, and then he was back to cocky smiles and overwhelming confidence, “I’m too busy to care about that. And what’s it matter to you, anyway?” 

“I’d like to think I’m a good person.” You said, plucking a snack off the table and popping it into your mouth. You chewed it halfway before continuing, “And a good person worries if they think someone they care about isn’t doing well.” 

Patrick grinned at you for five long seconds. And it took him actually saying the words to realize where you’d slipped up. 

“You care about me?” 

Shit. You had not meant to say that. Why was this man so damn good at getting every little thought in your head to spill out of your mouth? 

“If caring about you means I don’t want you sleeping under a bridge somewhere, then sure.” 

“Okay, I would never let it get that far-” 

“I wanna help.” 

He blinked, “Help how?” Briefly, very briefly, you thought of your bed. Your comfortable, spacious bed, perfect for three individuals. You could picture it- you, safe and sound and nestled between the two men. Art, your lovely, obedient husband on one side, letting himself love and be loved. And Patrick on the other side, nice and cozy with a roof over his head and a full belly. 

The image flashed in an instant, and you were left with hollow, heavy guilt. You swallowed. 

“How much do you need?” 

“Huh?” You rolled your eyes at him, “How much money do you need? To keep you afloat for the next little while. And I’ll send you home tonight with leftovers.” 

Patrick let the words wash over him, slowly smiling as they did. He took a step towards you, close enough that one tiny shove would have your bodies pressed together. You could smell him, all sweat and cigarettes and woodsy cologne that made your head spin. You’d been wound up all night, and this was absolutely not helping. 

“You gonna write me a check? Use your hard-earned money to get a practical stranger a hotel for a couple nights?” He murmured, heavy on the charm, “What would your husband think?” 

He knew he’d gotten under your skin. He knew what he was doing. He was fucking enjoying this. 

You tried to hold your ground, looking up at him through your lashes, “It’s his money, actually. He makes sure I never have to work unless I want to.” 

“Guess he treats you pretty well. And look how you’re taking advantage of it.” His hand lay on the table next to yours, his fingertips nearly brushing the skin of your wrist. How bad would it be if you closed the gap? 

You bit your lip, “You’re allowed to turn me down.” 

“I don’t think I’d ever turn you down, Mrs. Donaldson.” 

Something about that title, something about the way he said it, made your blood run hot and cold at the same time. It reminded you of the myths of sirens. Beautiful monsters of the sea that used their voices to bring others to their demise. Talking to Patrick had that same type of allure, and the sense of danger. 

“Then tell me what you need.” 

“What do you think I need?” 

Oh, you could think of a few things. But you could also feel a pair of eyes on you, and you knew exactly who they belonged to. Part of you wanted to tempt him, see if you could get another reaction like out on the balcony. However, you quickly shot the idea down. Not right now, not in the middle of a crowded party.

Lips curving into an innocent smile, you pushed yourself a step back from him, “I think you need a nice place to sleep. And a few good meals. And maybe a hug.” 

The sudden switch-up took Patrick by surprise, but he handled it smoothly and responded only a beat later, “You’re offering?” 

“At least for the first two.” You didn’t know what you’d do if you were in his arms. With the way you were feeling now, with two glasses of wine in your system, your boundaries were getting blurrier and blurrier. How humiliating. 

His bottom lip jutted out into a pout. Which unfortunately dragged your gaze right down to his mouth. It took you a moment too long to meet his eyes again. 

“What, we can’t hug? Don’t you consider me a friend?” 

“I do.” You shrugged, tucking loose hair behind your ear, “Maybe I’m just not a touchy person.” 

A lie. You knew it, and you could tell by the look on his face that he knew it too.

“Yeah.” He smirked, sounding the opposite of sincere, “Art’s wife isn’t a touchy person. Sure.” 

You needed a cold shower. Or to go have some one-on-one time with your vibrator. Or maybe move to the seaside and spend your days going mad in a lighthouse. You weren’t sure. All you knew was how increasingly hot you were feeling. 

“Speaking of Art, go talk to him. Try to make amends. Meet some of his friends.” You suggested, glancing over at your husband. He wasn’t watching you anymore, at least not straight on. But he had a radar when it came to you, and he was very diligent in keeping tabs. No matter what.

“You trying to get rid of me?” Patrick asked lightly. No heat behind the words. 

“Oh, yes.” You admitted, placing your hands on his shoulders and pointing him towards Art, “Find me again before you leave and I’ll have your check.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at you over his shoulder, sending a wink before sauntering off. 

Finally, you felt like you could actually get a breath in your lungs. 

The party had ended. Guests went home, Patrick got his check and headed to a hotel you recommended, and you and your partner left all the cleanup for the morning. You barely gave it a second glance as you went up to bed with him, your hand held tightly in his. 

Art fucked you like a starving man that night. You barely got into the room before his lips were plastered on your skin, his hands unzipping your dress with quick precision. He was usually much more reserved, but something about tonight had made him ravenous. And he wasn’t the only one.

You ended up on his lap; bare chests pressed together, skin sweaty and breaths heavy as you rolled your hips into him. His hands clutched your thighs, keeping you close, fingers pressing into the flesh. You pulled on his hair and his head immediately fell back. As if he were a puppet for you to position and use however you wanted. His eyes looked up at you with a fire in them you’d never seen before, but the adoration, the reverence, was all too familiar. 

Your name fell from his lips over and over again like a prayer. The single word weaved with threads of devotion, possessiveness, desire. A song joined in chorus by whatever nonsensical phrase entered his head. I love you, so perfect, all mine, please, please, please. 

He was claiming you. Marking his territory in his own special way. It didn’t matter that Patrick wasn’t here to see it, or that he probably would never even know. As long as Art could tell himself that you were his, he’d be okay. Jealousy was a good look on him. 

You could feel your core tighten with each and every movement of his hips against you. You weren’t going to last much longer. But by the look in your husband’s eyes, neither was he. 

Parted lips claimed yours in a messy kiss, tongue sliding into your mouth and exploring every open space. Then you were being flipped over; back pressed into the mattress as Art rocked into you with reckless abandon. He intertwined his fingers with yours and pinned your hands above your head without ever breaking the kiss. 

You lasted about thirty seconds. Finally, the tension in you snapped and your orgasm washed over you in waves, leaving you limp and trembling. Art finished only a moment later. You could feel him pulsing inside of you as the aftershocks slowly faded away. The room reeked of sweat and sex and your head was spinning. 

Art, your precious, dutiful man, rested his head on your chest as he attempted to catch his breath. You could feel the tickle of his lips kissing your skin, the soft squeeze of his hands on your hips. You ran a hand through his damp hair, fingers massaging his scalp. 

“I love you.” He murmured against your ribs, right over your thundering heart. He said it like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed, like he didn’t believe you were here, that you were his. 

Dark hair and cigarette smoke flashed through your mind. Almost-touching hands and paper checks. 

“I love you.” You responded, kissing his hairline, “Happy Birthday, baby.” 

The only response you got was a tired, happy sound and another kiss to your collarbone. A quick adjustment later and the two of you were tucked under the blankets, your head on Art’s chest and his arm around you. Neither of you cared enough to clean yourselves up or to put pajamas on. Art was already softly snoring next to you, and you could feel your eyelids getting heavy.

As you listened to the baddump of his heart, a strange thought flitted through your mind. You’d just had the best sex of your life, and it was because of Patrick. You weren’t the only one who’d been thinking of him while in the throes of passion. The notion made something strange twinge in your gut. 

And then, like he’d somehow read your mind, your phone lit up with a text. 

Patrick Zweig: You free for lunch tomorrow?

***

Taglist: 

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@brunettegirl

[beenbaanbuun]

non sexual dominance w/hongjoong

hongjoong is a natural leader

i mean look at him, i literally couldn’t say a more obvious thing if i tried

everything he does, he shows this natural power he has, and it just makes him so easy to follow

even if he’s being a little more on the controlling side, no one really blinks an eye at it because it’s hongjoong! it’s just comes so naturally to him

and obviously that bleeds into your relationship

it’s gentle and soft, and half the time he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but you do

and that’s not a bad thing… at all

“you’re sat too far away,” he says to you one evening when you’re out together at a random gathering, “come closer.”

all your other friends are preoccupied by their own conversations so you don’t mind putting your full attention on your boyfriend

“i’m on a seperate chair, joong,” you roll your eyes, “obviously i’m not going to be pressed up to your side.”

he cocks a brow at your defiance before leaning a little closer to you

“i’m not asking you to be pressed to my side, i just want you to move your chair a little closer,” his voice was quiet and gentle, but there was still a commanding undertone to it

of course you scoffed at his ridiculous request, but it didn’t stop you from complying

you didn’t argue back, and just shuffled your chair a couple of inches closer to him

“good girl,” he smiles and kisses your cheek, finally having you close enough to do that

he holds your hand under the table for the rest of the night to make sure you don’t stray too far again

and then a couple of nights later you’re up late, sat at your desk with your head shoved into your laptop

hongjoong arrived at your place no more than half an hour ago - which is how you know its late - and is already tucked up in your bed

he watches you carefully as you sigh for the hundredth time

it’s clear to him that you’re stressed, as he just gets out of bed and walks over to you silently

“when was the last time you saved it?” he asks as though he’s just curious

perhaps he’s worried about you losing all the stuff you’d worked so hard on

“i’ll save it now,” you reply, and he watches as you click the little button at the top of the screen, “thanks for reminding me- hey!”

your eyes shoot up to his face as he shuts the lid of the laptop, unplugs it and picks it up

his expression is neutral as he stares down at your clearly upset one, but he makes no move to give you your laptop back

“bed,” he says, “i’m confiscating this until morning.”

“hongjoong, that’s not fair!”

he rolls his eyes

“i don’t care,” he turns and begins to walk back to his side of the bed, “you’re tired and stressed and i’m not going to sit and watch you work yourself up. get in bed, now.”

he places his laptop on his bedside table before crawling back into bed

there’s nothing to stop you taking it, but unless you want hongjoong up your ass about it for the next few days, you know not to

you don’t get up from your seat for just a few seconds, but it seems like it’s a few seconds too long for hongjoong

“if i have to come over there and carry you to bed, i won’t be happy,” he warns

and although you know he’s not being completely serious about the carrying thing, he is about being unhappy

he likes you to take good care of yourself so of course he gets a little annoyed when you don’t listen to him telling you to

so you get up and shuffle over to the bed where he’s waiting with open arms and a smile

“that wasn’t too hard was it?” you shake your head, “good, now come cuddle…”

but it isn’t just a one time thing, and hongjoong isn’t always at your apartment to tell you to look after yourself

more often than not, you end up staying up later than you should, and by the time the project is over, you’re worn down and tired

and hongjoong can see that

obviously he isn’t happy in the way you’re treating yourself (you always remind him that he’s the same way, but he always refuses to acknowledge that fact) so he takes it upon himself to monitor your recuperation

brings you food every day and either watches you eat it, or insists on feeding you himself

you complain about the latter, reminding that you’re perfectly capable of putting food in your own mouth

he just rolls his eyes and asks you to ‘let him do this’

you realise after some time that half of the reason he’s doing this is because of guilt that he wasn’t there more often to stop you overworking yourself

you have to remind him that he has a life outside of you and he can’t always be there to take care of you

“what if i just moved in?” he asks as he spoons some soup into your mouth, “that way i could monitor you…”

you swallow the soup quickly just so you can tut at him

“first of all, i don’t need monitoring,” he makes a sound to let you know he disagrees, “and secondly, you seriously want to leave jongho and wooyoung alone together?“

hongjoong agrees that would be a bad idea since both of the boys like to push the other’s buttons

“well, what if you move into the dorms?” he suggests after a moment of silence

“you don’t need to monitor me!”

he relents after a quick back and forth, finally agreeing that sure, maybe you are capable of taking care of yourself without him to help

the thought makes him a little sadder than it should, though

because he likes taking care of you…

feeding you, washing your hair in the bath, keeping a hand on you whenever you’re out together

and maybe you moving in together is less him monitoring you, and more him just being able to care for you in the way that he wants to

to be able to lead you to make the best decisions for yourself, even if he isn’t too good at doing that for himself

but although it made him said, he was fine conceding to your will this time

he likes having that dominance over you, but he’d never force you into something so big if you aren’t quite ready for it

for now he’s stick to showing up at your place unannounced and taking care of you from there

reminding you to eat when he knows you haven’t

pulling you around by your waist when he doesn’t want you too far from him

pinning you to the couch when he knows you’re too fidgety to relax properly

he’d have to happy with just that for the time being

[sodapopwrites]

the first sign of fall chapter five: as sick as it sounds i loved you first

college au, the inner circle boys and the reader are bartenders.

pairings - eris vanserra x reader, a teensy bit of azriel x reader

summary - at the annual hockey party you have two much needed, long time coming, conversations.

word count - 4.2k

a/n - okay okay guys we're on our way to HEALING. this is good. i don't know man. at least they're all finally starting to communicate a little bit. I mean it's mostly her but hey she is drunk word vomiting. they boys don't have much room to talk. also they're stupid men....so.

read the rest of the series here!

You didn’t want to work. Didn’t want to get out of bed. Didn’t want to do anything. Blankets wrapped around you, cacooning you in a soft straight jacket of warmth. You hadn’t moved in hours despite being awake. Nothing seemed to really matter lately. Your shades were drawn. Darkness shrouding your room. 

Empty. You felt empty. Your apartment a shallow husk of a home. 

You thought of your favorite sweater, still at Eris’ apartment. Your hairbrush and your good pair of sneakers. Plants that had previously sat on the shelves of your room, now resting on the window sill of Eris’ living room. The sleep you had grown accustomed to. Warm and comfortable. His bedsheets cool against your skin and the smell of his cologne drifting through your nose. His fingers combing through your hair. His kisses along your collarbone to wake you up. Wasted. By what? A game you had played along with for traditions sake. For what? 

Eris. The day you had met him. Your freshman year. Two years ago.  In his white cable knit sweater, fraying around the edges. Expensive things he let go into disarray as if he didn’t care. A carefully curated look of dishevelment. His smirk and his glittering eyes. The way you could never get yourself to talk to him. The way his swaggering confidence and sharp remarks scared you shitless. The way his eyes would sometimes meet yours across crowded coffee shops, quiet libraries, or crushingly packed parties. Like he could taste just how much you wanted to talk to him. The way you had fallen in love with him from a distance. 

The clock strikes one and you groan. Pulling your blanket over your head and rolling onto your stomach, before sliding out of your bed. Unwilling and unhappy. Fine. Work it is. You couldn’t call out. Rhys would kill you if Cassian was the only bartender. Nothing seemed to get done when Cassian was the only bartender. 

★ ★ ★

“So let me get this straight.” Cassian set several glasses on the counter top and angled his body towards you, “You think that avoiding both Az and Eris is the best way to go about things?” 

You don’t look at him. Shaking your head you continue washing the bar glasses, “I’m not avoiding Azriel. He isn’t talking to me….Just like last time.” 

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to say something.” 

Cassian moved closer to you. Forcing your attention away from the dishes. You huff a breath of vague annoyance and turn to meet his eyes. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

He didn’t have an answer for you. He shrugged and pulled the glass out of your hands and nudged you away from the sink. Choosing to take your task instead of answering you. You look past him towards the clock on the wall. 

“I have to go. My shift is over and Az will be here any second.” 

“See. Avoiding.” 

You don’t respond as you take off your apron and tuck it beneath the bar, grabbing your bag, and heading for the door. You’re almost in the clear. Almost. You run directly into Azriel as he slides through the doorway. Muttering an apology you try to push past him, but he grabs your arm. Finally you look up from his chest to those hazel eyes, boring into you, studying your every slight facial expression. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it before any words manage to escape. 

“Have uh…have a good shift.” 

With that your out the door. The cold fall wind whipping through your hair and stinging your cheeks red. You stand outside the bar. Out of breath from the one brief interaction with Azriel. The look he gave you still seared into your sightline. You look around the street. Empty, the streetlights just flickering on as it hit dusk, leaves no longer that buttery yellow and orange but a burnt red. Fall in full flush. The crisp air felt like an assault on your lungs. 

A ding from your phone snapped you out of the trance the weather had bewitched upon you. Mor. 

Mor: Come to the party with me tonight. 

You sigh. That was the last thing you wanted to do. The hockey team’s halloween party. The last thing you wanted to do. Another ding interrupts your response. 

Mor: I know you don’t want to go. But if I have to get drunk by myself imagine what could happen to me. 

You chuckle at the vague hint towards a catastrophe. You type out a response, 

You: What could possibly happen to you Morrigan?

Mor: Uhm…I have to be sexy by myself. Which is a damn shame. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Gnawing the already bitten raw flesh. A nervous tick. One that had been rearing it’s ugly head in the last couple weeks. You nod to yourself. Steeling yourself. You could do this. 

You: Fine. 

She didn’t respond. You knew she’d be at your apartment to pick you up in a couple hours anyway. 

★ ★ ★

“Stop fidgeting with your dress. You look good.” Mor hissed at you as you pulled your skirt down for what had to be the fourth time in the last couple minutes. 

The party was loud, the lights were low, and you were already three shots in, and working on your third drink. It was way too strong. One of Mor’s famous concoctions. It seemed the only way to get through this night. Your eyes scanned the room for familiar faces. You knew Azriel would show up. You knew Eris would be there two. Neither of them ever missed this party. You had been constantly scanning the room for Cassian’s towering form, knowing that Az and Rhys wouldn’t be far behind him. Luckily for you they hadn’t shown yet. 

You reached up to rub your neck. There was still a bruise there from where Azriel had sunk his teeth. That light red mark a reminder of the horrible decision you had made. You hadn’t heard from Eris since he told you he was done. You supposed that maybe you should stop expecting to hear from him. But the silence still hurt. It stretched through your mind constantly. That lack of communication. The gravity of the quiet. 

Mor looked you up and down. Her eyes narrowing as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned to face you fully, taking the cup out of your hands and pulling your arms lightly. 

“Loosen up. Come on. Let’s dance.” 

You hang your head and try to pull out of her grip, but when she wanted something she got it. So you begrudgingly let her drag you to the dance floor. Letting your body move with hers as the buzz of your drinks settled over you like a warm blanket. For a couple minutes, as the music washed over you, the bass pumping along with your heartbeat, you let yourself forget. About everything. 

But like all peaceful moments it didn’t last long. Out of the corner of your eye, through the flashing neon lights, and the swarm of people, you caught sight of him. Well you caught sight of a flash of auburn hair and a flash of freckles across cream skin. Eris. His face half covered by a golden mask that looked awfully like a fox. His hand on the small of some girls back. The girl wasn’t someone you knew. Another accessory. He had gone back to being exactly what everyone thought he was. 

You allow girls to accompany you to parties. You don’t date. 

Your words to him swam through your ears. A violet wave of memory. Something sour climbed its way up your throat and into your mouth. You pulled out of Mor’s grasp and searched frantically for a bathroom. Spotting it across the room you made straight for the door. Pushing past everyone. The crowd suddenly suffocating. The people bumping into eachother, jumping, huddled together. The music reverberating through the room. All of it overwhelming. All of it too loud. Suffocating. 

Azriel had just walked into the party. Cassian and Rhysand on either side of him. The first thing he saw was you. Booking it to the bathroom. Your eyes frantic and your hand coming to cover your mouth. He made to follow you, knowing exactly what was about to happen. And then he saw it. Eris had clocked you the same second he had. Both men made eye contact. Standing a couple feet away from eachother. Neither moving. Neither following. 

Eris had seen you before you saw him. You looked damn good. He was absolutley sure that Mor had put you in that outfit. The skirt a little too short. Your hair curled the same way Mor’s always was. You skin gleaming from sweat. The heat of the room making your every inch sparkle a little under the lights. Your eyes closed as you danced. Body swaying in time with the beat of the music. You looked too good. His jaw clenched. He was making sure to get closer to the girl he had brought. Making sure to make it very clear that this was his date. He saw the way your expression shifted. Saw the way the panic in you seemd to surface. It was almost like he heard the saw words you did. 

You allow girls to accompany you to parties. You don’t date. 

He hated every second of it. Every second of get back. But if he had to play the part. For you. For your friends he would do it.  Play the asshole. Be whatever it is that they wanted him to be. Over you? Yeah sure he could play pretend for a night. It was nothing right? It was casual. No labels. Just company. 

Eris thought of when he first saw you. His sophomore year. Two years ago. In your leather jacket. Your hair cut short. Your quiet remarks to your friends that always seemed to make them laugh. The blush that would spread across your cheeks when he’d meet your gaze. When he’d notice the way you stared. The way you were always flanked by your guard dogs. Cassian and Azriel. Sometimes Morrigan and Amren. Always too accompanied to approach. Your coy smile and your heavy lashes. A sight for sore eyes at every suffocating party and overly heated coffee shop. An ever present distraction. The way he would laugh louder to see if it would draw your attention, and it always did. The way that he had finally gotten you alone at the start of term party this year. When years of passing interaction, casual hellos, and a warm smile had finally gotten him into your life. 

And then he saw Azriel. Saw how Az noticed you fleeing the dance floor just as he did. Noticed the way that his body was arched into your pursuit the same way his own was. Both feeling that incessant need to make sure you were okay. Their eyes met. Play the part. Let him have it. Be what they want you to be. He broke eye contact with Azriel and bent his head in submission. Go on. The motion seemed to say. You play your part and I’ll play mine. Eris leaned back down to the girl he had brought. Pretending to listen to whatever she was saying as his eyes trailed Azriel to the bathroom. Nodding, not paying attention as he followed shadowsinger across the floor and stood at the closed bathroom door, listening to the conversation held within. 

★ ★ ★

You didn’t want to throw up. You paced the small bathroom clutching your stomach. You were a bartender for fucks sake. If you couldn’t hold your alcohal then what was the point? You clenched your eyes shut and shook your head. Trying not to let anything come up. Slowly you sank to the ground. Letting your head fall against the wall behind you, your hand clutching the rim of the toilet as if in preparation for what was to come. 

The door creaked open and Azriel slid into the room. White t shirt, soaked with blood, clinging to his frame. His hair greased and parted down the middle. A plastic curved knife tucket into the belt loop of his jeans. Billy Loomis. Of course he had dressed up as Billy Loomis. You had watched scream together last year. You vaguely remembered telling him he’d look damn good dressed up like that, before Cassian snorted and said something about it somehow not being emo enough and god forbid Az wear anything but a black shirt. 

He crouched down next to you. Slowly pushing the hair out of your face and moving your body towards the toilet. Holding your hair in one hand and gently brushing a hand over your back as he whispered, 

“Just let it out.” 

You shook your head. Humming your disagreement. But the movement of your body, the small shift in your position, the shake of your head. It sent you over the edge and you lurched over the toilet. Wretching and coughing. Azriel softly shushed you, trying his best to be comforting, trying to be soothing. He had held your hair back while you vomited more times than he could remember. Freshman year was your black out drunk year and he remembered it well. 

Slowly you raised your head, blinking through watery eyes at Azriel. His concerned expression did nothing to calm the storm in your stomach. In your head. You sucked in a shuddering breath and he tilted his head. 

“Why do you only like me when I’m sad?” 

Your question was like a knife to his gut. A sharp, achingly cold, pain twisting it’s way through his organs. He slightly shook his head as if he didn’t understand. You sniffled, hiccuping slightly as you continued, 

“You dont…You only want me when you can’t have me or when I’m so fucking distraught that I can’t think straight.” 

Twisting. Pushing deeper. That knife. Like you wanted his insides to spill out and his blood to drench your hands. 

“Why?” 

A whisper. Small and pleading. He couldn’t think of something to say. His mind completely blank. You push his hands away from you. Off your shoulder and out of your hair. Scrambling away from his contact. 

“I left. That first time. Because I was so fucking scared that when you woke up you’d pretend it didn’t happen. That we’d go back to being friends and act like nothing had changed. I left because I was convinced it didn’t mean anything to you and I just didn’t want to hear you say it. I didn’t want to see the regret on your face if I was still there.” 

You never talked about it. A silent agreement to never talk about what happened two years ago. Your first comment on it brought a horrified look to his face that he couldn’t wipe away fast enough. But he tried. Tried to reknit his brows and close his mouth, 

“You’re drunk” 

You wave your hands and shake your head, “No. No. I didn’t want to just be a pity fuck that you didn’t care about. That you didn’t ever want to talk about. So I left and I hoped you’d prove me wrong and you never did. You stayed silent and we never fucking talked about it again. Because I was right.” 

“You weren’t” 

Azriel wanted to believe it. Wanted to be able to tell you that you were wrong. Wanted to tell you it was more than that. But that knife in his gut. It was all he could focus on. The sharp blade of reality. He wanted you when you were sad. Something to fix. Something he could try to piece back together. But he knew you were never something he could hold together. So he was there when you needed rebuilding. Your voice struck him again, 

“I was. I was right.” 

You rose to your feet now. Pushing past him as he stood to try and block you. Shoving your hands into his chest to get him to move out of your way. 

“You only like me when I’m sad.” 

You clutched the door handle and wiped your face hastily. Trying to rid yourself of any crying evidence. Not wanting to look a mess in front of the people you knew were lined up outside the bathroom door. 

“I had something. Someone. That wanted me when I was whole. When I was happy. Someone who made me happy.” 

He reached for you and you flinched away, “And I let you ruin it because for some reason I kept thinking. How could I deserve it?  And now look at me.” 

You motioned around the bathroom, at yourself. As if you could illustrate the hollow feeling in your gut. In your chest. 

Azriel muttered your name. The only thing he could think to say. You pressed your lips into a tight line and took a deep breath before leaving him to stand alone in the bathroom. 

★ ★ ★

You pushed your way through the sweltering room. The patio. The front steps. It didn’t matter. Outside. You just wanted to be outside. You bump into Rhys before you can get to the door. His hands reaching to clasp your shoulders. His face etched with worry. His eyes scanning your face and one hand smoothing your hair down. 

“You okay?” 

You could barely hear him over the din of the party. You nod quickly and push his worrying hands away, 

“You got a cigarette?” 

“Uh yeah?” 

He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a pack, handing you one, and slipping a lighter into your free hand as you tuck the cigarette behind you ear. Pushing past him you head for the door once more. Slipping out. Relishing in the way the cool october air pricked at your exposed skin. The way it burned your nostrils and finally provided a steady gust of air to your lungs. You walk to the curb, sitting down and fumbling with the lighter that Rhys had given you. 

Trying to light the cigarette proved difficult with the halloween wind and the light rain now dripping from the velvet sky. Someone tall moved to stand in front of you, blocking you from the breeze and the drizzle. Finally allowing the lighter to spark to life. You muttered a thank you, taking a long drag, and finally looked up at the figure before you. 

Eris. 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me” Smoke flowed past your lips as you said it. He offered a half hearted smile before crouching to sit on the curb next to you. Someone who made me happy. Your words to Azriel echoing in Eris’ ears as he sat. 

“I just wanted a smoke.” 

He pulled the cigarette from your fingers and took a drag. Holding eye contact with you like a challenge. 

“That girl finally bore the shit out of you?” You shouldn’t comment on it. On her. You had no right. You were never really together in the first place and after what you had done. Running to Azriel as soon as Eris said he was done with you. You shouldn’t comment on it. 

He shrugged and tried his best to blow the smoke away from you as he exhaled. He turned back towards you. His eyes wandering across your face, down your neck, across your shoulders, and then suddenly backtracking. Back to the crook of your neck. That ever fading bite mark. That last physical reminder. His eyes stayed there. The deep russet color now smoldering. 

“You finally done with Az? Or is that just getting started?” 

“There’s nothing to start. There never was. I…get that now.” 

He snorted and brought the cigarette back to his lips. You ran your tongue across your teeth. Trying to think of something to say. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You did exactly what you were expected to.” He paused and you spoke again, 

“Is that what you’re doing? Bringing a date here?” 

He shrugged again. Play the part. Eyes still boring their way through your soul. That slight bit of connection. That eye contact. However frustrated, however angry, filling some sort of hole that he had left in you. You sigh deeply and stare at your shoes. Lightly tapping your heels together like maybe the motion would somehow bring you home. Straight back into his arms. But it wouldn’t. 

“You know. We don’t have to stay the way other people see us.” 

Something in his gaze softened. Like your words had cracked through his walls. Built some sort of window that could be opened into a real conversation. So you continued, 

“Something to be fixed or someone to hate. Angry. We don’t have to be angry.” 

“Are you angry?” His voice was cool. Like he didn’t want you to know that he really did wonder if you were angry with him. For pushing you out. For being unwilling to talk after one issue. 

“Not at you. At myself for…” You trailed off. Eyes going distant. Voice growing soft and much much warmer. “Do you remember when we first met? You were wearing that white sweater. The one with the holes in it.” 

He tried not to smile. He didn’t think you remembered that. Didn’t know if you even really bothered to remember anything about him before he had managed to convince you to let him into your life for real. He nodded, looking away from you. 

“You know…When you finally made a move on me a couple months ago. I couldn’t fucking believe it. Eris Vanserra, could have anyone he wants, heir to his fathers company, ever charming, hockey super star, total fucking asshole to everyone….was talking to me like he really cared what I had to say.” 

He still wasn’t looking at you. He had hung his head and closed his eyes. As if remembering that night himself. 

“I don’t know if you were going to say it in the locker room. It seemed like you were. But…” You slump your shoulders before standing up and brushing yourself off. Leaves falling from where they had stuck to your legs. He turned to look at you, his eyes searching, almost pleading. Like he was begging you not to say what you were about to say. 

“As sick as it sounds. I loved you first Eris. I was just waiting for you to notice and then when you did I was so fucking scared that you would do what everyone told me you would do, that you’d fuck me and then leave me like it was nothing.” 

Again it felt like you were going to throw up, “And you proved them wrong. And that was scarier. Because what if I didn’t deserve it.” 

He tried to say something, but you cut him off. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to forgive me. Maybe you shouldn’t. But I just…” 

You shake your head. Almost like you were giving up and started to walk away. You were going to toss one final thing over your shoulder. But you squared your shoulder and looked at him. He was standing now, like he wanted to follow you. Like he wanted to walk you home. Something he had grown so used to doing. But he didn’t budge as you said, 

“I feel empty without you.” 

A small smile spread across his face. A smile he had thrown at you when everything was okay. When you two were good. When you were happy. Mischievous. Fox like and sly. 

“Not like that. Not like in a sexual way. In the like I miss you way. Asshole.” 

A small laugh escaped his lips at that. At your slight teasing tone. You stare at each other for a moment before you say, serious now, 

“I miss you.” 

And with that you turned and started to walk down the street. You had to go home. You didn’t want to talk to any of your friends. Didn’t want to face Azriel again. Didn’t want to drink anymore or dance or act like everything was fine. 

He wanted to say it back. Every bone in his body screaming at him to say it back. To tell you that he missed you too. But he couldn’t. You were too far away. Too drunk. Too sad. 

But that smile he had given you. That teasing tone that you had held for even a split second. A small glimmer of hope. Maybe there was something to salvage there. 

Azriel leaned against the doorframe of the house. He had been watching the conversation you had with Eris. Not able to hear it, but monitoring from afar. He had followed you out. To try and talk. Try and apologize for everything. For how stupid he had been. He didn’t want to lose you…as a friend. Above all else as a friend. As family. That’s what you were supposed to be. You and everyone else in your friend group. Family. Your final words were all he had managed to hear. 

I miss you. 

Something you would have never said to him. Rightly so, Azriel supposed. Eris eventually turned away from your fleeting form and met Azriel’s eyes. Az wondered how long Eris had known he was skulking in the background. He offered Eris a small nod. A small concession. Eris nodded back. 

A brief. Silent. Understanding of sorts maybe. 

taglist:

@tiredsleepyhead @rosewood-cafe @kristijenner19 @becstersworld @girlwhoreadseverywhere @iambored24601

@the-sylver-dragon @scarsandallaz @fairydustblossom 

@theflowerswillbloom @melsunshine @mad-katsuki @lilylilyyyyyy @blueeeeeshark

@hextech-bros @redr0sewrites @tolietpaperwater

[redflagshipwriter]

Check yes Chapter 9 Part 1

masterpost

Danny’s romantic daydream was slightly thwarted by Jason’s cruel practicality. He sulked mightily over the many indignities he was forced to suffer as they made an apartment pitstop on the way to the restaurant.

“We don’t want to do anything associated with Bats face out,” Jason said, pulling a dark blue sweater down over Danny’s head. Danny made a muffled sound of unhappiness before his head popped out the neck hole, hair mussed and expression grumpy as fuck. “And you are going to stand out way too much with half sleeves at night, sorry to say. The grannies would come out to beat me with sticks for dragging you out in the night air half dressed.” 

Danny grunted and struggled a little bit to make it clear that he was unhappy. Jason sort of snorted about it and held out a weird little half mask for him. Resentfully, Danny stuffed it in his pocket for later. Blegh.

“Thanks, doll.” Jason turned back to his closet before he could see the red explosion across Danny’s face. Shell-shocked, Danny stood there for a moment as Jason shucked his leather jacket and peeled off the shirt underneath to reveal an incredibly clingy sportstech shirt with a bat icon on the front. He then put on a different but basically identical jacket and doublechecked the front pocket for a red eye mask. Danny watched a bit dubiously as he zipped it up to cover the red bat icon on his chest. Was this really enough to keep a secret identity? He watched as Jason pulled some tinted gel through his hair to cover the white streak in his hair and change the way his hair set. 

‘I guess the overall impression changes enough,’ Danny grudgingly admitted, if only to himself. ‘Something about the lapels on the other jacket made it look less combat-tech than this one. Maybe that was his nice leather jacket.’

“If it helps,” Jason continued, “that sweater is Dick’s. He’ll recognize it as a taunt. It’s also practical, but hey.” He shrugged as he turned around. He frowned. “Ya kay?”

“I’m fine,” Danny snapped. He buried his chin in the collar of Dick’s pullover and huffed. He turned his face away to hide the flush on his face. “You owe me a candle dinner. Spaghetti, red wine, the works.”

Jason snickered. “Do you mean candle lit?” he asked.

Danny tracked back what he’d said and then decided to double down. “You wouldn’t let me eat a single candle? Romance is dead.” He sneered to show off one of his, frankly impressive, canines. 

Unbidden, he remembered Dick asking if Jason was a monsterfucker. 

‘I hope he is.’

He went red again. “Let’s go,” Danny yowled and spun on his heel, Dick’s sweater flapping around him. He yanked open the door to Jason’s apartment and rushed out without waiting for approval of any sort. He heard cursing, shuffling, and then the sound of keys behind him. Danny jogged down the stairs just to get a chance to let the flush fade.

[tenjikyu]

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 - 𝘧𝘢𝘺𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ what happens when chifuyu is forced to break it off with you ?

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ gn!reader , angst to fluff , forced breakup , lots of crying , vv sad chifuyu :( , kinda short sos .

chifuyu seriously had no idea what he was doing.

the look on your face was an expression he vowed to never have you make at the beginning of your relationship.

“i’m sorry (Y/N), but we should really stop seeing eachother. i’m not happy with you and i want to end it.” he spits out, almost choking on his own words. it felt as though something was blocking his airways, punishing him for breaking your heart.

“okay…” your voice speaks out, tears of your own flooding your cheeks.

as you slowly walked away from your beloved boyfriend, you couldn’t help but wonder. where did you go wrong? he didn’t seem unhappy 3 days ago when you two went to the arcade with hanagaki and tachibana, did he? when did this begin?

your only bodily response was more tears that were protruding down your face, nose crimson red and eyes slowly puffing up. you walk away slowly, assuming he no longer wanted to be around you.

“godamnit” chifuyu gets out before his own tears flood down his cheeks.

only a few hours earlier, your father had sat down with your boyfriend, unbeknownst to you.

“i don’t want you dating my child and i think i’ve made that very clear.” your father almost spits in disgust at your appalled boyfriend. break up?? with you?? no fuckin way??

“you’re a good for nothing delinquent who does nothing but heat up other boys. the only times i’ve even seen you, you’re beat up and injured! how long before you get (Y/N) involved in your violence, or even worse, lay a hand on my child.”

“ I WOULDN’T DARE RAISE MY HAND TO (Y/N).” the blonde screeched, overwhelmed and stressed. why now? why did he have to do this right before such a big holiday? did he want to ruin your christmas??

chifuyu knows you splurge about him to your family, that’s how your father knows so much about him, including what he gets up to when the sun goes down. but you never spoke ill of him, so why is your dad getting so defensive?

he’s proven on multiple occasions he’s a total gentleman to you! and he gets the same treatment back from you! you open doors for each other, make food for one another, come racing over when one of you is sick e.t.c. why do this now?

but..

in the back of chifuyu mind, he starts to wonder.

what would happen if you got dragged into this? what if someone uses you as a way to get information?

it’s obvious to anyone that chifuyu is a loyal man, and his loyalties lies with keisuke baji, takemichi hanagaki and you. there’s no chance he wouldn’t give away valuable info to keep you protected, anyone in toman could see just how dedicated he is to keeping you safe.

this thought runs through his head as he breaks up with you, just 2 days before christmas. before his christmas battle.

the next two days were a shitfest. you father didn’t take into account how this would affect you. you had locked yourself in your bedroom, sobbing to the polaroid photos of you and you beloved boyfriend that you took together everyday.

of course, you’re mother does everything to comfort you after hearing what had happened, however you were inconsolable.

“mom, this is the boy i thought i was going to marry, you don’t just get over that.” you sigh. no amount of hugs could help you.

“in my opinion he was only a setback. you should be greatful he’s gone.” your father speaks up.

. .

. . . .

wait…

you practically yanked the door off its hinges, startling you mother who was sat on your bed in another fruitless attempt to console you. you had only just heard what your father said to himself, and in that moment you knew why chifuyu had broken up with you.

“IT WAS YOU! YOU TOLD CHIFUYU TO BREAK UP WITH ME, DIDN’T YOU”. you bawled to your father, his face in total astonishment that you had spoken to him in such a manner, especially on christmas night.

“YOU DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HIM, DO YOU DAD?? I SING HIS PRAISES EVERYDAY BUT ALL YOU TAKE HIM FOR IS A STUPID DELINQUENT! MAYBE IF YOU GOT TO KNOW HIM MORE, YOU’D SEE HE CARES ABOUT ME MORE THEN ANYTHING!” you scream towards your stunned father, guilt piling up in his stomach.

knowing what you had to do, you chucked a coat over your pijamas, your family yelling at you to come back inside.

you didn’t care, you had to get to your boyfriend.

though you didn’t make it very far, as chifuyu was stood right outside your house with tears welling in his eyes. he was battered beyond belief, uniform thrashed and body more blood then skin. he had a serious injury on his ankle and his bike was parked next to him.

“chifuyu..” you mumble out, running towards him, your arms opening wide.

“(Y/N)-” he couldn’t finish his sentence as you crashed into his embrace, one of your arms caress waist, with the other embracing his beaten cheek.

he held onto your shoulders, huddling into your warmth. he could only pray to the gods above that you’d forgive him.

“i’m so sorry (Y/N), please… i can’t do anything without you by my side. the entire fight i felt sick to my stomach, but not because i had been struck multiple times in it. it was because i couldn’t bare the thought of not being with you on christmas day. your tears were sewn into my memory, and i just couldn’t handle it.” he chokes out, huddling closer to you in a seek of comfort.

“it’s okay chifuyu, i forgive you.” you coo, his face was beaten to shit, but chifuyu could never not be adorable to you.

you were just happy to have your boyfriend in your arms once more.

in the distance, giggling can be heard from your mother as your father watches the interaction.

“i don’t know why you even tried breaking them up, don’t you see how whipped (Y/N) is for the kid? they do everything together. chifuyu has stayed over multiple times and had dinner with us so much i’m surprised he hasn’t pre-proposed.” she laughs.

“i guess i’ll take that hit. in my defense though, that kid only seems to come over when i’m not around!” your father complains, however your mother just holds his face.

“well, after these past few days i wouldn’t blame him if he avoids you all together.”

[bylrlve]

Warning! Spoilers for Stranger Things 5 mentioned,

Rewatching episode 2, and I’m genuinely staggered by how many times Mike peeks at Will. It’s very clear his mind is on Will, in fact. I am also staggered by just how many small byler details are in here.

His whole face drops after no. 4 too, as @starbylers observed here.

I also want to include these @chirpsythismorning gifs from the roller rink scene, as they’re brilliant:

Mike watching Will get out of the van, and seemingly offering a hand to him.

Mike openly watching Will as they take their skates.

(X) (X)

These are very deliberate acting choices from Finn Wolfhard, and he was certainly doing it on instruction.

Some other notes on 402:

The transition from Mike and El being fake -> Murray looking up looking like he’s experiencing his Seeing Clearly -> Robin talking about Vickie laughing ‘and not like a cheap, fake laugh, but a real, genuine laugh’, right after we saw Mike hiding his genuine disgust at burritos for breakfast behind a tone of fake laughter.

Mike’s whole face just drops into an unhappy, spaced-out espression when it zooms in on El - this is after Will ignored his sock joke (video here by @buckybxarnes)

As many have observed, Mike and El look genuinely miserable when viewed from Angela’s perspective, as opposed to the shot of them skating with Will miserable behind them

It’s occurred to me that in s2, 3, and 4, the byler plot really takes off in episode 2. I’m wondering if that’s also the case with s5 - I’ve reconsidered my theory that the Mike + El rooftop scene takes place after the hospital plot in ep 2, as I’ve heard that the paparazzi at the filming site were told it was in episode 1.

The door slam/open transition between Joyce going to the bank to get the 40k random for Hopper, utterly singleminded, and Mike barging into the womens’ bathroom, being kicked out, and subsequently starting an argy-bargy with Will as opposed to continuing to prioritise El… well!

The disparity in time is so interesting. El counts off 185 days since she last saw Mike - which is roughly six months, as is canon within the show (Sept-Oct 1985-March 1986). And here Mike is, saying ‘you knew she was having trouble for, like, a year’ and Will saying ‘it’s been a year, Mike’ and, in 404, Mike saying ‘the last year has been weird.’ It’s pretty obvious the last one is Mike referring to their fight nine months earlier, plus the time prior that Mike had spent pulling away from the rest of the Party to focus on El. The second one is Will potentially referencing the time that elapsed since their fight - even if it’s moreso subtext from the writers. What, then, to make of Mike saying Will knew El was having trouble for, like, a year? What subtext could be meant by this? I’d love to hear your guys’ thoughts because u can’t quite deduce this.

Mike listing off everything Will did is so hilarious given the surveillance he carried out all day on the boy, and given the fact that poor El being humiliated publicly and assaulted with liquid before she skated off bawling did not, apparently, ruin the day. On second thoughts, I understand what Will meant… she’s in trouble having Mike’s gay ass for a boyfriend.

What’s striking me now is that this fight + El’s iconic roller skate moment, are the real emotional climaxes of this episode’s M/E/W plot. It could have been Mike finding El and comforting her before she lashed out at Angela. It could have been him talking to her afterwards. It could have been at the house - him following her up to her room and silently comforting her until she fell asleep. No, no. Mike and Will airing out their grievances (and Mike betraying which of the two truly emotionally affects him more) + El handling her own shit, while Mike thoroughly disapproves.

The way that Will just wants to be Mike’s friend, but it’s Mike making it so deeply weird.

The way, also, that they stick together at the rink even after the fight, and Mike openly is more preoccupied by Will in the van. I’ve seen it observed before: the parallel between El and Will staring out the same window in the van crying: Mike looks at Will in the shot. He does not look at El in the shot.

I think it’s hilarious that Mike ends the fight by feigning concern for El - he offered her no comfort whatsoever, actively stood away from her when she was waiting for Jonathan and Argyle to arrive, ignored her crying in the van, and of course:

She didn’t look fine.

Mike and Will are blocked together, not Mike and El

The sincerity of Mike’s concern over El juxtaposed with the rank falseness of ‘no, that’s…that’s not true, maybe I was a little upset in the moment’ etc really sticks out - the defensiveness is reminiscent of the tone he took with Will during the fight, but even then he was more sincere-sounding because he was more emotionally affected.

Bylers don’t talk enough about the insanity of ‘who… who said that I didn’t?’ In context, thinking logically, Mike is very likely referring to Will here (the bullies were shouting at her, he could hear what they were saying)- and why would his mind immediately go to ‘Will thinks I don’t love El, and has told her his suspicions?’ Why would he take a defensive tone?

Seriously, 402-403 M/W/E may well be the plot that (potentially) spells out byler endgame the most.

[yanderecrazysie]

Can I please request for yandere todoroki who at first was very cold and distant to you because he was unhappy with you and his quirk marriage courtesy of Endeavor. The reader tries to get along with him even making him cold soba and bringing it to him during his patrols. But todoroki remains stubbornly coldly ignoring the reader. One day the reader finally has enough and decides to just destroy the quirk marriage contract and leave for the countryside leaving everyone including Todoroki behind. Todoroki then starts to slowly fall for the reader now missing how the reader took care of him and cooked his favorite meals, he also starts to view The reader in as their own person without being clouded by his judgment. Todoroki then turns yandere out of shear yearning for you, he has recognized his mistakes and wants to make things right no matter the consequences, he will have you back and continue on with the marriage.

-Thank you for reading my request. I really love your writing especially the yandere cheater ones, they’re my favorite.

Thank you! And I’ll be glad to write this! ^-^

Title: Is It a Crime

Pairings: Todoroki Shoto x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes

Summary: Shoto isn’t fond of the quirk marriage his dad has arranged. At least, he didn’t think so at first.

Part 2: here

“Is it a crime

That I still want you?

And I want you to want me too

My love is wider, wider than Victoria Lake

My love is taller, taller than the Empire State

It dives, it jumps, and it ripples like the deepest ocean

I can't give you more than that, surely, you want me back”

-from “Is It a Crime” by Sade

“Cold soba, just how you like it,” you try your best to smile warmly, but the glare he sends you is as cold as the dish you try handing to him.

“I’m not hungry.” 

Your smile falters a little, you had hoped that your cooking would get through to him. Wasn’t the fastest way to a man’s heart through his stomach?

Shoto resumes scrolling on his phone, indifferent to the sad look you give him. Your heart gives a painful tug in your chest- what were you supposed to do to get him to like you?

It wasn’t like you particularly wanted in this marriage either.

Your parents had left the final choice up to you, claiming that they’d be fine without the money, when you knew it was the opposite. They were too elderly to work and you couldn’t get a second job while in college to support them.

Endeavor had swooped in, offering to support your parents as long as you were married to Shoto. Evidently, he was drawn in by your powerful healing quirk, and could picture strong grandchildren that could use ice, fire, and heal themselves.

In order to give you and your parents security, you entered into the agreement, assuming Endeavor’s son was okay with the contract.

You were wrong.

Shoto seemed to hate you more and more with each passing day. He’d made it clear from day one what he thought of your marriage.

“I want nothing to do with the marriage, nor you. I will never love nor care for you like a husband should. Give up and go home.”

You were determined to continue the forced relationship, not willing to easily give up the life your parents would be supported by. Yet, no progress was made towards wedding plans nor any discussion of life after marriage.

Endeavor wasn’t pushy about when a wedding should be set, telling you that Shoto was “needlessly stubborn about things”. But you’d begun to worry that maybe he would never come around to the idea of loving you.

And, really, how could you expect that of him? It wasn’t fair to suddenly come into someone’s life and wait for them to love you like a husband loves his wife.

You retreated to the kitchen to deal with your thoughts, putting the soba in the refrigerator in case Shoto got hungry. You thought over what you should do, a little bored with the housewife position you’d been put in. Shoto was a pro hero, Endeavor one as well- you had no reason to even continue college. The two of them each had enough money right now to live off of three times over.

You were ready to hang on as long as it took.

Until you overheard Shoto on the phone.

“She’s annoying. Not my type at all. I could never love anyone like her, even without this quirk marriage nonsense my father is forcing on me.”

You felt tears pricking your eyes. He’d never, ever like you, would he? This was just a waste of time, until Endeavor either forced you into a wedding that made Shoto despise you even more, or canceled your contract for you.

You went straight to the number one hero himself, heart pounding in your chest as you approached his office and knocked quietly on the door. A moment later, you stood before him, those tears from earlier finally falling.

“Shoto will never love me. I think it’d be best for both of us if we… just… went our separate ways.” Your voice quavered, and your eyes closed tightly for the finish.

Endeavor sat back in his chair, obviously surprised, “But your parents-”

“I can quit college and get a second job.”

Endeavor blinked and, after an eternity, pressed on, “My son is stubborn, he has rebelled against me before. You should not take it personally.”

You considered his words. Perhaps Shoto didn’t hate you, just the arranged marriage. But then you remembered his words over the phone and started to cry all over again.

“No… no. I’m sure. I want to cancel the marriage. I’m sorry.”

Endeavor nodded, “I understand.”

Shoto woke up in a bad mood and it only worsened when he didn’t see you in the kitchen, making him breakfast. You always made him breakfast, so why not today? Were you sick?

He checked the fridge and found the cold soba from yesterday. Not exactly a proper breakfast, but it would do.

Sour expression on his face, he wondered why you weren’t awake, bustling around like a happy tornado, cleaning every surface like you had a grudge against it. Maybe you really were sick. He spooned soba into his mouth, debating whether or not to check on you.

Against his better judgment, he walked over to your room and knocked sharply on it. He gave an exasperated sigh when there was no response and opened the door, only to find… nothing. No clothes, no knick knacks, nothing that made the room uniquely you, like it had once been.

His heart sank in his chest and he leaned against the door, head hanging down as his thoughts raced. Wasn’t he supposed to be happy? Thrilled, even? This meant that the quirk marriage was over, right?

So why did he feel crushed?

Shoto stormed into his father’s office without knocking. “Where is she?”

Endeavor looked up from his paperwork, surprised. “Gone. The marriage is off.”

The younger man left, a hole deep in his heart where you had once been. He hadn’t realized it, so focused on hating you, but he couldn’t live without you. He felt like he was panicking, his breath was coming fast and heavy, his mind clouded with thoughts of you.

He knew where you lived, he’d been there once before to meet you. It wasn’t a far walk, and he’d be running.

He could be there in ten minutes. He was positive he could convince you to sign the contract again.

It was time to bring his bride back home.

[redrose10]

I’m still working on the next chapter of The Interlude Inn. Things have been crazy lately and I’m sorry it’s taking so long, but thank you for staying with me. In the mean time here’s just something small I had stuck as an idea for a while and wanted to put out there.

Warnings: Angst, Lots of Crying, Breakups, Arguments, eventual fluff

Summary: Who knew that some old yarn and a knitted beanie would be what helps to mend yours and Yoongi’s broken hearts.

Word Count: 2,703

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

You stood back against the door with your arms crossed. “Seriously Yoongi, don’t you have anything to say?”

You glared at your boyfriend, well now ex-boyfriend, as he removed his headphones once again.

“What do you want me to say Y/N? You’re unhappy in this relationship and you want to end it so go. I’m not going to get on my hands and knees and beg you to stay.”

You rolled your eyes almost involuntarily. He was kind of right. You were the one that showed up at his studio unannounced and broke up with him out of nowhere, but it was mostly his fault that you got to this point.

After three years together you were just tired of feeling alone and unappreciated. His work was always put before you and your relationship and you were done with it.

“This is what I’m talking about Yoongi. You don’t care at all that I’m walking out. I guess the last three years were a waste of time since I mean nothing to you.”

Yoongi hastily spun his chair around and put his headphones back on before you could see his tears begin to fall. Scoffing you grabbed your jacket and purse and stormed out letting the door slam behind you before you finally released your own river of tears.

It had been almost six months since you and Yoongi broke up and neither of you had made any effort to contact one another. Jin ended up being the mediator brining you a box of your stuff from Yoongi’s and you gave him a box to take back to him as well. The last reminisce of the relationship you once had with each other.

Even though it had been six months the pain still hurt more than any other breakup you’d ever encountered. You really felt that he was the one you’d spend the rest of your life with and now that it wasn’t happening you were having a hard time coping with that. Jin claimed that Yoongi was struggling too. He wasn’t eating, stopped working on music for a while until the company got on his case, and Jimin claims to have seen him crying in his car while parked at the company building several times.

Yoongi seemed to be doing just fine in your eyes though. Always smiling and laughing in interviews and performances. Rumors even circulated about him dating a fellow idol and you had to admit the pictures looked pretty convincing. As much as you tried to tell yourself that he had every right to move on it still hurt.

It finally passed the busy season at work so you decided to treat yourself with a week off. Nothing fancy. You just wanted some time where you could shut off your alarm clock, maybe do a deep clean of your apartment, and eat as much greasy terrible for you, but tasty food as you wanted. The first morning of your vacation you heard your phone ringing from its place on the night stand next to you. You had made it absolutely clear to your boss to not contact you for any reason whatsoever so you knew it wasn’t work. Your friends would get the hint after a call or two that were missed, but whomever was calling was persistent. You stayed still trying to just ignore it, but after the eighth missed call you decided to roll out of bed and check to make sure nothing bad had happened.

To your surprise you found fifteen missed calls all from Namjoon and Jin. They hardly ever called you even when you and Yoongi were together so you were confused as to what was going on. Suddenly you got a notification for a voicemail and you clicked play,

“Hey Y/N, this is Namjoon. I’m really sorry to bother you right now. I know it’s still pretty early, but we’re having a bit of a situation. Something is wrong with Yoongi. We’re not sure what’s going on, but if you could give me a call back I’d really appreciate it. Thanks, Bye.”

You tossed the phone on your bed before plopping down. Namjoon’s voicemail repeating in your head. By now they all definitely knew what had happened between you two so it kind of irked you that they would call you of all people for help. Yoongi or anything Yoongi related was no longer your problem. You had every intention to just ignore it, but then in the back of your mind you started to worry. There will always be a part of you that will love and care for Yoongi and you couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to him because you wanted to make a point.

Grabbing your phone you quickly dialed Namjoon’s number and he answered on the second ring.

“Hi Y/N, thank you for calling me back. I really am sorry to wake you.”

“No it’s okay Joon. What’s going on?”

He let out a deep sigh, “Well we’re not 100% sure. We just got back today and Yoongi started flipping out. He tore through his suitcase. He made the stylist give him access to our wardrobes and he went through those too. It took Jimin and Hoseok two hours to help them put everything back together. He’s made a bunch of phone calls and now he’s just sitting in the corner of the room sobbing and mumbling something about a hat. We were hoping you’d know what was going on with him.”

You bit your lip trying to recall anything about a hat, “No I’m sorry Namjoon. I have no idea what it could be.”

“Well I was afraid of that. We’re supposed to leave to go to an interview in like fifteen minutes and I have no idea how we’re gonna get him to cooperate. He’s just completely inconsolable.”

You were really hoping you weren’t going to regret this but you took a deep breath and continued, “Would you like me to talk to him? Maybe I could get it out of him.”

“Oh my Yes! Thank you so much Y/N.”

After a few seconds and some distant mumbling you heard a few loud sniffles in the phone followed by the softest “hello” you’d ever heard.

“Yoongi what’s going on? Why are you so upset right now?”

It was like your voice set him off again and you could hear the sobs coming from deep within his chest followed by words you couldn’t make out.

“Yoongi calm down please. I can’t understand what you’re saying. Take a few breaths. Remember how we used to do it.

1…

2…

3…

4…

5…

Do we need to take a few more?

1…

2…

3…

Okay now tell me what’s going on so I can try to help.”

A few moments went by and you were starting to think you’d never find out what happened, but then he cleared his throat,

“M-my beanie. The b-blue one. I lost it.”

Trying to think back to what hat he was talking about you continued, “Yoongi what beanie?”

“The soft blue one. I lost it somewhere. I can’t find it.”

“Yoongi it’s okay. You can get another one easily. I’m sure you could even order it online and have it delivered within a day or two.”

“N-no you don’t understand. You made that hat for me and it’s the last thing I had left from you. I’ll never have one like that again.”

It sounded like his crying was picking up again and that’s when it hit you.

Years ago you were hanging out at the dorm when Taehyung came walking by with some yarn he had used for a crafting thing he did with his siblings and not wanting the yarn to go to waste you took it and knit Yoongi a beanie. It was a blue color and very soft and fuzzy. That same night you gave it to him he asked you to be his girlfriend. You didn’t even know that he still had it.

Your heart did break at the sound of how upset he was getting over this. You had no idea how much that meant to him.

“Hey Yoongi it’s okay. Just breathe alright. I’ll make you a new hat. It’ll even be the same color and everything. I can have it done by tomorrow morning.” You really didn’t m feel like having to spend your day off knitting a new hat for your ex, but if that’s what got him to cooperate and get to the interview then you’d do it to help out the other members.

There was some silence followed my more sniffles, “I appreciate that Y/N, but it’s not the same. I don’t want a new hat. It won’t have the same memories with it.”

“Listen Yoongi, I know you have to get to an interview soon because you still have a job to do. The rest of the group is counting on you. Why don’t you go ahead and get that done and then we can try and fix this. Does that sound okay?”

You felt like you were tying to compromise with a toddler, but knowing he was this upset over something of yours did pull at your heart strings a little.

He didn’t say anything, but you could still hear his cries and what sounded like Jimin in the background trying to console him. Not long after Namjoon came back on the line, “So it sounds like you’ve figured it out?”

You chuckled, “Yeah kind of. It was this beanie that I had knit for him years ago. I guess he lost it while you guys were on tour.”

“Oh yeah that blue one right? He hasn’t let it out of his sight since he packed up your stuff for Jin to drop off. Hoseok swears he cuddles with it in his sleep. I’m surprised he lost it.”

That information felt like a stab to the heart. Maybe the breakup did really hurt him.

“I’m gonna try and fix this. I think I’ve convinced him to go to the interview so hopefully you guys can get done what you need and I’ll be in contact later.”

After traveling to four different craft store and six hours later you had knit an exact replica of the hat. Somehow you managed to find the same yarn in the same color and you were quite happy with your work. Your plan was to just tell Yoongi that one of the stylist found the lost beanie tucked away in a random suitcase somewhere after you had asked to take a look. You figured what Yoongi didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Standing outside Yoongi’s studio you felt a million different emotions. The last time you were there still burned into your brain. After a quick few knocks the door swung open and the sight taking your breath away. He looked terrible. Definitely slimmer and paler which you weren’t sure how that even happened. His skin was red and raw from the crying. His eyes widened when he realized it was you standing there.

“Here, one of the stylists found the hat in a suitcase.”, you managed to get out pushing the blue beanie to him.

Gently he took it from your grasp. As he looked it over you noticed the slight tremble to his hands. When he finally looked up at you he had tears threatening to fall. He shook his head handing the hat back to you, “This isn’t it.”

“Yes it is Yoongi. It’s the one I made you. Look at it.”

“No it’s not Y/N. The first one you made me years ago has a little hole on the side where we had to cut it when one of your earrings got caught.”

You remembered that day. The two of you were cuddling on the couch watching a movie when he went to get up and get more snacks but was stopped by you yelping in pain as your ear was pulled in his direction. You both tried for over twenty minutes to get your earring loose, but ended up having to just cut it out. You had promised to fix it, but never got around to it.

“Yoongi I’m sorry that you lost that hat, but please just take this one. Maybe over time it’ll mean something to you too.”

He began to sniffle and you had to force yourself not to pull him into a hug.

“Yeah it’ll be a reminder of how I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.”, he cried.

“Yoongi it’s just a hat. And not even an expensive designer one. I hardly think it’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”

He couldn’t hide the slight chuckle that escaped him, “I meant you Y/N. Not the hat.”

“Oh, I see”, you could feel your cheeks heat up from embarrassment.

“Y/N, please give me a second chance. I’m sorry that I had put work before you so many times. It was selfish of me. I thought I was helping us both by being as successful as possible, but now I know that all this money and success is nothing if I don’t have you to share it with.”

Watching as he wiped away a tear you sighed, “Yoongi, I just…I don’t know. How do I know that things won’t immediately go back to the way they were?”

“I don’t know Y/N. I can speak a thousand promises, but whether you choose to believe them or not is up to you. But if you give me another chance I’ll work harder than ever to prove to you that things will be better between us.”

“Okay, I’m not saying that things will instantly return to normal, but I think that we could try and work up to it.”, you sighed.

Yoongi bit his lip trying to contain the smile threatening to come through, “Thank you Y/N. I can work with that. I won’t let you down. C-Can I give you a hug?”

Smiling you took the blue beanie in your hands and placed it on top of his head before stepping forward wrapping your arms around his neck feeling like things were finally on the right track and thankful to be back in his arms.

Four years later…

“Oh my goodness, Jungkook these are the cutest little booties I’ve ever seen.”, you smiled holding up the pair of blue knit baby booties for everyone at your baby shower to see. “Little Baby Min is going to absolutely love these.”, you continued before handing the box over to Yoongi so he could get a look.

Yoongi stared down at the gift with his brows furrowed. “How did you have these made? I know you don’t knit.”, he asked the younger man. “Well my girlfriend knows a lady who takes old fabric and yarn and stuff and makes keepsakes. So I gave her the blue hat that Y/N had knit for you and asked if she could make baby booties. I knew that hat was important to you both and now your baby can enjoy it too.”

That seemed to only cause more confusion for Yoongi, “But that hat is upstairs in one of my drawers. I just saw it this morning.”

Jungkook smiled while shaking his head, “No, this is the original hat. You know the one you thought you lost.”

You felt Yoongi’s tense up next to you. Namjoon gasped from the corner.

“That’s very sweet Kookie. How did you get that hat by the way?”, you asked.

“Oh after we got back from the tour I found it in my luggage. I think it was tucked away in a sweatshirt I had grabbed.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, “So if you knew I was looking for it and you found it then why didn’t you say anything?”

With nervousness you looked between your husband and Jungkook repeatedly before reaching over and taking Yoongi’s hand in yours trying to brace him for the answer.

As nonchalantly as possible Jungkook replied, “You never asked me.”

[runnning-outof-time]

Thanks for sending this in, Cia!! I’m sorry I kept it in my asks for so long! But I finally figured out what I want to do with it! One of my celebration blurbs, Take the Ring, had a lot of second part requests to it…and while I’m really not a big fan of writing part 2’s to oneshots, I decided to here because the gif was from season 5 and it matched up well. So here’s what I envisioned happening a little bit after the end of the events in that first part. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Keep the Ring

Tommy Shelby x Reader (she’s not present here though)

Warnings: none

Summary: Polly shares her thoughts on what happened in Tommy’s office earlier that day.

“Are you listening, Tommy?” Polly Gray questioned, stopping her pacing to look at her nephew, who was staring straight at the wall in front of him.

Tommy snapped from the bubble he’d been encased in, quickly looking over to his aunt. It took a moment for the question she’d asked to register in his mind, but he nodded once it did. He then returned his eyes back to the wall ahead of him. “Yeah, I’m listening,” he answered in a despondent tone.

Polly pursed her lips and kept her eyes trained on him. She knew he was lying; knew there were other things taking up his mind. Her hands found her hips as she watched him intently, wondering if her stare alone would get him to talk. A few silent seconds passed, and he continued to stare at the wall. “Spill it,” she finally said, a demanding tone present in her voice.

“What?” Tommy asked, looking at her again.

“What’s on your mind, Thomas?” she asked, her eyebrows raising. Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, “don’t say it’s nothing. I know you well enough to know that it’s not.”

A sigh escaped the sitting man’s lips, and he returned his eyes to the wall once more. He wondered for a moment if she’d drop the subject altogether. But she was Polly Gray…she wasn’t going to be standing down until she got the answer she wanted.

“(Y/N) gave the ring back,” he answered her, his words muddled together as he cast his eyes down to the floor.

“She what?” Polly asked for him to repeat what he’d just said, surprise now present in her tone. She knew that Tommy could have been sulking for a number of things, but she didn’t expect it to be about (Y/N).

“She handed me her ring. Called the engagement off,” he kept his dejected tone, trying to make it sound like this was no big deal.

“When?” Polly asked another question.

“Earlier…came to me office in Parliament. I’d…” he paused, letting out a sigh as the earlier events replayed themselves in his mind. He shook his head, unhappy with how he’d reacted to them. “I’d missed one of the things we needed to do for the wedding. I had work to finish; a meeting to go to. She took the ring off and placed it on my desk…said she was finished.”

Polly tutted at her nephew’s response. She shook her head in disbelief. Only Tommy would screw a good thing like that up. “You should keep the ring now. That girl’s given you too many chances. She doesn’t deserve to be roped in again,” she gave her thoughts on the situation.

Tommy just nodded along with what was said. He had no intentions of trying to win her back again…he made that clear when she exited the office and he went to the meeting. That was because he knew that she wouldn’t hear him out. It was clear that she was finished with everything; finished with him. And she deserved to let that be the case. Like Polly had said, he’d burned her too many times before. This was the final straw.

“This work will kill you, Thomas,” he heard Polly say, only then noticing that she’d been giving him another one of her talking-tos. He looked over to her again, just in time to watch her shake her head at him and move over to the door.

His eyes returned to the wall ahead of him as the door opened and shut, leaving him to sit with his thoughts; the ring (Y/N)’d given him back still burning a hole in his pocket.

*tags in reblogs so that they hopefully go out

…sorry if you didn’t like it - this was how I envisioned things happening afterwards.

MASTERLIST

[gingiesworld]

9 Years Ago Today

Natasha Romanoff x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Death (Suicide), Unhappy Ending

18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1876

Taglist : @mothertoall2 @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @bimad (if you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

There was a time where everything seemed okay, maybe better than okay, Y/N had a great group of friends even if one of them happened to be their ex. Although the two ended badly, constantly arguing about the minor things, they both managed to be amicable when they were amongst their friends. Y/N always kept stealing glances of her from across the room, always noting just how happy she seemed, how she seemed to forget that they ever even dated. Well there were times where Natasha would forget that they even existed, making their friends feel awkward. So they soon stopped hanging out with them as often as they used to, everyone else noticing their lack of appearance at their get togethers.

“You can’t keep hiding out here.” Steve stated in disgust, looking at all the dirty takeout containers before he grabbed an empty garbage bag. “I know it still hurts.”

“No, you really don’t.” They chuckled dryly as they took a sip from the half empty bottle of whiskey.

“I know you love her.” He said as he sat beside them on the sofa. “I see how you still steal glances at her, I can see it in your eyes, even the hurt when she barely acknowledges your existence.”

“I’m fine.” They told him as he shook his head. “I swear to fucking god Steve, if you even attempt to say that I’m not, I’m gonna finish this bottle and smash it over your head.” He sighed and stood up, finishing helping them with cleaning their apartment in silence.

“Just please don’t do anything stupid.” He spoke softly as Y/N shrugged.

“We never had a choice about being brought into this world, but we can have a choice on how we leave this life behind.” They told him. Steve stopped in his tracks as he turned to face them.

“Don’t.” He seethed as Y/N just returned to the bottle. “I refuse to lose one of my best friends.”

“But I’m not one of them.” They told him as they stood up and went to their bedroom, locking the door behind them, leaving Steve to finish what he had started. Even as the weeks turned into months, everyone seemed to miss Y/N at their gatherings, missing how they used to be playful and energetic before the break up.

“We should try and talk to them again.” Wanda spoke up, breaking everyone away from their previous conversation. “I’m worried about them.”

“Me too.” Steve whispered as the others agreed, Nat remaining quiet as she silently agreed with them. She soon decided that she would get up to leave, making everyone divert their attention to her. “Where are you going?” He questioned as she picked up her bag, making sure she had everything she needed.

“To see them.” She answered before she left the house, heading straight towards the all too familiar building she spent many nights in. Heading straight up to their floor, banging on their door, waiting for a moment before they answered the door, they were in their uniform with their bag ready. “Where are you going?” She questioned as she walked past them inside the apartment. “I thought you were on leave for a year? Especially after your injury.”

“Well I have been cleared for combat and called forward.” They answered her flatly.

“Have you really been cleared or have you paid a dodgy doctor to say that?” She questioned with her eyebrow raised.

“Why can’t you actually see that I am fine!” They yelled at her, their eyes burning into her own green orbs.

“With what I have heard says otherwise.” She remarked, making them scoff.

“I’m sorry I was going through a rough time.” They spoke sarcastically. “That’s just it with you, I can never do a single thing right for you! You’ve always brought me down whether it's about who I am or it’s my career choice.”

“I have never done that!” She defended herself, watching as Y/N shook their head.

“Look, I would love to continue our argument, for old times sake but I have to go soon.” They told her as they tried to usher her out of the apartment.

“I don’t want to argue.” She told them.

“That’s good, it will make leaving here much easier.” They told her sarcastically.

“This is always just like you.” She seethed. “You always run away from the problem, you never want to face it like.” She stopped herself before continuing, watching as all emotion drained from Y/N’s face.

“Go on.” They prompted. “Say it. Say I’m a coward.” They watched as she shook her head no. “You’ve already said it plenty of times before so why is now any different?”

“I don’t think that.” She told them as they laughed at her words.

“So let me guess, all those times you called me a coward was for kicks, just a little light bullying.” They queried as she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for them to say what was on their mind. “I know you think that I’m a failure, that I always destroy whatever I touch or that I’m a coward. I know that you claim that you used to love me when in reality you never loved me, not as much as you made me believe.”

“Please can we just sort this out? Like adults.” She asked them quietly, watching as they shook their head.

“I’m done with talking to you.” They told her, throwing her their keys as they picked up their bag. “Have a nice life Natasha. I hope you get what you want in life.” They told her before leaving their apartment, Natasha remained glued to her spot as the door closed. Y/N got in the taxi and gave them their parents address, knowing that no one has used their house, not since they passed away. Y/N never had the heart to sell it nor did they feel comfortable living their themselves, not without their parents.

Once they were there, they headed straight up to their childhood room, sitting on their bed before they let the tears fall, completely breaking down before they let their anger get the better of them. Picking up ornaments and picture frames, throwing anything and everything they could before falling to their knees, clutching their chest before they fell back and leaned against the bed, putting their head in their hands as they let all of their emotions that they have drowned with alcohol out.

“They said they were called up.” Natasha informed the others, but that was when Bucky spoke up.

“They were dismissed last year.” He told them. “After the incident happened on their last tour they were medically discharged.”

“Why didn’t they say anything?” Nat asked him.

“They were embarrassed.” He told her. “They already felt like a failure and a disappointment, and you never really helped them either.”

“They wouldn’t talk to me.” She tried as Bucky shook his head.

“I saw how you was when you were together.” He told her. “You never really cared about them, just what they could do for you and when that changed you just discarded them like they were nothing.”

“Why did they tell you?” Steve asked as Bucky shrugged.

“Because I have been there myself.” He told him. “I’m the only one who really understands how they felt.”

“Do you think they would try and do something?” Nat questioned as she looked between the couple.

“Well, they have tried once before but their mom found them.” Bucky answered her. “She managed to get them to the hospital in time to get their stomach pumped.”

“Do you think they would try again?” She pressed on, watching as Bucky thought hard.

“It’s possible.” He told her. “None of us know what they witnessed on their last tour, and they already felt as though they weren’t enough their whole life thanks to their father.”

“Should we do something?” Natasha questioned as Steve was already on his phone, dialing their number. Y/N watched as the phone kept ringing as they held the pistol in their hand, their breathing the calmest it has been in a very long time. They waited until he tried to call them for the fifth time.

“Steve.” They said calmly as they answered the call.

“Please tell me you aren’t doing something stupid?” He pleaded as Y/N sighed. “Or can you please tell me where you are so I can come to you.”

“Do you know that it was nine years ago.” They started calmly. “Nine years ago I tried to make the right choice, I was failing college, I was a disappointment to my parents. My father barely ever talked to me, he was that disgusted by me.” Everyone listened as Steve had the call on loudspeaker. “But when I woke up after, did you know what he said to me? Maybe you can get it right next time. Who the hell says that to their own child huh? So that’s why I joined the military, I wanted a way to make my meaningless life mean something but I couldn’t even do that right either.”

“Please just tell me where you are?” He pressed again.

“We never had a choice about being brought into this world, but we can have a choice on how we leave this life behind.” They repeated their words from weeks ago. “I never liked this room, you know.” They wold them. “I always hated it. I tried so many times to escape it but I always seem to come back here. Maybe this is where it’s supposed to happen.”

“Please let us help you.” Bucky pleaded as the two followed Bucky to the car, knowing that he knew exactly where they are.

“It’s too late for me.” They whispered. “I can’t keep living like this, hell it's not really living, not with the constant thoughts and demons I have in my mind and I’m tired. I just want it to be over.”

“No!” Nat yelled from the back seat as Bucky drove as fast as he could. “Please don’t.”

“I’ve made up my mind.” They told them as they cocked the pistol, moving it to aim at their head. “I’m just being the coward you think I am. At least I won’t be there to ruin anything for you anymore.” Nat was shaking her head as Bucky turned down a road in their old high school district. “Just know that I tried, I really did but I can’t keep on going like this, the nightmares, the failures, everything is just, I feel like I’m drowning.” They spoke shakily. “I hope you guys understand.” Before anyone could answer, they hung up just as they pulled up in their old street, soon flinching as they heard a deafening gunshot, knowing exactly what they’re going to witness as soon as they walked inside Y/N’s childhood home. Their hearts breaking knowing that they wouldn’t see their friend anymore, all that they had were now memories, tainted with the knowledge that Y/N was never truly happy.

[dizzyduck44]

Good in a Crisis or just in Crisis?

Right, this may be the hardest of the post I wanted to write post-Monza. In fact I've been trying to think for two weeks how to word this without getting cancelled. I think though by using the events of the last two weekends I can give examples that can support my thoughts.

I'm going to start by being clear, if from my previous posts you think this is going to be an Oscar take down, it's not. Fair warning.

So really this starts with a story Nicole Piastri told in the Red Flag podcast. How when out with Oscar on a bike ride she ended up going over the handle bars of the bike. According to her, Oscar calmly and almost emotionlessly asked if she was ok? They get back home and find that the heart monitor he was wearing registered his heart rate through the roof and he had clearly been worried and panicing. But that was not what came across.

And there was the first lightbulb, Oscar doesn't seem to know how to convey his emotions or react in the way you would expect. There also seemed to be an obliviousness of anything beyond him and his immediate surroundings. (I’m not developing that any further, drawn your own conclusions).

Suddenly the myth of his mental strength, Kimi-esque cool doesn't read the same way. And as my brain can literally make me the foreshadowing, pessimistic prophet of doom at a kids birthday party, my gut feeling was, this won't end well.

Little did I know, I'd have to wait less than two weeks to be proven right.

McLaren arrived in Zandvoort with a Lando determined to make it clear he was going for the World Championship. We know what happened next. Lando takes pole and the win. Oscar finishes 4th. Fast forwarded to a Lando the media fell over itself for and a clearly unhappy Oscar in the media pen.

Thing is, this has been a regular situation this year. Lando has taken 4 poles and stood on the podium 10 out of 16 races. Oscar has been up there 5 times and his maiden win was questionable at best.

And then something seemingly insignificant to McLaren happened. Williams ditches Logan due to poor results. The team seemingly deciding he wasn't good enough and ended his F1 career.

Last weekend in Italy, we discovered how much all this is weighing on Oscar’s mind.

At the end of qualifying, Lando once again is on pole and as Oscar walked to the podium for personal effects he threw his gloves down. Lando had to go to him, he didn't go to congratulate Lando. Oscar was annoyed at missing pole again in his interview. You could see the frustration was simmering.

And then Sunday. Anyone who knows anything about racing knows what was in the best interest of McLaren. Finish lap 1 leading the field, build a gap, control the pace, use DRS to race each other.

No. Lando fully trusting Oscar to do the team thing and made no defence into turn 3 thinking he wouldn’t need to. Oscar, by his own later admission believed it was "his only way to win the race" and went for the lunge.

Was it a brilliant overtake? Yes though there was no defence put up.

Was it necessary? I think the only person who thought so was Oscar.

Did McLaren finish lap 1 first and second and go on to control the race? Nope.

Oscar had not reacted in the way anyone expected him to.

After the race the team and Lando called the move "aggressive", "risky" and "unexpected". Zak even had to concede it nearly resulted in Lando spinning. Oscar meanwhile didn’t seem to see anything wrong with what he had done.

They should have left Monza leading the Constructors Championship. Instead they still trail Red Bull by 8 points.

Ultimately with Max so far down the field it didn't really matter what order they finished 1-2. What mattered was finishing 1-2.

Post-race Oscar seemed annoyed and frustrated he hadn't made this win stick. He has risked so much and come away with slim pickings. The press afterwards didn’t get any better, taking swipes at Lance and refusing to address the question of team orders.

Ultimately we now know from the tyre data Oscar was never going to be able to make a 1 stop work, but Lando might have. The only person who was a safe bet was Lewis, but Mercedes were having their own WTF problems further down the pitlane. However from lap 1, Charles was chasing Oscar and Lando was having to keep up with them trying to salvage McLaren’s strategy.

The root of the problem was created on a sunny day in July, just outside of Budapest. By gifting Oscar the win in Hungary, McLaren have created a double headed monster.

You have Oscar who on reflection sees that having a teammate slow down for you (because you admit you can't catch them up) is a poor way to win a race when a championship isn't on the line. He wants to banish that hanging over his head as quickly as possible. Team orders are not going to help that. Chances are they will result in no real possibility of another win till 2025!

However, on that day your team promised you and they would help Lando to win a championship in exchange for said win.

And where does that leave Oscar. Frustrated. Unhappy and pegged as "mentally strong". What Oscar really needs right now is a Lando/Charles/Max esque rant and brutal critic of himself. You can see its all beginning to get to him.

In Hungary he took himself off the track a couple of times unprovoked. In Spa he went long in his pitbox. In Monza destroying the tyres to try and build a lead and then being too aggressive into the pitbox again. Because he doesn't let emotions out, they are beginning to effect what he could potentially achieve.

So how do we go forward. Firstly, for his sake, lets drop the mentally strong tag. Lando is mentally strong. He went through lockdown alone. He has driven through grief, tonsilitis, and a broken rib (yes really) on top of the nerves he freely admits. If he has a rant in the cockpit or berates himself after the race so be it. It’s better than carrying it round with you like luggage from race to race.

That's what I hope Oscar learns. Emotion in this sport is a good thing. The team is not going to dump you for admitting you fear being labelled as a contested one race winner. He may find they turn round and say we are sorry, in hindsight that wasn't fair for us to do to you. Tell them you want the qualifying stats to be more equal, they will help you improve. Apologise to the team that your actions in turn 3 were selfish, you thought they would work but you admit they cost the team. They will have more respect for you.

Secondly as fans, lets stop bigging up Oscar to a level he isn't at yet. Is he doing brilliantly for a second year driver? Yes, but his inexperience and immaturity is beginning to show. Lets embrace that as perfectly normal.

Oscar is very active on social media. He will have seen all the posts claiming he is better than Lando, he will win a championship before Lando. Yet the stats don't reflect that and I don't think Oscar feels that way right now. But he feels the pressure to be what the fans preach.

Oscar needs at least another year to be fully ready. It may take even more. There is no doubt he is a future world champion, but he’s still developing the arsenal of things he will need to do that. He just wants it’s all now, last week, last August was probably later than he wanted, but how he learns to emote and react to the highs and lows of F1 is going to be crucial.

After-all, his mechanics have only got so many toes between them.

[theflagscene]

Sky and Nani are basically getting all the benefits of a bl cp without actually being one. Their fans don’t seem to mind (for now) in fact some are quite condescending to Bl fans thinking that Sky and Nani are somehow above doing them. Meanwhile most of their fans ship them together. lol

I’m curious to see how it’s going to all play out cuz the initial hype will die down eventually. In this business there is always a new popular cp

Oh absolutely! I think a lot of their fans are holding out hope that the boys will eventually take on a BL, but I really don’t think they will. It’ll be interesting to see them be the first bromance branded pairing, to see how well that works out for GMMTV.

I’m on the fence about the whole idea, not because of SkyNani, but the idea of a branded bromance pairing in general. It kinda seems a little queerbait-y to me, like the company knows that the boys have great on screen chemistry and that will draw in a lot of QL fans, especially if the trailers for their series are vague about the character’s relationship, like in the pre-production trailer for Wu.

So they reel in viewers that are hoping for something that they won’t get, which is some kind of romance. Which can leave fans mad, but that won’t take away from the viewing numbers which is all corporate really cares about, unhappy fans can’t take back their watch time.

I’d never expect an actor to do work they don’t want to do or are uncomfortable doing, and I don’t think any actor is homophobic or wrong for not wanting to do a queer series or being gay for pay, which unfortunately a lot of people assume is the case if someone doesn’t want to act in a same sex romance. That is their own choice and they have their own reasons for making those choices, but what I do not support is production companies using those same actors who have made it very clear that they do not want to be in those types of series, using queerbaiting techniques to pull in viewers to shows that they know would not get as many viewers if the company was upfront about the lack of queer representation in the series.

I have no issues with bromance/platonic love stories, in fact I would love to see more of them! I want more stories about people of all genders absolutely loving the hell out of each other, being full blown soulmates without not having any romantic feelings toward one another.

I just have a bad feeling about this SkyNani branding because most fans want one thing from them—a BL—and it really does not seem like that’s gonna happen. And when it doesn’t, the poor boys are going to suffer the fallout, not GMMTV. Which is just unfair.