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mountainsandmayhem · 7 hours ago

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BDSMaid - Epilogue

AN: You can blame Mexico and Onyx Storm for my delay on this one. But for those who are curious, here is our sweet little epilogue for Joel and Freckles. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, shared, and encouraged me while writing this story. I love you, and so does Joel and Freckles. XO

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Five Years Later

“You wanna come,” he practically taunts, “Don’t you, sweet girl?”

Every muscle in your body is weak, causing the leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross to rub at your wrists and ankles. He’s been teasing you for hours, stopping every time you’re about to shatter.

This night has been a long while in the making. After five years with your firm you were finally given the lead on a big case; a case that your boss handed to you and said this was your chance to earn your partnership. You spent upwards of eighty to ninety hours a week preparing and Joel could not have been more perfect during that time. He’d often show up with food or coffee for you and your team of junior lawyers, interns, and paralegals. He never complained when you’d bring work home; however, every time you said something negative about yourself, Joel would mark it on the fridge. Over the three and a half weeks of prep work thirty ticks ended up on the small piece of paper that was hung with a Berkeley magnet. You didn’t have time to ask Joel what they meant, and truthfully, you didn’t really care; you trusted that whatever he planned to do with those ticks was for your own good.

During the trial, another twelve ticks were added. When the verdict was announced and you had won your case, Joel was there in the courtroom, smiling warmly at you when you glanced back at him. When you got home that evening, after a celebratory round or two of cocktails, Joel made you kneel in front of him as he explained that each tick, all forty two of them, symbolized a denied orgasm, a punishment meant to remind you not to talk bad about things that Joel owns. Especially brilliant lawyers who win their first big case and secure themselves as partner.

As he strapped you to the padded X shaped piece of furniture tonight, he said, ‘if you’re the sweet girl I know you to be, then you won’t whine when I stop. Instead, you’ll say “Thank you, Mister Miller” and I’ll count that as two. Forty two orgasms being denied is not going to be easy, so do yourself a favour and don’t whine; you don’t want to know what happens if you do.’

The only response to his teasing that you can muster now is a whimper and a nod. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Use your words, honey.”

Your voice is almost silent. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He walks behind you, trailing the small vibrator along your skin. “Such a good girl for me tonight. Saying yes to everything. Remind me, how many orgasms have I denied you so far?”

Your pussy throbs with the deep timber of his voice, this is truly torture and your safeword is on the tip of your tongue. “Twenty one,” you mumble.

“Poor, sweet girl,” He says from behind you, leaning in closely to whisper in your ear. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You swallow the dry lump in your throat.

“Should I let you pick how you want to come?”

He completes his circle around you and the crossing, stepping in close to you. He uses the little vibrator to gently tease your nipples. You can barely form a thought and just let a small ‘yes’ mixed with moans leave your lips as your sweat covered back arches off the padded back of the cross. The heat of Joel’s body this close makes you feel like you’re on fire.

“Want to come on my fingers?” He asks, then easily slips three of them inside of you. Your gaze shoots to his as a strangled cry fills the room.

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, please.” You feel your pussy tightening around his digits.

“What about my cock? You love being stuffed full of my thick cock while I strum your clit. Don’t you? My perfect little slut.” He teases you further by pumping his fingers forward once, revelling in the feel of you clenching tighter around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues.

“No, I know,” his fingers slip out from your pussy and you gasp, unable to protest in your weakened state. Not that you would protest; you know better than to do that, and he told you not to whine tonight. You are a good girl, you know that what your dom says is best. Plus, you need to come so badly that you think you might actually die if you don’t, and Joel is just sadistic enough to keep you like this for days.

He gets onto his knees, his warm breath hitting your cunt as he speaks. “What if I put my lips around this swollen little clit? Huh? Suck her into my mouth and drink up every ounce of your cum?”

He uses his thumbs to pull the lips of your pussy further apart. He’s so close that your breath catches in your throat at the promise of relief. He blows cool air along your soaked pussy; you clench your molars together and focus on your breathing. You don’t come until he tells you.

“Would you like that, my sweet girl?”

The restraints cut at your wrists when you try to push your hips to his mouth. “Yes. Yes. Please, Mister Miller.”

He stands abruptly, hand wrapping around the hair at the nape of your neck before he tugs to bring your gaze up to his. The pull of your hair relaxes the muscles of your neck and upper back and you melt into the padded cross.

His eyes darken as he asks, “You really would say yes to anything, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes. I just need to come. Please.” He releases your hair, stepping back and crossing his arms. The veins on his forearms pop, the sleeves of his rolled black dress shirt tightening under his biceps. Since officially retiring, he’s had a strict exercise regime. He was sexy when you met him almost ten years ago, but like a fine wine, he gets better with each passing year.

The gravel in his voice returns, “But you’d say yes even if I told you we were done for the night and it was time to get dressed. Right?”

Your eyes clench close, head falling back as the panic of not getting to come tonight races through your mind. You take a calming breath before whispering, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

“Eyes on me, sweet girl.” You peel your eyes open and tilt your chin down to look at him. His hands are now buried in his pockets, and there’s a shift in how he’s looking at you, a slight softness to his dark eyes.

“And what if I asked you to marry me?” His voice is shy and raspy.

He slowly pulls a ring out of his pocket and holds it up for you. A thin, gold band with a single, albeit very large, solitaire diamond on it sends sparkles all around the room. Tears line your lash line, mirroring his. He clears his throat softly.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweet girl. Listen carefully for me,” he pockets the ring and steps closely, wiping the happy tear that rolls down your cheek. The rough whorls on his thumb send goosebumps cascading down your body. “First, I’m going to make you come. Then, I’m going to untie you, get you all cleaned up, and get some sugar into you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch as cups your face. His eyes dart towards the bed as he says, “After that, we are getting to that bed so I can kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”

“And then,” he smiles sweetly, a tear rolling from the corner of his deep brown and honey flecked eye to his greying beard. “And then I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

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maretinelli · 1 day ago

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A NON-SEPARATION²

DadLewis Hamilton X Mom!fem!reader

Summary: When Lewis and the girls return from their trip, and things with Y/n start to improve. And then, he confesses something that was on his mind during the days they were apart.

Words: 5.8K+

Warnings: Mentions of the past fight, Lewis being a loving husband, Pietra being very funny, Marie's cuteness and a happy ending.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. You can request stories on my profile, in questions. By the way, I loved writing for these four, if you want, I can make a parallel world and write more stories about this family!!!!! (Comment if you want, so I know)

Part 1

MASTERLIST

The weekend passed more quickly than Y/n expected. With Anne in town, she had a chance to take her mind off things, even though the silence in the house still bothered her. They went out to lunch, watched movies, and talked about everything but Lewis—at least until the last day, when Y/n finally admitted that she missed him. Anne wasn’t surprised, but she didn’t press her either.

Meanwhile, Lewis and the girls had an emotional weekend. The race was intense, and the girls cheered in the Ferrari garage alongside grandma Carmen, cheering for their father.

Pietra, always spontaneous, made a point of shouting "Go, daddy!" right in the middle of the post-race interview, making the journalists laugh. Marie, more reserved, just covered her face with her hands, pretending she didn't know her sister.

Now it was Tuesday, and Y/n had already returned to her routine—or at least she tried to. She was on vacation from the office, Anne had already left, and the big house was silent again. Too silent.

She had never spent so much time away from her daughters, and every corner of the house felt empty without them. Roscoe was her only company, but not even the dog could fill the void left by Marie and Pietra. And, of course, by Lewis.

Y/n sighed, sitting on the couch, fiddling with her phone without really paying attention. But suddenly, a loud horn echoed through the condominium, and she practically jumped off the couch, running to the door. Roscoe ran after her, knowing exactly who had arrived.

Opening the door, Y/n saw the two girls getting out of the car, their faces lit up with huge smiles.

Marie wore the denim jacket she had asked her mother to pack, paired with her black pants and white sneakers. Always stylish and authentic. Pietra, on the other hand, well, she looked different. Very different.

The sparkly dress was expected. But braids in her hair?

Yes. The same braids Lewis wore.

Y/n's eyes widened, holding back a laugh as Pietra and Marie ran to hug her. She bent down, wrapping her arms around her daughters, feeling their familiar scent.

"I missed you guys so much" She murmured, closing her eyes.

"We miss you too, Mommy!" Marie replied, squeezing her tighter.

In the middle of the hug, Y/n looked up and found Lewis. He was leaning against the car, watching the scene with a smile. And God, how handsome he was. How handsome he IS.

His eyes lit up when he saw his wife looking at him like that, and he smiled even wider when she whispered a brief "Hi."

Lewis returned the greeting with a loving look, but then Y/n looked at Pietra's braids again. She arched an eyebrow and pointed at her youngest daughter's hair, exchanging an amused look with Lewis.

He just laughed and gestured with his hand, signaling that he would explain later.

Marie pulled out of the hug and looked at her sister. "Grandma took Pietra to the salon and she wanted to do the same as daddy."

"Exactly the same!" Pietra said excitedly, bending down to pet Roscoe.

Y/n smiled, running her fingers through Marie's straight hair. "And you, my love? You look beautiful in that jacket." Marie smiled shyly and pulled her mother into another hug.

Y/n melted. Since the girls were born, it was like this: Marie was her shadow, and Pietra was her father's copy. Even though physically the two had inherited more of Lewis's features, their personalities balanced everything out.

Suddenly, Pietra looked up at her mother, excited. "Daddy bought you flowers, Mommy!"

Lewis rolled his eyes near the car, while Yin looked at her daughter and then at him, holding back a laugh.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes! And they're red flowers and they have a pretty bow and..."

"PIETRA!" Marie and Lewis said together. The girl's tone was one of authority, her father's was one of amusement.

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head. "That little girl needs to learn how to keep secrets."

Y/n laughed, standing up, but still keeping one hand in Marie's hair. Pietra, oblivious to the small chaos she caused, ran with Roscoe into the house.

Marie looked up at her mother. "I'll go in too."

Y/n kissed the top of her head. "It's okay, love."

As Marie entered, Y/n looked at her eldest daughter and then, Lewis finally approached. He was holding a beautiful bouquet of red roses. Y/n's favorites.

He handed it to her, his gaze soft. "I know a bouquet can't fix everything...but I want you to remember that I still love you very much."

Y/n's heart sank. She held the flowers tenderly, inhaling their scent and blinking back a few tears. "Thank you, Lew. They're beautiful." There was a brief silence between the two, just the soft wind blowing through the garden. "Do you want to come in and talk about it?"

He hesitated for a moment, as if choosing the right words. His gaze softened, and the way he held his car keys indicated he was more nervous than he wanted to show.

"I don't want to talk about this here, with the girls around," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I want to do this right, without rushing, without distractions. I want to take you out to dinner, like before. So we can have some time alone."

There was something vulnerable in his expression, a mixture of guilt and a sincere desire to make amends for whatever harm he had caused. As much as they had both said hurtful words, he clearly carried the weight of it in a deeper way.

Y/n felt her chest warm, gripping the bouquet tighter. Lewis had never been good with words when it came to deep feelings, but she knew that when he tried like that, it was because it really meant something.

He didn't just want to settle the fight. He wanted to reaffirm that, despite everything, the love between them was still unshakable.

Y/n took a deep breath and nodded, her voice as soft as his. "I'd also rather we not talk about this in front of the girls."

Lewis nodded silently, and Y/n stepped aside, making room in the doorway for him to enter.

But he smiled and shook his head. "Actually, I just came to drop off the girls and the bags. My dad is in town with Linda, we planned to meet up."

Y/n smiled slightly, knowing that Lewis didn't see his father that often and that those moments were important.

However, he sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck, suddenly looking uneasy. "But I promised that nothing would be more important than you. That I would pay more attention to you and the girls." He began to stumble over his words nervously. "If you want, I'll cancel. It's no problem, really. I-"

Y/n's eyes widened, smiling at his sudden rambling. She gently reached up and touched Lewis's face, calming him down. "Lew, it's okay," She said, looking deep into his eyes. "Your father and Linda are your family too. They deserve priority sometimes."

Lewis blinked, absorbing her words, before letting out a small sigh of relief. A grateful smile appeared on his face.

"Thank you, love."

The nickname came out so natural and full of affection that Y/n felt her heart beat faster.

It was as if he were truly giving himself over, breaking the distance that had formed between them over the past few days. The way he called her, with the softness and vulnerability that touched her so much, made her feel reconnected to him, as if everything that had happened up until that moment was something temporary, a storm that would soon pass.

Before they could say anything else, Pietra shouted something inside, making them both laugh.

Y/n laughed and shook her head, calling out, "Marie, help your sister with whatever she's asking for, please!"

Lewis smiled and went to the car to get the girls' bags, placing them in the entrance hall. When he returned, he approached his wife and placed a light kiss on her cheek.

“You’re free tomorrow night” He said, a twinkle in his eye. “I already have some restaurant ideas for us.”

Y/n smiled. "I'll stay."

Lewis gave one last smile before leaving, and Y/n closed the door, now surrounded by the sound of her daughters' cute laughter echoing through the house. But even so, she felt like something was still missing. And she knew exactly what it was.

Holding the bouquet, she walked to the kitchen to put the flowers in water. The girls followed her, excited.

She smiled at the two of them, leaning slightly over the counter. "Now, girls... tell us all the cool things you did on your trip!"

••••••••••••••••••••••••

The day dawned softly, with the first rays of sunlight crossing the bedroom curtains. The house, previously silent, was filled with lively laughter and small, hurried footsteps down the hallway.

Marie and Pietra, full of energy, ran to their mother's room and, without hesitation, jumped on the bed. Roscoe, excited by the excitement, climbed right behind, wagging his tail and settling down next to Y/n.

The daughters' laughter mixed with the dog's low, happy barks, while Y/n, still sleepy, received the girls' excited hugs. She felt the warmth and love in the contact, enjoying that moment of purity before finally promising to get up.

At the mention of breakfast, the girls rushed down the hallway, eagerly leaving the room in an instant. As Y/n turned to get out of bed, her gaze fell on the empty side of the mattress. Still empty.

She knew what she wanted. And no matter what conversation they would have later, one thing was certain: she wanted Lewis back there. With her. With her daughters.

And before she could get out of bed, her cell phone beeped and a message from her husband appeared.

'Linda and my dad are excited to see the girls. They want to hang out with them tonight, and that's a good thing because we have plans later too. I'll pick you up at 7pm. Love you, babe!'

Night fell quickly and the house was silent, except for the distant sound of water running in the girls' bathroom. In the bedroom, Y/n looked at the clothing options spread out on the armchair: an elegant long dress and a more casual combination consisting of a black satin shirt, jeans and heels.

She ran her fingers through the fabric of his shirt, a soft smile playing on her lips. She felt as if she were preparing for a first date. Her heart was pounding with anticipation, something she hadn’t felt in a while. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the first time she had gone out with Lewis, all those years ago. She remembered the way he had looked at her that night, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Before she could react, a voice came from behind her. “Satin shirt and heels, Mommy.”

Y/n turned around and found Marie standing in the doorway, wrapped in a fluffy robe, with a towel too big for her head. The sight made Y/n laugh softly. Marie looked so small in the midst of so much fabric.

The girl shrugged, a shy smile on her lips. "You look beautiful in both, but I like it better when you wear a shirt. It makes you look... powerful."

Y/n let out a laugh and walked over to Marie, placing a loving hand on her shoulder. Her chest hurt a little from seeing her first baby girl grow up so fast.

"Thank you for the compliment, little one. Then I'll choose that one." She led her daughter out of the room and toward the girls' room. "Now it's your turn, Marie. Choose something just as powerful." Marie laughed and nodded, following her mother.

In the girls' room, Pietra was already wearing her going out clothes and Y/n just needed to help her put on her shoes, since she had her braids done.

As she tied her shoelaces, Y/n couldn't help but smile. The braids were still flawless, and she made a mental note to ask Lewis whose idea it had been in the first place.

She always made sure to respect her daughters’ personalities, helping them get ready with care and patience. As she adjusted Pietra’s clothes and fixed Marie’s hair, she felt grateful for those simple but loving moments.

Suddenly, the sound of a horn echoed outside. Marie and Pietra looked at each other and then looked at their mother.

"Daddy can't come yet!" Pietra exclaimed, starting to leave the room. "Mommy hasn't gotten ready yet!"

Y/n and Marie exchanged an amused look before laughing together. "It's Grandpa and Grandma Linda," Y/n said loudly, so that Pietra could hear her.

Marie smiled and left the room with her mother, she went downstairs excitedly too, happy to see Grandpa and Grandma Linda. When Y/n got to the door, Pietra was already anxious, jumping up and down.

"Open up, Mommy! Open up, Mommy!"

On the other side of the door, she heard the familiar laughter, they probably heard P's excited screams. As soon as she opened it, Pietra let out an excited little scream and threw herself into her grandfather and grandmother's arms.

Linda and Anthony laughed, hugging the little girl.

"You were really excited to see us, huh?" Linda joked.

Y/n laughs. "When Lew said you guys were coming to get them she wouldn't stop talking about you guys!"

Anthony and Linda give Y/n a warm smile as they hug their youngest granddaughter.

Marie soon joined in the group hug. "Miss you, Grandpa and Grandma Linda!"

"I miss you too, little one." Linda hugs her eldest and Anthony strokes his eldest granddaughter's straight hair.

Y/n smiled as she saw the scene.

Linda stepped back a little, studying Pietra and smiling. "I love the braids."

The little girl smiled proudly. "Right? Just like daddy's!" Everyone laughed.

Anthony then bent down and asked, "So, are you guys excited to go out?" The girls smiled and nodded excitedly.

Y/n bent down to their level, fixing Marie's hair and caressing Pietra's cheek, while giving some instructions to her daughters. "Behave yourselves and have fun, okay?"

Linda smiled. "They always behave, don't they, girls?"

They both nodded with shy smiles.

Anthony smiled and they walked towards the car, while Y/n watched the scene with a sweet smile on her face. Linda helps Marie and Pietra put on their seatbelts. Lewis's father waves to Y/n as he starts the car.

Y/n smiles friendly and when they leave the condominium, she closes the door behind her and runs to the stairs, climbing quickly, as now it was her turn to get ready.

When he arrived at his room, he stopped for a moment, looking at the clothes he had laid out earlier. The long dress was still there, but her eyes returned to the black satin shirt and jeans, already deciding what to wear. Marie was right—there was something powerful about that combination, something that made her feel confident and beautiful.

Calmly, Y/n took off the comfortable clothes she was wearing and put on the shirt, feeling the soft fabric slide over her skin. She continued to change her clothes and think about what awaited her tonight.

Y/n went to the large vanity she had and began to put on some light makeup, but something that matched the night and the outfit she was wearing.

As she finished applying mascara to her eyes, her cell phone beeped next to the products on the table, when she picked up the device and smiled when she saw Lewis's name on the screen, along with a message.

'Honey, coming in 10 minutes. Can't wait to see you.'

Her heart warmed, and the smile on her lips became even bigger, feeling a good shiver at the thought that, in a few minutes, she would be with her husband.

And exactly ten minutes later, when she finished arranging her hair in loose waves, a horn echoed outside her house. Y/n smiles and stands up, grabbing her bag and walking down the stairs excitedly, because Lewis had arrived.

When she opened it, she found Lewis standing a few feet from the door and a smile from someone who knew exactly the effect he was having on her. He wore an elegant formal outfit, but what caught her attention most were his loose braids, giving him a charming and relaxed look.

Y/n raised an eyebrow and smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Look at you... You look handsome, huh? Are you going out with someone special today?" She closed the door behind her and approached her husband.

Lewis chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "Only with the love of my life and mother of our children." The touch was brief, but full of affection. "You look beautiful in that outfit!" He grabbed his wife's hand and twirled around. Making Y/n laugh and her heels make a satisfying click as she twirled around.

"Your eldest daughter chose the outfit" He said, shaking the shirt slightly, with an amused look.

Lewis smiled even wider, his eyes shining. "Marie has good taste." He leaned close to her ear. "But honestly? You'd look beautiful in anything. Even without."

Y/n laughed, feeling completely melted and hit by Lewis's teasing comment. He noticed and smiled. Satisfied that he had that effect on her for so many years.

Arriving near the car, Lewis opens the passenger door for Y/n and she gets in, smiling in gratitude and resting her bag on her lap, as she watches her husband walk around the Ferrari they had and get in on the driver's side.

Automatically placing one hand on Y/n's thigh, while with the other he put on his seatbelt and started the car.

The night was calm and illuminated by the silver lights of the streetlights and the luxurious facades of the buildings. The city glowed with a sophisticated charm, reflecting in the city's lakes.

Y/n, leaning comfortably on the bench, looked away at her husband and smiled. "Okay, now tell me... Whose idea was it for P's braids?"

Lewis laughed, shaking his head as he remembered the scene in the paddock. "Oh, that's a good story! I don't know if the girls told you," he began, still laughing. "While I was in the pit, Charles came out of nowhere saying that I had a "mini-me" walking around the paddock with my mother. I didn't understand until I looked to the side and saw Pietra with a Ferrari cap, sunglasses and her hair tied back, with defined curls." Y/n laughed out loud, already imagining the scene. "And it doesn't stop there! Pietra looked at me and said: "Daddy, I need to have braids like yours! So everyone knows that I'm your real daughter!"

Y/n covered her mouth, trying to contain her laughter. "Oh my God, Pietra!"

"And of course my mother was thrilled and the next day took her to get her braids done. You should have seen her happiness when she came back to the paddock showing off her hair."

"And what was Marie's reaction?" Y/n asked, amused. As she looked at her husband, with the tattoos of the girls' names tattooed on his neck, made on the day they were born.

"Ah, Marie rolled her eyes and said, "You don't need to have braids to look like Daddy, everyone already knows you look just like him!" Lewis imitated his eldest daughter's intonation, drawing more laughter from Y/n.

"Our daughter has an old soul, Lew!"

He chuckled, nodding. "I know, she talks like she's had 40 years of life experience." Lewis looks at his wife with amusement.

As the laughter faded, Y/n leaned over to fiddle with the car's dashboard, putting on some low music that matched the lightness of the moment.

Her eyes wandered around the brightly lit city, and suddenly she recognized the road. Her lips parted in surprise, and she turned her gaze to Lewis, who was driving with a smirk on the corner of her eye, clearly expecting this reaction.

"Lew..." Y/n began, suspicious. He just kept driving, keeping the suspense.

When they finally approached the restaurant, Y/n's eyes widened and she turned completely to him. "The restaurant where we first met!"

Lewis parked and looked at her with a warm glow in his eyes. "If you're going to work things out, let's go back a little bit." The comforting answer made Y/n's heart warm.

Lewis gently cupped her face and placed a kiss on her cheek before getting out of the car and walking around to open the door for his wife.

"Always the gentleman, Sir Hamilton." Y/n joked as she left.

"For you? Always."

He handed the keys to the valet and took Y/n's hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. The feeling of home, of belonging, of everything returning to its rightful place, took over Y/n.

As soon as they entered, Lewis approached the front desk. "I have a reservation for tonight. In the name of Lewis Hamilton and Y/n Hamilton."

The receptionist checked the list and smiled, nodding. "Of course, Mr. Hamilton. This way, please."

They followed the man through the restaurant, which had a welcoming yet elegant ambiance. The space combined warm wood tones with modern touches of glass and soft lighting. The tables were arranged to provide couples with some privacy, without losing the vibrant atmosphere of the place.

The receptionist led them to an outdoor area, a secluded balcony, where a few tables were set up. The lighting was perfect: fairy lights entwined in the trees around the large lake, which reflected the soft glow of the city. The setting was magical and captivating.

"I hope you enjoy the atmosphere. The waiter will be here to serve you soon." The receptionist said politely before walking away.

Lewis pulled out a chair for Y/n, who sat across from him. Seconds later, the waiter arrived with menus and a bottle of wine, serving them both before leaving.

"Thank you!" Lewis smiles gently.

When they were alone, a comfortable silence hung in the air, until, at the same time, they both opened their mouths to speak.

"I'm sorry!" They stopped and looked at each other, surprised that they had spoken at the same time, and then laughed.

"I guess that means we feel the same way." Y/n smiled, holding the wine glass.

"I guess so." Lewis agreed, leaning his elbows on the table and looking at her fondly.

Y/n lightly swirled the wine glass between her fingers, watching the red liquid move. She took a deep breath before looking up at Lewis.

"I'm... I'm so sorry it got to this point. Spending days apart and putting the girls through it too." Her voice was soft, but full of sincerity. "I hate fighting with you, I hate when things get like this between us." Lewis didn't answer right away, just watched her, allowing her to continue. "I didn't mean to turn our conversation into an argument. I just... I was just tired and frustrated, work was taking its toll on me and I ended up taking it out on you. It wasn't fair."

Lewis sighed, running his hand over his face before finally answering.

"I'm sorry too, love." Her voice sounded full of regret. "When you asked me to leave home... that was a shock. But thinking back now, I understand." Y/n he fell silent, allowing him to continue. “You were right.” He let out a weak, humorless laugh. “I was spending too much time in Maranello. I was so focused on work, on the team, on training… that I didn’t even realize what I was leaving behind.”

He looked away for a moment, staring at the reflection of the light on the wine glasses on the table.

"Three weeks away from you made me realize how much I was wrong. How much I was missing. I only really realized this when Pietra called me crying because I wasn't home to tell her the story before bed."

Y/n felt her chest tighten. She remembered that night. Pietra had clung to her, sobbing softly and asking if Daddy still liked them.

"Lewis..."

He shook his head, his eyes shining with restrained emotion.

"It destroyed me. Knowing that my daughter thought I didn't like her because I wasn't there. And it wasn't just her... Marie too. I realized how distant I was, how much I was letting you carry everything on your own."

Y/n took a deep breath, squeezing the glass a little between her fingers. "But you were also right..." She admitted, her voice lower. "I also buried myself in work. I was frustrated because I felt like you were distant, but the truth is, sometimes I was too."

Lewis reached across the table, waiting for her to take it. "I don't want this anymore, Y/n. I don't want to fight with you anymore, or put our daughters through this. I want to be a present father, I want to be a better husband."

Y/n's eyes filled with tears, but she smiled, holding his hand tightly. "I want to be a better mother and wife too."

Lewis squeezed her fingers between his, as if afraid that if he let go, everything would fall apart again. "Shall we fix this together?"

Y/n nodded, her heart pounding. "Sure. Of course." She smiled.

Lewis smiled, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on her fingers.

"I love you, Y/n."

"I love you, Lewis"

In that moment, they knew they were on the right path to finding each other again, to rebuilding what they had almost lost. Because, at the end of the day, they were still a team. They always had been.

"Now, let's enjoy our evening." Lewis smiled and looked at the menu. "So, do you want the same order as the first time?"

Y/n laughs at the memory and shakes her head. "No! You know, I didn't know you were allergic to shrimp and you had to spend two days with me in the hospital. And we were only on our first date, how embarrassing." She puts her hand over her face.

Lewis laughs out loud. "But that was a reminder, wasn't it? That no matter what, I'd be by your side."

Y/n smiles lovingly. "It was, and I love it."

Dinner was lighthearted, the weight of the argument that had kept them apart for weeks seemed to have been lifted, giving way to smiles and natural conversations. They talked about past moments, laughed at old stories and shared knowing glances, as if they had rediscovered the comfort of each other's company.

Between a glass of wine and another, they also discussed ways to better balance their routine so that the family could spend more time together. It was a sincere dialogue, without demands, just with the mutual desire to do better.

As they left the restaurant, Lewis linked his fingers with Y/n's, walking with her to where the car was parked. The valet handed over the keys, and Lewis nodded in thanks before opening the car door for his wife.

"I had an idea on how we can spend more time together, especially with the girls." He says as he walks in too.

Y/n turned her face to him, curious. "Oh yeah? What did you think?"

"Well... I realized that I need to organize my schedule better so that I don't spend so much time away from home. So, I want to reduce the number of days in Maranello and make up for that time by being here more. Also, I thought about taking Pietra and Marie to see the Ferrari factory. They always ask what it's like there, and I think it would be an incredible experience for them."

"They'll love it. They'll want to touch everything and ask every detail about the cars." Y/n smiled at the idea. "Marie especially, she loves taking part in the races"

Lewis laughed.

"Yes, I'm already preparing to answer a thousand questions about engines and front wings. He starts driving around the city.

Y/n leaned her head back against the bench, thoughtful. "I can also adjust my office routine better so I can spend more time at home. We can arrange a few days to do something just the four of us."

Lewis nodded, satisfied. "That sounds perfect."

They talked a little more about the details of the plan, and when the topic came to an end, Lewis asked, "Do you want to go anywhere else before we go home?"

Y/n smiled and shook her head. "No, we're too old to stay out all night."

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. "Speak for yourself. I could hold out for a few more hours."

"Oh, sure, Lew. As if. Another half hour and you'd be asleep in the middle of the conversation."

He laughed and, without arguing, turned around and headed home.

The journey was peaceful and surrounded by a pleasant atmosphere, the feeling between them was light, filled with genuine joy, as if the storm of the last few weeks had finally dissipated.

When they arrived home, Lewis parked the car in the garage and got out, accompanying Y/n to the door. Even on the short journey, he kept one of his hands on her waist, a natural and instinctive gesture.

"Anne brought some great wine back from France when she traveled. I saved it for us to open together. Would you like to try it?"

"Sure" Lewis replied, following his wife into the kitchen.

Before they could do anything, Roscoe came running up to Lewis, barking and wagging his tail excitedly.

"Hey, buddy" Lewis smiled, bending down to pet the dog, who soon settled down next to him.

"He missed you too, you know? You're the oldest son in the house, Roscoe."

"Good to know at least he wasn't mad at me." Lewis laughed.

As Y/n opened the wine, Lewis approached from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder. She smiled, enjoying that affection, and handed him a glass before turning around, facing her husband.

It was then that she realized he was deep in thought. His expression changed subtly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"What it was?"

"There's something I've been thinking about since our fight..." Y/n waited, curious, until he finally revealed: "I want to retire from racing."

Y/n's world seemed to stop for a second. "WHAT?!" She exclaimed, looking at him in surprise. And almost dropping the glass she was holding.

Lewis remained calm and repeated: "I want to retire."

Y/n blinked, processing that, and stepped back a little, starting to pace around the kitchen. "Lewis, you can't do this!" Her voice came out fast, almost nervous. "You're only in your second season with Ferrari! You can still win so many titles! And, my God, I never wanted you to give up on your dream because of a silly fight we had. We've worked this out! You can't give up on your dreams!"

Her words came out in a rush, her mind wandering, and she felt her eyes fill with tears.

Lewis smiled and walked closer to her, cupping her face gently. "Y/n, I'm not letting go of a dream," he said softly. "Because everything I've ever dreamed of is right here, right in front of me."

Her eyes filled even more, and a tear fell silently.

"But..." She whispered, not knowing exactly what to say. Without the strength to argue any further, she let herself be wrapped in Lewis's arms, resting her head on his shoulder. "You've always dreamed of this..." Her voice was muffled against his chest.

Lewis stroked her hair and smiled against the side of her head. "My dream has always been to have a family. To have you guys. Racing has been a big part of my life, but it's not my whole life. I want to be here for every moment of the girls, for every phase of our life together. That...that's what really matters to me."

Y/n closed her eyes, absorbing those words, feeling herself overcome by an intense wave of emotion.

"Do you really want this?"

"I do. With all my heart." She pulled back a little, looking into his eyes, and Lewis smiled, touching her face tenderly. "I love you" he said softly.

Y/n smiled, still with tears in her eyes, and shook her head. "I love you too, Lewis."

Lewis slid his fingers down Y/n's face before finally sealing his lips on hers. The kiss was slow, full of feelings, as if it sealed everything they had just said. Their lips moved in perfect sync, and a small smile formed in the middle of the kiss, as if they were celebrating that moment. It was a kiss of love, of understanding, of silent promises.

Suddenly, a horn honked loudly from outside, breaking the moment. Y/n smiled against Lewis's lips and pulled away, chuckling softly.

"The girls are here" she said, giving him one last peck before walking away completely. "I'll go get them."

Lewis smiled, watching her rush towards the door. As soon as she opened it, the girls practically threw themselves into her arms, laughing and hugging their mother tightly.

"Mommy!" Pietra exclaimed excitedly, while Marie held tightly onto Y/n's waist.

Y/n laughed and bent down, planting kisses on them before saying in a mysterious voice, "I think there's something waiting for you in the kitchen."

Pietra's eyes widened, always the most excited, and suddenly screamed: "OH MY GOD, IS THERE STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM?"

She ran into the house with her sister, running towards the kitchen without even confirming if what she said was true. Linda, Anthony and Y/n burst out laughing, infected by the girl's naive excitement.

"Thank you for keeping them" Y/n said, smiling at them.

"Imagine, dear" Linda replied. "We are the ones who appreciate you spending time with our granddaughters."

Y/n smiles. "We can arrange dinner here tomorrow. Are you up for it?"

"Sure!" Linda says smiling.

"We'd love it!"

"Great then" Y/n smiles. With that, they say their goodbyes, exchanging hugs before Linda and Anthony leave.

Y/n closed the door and began walking to the kitchen, hearing the mix of her daughters' and Lewis' voices echoing through the room. The sound filled her chest with a cozy warmth, and an involuntary smile appeared on her face.

When he entered the kitchen, he saw a scene that made his heart warm even more: Marie was on Lewis' lap, along with Pietra, while the two laughed and chatted excitedly.

Suddenly, Marie turned to Y/n with a bright smile and asked, "Did Daddy come home?"

Y/n looked at Lewis, who was already watching her with a tender smile. Her heart clenched with love.

"Yes, my dear. Daddy's back!" She said softly.

The girls squealed excitedly and wrapped their father in a tight hug, making Lewis laugh. He then looked at Y/n and extended one of his arms to her.

"Come here, love"

Y/n smiled and walked over to them, joining the family's embrace. Between laughter, kisses and hugs, she knew, in that moment, that they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

Author: So, my initial idea was to have the ending with Y/n saying she was pregnant with her third child, but I didn't know if you guys would like it, so I changed it to the idea of Lewis retiring. I don't know, which one would you like more? (By the way, whoever read the introduction above, could you answer the question I left? About continuing with a parallel universe of this family?)

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #one shot #marriage #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #female reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x y/n #dad and daughter #mom and dad

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hockeyspiral23 · 2 days ago

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OKAY.

Went and saw Rebecca Yarros speak at the Paramount Theater in Denver. First of all, thanks to the Paramount, the Tattered Cover, RY herself, and the Fantasy Fangirls Podcast for a great afternoon.

I didn't take video, but I did take notes. There were some vague-ish Onyx Storm spoilers with it being the last stop on the tour, so all notes will be below the cut!

What did she love the most about writing Violet in OS? - she's more confident in this book and more determined in what she has to do - they can't silence her.

Hints of Colonel Aetos's signet? - no, and no song that represents it/him, either.

Any other second signets to share? - no

Any signets we haven't seen yet? - No ... she's not going to steal our theorizing fun. Obviously there are signets we haven't seen yet because Violet hasn't seen them yet.

Question about interpersonal drama between the First Six besides just Lyra and Warrick disagreeing? - will not mention ... possibly because we *may* get more about that at another point.

Why did JFB know so much about feathertails? (basically, was he venin prior/did someone fill him in about it?) - everything JFB mentioned was a known fact about feathertails and was not let in on some vast venin conspiracy before crossing the parapet.

Signets show up when they do because nature wants its balance - which is why we're getting all the powerful signets again.

Is there magic elsewhere? (*wink wink*)(this is referencing the Isles without referencing the Isles)

Can she share Ridoc and Aotrom's Threshing story? - She actually IS considering a bonus scene about this but it's also a lot of "hey" "hey" "hey" "hey" and "did we just become best friends?" between them.

Most satisfying kill of the first two books? - Varrish.

Can she confirm a character BESIDES JESINIA who is safe in the series? - She will not confirm ... except for Broccoli. Broccoli is safe (won't kill pets).

Is there a specific epigraph to pay attention to? - All of them. But speaking of epigraphs ... they may not always directly tie into their respective chapter, but they do have some sort of connection somehow.

Was asked to comment on any of the Zihnal gifts specifically ... and chose not to.

About that new family member/brother ... what might she wish us to pay attention to? - Who is missing; someone who thinks is not enough (... basically, who has a reason to reach for power?).

Insight on how Kaori's records are so incorrect? - Remember, it's the riders that give the name of the dragon for the records. So ... do we trust that people are giving the correct names? Are the dragons?

She's not entirely discounting crazy grandma (Riorson, presumably) ideas ...

Aaric's signet did not manifest in IF.

In terms of percentage of full capacity, what is Violet's second signet at? - 10% (because she has no idea how to train it and there's one person alive that can train her); Xaden's probably at 50% with his; Violet's probably at 85% with her first signet (which yes, is pure power just in the form of lightning).

It is NOT the first time that venin have infiltrated the Basgiath scribes ... but Nasya? Is just narcoleptic (so it's not him).

No comment about seeing a venin scribe on the page prior to OS.

What Taylor Swift song would best describe Violet at the beginning of book four? - Look What You Made Me Do

Can she expand on the song she chose for Bodhi? - He's raised to be in Xaden's shadow; he's the spare.

What prompted her to write Broccoli? - She wanted to scare the crap out of us and then haha just kidding ... and also because it's so much fun to write because of where they are and what it symbolizes.

What does she think it is about the Empyrean world that appeals to everyone? - She wishes she knew ... but said possibly the inclusivity, the dragons, the hot men ...

What would Taylor Swift's signet be? - "I do not tell the queen her business." (... might not be direct direct quote, but close enough)

Tell us about the ring and how long it had been in existence. - We see the stone on the blade at a time and then we don't ...

Who is her favorite god/goddess and why? - Malek because you meet him and you're done; everyone fears him.

What about Onyx Storm makes it her favorite? - Her feet are firmly planted in the world and she loves to go places and do things and she had fun with the politics in the places (read: Isles) and has known the ending since FW and loved working toward it and just had fun. IF was a rough, rough time and writing Variation got her back on track and she just genuinely enjoyed writing OS.

If Ridoc had modern technology, what would be the first thing he would do? - You know that boy downloads Tinder ... doesn't wait for WiFi or anything ... also first photo on the app is of him and the Quest Squad or a selfie with Aotrom (that only has like one of Aotrom's eyes in it).

Speaking of Quest Squad ... describe the patch? - Might see it later! (but probably a map)

There was a question about which of her contemporaries she'd recommend and it depended on if you wanted to cry or not (if you do: Last Letter/Things We Leave Unfinished; if you don't: Variation, In the Likely Event).

Is there a character she was writing and knew they'd be a fan favorite and were or thought they would be and weren't? - Knew Ridoc would; didn't necessarily answer the other half, but reiterated that she had no idea that Broccoli would be an instant fan favorite (and was a late night/early am idea that she kept).

What has been her favorite part of the tour? - Right now because of being on stage at the Paramount, in a venue where she's seen so many shows. And the people who bring their service dogs with the service dragon vests.

MIL was gifted FW; advice for when she gets to the spicy and doesn't know that (audience member) reads them? - Run the other direction ... and then hand her Haunting Adeline so then it'll look tame.

Who does she think is the most underrated character? - Sawyer; also expanding on his relationship with Silseag, Sawyer is worried he's dishonoring him because of needing potential accommodations (like Violet), but Silseag's just waiting for him to come around.

Regarding where she came up with the analogy for the chilled pond/ice for mental health: - Her kids play hockey and she always wonders what's beneath the ice - we can swim through our emotions or glide right over them.

What are her desert island books? - East of Eden (Steinbeck) is her favorite; I missed one series but I did hear the Children of Blood and Bone (iirc) ... but basically she's like can I cheat and bring my kindle?

How has writing her books changed her life? - Still has to take her head up to look around ... but the core of her life - family - hasn't changed; the rest of the world around that core just spins a lot faster and there's a lot more people now to watch her succeed or watch her fail.

Thanks to Broccoli ... what pets exist in the world? - We've already known that domesticated animals exist, so it does open it up to pets, but it's not like they're going to be running around Basgiath.

A character she loves to hate: - She doesn't hate anybody, because everybody has a reason for what they're doing. Except Varrish; she hated Varrish because he was a two dimensional character (read: straight evil).

Advice for a spouse going through her first deployment? - it sucks; everyone does it differently; find a way to escape to keep the spiraling thoughts from coming (she read, personally).

Favorite Onyx Storm vibes playlist song? - Agreed with the audience member's mention of Halsey's Nightmare ... and also thinks that the end of book three is optimistic.

If she could tell readers to reread one specific scene for hidden meaning ... - The last 100 pages.

Can she expand on what it means to be dedicated? - I'm pretty sure she alluded to us getting a bit more info about this in book four, but it's basically that you're given in service to a god.

Did she use parts of Colorado Springs for inspiration for the Gauntlet and Parapet? - Not necessarily those specifically, but CO does play into inspiration for geography, particularly with the mountains (and Aretia).

Weather report for the Continent? - Southern gets warmer (closer to the equator), weather patterns with the mountain ranges, there's more magic in areas of more geologic change (tectonic plates).

Sooo there's mention of pirates and kraken and y'know, Heaton breathes underwater ... - She hasn't written books four and five, but she might use or might not use things she mentions in the series ...

What else can we do to support her as an author? - Read other people's books (and be patient).

Her son asked which is her favorite child (or which son is her favorite and why is it him - it wasn't entirely clear) ... to which she said that it's like she always says - whichever kid is sleeping.

About the TV series: the lines we love are there, a lot of the dialogue is there, it's in good hands with Moira and that she knows what's important (has talked to readers) and is capturing the essence ... and to stop sending Theo James her way for Xaden because he's 40 and white.

Any specific IF Xaden POV scenes she'd love to write? - She would love to write the time in between when Xaden learns Vi is captured and he rescues her (... but it sounds like given secrets boy, we probably won't actually get it).

Final bomb: First three songs on the book four playlist are (all TS): Down Bad, But Daddy I Love Him, I Can Fix Him

... and more Xaden POVs in book four depend on what he's doing.

#onyx storm book tour #onyx storm #onyx storm spoilers #rebecca yarros

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phoenixqueenwrites · 17 hours ago

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Please please, as a fanfic writer who pours so much time an effort into her works, please comment. We spend weeks, months, sometimes even YEARS writing these with no expectation or recourse, only the vague hope that someone, somewhere wants to read what we've added to their favorite stories. Any yes, we could write our own fiction and turn it loose in the world too. Some of us even intend to do just that. That does not negate the works we do out of pure love and dedication for a Fandom we adore.

Most of us LOVE to engage. We LOVE to hear what people have noticed or what people take from our works because we've spent so much time thinking about them, they in some ways consumed a part of our soul. We want to hear from you. Please talk to us. Please comment. We will finished stories for ourselves, but it's so much more fun to finish them for you.

Fun Story to Share.

I got my (now 18-year-old) daughter into Ao3 back in 2021. I taught her she should always comment - even if the fic looks old or abandoned or whatever. She did.

Well - she got this email this morning:

The fic was written in 2014 and essentially abandoned.

Bethy read and reviewed in 2021 (and was actually the only person who had commented at all).

Today in 2025 - the final chapter was posted by the author and this was her reply to Bethy’s comment.

———

Never question whether a fic is too old to comment on.

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babybeeelle · 1 day ago

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Hiii, long time no see. I was writing a different story, but I wasn't satisfied in the direction it was going so this just spouted from my brain. This was based off a request, but I'm dramatic so I amplified it :)

Summary - When Agatha's grief causes her to lash out at the reader, she hurts them deeply.

Warnings - Agatha needs therapy, mention of self-harm scars, near-death experiences, and detailed? suicide attempt.

Word count : 4400+

a/n - Very important Warnings. The is a very detailed fic. Please please please read them and make a safe decision to continue reading💖

What's Said and Done

You didn't intend for your reminiscing of Nicky to trigger Agatha the way it did. You had hoped that maybe the decades upon decades spent grieving together created a safe space to talk about the short, but treasured time you all had with Nicky. You craved to fill the hole his death left with the precious memories that had filled your heart with joy. You wanted that for Agatha. You wanted to mend the corrupted memory of him. He deserved to be cherished.

It was obvious now Agatha couldn't. You knew that unadulterated grief that was entangled into her loving soul very well. You thought her forgiving Rio, inviting her back into her heart after two centuries, meant that she was in a stage of grief where she would want to talk about him.

You had so many memories of Nicky etched into your heart, moments that glowed like a lighthouse in the violent weather of grief.

The day he first came into your lives, his tiny hands were gripping tightly to your fingers as Agatha held him, and his wide, curious eyes darted around the unfamiliar space in the bedroom of the little cottage you shared.

Rio had been cautious at first. Viewing his birth from the door frame, knowing she was going to be the one who would lead him to the afterlife before he could truly live.

Yes, she created him, but she also knew the possible complications of creating a precious life unnaturally. But when Agatha looked at her, tears brimming in her eyes as she nodded her head, she could see Agatha was thankful for giving her the time he deserved. To Rio, the pain would be worth it.

Anyone could tell Nicholas was made from Rio. The resemblance was uncanny as he grew older. His facial structure mirrored hers perfectly, from his sharp jawline to the delicate angles of his cheekbones. His eyes a warm chocolate, filled with mischief, were identical to hers. Even down to the smile lines that shined so brightly with his perfect smile. He truly was a mirror image.

There were the little everyday moments that had became everything.

Rio kneeling in the backyard, dirt smudged on her cheek as she pressed her hands to the soil, coaxing life from the earth. Nicky crouched beside her, his tiny fingers buried in the dirt, eyes wide with awe as delicate petals bloomed before him. Every time a new bloom appeared, he’d clap his hands and turn to Agatha with Rio's smile.

Then there were the nights Agatha loved most. She would sit on the edge of his bed, her hands glowing with a soft purple light as galaxies lit across his bedroom ceiling. Stars twinkled, planets drifted in slow, mesmerizing orbits, casting his room in a cosmic glow. Nicky’s small hands would reach up, tracing constellations only he could see, his laughter light and full of wonder.

It was all the things Agatha didn't want to remember.

Her shoulders stiffened while she was putting away laundry. “Why?” Agatha asked finally, her voice low and clipped.

You frowned, caught off guard by her tone. Feeling the sudden change in energy, you began to rub your scarred arm, a self-soothing habit you picked up when you began to feel on edge. “Why what?”

“Why do you have to bring him up?” she said, halting the chores. She turned to face you as you stood beside her. Her eyes were trained on yours, unwilling to break eye contact. “Do you think that helps? Reliving every little memory like it’s going to bring him back?”

The words stung, but you took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “I don’t bring him up to hurt you, Agatha. I just... I miss him. I thought maybe we could talk about the good times, try to focus on—”

“On what?” Agatha snapped, her voice rising. “On how he was never ours to keep him? How we couldn't heal him? On how everything we tried wasn’t enough?” She slammed her hand on the dresser in agitation causing you to jump, eyes-widened as your breath was caught in your throat from surprise. “Because that’s all I see when I think of him.”

Your heart clenched as you watched her unravel, the grief in her voice morphing into anger. “It wasn’t your fault, Agatha,” you said quietly reaching out for her hand. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head as she avoided your touch, crossing her arms defensively. “Of course you’d say that. You always have to be the understanding one, don’t you? Always so composed, so...forgiving”

Her words hit like a slap, but she was being unfair. “You’re not the only one who lost him, Agatha. I lost him too. And Rio—”

“Don’t,” Agatha interrupted, her voice cutting through the room. “Don’t you dare bring her into this.”

The tension between you thickened as your shared grief and unresolved pain collided.

“Why not?” you challenged, ready to defend. “She loved him too. We all did. And maybe it’s hard for you to see, but she’s been trying, Agatha. She’s been trying to make things right with you.”

Agatha's lips curling into a bitter smile. “Trying?” she repeated mockingly. “Trying to what? Pretend like everything’s fine? Pretend like she didn’t—”

“Like she didn’t what?” you demanded as you cut her off, beginning to believe she had never truly forgiven Rio. “Say it, Agatha. Whatever it is you’ve been holding in, just say it.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her body trembling with fury. “Like she didn't take him from us. He’s gone, and all you can do is sit there and talk about him like that’s going to fix anything.”

You stared at her, a silent conformation of your theory. "It wasn't her fault and you know it. He was our boy too," you whispered in defeat. You weren't sure if she had even heard you. But her response showed you she did.

"It wasn't her fault?"

But before you could respond, she delivered the blow that shattered your soul.

“He was never your son,” she said, her voice sharp as she looked at you like you were nothing to her. “Not you. Not Rio's. He was my son. I'm the only one that did anything and everything to keep him alive, and here you are defending Rio like you always do,” she spat out with a sneering expression.

The words hit you hard. You felt physically sick. Your breathing was shallow like Agatha's words were constricting your lungs.

“No,” You protested, your voice breaking. Your eyebrows scrunched as your eyes shone with tears, searching Agatha’s face, desperate for any sign that the woman you loved hadn’t truly meant those words. “You don’t mean that."

Agatha’s expression hardened leveling down to look you straight in the eyes. “I mean it from the bottom of my heart,” she seethed, annunciating every word. “God, I can’t even look at you. It's pathetic. You have no right to be crying right now.” Pushing past you, she walked to the door like your very presence disgusted her.

You staggered back a step, clutching the edge of the dresser to steady yourself. Your tears fell freely now.

“Where are you going?” You asked, your voice thick from crying, inadvertently pleading for her to stay.

“Anywhere but here,” Agatha bit without looking back.

With that, she stormed out, her footsteps echoing down the stairs. The back door slammed shut moments later, leaving the house in a suffocating silence.

Letting the dam crumble, you clasped your chest, trying to ease the ache that felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.

Your legs seemed to move on their own, carrying you to the bathroom in a haze.

As you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the reflection staring back at you felt foreign, like someone you barely recognized. You searched your own face for something, anything, that might explain why you weren’t enough. Why Agatha couldn’t bear to look at you.

"How could anyone love you?" that dark, familiar voice in the back of your mind whispered. It had been gone for a while, but it has returned making its mission to demolish all the progress you've made.

You gripped the edge of the sink so tightly that your knuckles were turning white. Agatha's words echoed endlessly.

"He was never your son." "Not you. Not Rio. He was mine."

The venom in her voice, the disgust in her eyes—how could she say something like that? How could she not see how much you loved him, how you would've given everything if it meant saving him?

You couldn't wrap your head around it. She couldn't actually think that of you, right?

The intrusive thoughts came in waves, each one dragging you deeper into despair.

"She doesn’t want you anymore. She'd be better off without you. Rio too." You squeezed your eyes shut, as though it could stop the endless spiral.

The thought of Rio did it for you. Rio’s face flickered into your mind. Her eyes, usually filled with warmth, was devoid of any love for you. She's death, literally. She is a cosmic being, and you are so...ordinary. You didn't have a sharp, captivating aura like Agatha who demanded anyone and everyone's attention the second she walks into a room.

Your love wasn't worth all the pain. You weren't worth all the pain. You're a burden to them.

The weight of those thoughts pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. You needed both of them. There was already a piece of your heart missing, but Agatha and Rio kept your heart from crumbling. You wouldn't survive that pain again.

You glanced down at the sink, where droplets of water had leaked from the faucet. For a moment, you began to visualize your arm as the faucet, slowly leaking blood.

Your gaze shifted back to the mirror. The self-hatred hit you like a tidal wave. How could they love you? Agatha’s words weren’t just anger—they were confirmation of your deepest and darkest fears. That they didn't need you the way you needed them.

The familiar ache in your chest morphed into a dangerous mission. You opened the drawer beneath the sink, your trembling hands rummaging through its contents until they found what they were looking for. You hesitated for a moment, pausing as you were unsure if this is what you wanted. You had been so good, so happy. Then you remembered what your reality had shifted to.

It was a little purple jewelry box. It once held the ring on your finger from a day you'd never forget. A vow of a love that would be everlasting. But as you opened the box and found the blade hidden within, none of that mattered anymore.

Freeing it from the packaging, you noticed it still had the same sharpness from the last time you used it, and the glint made your stomach twist in anticipation.

The blade felt cool and familiar in your hand as you slowly sank into the cold, empty tub, the icy surface sending a chill down your spine. You hesitated again, gripping it tightly, the thoughts racing through your mind almost convincing you to stop. But one reason kept you convinced: you were doing this for them. This way, you could take the burden of yourself off their shoulders. You were doing them a favor.

With a shaky exhale, you glided the blade lightly across the center of your arm, testing the waters. The first cut was a shallow line that only allowed little bubbles of blood to come to the surface, but the sting grounded you nonetheless.

With more urgency, you pressed down harder, carving another line into your skin. Blood welled up, slowly making its way down your arm like a raindrop rolling down a window.

Taking a deep breath in, you moved the blade down to your wrist where you knew the blood would really flow. As you exhaled, face scrunched, you swiped quick and deep, finally getting to the point where you knew you did damage.

But it wasn’t enough. You craved balance, symmetry. You mirrored the cuts on your other arm, your movements growing more frantic, wanting you're relief to come faster. The tears flowed in rhythm with your blood, causing a hysterical laugh to escape from your throat.

Your vision swam as exhaustion began to set in, your body growing heavy. The pain that had once felt grounding now dulled, your consciousness blurred. It never really dawned on you who would be coming soon.

On cue, a familiar presence filled the room. The usual warmth was now an unwelcoming cold. Her usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by wide-eyed panic as she took in the scene before her.

“No, no, no, no,” Rio panicked, her voice raw and breaking as she kneeled beside the tub. Her hands were trembling as they hovered over your wounds.

“You can’t do this to me. I won't do it. I refuse to take you,” she cried out in anguish as tears streamed down her face, denying her duty as Death, denying the natural order.

Her hands glowed a faint green as she pressed her palms to your arms. A tingling warmth spread through the cuts, knitting the torn flesh back together. She murmured soft reassurances under her breath, though they were as much for herself as they were for you. Her power wasn’t meant for this, for preventing death, but she gave freely of herself, pouring every ounce of her strength into pulling you back from the edge. The strain showed in her creased forehead, but she fought against it because her heart depended on it.

When the bleeding finally stopped, Rio sagged back on her heels, her hands trembling as the adrenaline drained from her body. Her breath came in uneven gasps, her pulse pounding in her ears. She stared at you, her vision blurring with a mixture of relief and pain.

Carefully, as though you might shatter at the slightest touch, she reached out and gathered you into her arms. Your body was limp against her, your head lolling weakly onto her shoulder. She could feel the shallow rise and fall of your chest—too faint, too fragile—but you were breathing. That was enough.

She pressed a trembling kiss against your temple, her lips barely grazing your skin as she carried you from the bathroom. Each step was slow, deliberate, as though she feared moving too quickly would send you slipping away from her again.

By the time she laid you down on the bed, the world around you was a hazy blur, shifting in and out of focus. The weight beneath you felt unfamiliar—softer than the cold tub, warmer than the tile floor. A distant pressure tugged at your limbs, grounding you, but your thoughts drifted in a fog. Sounds came muffled, like you were underwater.

Rio’s voice, low and strained, broke through the haze. You couldn't make out the words, only the shape of them, the warmth in them. Then she was gone, footsteps fading, leaving you adrift in the silence.

A moment later, something soft slipped over your head. The scent of lavender and something faintly smoky curled into your nose, stirring something deep in your chest. A trembling breath left your lips, the familiarity of it pulling you back, dragging you closer to the surface of awareness.

Your lip quivered. A whimper—barely more than a breath—escaped before you even realized it. The sweater clung to your skin, warm and safe, and for the first time since your body hit the tile, the numbness began to crack.

“What is it?” Rio asked urgently, cupping your face with her hands, searching your face for any signs of pain or discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you whispered, still dazed, “She doesn’t want us anymore.”

Rio froze, her heart dropping at the words and the hopelessness in your voice.

She cupped your face, her thumbs brushing away the tears that continued to fall while she forced herself to stay calm, to steady her voice. “That’s not true,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “Agatha loves you. She loves us. She’s just... hurting.”

You shook your head weakly, your gaze unfocused, lost in the thick fog of exhaustion and heartbreak. "She said it. She said... he wasn't ours, only hers. She doesn't want us.” Your voice cracked, breaking on the last sentence. “She doesn’t want us.” Your words grew softer, fading into incoherent murmurs as exhaustion pulled you under.

Seeing you like this brought bile up. Your pain was making her physically nauseous. Rio’s arms wrapped around you tightly, as though sheer force alone could keep you from slipping away again. “She’s lost in her grief,” she said softly, resting her chin on top of your head. “She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t.”

But your eyes were already fluttering closed, exhaustion and despair pulling you into an empty, restless sleep. As your breathing evened out, Rio stayed by your side, her hand resting on yours.

For a long moment, she simply sat there, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

She wanted to believe Agatha hadn’t meant it, that the words had been spat out in grief and anger, not truth. But seeing you like this—weak, barely conscious, drowning in the pain Agatha had inflicted—made it impossible to excuse.

“She’s lost in her grief. She didn't mean it," Rio murmured again, this time to herself.

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The argument replayed in Agatha’s mind as she sat on the bench, viewing the garden Rio created centuries ago as the cool night air brushing against her skin. Her fingers pressed against her temple, rubbing slow, desperate circles as if she could knead away the headache forming beneath her skull.

She took a swig from the half-empty beer bottle, the taste flat and useless to distract her from the ache in her chest. Her words had been cruel, sharp-edged daggers thrown in anger. "He was never your son. Not you, not Rio. He was my son." The memory of your devastated expression was seared into her mind.

She’d meant it in the moment. Or at least, she’d convinced herself she did. Grief over Nicky had festered into something raw and ugly, and in her anguish, she had taken it out on you—the person who had only ever tried to love her through her faults. Your love was pure.

While Nicky had inherited little of your features, what you had given him was more personal than any resemblance. Your ability to love someone regardless of their past and all the terrible things they've done is one of a kind. Agatha was sure there was no one who could ever grace this world the way you did. That was what made you stronger than any power she or Rio could ever possess.

But that purity was suffocating. It was too much like his. It was like he had never left. And yet, he was gone.

That was the worst part. Every time she looked at you, at Rio, it was a reminder of what she had lost. Of what she could never get back.

It wasn’t fair that you and Rio were still here with her when he wasn’t. It wasn’t fair that you kept loving her, even after all the ways she pushed you away. It wasn’t fair that you could carry on, bearing his memory with softness, while she was drowning in the weight of it.

Maybe that was why she lashed out. Because she hated that you were proof love could survive grief. And she hated herself even more for resenting you for it.

But now, in the openness of the garden, regret gnawed at her, eating her alive. She wished she could take it back, wished she could go back in time to undo the pain she’d caused. She hated herself for how easily the words had slipped out, sharp and unforgiving. It was a defense second nature to her. It was as unstoppable as her magic siphoning. It relented before she could remember that the people she lashed out at were the ones she loved most.

The sound of the back door slamming and heavy footsteps jolted her from her thoughts.

Agatha shot to her feet, as she carelessly discarded the bottle she had been nursing. She turned sharply, her heart hammering against her ribs as Rio strode toward her. The guilt and sorrow clung to Agatha like a shadow, but Rio wasn’t here to acknowledge her pain. This wasn’t about her.

She didn’t speak at first, only stood before Agatha, her entire body trembling with a rage barely containable as she tried to formulate her words carefully. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, her fists curling so tightly at her sides that her knuckles went white.

Agatha froze. The half-empty bottle hung uselessly at her side, momentarily forgotten. Her gaze flickered toward Rio, taking in the rigid set of her shoulders, the barely restrained fury rolling off of her in waves. Then Agatha saw it—dark stains smeared across Rio’s hands, stark against her skin. The realization hit her like ice water.

Your blood.

Her stomach twisted violently. She felt the breath hitch in her throat as her gaze snapped back to Rio’s face. The rage was still there, burning bright, but beneath it—buried just deep enough to go unnoticed by anyone else—was fear.

“You know what you’ve caused?” Rio’s voice was low and deadly, trembling with restrained rage.

Agatha swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I—”

Rio cut Agatha off before she could try to explain. “Do you know what Y/N tried to do because of you?” The words were spit through clenched teeth, but her voice cracked on your name.

“What... what-” she stammered. Once again, getting cut off.

“She thought you didn’t want her anymore. That you didn’t want us anymore.” Rio’s composure shattered, her breath coming in ragged bursts. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to find the love of our lives bleeding out in that tub? Because of you? Because you let your grief fester into something that poisoned her?”

Rio’s hands trembled as she dragged them through her hair, her breath coming in sharp, angry heaves. Then, suddenly, as if overwhelmed by the weight of it all, she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and let out a harsh, shuddering breath.

Agatha couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Her vision swam, your face flashing in her mind—not the way she had last seen it, but the way it looked utterly lifeless

Tears welled in her eyes, her hands trembling as she clutched at the edge of the bench for support. “I... I didn’t know,” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.

Rio dropped her hands, her gaze snapping to Agatha with something close to disbelief. Then she laughed, humorless and bitter. “You didn’t know?” she echoed, voice raw. “How could you not know, Agatha? Don’t give me that pathetic reasoning, Agatha. You know her more than you know yourself. You know how deeply she feels everything. Love. Pain. And now she thinks you hate her.”

Agatha’s tears spilled over, her chest heaving with the weight of her guilt. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just... I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t know how to-.”

Rio’s expression softened for a fleeting moment, the raw pain in Agatha’s panic stirring something deep within her. But she quickly steeled herself, unwilling to let sympathy distract her from the truth.

"You need to fix this." Her words were quiet. Firm. And final.

Agatha blinked through the blur of tears. She hadn't felt this type of fear since Nicky.

“If you’ve ever loved her, if you’ve ever loved us, then you’ll make this right,” Rio said filled with tiredness and desperation. “Because if you don’t, you’ll lose us both.”

Agatha’s breath hitched.

Rio’s words hung in the air like a heavy, suffocating fog. Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode back inside, the door swinging shut behind her with a thud.

She had been so consumed by her own grief that she hadn’t realized she had become the very thing she had feared, the thing that had broken you.

Agatha stood there in stunned silence, her mind reeling. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed into the dirt of the garden, her fingers dug into the soil as though it could somehow anchor her to the ground. The weight of Rio’s words crashed over her like a tidal wave, and for the first time, the full gravity of her actions hit her.

Her guilt twisted like a knife in her gut. Her sobs were quiet at first, but soon they grew louder, wracking her body with the force of hardened grief. Her pain pulsed around her, a sickness that spread without forgiveness. Her gaze darted around, watching in anguish as the pink azaleas she had once tended with such care now wilting, their petals curling in on themselves as if recoiling from her presence. The energy emanating from her twisted the life around her, black veins creeping up the stems, the poison of her emotions seeping into the earth.

Just like she had seeped into you. It was a silent parallel of how she had poisoned you.

The thought made her sick.

She had always known that her anger and pain had pushed you and Rio away, but she hadn’t realized just how far it had gone until now. The fear that she might lose both you and Rio, it was too much to bear. And for the first time, the full weight of her actions hit her, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t know how to fix it, how to undo the damage she’d done. But she knew one thing for certain: if she didn’t try, she would lose you both. And that was a price she couldn’t afford to pay.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #rio x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agatha x rio #agathario #nicky scratch #nicholas scratch

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weekendlusting · 3 days ago

Text

A TALE OF FAME

pairing ꪆৎ charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au

chapter ꪆৎ 3

summary ꪆৎ she's everything, and he just drives.

note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.

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Charles Leclerc sat in his hotel suite, fingers drumming impatiently against the glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn’t even drinking it—just swirling the amber liquid in the dim light of his room, as if the motion itself could steady his thoughts.

Alex was late. Of course, she was. She had a way of dragging things out, prolonging the inevitable, believing that if she held on long enough, reality would bend to her will.

He heard the sharp knock at his door and exhaled slowly before getting up to open it. Alex stood there, all too put together—her blonde hair in effortless waves, her lips curved in a knowing smirk, like she already thought she’d won whatever game she was playing.

“Chéri,” she purred, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. “Miss me?”

Charles shut the door and ran a hand through his hair. “Sit down, Alex.”

She turned, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh? We’re being serious now?” She strolled over to the couch, sitting with the grace of someone who still thought they held all the cards.

Charles didn’t sit. He remained standing, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “I told you this was over.”

Alex let out a soft laugh, tilting her head as she crossed her legs. “And yet, you called me here. Mixed signals, don’t you think?”

“I called you here,” Charles said, voice measured, “because you don’t seem to get it. We are done, Alex. Finished.”

Her smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in her eyes. “Are we?” she said smoothly. “Because I keep hearing your name next to mine. The media still calls me your girlfriend. You haven’t exactly rushed to correct them.”

Charles clenched his fists. “I shouldn’t have to. We broke up. You just refuse to accept it.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “Or maybe you’re just confused. Maybe this—whatever this little tantrum is—will pass, and you’ll realize that I am the only woman who truly understands you.”

Charles let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tantrum? You think I’m throwing a tantrum? Alex, I am exhausted.”

Her smirk faltered slightly, but she masked it quickly. “Exhausted of what?”

“Of you!” His voice rose, exasperation lacing every word. “Of the mind games. Of the manipulation. Of the constant need to control everything, including me.” He pointed at her. “You think if you show up enough times, if you insert yourself into my life over and over, I’ll just—what? Change my mind?”

Alex’s eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t have to insert myself into your life if certain people weren’t trying to replace me.”

Charles exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And here we go.”

She stood, arms folding as she stepped closer to him. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Charles. That little actress you’ve been parading around—Ahaana.”

Charles’s eyes snapped to hers, his posture stiffening. “Ahaana has nothing to do with this.”

Alex scoffed. “Please. You think I don’t see the way you looked at her that day?” She stepped closer, voice dripping with venom. “She is nothing. She’s a novelty. A shiny new toy for you to play with. And once the excitement fades, you’ll realize what I’ve always known—you and I are inevitable.”

Charles’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “You are delusional, Alex. And actually fucking crazy if you think that Ahaana has anything to do with this.”

Her lips curled. “Am I?”

“Yes,” he snapped, stepping forward, closing the space between them. “I have never—never—been more certain about anything in my life. We are over. I am breaking up with you. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you.”

She inhaled sharply, but before she could speak, Charles continued.

“You want to know why? Because I see you now. For who you really are. You’re not the woman I fell for—you’re a version of her, twisted and bitter, clinging onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.” He exhaled harshly. “You’re right about one thing. I do look at Ahaana differently. Because she isn’t like you.”

Alex’s face twisted, her hands curling into fists. “She will never be me.”

“Thank God for that.”

The silence between them was thick, charged with something dangerously close to hatred. Charles had never wanted to hate Alex—had never even imagined he could—but looking at her now, seeing the pure, unfiltered malice in her eyes, he realized he might be close.

She straightened, lifting her chin. “You’ll regret this.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I won’t.”

She stared at him, something almost desperate flickering across her features, before she masked it with indifference. “Fine,” she said. “Have it your way.”

Charles said nothing. He just watched as she turned, her heels clicking against the floor as she stormed toward the door. But before she left, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“This isn’t over,” she said, voice eerily calm.

And then, she was gone.

Charles stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.

But then he exhaled, shaking his head, as if shedding the last remnants of whatever hold Alex had on him.

For the first time in a long time, he felt free.

Meanwhile not too far away,the hotel room was bathed in soft hues of twilight, the warm amber glow of the setting sun spilling through the sheer curtains. Ahaana sat curled up in a chair by the window, her phone resting idly on the armrest. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of a coffee mug, long gone cold. The day had been uneventful, yet her mind was anything but still. The ghosts of the past lingered in the shadows, whispering doubts, tugging at old wounds she had worked so hard to forget.

India.

Film city.

Even the thought of it sent a strange chill through her veins. It wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was the weight of something unfinished, something unresolved, lurking in the corners of her memory. The industry that had once been her playground had also turned its back on her when she had needed it the most. And yet, here she was, being offered a way back in.

What the fuck is happening? She sighed to herself, rubbing her temple.

The phone buzzed suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, expecting yet another half-hearted PR email or a message from her manager. But instead, a name lit up the display, and for the first time that day, she felt something shift inside her.

Varun Dhawan.

She hesitated for only a second before answering. “Hello?”

“Finally! Madam has answered my call.” His voice was light, teasing, filled with the familiar warmth that had always made her feel like home.

Ahaana huffed out a small laugh. “Hi, Varun.”

“Hi, she says. That’s all I get? After ignoring me for days?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“Really? Because Karan and I were starting to think you had developed some severe phone phobia. Should we be concerned?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me? Never.” His tone dropped slightly, losing some of its playful edge. “Ahaana, you know why I’m calling.”

Her smile faltered. Of course, she did.

“You and Karan are relentless,” she muttered, leaning back against the chair.

“Because we believe in you,” he countered immediately. “And because we know you still love this. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She exhaled slowly, staring out at the dimming sky. “It’s not that simple, Varun.”

“Yes, it is.” His voice softened. “You were born for this, Ahaana. And you know it. Whatever happened before—”

She stiffened slightly. “Let’s not talk about that.”

There was a pause, as if he was choosing his next words carefully. Then, he sighed. “Fine. But don’t let the past dictate your future. You’re not that person anymore.”

She wanted to believe that. She really did.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know. And we’re still your people, Ahaana.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She had spent so long pushing everything away, convincing herself that she didn’t need anyone, that she had forgotten what it felt like to have people who cared. People who wanted her back.

Then, before she could respond, another voice chimed in from the background. “Has she said yes yet?”

Karan Johar.

Ahaana let out a small laugh despite herself. “Karan, are you eavesdropping?”

“I don’t eavesdrop. I supervise.”

Varun snorted. “He’s been pacing for the past ten minutes, by the way. I think he might actually combust if you say no.”

Karan’s voice came through again, a touch more serious this time. “Darling, you’re a star. Stop dimming your own light.”

Ahaana stared at the city skyline, a myriad of thoughts swirling inside her. But for the first time in a long time, the hesitation didn’t feel quite as heavy. Maybe Varun was right. Maybe Karan was right. Maybe it was time to stop running.

She inhaled deeply, a quiet moment of clarity settling over her. Then, she spoke.

“Okay.”

A beat of silence. Then Varun whooped so loudly she had to pull the phone away from her ear. “YES! Ladies and gentlemen, she’s back!”

Karan’s relieved sigh came through the speaker. “Finally. I was this close to staging a full intervention.”

Ahaana laughed, shaking her head. “You two are impossible.”

“And you love us for it,” Varun quipped.

She did. More than she cared to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home.

The gang had game nights far too often then they'd like to admit, Max and Kelly were ofcourse there, Ahaana was there, Carlos and Rebecca joined, Lando somehow always inserted himself in even though everytime he cheated and got himself uninvited. Even Alex Albon and Lily joined them from time to time, but couldn't make it this time and Charles was with them for the first time ever.

The night was young, but the energy in the room felt like the start of a Grand Prix itself—fast, loud, and filled with the potential for absolute disaster. The gang had gathered in Max’s hotel suite for a game night, and true to form, it had already descended into chaos.

“I’m telling you, Lando cheats,” Ahaana declared, pointing an accusatory finger at him as he smirked from his spot on the couch. “There is no way you won that round fairly.”

Lando, lounging back with all the ease of someone who had just scammed his way into victory, dramatically placed a hand on his chest. “How dare you? I am an honest man.”

“Honest, my foot,” Kelly interjected, shaking her head. “Even Charles saw it, didn’t you?”

Charles, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, blinked. “Huh?”

“See? He wasn’t even paying attention,” Lando scoffed. “Probably too busy thinking about how free he is now that he’s finally dumped his psychotic ex.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Rebecca, who had been stacking poker chips, froze mid-motion. Max, who had been snickering at Lando’s misfortune, raised a brow. Ahaana, who had been preoccupied trying to figure out how Lando had managed to win five rounds in a row, looked up.

“You finally did it?” Carlos leaned forward, grinning. “You actually told Alex to get lost?”

Charles exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It was not exactly smooth.”

“Of course, it wasn’t,” Max said. “She’s like an overly attached leech.”

Kelly winced. “Oof. Harsh, but fair.”

“I don’t even want to know the details,” Lando said, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Actually, no. I do. Tell us. In detail.”

Charles groaned. “Why are you all like this?”

“Because this is the most entertainment we’ve had all season,” Rebecca quipped. “Now spill.”

Charles rolled his eyes, but he recounted the story of his final conversation with Alex. The room responded accordingly—with gasps, laughter, and a few muttered curses aimed at Alex’s name. When he finished, Ahaana just shook her head, unimpressed.

“She’s delusional,” she said simply. “Absolutely delusional.”

“I would’ve paid money to see her reaction when you told her it was over,” Max admitted, grinning.

Charles smirked. “It was… satisfying.”

“Okay, enough about the she-devil,” Lando said, stretching. “Let’s get back to the game before Ahaana starts accusing me of cheating again.”

“You do cheat,” she said without hesitation.

“I do not—”

“Lando, you have a history of cheating at literally every game we’ve ever played,” Max said, unimpressed.

“I prefer to think of it as strategic improvisation.”

“Strategic bullshit,” Rebecca muttered.

The next hour was filled with absolute mayhem. There was yelling. There was a near-brawl between Carlos and Lando over an Uno reverse card. At some point, Kelly got so frustrated she threw a playing card at Max’s head, which only made him laugh harder. Charles, for the most part, found himself entertained just watching it all unfold.

Ahaana, in particular, seemed to come alive in the chaos. Her laughter was light, effortless, and every time she rolled her eyes at Lando or tossed a witty remark at Max, Charles found himself watching her just a little too long.

“Alright, alright,” Ahaana said, throwing her hands up in surrender after another brutal loss. “I need a break before I throw Lando out the window.”

“Jokes on you,” Lando said. “I’d land gracefully.” To which Max snorted.

Ahaana got up and stretched, and that’s when she casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, I officially start shooting for Jigra in 17 days.”

The room went silent.

“What?” Max was the first to react, blinking.

“You’re actually going back?” Lando added.

Rebecca gasped. “Finally! You’re returning to the big screen!”

Ahaana smiled, a little softer this time. “Yeah. It’s time.”

There was a beat of silence before Max, ever the older brother figure, crossed his arms. “Are you sure?”

She looked at him, understanding the weight behind his question. “I am.”

Max studied her for a long moment, then exhaled. “Alright. If anyone gives you trouble—”

“I know, I know.” She grinned. “I’ll call my attack dog Verstappen.”

He smirked. “Damn right.”

After a long round of jenga and then stuffing their faces in food, the last slice of pizza appeared on the table, and the room instantly went silent, all eyes locked on it.

Ahaana leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Well, look who’s in the spotlight now.”

Carlos didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been eyeing that slice for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh, please,” Ahaana shot back. “You just noticed it now because it’s the last one.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna fight over pizza? This is an all-time low, even for you.”

“Shut up, Lando,” Carlos grumbled. “It’s mine.”

Max chuckled from the side. “This is gonna be good.”

Ahaana picked up the slice like it was some sort of prized possession. “I’m just saying, I’ve had a long day. So I think I’m entitled to this.”

Carlos shot up from his seat, but Ahaana held the slice just out of reach, her smirk widening. “Nice try.”

Max shook his head, watching the two of them. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Ahaana, sensing victory, took a deliberate bite of the pizza. “Too slow, boys.”

Lando leaned back, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

Later that night, after the raucous energy had settled slightly, Charles found himself watching Ahaana from across the room. She was laughing at something Lando had said, her head thrown back, eyes crinkled in amusement. The dim lighting softened her features, casting warm shadows over her skin, making her look almost ethereal.

He didn’t know when it started, this quiet admiration of her. Maybe it was when she first walked into his life with that effortless confidence, like she belonged in every room she entered. Maybe it was when he realized she wasn’t just sharp-tongued but also deeply, frustratingly kind. Or maybe it was moments like this, when she wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just laughing, existing—and yet, she managed to pull his entire attention like a force of gravity.

There was something in the way she carried herself—unapologetic, bold, yet with an underlying grace that was hard to ignore. She was an enigma, a storm and a lull all at once. And he was starting to realize he liked that about her. A little too much.

“Are you staring at Ahaana?”

Charles nearly choked on his drink. He turned sharply to see Max smirking at him, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“No,” he denied, a little too quickly.

Max hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. And I’m a level headed person when angered.”

Charles groaned. “Can you not?”

Max chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Oh no, mate. I definitely can.”

Across the room, Ahaana caught his gaze, a small, soft smile playing on her lips. Charles smiled back but quickly looked away because he was scared his blush would be way too evident, but the warmth on his face lingered and Ahaana caught it anyway, chuckling a bit at the very handsome man, which Charles heard.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

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ᝰ.ᐟ third part! hope you guys like it!

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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @sp1rl @charlesgirl16 @leila-030304 @uhcalli @blahblechblah @phobiccneel

comment to be added to taglist

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gremlin-girly · 2 days ago

Text

Forget-me-not Blues

Ask and ye shall recieve! Buckle up buttercups, this is my first Soulmate AU.

Banner by me and the images were sourced from Pinterest, made in Canva

Dividers by: @/sweetmelodygraphics

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, ANGST/WHUMP, Soulmate Mate Mark AU!, mentions of death., mentions of torture, right person wrong time, 2nd and 3rd person P.O.V, petnames (doll)

I’m leaving out some tags so I don’t go spoiling the plot so please read at your own risk! Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated (or put through AI)

A/N: I cut a huge chunk about Soulmate AU context at the beginning because it felt unnecessary. It's just a world where word/phrase of the soulmate's is written on them; it's not always the first thing they say to a person :)

More Author’s Notes are at the end of this fic so if you want to know more about the flowers and some thoughts I had whilst writing this, please go take a peek! This has been a labour of love.

Summary: A story about finding and losing soulmates to the test of time.

Word count: 4.2k

Navigation | The Bucky Barnes Collection

1942

Your family had owned a flower stand for as long as you could remember. Ever since you could stand on your own two feet your father put you to work handing out daisies to every woman, young or old, that passed by just to put a smile on their face.

Adorned with roses, daisies, poppies and more, the colourful stall had always been popular. Your father expertly wrapped combinations of flowers in old newspapers until the war began. He believed it was bad luck to wrap gifts in bad news.

When your father had been called to return to service, he had entrusted the stall to you. The old women who’d lost husbands and sons in the war would often buy a poppy or three, and any of the soldiers on a short stay would always buy a dozen or so roses for all of the dames.

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was one of your best customers. Bucky was always smiling, flirting and generally schmoozing his way by, often with a battered Steve Rogers in tow. Bucky being the big romantic he was liked roses, of course, and would frequently stop by your stall on his way home from work.

“Hey doll,” Bucky grinned, leaning against your display table.

You couldn’t help but smile back. The playful air he had around him was infectious and you half wished you could find a soul mate like him. Or wished you could just have him.

“Afternoon Buck,” You fluff up a pile of pink roses. Despite the trying times, business was booming. A lot of dates, a lot of weddings and a lot of funerals. “Want the usual?”

Bucky plucks up a rose and twirls it in his fingers before raising it to his nose and inhaling the gentle, sweet scent. His grin grows wider, his boyish charm shining through with the glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes and the dirt on his cheeks from a long day at work.

You know what’s coming next.

“No, Bucky.” You say airily, smiling at him as you move to the next pile of roses on the stall. Bucky gapes at you.

“Please, doll. One dance - that’s all ’m askin’!”

It’s now the sixth time he’s asked you and each time he looks like a kicked puppy when you tell him no.

“Yes but one dance turns into two, then three.” You tease, moving around the stall to face him, plucking the rose from his fingers and leaning close. “And then you’ll be dancing with a new dame next week anyway. I’m just cutting out the middle man. Plenty of men like you come by my stall, James.”

You turn away from him with a short shrug, placing the pink rose back into it’s correct pile before moving to a new carefully packed crate of flowers that need unpacking.

“What if I’m not the man you think I am?” Bucky counters, following after you. “Maybe I’m terrible at dancing.”

Chuckling you turn to face him, ready to spout another weak excuse to not go with him, when one of your white roses is stuffed under your nose. Raising an eyebrow you look over at Bucky, who’s smirking at you.

“Hi, my name’s Bucky and, if you’d be so kind as to let me take you dancing sometime, I promise to make it worth your while.”

You feel heat crawl up your face as you start to laugh. “Why are you introducing yourself to me?”

“Because,” Bucky shrugs, the twinkle in his eyes becoming a bright sparkle now that you’re laughing. “I’m not the man you think I am. And life’s too short, doll. I’d like to spend at least one night of my life dancin’ with you.”

How were you going to argue with that?

But something seemed… strange. When you’d say no, usually he’d banter with you a bit more and ask about your dad, you’d ask after his mom, his sister and Steve before he’d trot on his merry little way with you gazing after him.

Today, Bucky was insistent but behind his eyes was a sadness you hadn’t seen before. Your heart strings tugged, something within you screamed at you to say yes like you had desperately wanted to all those times before. No more imagining what it would feel like to have his hands in yours as you twirled and danced well into the night.

“Sure,” you sigh after a few moments, trying not to seem too eager. Bucky beams at you so brightly anyone else would think you’ve hung the moon and hands you your white rose with a mocking bow.

“One dance.” You add firmly, heart fluttering as your fingers brush his when you pluck the rose from him.

Bucky puts his hand on his heart, beginning to walk backwards. As he passes your stall he stuffs a dollar into your change jar and bats his eyelashes innocently at you.

“I only need one dance to make you fall in love with me, doll!” He continues walking backwards, narrowly avoiding other New Yorkers, but his eyes never leave yours. “I’ll pick you up at seven!”

You shake your head with a grin, watching him go. There was an electric charge all around you and you felt excited for your long-dreamed-of date with one Bucky Barnes.

Dancing with Bucky was exactly how you imagined it would be; your feet barely touched the ground as he spun and lifted you. You felt lighter than air as you looked down at Bucky's grinning face, eyes sparkling with joy as he held you close. One dance quickly turned to three.

After the third, Bucky led you to a nearby table.

"So much for one dance." Bucky teases lightly, his hand still lightly holding your waist. You're thankful your flushed cheeks hide your embarrassment but you're smiling regardless. Before he can ask you what drink he can get you, We'll Meet Again begins to crackle over the speaker and you drag him back to the dance floor.

"Hey, shouldn't I be leading doll?" He jokes, hands immediately encompassing your hips once you'd found a space to sway in.

"Hush," You murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I like this song."

Bucky smiles down at you and says nothing further until the song finishes. You both mimic the other, swaying to the music and gently singing along as you gaze at eachother.

"I should walk you home doll." Bucky says quietly once the song finishes. You feel a little light-headed and breathless, even though you'd only been swaying and you notice that Bucky's hands are still on your waist.

"O-okay." You swallow. If Soulmates didn't exist, you'd be kissing him right about now. "I know a short-cut."

"This," Bucky looked up as the wrought iron fence. "Is a short-cut?"

"Where's your sense of adventure?" You grin back at him as you crawl through a gap in the fence. "Come on Sarge, it's not far I promise."

Bucky sighs with a smile, pulling his dress pants up so they don't rip at the knees when he crawls through the gap after you. You take his hand and lead him blindly through the dark park, the both of you stumbling and giggling like teenagers, until you reach a dirtpath leading through a small thatch of trees to a clearing. The light of the moon illuminates the clearing into a sea of blue. Forget-me-nots are clustered together in one large group in the clearing; thousands upon thousands of tiny blue flowers that disappear to black when the moon vanishes again behind a cloud.

"Wow," Bucky breathes. "You've been holdin' out on me, doll. If I knew this was here, I'd have taken you on a romantic picnic instead of dancin'."

“Yeah, I could spend forever getting lost in those forget-me-not blues,” you sigh wistfully, looking over at Bucky's face.

“Well doll, forget me not.” He punctuates each word with a sad smile.

What should be a joyous moment filled with love, happiness and a rainbow of technicolour is soured by the harsh reality that Bucky wouldn't be staying in New York any longer. You shouldn't be too surprised, you knew he got drafted but you can see it in his eyes, the utter sadness of your situation. You can't even enjoy finding your soulmate in peace.

“You’ve got orders.” You can barely eke the words out of your closing throat.

Bucky nods, swallowing thickly and looking at your entwined hands. “Got my letter the other day. England."

You breathe out, long and slow, your nose becoming more blocked as more tears stream down your face and your throat burns with unvoiced sobs. It was unfair. So, so unfair.

“I could never forget you James Buchanan Barnes. Never.“ You say firmly, gazing over at him and squeezing his hand hard.

"I'll write to you everyday." He promises, squeezing your hand back. "I'll come back and visit every chance I can get until this war is over. And then-"

You cut him off with a quick kiss that doesn't even begin to convey how happy you are to have found him, trying to protect your heart from more hurt that undoubtedly will come.

"Save it for your letters," You tease softly, sniffing away tears. "I want something to look forward to while I wait."

Bucky grins and pecks your lips back. "You got it, doll."

You both stay on that log until the early hours, basking in each other's presence before Bucky was deployed to England the next afternoon. The voids left in your hearts when you separated were almost too much to bare but when you were safely home, and Bucky tucked away on a boat, you both immediately began to work on your letters to each other.

Being posted in England isn't too bad to begin with. In fact, Bucky thinks that his letters are too boring but he doesn't want to fill the letters with how much he misses you or how he wishes he could be with you instead; he knows you know it too, and it doesn't make it hurt any less.

When he's sent to Europe, suddenly those boring, mundane letters are a God-send. One of your letters contained a good Iuck charm, courtesy of your small slice of blue paradise ; a single pressed forger-me-not into a piece of card with a lipstick stain of your lips on the reverse. Bucky kept the piece in his left breast pocket, just over his heart, keeping the thought of you near wherever he went.

The first thing he does after Steve rescues him is write you.

He leaves out the details but tells you not to worry, he'll be home soon. Tell Mom and Rebecca not to worry too.

Days later, when he's lying in the snow bleeding from the Stump that was his left arm, he wonders if it was all worth it. Your lucky charm had disappeared somewhere during the fall and Bucky sobbed at the thought that not only had he lost his arm but a piece of you too. Delirious with blood loss, he imagined your face in the cold comfort of the snow, smiling playfully like you always did, kissing him so tenderly like you had on your date all those moons ago. He couldn't leave you without a soulmate.

Hearing approaching footsteps crunching in the snow, Bucky screamed for help, hoping, praying that it was Steve.

It wasn't.

Turns out, HYDRA don't like it when their science experiments escape and despite vowing to escape a second time once he's healed, it's nigh impossible. And not without consequence.

Bucky's vow quickly becomes to always remember you instead when he's strapped to the electric chair, biting on his tongue so hard he draws blood. The more his brain cooks in the chair, the more torture he's subjected to, the more your face blurs in his mind's eye. It kills him, little by little, knowing you're fading from his memory but he still tries to remember your face. He still hopes, dreams and thinks of you. Would you remember him? Would you recognise him if he returned from this hell on Earth?

What breaks him is not the twenty-seven long years of being thawed and unthawed, tortured and electrocuted. It's the one rainy day where his heart hurts so badly, he screams until he can't any longer. It's the day his blurred soulmate's face is torn from his soul and leaves him all alone in the cruellest, darkest place imaginable.

The premature death of Bucky Barnes' soulmate caused the birth of the Winter Soldier after twenty-seven gruelling years.

How could you suffer on knowing you would never see your one true love again? His brain and heart couldn't win out after that.

Present Day

Museums were Bucky’s favourite places to be on his days off. There was something comforting about the silence and the relics of human history, the evolution and study of animals, rocks and bones and the celebration of human artistry that wasn’t as overwhelming as the Internet. The Internet was faster, sure, but museums had everything in one neat place and no two museums were the same.

He and Steve had spent countless days of their childhood visiting the Natural History Museum and then when he'd finally broken away from HYDRA, he'd visited every museum he could find to learn about himself and the developments after the war that he'd missed.

Today, though, Bucky had decided to take a longer wander through the galleries. It was easy to walk through and ignore the paintings until something caught your eye but Bucky was insistent that he would stop at every painting today and perhaps try to see what Steve sees.

The galleries aren’t busy, as usual. A few old couples taking a wander through, a gaggle of tourists taking photos and an art student or two studying brush strokes of portraits. However, in a small alcove surrounded by paintings of flowers and woodland, sat a woman who looked entirely out of place.

It wasn't with what she was wearing or how she looked but something just didn't seem right. Bucky knew he should probably investigate but dammit it was his day off; he deserved some peace and quiet.

The woman is still there when he makes it to the alcove and the pull from his chest is unbearable now. He was wrong before when he'd thought that she didn't seem right; she was perfect. He couldn't remember when he'd last seen someone so beautiful that she looked like a rare painting come to life. Nervous didn't begin to describe the feelings swirling in his chest. There was an unfathomable joy coupled with anxiety and he wished he kept gum in his leather jacket right now.

“I could spend forever getting lost in those forget-me-not blues.” The woman sighs dreamily, gazing at the painting before her.

The hair on Bucky’s arm and neck stand on end, his heart rate sky rocketing. He’d heard that phrase before.

“What did you say?”

Bucky's caught off guard when she turns to look over at him, her eyes catching his for a small respite and he almost folds like a deck chair. The air is sucked out of Bucky’s lungs so quickly he can barely process it and he feels faint, no dizzy, from just looking at her properly. Her eyes are wide with surprise but there's a sliver of playfulness that hides within them and whatever ever was nagging at him earlier has now blossomed into a crackling hearth of building adoration that was vaguely familiar somehow.

Bucky's eyes drop to her neck, where a tiny blue flowers pendant sits on a delicate silver chain. It's delicate but sweet, an almost perfect compliment to her being.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Talking to myself.” The stranger gives him a sheepish smile and turns back to the painting. “Beautiful isn’t it?”

Bucky tears his eyes from her and looks at the painting; two blurred figures dancing amongst a sea of blue flowers, similar to the necklace she wears. The male figure is holding the female figure's hand as her dress billows and blends into the flowers. Although they don't have faces, it's clear these figures are happy and in love.

For some odd reason, Bucky feels a wave of melancholy. He can't place why when there's a stunning woman in front of him.

"Does it make you feel sad?" The woman asks suddenly. Bucky glances over to see that her expression has changed to one of longing.

"I... yeah. Even though-"

"-they look happy." She finishes, looking over with a wry smile. "Sorry, I shouldn't be so depressing to a stranger."

Bucky smiles and shifts on his feet. He wants to say something more, tell her that it's fine, but instead he dumbly states;

"I like your necklace."

He regrets it as soon as he says it and looks to his feet. Didn't this used to be easy? Hadn't he charmed women both as Bucky and the Winter Soldier?

"Oh! This?" She fiddles with the pendant between her thumb and fore finger, inspecting it gently. She doesn't seem bothered by the awkward compliment. "I just like forget-me-nots."

Forget-me-nots. Something in his mind flashes with recognition.

“Why forget-me-nots?” He asks suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you like them?”

The woman pauses and scratches her face thoughtfully, as if trying to place when she began loving the tiny flower. "I… don’t know, actually. I just always have.”

She offers Bucky a shrug. “I guess they’re pretty? Teeny, tiny little things but the colour?” She gives Bucky an impressive smile but then it falters for a moment as she catches his eyes again, really looking at them this time. “Wow. Your eyes are some shade of blue.”

Bucky starts to smile wider. He feels like himself, how he used to be back in the 30s. Even though there's something about her that makes him suffer this almost recognition, like she’s a word stuck on the tip of his tongue, he can't deny the joy and warmth he feels in her presence and he can't help but want keep speaking with her.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat and tries for nonchalance. "Do you... come here often?"

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he cringes, scrunching his face with disgusted embarrassment. So much for feeling like himself. Was flirting always so hard?

"Ugh. Sorry that was.... oh God." Bucky runs a hand down his face as the woman laughs.

“It’s alright and to answer, no - I don't. Today I just, well, it sounds stupid. But today I just really wanted to come here. I usually just walk straight past but I’m glad I did.” The flirtatious smirk she gives Bucky makes his knees wobble and he has to shift his weight to hide it. "You probably already know why they’re called forget-me-nots.” Bucky says, opting to try to sound knowledgeable instead of cool. Maybe that would be a better play. He doesn't know what's gotten into him. He's usually calm and collected. However, his heart is beating so hard he's scared it may fall right out of his chest.

“I do but tell me anyway.”

Bucky’s lip twitch into a smirk and the woman pats the empty space next to her, shuffling over slightly to make space for Bucky. His knee knocks hers and he gives a quiet, embarrassed apology before clearing his throat to recite what he'd been told.

“They used to be given to soldiers going off to war by their lovers.” He says. “I don’t remember who told me but…”

He trails but the woman is transfixed on his face.

"Sorry." Bucky scrunches his nose and smiles. "I got lost for a moment."

"At least you came back." The woman smiles in return. She looks back towards the painting again. Bucky tells himself that it’s out of old observational habits that he watches her face; how her eyes look longingly at the dancing couple of the painting, the sweet curve of her lips as she smiles.

"Do you think they were soulmates?"

"I think they're two people who love each other." Bucky says cautiously and when the woman raises an eyebrow at him, he shrugs sheepishly, waving his left arm. "Sorry I... I don't have one. The writing must have been on my left arm and I can't remember what it said. I'm a little jaded, unfortunately."

She frowns and points to his arm. "Your arm looks fine to me."

Bucky snorts and smiles sheepishly at her. “It’s a…. um, prosthetic. I don’t have any words anywhere else so they had to have been on my left arm. I should have been clearer."

“Oh.” The woman's face turns fire-engine red with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. That was so rude of me."

"Don't worry about it." Bucky shrugs it off with a chuckle before swiftly changing the subject. "What do you like about the painting?"

“I’d love to do that one day.” She says wistfully after a moment, nodding at the figures.

“Do what? Dance?” Bucky asks curiously, sensing an opportunity. “You can dance whenever you want. We can dance right here if you want, I’ll ask one of the guards for music.”

She laughs, no chuckle this time, a pure lilt of happiness that makes Bucky’s heart twist in his chest and he can’t help but smile a little wider. Flirting was a little bit like riding a bike, not that he’d been interested in flirting much since having his brain fried multiple times.

The woman glances over at him, biting back a smile and rolling her eyes playfully. “Riiiiiight. Sure."

"I mean it!" Bucky bolsters, hopping to his feet. "I-..."

He falters for a moment when he sees her grin; her challenge. Her eyes meet his, bright and sparkling. Whatever he feels he knows she feels it too. He offers his left arm to her, stiff and awkward as his face blooms red.

“Hi, my name’s Bucky and, if you’d be so kind as to let have this dance, I promise to make it worth your while.”

The woman snorts and laughs again but she takes hold of his gloved hand, rising to her feet.

"Y/N. And just one." Her tone is firm but her glittering eyes betray the same excitement he feels. "What about music?"

"Heard they have music on phones nowadays, doll." Bucky quips, his free hand reaching for his phone in his back pocket. He doesn't notices she's raised a curious brow.

"Doll? That's a new one."

"I - oh..." Bucky grins sheepishly but before he can apologise, she stops him with a smile.

"I like it. Vintage."

Now it's Bucky's turn to snort. Who needed soulmates anyhow?

"Speaking of vintage." Bucky hits play on Vera Lynn's remastered classic.

"We'll Meet Again." She murmurs as Bucky's hands ghost along her waist. "Good choice."

"Thanks. Is this okay?"

"You're barely touching me." She giggles, wrists crossing behind his neck.

"Hey, I gotta make sure. Just follow my lead."

Vera Lynne's voice echoes around the alcove drawing curious peeks from other museum-goers but both Bucky and the woman in his arms couldn't care less as they swayed to the music. Y/N followed Bucky's footsteps as he guided her around the room with practices ease, poking fun at her lightly when she'd step on his feet accidentally.

An image rears its head in Bucky's mind's eye. There's a park, somewhere, with hundreds of forget-me-nots but he can't place the timeline. Did he go there as the Winter Soldier? Did he go there during the war? Was it a passing visit on a mission? He knows he didn’t find it, someone showed him. Maybe Steve? Someone else? Did he see it once in a dream?

“You’re a good dancer.” Y/N whispers against his chest as the song draws to a close. Bucky is sure she can hear his heartbeat through his leather jacket now. “I don’t think I could ever forget this.”

“Well, doll... Forget me not.” He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s cheesy at best, terrible word play at worst.

But she halts, blinking up at him. The silence in the alcove is so loud a pin could drop.

“What did you just say?”

It’s like a veil has lifted. The air shifts, Bucky can feel it now. That joy he buried earlier rose from the soles of his feet all the way up to his head. He felt like he was walking on air. He can see her eyes widen, further and further until their the size of dinnerplates, and there, almost within the depths of her soul; there's the flicker of recognition.

It's a domino effect. Y/N's soul reaches for Bucky's as memories flood back; lifetimes of memories, experiences and pain binding their souls together in a dance that will last for eternity.

The kiss they share is nothing like their first one. It's longer, more patient, relishing the electric feel of each other's lips for what feel like eons. “James Buchanan Barnes,” You breathe, tears of happiness filling your eyes. “I knew I wouldn’t forget you. And I knew you’d come back.”

"It's you," He chuckles, still not quite believing his eyes. "It's really you."

That playful smile he'd grown to love all those decades ago makes a swift appearance on your face and reaches the lights of your eyes as you look up at him.

"Now, if I remember correctly, we have a few decades worth of catching up to do."

END

A/N1: Ready for the flower symbolism? None of this the roses were pink because they were pink roses bs

Forget-Me-Nots: were given to lovers when their gifter went away to war. Commonly associated with the phrase “Forget me not.” (Duh). But they are also representative of remembrance, memory, love, friendship, hope, and fidelity. Source here

The necklace is based on this one on Etsy that I adore

Pink roses: (The first rose Bucky picks up and you steal back) symbolise admiration, happiness and love.

White roses: (The second rose Bucky picks up and hands to you) represent Innocence, purity and loyalty. Bucky’s intentions are were true.

These also are used for fresh starts, so can also be used as Bucky “starting over” (like when he goofily re-introduces himself to you and in the modern day where his memory has been wiped).

A/N 2: Name of the Fic

Well, a multitude of reasons really.

1) forget-me-nots are hardy plants that always come back (hence why reader says it to Bucky). He has an awful habit of bouncing back bless him.

2) Bucky’s Eyes: Azure blue? But there’s something about little poetic in a forget-me-not Blue ;)

3) Blues: Bucky is a big fan of Jazz, and Blues although Blues came before jazz its debated heavily on whether it is a sub-genre of jazz or if its a genre all on its own. Blues songs tend to be romantic, sad and slow; which I think are key elements of Bucky and his story.

4) Their meaning: true love and faithfulness. Can’t have a romance without those right?

5) the utter irony of the fact that Bucky did actually completely forget her lmao

A/N 3: I heavily debated how to incorporate the words of the Soul Mark back into modern day. Originally I was going to leave it kinda open ended at the gallery because I couldn’t think of a way to get Bucky’s words in without them seeming forced. But when I was doing a third edit of this, I realised they could end up having a haphazard date; which ended up as a replay of the 40s just so their souls could greet eachother again in the same place bc I am nothing if not a romantic at heart. I ended up scrapping that in favour of the museum alcove and having them recreate their "first date" there with the paintings acting as the woodland this time because I was struggling with dialogue and bridging the two - but I think it turned out pretty romantic!!!

This was my first time writing a Soulmate AU and I quite enjoyed myself! But I would like some feedback, and obviously all comments are welcome! It’s not to say I’m not proud of my other work on here but this story has been brewing for months (and I’m actually really happy that it won the WIP poll).

I wholly appreciate any comments or asks on this work!! I don’t quite think I’m ready to let it go yet 🥹 so much so that even though there's not a part 2 in the works, there's another fic in the same AU I'm working on ;)

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spread-the-influence · 1 day ago

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This comics is propably my first encounter with horror comedy, and it's just so fascinating to me

Like i need to specifically remind myself, that there will be shifts in tone and that i gotta move with it to appreciate both parts

And now that i get it I really enjoy it and wanna look for similar media

So ye, thank you for introducing me this genre ^^

oohh boy ! i don't think this comic is a good introduction to the genre — mostly because the tonal whiplash is Way More Extreme here than , at least in the ones i've seen , other horror comedy media . this is my first time writing this and Horror in general , and i feel like that gets apparent with some scenes . but i'm glad that i introduced someone to a genre that i've grown fond of since i wrote this comic (:

i've seen more horror than specifically horror comedy ( feel free to ask me about them though ! ) , so i don't have much to recommend . but i still can think of some off the top of my head :

i'll recommend misery by stephen king , either adaptations work . i do not have a preference — i think either one is fun in their own way , but i'll go with the book version if you want just a bit more horror and gore . while it's not advertised as a horror comedy , it has a good amount of dark humor that made me chuckle , and i personally think those moments are underappreciated when it comes to discussions of this story .

i haven't watched idle hands by rodman flender in a while , but i do recall that movie both freaking me out and making me laugh as a kid . i might need to rewatch it to jog my memory but it's another thing to look into if you're curious about horror comedies that aren't as talked about compared to scream and the evil dead (:

right now i haven't finished watching swarm by donald glover , but it's a wonderful example of a horror comedy thus far ! has moments that made me feel unsettled and moments that made me laugh out loud . also i feel its plot of being about an obsessed stan of an artist murdering people could appeal to people that like this comic (: be warned that it has graphic sexual content though so i don't recommend this to minors .

also i'm sorry for bringing up awful hospital by bogleech but legitimately it has scrambled my brain chemistry when i first caught up to its latest update . more comedy than horror but it can get spine-chilling when it leans to the latter i love it dear god someone pull this webcomic out of my hands - another niche horror comedy web thing is anything produced by carter amelia davis (: underrated . please god i won't shut up about her

#>>MISC;#oh lord at this point i might as well #WARNING: ESSAY

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tangerineastronaut · 2 days ago

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Hi! I saw you take requests.

May I request something with GOT7 Jackson Wang and best friend!reader, in which the reader starts developing feelings for him and start thinking he’s the one for her? <3

Friends, Just for Now | Jackson Wang (Part 1)

The one where your best friend can't keep his secret anymore (and you're oblivious).

Pairing: Jackson Wang (GOT7) x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, BestFriend!Reader, idiots to lovers Requested: Yes w.c. 6.6k (oops) Warnings: Cheating (not between jackson and reader), lots of profanity, nicknames, namecalling, minor injury, reader wouldn't know love if it smacked her in the head, holy shit they're kind of annoying af A/N: this was so fun to write, love me a good idiots friends to lovers. I'm also cheesy af, feel free to call me out. Please excuse any errors there may be, I usually proofread after posting. ❣️The love I received on my yunho imagine has literally made me do happy dances, I haven't posted anything on tumblr in 8 years and you guys are just literally the best. I love you all so much! Requests: Open (link below)

Part 2 is on its way!

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

🎧 FRI(END)S by V

“Come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen. You never listen.”

Two things went through your mind, though you refused to lift your head from where it was tucked against your knees.

One, you hated that nickname. Pie. He thought it was so cute, and it probably would’ve died off had you not reacted to it the way you did. One missed smear of cherry on your nose 3 years ago and suddenly you’ve been christened. It was his favorite story to tell.

And two, Jackson Wang was going to get his shit rocked if he didn’t leave you alone.

“Fuck off,” you say bitterly, pulling further into yourself.

He was right. He had warned you.

You’d hoped Leejin was different, that the rumors were just exaggerated. Surely he didn’t cheat on every girlfriend…right?

“Wrong,” Jackson had laughed. “He’s a fucking dog, y/n.”

You’d rolled your eyes, and then Jackson said three words to you that had kind of hurt. Not kind of. A lot. They’d hurt a lot.

“You’re not special.”

Leejin was so nice, he was smart and funny and headed for a successful career with his family’s business (so what if his parents probably paid off the school to make sure those student conduct violations never stuck). You wanted to be special. Spent 4 months trying to be. It wasn't an eternity, but you tended to put your whole heart into everything, and it almost always ended up like this.

But Jackson’s words rang true, painfully so, when you received a text from an unknown number earlier today—screenshots of messages between Leejin and some girl, including explicit photos. The unnamed person had said nothing else; you wondered if it was the girl from the screenshots, but you didn’t reply. You simply texted Leejin to go fuck himself before blocking him on everything, running straight home to your apartment, praying that Jackson wasn’t there. He was, of course, as you split the rent. You hated the look on his face when you barged in, nose red and snotty from crying.

It wasn’t smug, it was just…"come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen."

You heard him sigh now, no doubt running a hand through his hair. It was blonde; you’d made fun of him at the time he'd dyed it though begrudgingly had to admit it suited him. But he was going to be bald before he was 40 if he didn’t stop tugging at it when he was stressed.

“Hey. Hey, stop. I hate it when you cry, you know, makes my joints hurt or something,” he says, kneeling beside you.

The fuck…? What does that even—

But you were too upset to stop, so he muttered under his breath, poking at your head until you whipped it up to slap him away. He looked like such a boy, hugging his knees and giving you a pleading look. Fine. Bastard.

You sighed and uncurled yourself, your knees screaming from the pain of turning into a human rollie pollie for the last half hour. Jackson sighed as well, no doubt relieved that you weren’t ugly crying anymore.

He waited until your sniffles were a few minutes apart before moving, sitting criss cross on the floor. His brown eyes were soft, a rarity, truly, though you knew he was already formulating ways to tease you about this when it was more irritating than painful.

“Done?” he asks, more to comfort himself than you. You sniff and nod, wiping your nose on your sleeve. Well, his sleeve. He made a face, realizing that you were wearing one of his sweatshirts, but made the apparent decision to yell at you later.

“Don’t be mean to me,” you mumble, resting your cheek on your knee.

“When am I ever?”

“Jackson, I swear to fucking—”

“I didn’t say anything, pie.”

“If you don’t drop that god damned nickname, it was one time, one little bit of cherry filling, I don’t even like cherry pie, you’re so fucking annoying—”

It was his turn to interrupt, but he didn’t. He just watched you, an irritating twinkle of amusement in his eyes. You scoffed and tucked your face away again, wishing he’d stop looking at you like that. Or at all, really. If there was one thing you’d learned after being friends with him for so long…the asshat had some eyes on him. Had this way of using his gaze to set the mood, able to stop your arguments or rile you up with micro expressions like an olympic gold medalist of manipulation.

“Want some ramen?” he asks, tilting his head as though speaking to a kicked dog. You crinkle your nose without looking at him. “Want some cake? Some candy?”

“I want you to leave me alone,” you grumble.

“Want a bath?”

You sigh, refusing to humor him with an answer he already had. He snapped his fingers like he’d just solved the equation of the century, having the audacity to ruffle your hair as he stepped over you unnecessarily to get to the door. You could hear him down the hall, the sound of the bathroom cabinets opening and closing, the water running, hopefully set on hot like you liked.

“You're out of bath bombs,” he called. You frown.

“I’m not, they’re under the sink.”

“Why’d you move them? Next to your menstrual equipment, eww.”

That’s why. You felt sorry for whatever unfortunate woman Jackson decided to wife up—the man was addicted to hot baths and cotton candy bath bombs. You’d have to move them again though, now that he knew about your stash. Besides, you’d sent him to the shop more than a few times when you were cramping and out of pads (and chocolate); he would not be impeded by them.

Jackson was waiting for you by the time you dragged yourself to the small shared bathroom. He bowed dramatically, gesturing toward the tub which was steaming hot, as you liked—a meal’s gotta cook.

You mumble a thank you as he walks past, though he pauses in the doorway, eyes narrowed.

“Get naked, and give me my damn sweatshirt,” he says, pointing accusingly at you. You pout, immediately clutching your pearls.

“Is that why you never get laid? Jesus, would’ve thought you were smoother than that,” you huff. He impatiently tugs at your sleeve, rolling his eyes in that sassy way that always made you giggle and made him more irritated—a win win scenario.

“It’s a $30 shirt, not a snot rag…pie.”

“You’re a snot rag,” you mumble. You turn your back to him, crossing your arms at the hem and tugging it over your head. You were still in a bra thankfully, though still covered your chest as you tossed the material at him.

Jackson caught it smoothly, though he wasn’t even looking at the sweatshirt. You didn’t realize he was looking at you until you reached for the button of your jeans. His eyes weren’t lower than your lips, but he looked a little…off. You expected a joke about a food baby or maybe how pale you’ve gotten, but he says nothing.

“Hello?” you say, shaking your head. “Is that all? Want my pants too? Gonna do my laundry for a change?”

Jackson blinks like his brain finally returned to his skull. He bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head and backing out of the doorway. Before he closed the door, however, his eyes leveled with yours, so intense it made your breath catch in your throat. Was he mad? Over a sweatshirt?

“Leejin is a fucking idiot,” he says before turning on his heel and heading down the hall.

You stare at the spot where he stood, even after he’s gone. The hell was his problem now?

By the time you’ve finished your glorious bath, you waltz into the living room like a princess. Jackson looks up from his place on the sofa, deadpanning and tossing his phone on the coffee table as he takes in the freshly purloined hoodie you're sporting.

“Gonna lock my closet,” he says, shaking his head. You beam at him, cutely crinkling your nose as you pad to the kitchen. You tug open the fridge, thinking maybe you could cook something simple for the two of you. It was kind of late to make anything grand, but you wanted more than ramen.

The empty shelves make your eye twitch.

“Seriously?” you huff, gesturing around. “Would it kill you to get groceries once?”

“You always complain when I do,” Jackson shrugs, flicking through netflix with the remote. “Got the wrong brand, got too many, didn’t get enough—”

“I always text you a detailed list, but whatever,” you grumble, low enough that it doesn’t provoke a response. “Since you’re a big man baby incapable of buying groceries, you can buy us something at the convenience store.”

“I am perfectly capable, thank you,” Jackson says, narrowing his eyes.

“Of what? Weaponized incompetence? I agree, get dressed,” you hum.

Ten minutes later, you’re walking side by side down to the convenience store. The apartment’s location was perfect—five minutes from campus one way, five to a 24 hour convenience store another. Perfect because you both had a habit of wanting to come home when you were drunk after a party, starved and craving foods that you’d regret the next day.

The doors chimed a welcome as they slid open, allowing you inside. You made a beeline for the sweets, Jackson went straight for the energy drinks.

You perused the aisle for a few minutes, making your choice and going to find your roommate. You rounded the corner and froze.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to block someone in real life. So while you’d never see Leejin’s social media posts, it didn’t mean that you wouldn’t run into him on a saturday night at the convenience store near your apartment.

You feel a mix of emotions—anger, shame, disbelief among them. You knew it wasn’t impossible, it wasn’t even unlikely, as this store was one of only a few. But it felt so damn unfair that he’d happen to be here, hours after you found out about what he’d done.

“Is that all you’re getting?” Jackson snorts, frowning as he eyes your bag of chips. But he notices your stillness, following your gaze to see Leejin, casually chatting on the phone as he looks at the protein bars.

You expect him to snort, maybe make a comment just loud enough for the other to hear before pulling you away, but Jackson surges forward so quickly he nearly knocks you over. You grab his arm, both to steady him and stop him from…whatever the hell he’s doing.

“Where are you going?” you whisper, tugging him back with as much strength as you could muster.

“He broke your heart and I’m gonna break his fucking face.”

He moves again, this time dragging you along on the linoleum floor. Fortunately, Leejin is too preoccupied with his call to notice. The thought makes your stomach twist, briefly wondering who he’s talking to.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out, what’s the matter with you?” you hiss, trying to shake sense into him. Jackson yanks his arm away from you, dropping the energy drinks on the nearest shelf before storming off. You stare after him, mouth agape in disbelief.

You arrive home 15 minutes later, having hid near the bathrooms until Leejin had left. You’d bought (and paid for, irritatingly) your snacks and Jackson’s drinks, but when you shove into the apartment, it’s empty. Lights off, no sign of him. You worry for a few seconds—had he waited for you and bumped into Leejin instead? But you surely would’ve heard something outside. You opt to text him and choose to believe he’s being broody and walking through the streets like a sad music video.

> what the fuck? is your deal? Where are you??

You’re confused and groggy when someone taps at your cheek, not realizing you’d even fallen asleep on the couch. You rub at your eyes, squinting, processing the sight of Jackson standing over you, t-shirt stuck to his form, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks.

You’ve had weird dreams about him before, ones that you’d rather never speak of again, and they usually start out like this. But this Jackson rolls his eyes in a way that sweet, sweet dream Jackson would never.

“Get up, jesus. Your back is going to hurt,” he says. You slowly sit up, realizing he’s right. Apparently not only had you fallen asleep on the couch, but you’d fallen asleep sitting up, sleeping in an unnatural slouched position.

“Ow…”

“Told you.”

“No it’s…hey,” you snap, waking up a bit more now that you remember that you’re actually pissed at him. “It’s your fucking fault, what happened to you? You just disappeared! I was worried!”

You’re surprised to see Jackson bristle. He’s not shaken easily, least of all by you, but he glances to the side and tugs at his t-shirt, separating it from his damp skin.

“Went to the gym. Figured I should cool off,” he says. You want to be pissed at him more, say something else, but your back hurts and you’re sleepy. Plus, you’re glad to see he’s alright. Mostly.

“Whatever,” you finally grumble, trying to stretch out your neck. “What time is it?”

“Dunno, around 2 a.m.,” he replies casually. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Great,” you huff. “You go shower. I’ll go roll over and die happy now that I know you’re alive.”

You stumble down the hall to your room, sighing at the sight of your unmade bed. What was the point if you were going to mess it up anyway? You hear Jackson follow shortly after, the bathroom door opening and closing. The shower starts, and you shuffle beneath the covers.

You wake up not long after, whining in protest as you’re jostled.

“It’s me,” Jackson says, rudely pushing you over. “Scoot.”

You wanted to shove him away, to point out that “scoot” should be said before you rob someone of their bed, but you can’t be bothered. Besides, once he settles next to you, you realize that he’s not wearing a shirt and he smells nice and clean.

Sleepy, groggy, annoyed, relieved, you curl against him like a bunny seeking warmth. You feel him stiffen, though you think little of it.

“What are you doing?” he asks, not sounding the least bit tired. You couldn’t say the same for yourself, unable to open your eyes as you reply.

“Mm. ‘s warm down here. Night night.”

You hear him sigh, then shuffle, and then he’s rolled over to face you, offering a human-made cocoon that you happily burrow into. He’s soft and warm and smells like his manly body wash—and your shampoo, damn it.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says, soft enough to count but not enough for you to notice.

Waking up tangled with Jackson was, unfortunately (?), not all that unusual. When you were upset, you found your way to his bed, and despite his protests you knew he didn't actually mind. It went both ways—you'll die before you admit that you like it, if only because he's a human heater.

You still feel groggy, squinting and fumbling around for your phone. Such a task is difficult when there's deadweight slung over your waist, but you manage, bringing the device to your face.

10:43 a.m.

Oh good. You slept 8 hours—and half the day away, to your brain at least. You toss your phone down, debating whether or not you should just go back to sleep. You choose instead to roll over, addressing the sleeping shirtless man keeping you pinned to your bed.

Your camera roll was filled with photos just like this, because Jackson slept like a baby. Literally. Hands curled into fists, face relaxed, head tilted to the side. His blonde hair is mussed from sleeping with it wet last night, and you dodn't hesitate to run your fingers through it for no reason at all. It was soft and surprisingly thick, but you weren't about to dial back on the baldness theory.

Jackson stirred, though didn't wake up, shifting to lie on his back. Freed from your restraints, you sat up and had to cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

Of course the curtains parted like that, of course he was sleeping like a prince now, sunlight arcing off of his jaw—it even highlighted his stubble in an annoyingly poetic way. What kind of gods were kind enough to give him of all people that face?

He really was kinda...pretty.

No, not kinda. Jackson Wang was beautiful. You were his best friend, but you weren't blind. Maybe you'd become a little numb to his charms, but you'd seen what he could do to people with just a look, even without malicious intent. He was charismatic on top of that, though you were the only one who got to see the side of him that wasn't.

The side that stole your shampoo and commandeered your bed, anyway.

So fine, you knew he was pretty. But he was kinda sorta extra pretty right now, and maybe you wanted to remember it later.

You shifted to grab your phone—a never-ending quest for material to bully each other over—but the movement apparently jostled him awake. You sheepishly smiled as he blinked a few times, using the heel of his palm to rub the blurriness away.

"Really?" he asked, voice rough, eyes leveling to the phone in your hand. "Fucking creep."

"You have like a thousand pictures of me sleeping," you point out, narrowing your eyes. Jackson nods, rolling over and hugging your waist, his head resting against your hip.

"That I do—you're cute when you drool all over yourself. I'm working on a collage."

"Asshole," you mutter, prying his arms off of you. You make an attempt to escape, but as expected, you're smoothly hauled back down.

"Where you going?"

"I need to pee, wanna come with?"

"It's early."

"It's almost 11."

"Yeah, early."

Jackson grunts before you can reply, practically placing you in a chokehold as he rolls over. You have no choice but to go with him, ending up flopped over his chest like a dead fish.

He says nothing for a moment, and you wonder if he's fallen back asleep. It's not difficult to squirm out of his grasp this time, though rather than allowing you to slide off, the apparently-awake-Jackson moves both hands to your hips.

Your stomach does that funny thing it sometimes does around him, like a little alarm that says 'hey! getting too close!' Listening to this alarm had prevented a lot of mistakes over the course of your friendship, mistakes like wanting to kiss him when you were tipsy, noticing the way he looked after a long workout, hair plastered to his forehead, the fuzziness you felt that time your heating pad broke, and his warm hands wound up on the lower half of your tummy to stave off the cramps.

Mistakes like that.

His eyes open again, and you do your best to look irritated.

"I'm sorry about last night," he says, suddenly unnaturally serious. "I was just trying to cool off, and my phone died, so I didn't see your text until after I got home."

You're not really sure how to respond—it was always strange when conversations got like this between you, regardless of the topic. It was so jarring, so far from the usual cracked out nonsense. You decided to nod, then shake your head, then nod again.

Jackson was a badass, most people knew as much. He was trained in martial arts and practically ate protein for every meal. But despite this, he wasn't typically an aggressive guy. You'd only ever seen him throw one punch—an ex of yours a couple years ago who threatened to post a nude photo of you. Needless to say, the guy deleted them, made difficult thanks to the blood smearing his screen as it dripped from his nose.

"It's fine, I get it," you say. "Just...why were you so mad at him? Did he do something to you?"

Jackson blinks up at you, shifting so that he's partially sitting up on his elbows.

"I told you, y/n," he says, shaking his head like you're an idiot. "He broke your heart, I was gonna break his face. You should've let me get one hit in at least."

"He didn't break my heart," you groan, rolling your eyes. "It wasn't that serious, you know that. We'd only been dating for 4 months."

"...I watched you cry for an hour because someone stepped on a worm—"

"—that's different. It's literally a living little creature, what if that's someone's girlfriend, hm? What if she asked her boyfriend 'would you still love me if I was a worm' and he said yes except now they can't live wormily ever after because she's smushed all because some horrible person can't be bothered to step aside for a worm?"

Jackson stared up at you, blinking slowly, looking 175% done with your shit.

"What the fuck is wormily ever after?"

You sigh, leaning forward until your head is on his bare shoulder. You have half a mind to bite him, though you resist. You will be civil—for now.

"I don't know," you mumble. "No early birds, no hot sidewalks?"

"I....you're so fucking weird."

"Lots of guys are dickheads, but you were ready to knock him out. Really, Jackson, was that all? Promise he didn't say something to you?" you ask, voice muffled against his warm skin. Just one lil munch. It'd be good payback for him scaring the hell out of you last night.

Jackson exhales, and there's suddenly a hand tugging at your tangled mess of bedhead until you're sitting up, looking down at him.

"I wanted to kick his ass for the same reason that I never bring anyone home," he says quietly. His eyes are serious, no sparkle of humor in them, and it makes your stomach twist. You didn't like it when Jackson got serious.

"What? Because of me?" you ask. "I don't care who you fuck as long as I don't have to cook them breakfast."

Mostly true—you were afraid of walking out of your bedroom one morning and running into a really pretty girl, someone with perfect grades and clear skin, who has the audacity to be beautiful and nice. Someone only Jackson deserves. But you leave that bit out and give him a half teasing smile.

Jackson doesn't return it. He grunts, moving his hand up to tug at his hair. You slip yours beneath his, mumbling for him to stop doing that.

"You really don't?" he finally asks, swallowing hard enough that you see his throat move.

"Don't what?"

"You don't care who I fuck?"

His question catches you off guard, though not as much as the fact that he still looks dead serious. This seems like something the two of you should be laughing over—not something to talk about whilst you're currently straddling your best friend in your bed, who happens to be naked from the waist up.

"I mean...no?" you say, shaking your head in confusion. "Should I?"

"I don't know, should you?"

Should you? What the hell was that supposed to mean? You didn't like riddles, and this felt like one. You'd tried to stay out of his business over the four years you've been friends, though come to think of it...you'd never met any of his girlfriends after the first six months. You'd assumed he was so busy with classes and his extracurriculars that there just wasn't much time for anything past shallow hookups.

But...you couldn't remember a single time that had occurred. He was home every night, never brought company over for that purpose.

"Jackson," you say quietly, palms resting on his chest. When the hell did he get so muscular? There was a noticable firmness beneath your fingers, and you briefly considered billing Leejin for your services in making sure he didn't get the shit beat out of him. "I feel like this is an inside joke and I'm out of the loop. You're upset? Why?"

"Why would I be?" he counters, irritatingly smooth. The hands on your hips squeeze once, like he's trying to talk to you in morse code. It's annoying.

"Quit," you mumble, biting your lower lip. "I'm trying. Stop being mean and just tell me."

He sighs, moving a hand to his face.

"If you don't already know, then it doesn't matter, alright?"

"Wh—"

You're cut off as he suddenly shifts from beneath you, leaving you tumbling to the sheets when he stands. Just like the last two times for some damn reason, he prepares to storm out of the room.

"Jackson, wait—shit."

You trip over the edge of your nightstand, catching yourself on your hands. Your lamp tumbles to the floor, thankfully not shattering on the carpet. Still, the ache brings tears to your eyes, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you sit down.

"How many times have I told you to push that against the wall!?" Jackson says, rushing over to you. You lean back against your bed, grimacing as you look at your knee. It's not the worst scrape you've ever gotten, but it is bleeding, and it burns.

"Hang on, pie." He leaves the room, and by the time he returns with the pack of bandaids and peroxide, you're covering your face with one hand and hugging your knee with the other.

"Hey, it's not so bad," he says, obviously in partial panic mode as he kneels in front of you and tugs at your ankle. He probably thought that's why you were in tears, but it was moreso the fact that he was being...just...weird, and you didn't like it.

You quietly sit there, hands over your eyes as he uses a cotton ball to dab at the blood. You don't even flinch, it doesn't burn—perks of having an MMA star for a roommate; he knew how to bandage a cut (a common occurence for your clumsy ass, unfortunately).

After a few minutes, he pats the side of your calf, and you finally uncover your eyes. There's a bandaid over the scrape now, and you let your knee fall to the side. Jackson is looking at you, and you nod.

"That's good, thanks," you mumble quietly.

"You sure?" he asks. You frown, nodding quickly. But his hand moves up to your cheek, cupping it as his thumb swipes below your eye.

Tears.

That alarm goes off inside of you, but Jackson doesn't move his hand, so you let it sit there and you feel your stomach tying itself into a knot. You're a little worried it's not gonna come undone.

"I wasn't crying because of that," you say, swallowing as you glance away shamefully. "I...I don't like this, Jackson. Feels weird. If I did something to make you mad, I wish you'd just tell me—"

"I'm not mad at you," he replies. You sniff, and finally his hand slips away, though only to rest on your uninjured knee. His fingers twitch, like he wants to do something but won't let himself. Slap you, maybe, for never listening to him and always ending up hurt because of it. You would, if you were him.

"You keep running away from me," you point out, a little surge of anger from last night returning. "You keep acting like I'm supposed to know everything you're thinking, and I don't, because you won't tell me stuff. I tell you stuff, the least you could do is text me a grocery list of what the fuck is going on inside of your brain, so I'm not sitting here thinking I'm gonna lose my best friend and roommate over something I don't even know that I've done. I'm sorry we ran into Leejin, it's not like I knew he was gonna be there. I'm sorry for thinking I was special in the first place and ending up where you said I'd be."

Jackson sighs and tilts his head, and you hate yourself for crying more. It wasn't a big deal, things were a little crazy after yesterday. You didn't even love Leejin, it had just...hurt? Your pride? No one wants to know they're less than a second choice. But Jackson had acted like Leejin was out for his blood, and every time he runs away, it feels like he's escaping you.

"You're not gonna lose me," he finally says, glancing down at the floor. "I just...I've got a lot of shit to work through, you know? It's not...it's not your fault though."

"Like what?" you ask, worry lining your brow. "If you'd just—is it money? Because we can figure out rent—"

"It's not money," he interrupts. "I promise, it's nothing like that."

"Then what?" You huff, a little more irritated than concerned. "Parents? Grades? Girl trouble?"

"Yeah," he nods, licking his lips. "That last bit."

"Girl trouble?" you ask, somewhat surprised. For some reason, the fact that he hadn't told you about a girl bothered you more than the idea that there was one at all. You shared everything with him; if he'd kept her a secret, it had to have been a little more serious.

"Do I know her?" you ask tentatively. Please say no, I don't want to go through a list of the hottest girls I know.

"Yeah," he replies. Fuck.

"Oh. How long have you been dating?"

"We're not."

"Then...?"

"She's an idiot."

"It's a mystery as to why you're single, really," you say, rolling your eyes. "So she's an idiot because she won't date you? Sounds kind of shallow on your end."

"She's an idiot because she keeps dating jackasses who don't give a shit about her. I don't give a damn if she ever chooses me or not," he says plainly. You frown.

"Maybe she's insecure?"

"She is. Very."

"Huh. Is she pretty?"

"Beautiful."

"Oh. Hm."

Well what the fuck were you supposed to say to that? Congratulations? Sorrows, sorrows, prayers?

"Okay..." you say after a beat. You were not good with advice, especially when it came to love, obviously. He didn't say love though. Infatuation, maybe. Still, you were not an expert. "So if she keeps dating jackasses and won't date you, why do you bother? Why not just forget about her?"

Jackson's eye twitches. You don't notice.

"Hard to forget someone you see every day, pie," he says. You scoff.

"Okay, I'm calling bullshit. I'm literally the only person you see every day."

"Mhm."

"Then you're lying?" you ask. Jackson deadpans.

"Please, for the love of god, never reproduce."

"Rude," you mutter. "Fine, so I know her, she's insecure, pretty, dates assholes, you allegedly see her everyday?"

"All of the above," he says. You frown, lips pursing as you rack your brain for answers, going through the hot insecure girls you know like a filing cabinet.

Wait.

Your eyes widen. Jackson's do the same, and then he smiles, like he's proud of you.

"Oh my god, is it Kim Sujin?" You ask, covering your mouth. "The girl with the—"

"Jesus fucking christ, y/n," he groans, running a hand through his hair. "Are you...you're fucking with me? That's what this is. You're not this dumb, right? Please say no. I feel like I'm in middle school right now, holy shit."

You open your mouth to argue, to insist he was being unfair (you didn't even like puzzles!) but he suddenly leans forward, palms cupping both of your cheeks. He pulls you toward him, nose inches from yours. You've been this close to him before, but you're suddenly dizzy now, a little out of it as you wonder if this is really happening to you—or if this is another sweaty-jackson-standing-over-me dream. Jackson, who has freckles on the tip of his nose and won't stop looking at you like that, the knot pulling tighter and tighter.

"Stop thinking before you hurt yourself. 'm gonna kiss you now, is that okay?" he asks.

Is that oka—?

"Kiss?" you mumble, swallowed up by those god damn pretty brown eyes. Jackson nods, head tilted, primed to kiss the cluelessness out of you, apparently. "Y-yeah, that's fine."

"It's gonna be...it's gonna be a lot, okay? Like not just a peck. You're fine with that?"

"Yep," you nod.

Jackson nods back. And then he kisses you.

He doesn't release your face, squishing your body between himself and the bed behind you. His lips press to yours, insistent and warm, though you can tell he's being cautious—if you wanted to push him away, you could. But you did not want to do that.

Because Jackson Wang was kissing you, and he's a really good kisser.

You briefly forget that you have hands, so when you remember, you waste no time in using them. One cups his jaw, feeling the edge of it press into your palm. The other fists his blonde hair, tugging it gently.

Jackson groans into your mouth, and that alarm in your belly turns into a fucking war drum. You feel the knot tighten and snap, and suddenly you're pushing him back, scrambling into his lap.

You kind of want more, kind of want to put your tongue in his mouth because he's warm and tastes good and you can only imagine how much better it would be, but he beats you to it. His tongue swipes over your lower lip and you eagerly open for him. He breathes in as soon as you do, and it feels like he's stealing your soul. Fuck it? He can have it?

It's messy, a tad bit desperate, definitely not the poetic kiss of rom coms, but you don't give a shit. It feels good, feels warm and right, like you've been kissing him in your head every day for the past 4 years.

By the time you manage to separate, you're trembling an embarassing amount. You'd blame the buzz on coffee if you'd had any, but you just hide your flushed cheeks and rest your forehead against his shoulder. You can tell that for once, Jackson's brain seems to also have short circuited, as it takes him a minute before he finally wraps his arms around you. You can hear his breath—as shaky as yours, thank god.

"Was that okay? Was it weird? Did I make you uncomfortable?" he asks, tilting back on one palm to look at you, his other arm secured around your waist. You sit up, shamelessly biting your lower lip, refusing to meet his eyes. He mistakes this for discomfort, all but shoving you out of his lap, hands flying to his hair.

"Fuck, I...I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to. I wasn't gonna...I'm so fucking sorry y/n, if you want me to move out—"

"You're gonna go bald," you mumble, a little blitzed out as you rest on your hands.

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. Stop freaking out, okay?" you offer, finally looking up at him. God he looks...scared. Hair messy, brown eyes wide. So unlike his usual cocky self that you're a little shaken, caught between wanting to protect him and wanting to kiss him again.

"I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?" he asks softly. That alarm is now everywhere, setting off in your chest at his concerned tone. You shake your head.

"No. I'm okay," you reassure him. "A little irritated."

Jackson's head snaps up, worry on his face. You feel guilty, so you quickly clarify.

"You said I'm not special," you say quietly, looking away. "If you were talking about me just now...why did you tell me that?"

He looks confused, like he can't remember (of all the things he's said to bully you—while you kept a detailed record). But he seems to finally recall the conversation, rubbing his forehead as his lips spread into a smile.

"What's funny?" you puff.

"I meant to him, pie. You're not special to him. Not that you weren't special at all, or to...to me," he explains, looking part amused and part shy. You soften a bit, unable to help but pout.

"Then you should say that!" you say, gesturing at nothing. "You can't just go around telling people they aren't special."

"I don't make you feel special?" he asks, dipping his head to meet your eyes.

Well, yes, but that's not the point. You choose not to reply.

Just like most things when it comes to you, however, he already knows the answer. He looks a little too proud of himself as he reaches for your wrist, pulling you back into him. You're not quite in his lap, but you lean heavily against his side, your chin resting against his chest.

"What if we mess it up?" you ask, looking up at him. He frowns, not understanding. "Us. What if...what if we mess us up?"

"I don't see how we would," he laughs. "We're practically married."

"Gross. We are not."

"We split the bills, pie."

"Most roommates do."

"We cook together."

"Most roommates do."

"My mother loves you."

"Your mother loves everyone."

"Not true. And my father loves you."

You pause, then squint.

"Your father has good taste," you say. Jackson rolls his eyes. He looks a little conflicted, like he can't decide what's too much, what's too soon.

"I do," he says quietly.

You hate that, for once in your life, you know exactly what he's saying without him saying it. And god damn it, you feel your eyes burning.

"Don't...ugh," you whine, looking away from him. But he's not having it, taking your chin and tilting your face up. You're faced with glassy eyes that make you want to die.

You hated it when he cried. Maybe you make his joints hurt or whatever, but you've only seen Jackson cry twice, once when his family dog died, and another when he was drunk and had convinced himself you weren't his friend anymore. Both times, you'd never felt so helpless. The way you feel now.

"Y/n, I—"

"Please don't," you breathe quickly, swallowing down your tears. You immediately panic at the look on his face, like you've slapped him. But you tuck your hair behind your ear and shake your head.

"No, I-I mean, I know you do, and I...I'm pretty sure I do too. I just...I can't say it now, alright?" you explain. "I'm sorry, I just—you know me better than anyone. I don't...don't wanna fuck it up, you know? I don't wanna lose you, I'm so bad, so stupid when it comes to this—"

"Hey, hey, shh..." Jackson says, gently shaking your chin. "I'm not upset, okay? Just relieved, a little scared. I don't want to fuck this up either, yeah? I want...I want what we are today and I want it tomorrow, even if that means we stay just like this."

His thumb brushes your lower lip. God, you want to kiss him again.

"No rush, pie, okay? I'll wait for you, even if..." he sucks in air and looks away, as though the idea hurts to even consider. "...even if it's never for us."

You want to kiss him again. Would that even be appropriate? After what you just said? After the emotions threatening to disrupt the foundation of your life for the past four years?

"Can...can I kiss you again?" he asks softly. You swallow and nod.

"Please."

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rodamned · 20 hours ago

Text

✨ Conclave (2024) @ao3org Fic Overview & AWARD SEASON – As of Feb 4, 2025✨

TOTAL FICS:

Conclave (2024) → 208 fics

Conclave - Robert Harris → 52 fics

Conclave RPF → 7 fics (the authors here are braver than the marines)

Fandom Shipping Report

We are a M/M hellhole (in Vatican? who’s shocked? not me) with 159 fics in that category. Gen (56 fics) is holding on like a Victorian child, and Multi (6), F/M (5), Other (2), and F/F (1) are basically cryptids.

Top Ships

Vincent/Thomas (98 fics) – Winning by a landslide. "I can fix him" meets "I can break him."

Aldo/Thomas (41 fics) – They’re divorced, they’re yearning, they’re devastating.

Vincent & Thomas (22 fics) – Oh, you don’t ship them? You just think about them 24/7? Okay.

Aldo & Thomas (11 fics) – Relying on the worst emotional support system imaginable. My boys...

Aldo/Goffredo (9 fics) – This one’s for the toxic, nasty little freaks (respectfully as I'm actively one of you)

Thomas/Raymond (9 fics) – …ok, og book shipers <3

Thomas/Goffredo (8 fics) – Why is Thomas collecting these flawed men like Pokémon?

Aldo & Vincent (7 fics) – YES & "We don’t talk about it."

Aldo/Vincent (6 fics) – Oh, but some of us do.

Aldo/Vincent/Thomas (6 fics) – So you want to destroy three men at once? Good. The Holy Trinity for real!

Ratings & Warnings

General (72 fics) – Congrats, some of you are sane.

Explicit (54 fics) – And some of you really, really aren’t.

Teen & Up (52 fics) – Angst hours.

Mature (17 fics) – "I could make this smutty, but what if I made it devastating instead?"

Not Rated (13 fics) – The wild west. No rules, just vibes.

Warnings:

No Archive Warnings (142 fics) – We are a people of peace.

Chose Not To Use (60 fics) – You don’t want to spoil the suffering.

Major Character Death (7 fics) – But when it hits, it hits. (RIP)

Graphic Violence (7 fics) – Vatican MMA when? 👀

Rape/Non-Con (3 fics) – ...

Character Leaderboard

Thomas Lawrence (172 fics) – Poster boy, poor little meow meow, king of suffering.

Vincent Benítez (138 fics) – Beloved. I will haunt you even in death.

Aldo Bellini (84 fics) – Doing so much and nothing at the same time.

Goffredo Tedesco (36 fics) – Problematic fave, menace behavior, probably gives people ulcers.

Raymond O'Malley (30 fics) – Short king <3

Sister Agnes (24 fics) – "Guys, can you be normal for five seconds?"

Cardinal Sabbadin (11 fics) – Our 🇬🇪 king of "I have three scenes, and you’re gonna make it your entire personality."

Joseph Tremblay (11 fics) – Exists. Oh Canada. Alexa play 'Money Money Money'.

Original Characters (9 fics) – Love a good self-insert. Or just any sorts of unhinged creativity!

Joshua Adeyemi (8 fics) – Sir, you are so underwritten, but we got you.

Top Tropes & Tags

What’s the Conclave fandom obsessed with?

Post-Canon (29 fics) – "So anyway, what happened AFTER?"

Character Study (27 fics) – Read: brain rot with love <3

Hurt/Comfort (20 fics) – It’s never just hurt. We need a little fix-it.

Pining (20 fics) – They will NEVER be normal. They swore not to after all. Collars and all...

Angst (17 fics) – The pain is the point.

Fluff (12 fics) – You’re lying to yourself, but okay.

Pre-Relationship (12 fics) – 40k words of slow burn eye contact.

Pre-Canon (11 fics) – "Before the disaster, before the trauma…"

Religious Imagery (10 fics) – Bible study, but make it ✨gay✨

Religious Guilt (9 fics) – These numbers feel low, honestly.

Longest Fics (Congrats, You (We) Win at Word Count)

Some of y’all (us) are writing entire novels.

1. Crown of Thorns (183,786 words) by rodamned – An actual brick. A thorn in my ass (disrespectfuly).

2. 21 Syllables (49,116 words) by Piersanti - “I have nothing to grieve for.” 👀 I'm still speechless here.

3. Everything’s Alright (44,016 words) by rodamned – No, it’s not <3 Jesus Christ Superstar reference, whoo?

4. Divine Revelations of Love (27,606 words) by Piersanti - We are kept all as securely in Love in woe as in weal, by the Goodness of God. - Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love 🥹

5. Stories from the Vatican (25,602 words) by Lost_In_Ace – Fic drabbles but make it THE saga 🫶

Most Beloved (Kudos Kings) 👑

Fanart Collection (Kudos: 601) – 1848/YOSB owns us all and we're grateful <3

Canticle (Kudos: 546) – Marie (VampireSpider) supremacy.

Like a Heathen Clung (Kudos: 467) – unrealshrike is making everyone insane.

Oldest vs. Newest ⌛🕰️⏳

📜 Oldest Fic:

Uncertainty by funnybabyvideos (Nov 11, 2024) – They were first, respect, love, thoughs and prayers!

🆕 Newest Fic:

Iliw (longing) by A_Retired_TimeTraveler – We love fresh pain.

🏆 CONCLAVE (2024) AO3 WINNERS (so far) 🏆

🏅 Most Popular Ship (aka ‘Fandom’s One True Pair’)

🏆 Vincent Benítez/Thomas Lawrence (98 fics)

You guys saw two old men making intense eye contact, one (1) single date by the turtle fountain, and collectively decided this is a love story now. Good.

🥈 Runner-Up: Aldo Bellini/Thomas Lawrence (41 fics)

The divorced vibes were too strong for you to ignore. The ultimate work husbands. The blorbos of the year!

🔥 Most Unhinged Ship (aka ‘Why Are We Like This?’)

🏆 Aldo Bellini/Goffredo Tedesco (9 fics)

Oh, so we looked at Aldo Bellini, the most emotionally repressed man alive, and said “give him a nemesis with unresolved tension”? Okay.

🥈 Thomas Lawrence/Goffredo Tedesco (8 fics) – same thing, different font.

Special mention to:

Aldo Bellini/Goffredo Tedesco/Sister Agnes (one fic) - literal perfection 🫶

😭 Most Devastating Tag (aka ‘Fandom Pain Olympics’)

🏆 Pining (20 fics)

Half this fandom is just writing 30k of two men not touching.

🥈 Religious Guilt (9 fics)

No one is enjoying their romance here. They are suffering through it.

💀 Most Tragic Fic Trend (aka ‘How Many Times Must A Man Die’ Award)

🏆 Major Character Death (7 fics)

Seven people said, "this isn’t sad enough."

🎭 Most Likely to Be an Accidental Bible Study

🏆 Religious Imagery & Symbolism (10 fics)

"Oh, it’s just Vatican aesthetics!" No. You’re writing 4,000 words about a man standing under a stained-glass window, questioning his faith and his love for another man. This is Bible study.

📈 Fastest Growing Ship (aka ‘The Dark Horse’)

🏆 Aldo Bellini/Thomas Lawrence

Started from the bottom, now we’re here. This ship DOUBLED in the past month. Aldo/Thomas truthers are rising. Hi :)

🥈 Thomas Lawrence/Goffredo Tedesco

I don’t wanna ask why, but I feel like I should. I have some reading to do.

🫂 Most “Just Kiss Already” (or don't) Pairing

🏆 Aldo Bellini & Thomas Lawrence (Gen) (11 fics)

These fics are like "they are JUST FRIENDS," but also, he looks at him with tears in his eyes.

🥈 Vincent Benítez & Thomas Lawrence (Gen) (22 fics)

I know what you’re trying to do, but it’s still fruity (respectfully).

⬇️📚📈

https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Conclave%20(2024)/works

#conclave 2024 #conclave #thomas lawrence #aldo bellini #vincent benitez #goffredo tedesco #raymond o'malley #cardinal sabbadin #cardinal tremblay #cardinal adeyemi #fanart #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #ao3 wrapped #conclave fics

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mymadmedleyw · 3 days ago

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As someone who was harshly harassed due to trying to communicate someone's problematic opinion about an issue they were showing... yes!

For a little context, that person criticized and labelled sick if someone wrote or read about a certain ship (in a fandom where that particular ship has huge audience). I was in a bad mood that day and thought questioning them would make them backpedal or reconsider their message and deliver it better. Well, I was wrong. After hard months, I managed to let the awful feeling go away that lingered long on me after their message - letting go of my frequent suicidal ideations as well. Still, I'm on the side of fiction=/=real.

What happened, you may ask? I asked them (politely) what if someone suffered something in real life, and turning to fiction (which is safe) to heal is a way. They still said that the victim (they do not use, of course, the word 'victim' because that would have been admitting that the person was a victim...) was sick regardless because reading/writing about topics that are 'unhealthy'. And something was seriously wrong with this person - read as, no matter if you were the victim once, being a victim and trying to get over you experiences makes you a disgusting human being...

As someone who tends to read any fiction when I'm in the mood, including ships or gore, it doesn't tell what kind of person I am. It doesn't tell you that I'm kind, shy and supportive. My brain doesn't belong to your prejudiced assumptions. My trauma doesn't make me 'sick'. Believe me, I wish I hadn't survived certain things in my life, I wish I hadn't been abused when I was a young teen by a family member, I wish my other family member hadn't been brutally murdered almost the same time, and I wish it hadn't been detailed on family gathering as gossip for years at the adult table... I wish I didn't have the background I have, but I do. Did I have a word about anything? No. Did it make me 'sick'? No.

I 'just' read fiction—stories, words that are not real.

My life was not my choice. My traumas were not my choice. My healing is my choice. And it is your choice to avoid something (that you can choose to avoid!) you wouldn't like. In fiction, it is a click to close a page, but harassment could lead people to re-live their traumas when questioning them. Victim blaming does more harm than the existence of fics. If you do want to express your opinion about what is right and what is wrong in life, help! Look around and help people! Raise your voice in the outside world and fight for the right there; fight there what bothers you because, believe me, that action would actually help and lead to change rather than harming and attacking people online and going against innocents because you are blindsided.

Final thought: everyone has the right to have their reading/writing habit, love or despise something, but no one has the right to harass people for it. Thank you.

This just in

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bisexualbrainrots · 2 days ago

Text

Return the Favor

did it just write angst in fluffebuary? yes yes I did, but it's all because of this gifset that compelled me to.

cw: major character injury, vomit, blood.

“Guess I finally got to return the favor, huh?”

Howie smiled at him, one of those smiles that turned him into the brightest light in the room, and grabbed harder at his shoulder as they managed to walk towards an exit point of the building. Howie laughed softly, a healing sound that would normally make him smile too.

But right now all Tommy could focus on was the amount of blood that adorned his friend’s (Could he still call him friend?) face.

Lines that had rolled down the left side of his face, mixing with the dirt and grime. Thankfully, they had discarded anything more serious than a scalp laceration, but it was still worrying.

Tommy will always worry about Howie, no matter what.

“Took you long enough, I was beginning to think we’d always be in debt,” a small cough left his throat after he chuckled, which made Tommy stop dead in his tracks “I’m okay, we probably inhaled a ton of dust in there.”

Everything started at a factory. A fire that quickly turned into a second alarm that called for multiple stations, the 118 and 217 included. Tommy guessed it was luck that picked him for ground work that shift, but Howie would probably say it was fate.

He hopes it wasn’t, because otherwise Tommy couldn’t understand why fate would collapse a story that was clear and bring both of them down, making them fight for their lives.

Fate was confusing.

Tommy sighed and they continued their walk towards safety, the roaring sounds of firefighters signaling where to find them.

“Hey, Tommy… thank you.”

Howie looked at him with a fondness he thought would never reappear, which made Tommy get a funny feeling in his chest. He really didn’t want to start crying in front of Howie.

“I know it was… wrong of me to drop you after Buck—”

“You didn’t drop me Howie, you… you did what any friend would do.”

Howie shook his head, leaning in to get a closer look at Tommy’s face “You were my friend too, Tommy. Still are,” he held the hand that was resting on his waist, giving it a squeeze “I just hope you can forgive me for that.”

He took a deep breath, or as deep as he could when he was holding Howie “You don’t have to apologize for anything, after all—” Tommy’s smile widened as he took in the view of familiar faces, minus one he found out wasn’t in the state anymore, and bumped his hip with Howie to get his attention, pointing with his head “Would you look at that, seems like someone was looking for you.”

He should’ve guessed they’d be in the front lines. Tommy wonders how many protocols and orders the 118 disobeyed to get to them. It must’ve been a ton, but he guessed they didn’t give a damn.

“We’ll always look for each other.”

Tommy loved that about them.

He let go of Howie the closer they got to the rest, and patted him on the shoulder before giving him a gentle push towards the awaited reunion. Tommy stood as his friend was being pulled into a warm embrace by Bobby, Hen and… Evan. They were all so happy, he could even spot tears in Bobby’s eyes that threatened to come out.

They were all reunited again, as they were meant to be. Tommy watched from a distance, a tired but big smile on his face that rejoiced on the family he once had, the family he could've had.

He supposed it was good he was out of the picture, after all, he never truly felt like he belonged anywhere.

Okay, that was a lie, he did belong to a place and to a person, he was just too scared to let Evan belong to him.

He held his hands on his knees, chest heaving, feeling more tired thanks to the adrenaline finally running its course. His chest expanded as much as he could, lungs begging for air he tried to get in as best as they let him.

He could hear his heart in his ears, though he supposed it had to do with the fact that Evan was looking at him, a faint smile on his lips.

A smile that faded as soon as Tommy threw up and fell on his knees.

“T-tommy!”

This is normal, it's just the adrenaline fading, you're okay. You're okay.

He was in fact, not okay.

Tommy wanted to rest so bad, to lay on the ground and take a nap, but his former family around him made it harder for him to let go.

“Tommy, Tommy c'mon look at me, What hurts?”

He didn't even notice the grunts, his ears feeling like he had cotton stuffed in them, unable to listen to anything other than his rapid heartbeat and labored breathing.

He tried, though, the best he could despite the fact that even speaking had become a hardship, “My stomach…” he didn't mention the fact that it had been hurting since he woke up after the collapse, he didn't even mention to Howie that rubble had fallen on him when they fell.

They laid him on the ground, Hen hurried to open his turnouts and Howie did a quick assessment of his injuries. He wanted to get them off him, tell them there was no reason to panic yet, that they had to focus on Howie. But if breathing was already complicated, talking wasn't much better.

A warm pair of hands held one of his and he turned his head, finding Evan and his even warmer smile that any other day would've made him melt. But the fear in his eyes was making it harder.

He wanted to lean closer, to caress his cheek and tell him everything was going to be okay.

That was the idea, until Hen pulled his shirt upwards and everyone seemed to stop breathing at once, Evan's hold tightening.

Bobby barked instructions at someone, saying something about immediate assistance and getting them an ambulance ASAP.

“W-what…” he tried to look and exhaled when he saw his belly. From what he could see, a purple and red puddle had formed on his abdomen, which made sense why it hurt so much “Oh… right, the rubble.”

Howie turned his face to him, the same panic Evan had in his eyes “You had… Tommy, why didn't you tell me?”

He smiled faintly, tired, way too tired “You have… people, Howie… I, I couldn't let you die.”

Howie's eyes glistened, his brows pulled together as he blinked rapidly and got to work, putting on a pair of gloves (When did he get the gloves?) and palpated the area, getting an immediate wince and hiss in response.

“You have people too,” he heard Evan mutter, his head ducked.

Tommy gave him a weak smile. Evan was so sweet, even when he didn’t deserve that from him anymore.

He stroked his hand with his thumb, pretending for one second that Evan’s words were true. Their eyes met, and Tommy gulped when he noticed his ex had begun to tear up. He hated to be the reason behind his tears, regardless of the situation he had found himself in.

“I’ve got a collar,” he heard Hen shout (When had she left?) and in less than 5 seconds the thing was wrapped around his neck, and he huffed in frustration to the restraint he felt because of it.

“This is… stupid… I don’t need—”

“Will you just let us help? Tommy rubble fell on you, you are not okay,” Evan’s exasperated tone made him shrink. An overwhelming wave of emotions rushed through him, which probably showed on his face given the quick way in which Evan’s expression softened “Sorry, sorry it’s just… let us help, please.”

Despite priding himself on the way he would help others without giving it a second thought, he had never been good at accepting help. Even with something so obvious as getting a cold, where help has to practically be forced onto him. With Evan though, he could never say no, his stubborn ass never giving up a fight to help him.

He took a breath and supposed there was nothing he could do, not when Evan was involved “... Okay.” He nodded slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt his body being transported into something, probably a gurney.

He was way too tired to care.

“... hey, hey, open your eyes Tommy,” Howie’s voice brought him back long enough to get a feel of the gurney he was resting in. It was softer than he thought, or maybe the sleepiness was making him sink into it better. Whatever was the case, he was comfortable.

“Bu’ ‘m sleepy” he frowned. God he felt like a child again, being woken up by his mother on a school day.

He just wanted 5 more minutes.

“You’ll get to sleep once the doctors have checked you out, baby.”

Tommy perked up at the pet name. He looked for him and found those perfect blue eyes staring at him, his lips turned upwards in an attempt of a smile to give to Evan.

He was enchanted by those eyes. The way all of his attention was on them the first time they got to have a minute to talk alone. He wanted to swim in them, swim in that ocean of sweetness and craziness that called him in. He forgot he didn’t know how to swim though, not until he was sinking down and fearing that he had fallen without a lifesaver.

He supposed that was it, fear. Fear that constantly pulled him into a self-preservation mode, fear that made him sabotage every good thing he ever had, fear that made him unable to tell Evan that he loves him.

Shit, he loves him.

“Baby…” he called out, looking for his hand as they pulled him into the ambulance.

“I’m still here Tommy, I’m always here,” the strong grip of Evan’s hand on his was comforting, just like the movement of the ambulance that rocked him like a baby.

He was feeling cold though.

Tommy took a deep breath and looked at Evan, “I need… to tell you… that I—” whatever words he was meant to say were not there anymore, a sudden stop in his consciousness that had him closing his eyes and closing himself to the world.

The last thing he heard was Howie saying something about their debt.

Maybe fate wanted this, as payback for the strip mall. Maybe this is how it was meant to be. Maybe he was always supposed to die with Howie by his side.

Fate didn’t count on the fact that Evan Buckley, his Evan, would be put by his side too. Didn't count on the fact that he would never bend to its will. It didn’t count on the fact that he was probably on top of him performing CPR by now, not that Tommy was aware of it anymore.

Damn it, he cursed out at fate, Why didn’t you let me say it?

Though he supposed it was fine, at least he wasn’t going through this alone.

He did hope they’d manage to save him on time.

Evan still owed him that beer.

#911 fic #911 abc #911 #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #platonic chimtommy #chimney han #hen wilson #bobby nash #cw vomit #cw blood #I'M SORRY I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WAS THINKING #HE WILL BE OKAY Y'ALL TRUST ME

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