#Who has always had a helpful insight when I needed it

[bullet-prooflove]

Home: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gatefleet @mckinleysbones @totalstitchlover19 @angelofthetrenchcoats

Companion piece to:

Box Breathing - Eddie's been struggling since Christopher left.

Always - You make a promise to Eddie.

Real - Eddie tells you he wants something real.

A Future With You - Eddie makes a realisation during a one on one game of basketball.

Cash - Eddie discovers your secret Instagram profile.

Snake - You receieve a surprise gift from your ex at Halloween.

Midnight - Eddie makes you a promise.

Cherry Lipstick - Eddie gets better insight into you during a social event.

Bang - Eddie's new year starts with a bang.

Lifetime (NSFW) - One night with you makes Eddie realise he wants a life time.

El Paso - Eddie is forced to make a decision that hurts you both.

Possibilities - Eddie thinks about what might have been.

Welcome Back - Eddie discovers the reason you've been out of contact.

You’re exhausted.

Eddie can see that the minute you step out of the 115. Your shoulders are sagging as if the weight of the heavy kitbag is dragging you down, your head bowed so that your hair falls across your features, masking them from his view. His heart rate accelerates just a little as he steps towards you, his hand reaching for your bag.

“Let me help.” He says softly and you tilt your face up to meet his gaze.

Fuck you’re beautiful. It doesn’t matter that you’re coming off back to back 24 hour shifts, those eyes of yours with their fathomless depths, they ruin him every single time.

You don’t speak as he slings the bag over his shoulder, you simply tuck your hands into the pockets of your jacket as the two of you amble towards your car.

“Selena, I know I fucked up…” He says but you shake your head cutting him off.

“We don’t need to do this.” You say as you take the keys from your pocket and point them at the trunk of your car so that it opens. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“But I want to…” He says as he puts your bag into the back of the car and closes the hatch.

“And I don’t.” You assert, placing your hands on your hips. “I am exhausted Eddie, I’m coming off back to back 24 hour shifts, my back feels like it’s on fire and all I want to do it get into a shower and spend the next 12 hours sleeping. I don’t have the capacity right now to put up with your shit.”

“My shit?” He repeats, his dark eyebrows furrowing into a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.” You say forcefully, jabbing your finger at him. “You feel guilty for ghosting me, well I absolve you of that. Now you can go back to your party and celebrate with your son and the rest of the 118.”

There’s such a bitterness in your tone, one that he knows comes from weeks of non-stop shifts, of giving up the one place you felt you had a family for a man who couldn’t be bothered to return your calls.

“Selena I didn’t ask you to take this job-”

“And you weren’t around to discuss it either.” You remind him, shoving your hands back into your pockets. “You need the stability of the 118 and I… well the rest doesn’t matter.”

Because you don’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things. That’s the message he’s given you, the doubt he’s sowed within you.

“You have no idea how much you matter to me.” He says, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, thumb tracing over that scar just underneath the hinge of your jaw. “How many nights I wished that things could have been different, that you were there lying beside me. Every moment away from you was torture, it’s still torture because I am in love with you Selena and the fact you’ve done all of this, it makes me think that you’re in love with me too and I am sorry I made you feel that you were less. I’m sorry I-”

You kiss him then and Christ, there has never been anything as perfect as the sensation of you pressed against him, your fingers threading through his hair, your mouth claiming his. He’s missed this, missed you…

He whines when you draw away, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you within his proximity as his nose trails lightly over yours.

“You’re my home Selena.” He whispers against your lips. “You always have been and you always will be.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[poppyberry]

Everybody NEEDS to listen to the new Wild Life retrospective on Imp and Skizz's podcast. They got Grian called in and they give so many cool insights into the series (and honestly say so many things I think people need to hear)

Highlights for me:

Grian designed each wild card to be weaponized and wanted everyone to take advantage of them. He goes over each individually and all the thought he put into them and all the work the backend team put into their execution. He's rightfully really proud of them. Him gushing about Trivia Bot and how excited he was to show his friends the "coolest snail ever" is particularly sweet.

Skizz says discovering each wild card was a LOT of fun. He says something like "I can't believe as an adult I get to have so much fun." Impulse is really impressed with the execution of each, citing stuff like making it rain when the time one activated and the passive mobs spawning in before being replaced, and how the little details like that built excitement and tension.

Grian says how he understands that some viewers maybe just want more seasons of the essentially the same series, ie six seasons of just Third Life, but it's more important to him that the Lifers get to experience something new and fresh. He also doesn't like comparing each series, preferring to consider each one as its own thing.

Impulse can't wait to do another Life series, Skizz is equally excited but tries to hold discussion about it back since he doesn't want anyone pressuring Grian, who is palpably burned out. Like, you can hear how tired this man is. Grian says there will probably be more series since everyone is still enjoying it, but he's not trying to outdo himself and not to expect him to keep escalating.

Skizz always tries to do something new each season yet feels like he always falls back into the same habits and dynamics, but not this time: he feels like he got to explore a new dynamic with the Spanners and had a blast doing it. He and Grian gush about how much fun they had with their "big brother trying to keep his little brothers alive" routine.

They have a grand time making fun of Impulse and his "Sweats". Impulse is unabashedly still hungry to win a series.

Impulse didn't want to kill zombie Skizz, because of the five minute cooldown, but Skizz makes clear that he was really happy with being a zombie, even if there was a lot of doing nothing in between summons. He says it means a lot to him that he got to help with the burden of facilitating the series, even just a little bit.

Grian gives good insight into his personal life strategy: he does some things to deliberately test his relationship with other players. Standing in the Danger Zone was a trust exercise, testing Jimmy and Scar. Jimmy and Scar failed.

Despite Scar failing the trust exercise, Grian heard the disappointment in Scar's voice about the Snail Bot thing and immediately caved, but he's really happy that it led them to in-canon reconciling and becoming strong allies again.

Grian's favorite moment was making Jimmy pay for the failed trust exercise by blowing up the bunker, particularly pleased with his one liner of "it was always gonna be like this". He says Wild Life as a whole has been the most enjoyable series for him, even though he didn't get to have as much fun as the other players due to knowing all the wild cards.

All three of them gush over the scene of everybody failing to kill Joel as he teleports around, laughing about how it was straight out of a movie or an anime. Impulse feels like Joel took his superpower to a new level, but Grian reminds him the he didn't have an army chasing him around trying to kill him. They're all super impressed with how the finale turned out.

Some of the powers were assigned (Cleo, BigB, BDubs, Scar, Lizzie), some were random (Impulse, Martyn). Some were based on players' names, others on their personal narratives, but coming up with ~16 different powers without including any that would just be exploited for cheap instakills was really difficult, which is why there were so many espionage ones. Hilariously, Grian was hoping Scar would accidentally kill Jimmy by punching him off a cliff because of their ritual of trying punching in the earlier episodes. He also gave Scar that power because he knew Scar wouldn't feel bad about killing people with it.

Grian chose to give himself the mimic so he could show people how their powers worked if he needed to, and so that it wasn't given to somebody else who'd have to spend the whole session figuring out the mechanics of 15 separate superpowers and potentially dying because of it. And because he thinks its the coolest one and he wanted it (lol)

All around there's tons of fun details and stuff in this episode of the podcast and absolutely everybody should listen to it all the way through.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

A Week (He Will Take You)

~

Danny moved to Gotham for school, while there he noticed that Gotham's ambient ecto was really murky for lack of a better word.

This didn't really affect him too much besides a mild headache every once in a while but that also just might be stress from all his school work so maybe not.

Anyway

This murky ecto seemed to effect the people who lived there or more importantly the ghosts,

They were visible to the human eye like most ghosts back in Amity but instead of looking very much like a ghost they still looked like humans if a bit off putting.

They all seemed to be continuing their normal lives as if still fully alive, with the people around them none the wiser.

Danny noticed this and began approaching them to figure out what was going on.

Apparently the murky ecto in the city had made it so that they were strong enough to still continue a somewhat normal life but not be able to cross over to the GZ.

In other words they were stuck in Gotham

Danny was the Ghost King so he could easily fix this problem, all he needed to do was give them a bit of pure ecto for around a week to fully stabilize them them then he would just open a portal into the GZ and they could cross over with all their things also transferring into the GZ for their new haunt.

Unfortunately this looked rather worrying to an outsider,

Imagine you're used to your neighbor being very outgoing so you and others see them a lot suddenly this man seems to appear in their life out of nowhere an at exactly one week, your neighbor and all their belongings in their home disappear no trace to be found.

You tell people and they begin saying the same story they knew someone and them a man with black hair and blue eyes appeared in their life, then they and all their things disappear in exactly one week.

Of course the police in Gotham do the bare minimum so they're no help.

But it starts to begin a trend, especially online.

"Oh careful or the blue eyed man will make you disappear in a week"

This of course after time catches the bats attention, Gordon had already given them all the information he had.

"Young adult early twenties, dark hair, blue eyes"

That was it.

The bats look into it and from their point of view Danny is a serial killer.

But they can't find the connection between all of his victims, they range from young children and the elderly from different backgrounds absolutely no connection,

Worrying enough he doesn't just make one person disappear he has taken entire families up to over a dozen, without anyone figuring out how he's doing it or why at all.

The disturbing thing also being that he seems to take everything in their home, leaving it like it has always been empty

Like no one had been living in it.

People have tried to take photos of Danny get some kind of evidence of his existence, but when they try to do it, it either comes out completely corrupted or their devise simply shuts down fully.

Danny of course has no clue what is happening he's just happy that he's able to help so many ghosts, and is trying not to fail his exams.

~

Danny leaving the house he just helped: "That went easier than I expected!"

Neighbor peeking from the window: "Shit it's that guy! "

~

Red Hood marching down into the cave: " The fucker took many from my territory without me even realizing it!"

~

Tim: "I'm pretty sure his kill count is nearing the hundreds and he just started like maybe 4 months ago, this is bad."

Barbara: " I think I got a theory, this matches up with the new school year beginning so maybe their not a Gotham native which narrows down my suspect list."

Bruce: "Hn."

Tim: "Yes thank you B for the insightful commentary"

~

Danny trying not to fall asleep while on his way to class: "Strange I keep seeing shadows following me, oh well must be the stress!"

Bats who are pretty sure Danny is the killer: "Has he done anything suspicious yet?"

~

Just an Idea

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS WITH A STYLISH READER ── .✦

a/n: so I tried to base this off of me because I like genuinely LOVE fashion and creativity (my closet is seriously so full rn but I keep buying and buying but soon I’m gonna donate some pieces I never wore/ won’t wear again when i’m like moving in 5/6 months (in April) but anyways yeahh this is requested by the wonderful @luvly_writer (I GENUINELY DONT KNOW WHY MY MENITONS ARENT WORKING TODAY!?!?

tags: (batboys x stylish reader ᥫ᭡)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick’s always had a decent sense of fashion, but after meeting you, he realized his wardrobe could use some spicing up.

“Okay, I need help,” he says, holding up his closet of endless leather jackets and dark jeans. “It’s starting to feel like I’m a character in a some main character show..” (this tiktok HELPP here)

You pull together a sleek but casual look for him, fitted trousers, a patterned button-up, and a blazer. When he sees himself in the mirror, he whistles.

“Are you sure I’m not about to walk the runway?”

He loves when you add your flair to his outfits, often saying, “This is why I’m with you.”

Eventually, Dick starts mimicking your style in small ways—accessories, boots, and bolder colors. He’ll even joke, “You’re rubbing off on me in more ways than one.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason scoffs at the idea at first. “I don’t need to be styled. My leather jacket and boots are timeless, I don’t need like bags and purses like you.”

But then he starts noticing the way you turn heads wherever you go and how people always stop you to ask where you got your hat or etc from, and he gets curious.

One day, he half-jokingly says, “Alright, fashionista. Make me look less like I just rolled out of a biker gang.”

You have so much fun dressing him in a sharp, dark button-up, fitted jeans, and Chelsea boots. When you suggest a leather trench coat instead of his usual jacket, he raises an eyebrow but ends up loving it.

“I look like a villain trying blow up something in broad daylight,” he says, smirking. “But, like, a hot one.”

Jason doesn’t fully change his wardrobe, but he starts incorporating your suggestions—better fits, fewer holes in his shirts, and maybe a sweater or two. He always claims it’s to “shut you up,” but deep down, he loves how confident it makes him feel when his s/o chooses stuff for him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s wardrobe is functional. It’s not bad because there’s a DIFFERENCE, Timothy drake wayne dresses in suits and is high end and chic but regular tim well… tim Is tim but he DOES care about what he wears just not like that serious about it, but it’s very much “guy who spends more time in front of a computer than a mirror.”

One day, he asks, “Do you think I should update my wardrobe? You know, to look… presentable?”

You practically light up, dragging him out for a shopping spree.

He’s a little overwhelmed by how excited you are, but he secretly loves the attention.

You pick out layered outfits—hoodies with tailored jackets, clean sneakers, and pants that actually fit. When he tries them on, he’s surprised at how good he looks.

“So this is what it feels like to be stylish,” he muses.

Over time, Tim starts borrowing pieces of your style. He’ll wear scarves, experiment with glasses frames, and even tuck his shirts in occasionally. You catch him researching minimalist fashion on Pinterest once, and he sheepishly admits, “You’re a bad influence.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian has a sharp sense of style already (thanks, Talia and Bruce), but he finds himself intrigued by your unique flair.

“You have a good eye for aesthetics,” he says one day, almost shyly. “Perhaps you could lend me some… insight.”

Styling Damian is like working with a blank canvas—he’s open to trying new things as long as it doesn’t compromise his dignified image.

You help him experiment with layered textures, sleek boots, and subtle patterns. He refuses anything too colorful but surprises you by agreeing to a deep emerald green blazer.

“I look… distinguished,” he admits, staring at his reflection.

He starts taking inspiration from your wardrobe, incorporating more modern and creative touches into his outfits. Every now and then, he’ll ask, “What do you think of this?” before leaving for an event.

Damian also becomes oddly protective of your style. If someone tries to copy you, he’ll say something like, “Flattery may be the sincerest form of imitation, but it’s wasted when done poorly.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce is already a style icon, but when he starts noticing the effortless way you put together outfits, he gets curious.

“What would you do with this suit?” he asks, gesturing to one of his many black ensembles.

You tease him for being so predictable but suggest a few changes—adding a pocket square, switching up his tie, and choosing a dark navy instead of black.

When he steps out in the new look, even Alfred raises an approving eyebrow.

“Now I’ll have to think about my outfits.”

He begins to take subtle cues from your style, occasionally asking for your opinion before galas. You catch him sneaking glances at your Pinterest boards once, and he pretends it’s for “business purposes” (you had to private your pin board after because he keeps buying 10 of each of what you put on your Pinterest board.)

[little-diable]

Tell me everything – Carlisle Cullen (smut)

This is what I'd do as a historian, ask Carlisle all about his past. So I had to push (y/n) into this scenario. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader asks Carlisle to read her paper on Europe in the 1680s, asking him for his insights as somebody who has lived through these times. It's only a matter of time until their talks about history turn into something completely different.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), quite some fluff

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader (2.7k words)

“Doctor Cullen?” Her voice trembled as she knocked on his door. With her heart in her throat, she held her gaze focused on the door, almost forgetting how to breathe as Carlisle opened it. 

“(Y/n), how many times have I told you to call me Carlisle?” His soft chuckles rang in her ears as he stepped aside to let her into his office. She had known Carlisle for a while, had been introduced to him months ago after befriending Alice and being invited to come visit the mansion. It hadn’t taken long for everything to fall into place, for (y/n) to see through the lies and stories, and yet she still wasn’t used to accepting that her closest friends were the way they are.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, but there is something I need your help with.” She sat down on the leather couch he had pointed at. With an encouraging smile shot her way, Carlisle urged her on to keep speaking. 

“If I remember correctly, Alice told me you were born in the seventeenth century.” She was close to letting go of a laugh, it felt all too unreal to even speak this sentence. “And I was asked to prepare a paper on Europe in the 1680s, I was wondering if you could read it and share your experiences with me?”

As a history student, (y/n) felt like she had to seize this very opportunity, trying to ignore the excitement flushing through her system at the mere thought of listening to his stories. This felt like she was time travelling, being offered a one in a million chance, she simply had to take. 

“Of course, (y/n), I would love to help you. Did you already write the paper?” She tried to ignore the heat flushing through her, fuelled by the strength of his gaze. (Y/n) wasn’t blind, she was all too aware of his attractiveness, and the undeniable attraction she felt for him. And yet she had always been too shy, too scared to even try and be close to the man who seemed to have an all too pure heart.

“I did, here, I printed it out earlier.” His golden eyes followed her every move as she reached for her bag to pull out her paper. Sparks shot down her spine the second their fingers brushed together, leaving her torn between the coldness of his skin and the heat of his intrigued gaze. 

“The others will be out hunting tomorrow, but if you don’t mind being alone with me, I could read it today and you could come back tomorrow for a chat?” She had to look away for a moment. It was just a handful of seconds, seconds he picked up on all too easily. Carlisle's smile began to grow wider, adding more fuel to the fire burning inside of her, threatening to burn her right in front of his piercing eyes.

“That would be great, thank you, Carlisle.”

……

“Carlisle?” Her voice echoed through the mansion as she slowly took off her shoes. She heard him call for her, guiding (y/n) up the stairs and into the kitchen, where he seemed to be cooking. 

“Alice told me you haven’t eaten yet, so I thought I could make you something.” Her heart skipped a beat in her chest, something she was sure he easily picked up on. It took her a while to move closer, touched by the sweet gesture. With a soft “thank you” rolling off her tongue, (y/n) took the plate from Carlisle to let the heavenly aromas surround her.

“Where did you learn to cook like that when you don’t even eat that stuff?” Carlisle’s hearty laughter filled the room. Pride simmered inside of her, taking every laugh rumbling through him as a big win. The food tasted better than everything she had ever eaten before, sure that she’d now ask him to cook for her whenever she was around.

“With endless time on my hands, I find myself picking up hobbies. I’ve always enjoyed cooking for others.” (Y/n) let go of another satisfied sigh before picking up her empty plate to carry it to the sink, shooting Carlisle a warning gaze as he tried to stop her from cleaning it. A comfortable silence filled the room, it wrapped itself around them like the soft morning breeze, tying them closer together with shared moments they wouldn’t tell the others about. 

“Come, let’s go to my study.” He reached his hand out for her to take. It was a simple gesture, accompanied by a bright smile that made her feel as if she was dreaming. Her hand trembled while finding his, allowing Carlisle to lead her through the mansion she had been in too many times to count, making it feel like her second home. 

“I have to say, I’m very impressed by your paper, (y/n).” Her eyes grew wider as she pondered over his words, staring at the man who sat down on the couch next to her. Carlisle had his eyes focused on the pages, thumbing through them again while (y/n) seized the seconds to study the handsome man, the face she’d see in sleepless nights whenever her mind started to wander. 

“Can you tell me a bit more? It’s nothing I will add to the paper, I promise. But,” she struggled to put her thoughts into words, pondering over every syllable she feared could make her appear stupid. 

“It’s alright, love, speak to me.” His hand found its way back to hers, leaving (y/n) torn between the touch and the way he had called her. A shaky breath left her, forcing her body to calm down before she could let him in on the thoughts buzzing through her mind. 

“It’s just - I struggle to understand you have lived through all these things I study. And it feels surreal to have you so close and I want to ask you about every detail, which is probably stupid and invasive.” She didn’t dare meet his gaze, focusing on his cold hand rather than the eyes that always managed to draw her in. His other hand let go of the pages, only to reach for her chin, tilting it back up for (y/n) to get lost in his golden pupils. 

“That’s not stupid, (y/n). I’m honoured you want to hear about my past and my experiences. I am happy to tell you all about it.” A soft smile tugged on her lips, growing even wider as he matched it. For a few seconds, no words were spoken between them, drawn closer by the returning silence with a comfortable touch both longed for. It would be easy for either one to close the distance between them, unable to fight against the pull that made them feel like two magnets made to fit. 

“I’m afraid our time together is about to be cut short.” It only took a few more seconds for (y/n) to hear the sounds of the others returning, making her heart drop in disappointment. Slowly, Carlisle let go of (y/n), he rose to his feet only to watch her mimic his movements with an unreadable expression widening on her features. “Here, why don’t you read through the comments I left and if you have any more questions, we can chat about it some more?” 

“That would be great, thank you, Carlisle.” She wasn’t sure what was guiding her at that moment, but before (y/n) could stop herself, she had shifted her weight onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. And without sharing another word, she disappeared from his office with heat clinging to her like a second layer of skin. 

……

“No, that’s also a lie.” Carlisle’s laughter reverberated through her apartment, echoing off the walls of her living room. She had called him a while ago, wondering if he’d be up for another chat about her questions. It hadn’t taken him long to find his way to her, making himself comfortable as one question after another left (y/n) – something they had been doing for the past hours. 

“How can that be? You just destroyed everything I know about the past centuries.” Another laugh left him before he pulled (y/n) closer. She found herself sitting closer to him, staring up at Carlisle who cupped her cheek with his cold hand. The electricity she felt whenever he touched her was back, buzzing down her spine to leave her heart racing. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not my intention to disappoint you, love.” His thumb brushed over her warm skin, leaving her tingling and buzzing while shuffling even closer to him. No further word managed to leave (y/n) while she focused on Carlisle, letting her gaze flicker between his eyes and his lips. The pull she felt was growing stronger by the second, urging her on to close the small distance between them. 

“Carlisle,” (y/n) whispered his name as if she hoped that he could understand what she was about to ask of him. And then he finally moved. Their lips clashed together urgently, perfectly fitting together as if they had been created for one another, having to endure years and centuries even while waiting for her to find him. 

The kiss wasn’t interrupted once, not as she crawled into his lap, not as he tightened his grip on her neck to keep her close to him. It felt as if he was tasting her blood, high on the taste and scent that had never influenced him this much, begging him to own every part of her body. And for her it was a similar sensation, just as intense even though she had nothing to compare it to, not used to feeling this dizzy from a simple kiss.

“Don’t stop, don’t ever stop, please.” (Y/n) mumbled the words against his lips. Carlisle’s cold hands found their way beneath her sweater, carefully touching her skin while trying to keep some distance between them and that last line they were craving to cross. 

“Talk to me, love. What do you want?” His mouth found her neck while he focused on the sounds of her racing pulse, of her pounding heart and her trembling breaths. He had her trapped, lured into his darkness as if he had always counted on her weakness. 

“Everything, I want all of you.” Carlisle rose to his feet without a warning, tearing a squeal from (y/n). Within seconds he had carried her into her bedroom, only to toss her down on the comfortable mattress she was now laying on. She watched him pull out of his sweater, exposing a simple shirt that clung to his muscular upper body, a sight (y/n) would forever remember, taking it to the grave with her. 

“If you want me to stop, you have to tell me. Don’t ever stop talking to me.” Their eye contact grew more intense after he had spoken his words, leaving her nodding. Carlisle helped her out of her clothes, moving all too slowly for her liking even though she appreciated him for offering her yet another way out. 

“Touch me, please, Carlisle.” With only her panties left on, she felt exposed, vulnerable almost. But the second Carlisle exposed most of his body to her, she could no longer focus on herself, only on him, the cold skin she wanted to feel pressed against her, the body she felt like claiming. Carlisle settled between her thighs, eyes focused on her face as he kissed his way to her heat, pushing her damp panties aside to marvel at her. 

“The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.” His praise left her chuckling with glee, a sound that turned into a moan the second he brushed his tongue through her slit. Choked moans left (y/n) while her hands tugged on his golden roots, trying to pull him even closer. It felt as if she was about to make it to heaven, touched with such an urgency, she feared that this was nothing but a trick of her excited brain. 

“Fuck, Carlisle, you’re so good at this, shit.” Two of his fingers were pushed into her, curled against her swollen spot while he took care of her pulsing bundle. It wouldn’t take her long to fall over the edge should he keep on touching her like this, making her feel as if she was his most prized possession, the only woman he’d ever touch with this much passion. 

“I have you, love, give yourself to me.” The words gave her the sudden push, forcing her first orgasm through her while Carlisle kept fucking her with his fingers. Her sounds left him smirking, telling him that she had always wanted him as much as he had wanted her, drawn together by something neither could put into words until now. 

“Carlisle,” she drew him closer, up her body to greedily kiss him. Their tongues fought for victory, while she tugged on his underwear, begging him to fully undress so that he could fuck her. Minutes passed by, minutes both used to prepare themselves for what was about to happen, to cross the last line that would keep them connected from this moment on. 

“Are you sure about this? This will change everything.” Carlisle brushed her hairs out of her face, smiling down at (y/n) who looked at him as if he was her saviour, the one she’d forever fight for and love until her last moment on this earth. 

“I’ve never been so sure of something before.” With a small nod thrown her way, Carlisle got rid of the last layers between them before he positioned himself at her entrance. He reached for her hand to interlace their fingers, holding her close while slowly pushing into her. Both moaned in unison, letting go of their sounds that clawed through them without giving either one a chance to hold back. 

She felt perfectly stretched, full by everything he offered to her. (Y/n) never wanted to get out of this moment again, she could die a happy death like this, fucked by the man she had been crushing on, lured closer by her racing heart. 

Carlisle didn’t hold back, he didn’t treat her as if she was close to breaking, no, he fucked her like he meant it. Every thrust was symbolic for the sensations they felt, the love growing stronger, the longing they no longer could deny. A perfect match that left them hungry for more. 

No words managed to leave (y/n), she was already too far gone, fully concentrating on the feeling of Carlisle fucking her. His cold fingers took care of her pulsing bundle, adding just enough pressure to leave her trembling beneath him. Carlisle dipped his head down to kiss her, to swallow some sounds while his cock brushed her swollen spot with every calculated thrust. 

“I won’t last long, Carlisle.” Her confession left him chuckling against her lips. Carlisle didn’t reply, at least not with words, but his thrusts grew faster, pushing her towards the edge once again. (Y/n) tried to scratch at his skin, desperate to hold onto him, but the second her orgasm clashed through her, she lost control of her body, giving herself fully to the sensation. 

He kept fucking her, faster with every thrust. Carlisle drew some more moans out of (y/n) while groans kept leaving him, set on burying himself deep inside of her when he came. And with his forehead pressed against hers, he finally let go. 

“Who knew sex with a man who is over three hundred years old could be this good?” (Y/n)’s whispers left both laughing. She allowed herself to keep studying him, letting her fingers brush through his strands, while promising herself that she’d live this to the fullest, wherever their path together would lead them.

[luveline]

can we possibly get the one where Gideon doesn’t like bombshell reader and poor Spencer is watching like☹️

Spencer feels a little like a child of divorce. Like, he absolutely is a child of divorce, but he didn’t think he’d feel this way at work. Lately, all Hotch and Gideon do is argue. 

It’s especially odd in that Hotch doesn’t usually go against Gideon’s judgement, even when he doesn’t agree, but you seem to be something Hotch is willing to fight for, and Spencer has no idea why.

“We don’t need her,” Gideon says. Spencer knows it isn’t Gideon being cruel, just stern. “We have a fine team without her.” 

“But with her, we’re better. And we have an opening. I know you like Greenaway for it, and I do too–”

“Everyone likes Greenaway for the position, she’s more palatable than L/N, and she works harder.”

Spencer tries not to whip his face back and forth like he’s following a ping pong ball, but it’s hard to keep up. He has no idea what his mentor’s talking about in all honesty, you’d seemed more than palatable when you met him last week. You were nice. And barely anybody is nice to Spencer. 

You sounded like you actually wanted to hear him talk, something Gideon has often been alone in. And palatable is a subjective word. 

“That’s not necessarily true,” Hotch says, knowing he’s losing. 

“We’re not gonna rush into picking someone,” Gideon says, less stern, more neutral. 

“No. I have invited her to the Georgia consultation this afternoon.” 

Gideon sighs through his nose. The afternoon rolls around quickly. Spencer doesn’t want to think about it but he’s excited to see you, and he feels conflicted in that; Gideon is the first person in a long time who actually seems to care about him, so Spencer is guilty of always aiming to please, but he can’t understand why Gideon dislikes you so much. Am I being easily led? he wonders. 

He’ll admit to finding you attractive. In his head, that is. You’d spoken so particularly, you’d looked stunning, and you didn’t make a fuss when he wouldn’t shake your hand. You called him beautiful. 

It’s the nicest, kindest attention he’s had since he started. Morgan calls him pretty boy. Spencer knows it’s not the same thing. 

They gather in the conference room, Morgan, Hotch, Gideon and Spencer, just a few minutes before 2PM. A minute later, you’re knocking on the door. 

“Hello…” You smile when you realise they’re here. “Am I late?” 

“No, L/N. Come and take a seat,” Hotch says. 

There’s a plastering of documents on the table and an empty seat by both Morgan and Spencer. You choose the one beside Spencer despite a stack of manilla folders, tucking your chair in neatly. “Oh, the grizzly stuff. This will upset my feminine energy.” 

Morgan laughs. Gideon glares at the table. 

Spencer likes it when you’re around. One more person and suddenly the consultation is a conversation and not a debate. You can keep up with everyone. You laugh at Spencer occasionally and he doesn’t know why, but he can tell it isn’t cruel laughter; he’s had a long time to work out the difference. 

Gideon excuses himself for a coffee half an hour in. 

Hotch immediately leans across the table. “I’m trying to help you,” he says. 

You grimace. “What am I doing wrong now?” 

“The laughing.” 

“You laugh.” 

“I know.” Hotch smiles at you. “You’re getting good at this, you have good insight on the dark triad. You read the book I sent?” 

“How’s Haley?” you ask.

He shakes his head, but his smile stays. “Don’t joke about that.” 

You’re not flirting. Or, Spencer doesn’t think so. It’s more likely you’re joking as Hotch says, everything about your body language pointing to amicable friendliness besides your flirting tones. “I read the book,” you say. Your gaze turns to Spencer. “Bet you’ve read it too, huh? Morgan said you’ve read every book ever written.” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” Spencer says. 

“But close?” you ask. “I’d love some recommendations. You know. For profiling.” 

“Don’t let her fool you, Reid, she’s well read,” Morgan says. 

“Wait, Gideon doesn’t like you because you laugh?” Spencer asks. 

It’s a socially inept thing to say, he realises after. You lean back in your chair all sweet and soft with your legs crossed, your dark stockings thin at the knees. He’s so, so worried you’re going to be offended and that’s exactly what he needs, a possible friend isolated again by his inability to read the room, but you don’t chew him out. You nudge his leg gently with the toe of your heel. 

“Now who said he doesn’t like me, handsome?” you ask teasingly. 

Spencer regrets the heat that floods his face and neck. 

“It’s complicated,” you add, your smile more than friendly, Spencer can’t work it out. “But don’t worry, I’ll turn him around eventually. It’s one of my many talents.” 

Oh, he thinks. That’s what it is. Spencer’s finally in on the joke. 

[see-arcane]

It was 1838 when the Great Death came to Wisborg, Germany. The last of its victims went willingly, bartering her body and blood to destroy a monster and protect her beloved.

Said beloved dies the same morning, though his body lives a while longer. Every day of breath and food is a loss. But he cannot end himself. Not after all she gave to ensure his safety. So the dead man sits in his living skin and follows the rules of maintaining it. Days to weeks to months to years.

There are very few of the latter, as it happens. The doctor will pen something down about a weak heart. Perhaps a belated demise caused by braving so much ailment in that cursed year. In truth, he knows the heart was not weak, but broken. Grief is a poison and it took the young man away before he ever reached his third decade.

Time passes.

In England, a boy and a girl fall in love. There is a connection that is both immediate and startling in its joy—as if they had known each other before and lost sight of the other in a crowd.

She is a cunning and insightful soul, brimming with a vision that she knows instinctively to dub mere ‘intuition.’ Somehow there is an older wisdom in her young head than there ought to be; she knows it is vital to be proper. To be upstanding. To not let the world catch wind of her being anything too outré. Little wonder she goes on to teach in etiquette classes.

He is a fellow apparently born to the flotsam and footwork of property law. For reasons he can’t name, he comes near to tears at how benevolent his employer is. Has been since he was a boy, all but the young man’s second father. A man the youth can trust and wishes to impress just as much as he wishes to build a future for his fiancée. He would do anything for them.

For her.

Anything.

And so, when work calls him up out to the Carpathians, he stifles a sudden inexplicable spike of dread. As does she. It is only nerves. Only worry over such a long distance to travel. He will write, of course. It will be a grand adventure. And it will help them, won’t it? Of course. Of course.

He has such queer dreams en route to the castle.

Is it his voice he hears screaming in them? Is it his love’s?

(Turn back turn back the Scholomance had many students and though they died they still walk TURN BACK—)

He arrives at the castle. The Count is there to meet him.

Hell begins.

It stretches for months. It bleeds from one season into the next. Briefly, so briefly, it seems there is an exit before them in the shape of friends and knowledge—the Devil can be beaten!—but he wants to send his love away, out of the monster’s reach…

Too late.

(Again. Forever too late.)

Blood on her lips and welling from her throat. Her scream is of the damned. God Himself burns her; marked for all time—

(All lives.)

—as out of Heaven’s reach.  

“Unclean! Unclean!”

(No. No!)

He witnesses the gallant oaths their friends make. Of course, of course they will slay her in mercy. It as God wills. As the Devil wills. As she, his love, his martyr Maiden to Death’s callous aim, wills. How lovely that they are all in agreement.

(Again.)

No.

No. It is as simple as that. No. No. No. He does not allow it. Does not accept it. He will sell himself if need be.

But not before he collects the Count’s head.

And look—look—look—

(LOOK!)

—a miracle: he does it. He and the American feed their steel into the monster and the monster crumbles just as the sun dips low. The American collapses, death pooling in him as—

(LOOK LOOK LOOK)

—the young woman, purged of the Count’s venom, comes to their side, whole and alive and weeping at the sacrifice. When the couple’s child comes, he will wear the names of all who aided them, but always with the American’s name at the top. The boy is very young and so may still lay between his parents, sleeping in the nest of their arms. In the warm quiet, the young man and the young woman stare into each other. Their lips smile and their eyes run.

“I feel as if this was where we were supposed to be.”

She doesn’t ask what he means.

Instead, “Where we left off.”

He nods and brings his brow to hers. In their arms, their child hums and clings in his sleep. They spare a hand each to rake his hair. The others weave tight, anchoring.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

It is the truth. As it ever was, as it ever is, as it ever shall be.

[secriden]

There's something so wondrously momentous about Style only saying his "I love you" now, when he realises that all the secrets he was keeping from Fadel are already laid bare.

He says this a significant time after Fadel has said his (and, in the context of the wider narrative, after Kant and Bison) and for the character we have seen as prone to glibness, exaggeration and flippancy with his words, that feels incredibly intentional.

Because this confession was the only truth Style had left to give.

Fadel is finally done playing his (poorly thought out) game, done with his (already cracking at the seams) charade, done with giving Style more opportunities to pull at his heartstrings with his earnestness lies.

Fadel is demanding the truth, and tells Style exactly what truth he wants to hear.

And the thing is, there is truth in this: Style's motivations at the start were wrapped up in a deception specifically targeting Fadel.

I know we, as a fandom, harp on about Style "doing all that for a car", but something I would like us all to revisit is what Kant actually says to Style when he first asks Style to "hit on" Fadel:

Kant: You need to help me. You know I don't usually feel this way about someone. And then shortly later, after Style refuses: Kant: Hey, hold on. (Kant grabs Style's hand.) What do I have to do to for you to help me out? Should I pay you?

(Please forgive my inability to gif and watch Style's reaction to this.) Style is visibly surprised and intrigued. Kant seems to be serious about this request, and I think Style decides to test just how important it is to Kant by asking for the one thing he knows Kant will not give up.

Just look the expressions on Style's face. We didn't have the context of knowing Style back then as well as we do now, but this is the look Style gets when he's throwing out a challenge (to Fadel), when he's trying to ferret out some new insight (from Fadel), when he wants to see how someone (Fadel) will react to whatever outlandish (provocative) thing he's said or done.

And when Kant agrees, Style even checks again if Kant is serious about going through with it -- and it's this that convinces Style of the sincerity of Kant's request.

Yes, the car was a factor, and yes Style also wanted revenge and to humble Fadel, but at the centre of Style's motivation has always been a plea for help from a friend.

In episode 1: Kant: Under one condition. You have to make him head over heels in love with you. Style: I'll do it. Not just for the car, but someone like him needs to be humbled by someone like me.

But in agreeing to help Kant, Style really was damning Fadel to play the fool because Fadel's feelings (his heart) was a commodity that Style was fully willing to play with back then.

And there are aspects of truth here too. When Kant tells Style about Fadel (and Bison) being hitmen, Style decides he's done and wants out. Kant reasons that it's more dangerous for Style to break up with Fadel now, because it would look suspicious, but crucially this isn't enough to convince Style.

So Kant, once again, makes the plea to friendship and to his need for Style specifically, and it is this that causes Style to finally cave.

But in doing so, the things that Style agrees to are:

Kant: Work with me. Help me get more information about them. Once we get that, it's done. Captain puts them in jail, and we walk free.

So while Style may not be directly working with the police, he is working with Kant who he knows is working with the police. By proxy, Style is involved with the police, but in front of the empty pool, he makes it clear to Fadel just what that involvement actually entailed:

Style: Kant asked me to take you out so you could leave him alone and he could freely investigate. Fadel: What did he get out of it? Style: I don't know! That ain't my business! All I was asked of is to take you out.

And this, too, actually is true! Since finding out, Style has literally not discovered a single thing that could be remotely useful to the police investigation:

He's found out that Fadel likes to gym at night. He's found out that Fadel uses tenderloin in his burgers. That he runs in the morning before going to the market. That he attends a grief support group.

But these were all things Kant also already knew and could have given the police if it were in any way useful for the investigation.

Even his attempts to get Fadel to confess to his "other job" (something the police also already know) were clearly in service of wanting to save Fadel and/or convince him to give up the life of crime in the hopes that Fadel wouldn't have to be sent away from Style to prison.

But the truths are tangled up in misunderstandings and Fadel's own assumptions now; and also further tainted again by Bison's own hurt over Kant's betrayal. And Fadel literally cannot see -- because his eyes are filled with tears [see: @thisautistic's gifset + my tags] (good grief, Joong, the actor you are) -- the honesty Style is bleeding from the marrow of his bones.

Because the truth is that along the way Style has also found out that Fadel is a good older brother. That Fadel is still hurting and bleeding inside because his parents were murdered. That Fadel wears his favourite bands' make up in secret because he cannot bear the thought of other's judgement. He's found out that Fadel misses Style, wants Style, and hates himself for it. That Fadel is afraid to love. That Fadel is acutely aware of his own darkness and cannot comprehend an existence that would not involve someone (Style) rejecting it. That Fadel does not believe that 100% trust is possible, but that he will get himself drunk so that he can offer Style as much vulnerability as he can physically make himself give.

Because the things that Style did find out were all the ways Fadel's heart is soft and tender and precious and worthy worthy worthy of all the love Style has to give.

And Style will stand firm on this truth because this is the only thing he has left to give Fadel.

Because Fadel knows, now, all the ways Style was unworthy of his trust, but crucially has not figured out the most important truth:

Because in all the ways that Fadel has ever known he should want, Style actually IS worthy of his trust. Style knows the truth Fadel is hiding, knows what this man is capable of, knows the danger of being in his arms, knows the likely nonexistent future Fadel has to offer him -- and wants him anyway. -- Quoted from my meta post on the "One day, I'll be your 100%" line.

And as I alluded to in the tags on @yinwaring's insightful post: Style fully embodies the belief he espouses; because even in the face of a gun to his head and Fadel threatening to kill him if he will not admit that this, too, is a lie, Style refuses to give Fadel anymore dishonesty.

And this is because Style knows that the truth matters; now more than ever.

Because Style has had days to grapple with his worry after Fadel's disappearance. Style has had a week's worth of checking the diner only to face the regret he feels about not handling things differently. Style has had to recognise the terror of thinking he had lost something he never even knew he wanted in the first place.

And while Fadel had his realisation back in episode 4, Style never had to face this until Fadel vanished from his life and left a gaping hole in the shape of the absence of Fadel's smile.

So if this is what it takes, if this is the penance that Fadel demands of him, then it is a price Style is most happy to pay.

Because Fadel does not realise is that Style, too, now knows what it means to lose a love worth fighting for.

And in the war Fadel now feels compelled to wage against Style (because, yes, that's definitely still going on), the one damning thing Fadel has failed to recognised is that his only true weapon was leaving Style behind.

Which is why Style has already won. Not because Fadel's walls have crumpled again or because they don't still have a ton of things to talk through and work out (they really, really do), but because Style has already been stripped bare (and I mean this literally, like we all recognise THAT was the reason why Dunk is only in boxer shorts in that scene, right?? Like, I know we were joking about it, but seriously, that was so very intentional and a visual representation of Style being both stripped and, most importantly, freed from the lies he felt compelled to tell Fadel) and this means he has nothing holding him back.

And Fadel can wield his gun and his words and his anger and his hurt, but Style will die on the hill of the truth that he knew and understood and chose to love Fadel anyway, and saved this last confession for when he knew he could tell Fadel the truth without any lingering deception; and when the time is right, when Fadel is finally ready, Style will be there to welcome him back with open arms and, without any hesitation, an open heart.

[monstertreden]

◡̈⋆🅷🅸(●’◡’●)ﾉ!! saw that requests for writing is open, so I would like to politely and gladly request this 🤍

mutual pining with optimus prime and human fem reader!! and if possible, the timeline in the bumblebee film (2018) please. optimus is confused about the blossoming feelings he has for reader and seeks help from bumblebee since he has been on earth longer and assumes he knows better haha!! bumblebee is like his wingman :3c

sorry for yapping, but this is my request please and thank you 🥹🫶🏻 have a good one!!! <33

☁︎ RAINY DAYS ☁︎

-Reader: FEM reader  -TW: none -Character: Optimus Prime (Transformers 2018 movie) -Summary: Optimus develops a quiet, protective affection for a human companion, treasuring their moments together. -Word count : 1453 -A/N: Ahhh this was so cutee!! I've tried my best, anon! :) It took me a bit to polish this one just trying to catch Optimus character better :3, hope you like it! . . . I love big robots.

The Prime stood in quiet contemplation, his optics flickering with the weight of his thoughts. Today the "Autobots base" was noiseless, except for the only sound in the room that came from a small TV. Its screen casted a faint glow, as his loyal companion, Bumblebee, zapped through various channels, each displaying what he presumed was human entertainment. The great leader of the Autobots had faced countless battles and made decisions that shaped the fate of Earth itself. Yet, now, he was confronted with a challenge that left him uncertain… his growing affection for a human.

He turned his helm towards Bumblebee, who was still tinkering with a small rectangular device, undoubtedly another human invention. The scout's dexterous servos moved with precision, his curiosity for human culture evident in every motion. That curiosity he had for humans was something else, Bumblebee had always been adept at understanding humans, particularly one individual who had become dear to the scout’s spark, a connection Optimus couldn’t quite wrap his helm around.

"Bumblebee, my dear friend." Optimus's voice rumbled inside the shed, to which the scout beeped in acknowledgement, blue optics lifting from the small device he held. For all his wisdom and experience, Optimus found the nuances of such personal connections… elusive, particularly when it came to matters involving a certain earth native. "I find myself in need of your counsel…” his voice steady but laced with an uncharacteristic hesitance. “…might I ask, how does one get acquainted with an earthling?”

Bumblebee's optics brightened with amusement. Lately, he had seen the Prime’s subtle shifts once he got closer to their human friend. To see the unshakeable pillar of their team, a leader who rarely wavered, seeking guidance on something as deeply personal as affection, from him! Knowing full well that too much teasing could get him grounded, once again, by the big boss, he suppressed a teasing comment.  

Shifting between radio stations, Bumblebee spoke "—that’s it!—might as well spend quality time with her—boss!”

The idea of approaching a human affectionately weighed heavily on Optimus. Deep down he was lost in thought, the alliance between humans and Autobots came first. However, this particular human had earned his respect, and gradually, he found himself warming up to her presence.

It was unexpected…

Ever attuned to his leader's demeanour nuances, Bumblebee softened his  veiled teasing, followed by his next suggestion “---You all go for--- a Joy Ride!---”

Racing with a pick-up truck? That would be too risky, perhaps even impractical. His alt mode was functional, built for resilience and reliability, not for speed or flashiness, neither a sports car nor a sleek vehicle.  It was a step he could take, though at his own pace.

"I thank you, dear friend" Optimus said, a note of gratitude in his voice. "Your insight is... most valuable."

.ᐟ.ᐟ

The sky had darkened, thick clouds gathering as a gentle rain began to fall. Subsequentially, the steady rhythm of the droplets intensified, each drop falling heavier than before. Amid the relentless rain, another sound broke through the downpour. It was the distinctive hum of an engine, accompanied by the sharp, glowing brilliance of the four headlights piercing through the rain. The pickup truck stood resolutely by the side of the road, its metallic frame shimmering as droplets clung to its surface.

The truck had been waiting patiently for an indeterminate time as then, through the haze of rain she appeared, huddled under a small red umbrella. Illuminated by the soft glow of a streetlamp, Optimus watched as she approached, her steps careful on the slick pavement. Once she reached his side, the door unlocked with a quiet click, inviting her inside. “Finally—” trembling, she climbed into the passenger seat, the door closing firmly behind her.

Inside, she was enveloped by the warmth of the front seats, a stark contrast to the cool rain outside. She set her umbrella aside and leaned back in the seat, with a contented sigh. "Thanks a lot for picking me up, Optimus" her voice resonated in his spark “I’m terribly sorry, I hope I didn’t make you wait too long under this damn rain! I swear, my weather said it was going to be cloudy...totally not this??”

"It is no trouble," Optimus replied, his voice a gentle rumble through the speakers. “I wouldn't want you walking in this kind of weather, you might get hurt. Never hesitate to give me a call, little one.”

Soon enough the engine started, and they drove in comfortable silence, the rain creating a soothing backdrop. Optimus found solace in these quiet moments, the presence of his human companion filling the space with an unspoken connection. He relished the opportunity to simply be near her, to share in the simplicity of the moment. This was his kind of “Joy ride”, a serene, intimate experience far removed from the high-energy adventures Bumblebee often took part in.

As they neared her home, the glow of streetlights casting soft halos on the rain-slicked road, she turned slightly, her gaze thoughtful. "You know," she began "I’ve always appreciated how you make time for me. It means a lot."

Optimus's spark swelled with an emotion that, despite his longevity and vast experience since he first came online, he was still learning to fully understand. "Your companionship brings me a sense of peace," he admitted, the sincerity in his tone unmistakable. "It is a privilege to be a part of your world."

Her hand reached out, soft fingers brushing against the dashboard in a gesture of affection. “And it's a privilege to have you in mine, truly"  she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. She knew he could hear her, loud and clear, even if he didn’t respond immediately. There was a quiet understanding between them, one that was broken by his warm voice, drawing her attention.

“Would you like to hear some stories, my little friend?”

.ᐟ.ᐟ

An hour had passed, her eyelids grew heavy and she found herself lulled by the light sway of the truck. It was a rare moment of peace in a world often filled with chaos. Here, cradled in the safety of Optimus Prime, she allowed herself to drift into a peaceful slumber, trusting completely in the steadfast guardian who was carrying her home.

“---This brings many memories in my circuit” Optimus mused softly “The first steps we Autobots took on your lively, vibrant planet. It’s a bittersweet feeling, filled with nostalgia…” His words trailed off as he realized she had succumbed to sleep, her form gently resting against the cushion seat. “oh…” His words had continued longer than he intended. She had fallen asleep, her head resting against the cushioned seat.

His engine hummed quietly as he turned the corner by her house. With a slow, deliberate movement, the Prime transformed. His massive frame shifted awkwardly, yet he was careful enough to avoid any disruption.

With utmost care, his servos extended towards her,  cradling her sleeping form. She stirred slightly but did not wake, her trust in him evident in her relaxed posture. As if in the hands of someone who would never harm her.

Attentive optics caught sight of the slightly open window. Soon, Optimus approached it, parting it with a click, careful not to make a sound. The rain had all but ceased, leaving the night air cool and fresh. With ultimate precision, he laid her down on her bed, tucking the blanket around her in a gesture that felt almost human. He lingered for a moment, his optics soft, his gaze filled with a tenderness that reflected his deep sense of protectiveness. She was safe here, in the comfort of her own room, sheltered from the outside world.

He stood there for a moment, his optics soft as he gazed at her peaceful expression. "Goodnight," he whispered, his voice a deep murmur. "May the stars always guide you."

.ᐟ.ᐟ

As he quietly stepped back from the window, miraculously avoiding breaking the glass, the Prime remained near her backyard, his massive form casting a shadow over the wall of her house. The soft hum of his systems settled into a quiet vigil, ensuring her safety throughout the night. There Optimus found solace in the knowledge that, for now, as long as he was with her, she would be safe and sound. With the Autobots' base under control, he decided to linger near her home, keeping a watchful optic on her,  a silent but devoted promise of protection and care.

The faint light of the stars reflected in his optics as the night enveloped him while he transformed back into his vehicle mode.

Tomorrow would be another day.

[cherryxbooo]

I've got you ... always

Summary: Working as a Mercedes engineer has always been challenging, but with men constantly looking down on you, it becomes unbearable. Lewis is quick to put a stop to it, and fight for justice.

Note: First of all, I want to thank all of you for the love you've shown me so far. I really appreciate it! 🤍 The reason I chose this storyline is to address the issue of sexism and misogyny in workplaces. Unfortunately, this still happens far too often, and with this fic, I hope to bring much-needed attention to this subject. Just know you're not alone 🫶

Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Warning: misogyny and sexism

It had been nearly six years since I first joined Mercedes as an engineer.

Six years of intense work, late nights, early mornings, and a relentless pursuit of perfection in the world of Formula 1.

It was my dream job, one I had worked tirelessly to achieve.

But those six years also marked the time I’d spent with Lewis, six years of love, laughter, and challenges with the man who had become my everything.

I could still remember the day we met as if it were yesterday.

A bit of backstory:

I was the newest member of the Mercedes team, fresh out of a competitive hiring process, and I was determined to make an impression.

The first time I stepped into the paddock, I felt like an imposter among the sea of seasoned professionals.

My hands clutched my tablet like a lifeline as I walked into a strategy meeting, trying to suppress the nervous flutter in my chest.

Lewis was already there, sitting at the far end of the room. He looked relaxed, dressed casually in his signature streetwear style, yet exuding an unmistakable aura of confidence.

As I took a seat near the back, his eyes flicked toward me.

I was sure he wouldn’t even notice me, why would he?

I was just another new face among dozens of team members.

But then, he smiled.

It wasn’t one of those polite, obligatory smiles.

It was warm and genuine, as if he could sense my nerves and wanted to reassure me.

That smile was like a silent message:

You belong here.

Over the next few weeks, our paths crossed more frequently.

At first, it was just in passing, a quick hello in the garage, a casual “How’s it going?” during lunch breaks.

But it didn’t take long for us to start talking. Really talking.

It was during a particularly chaotic race weekend in Silverstone that our friendship began to solidify.

A last-minute weather change had thrown everyone into a frenzy, and I found myself staying late in the garage to run some last-minute simulations.

The paddock was nearly empty when Lewis walked in, still in his racing suit, and caught me muttering to myself as I tried to make sense of the data.

“Long night?” he asked, leaning against the workbench with a lopsided grin.

“You have no idea,” I replied with a tired laugh, glancing up from my screen.

He stayed and talked with me for over an hour, even offering a few insights that helped me crack the issue I was stuck on.

By the time he left, I realized that the nervousness I’d felt around him was gone.

He wasn’t just Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion.

He was kind, funny, and incredibly easy to talk to.

From that moment on, our friendship grew effortlessly.

Whether it was over post-race debriefs, team dinners, or stolen moments between the chaos of race weekends, we found ourselves drawn to each other.

We bonded over a shared love for what we did, but also over our differences, his world of high-speed fame and my quieter, behind-the-scenes role.

It wasn’t long before I realized my feelings for him had shifted.

I hadn’t planned on falling for him, but Lewis had a way of breaking down walls without even trying.

He made me laugh when I was stressed, listened intently when I rambled about work, and made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

One evening, after a long day at the factory, he invited me out for dinner.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just a cozy little restaurant tucked away.

Over plates of pasta and glasses of wine, we talked about everything from our childhoods to our dreams for the future.

By the end of the night, when he walked me to my car, he hesitated for just a moment before leaning in to kiss me.

That was the beginning of us.

For a long time, we kept our relationship private. We both wanted to protect what we had, to keep it ours without the scrutiny of the public eye.

But as the months turned into years, it became harder to hide.

Fans started noticing the subtle signs, the way Lewis would glance at me during interviews, or how I always seemed to be nearby during race weekends.

When we finally decided to go public, it wasn’t a grand announcement or a carefully curated statement.

It was a simple photo posted on Lewis’s Instagram.

We were in Monaco, sitting on a terrace overlooking the harbor, the golden light of sunset washing over us.

I didn’t even know he’d taken the picture until he showed it to me later that night.

“Should I post it?” he asked, his voice tentative.

I hesitated, thinking of the attention it would bring, but then I looked at him, at the way his eyes softened as he waited for my answer.

“Yeah,” I said with a smile. “Let’s do it.”

The response back then was overwhelming.

Fans flooded the comments with messages of support, and the media couldn’t stop speculating about us.

But through it all, Lewis and I stayed grounded, reminding each other that our relationship wasn’t for anyone else.

It was for us.

One of the things that made our relationship so strong was our ability to communicate.

From the very beginning, we had promised to tell each other everything, our fears, our frustrations, our dreams.

No topic was off-limits.

Whether it was a rough qualifying session for him or a challenging project for me, we leaned on each other without hesitation.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

Lately, I hadn’t been able to keep my promise to Lewis, to tell him everything, to lean on him like I always had.

The reason? Mark, Alan, and Greg.

They were three senior engineers on the team, men who had been with Mercedes long before I joined.

Older, more experienced, and as I had quickly discovered, painfully set in their ways.

From the very beginning, they had made it clear that they didn’t think I belonged.

I still remember the first time I overheard them.

It was during my second week on the job, and I was running a simulation late at night.

They didn’t realize I was in the corner of the garage, headphones off, sorting through notes.

“Hiring for diversity quotas,” Mark had muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Yeah, they want to tick a box, so they bring in the fresh-faced rookie,” Alan had added with a chuckle.

Greg, ever the opportunist, chimed in,

“Let’s see how long she lasts when the pressure’s on.”

"She's better off making us a sandwich."

Their words had stung, sharp and bitter, but I had swallowed my pride.

I told myself that proving them wrong would be the best revenge.

I worked harder than I ever had in my life, triple-checking my calculations, volunteering for extra tasks, staying long hours to ensure that my work was flawless.

And for a while, I thought it had paid off.

At first, the snide remarks tapered off.

They didn’t engage with me much, but at least they stopped openly questioning my abilities.

I had even started to think that maybe, just maybe, I had earned their respect.

But lately, the comments had returned, and they were worse than ever.

It started subtly, dismissive sighs during meetings when I spoke, or whispered conversations that stopped the moment I entered the room.

Childish right?

Then the snark escalated, cutting through my carefully built confidence like a knife.

“Did you even double-check this?”

Alan had sneered last week after a team briefing, gesturing at the simulation results I’d spent days perfecting.

Greg, never one to miss a chance to pile on, smirked as he added,

“Leave the big decisions to people who actually know what they’re doing.”

Then Mark's voice was heard,

"Yeah, go do the laundry or something, whatever you women are good in."

It was always wrapped in the guise of banter, thinly veiled behind forced smiles and casual tones.

But I wasn’t naïve.

There was a sharpness to their words, a deliberate attempt to undermine me that cut deeper each time.

Even Mark, the one who usually played the “neutral” party, had started joining in.

During a debrief on a race strategy I’d helped design, he had scoffed and muttered,

“Well, I guess every team needs its token young genius.”

It was relentless.

Every day, there was something, a comment, a glance, a dismissive laugh that made my blood boil.

But I kept it all to myself.

I told myself that it wasn’t worth causing a scene, especially now.

Lewis had enough on his plate.

His move to Ferrari had been the talk of the motorsport world, and while he was excited for the new challenge, the transition was anything but easy.

There were endless negotiations, media commitments, and the emotional weight of leaving the team that had been his family for over a decade.

I couldn’t bring this to him, not now.

Not when he was already stretched thin.

So, I stayed quiet.

I bit my tongue when Alan questioned my calculations, ignored Greg’s condescending remarks, and pretended not to hear Mark’s muttered jokes.

Each time, I told myself it was just words, that I could handle it.

But deep down, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could.

Lewis was busy.

I kept telling myself that over and over, like a mantra.

Between announcing his move to Ferrari, dealing with the media frenzy, juggling sponsorship demands, and the seemingly endless meetings, he had so much on his plate.

The last thing he needed was me adding my problems to the mix.

But today was different.

The garage was buzzing with activity as we prepped for the upcoming race weekend.

The sound of drills, clinking tools, and the hum of engines filled the air, a symphony of chaos I had grown to love over the years.

I was stationed at my usual spot, hunched over a set of data sheets, meticulously double-checking the aerodynamics report for any inconsistencies.

I was deep in concentration, my pen scratching against the paper, when their voices drifted over.

Mark’s gruff tone was unmistakable.

“What’s the point of her even being here? Probably just a pretty face for the team photos.”

I froze, my hand pausing mid-note.

My heart sank, but I willed myself to stay calm, telling myself to ignore it like always.

Alan, never one to pass up an opportunity, snorted.

“Yeah, but even that’s debatable.”

Their laughter was casual, almost conversational, but the sting of their words hit me like a whip.

Then Greg joined in, his tone dripping with mockery.

“She’s only here because she’s shagging the driver or maybe even the boss. Imagine thinking she got this job on her own merit.”

Mark laughed before adding,

"Maybe we can all ask her for a turn as well, if it's that easy to shag the boss, we might have a chance too."

"At the end of the day, that's all they're good at. Women don't belong in the motorsport world."

The room was filled with their laughter.

That was it.

My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the table as my hands began to shake.

I stared at the numbers on the page, but they were a blur, overshadowed by the burning heat of humiliation rising in my chest.

For years, I had endured their passive-aggressive comments, their dismissive attitudes, their constant undermining of my capabilities.

I had told myself it didn’t matter, that their opinions didn’t define me.

But hearing them reduce everything I had worked for, the late nights, the sweat, the tears, the sacrifices, to nothing more than being Lewis Hamilton’s girlfriend?

It was too much.

I clenched my fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms as I tried to hold it together.

But their laughter, light and cruel, echoed in my ears, shredding the last of my composure.

I pushed back my chair abruptly, the screech of metal against the concrete floor silencing the room for a brief moment.

My vision blurred with unshed tears as I grabbed my tablet and notes, clutching them to my chest like armor.

I didn’t dare look at them, I couldn’t.

My breath hitched, and my chest felt tight, like the walls were closing in.

I needed to get out. Now.

Without a word, I turned and stormed out of the garage, my footsteps heavy and uneven.

I didn’t care where I was going; I just needed space, air, something to stop the lump in my throat from turning into a sob.

As I walked away, their laughter faded into the background, but the words lingered, etched into my mind like a scar.

I didn’t know where I was going.

My feet carried me blindly, weaving through the maze of garages and team trailers until I found myself at the paddock’s edge.

It was quieter here, away from the relentless hum of activity, the chatter of crew members, and the ever-present cameras.

I sank onto a bench beneath the shade of a tree, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

Burying my face in my hands, I let out a shaky sigh.

My mind replayed their words like a broken record, each snide comment cutting deeper than the last.

"What’s the point of her being here?"

"Probably just a pretty face for the team photos."

"She’s only here because she’s shagging the driver."

The worst part was that they’d managed to plant a seed of doubt.

I had worked so hard to get here, put in countless hours, and sacrificed so much to prove myself in this male-dominated field.

And yet, in this moment, I felt like a fraud, like I didn’t belong.

“Y/n?”

The sound of Lewis’s voice cut through the fog in my mind.

I looked up sharply, my breath catching when I saw him standing a few feet away, his brow furrowed in concern.

He must have followed me.

My stomach twisted in a mix of guilt and relief.

The last thing I wanted was for him to see me like this, vulnerable, crumbling under the weight of my emotions.

“What’s wrong my love?” he asked, stepping closer and crouching down in front of me.

His warm, dark eyes searched mine, his hands gently resting on my knees.

The concern etched into his face made my heart ache.

“Nothing,” I lied, quickly wiping at my face.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, his expression soft but skeptical.

“Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

I hesitated, my resolve cracking under his steady gaze.

His presence was grounding, but I didn’t want to pull him into my mess.

“It’s nothing, really,” I tried again, forcing a weak smile.

“I just… I’m tired.”

“Y/n.”

His voice was low and firm, but there was a tenderness to it that made my throat tighten.

“Please. Talk to me.”

That was all it took.

The dam broke, and the words spilled out in a rush.

I told him everything, the comments, the dismissive attitudes, the years of enduring their quiet but cutting condescension.

My voice wavered as I explained how it had worsened recently, how their snide remarks had crossed the line into outright insults.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve been under so much pressure with everything, Ferrari, the media, the season. I didn’t want to be another problem for you to deal with.”

Lewis listened intently, his face unreadable as I spoke.

But the slight tightening of his jaw and the way his hands gripped mine told me he was anything but indifferent.

When I finished, there was a long silence.

I stared down at my hands, afraid to meet his eyes.

“They’ve been doing this for years?”

he finally asked, his voice low and tightly controlled.

I nodded, biting my lip. “It wasn’t always this bad, but yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to add to your stress,” I said softly.

“You’ve been dealing with so much already.”

Lewis let out a slow, measured breath, his grip on my hands tightening.

“Y/n, nothing, and I mean nothing, is more important to me than you.”

His voice softened, but there was a fierce protectiveness beneath his words.

“You should’ve told me. They don’t get to treat you like this. Ever. No woman deserves this kind of treatment.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Lewis was already standing.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, his expression dark with determination.

“Lewis, what are you doing?” I asked, standing as well.

He glanced at me, his jaw set.

“I’m making sure this doesn’t happen again.”

I reached out, touching his arm.

“Lewis, please—”

“Y/n.” He turned to face me fully, his eyes locking onto mine.

“You’ve put up with this for far too long. I’m not letting it slide, and neither should you. This is your workplace, your passion. You shouldn’t have to deal with people who try to tear you down.”

His words hit me hard, a mix of anger and love wrapped in every syllable.

I nodded slowly, my throat tight with emotion.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening as he pulled me into a hug.

His arms wrapped around me tightly, and for a moment, I let myself melt into his warmth.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into my hair. “Always.”

By mid-afternoon, the entire paddock was filled with noice.

Meetings with Toto were rarely casual, and the tension in the air was palpable.

I stayed out of sight, nerves twisting in my stomach.

When Lewis had assured me earlier that he wouldn’t let this go, I’d believed him.

But seeing the immediate repercussions unfold was a different kind of catharsis.

The walk to Toto’s office felt longer than it should have, every step heavy with anticipation.

Lewis had his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me through the bustling paddock.

His touch was grounding, but my nerves still prickled under my skin.

“Relax,” he said softly, leaning closer.

“We’re handling this together.”

I nodded, though my stomach was a tangled mess of knots.

The last thing I wanted was to cause drama, but after years of enduring Mark, Alan, and Greg’s behavior, I couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

When we arrived at Toto’s office, Lewis didn’t bother knocking lightly.

He rapped his knuckles on the door with purpose.

“Come in,” came the familiar voice from inside.

Toto was seated behind his desk, a stack of papers neatly arranged to one side.

His brows lifted in mild surprise when he saw the two of us enter together, but he quickly gestured for us to take a seat.

“This seems serious,” Toto remarked, his sharp eyes flicking between us.

"What’s going on?”

Lewis glanced at me, silently asking if I wanted to start.

I hesitated, my fingers twisting in my lap.

Noticing my reluctance, Lewis leaned forward.

“It’s about some of the team dynamics,” he began, his voice calm but tinged with an unmistakable edge.

“Specifically, the way Mark, Alan, and Greg have been treating Y/n.”

Toto’s expression shifted, his posture straightening.

“Go on.”

I took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak.

“For years now, they’ve made comments, snide remarks about my qualifications, my presence here. It started when I joined, but I brushed it off because I was new, and I thought I had to prove myself. But lately…”

My voice wavered, and I swallowed hard to steady it.

“Lately, it’s escalated. They’ve been openly dismissive of my work, undermining me during meetings, and even questioning my position on the team. Today, they went too far.”

Toto’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

“What happened today?”

Lewis’s hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze as I recounted the incident.

“They implied I’m only here because I’m dating Lewis and that I used my body to get my position,”

I said quietly, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

“And that I didn’t earn my role.”

Toto exhaled sharply, his expression darkening.

“That’s not all,” Lewis added, his tone hardening.

“This has been going on for years, Toto. Years. Y/n didn’t tell me sooner because she didn’t want to cause problems, but that’s no excuse. Those three have created a toxic environment, and it stops now.”

Toto’s gaze shifted to me, his stern demeanor softening slightly.

“Why didn’t you come to me earlier, Y/L/N? This isn’t the kind of behavior we tolerate here.”

I shrugged, feeling small under his scrutiny.

“I didn’t want to be seen as a troublemaker. They’ve been here longer than I have, and I didn’t think anyone would take my word over theirs. Plus, I didn’t want to add more stress to an already intense environment.”

Toto shook his head, his voice firm but understanding.

“You should never have to tolerate that. Not here, not anywhere. The Mercedes team prides itself on being a family. What you’ve described is unacceptable, and I take full responsibility for not noticing it sooner.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, his jaw still tight.

“What’s the plan, Toto? Because I’m not letting this slide.”

Toto nodded, already making notes on a pad in front of him.

“First, I’ll be speaking to Mark, Alan, and Greg individually. They’ll be given the chance to explain themselves, not that there’s much room for justification here. If their behavior aligns with what you’ve described, they won’t be part of this team by the end of the day.”

A weight lifted off my chest at his words, but the tension in the room remained palpable.

“I want to be there,” Lewis said firmly.

Toto raised an eyebrow.

“Lewis—”

“No,” Lewis interrupted.

“This is personal. They didn’t just disrespect Y/n, they disrespected the team, the values we stand for, and me by extension. I need to make it clear that this behavior won’t be tolerated. From anyone.”

Toto regarded him for a moment before nodding.

“Fine. But let me handle the disciplinary side. You can say your piece, but I’ll deliver the consequences.”

Lewis nodded, satisfied.

“That works for me.”

Toto turned back to me, his expression softening once more.

“Y/n, I’m sorry you’ve had to endure this. If there’s anything else you need, support, time off, anything, let me know. I’ll make sure you feel safe and valued here.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.

Lewis stood, pulling me up with him.

“We appreciate it, Toto. Let us know when the meeting is.”

“You’ll hear from me shortly,”

Toto promised, standing to shake Lewis’s hand before giving me a reassuring nod.

As we left the office, I felt a sense of relief wash over me.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone in this fight.

Lewis wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we walked down the corridor.

“We’ve got this,” he said softly, his voice full of conviction.

I leaned into him, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Yeah, we do.”

Toto wasn’t one to waste time.

Within the hour, Mark, Alan, and Greg were called into his office one by one.

The first to arrive was Mark.

When he stepped in, he wore his usual smug expression, likely thinking this was just another routine meeting.

But Toto’s steely gaze and the presence of Lewis, standing tall with his arms crossed by the window, quickly shattered that notion.

“Have a seat, Mark,”

Toto said curtly, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

Mark sat, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced between Toto and Lewis.

“What’s this about?”

Toto wasted no time.

“It’s about your behavior toward Y/L/N,” he said, his voice sharp and unwavering.

“I’ve been informed of your repeated condescension, disrespect, and comments that have no place in this team, or any professional setting.”

Mark blinked, caught off guard.

“What? That’s not true. I—”

“Don’t bother lying,” Lewis cut in, his voice cold and firm.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes fixed on Mark.

“We’ve both heard enough from Y/n and other team members. You’ve been targeting her for years, haven’t you? Questioning her qualifications, making snide remarks about her role here, and today, outright implying she only got her position because of me.”

Mark’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“I… Look, it was just banter. No harm meant.”

“Banter?” Toto echoed, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“You call undermining one of the most talented engineers on this team banter? You call questioning her abilities and belittling her contributions banter?”

Mark leaned forward, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Toto, I didn’t mean anything by it! I was just—”

“Enough,” Toto interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

“I won’t tolerate excuses. You’ve created a hostile environment for one of your colleagues, and that is unacceptable. You’ve not only disrespected Y/L/N but also the principles this team stands for. I don’t care how long you’ve been here, Mark. Your behavior is grounds for immediate dismissal.”

Mark paled, his smugness vanishing entirely.

“Dismissal? Wait, Toto, please. I’ve been with this team for years. You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will,” Toto said, his voice resolute.

“Pack your things. Security will escort you out by the end of the day.”

Mark turned to Lewis, desperation in his eyes.

“Lewis, you can’t agree with this. We’re teammates, for God’s sake!”

Lewis’s expression didn’t waver.

“You stopped being my teammate the moment you disrespected Y/n. Pack your things, Mark.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped, and he left the office in silence.

Next was Alan.

He walked in with a similar air of confidence, though it quickly dissipated when he noticed the tense atmosphere.

“Toto,” Alan began, sitting down and glancing uneasily at Lewis.

“What’s going on?”

Toto leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk.

“What’s going on, Alan, is that your behavior toward Y/L/N has come to light. Years of dismissive comments, snide remarks, and today, a blatant attack on her credibility. Care to explain yourself?”

Alan frowned, leaning back in his chair.

“Look, I might’ve been a little hard on her, but it’s nothing personal. She’s young and still learning. I thought she could use a bit of tough love.”

Lewis scoffed from his spot by the window.

“Tough love? Is that what you call undermining her at every turn and insulting her in front of the team?”

Alan shifted uncomfortably.

“She’s good at her job, I’ll give her that. But come on, Lewis, you can’t deny people have wondered if her connection to you played a part in her being hired. It’s not like I said anything everyone wasn’t already thinking.”

Lewis took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides.

“The only reason anyone would think that is because people like you spread that garbage around."

"Y/n earned her place on this team through her hard work and talent, not because of me."

We didn't even know each other when she joined. And even if, she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, the way you’ve treated her is disgusting.”

Toto’s expression darkened further.

“Alan, you’ve been with Mercedes long enough to know we value respect and inclusivity above all else. What you’ve done isn’t just a breach of trust, it’s a breach of the very foundation of this team. Your actions have consequences. You’re fired, effective immediately.”

Alan stood abruptly, his face red with anger.

“You’re seriously going to throw away years of experience over a few jokes?”

“Yes,” Toto said bluntly.

“And I suggest you leave now before you embarrass yourself further.”

Alan glared at both of them before storming out, muttering under his breath.

Finally, it was Greg’s turn.

Unlike the others, Greg walked in looking visibly nervous.

He barely met Toto’s eyes as he sat down, fidgeting with his hands.

“Greg,” Toto began, his voice steady but firm.

“You know why you’re here.”

Greg nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah… yeah, I figured.”

“Then you know the kind of behavior we’re addressing,” Toto continued.

“You’ve contributed to a toxic work environment for Y/L/N and others. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Greg hesitated, glancing at Lewis, who was staring at him with barely concealed anger.

“I—I don’t have an excuse. I guess… I thought it was harmless, but it clearly wasn’t. I crossed a line, and I’m sorry.”

Toto’s brow furrowed.

“You thought it was harmless? You’ve made Y/n feel unwelcome and disrespected in her own workplace. That’s not harmless, it’s damaging. Apologizing now doesn’t erase what you’ve done.”

“I know,” Greg said quickly, his voice trembling.

“I know I messed up, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“It’s too late for that,” Lewis interjected, his voice low but full of authority.

“You had years to change your behavior, and you didn’t. You don’t get to stay on this team after what you’ve done.”

Toto nodded in agreement.

“Greg, I appreciate that you’re taking responsibility, but the damage has been done. You’re no longer part of this team. Security will escort you out shortly.”

Greg’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded, standing to leave.

“My deepest apologies,” he said quietly before walking out.

By the end of the day, the three men were gone, and the Mercedes team felt lighter.

Word of the firings spread quickly, and several team members quietly expressed their relief and support for you.

Back in the garage, Lewis pulled me into a quiet corner.

“It’s done,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I nodded, a weight lifting off my chest.

“Thank you, Lew. For standing by me.”

“Always sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“No one messes with my girl.”

To all the women facing sexism at work, school, home or online: You are strong, capable, and deserving of respect. Don’t let anyone diminish your worth. Your voice matters, and you are making a difference just by being you. Keep pushing forward.

The end

[anchorandrope]

I need to know why L's sisters are always the ones making trouble on social media and looking for attention. I really don't understand why them

Look, im going to give you an answer from PR because that's my life so why not lmfao. And since i've worked with one influencer recently, i have no doubts regarding what is happening at this point with louis' sisters.

Im going to try to explain this as short and succinctly as possible. and im really sorry to say this but this is how things work in real life, i beg you to leave your parasocial relationship with louis aside for three seconds to think coldly about the situation, because i know perfectly well how some of you take every statement made related to louis. several statements can exist at the same time, not everything is black and white, etc. thank you...

Some of you may ask, why always the twins? and there is, actually, an answer to that question. The answer, believe it or not, is not because Lottie is older than the twins. Partly her age is related, but it is not the reason itself... let's see:

Lottie started working as Lou Teasdale's assistant during the OTRA Tour, and since then and thanks to her, she got in touch with many important job opportunities that another teenager who does make-up well wouldn't have.

She has been in Fashion Week, worked for Selena Gomez, etc. Everything from a very young age. Today, she doesn't live exclusively from social media, as many believe. Her income is not only from "being an influencer", she has her brand tanologist, she published a book.... In Lottie's case, social media is a fundamental communication tool that allows her to obtain opportunities that generate income, but it is not her entire income per se.

On the other hand, Daisy and Phoebe were too young to take advantage of job opportunities at that time (1D days) because they were kids... they, again it may not seem like it, didn't have the same level of important job opportunities as Lottie had at such a young age. Lottie was at Fashion Week when she was 17... the twins are still very young and their proper working careers are just starting.

Phoebe and Daisy started their modelling careers in 2020 and to this day, they are involved in social media, promoting products (swaps) and modelling in small photo shoots. They haven't really had a big job opportunity like Lottie has had.

Unlike Lottie, they did not have the same visibility from the start and their income comes exclusively from social media. Modelling and swaps/promo are things they do through social media, their working tool is Instagram/TikTok. They need that platform for their income.

Now, if you have social media accounts set up as public and as a content creator you will know this, but for those who don't: those who create content on social media in this way (influencers, among other cases) have their own tool that helps them most to calculate how much they will earn and that is metrics. The famous "professional dashboard/insights" from Instagram for example.

To hire an influencer (in addition to doing a previous investigation of who you should hire) you should ask them for their metrics so that you can reach an agreement on the amount of money for that exchange/interaction/etc. A fixed base number is set, but depending on the reach, the more money they receive is directly proportional to the amount of interactions and views that post has had. Like on instagram if you share the post as branded content, the company you tag can see your metrics.

The fact that the twins are the ones who post content that they know people will go to their stories/posts/comments to see or will make them follow them on their social media is not a coincidence because the amount of people who interact with them (whatever the reason, as your personal reason is not seen on a metric lol) is what generates them revenue, quite literally.

Yes, it can happen that once in a while as something "casual" because they are people, but not as a generality and even less so when a few days later they do another promotion or they are in one. What is going on and whether it is right/morally correct or not are two different questions, by the way.

This is what happens, welcome to the world of influencers! It doesn't matter if you agree or not, if you like it or not, or whatever, those are your personal opinions (which are perfectly fine, we all have them) but... that's how it is. lol.

I personally don't think it's right to use babygate as a method of generating interaction, and just as I brought it to the attention of the clark family, I will bring it to the attention of the tomlinson's. the child is a huge victim of this, everyone is violating his right to privacy and honestly its disgusting to see after like 9 years. It seems to me that gaining interactions (that lead you to gain money) with such a horrible situation and with a child seems to me something that people should be ashamed of, to be honest. Beyond babygate, imagining that larry and babygate never existed, it's wrong to do this, it goes way beyond fandom, which i think is something a lot of people don't truly understand.

if you really want the twins to stop posting this kind of shit, im sorry to inform yall that the only solution to the problem is going to be to stop following them, stop looking at their stories, stop liking and viewing their posts, stop commenting, etc. any viewing/interaction is reflected in a metric, check it out for yourself (besides there are more metric apps than just the ones IG/Tiktok gives you). If you spread a screenshot taken by someone else or stuff, you are not interacting directly with their account, so it's not the same ofc, but if someone doesn't understand how it works, they will go and see it for themselves and and they will generate interactions. It's impossible not to have them on the radar, i know, so at least i ask yall to focus on what's really important, and not on every idiotic thing that happens, because that way they just make it worse, literally.

[venus-haze]

Stakeout (Billy Butcher x Reader)

Summary: Ever since you started working with Butcher and The Boys again, life has been exciting, invigorating—and stressful. During a stakeout, Butcher mixes the personal with the professional to help you relieve some of the tension you’ve been carrying around.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Takes place vaguely in season 1. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving semi-public fingering, light degradation, and voyeurism (Butcher is insane. So is Homelander.)

You hadn’t been on a stakeout in years when Butcher asked—demanded, really—that you come along with him to keep an eye on Vought Tower overnight. Something about letting Hughie get some sleep while you two tried to keep tabs on A-Train’s comings and goings. It was easy enough to see through his bullshit, but rather than call him on it, boredom from your day job and curiosity of what he had up his sleeve made you agree.

Butcher at least had the decency to pick up some snacks from a bodega near your apartment, mostly beef jerky and bags of chips. Kept the radio low on some classic rock station, the two of you sitting in near silence across the street from the tower for the better part of an hour. His car hadn’t changed much from the last time you were in it. Except for the new pine tree air freshener—though new was a stretch. It’d long since lost its scent, but the blue wasn’t as sun-bleached as the old one. Funny, the things you remember.

“This feels like a waste of time. Even if we were here to spy on A-Train, which you and I both know we’re not, there’s no way we’d be able to actually see him leave and come back,” you finally said. “And Homelander wouldn’t leave out of Vought’s front door unless he was doing some publicity to appeal to us plebeians.”

“You got a point.”

“So what’re we doing here?” 

“Y’think the cunt can see us?” he asked.

“Who? Homelander?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t the point of a stakeout that we’re not supposed to be seen?”

“S’why I’m asking, love.”

You sighed. “Unless he’s somewhere we can’t see him, then I guess not.”

“Perfect.”

He put his hand on your knee, his fingers inching their way up your pencil skirt. You didn’t have time to change out of your office clothes when Butcher picked you up at your apartment. Even though you were back with his crew, you hadn’t quit your day job just yet, working for some stupid startup that somehow landed a contract with Vought. Gave you some insight into what they were up to, at least made your presence in the tower the least suspicious of anyone else, able to say you were there for business.

You shifted in the passenger seat a bit. “Butcher, what’re you—“

“Tryin’ to help you relax,” he said, his fingers brushing your clit through your panties. “You’ve been tense as hell lately.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. He was right. Linking up with Butcher again after so many years gave you a renewed sense of purpose, but with that came the stress, the late nights, the close calls. In the comfort of his car, just the two of you where no one else could see, maybe you could let him take control for a while.

“How tense, Butcher?” you asked, leaning back in the seat. “Tell me.”

“Workin’ yourself too hard for a bunch of sorry pricks,” he said, his voice low and husky as he tugged at your panties. You lifted your hips so he could pull them to your knees. “Can’t have that when I need you now, yeah?”

You nodded breathlessly as he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out slowly, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. His gaze, dark and intense, always had a way of making you feel acutely aware of his attention on you, even when you weren't looking at him. Sometimes unnerving, but in cases like this, utterly exposed despite being fully clothed.

“Been a long time, huh? You miss this? You miss when I'd take care of your cunt?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “God, Butcher, keep going.”

“Thought of callin’ you a few times the past few years. You were always a good fuck,” he husked, his lips, his rough beard brushing across your neck and jaw. “Look at you now, people walking by, and you don’t give a damn who can see you, long as you get off, huh?”

“Butcher—“

“Bet if I’d taken my cock out instead, you’d have sucked me off. Take it all like the cockslut I know you are. You fuck anyone else the past few years? They know how to treat you? Know how to make you feel good?”

“Yes—No—I don’t know.”

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re pretty when you’re close. How close are you, love?”

“Fuck—I’m close. I’m so fucking close. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” you babbled, choking out a moan when he slipped a third finger inside you. “Keep going, just like that.”

He was pushing you, knew your limits better than anyone, and as much as you hated to admit it, you needed it. Hadn’t realized until then how long it’d been since you’d really been fucked until he curled his fingers inside you, and your brain felt like someone poured soda over it, your skin burning for more.

You didn’t care who saw, all you cared about was getting there, and you were so fucking close it made you screw your eyes shut and cry out in frustration. Jesus, no wonder you were willing to jump back in when Butcher showed up on your doorstep. Everyday was bland, the same old bullshit. There was plenty of bullshit when it came to Butcher and whatever harebrained schemes he came up with, but it was a hell of a lot more fun than typing up reports and sitting through meetings.

“C’mon, love. Put on a show. Let me hear ya.”

You opened your eyes, only to catch Butcher staring out the windshield. Following his gaze, you let out a panicked whine upon seeing a red glow honed in on you, long enough to be sure he was watching. You came on Butcher’s fingers with a perverse moan, pleasure coursing through you as you dug your fingers into the console. You threw your head back, your hips jerking upward as you rode out your orgasm on his hand. 

Butcher was relentless when he wanted to be, and you weakly tapped out, squeezing his muscular arm, whining a bit nevertheless when he pulled his hand away. Sparing another glance at the windshield, the red glow was gone. Homelander was gone.

You told yourself it was the surge of fear-fueled adrenaline that brought you over the edge, not exhilaration at being seen, being caught in such a vulnerable state by the most powerful supe in the world. Definitely not. But you kind of hated yourself for not feeling more humiliated, instead, as you obsessively replayed the scene in your head as Butcher drove down the street, you were thrilled by it. 

Still, he should’ve fucking warned you, given you some kind of heads up. You held your tongue until you were sure the sound of traffic would hide your voice from any superpowered hearing.

“You fucking prick!” you hissed, smacking his shoulder. “You banked on Homelander being enough of a pervert to watch us?”

“Killed two birds with one stone. You feel better now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reluctantly conceded.

“Attagirl.” He grinned. “I think I know where the cunt’s going.”

You balked. “I can’t look him in the eye after this.”

“You kind of already did.”

“Fuck you, Butcher.”

He glanced at you again, squeezing your thigh. “I’ll make it up to you later, love. Don’t you worry.”

[rezwrites]

First I want to say I am obsessed with your Agatha x Reader fics. They give me a lot of joy through my last shitty weeks. I adore you

Second, I have an idea/request so Dark Agatha, who for Reader is just her friendly neighbor, but Agatha has been keeping an eye on Reader since Reader arrived in the neighborhood. One night while Reader was returning from a party and decides to walk home in the middle of the night, Agatha drives her car ‘casually at the same time’ and offers to take Reader at home. Of course, Reader accepts… what could happen?

Dark + jealousy + possessiveness + obsession + dub-con

No pressure. Take your time 

I really glad you like them! Writing them gets me through my shitty days too.

Warnings: +18 MDNI, dub-con, alcohol consumption, fingering

Quite footsteps filled the silent night as you cautiously walked down the sidewalk. The humid air causing your skin to become sticky with sweat. The low rumble of a car engine grew louder as it drove closer. You tensed up hearing the slight squeak of the brakes.

“Dear?” a soft saccharine voice called from behind you. Upon seeing Ms. Harkness peeking her head out her window, you breathed sigh of relief, relaxing. “It’s late. What’s are doing walking about?”

Ms. Harkness has been an angel ever since you moved into the neighborhood. She was always a shoulder to lean on whenever you need it. Never judging, always listening. The most wonderful neighbor you could ask for. Heavy disappointment washed over you for letting her see you this way.

You tried your hardest not to slur your words in front of her, but failed. Even if your words worked you probably looked a mess carrying your shoes, walking without them. “I’..m just walking… home,” You point in the direction of your home.

A deep frown etched in her features as she exited her car, nearing you, “How much have you had to drink?”

“A few..” you trailed off struggling to remember. Cups, glasses, a few shots. There was so much alcohol flowing throughout the night, it was hard to keep track in your addled mind.

“Hun, you’re too drunk to be out here alone. Let’s get you home.” She wrapped her arms around your shoulders, guiding you to the passenger side of her car. Climbing back in her seat Agatha set the air conditioning towards you, making sure you’re comfortable before driving off.

Pulling into the driveway Agatha swiftly came around helping you out of the car. Eyeing the flowerbeds under the windows of the house you realized this wasn’t your house. “This is your house, Ms. Harkness.” You stated, confused.

“Yes, dear. It will be easier for me to take care of you here tonight.” She rubbed your back soothingly as she guided you to the front door, “Besides, how would your family react if you came home in this state?”

She’s right. Your parents- your father, really, would berate you endlessly if you came home this wasted.

Guiding you upstairs she kept a steady hand on your back, patient as you took your time up each step. “I’ll wash your clothes and bring you a fresh pair, honey,” Agatha assured, placing you on her bed. Agatha scurried over to her dresser, bringing back a light hoodie and shorts. Agatha disappeared into the connecting bathroom, you took that time to change. Pulling on the hoodie the soft material on the inside felt like velvet again your skin.

Falling back against the bed you listened to Agatha get closer, collect your clothing, then walk out the room. Hearing her footsteps gradually grow and stop next to you, you have her a bit of insight of tonight, “I thought she liked me, that we had a connection. Only to see her dragging the quarterback upstairs.”

She audibly sighs tucking her arms underneath you, adjusting your body back against the pillows, “See, honey. This is what happens when you mess with girls like that.” She runs her thumb over your eyebrows, smoothing them down.

She hated to watch you fall for girls that lacked any substance. Anger in her eyes every time she saw you with someone who would ultimately break your heart. Agatha always told herself that you needed stable woman, one that can give you structure and support. You needed her. “Perhaps you need to slow down from finding a relationship.”

“Mmm…” The plush bed felt like a cloud underneath you, the faint scent of Agatha’s hoodie comforted you further, “Your bed is so comfortable, Ms. Harkness.”

“I’m sorry about tonight, sweetie.” Agatha pressed herself at your back. She gave you a kiss ghosting the back of your neck, her fingers playing with your sides. The patterns she drew lulled you into a light sleep, not noticing Agatha’s hand had dipped lower. Not until your hips jerked, her digits landing on your clit. Agatha’s serene voice soothed you, “Feels good?”

“…yes..” your body moved on it’s own, seeking Agatha’s touch once more. Her hand went lower, palm now rubbing against your bud. The coil in your lower stomach began to tighten, as Agatha ran her fingertips through the arousal that started to leak from you. Agatha peppered kisses wherever she could reach, sinking two digits into your quivering hole.

The alcohol in your system made you very sensitive, burying your face to stifle your moans. Each trust and rub on your core sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“Not yet,” A groan fell from your lips as Agatha halted her movements, removing her fingers from you, “I want to start the new year off right. Hearing your pretty moans at the stroke of midnight.”

You both laid there for a minute before Agatha plunged two fingers back into your pussy, setting a merciless pace. Using her other hand to hold you still by your hair to prevent you from hiding. Agatha shoved one of her legs between yours using it to spread you open, giving her a deeper access to your needy cunt. Guttural moans ripped from your throat when Agatha curled her fingers in tandem with her thrusts, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot.

Your whimpers and moans were music to Agatha’s ears. Hot juices coated her fingers creating the squelch that emits around the room. “I know you’re close. Come for me, babygirl.”

“Ah- Agatha!” you cried, shaking in her arms. The coils snapped, shockwaves of intense pleasure reverberated throughout your entire body, reaching every inch of you. Agatha held you tightly fucking you through your orgasm, until you were limp from exhaustion.

“Mine.” Agatha claimed, sucking a deep purple mark on the crook of your neck as you were dragged into a heavy slumber.

[wildeoscars]

Excerpts from 20 Questions: Eric Bogosian

Playboy, July 1991

The raging monologist who gave us “talk radio” raps about street life, horny guys and the redemptive joys of gardening.

Playboy: Your characters plead, cajole, threaten, offer skewed insights, and exhibit paranoia. Is your stage act a cry for help?

Bogosian: I need to solve my own personal problems. I know nowhere to look other than to myself, so I look at my own questionable traits. And then I personify them in a character. Early in my career, I spent a lot of time on things that had to do with sex, because I wanted to have better relationships with women. FunHouse was about pure, unadulterated fear, because at that point, I was just freaked out. My wife, Joann, and I were impoverished; we lived in this tiny apartment. Drinking in America, written when I became more successful, was about a hunger for power and success. Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll asks, How do you live when all you know how to do is party?

Playboy: You honed your performance style in New York’s downtown art scene. Was it easier and cheaper than enrolling in drama school?

Bogosian: The downtown scene allowed me to walk out on stage every night and say and do whatever I wanted. I would go out and insult the shit out of the audience. There were nights when I took all my clothes off. I had fights with the audience. The best thing about the scene was that we were making our work and having a good time entertaining one another. I would perform in front of audiences that were guaranteed smart and hip. They didn’t care whether or not I was doing something right, like some acting teacher had taught me. They would tell me whether or not they got it. I was performing loud, nasty, insulting stuff.

Playboy: Does The Stud, your monolog about one man’s extraordinary endowment, reflect your own desire for a larger penis?

Bogosian: I was taking a pee one day and I looked down and wished I had an eight-inch dick. You’re going to quote me on that. Don’t quote me on that. It’s part of men’s fascination with themselves. I wanted to take something out of the back room of male mentality and stick it right out in front of everybody. The Stud is one of my oldest pieces. Doing things about giant dicks is not that far out at the moment. There are probably twenty comics out there doing dick things. But when I started ten years ago, it was extremely embarrassing for men in the audience; they’d sit there with their hands folded over their crotches, not laughing, and the women would be laughing their guts out and the men would be getting angry. I thought it was great stuff going on between people in the theater.

Playboy: Horny guys populate your monologs. Do you claim special knowledge of America’s testosterone level?

Bogosian: I’m very average in what I want. And my desires point me towards centerfold models as the ultimate, the ultimate, the ultimate. The ultimate accomplishment in my sexual life would be to ball a centerfold model. For a pretty girl with large breasts to be the object of delight to millions of red-blooded American men is perfectly normal. Nothing wrong with that. Guys get horny and need to focus on something. Large breasts are great. A large breast is a lovely thing at a particular moment. But as I become old and wise, I think the really important thing is being oriented towards something and understanding that you don’t necessarily have to have the thing to enjoy the thing. I happen to be in love with a woman who has medium-sized breasts.

Playboy: You are synonymous with the downtown New York scene. Do you dream crossover dreams?

Bogosian: At this time, I don’t think I’m going to show up as some kind of box office attraction. But you never know. I’d like to be a star. There’s always the challenge, especially when you’re surrounded by agents and producers, to see if you can really catch the gold ring. Can I fill Madison Square Garden? Can I go on Johnny and do a killer five minutes? I can’t imagine getting on Letterman, people would watch and say they knew what I was doing: This guy plays thugs from New Jersey and subway panhandlers. They wouldn’t see the irony; it would be like I’m just making cruel fun on these guys. I need an audience to be with me for a little while.

Playboy: You’ve bought a house in New Jersey. Will crab grass begin to crop up in your monologs?

Bogosian: It has already. I did a monolog called Normal Guy. I like gardening a lot. Gardening gets me real mellow. I grow twenty-five kinds of vegetables, and when I’m lucky, like last summer, a lot of things come up very nicely. I grow lettuce and beets and carrots and different varieties of cucumbers. I grow different varieties of corn and tomatoes and squash and pumpkins and peppers and okra and all kinds of neat stuff. And early in August, you get to a point where everything you’re eating that night at dinner was grown in your own garden. That’s nice. However, when you garden, you find out that in order to get your vegetables to look good, you have to kill everything within a hundred yards: animals, plants, and little insects. And you realize that after you do all that, you still end up with this gnarled little carrot. Then you go to the supermarket and you get this perfect carrot and you wonder, What are they killing to make these?

Playboy: One of your characters defines being civilized as sitting on a couch with a babe, watching TV, eating clam dip on a ripple potato chip, smoking joints, snorting coke–and swilling bourbon, beer and champagne. What’s your vision of the civilized life?

Bogosian: In New Jersey, we have a fireplace and we’re very, very civilized. I’m sitting on the couch and the fire is going and snow is falling outside and I’m reading a pulp novel by Stephen King. Being over thirty-five, there’s no question that there is a vibe in me that’s moving toward a Stratolounger with a bowl of potato chips and a cable TV with a channel selector. I will fight that tooth and nail. It scares me. I like middle-class life. I don’t think it’s a sin to be middle class. I don’t have to be mainstream to be comfortable. I’ve spent time with Frank Zappa, and he has a very normal, middle-class existence. He’s a daddy and has a whole family and they have pizza for lunch and they have pets and it’s a very normal life. But he’s not mainstream and never will be.

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate Chapter 23

Warnings: None

Two long stressful weeks had gone by and they still had not heard from the council. Two long weeks of complete utter distress for the wolves. Waiting around for an answer was nerve-wracking for them. None of them had any energy to focus or be happy. Minho had tried to push for an outcome but his friends told him they could not push anymore as the investigation went on. There were certain things they could not rush if they wanted to get it right, but if Minho or Jeongin had any more evidence that would help, the council would need it. This led to Minho having to bring Y/N to meet the council to give her statement on Ateez and her treatment. It was an uncomfortable conversation that needed to happen but the council were brutal as they probed for different invasive facts. She had to go through it twice on the same day with two separate council members. Y/N knew it was necessary but it was still traumatic for her. Even Hyunjin had to give an account on the same day. Still, all of these events happened two weeks ago and no outcome was made. It was upsetting even for Chan who spent countless nights going through different werewolf lore books, search engines, and paperwork to find a way of taking him down.

As the days went on the more uncertain the wolves felt. Changbin hadn't even gone to the gym for a week in fear that something would happen if he wasn't there. Minho didn't have the energy to cook properly and the wolves didn't have the energy to eat either. Jeongin also wasn't himself either. He too spent nights awake as he went through Y/N's notes trying to find another way if all else fails. He was getting highly stressed but he didn't want to keep asking Y/N questions in case she became worried, but it was too late. Y/N already knew. Y/N could feel it deep in the bottom of her stomach as she hugged her pillow, sniffing to herself in her bedroom all alone. Y/N knew they were not going to win. They were smarter and they were always ten steps ahead. Ateez knew everything about Chan, whether it was true or false they could make it true. Y/N hated this. Y/N needed to know the reality of it and the only one who was going to tell her was Hyunjin. He lived there with her and before her. He could provide a much better insight.

Y/N sighed and wiped her tears before heading to Hyunjin's room. She knew it was the middle of the night but she wanted to speak to him. She needed to so she made her way to his bedroom to knock on his door, but he had already opened it to allow her to walk into his room. He was sitting on his bed cross-legged waiting for her to come to him. "Come here little wolf. It's alright." Hyunjin called, beckoning her to sit on his bed so she did. She sat on his bed and fell into his arms crying. She didn't know why but she felt safe and familiar with him. She felt at home with him, despite her lack of memories, she felt loved. "I'm sorry," Y/N muttered as she wiped her tears, taking notice of his room. It was so modest but artistic. It didn't match their home at all. His room was a luxury contemporary room. Simple, yet it was him. "Hyunjin," Y/N whispered as she sat up, looking at the red-haired wolf. "What does Hongjoong have on Chan." "His uncle, his brother that died, his destruction of packs for an omega. He has a lot." Hyunjin whispered as he wiped her tears gently. He hated seeing her cry and it wasn't because she was an ugly crier, it was the fact she cried when she felt helpless. "It's not going to work is it?" Y/N whimpered. "I don't think so. In hindsight they're both as bad as each other, neither were nice to people at the beginning. Morally Chan is better. He cares about his wolves but his previous actions do not show that. Hongjoong only cares for power and doesn't care about his wolves, only Seonghwa. He loves Seonghwa." Hyunjin admitted as he stroked her hair lovingly. "What do we do? We have to win somehow!" Y/N stressed as she held his hand, playing with his veiny long fingers that wore a certain ring on his finger. "Did I give you this?" Y/N asked as she looked into his brown muddy eyes. "Hmm, you did." Hyunjin hummed as he brought his hands up to her face, brushing his thumb over his cheek. "We need to be patient. There is still time but we won't win with the council that is a fact, but we need to disarm them." "We remove the fucking circle," Y/N growled her eyes glowing blue. "Still a challenge. We would need a witch and that goes against Chan's morals. He likes to keep the peace between them. There might be a way to use his own weapon against him without using a witch but that means meddling with dark aura." Hyunjin explained causing Y/N to huff as she rested her head against his chest, breathing in his scent. This appeared to be more complicated than she thought. Hyunjin softly stroked her back, kissing her head gently before he leaned his head against hers, holding her close to him. Hyunjin was scared of letting her go, he hadn't held her in over four years and he wasn't prepared for her to leave him. Y/N lifted her head up presenting him with a small smile before she kissed him. It was an innocent kiss. One that was needed. It held so much love and care. It was a perfect kiss. "I should go check on Chan," Y/N murmured. "Yeah. You should." Hyunjin whispered as he kissed her once more before she headed to Chan who was still staring at his computer.

Chan had become fixated on protecting his pack with Jeongin. What Y/N hadn't expected was for Jeongin and Minho to be in Chan's office with a pile of books. "What is going on? Why are you all awake?" It was more of a rhetorical question but she still wanted an answer. "Channie, what has happened," Y/N asked as she pulled his hands away from his head so she could sit on his lap. Y/N pressed her forehead against his before she connected their lips. Chan kissed her back before he held her hands worriedly. "I'm sorry baby." Chan apologised, "I'm sorry because I might have to do something you're not going to like and I need you to be okay with it. I need you to know it's because I love you and there might not be another way." "What is going on?" Y/N asked, getting up slowly as she looked at the two wolves on the sofa. "Minho? Jeongin?" "The council find Chan more guilty than Hongjoong. Chan had broke several laws because he raided four werewolf packs and attacked several omegas. Who didn't die, but were harmed. Not only that Chan has two werewolves who have been cursed with dark aura." Minho spoke, his voice cold as he stared at the empty glass. "So?" Y/N asked. "If we continue this case. The council will disarm us and destroy us. Chan could be banished." Jeongin explained coldly. "Hyunjin is our liability that poses a problem. Apparently, he coerced you and brainwashed you into completing a ritual against Hongjoong, so in the eye of the council you are more in danger here than with Ateez." "That's bullshit." Y/N shoured. "Y/N." Minho warned, silencing her. "Y/N. Come here." Chan called but she wouldn't move. "Next week I am going to meet with a friend of mine of how we can take Ateez down or at least remove them. If it comes down to it, I might need to take Hongjoong out. I need you to be okay with that." "Why don't you ask Hyunjin to help you? He knows more. So do I. We don't need any more people involved." Y/N stressed. "Y/N." Minho warned again causing her to glare at him. "Be careful of your tone. We're doing our best so listen to Chan." "You don't even trust Hyunjin to help. You're keeping it from him." Y/N snarled. "Y/N!" "Fuck off, Minho, your not even an alpha," Y/N shouted. "Y/N." Chan shouted, hitting the table, and making her jump slightly. "Do not speak to him like that. He is your beta. He is an elder and knows much more than you. You are only an omega. No your place." Y/N stood there and scoffed. Only an omega, huh? That's low. She couldn't believe he said that. "Only an omega." Y/N laughed, "I know more about Hongjoong than you, but go ahead. Fuck it all up. He will KILL YOU!" Y/N left the room, slamming the door before walking into Chan's room to throw his paperwork all over the floor before stomping on it. Fucking idiots.

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