#and i feel so terrible and alone while doing it

[bunnys-kisses]

love is a kick to the stomach

max verstappen - sequel to: lust is a loaded hand gun

tags: smut/fluff, pregnancy & kids, falling in love, dad!max, body worship, tenderness, plot, cowgirl position

a/n: this was made possible by the support of over a dozen people asking for a sequel! i hope you enjoy it <3

"are you sure you're going to be fine on your own?" your former teammate charles asked as he helped you pack the last of your suitcases. your apartment in monaco was bare, and for good reason, you were going home.

you replied with a shrug, "i'll be fine. i mean if i could sustain a driving career for as long as i did. i can handle raising a baby." you rubbed your lower back a little bit.

charles said,"i guess so, you know, monaco isn't a terrible place to raise a child." he gestured to himself with raised eyebrows.

"as much as i'd love to." you said, "i think people will start to raise eyebrows when they see max's look-alike running around. plus, i guess it's a way to get away from it. something simpler for my kid."

you hadn't spoken to the father of your son, max didn't know you were pregnant. and it was the best for everyone if he never knew that you had a child with him.

you remember the first time you held nicolas in your arms, it took you close to ten hours for you to deliver him. you had to say, the aches and pains of racing were nothing compared to the rising anxiety and pain of delivering a child. didn't help he was stubborn like this father. you tried not to think about max too much during the moments of lessened pain. part of you wanted him there, while you were determined to raise your child alone. the moments of weakness you felt during delivery made you want to hastily unblock max's number and call him before the next contractions came.

"okay, okay. just you and me, baby, just you and me." you told yourself as you laid in the hospital bed with your belly swollen from the months of carrying your son. you hissed through your teeth as another contraction hit.

in the end, you had nicolas. or nico as you called him. tired, over-heated as you pushed out your baby. the nurse told you it was a boy. wrapped in a blanket as he was placed on your chest. you could only describe it as maternal warmth as you cried. this was your baby. your little nico. "congratulations." the nurse told you as you held onto him gently. when you gave birth to your son, max was in monaco streaming with the rest of the redline team. fully unaware that you just had his child.

you lived a quiet life after that, but sometimes you could still feel the rumble of the track in your soul. it pulled you in, there was no reason for it to come back. there was no way you could, nico needed his mother and you made the choice to start a family of your own.

"nico!" you giggled towards your toddler, nico was now close to three years old! you picked him up from his spot at the coffee table, surrounded by papers and markers. you gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "remember uncle charlie?" you swayed a little with the child in your arms.

the little boy nodded, "uh-huh." charles sent you and nico christmas presents every year. he even visited once or twice during summer break and spent a week with the two of you, he loved the time away from the hustle and bustle of racing. nico knew uncle charlie mostly because of leo, you had to teach him how to be gentle with the dog.

"well, he is inviting us somewhere. we're going to see him race, just like what mama used to do." it was the pre-season testing, it would be nice to see everyone. see how things changed in the three years since you left, "i know you've been asking about the cars." you smiled at the little boy.

nico really was the son of two racers, even now he was colouring pages of cars and he learned some of his colours from the cars in your neighbourhood. his expression light up, "the cars?"

you chuckled and said, "yes! we'll see the cars go really fast." it felt somewhat silly to say that raising a child felt more fulfilling than any of the titles you won.

it was almost more challenging with more rewards. driving was intense and lit an inferno in your stomach. but, you were constantly swarmed by the media with people yelling in your ear at all times. you were both hated and loved by the press, the organization and the fans. and while parenthood was harder in a lot of ways, it was nice. it was quieter. you saw friends, you found interest in painting, you read all the books you bought on your travels as a racer. the best part about having a kid was having a travel buddy. you weren't your stats or your trophies, you were just you.

but driving was a drug, and you also wanted to see the cars go very fast. so within a couple of weeks you were on the track for the pre-season.

"and that nico, is a racing car." you pointed towards the red ferrari car. a similar one to the one you drove. and you watched your young son light up the way you did all those years prior.

-

you knew you were going to see max. it was stupid to think that you could not see him. he had won the previous year's wdc, he was everywhere. so while you spoke to lewis and charles, you caught sight of him. and he caught sight of the toddler in your arms.

charles looked over to where your gaze was and said, "oh shit." then tried to shift over to sort of usher you and nico away from the gaze of max. but you reached out and touched your former teammates shoulder.

"it's fine..." you assured him. the past year, as it felt like nico was growing so much everyday. the feelings about max had resurfaced. while you believed that you and your network of friends and family could raise nico just fine. max didn't know that nico existed. a night of passion was just that in max's mind.

you shifted your toddler in your arms and looked over to max. you smiled and gave him a small wave. and you could see the expression cross max's face.

nico let go of the front of your shirt and made child's grabby-hands towards the man. and max took a bold step forward, and then another, and then another before he was crowded in your space. an expression across his face as he looked down at you and nico.

"hey." you said.

"hi." he replied. he raised his hand for a moment, but stopped himself. he swallowed and asked, "who is this?"

you looked down at the boy who was holding onto your shirt once more. you smiled at max, "nicolas. but everyone calls him nico. he's my son."

our son.

max swallowed and looked at the boy. he patted him on the top of the head and smiled, "well, hello nico. your mama was an amazing driver." he looked at you once more before you were pulled away by charles to see the rest of the ferrari team. max watched you walk away, just as he did all those years prior.

-

"can i watch nico?" charles asked while

"i can watch him just fine. i've been doing it for three years." you chuckled as you grabbed a chip from the bag and ate it.

charles crossed his arms and looked at you, "when was the last time you had a break? plus me and alexandra are thinking about, maybe, having a child once my career winds down." he smiled a little, "want to make sure that i can handle a three year old."

you looked to your son on the carpeted floor playing with the duplo blocks that you had brought with you. you then looked to charles and asked, "so you're probably assuming that if you can handle the son of me and him, you can handle your own child?"

charles nodded, "the child of ferrari's princess and mad max. must be a handful." he laughed a little.

"he's not the son of satan, charles." you playfully shoved your former teammate. and he shrugged. you were thankful in a way that you didn't go with charles' plan for him to father your child. you felt like that would've been more complicated than what you had now, since you liked charles' current partner.

"take the night off or at least a few hours. go do something for yourself." charles gave you a sympathetic glance. and you had no choice to concede.

he was right, since nico's birth you had no time for yourself unless he was asleep. but usually you fell asleep too. in the end you dressed nicely, in a pencil skirt and a white blouse. you had your purse on hand and told charles to text you if there were any issues. and you made nico promise you to be good. you kissed the boy's cheek before you headed out.

you ended up at a bar. it wasn't busy and you blended in with the other patrons. the press didn't bother you too much, you had been out of the spotlight for long that it was mostly making the public aware that you still existed and now you had a kid.

"well, well, well." a man's voice caught your attention. you looked up from your phone to see max by your table, "has ferrari's princess finally come back to her castle."

you swallowed, "hi, max."

"where's the little one?"

"with charles tonight."

max nodded, "i was going to make a joke about him being the father... but i know that's not true." he sat down across from you at the table. he rested his forearms on the table, his watch shined in the low light of the bar, "what happened?"

"nothing happened. i just retired."

"with my son... a son i knew nothing about." his voice was low, "why didn't you tell me? do you think so low of me i wouldn't have tried to help? you ran off back home and blocked me..." there was a look in his eyes.

"i didn't want to burden the world champion." you lied as you took a sip of your stiff drink. you felt tension in your shoulders as you took a sip. your heart rattled in your chest, "i didn't expect you to do anything. i didn't need you to."

max reached across the small table and took a hold of your wrist to bring your closer. then he locked his fingers with yours. he said, "maybe i wanted to... did you never think i wanted to be a father?"

you swallowed, "no." you assumed he didn't. not after everything, you heard enough of his father's berating in your karting career. the angry dutch words followed by insults in english so everyone knew what was being said. and that apprently only scratched the surface of what had been done to him. you thought max was a good fit because he would be so disinterested in being a parent. but as he looked at you, hand in yours. you realized you made a grave error. you said, "being a parent isn't easy."

max chuckled, "i know. i'm not stupid. i thought about that night we shared, it comes back to me. i've never wanted someone the way i wanted you. and to know you carried my child, it only pulls me in more."

you took another sip of your drink with your free hand and said, "and what are you going to do about it, verstappen?" you may be a mother now, but you were ferrari's princess, the temptress on wheels. you'd still go toe-to-toe with any man.

max simply smiled.

-

you ended up in max's hotel room. his hands on you like they were all those years ago. he touched you the way a lover would as the two of you passionately made out. you moaned against his lips and you held onto his strong shoulders.

"i thought about you every day of your retirement. i wanted to know what happened. i thought you were sick." he kissed along your neck, his hands at your waist.

"i mean, i did have quite the stomach bug. took ten hours to get him out." you moaned a little bit as his lips grazed over your pulse point. you could feel a surge of pleasure through you. you had been with anyone intimately since max. you didn't have time for dates let alone hook-ups.

"i should've been there. i would've been there in a heartbeat. you, me, nico... a family." he said as he looked to you once more and you toyed with the material of his shirt, "i always had a fondness for you. you let nothing stop you."

you smiled, "i always thought you wanted a model... not a driver."

he pressed his chest against yours and looked into your eyes, "maybe in another time. i wish i could've seen you pregnant." he swallowed as his hands touched your breasts.

you chuckled lowly, "someone wanted a milf?"

he shook his head as he pressed his forehead to yours, "no, no. i wanted to see your body change from what we made. the child we made together."

"but racing..."

he groaned, "fuck it. choose between another trophy taking up space in my apartment... or a home with you and nico. such a hard choice, don't you think?" he chuckled as he held you so close to him. he groped your breasts, "a man who finds more fulfillment in pieces of plastic and metal than having a home to go to is a stupid man."

you chuckled, "i guess i didn't want to be your wag either."

he shook his head, "i don't think you can be a wag if you played the sport. if you are worried about there being expectations placed on you, then don't worry. if you can't drive, then i'll drive twice as hard for us. any ten second gap i have will be twenty seconds, because i know you only expect the best."

you felt warmth in your cheeks. and eventually he led you to the bedroom. you ended up on the bed with max undoing your button up. you giggled, "ah, does someone like mothers?"

he groaned with his nose against your heated skin, "only when they had my kid... nico looked exactly like me." he said as he got the button up off your shoulder.

you moaned, but then yelped as he pushed you back onto the bed. you looked up at him, "i'm on birth control." you licked your lips as you got out of your bra and max took off his t-shirt, "fuck, now i remember why i wanted to have a baby with you."

he put his hands on his hips and smiled. tiny waist, broad shoulders. a certain strength to him, but he didn't look like a dehydrated mess. he was strong in a way that excited you, but you also knew that he loved a good meal. long before he gorged himself on your cunt, he happily ate the meals you cooked. you remember he even said, "you'd make a great wife." which honestly sowed the seed that led to nico.

the night of passion that led to the making of your son. you could feel max's eyes wander across your body and he licked his lips. he said, "you look good. bit more curves than when we last were like this."

"yeah, i had an eight pound baby." you chuckled as you got the rest of your clothes off. max's hungry gaze lingered, "i got a few more curves that a track as carry him for nine months, you know he was three days overdue."

"stubborn." max laughed as he unzipped his jeans, "just like his mama."

you narrowed your eyes, "no, just like his old man." and max was all over you. the kissed became hungry and needy. neither of you had been intimate with another person since the night you made nico. three years ago. you were busy with a baby while max couldn't get you out of his head. he tried to find another woman, he tried to be close to someone. but you always pulled in the back of his mind.

both of you were into the hotel room and max kissed at your breasts. your breasts were roughly average size before you got pregnant. the training and weight guidelines for racing prevented you from having a big chest. but you went up at least a cup and a half during your pregnancy. and max loved kissing the heated skin.

"fuck." you gasped. both naked on the bed, moved against one another. it was like being in a familiar place. you knew max's body just as you did all those years ago. you kissed him and ended up straddled max's waist.

he was up against the pillows and your knees on either side of him. your hands roamed his chest and he shuddered. he looked up at you with those blue eyes, "please, fuck. please, give me a chance. give me a chance to be there for you and nico.."

you swallowed, you never expected that from max. a man on the top like that wouldn't easily quiver at the aspect of being a father. but max wanted it. he wanted the family. he wanted a home. you sighed to yourself, you guessed an apartment full of trophies wasn't enough.

you put a hand on his chest before you sank on his cock, "max. if nico decided not to peruse racing.... would you still love him?" that was a conversation you had to have with yourself. you loved racing, that was your passion for years. but you promised yourself to never be the parent that you saw early in your career. twisting their children to make them conform to the parent's standards. to force them into racing.

he said, those blue eyes gazed up at you, "if nico wanted to race. i'm behind him a hundred percent. if it doesn't, nothing changes... he is still my son. i'm behind him through everything."

you leaned down to kiss max on the lips, "fuck, max." you sank down onto his cock and continued to kiss him. you splayed your hands across his broad chest and continued to move against him.

"shit." he shuddered. he felt a certain euphoria that left him needy for more. never had he had soemthing like this. not since the last time he had you. it was a amazing. to have you so close once more. he wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you. the kisses shared between you two were hot and heavy, it left him feeling tense in a good way. to have you on top of him, close to him was a feeling he wished he could never forget.

even after three years you still occupied his mind in ways that left him shuddering against you. after three years, after all this time, he still wanted to map your body with his tongue. even the changes post-pregnancy. he held onto you and kissed at your heated skin. he wished he was there, seeing the progress of you carrying nico. to be a father. he moved against you, he held you. he loved you, but he had been holding onto that love for some time. unable to properly display it, and to find out you had a child with him only fueled the passion for you. the two of you moved against one another, you both felt the intense pleasure from the heated movements against one another.

this was how you should've been a long time ago. if max had known you wanted a baby, he would've happily had one with you. but he should've been there for every moment of it. even if you couldn't race because of the pregnancy, max would kiss every winning trophy in your honor, he'd race for both of you. and then come to the paddock with you and nico, a family of three. a family he always wanted.

he wanted to kiss you in front of the cameras. even if you were retired, he wanted to make you feel that every winning was for both of you. he kissed at you heated skin and you moaned, he felt the warmth of love in his gut. you two should've been married by now, a house somewhere quiet. it didn't even have to be in monaco. max would happily pack up his racing sim gear and his cats, and move to anywhere you desired. he hoped that you two could be a family.

to come home after a triple header and see you and nico. the boy looked so much like him. those round cheeks, those wide eyes. the excitement on the track and his need to be close to his mother (you). it screamed a young max, but max wanted to be a better father. he wanted to be present, he wanted to be there for his son.

he groaned, "please, please. let me into your little family." he kissed as your larger breasts and moved against you. the pleasure was deep inside of him. to have you once more felt like a dream.

you held onto his short hair for a moment, you groaned a little bit as you felt the immense heat between you two. you leaned down and kissed him on the head with such tenderness. this wasn't the kind of sex you had all that time ago, this was something more softer. more gentle. less like a means to an end, and more like you two were becoming familiar with each other's bodies again.

"you look perfect," he said lowly, "i'm surprised you hadn't picked uo a husband after all the time." he held on a little tighter and worked your body against him. the pleasure shot through the both of you which only spurred you on the move faster.

your bucked your hips against his, you felt the inferno in your belly as you held his face and kissed him once more. if he wanted to be in nico's life then you'd allow it. you'd let max be involved, be the father he wanted to be. you thought his trophies were more important, but seeing him, his eagerness to be in nico's life made you realize that he wanted a family, a home. you kissed him once more as the two of you thrusted against one another.

you knew racing would always pull you back in eventually. it had that effect on people. it was infectious, even tucked away in your domestic life. you still sat on the couch with your rambunctious toddler and watched the races at odd hours.

"why do you want a life with me and nico, you could have any-"

"i don't want to hear it. nico deserves a father and you deserve a loving partner... hell, maybe even a husband." he said with total conviction as he moved against you. the pleasure felt like it was going to boil over soon.

you moved against him, eagerness in your movements. you couldn't think of anymore things to prevent max from being part of your family. your movements staggered and you felt the pleasure bloom into something more. you hissed, "fuck," while you moved against him. you felt the inferno in your soul, the need for him in ways you didn't need any other man.

this was the father of your son, and you carried feelings for him just as you carried nico. the combination of you two, the affection you had for one another in a brief moment. it was something you wanted to expand on. you wanted to love max verstappen.

you held onto the father of your child. you came around his cock and arched your back. you felt the fury of lust through your body as you moved against him. you laid a heavy kiss on his lips as your pussy clenched around his cock, "fuck." you said, words muffled by the kiss. max wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you further. you felt his cock nudge against some of your softest areas and it made you toes curl through climax.

he groaned into the kiss and continued to move against you. a few more heavy strokes and he finished inside of you. he practically melted against you and you smiled against his lips with affection. his brain felt swamped with emotion as he said, "i love you."

and without thinking you replied, "i love you too, max." then kissed him once more with total affection for one another.

max swallowed as he held you as you slowed your pace to a stop. he craned his neck to press his cheek against your soft stomach, "don't leave again... please."

"max." you panted and combed your fingers through his hair. he held onto you tighter as if you were going to slip away.

he said, in a tone you never thought you could hear from a world champion, "don't.. don't leave." this was supposed to be simple. max was a means to a child, but he wanted to be in nico's life. he wanted to be a father.

you wrapped your arms around him and held him close to your abdomen. you exhaled deeply and said, "i don't want to pressure you into being a father... if you're going to be in his life, you're going all in. he needs stability."

max lifted his head to look at you. those blue eyes dazzled in the low light of his hotel room. he held onto you a little tighter, not enough to bruise however. he said, "i'm all in. you, me, and nico." like a promise.

maybe it was the post-orgasm hormones or maybe because you became a tad more in touch with your emotions after having a child. but when max said that, you cried.

-

"go nico! go, go!!!" you shouted as your nine year old sailed past the finish line in first place and you broke into a grin. your husband wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into a kiss. you laughed into the kiss and said to your husband, "oh man. ow, ow. okay, okay!" you looked down at your swollen middle, "someone isn't happy about the excitement."

"sorry there, little one." max's hand rubbed your swollen middle. his wedding band gleamed in the afternoon light. you were welcoming a son in four months and could already feel the commotion of racing.

you smiled at max for a moment before your son got out of the cart and you were moving as fast as you could to greet him. with his helmet off, you cupped your son's chubby cheeks. he was looking more like max every day, but smashed records the way you did.

you were soon a family of four. you didn't live in your home country and max had moved away from monaco when you got married. max was a good father, as he picked up nico with ease.

"you did amazing, nico. good job!" he beamed at the little boy and the boy beamed back at him. you knew that people shouldn't have children to heal a part of themselves. you learned that when you were pregnant the first time. but when max gave praise to your son, he was giving the young boy the support he never got. that if nico was going to eventually end up in formula one, it wasn't going to be the way that max was brought up.

he'd do it right.

stern when he needed to be. you'd both push nico to be the best, but also give him the love a wide-eyed, chubby cheeked boy needed. and as you leaned down as best as you could to kiss your son on the cheek. you felt like a family. it felt like home.

you were confident that you could've raised both nico and your future son by yourself. but it was an adventure you'd rather share with max. <3

[fromthestacks]

I’ve been sitting with this for a couple days because I want to respond (hopefully) thoughtfully. And on the one hand, it’s a really good point and I can see how all the “I hate men” stuff could wear on the guys who AREN’T, you know, raging assholes. But on the other hand, my forty years of lived experience is pushing back on that. Long-winded rant under the cut.

I have a fair amount of men in my life by choice- family, friends, boyfriend. The ones I choose to spend time with are, by and large, really good guys. They’ve also heard more than their fair share of my own “I hate men” rants, and to their credit they’ve never been upset about it. They know I don’t mean them because my words and actions back it up, and they understand where I’m coming from because they hear the stories accompanying said rants and generally agree with my assessment.

All this to say, as much as I sympathize with the good guys who have to listen to the “I hate men” rants, I also very much don’t, because they have arguably more power to help shift that narrative than I do. The shitty men of the world do not care that people think they’re shitty, they are not changed by reason or logic. Men who, for example, sexually harass women don’t (generally) hear the many, many stories from women’s perspectives and have a lightbulb moment where they realize how wrong they’ve been. They will likely never be Ebenezer Scrooge throwing open the windows to wish the town poors a merry Christmas. But maybe, just maybe, if enough of the good guys start speaking up to call them on their behavior, that might have even a small effect on them.

“It shouldn’t be our responsibility” well no shit, grown adults shouldn’t need to be spoon fed basic human decency, but here we are. Women telling men how much we hate being catcalled doesn’t seem to be fucking working, so if the good guys aren’t willing to try telling them, then I’m out of ideas that aren’t along the lines of Goodbye Earl.

One last thing, this is getting away from me. I work a public service job, and it involves a fair amount of face time with people needing help finding things and using stuff like printers. I’m always polite and reasonably friendly, but it’s never anything beyond professionally kind. Even at that, it’s more than half of my interactions with men that leave me feeling uncomfortable. I’ve had men try to take my hand, I’ve had men ask if I’m single thirty seconds into me walking to their computer to help, I’ve had men stand right behind my chair while I’m looking something up. “Why don’t you just say something to them?” Because I’m not trying to get assaulted or shouted at, I’m trying to make it to the end of my shift and go home. It’s extremely well documented that a lot of men don’t handle rejection well, which ends with a lot of women getting assaulted or worse. And the thing about THAT is, you never know which men are gonna be the ones to lose their cool. So you just hedge your bets and tread carefully with everyone in case.

SO. What this very long-winded rant is saying, is that a lot of women encounter a lot of shitty men, and it sucks absolute donkey dick to deal with. If the good guys out there want to stop hearing about how terrible men are, they need to step the fuck up and help, because women are exhausted. The other, smaller, part that they might not like is that it’s not our job to constantly reassure them that I don’t include them when I say “I hate men”. If I’m spending time with you, and trusting you with these stories or complaining or whatever, then go ahead and take it on faith that I don’t mean you.

Maybe I’m alone in feeling this way, I don’t know. Just needed to get this out there.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[grapejuicenharry]

Angel (part 4)

Y/N fails her exam and has a slight miscommunication with Harry, but he takes care of her. (4k words)

warnings: angst, smut, 18+, squirting (sorry i got carried away), fingering.

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ . ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶. ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Y/N woke up with a sour feeling in her stomach. She'd been on edge since the weekend, dreading today because her psychology exam results were coming out, and she knew she hadn't done well.

She remembered how exam week had lined up with her period, the dull ache in her head making it nearly impossible to focus or prepare like she wanted.

Harry had been there atterward, pulling her close, covering her in kisses, and telling her how proud he was and how she'd done her best. In those moments, she'd felt a bit lighter, as if the weight had lifted. But now, as she thought about the results again, that same heavy pit began to settle in her stomach.

Y/N's day was off to a terrible start.

Nothing had gone right since morning.

She'd nearly slipped in the bathroom while brushing her teeth, burned her breakfast because she was so lost in anxious thoughts, and then, on the way to university, a creepy guy wouldn't stop staring at her. All she wanted was to hide away in Harry's room, wrapped up in his arms, safe on the couch.

She wished she could call Harry and ask him to be with her, but she knew he was busy preparing for his own exams. He had a calculus test in a few days and was buried in studying. She was thankful she hadn't chosen calculus this semester—she'd probably flunk it for sure. But Harry was such a nerd, so smart and hardworking, she knew he'd get through it easily. The image of Harry buried in his book, glasses perched on his nose, brought a smile to her face. He was just too cute. 

Y/N sits in the library, her laptop open in front of her. She nervously chews her nails, contemplating her recent life decisions. Closing her eyes, she whispers, “It’s okay,” and clicks to view her grade, silently praying for a passing mark.

She failed.

A big, fat D stares back at her from the screen. Her eyes go glossy as she struggles to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over. Embarrassed, she glances around, hoping no one saw her screen. The thought of telling Harry makes her stomach twist—Harry, who always believed in her, his favorite girl. Part of her wants to call him, to feel his comforting embrace, to hear him tell her it will be okay. But another part worries that he might be disappointed, maybe even embarrassed. Harry always calls her smart and brilliant, but how would he react to this? Would he laugh? Would he be ashamed?

No, she tells herself, he would never do that. He loves her; he always takes care of her. Her grade wouldn’t matter to him—she can always retake the test, after all. Taking a deep breath, she decides. She should definitely call Harry.

Harry doesn’t pick up. Y/N tries calling him three times, but each call goes unanswered. She texts him, but the messages remain unseen. Frustration and exhaustion settle in, and she decides she can’t stay at the university any longer. Packing her laptop, pouch, and books into her bag, her stomach growls, reminding her that she skipped breakfast after burning it earlier. She decides to stop by the campus café on her way home.

But as she approaches the café, she sees him—Harry. Her Harry, leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with Emma. The same Emma who never missed an opportunity to get close to him. And worst of all, they’re laughing together. Harry says something that makes Emma throw her head back in laughter, standing far too close to him. Y/N stares from a distance, her eyes stinging with unshed tears and a headache starting to build.

Harry and Y/N have been dating for a while now—ten months, and she trusts him completely. She knows how much he loves her and that he’d never cheat. But her chest aches at the thought that he might’ve ignored her calls just because he was busy with Emma. Y/N feels so alone, so vulnerable with everything that’s gone wrong today. 

When Emma places a hand on Harry’s shoulder, Y/N feels a spark of anger she rarely experiences. She’s not usually the jealous type, but today has been a disaster, and her emotions are all over the place. All she wanted was to be with her boyfriend, for him to comfort her, but he's... occupied. 

Of course Harry would enjoy Emma's company, she thinks bitterly. Emma, who's so good in all her classes, probably never fails at anything. She's beautiful, with her blonde hair, perfect white teeth, and tall, slender frame that seems to match Harry's so well. Unlike YN, who feels foolish, even small, in comparison. She's never felt this insecure, this low, and right now, she just feels... dumb.

Blinking away her tears as discreetly as possible, Y/N turns and walks back to her apartment, her appetite gone. 

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry was confused. He was finally done with his studies for the day and wrapped up to go home. He was so excited because he can finally spend the night with Y/N, whom he hadn't seen for two days. He had been so busy with his exams that they did not get time to meet each other. He missed her terribly, and now he just wanted to go to her apartment, cuddle with her, and just be in each other’s presence. She’d been the first thing on his mind all day—the person he’d wanted to see as soon as he got a break from studying. 

He fumbled with his keys as he opened the apartment door, unlocking his phone to make a call, but his eyes widened when he saw that Y/N had called him three times in the afternoon. “Shit,” he whispered, mentally cursing himself for silencing his phone. He dialed her number back, but the calls went unanswered. He tried texting her, but there was no reply. 

Sighing, he slouched on the couch. His muscles were sore and achy because of sitting in front of his laptop all day. That made him think of Y/N’s touch—the way her hands would move over his shoulders, soothing every ache, her voice soft and calming. The thought only made him miss her more. His hair was all messed up and tousled, eyes red and sunken behind his glasses, and a face with exhaustion written all over. 

He hadn’t even gotten the chance to have a proper meal all day. He was so buried in his books that he forgot to eat. But that did not matter. Now he just wanted to be with her, to talk with her, to breather her, and to share a meal with her. 

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Y/N was a mess. She had been crying for the past two hours and couldn't understand why her tears wouldn't stop. Her face was all blotchy and red. Her eyes swollen with tears, and she declined Harry’s call yet again. He’d been calling nonstop and even texted, asking if he could come over. But she didn’t want him to see her like this—all blotchy with snot covering her face. Y/N knew she was being immature, but her feelings were hurt, and she just wanted to let out everything that had been bottled up since the morning. 

Cuddled on her couch with a blanket wrapped around her as she stares at his contact yet again. She couldn’t help it. Finally, she texted him not to come over, saying she was busy. Harry would just assume she is busy with her assignments. She tried to come up with some other excuse, but she knows if she had told him that she was not well, he would rush over to see her. 

God, Y/N couldn’t help but feel pathetic.

She knew she should just call him and, for the truth, talk to him and clear the air, but right now she just wanted to be alone... with no one around but her broken heart. 

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

Harry visits Y/N the next morning, His night went by tossing and turning, unable to get a wink of sleep, so upset after her text message. There was a sour feeling in his chest, one where he couldn't quite put a finger on. He knew Y/N well, and she never acted like this. Even when she was in an unpleasent mood, she never refused to hang out. This was the first time she had ever done something like this, and he couldn’t help but worry. Weird thoughts started creeping up his mind. But he pushed them aside and made his way over to Y/N’s apartment. He wanted to know what’s wrong and if she is okay. 

Harry rang the bell twice, but there was no response. Concern tugged at him, so he tried opening the door, and thankfully it was unlocked. Slipping inside, he made his way through the quiet apartment towards her bedroom. When he reached her room, he paused in the doorway, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of her sleeping peacefully. A frown took over his face when he looked closely at her puffy eyes and red cheeks. Wondering if Y/N had been crying. He couldn’t help but advance his steps towards her bed and carefully sat beside her. His fingers traced her features: the stray strand of hair, the fallen strand of her delicate nose, and her pouty lips. She looked like an angel, his beautiful angel. 

Y/N stirred in her sleep, opening her eyes, which was somewhat an effort because of how late she had been to bed after exhausting herself. Blinking up in surprise, she sees Harry,

Harry, who was sitting beside her and his fingers playing with a strand of her hair. 

“Harry… What are you doing here?” Her voice barely above a whisper. Y/N sits up, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles, pulling her blanket closer around her. Seeing his face clearly after two whole days, worry written all over. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you." He said softly, “You wouldn’t answer my calls last night. And I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He murmurs, but his face fell when she looked away quickly, avoiding his eyes.

“I am fine,” she mutters sharply, looking down at her lap. Harry frowns at her response. 

“You don’t look fine, love. What’s going on? Did I do something?” 

She takes a shaky breath, trying to hold back tears that are threatening to pour any second. She hated herself for not being able to control her emotions during such times. She looks down at her lap, trying her hardest to avoid his gaze.

“You didn’t answer my calls either, Harry. I needed you. Yesterday was... hard for me. And you..” She pauses, taking a breath. “You were with Emma.” 

Harry’s brows knitted in confusion. Then realization dawned on him. His expression softened, and he reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Y/N, no. My phone was on silent because I was studying, and I didn’t see your calls until later. I’m sorry. I never meant for you to feel that way. And Emma..” Harry shakes his head and takes a deep breath before saying, “Baby, she is dating Alex. She just wanted to know, ask me a few things to plan his birthday party, since I’m his close friend.” 

"Oh,” whispers Y/N, more to herself as realization dawned upon her. Her fingers nervously pick at her cuticles. She’d been so stupid, so dumb, to jump to conclusions. 

“You’re not stupid.” Harry says softly, as if he can read her thoughts. He knows her tendency to blame herself for even the smallest things. 

“I just.. I failed my psychology exam, Harry.” She admits, her voice breaking as she sniffles. “I felt like everything was falling apart, and you weren’t there. I didn’t know what to think.” Her cheeks were red with tears.

Without hesitation, Harry pulls her into his arms, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. She buries her face in his neck. His clean, masculine scent gives her comfort as she clings to him and straddles his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck tightly.

“I am sorry, Y/N." He murmurs, “I should’ve been there for you, but failing that exam doesn’t change anything about how smart you are. You’re going to get through this. And I’m going to help you however I can. I’m here, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone.” 

Hearing him say these words instantly brings relief to her, her mind instantly relaxing, easing some tension from her body. The weight of failure soon dissipates. She clings to him tightly. How could she ever think Harry would be ashamed or embarrassed of her? 

He is right—she will get through this; failing an exam doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. It was just a stupid test. 

After a while, she pulls back, feeling much better. “I just felt so alone. I didn’t mean to doubt you.” 

Harry gently lifts her chin and presses a soft kiss on her forehead. “And I'm sorry for making you feel like you couldn't reach me. I love you, Y/N. The last thing I want is for you to go through something like that by yourself.” 

Her lips curl into a smile. Her heart is still racing at the sound of his ‘I love you’, even though he says it to her so often. “I'm sorry too... for jumping to conclusions.” She whispers back. 

Harry smiles, his thumb brushing away a tear. “C’mon, no more tears, okay? Let’s get cleaned up, and we’ll have breakfast together.” He suddenly stands up, with Y/N in his arms, making their way to the washroom. Y/N laughs at his antics. 

He sets her down on the counter, handing her toothbrush with toothpaste already on it. She takes it and starts brushing her teeth, keeping him caged between her legs. 

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

After she was done brushing her teeth, they peeled off each other’s clothes while stumbling into the shower eager. The hot water cascaded over them. Harry applied shampoo to Y/N’s hair, his fingers massaging her scalp gently. She tipped her head back in relaxation, letting her eyes flutter shut, enjoying the sensation. His touch felt like heaven. He felt like home; it all felt so natural. She loved these domestic moments—showering together, cooking for each other, sleeping in each other’s arms—like they were meant to be. 

As Harry rinsed the shampoo from her hair, his hand drifted to her shoulders, rubbing soothing patterns into her tight muscles. He was tracing every curve of her neck. Y/N shivered under his touch. Harry hated seeing his baby stressed, exhausted, and drained. He wished he could take all her worries away. 

His hand then moved to her front, cupping her breast in his soapy palm, squeezing and pinching her nipples. Y/N let out a soft gasp, resting her head on his shoulder now, her eyes fluttering shut. How had a sweet, comforting moment turned into something heated? but she didn’t mind. Not when it had been so long since they’d touched each other like this. They hadn’t had the chance to initiate anything with each other in a while because of their busy schedules. So naturally, Y/N was very aroused by his simple touch. 

Harry began planting slow, deliberate kisses along her bare, wet shoulder while his fingers continued to caress her breasts. He could feel the tension in her body and how she was clinging to him like he was her lifeline. “Feels good, yeah?” he murmured huskily, his voice thick with desire. She nodded feverishly, unable to form any words. 

As Harry stood behind her, she could feel him, his hard length pressed against the curve of her ass. The feeling sent a thrill through her. Unable to resist, she pushed back, grinding against him slowly, teasingly. Harry’s breath hitched. She felt a sharp inhale against her ear.

A smirk tugged at her lips; she knew what she was doing. But she did not expect a sharp sting of his palm on her ass. The slap was lightly, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. She gasped at the contact. 

"Behave,” he murmured in her ear, his voice low with arousal, nipping at her ear lightly. Her pussyclenching around nothing, she could barely hold back any longer. She was so wet, drenched with desire, her wetness coating her thighs. She wanted him to touch her pussy, make her cum—

In the next moment, Harry turned her around and pressed her against the wall. She gasped at the cool contact with the tiles. He captured her mouth with a heated kiss, sucking her bottom lip. His lips moving hungrily against hers. Her mind was spinning. It took her a few moments to process. Her body arching as she let out a soft, needy moan.

Harry groaned in response. The kiss was messy and passionate, as if they were trying to make up for the lost time. Harry began trailing kisses down her throat and sucking a sensitive spot below her ear. He needed her to know this—how much he’d miss her. He dipped his head and took a nipple in his mouth. Y/N gasped as the heat of his mouth came into contact with her cold nipple; he started sucking gently while his other hand played with her other breast. 

“Harry, it feels so good,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely above a breath. Her eyes closed, her hand tugging at Harry’s hair. 

Harry looked up at her, his gaze dark with desire and lust. Seeing her so needy, so desperate for him, he loved her like this. He wanted to take care of her with pleasure and satisfy her needs. Without any worry, Harry dropped down to his knees. He hooked one of her legs onto his shoulder, his fingers slipping between her legs and playing with her wet slit. He looked up, meeting her eyes as he brushed his thumb on her clit. 

“Fuck, you’re dripping, baby,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with need. 

Y/N’s breath hitched, fingers tightening in his hair, as in the next moment he dipped his head and licked a long path from her opening to her clit. “A-aah, yes,” Y/N breathed out. Her moans became more loud as he began sucking her clit, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. His both hands gripping her waist tightly, He smirked at her response. Y/N tightened her grip on his hair and began grinding against his face. Harry groaned in response, the vibrations making her legs shake. 

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his lips glistening and his eyes dark with lust as he muttered, “I need to have this sweet pussy for breakfast every day." With a smirk, he dove back in, devouring her like she was his last meal. 

The filthy, dirty words made her feel gooey inside, a warmth spreading from her chest to her core. She’d never understand where Harry got his filthy mouth from, but it always stirred something deep within her, making her brain all mushy and puddled, like she could barely think straight. It made her want to do everything that he said, every sinful thing he whispers in her ear, with that husky and deep voice of his. 

Finally, the deep bubble of pleasure in her belly burst. Her vision hazy, her head tipped back as the loud moan escaped her lips. Just at the right moment, Harry thrust two fingers inside, curling them up. It sent her over the edge. Her back arched as she moaned breathlessly. Harry groaned into her as he felt her walls clenched around his fingers. Y/N squirted, her pussy fluttering, as she tried catching her breath. Harry, whose face was now wet with her release, was lapping up every drop of her arousal like a starved man.

Y/N never thought she could squirt; never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined Harry making her squirt, but it felt so euphoric. She was so sensitive, shivering at every flick of his tongue. When she managed to look down, her breath hitched. Harry was still on his knees, his face wet, eyes closed, lost in devouring her. But what caught her eye was the way his own cum dripped down his abs—the evidence of his own release. He had cum without even being touched, just by eating her out. The sight made her clench around nothing.

Harry looked up at her, following her gaze. It took a second to realize what she was staring at. He glanced down at his abs; his face flushed an even deeper shade of red in embarrassment. 

Y/N quickly pulled Harry on his feet, his cheeks red, lips glistening with her arousal, and eyes dark and hypnotizing. Y/N leaned forward and captured his mouth with hers. Pouring every emotion she couldn’t quite put into the words. She could taste herself on his lips. They both pulled away, resting their foreheads together, trying to catch their breath. 

Harry laughed breathlessly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess, I got a bit carried away, huh?”

Y/N’s gaze softened as a smile curled on her lips. “Seems like you had a good time down there.” She teased, her fingers tracing circles on his abs. 

Harry chuckles as he pecks her nose. “You have no idea.” He admits. 

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

After they both actually showered and cleaned each other up, tired and exhausted. The hot water relaxing them, Y/N leaned on her toes and began applying shampoo to his head. She loved that he smelled like berries now. Harry wrapped her in a towel and then dressed her in his shirt—the one he’d wore that morning. It reached her thighs, and it smelled like him. It felt like home. 

While he himself walked around shirtless, just in his gray trousers that slung low around his hips. Not that Y/N minded; she loved the view. 

Harry made his way to the kitchen, quickly preparing a breakfast for her. He scrambled some eggs and poured a fresh glass of orange juice. They both had their meal while being in each other’s arms, tugging at the corner of the couch. His arms wrapped around her tightly. 

This morning felt like heaven. Y/N decided she wanted every morning to start like this, filled with sweet words, kisses, and gentle touches, without the crying part, of course. 

She felt Harry behind her, bringing her back to reality. “I’m going to tutor you for your psychology rest, baby. We’ll go over everything, and you’re going to do great; I just know it,”

He murmurs, reassuring while pressing a chaste kiss on her cheeks as she felt all the worry leaving her body. His confidence in her made all the worry drain from her body. She knew she would pass the next exam, with him being on her side. 

[endearng]

About you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x ex!reader Summary: You know a place that you go to remember Spencer Reid's face. You never thought you'd get to actually see him again. WC: 4.6k Warnings: brief mentions of Spencer's trauma (childhood, addiction); hints at poor coping mechanisms/mental struggles; miscommunication; running away. A/N: This is a mix between canon events and some things are fiction (mostly when it comes to the timeline of the show) and I picture later seasons Spencer. This is based on many songs from ttpd, but this fic came to mind when I was listening to 'About You' by the 1975. I really hope you guys like it. Feedbacks are always welcome and appreciated <3 masterlist

You sat on one of the park benches. Actually, it was on the park bench, near a tree, you used to occupy with Spencer after getting your favorite treats from the coffee shop nearby.

It was your first date as boyfriend and girlfriend and he had started reading to you once the chatter had died down a little bit. He looked beautiful that day, eyes leaving the book pages every now and then so he could catch a glimpse of you. Every time he did, you smiled at him. You were so enamored by his eyes that you didn't care if you were perceived as desperate or too lovestruck when he looked at you. You felt warm inside and for a moment, you thought it could last forever.

From that day on, whenever you could, you'd always go to that park and sit on that specific bench. You even carved your initials in it.

Now, as you caressed the old indentation, dark from all the time that had passed, you were all alone. A hole in your chest.

You were living in Virginia, about to get your Master's Degree. It was the time of the semester when everything seems to be piling up and you can never get the time to take care of it as you should. As you walked home at night, you witnessed a young couple walking into a dark forest, but you didn't mind — horny kids were everywhere and you were glad they had a nice way to let off some steam, not being one to judge someone’s kinks.

The next thing you knew, the FBI wanted to see you. They sent a cute, awfully young agent to your apartment, who introduced himself as 'Doctor Spencer Reid' and waved at you once you answered the door, telling you you had been the last person to witness that young woman alive. You froze, unable to look away from him, sheer shock crossing your intriguing, mesmerizing features. Spencer Reid took more than a minute to try to calm you down to have you answer his questions. Despite your head going miles per minute, you tried to help out as much as you could and were able to describe the man as you managed to recall some of his features.

Then, you had gotten Spencer's number to keep him posted if anything happened, since that unsub was kidnapping and torturing girls from your university. When they wrapped up the case to go home, Spencer went to your building to tell you they were returning to Quantico. You had grown fond of him, his presence a warm embrace compared to the chaos around you, so when he broke the news, you did feel a little disappointed, even though you knew that he would eventually leave. He was sensible to the matters around him, doing everything in his power and using his intelligence to help everyone around him. It made you grow a sense of hope in other people you haven’t felt in a while.

You took your study break a little earlier that night once you saw him at your doorstep, deciding you'd give him your time. A low "So, you're leaving..." escaping your mouth once he told you why he went to your place. To say goodbye. You couldn't conceal the sadness in your voice.

"Yeah. I just wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you, of course, you helped us a lot." He said, eyes never leaving yours.

"Anytime, Doctor," you joked. "I'm gonna miss you. Even if we've just met. Even if you had to be aware of something so terrible." You confessed. His eyes widened at you in surprise.

His eyes. Big, doe eyes glancing at you like you held the answers to the whole universe.

In that moment, you did. Not his education, not PhD's, plural, not anything he learned from all the books he read and certainly not his time in the bureau. You held the answers.

He chuckled, a little shy. Unable to tell you, verbally, that he would miss you, too. His eyes did the job, though. "Yeah, yeah. It was nice knowing you."

"Yeah, it was," you agreed, coming a little closer to him. You gave him a kiss on his cheek. Soft, warm skin against your lips making butterflies swarm in your belly. He smiled, widely, sincerely.

You wished he was yours.

You also wished he knew that you meant that, 'besides the bad guy and all the terrible things, it was fun meeting you because you are full of light. A masterpiece.'

"Take care, okay, doctor?" You whispered, slowly pulling away from him. “I’ll see you around.”

"Be safe,” he wished, “I hope so, in better conditions."

A few days passed and you got your first call from Spencer, which turned into a second, a third and when you noticed, you were scheduling hang outs. Those turned into dates when you started to go out more frequently to every new place you wanted the other to know. All of that and touching each other more often, more carefully, more passionately than regular friends did.

You simply sat there, your memories the only thing keeping you company, haunting you, besides the tears that pricked in the corner of your eyes. You missed him so much. You missed the time you had with him.

Two years into your relationship, things got more and more complicated. You struggled to keep up with his life and more often than not you seemed to keep much to yourselves instead of sharing things with each other. You never thought you'd share (funny wording) such a distant relationship with someone, let alone one you knew for sure there was so much love and respect. During your time together, you learned about Spencer’s past and some pieces fell into place; he was somehow explained by everything he had faced as a child, teenager and now as an adult — his mother’s condition, his dad walking away, the bullying, being abducted and its consequences. You held him through it all, when the memories and feelings of powerlessness washed over him.

Then, Spencer started to be away more often and the physical distance, enforced by the emotional one that slowly grew between you two, made you feel like you were an intruder in his life. So, you gradually started to hold yourself back from starting conversations. You rarely had his attention and you figured it was because his mind was always elsewhere.

Yours was, too. Back in a time when things were simpler.

As time went by, being around him, too quiet and far out of each other’s reach, simply floating in his orbit, felt like a heavy burden you had to carry in order to keep him in your life. He never opened up and since you didn’t either, you felt like you didn't have the right to suggest you two should fix things, so you let him be. Coexisting together in the same space, oceans apart from each other’s lives and struggles, never touching the subject. The result, of course, was that you grew apart.

It all ended, officially, when you decided to move away to get your Doctorate as an excuse to run away from the hard conversations that you knew would take place if you confronted him about where had things, where had you gone so terribly wrong. You were hell-bent on trying to turn your heartbreak and deception into something, into an achievement. Then, you both decided, albeit reluctantly, that breaking up was the best choice for you, since you’d move away. The part that there was already a huge gap between the two of you remained unspoken. You tried convincing yourself that it would be easier, since you’d never have to see him and you'd be okay being in past chapters of Spencer’s life. 

Funnily enough, it wasn't that simple.

You see, the heart is a tricky machine. The wording here is not random: it works, of course, to primarily pump the blood through your veins to make sure you are getting enough oxygen around your body and deliver waste objects, like carbon dioxide, back to the lungs, to be removed — Spencer had told you so once when you told him your heart beat for him in a corny deliver of a joke. Despite the fact that he was right, you can never anticipate how the heart will react once it has no access to the aim of its affections, after being cut off from their life. Worse: after being slowly dragged away from the one it was sure it would be able to adore for the rest of its pumping-function life. You figured that, maybe it would continue working for as long as it needs to, but not with the same devotion it once knew and now was deprived of.

That was how you passed the last few years of your life.

After Spencer, you weren't really interested in anyone. You tried to put yourself out there, made new friends, tried dating some people, traveled abroad, discovered more about yourself. Nevertheless, in the back of your hopeless mind and dejected heart, you held the memories you had created with him close to your very soul. When things got too quiet, it was him that you thought of. On a train, on the way home or to somewhere new and/or special, in the lazy mornings you spent by yourself, in the nights that got too lonely to bear by yourself, during your lunch breaks that you always seemed to remember how much he loved sharing those with you — stealing food from his plate, even if you didn't like whatever he was having, just so he could steal your dessert to make sharing equal. He got a sweet tooth after dating you.

Now, though, something felt off. You had spent years of your life pining and longing and hoping that you'd find your way back to each other in the end that now you didn't have the guts to search for him. You kept an eye on his life and could remember a thing or two of all his achievements and papers that were published in science magazines, a brief abstract ready to roll off your tongue if someone asked you about it. You tried keeping up with his professional life in order to feel closer to him, but the thing was, you didn't know if he had someone else, if he had moved on more easily than you (not that you had), if he had learned to cope a little better with the hardships of his job. You always said he needed some rest for his noisy mind.

Even the air in your hometown made you think of him. Felt like him: distant, missed and still plaguing your thoughts. It was the aftermath of running away for some time.

In hindsight, perhaps you had only shared fleeting moments with Spencer and it was a frail affair, doomed from day one, knowing how different your lifestyles were. When you got too fed up with your longing and inner romanticism over this relationship, you would try to convince yourself that you were better off without him. That being alone was better than to be by yourself in a relationship that you only kept for the sake of calling him yours.

Still, there was something missing. You didn't know what it was, but you were tired of wasting your time, waiting for a bus that never showed.

Or maybe it did, and perhaps you had missed it.

From afar, Spencer watched, dumbfounded, a figure that resembled someone he once loved so much, sitting on the bench he used to share with you. He still does love. Or maybe he doesn't. He doesn't know, really. He's been through so much, losing loved ones, losing his mother and enduring several trauma after leaving the FBI, never having the time to properly take in the happenings in his life. Could it possibly be you? He could never forget your form, no matter how many years passed and how hard he had tried to do that. His heart started slowing, oxygen lacking in his lungs. He felt dizzy. Was it a mirage?

Memories started to flood his mind and he was unable to move.

Daylight faded, announcing the beginning of the evening. Spencer listened as you read to him one of your favorite novels, The Hour of the Star, a Brazilian novel by Clarice Lispector. It definitely wasn't romantic, but you always made sure to use the correct tone whenever you were reading the characters' lines, and you paused every now and then to make comments and listened when he had one of his own. Those were precious, rare, quiet moments in his hectic life. He cherished them because of that, of course, but most importantly because you were with him.

Once you finished the chapter you were reciting, you noticed how dark it already was and that the lights of the city were already on, casting a soft glow over Spencer. He looked exceptionally, effortlessly beautiful that night. You smiled at him. "Shall we go home, Spence?"

"Yes," he accepted, helping you up. You thanked him with a kiss to his cheek, which made him flustered.

Years together and he could never get used to the effect your touch had on him, always wishing he could have more, more, more.

As you walked home together, he took your ring, a gift from him that was usually placed in your left hand, and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. Your reply was to kiss him senseless in public.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him when you abruptly broke the kiss, looking back with a mischievous, happy expression on your face. He trailed after you, one single thought in mind: I'll never let you go.

The woman — he didn't want to deceive himself if she wasn't you, he was staring at her back, after all, so he thought it was better to be careful with his hopes —, had longer hair, fit better into her clothes, but her movements were scarily just like yours. From the way she looked around to the slight tilt of her head when you'd contemplate the park all those years ago. Spencer felt his thoughts clouding with the need to approach her, curiosity driving him to work on this instinct, but as soon as he moved to walk, he instantly halted his movements. What would he say?

"Hello?", "Is that you?" "Are you back?" "Are you real?" "Have you forgotten about me?"

The questions swimmed around his head like he had no control over his own mind. If there was a monitor to show every single thought running through his brain, it would definitely collapse, smoke clouding the air, telling how overwhelmed he felt. He decided on approaching as a passerby, walking as if he didn't want anything by it, acting nonchalant. He made his way closer to the bench, to the woman. 

She heard footsteps behind her, not too close, but still turned to search for the source of the disturbance, out of her daydreaming. You looked at each other for a moment that felt like an eternity — time stopped, the children stopped playing and the passersby stopped breathing.

As you turned around, your eyes found Spencer. The love of your life. You took in his appearance. His hair was long, unlike how it had been when you last saw him, and he didn't care about styling it as much as he did when he was younger, his curls unruly and a little messy, a little stubble growing on his face. His expression looked harder now, more tired, ripe. You couldn't quite know how to describe him properly. For a moment, you considered that he had hardened over the years, opposite from the caring, soft man you've met and loved ardently once.

On a surface level, looking at him made you feel like you've been loving a ghost. A memory, something that could never return.

Your mind suddenly felt empty. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"You?" You heard the question, uncertain, leave his lips in a low voice. Was it in your head or did you sense hurt?

Again, you wanted to speak, to say something, greet him, tell him you've missed him, ask him if he was okay. Nothing came out. Everything seemed inappropriate. Again, he beat you to it, coming closer to you, voice firmer. "What are you... I thought you'd left."

"I did."

"I know."

Silence. He got closer, moving to sit beside you.

"Yeah." Silence. Still looking at each other. "I came back a couple of months ago. Started visiting exactly three weeks ago, today." You revealed to break the silence, even though the idea that everything that came out of your mouth was improper still plagued your mind.

Spencer felt baffled. You looked different, more mature, even your style had drastically changed — you once wore colorful, baggier outfits, full of life and bright shades matching your personality (you even went shopping with Penelope and you exchanged fashion tips), but now, you wore more sober, neutral tones. Instead of the usual sneakers, or the Converse you both loved to wear together to match your outfits — his black and yours blue —, you wore black boots with heels. You looked grown. And it fit you. Still, your face was the same: your eyes held the same glimmer in them from all those years ago, your lips still as inviting as it ever was for him.

He licked his own, realizing his mouth was dry. "I come here every now and then when things get too heated." He confided, eyes never leaving your figure.

You smiled. A hole in his chest, desolation invading his being. The simple act still makes his machine of a heart ache and speed to reach its full capacity. Of breaking for you. "It's peaceful."

You knew that he seeked solace from whatever was happening in your memories together in that place. At least, you hoped so. You hoped, selfishly, that he thought of you as much as you thought of him, of his ghost. That he ached for you as much as you ached for him.

"Yeah."

Awkward silence engulfed the two of you. You didn't know where to look, but you could never stop scanning his face, taking in his features with care. "I like your hair. It fits you," you said.

He got closer, less than an arm's length between the two of you. Almost itching for you to touch his hair, eyes pleading for some mercy on your end. You've been awfully quiet and if meeting him maim you, you certainly have improved your poker face skills. "You've changed," he retorted. "I never thought I'd see you so different from, you know..."

You didn’t remember Spencer at a loss of words.

Too close. "I hope for the better."

"Why didn't you call?" He asked, brows furrowing.

Come to think of it, it was an excuse you had rehearsed quite a few times when you imagined this scenario, “I was settling, still trying to contact everyone, still finding my way around…”

“And you didn’t think of me?” His tone was wounded. He certainly dreamed you’d come back and was positively sure that you’d reach out to him. Of course, he was wrong.

“Of course I did. I just thought you wouldn't pick up,” you replied.

He didn’t know what to say. Of course he would pick up, but there was no way you could know about it nor trust him if he said so; why would you? You had left him because he built walls around him, cutting you off from his life, torturing you, slowly dragging the end of your relationship and he couldn’t explain why. Once you left, Spencer delved into his work life like never before. He flirted with women and even slept around, which he was aware was a poor coping mechanism, all to outrun the desertion of you, desperately wishing he could forget that he could feel alive in your presence. He even tried having a relationship. It was nice having someone around, now that he was grown and had made peace with some of his demons, but it was never like you and it was all that she was to him: someone around. He never felt that spark with her like he had felt with you, never again having a taste of the sensation that ran through him whenever he stumbled excitedly into your apartment when you invited him over, seizing the rare opportunities to be with you, happiness bubbling inside him. With his new girlfriend, it was quiet. He mistook it for the calmness he lacked within himself when he was with you, but it was just bland. Needless to say, he felt awful about straight up using a person to keep his mind off of you, but it was nice while it worked. He started longing for something he couldn’t even describe what it was.

One day, you guys met halfway, between the two cities you were both in. It was raining and you launched yourself into his arms once you recognized him. You had kissed him like a soldier's wife, for you sure definitely missed him like one — he had been away on a case which took longer than usual. “Hi,” you greeted, shyly, after giving him the hottest kiss of his life.

“Hi,” he smiled, a little flushed.

“I couldn't wait to get to you, Spence,” you confessed, arms pulling him back to hug you once again, his own engulfing your figure. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. I miss you all the time.” He said, burying his face into the crook of your neck, wet hair prickling on his skin. He peeled himself away from you, taking a deep breath. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

The squealed “Yes!” before you kissed him ardently once more was forever ingrained into his mind.

Amidst his reverie, you stood up from your seat. The wind tousled your hair slightly, so you used your left hand to tuck it behind your ear. The street lights reflected their light on a ring you had on your left hand. He recognized it instantly. “I should go,” you murmured, slightly graceless.

“You still have it.”

You looked at him, still sitting and nodded softly. You were hit with the realization that he also remembered you. It didn’t matter that it was such a small thing about you, relief flooded your veins at the very thought that he thought of you. “I do.”

You waved at him, your lips turned upwards shyly. You turned your back and started walking away from him. Again, he thought. And again, he let you, without putting up a fight, which he was aware that he should have done. The elephant in his chest was a light weight compared to the heavy truth dancing around in his throat. Said truth would become much bigger, a heavier burden for him to carry, once it made its way out of him. Speaking made it real. He knew it because every memory that he kept of you, in a sacred, untouched area of his own consciousness, was full of comfort after sharing uncomfortable truths.

It was like his heart screamed at him to keep searching, to keep trying for the person who made it beat faster. But his brain, foggy with all the logic and terrible, horrid things he had to face, decided it was best to keep himself away from you, to save himself the trouble of being the target of pity, or worse, being another person who left him.

From that day on, you’d casually visit the park, secretly wishing you could see him more. It didn't take too long until your wishes were granted, no matter how private you thought they were. Perhaps they were all over your face and he could still read you so easily. Despite the apparent capacity of reading your wants, you were positively sure that Spencer didn't know what to say, just like you. Everything, including him, felt as distant as you had left it. You weren't sure if you could go back, but running away was just as troublesome: you had to adapt in order to survive, but everyone else surrounding you was already fit to the environment. You stuck out like a sore thumb, unable to connect with anyone but the protagonist from past memories of what once was a happy relationship.

Every time you were there, you sensed someone looking at you shortly after your arrival. It was like an unspoken agreement between the two of you, to try to talk things through without rushing into anything, trying to conquer the other's forgiveness by sharing both ordinary and big moments you had during your time apart. As you sat down and talked and shared, you realized that you'd never stop loving him, not even for a second, not even if you could. You had tried and failed, and kept coming back for more to fall in love with the same person over and over.

These encounters quickly turned into the best moments of Spencer's weeks, getting to be filled in on the things he had missed in your life. You had shown him photos, your new degree, new friends, discussed details about your job and how things were in your family. All of that wrapped in intricate, subtle details on how much you'd turned into a person he was already feeling proud of. You had grown into a strong-willed woman who managed to keep your heart as pure as the day you had met him. You still had the traits that made you fall in love with him.

One day, you two were sitting on the bench and you pointed to your initials on it. “Heh, I remember that day. You kept worrying someone was going to show up and stop me from doing it.”

He smiled. “I'm glad no one did.”

“It's funny, isn't it?” You asked, eyes on the indentation, not expecting him to answer due the lack of context. He frowned. “I mean, us. Acting like we don't know each other just for the sake of spending time together.”

He thought for a moment. With your shameless comment, you were definitely daring him to say something. Daring him to make things real, but better this time. “I like that idea,” he said, getting you to look at him. “Don't you? We get to meet each other again. I get to meet you again and I get to make sure that, this time, I'll never let you go.”

“You still don't know me enough to say that with such sureness,” you said, feeling bashful all of a sudden. It was also one of your behaviors that got him so enthralled, once again. Your capacity of saying something and then act coyly, as if you didn't know what he was talking about. Almost backtracking on whatever you had said that was a little more risky than the usual chatter.

He wouldn't let you.

“I want to.”

His tone made you speechless. Your expression turned into one of sheer, pure enchantment. It told him everything he needed to know.

Everything bad was now under the bridge and you could finally have each other back after being so patient.

He now remembered what it was that he missed so dearly in his life.

You.

[meta-squash]

I think two of the most important things about Jack Harkness, two things that inform almost everything he does and the choices he makes, are this: that he is a soldier NOT a leader, and that his entire life since childhood has been awash in survivor's guilt (and his whole existence after becoming immortal is an even more extreme version of survivor's guilt).

Jack is not a natural leader. He can think on the fly and he's good at getting people to listen to him, but he's not good at control, or at being objective. He's a natural second in command, he's a soldier. He was brought up to do what other people told him to, and to improvise if he had to (Time Agency, etc). But I really don't think he wants to be the leader of Torchwood. Unfortunately, everything about him means that he has to be. He knows from experience that others having control over him is dangerous, others knowing about his immortality while he's a subordinate to them is dangerous, and he also knows that his own immortality gives him an advantage as a leader. But I don't think he's good at leading. He tries to be. But he's fumbling along, in a time period he's not native to and a planet he's not native to and an unfathomable lifespan, and as charming as he is I think he's often not good with people. He's detached where he should be personal and emotional where he should be detached (or at least more level-headed). He's often too extreme or not harsh enough when it comes to things like discipline or dealing with the problems/traumas/mistakes of his employees or even civilians. He can't handle his employees seeing him uncertain/vulnerable and it makes for huge problems over and over again.

But all of this does make sense because I think in the back of Jack's mind there's always this wheel spinning, these gears turning and turning and calculating the impact and trauma each of his actions or decisions or the events around him are going to have on his own emotions for far longer than normal humans tend to consider. Because the catalyst for any part of the life we see him leading is survivor's guilt. He lost his father and his brother on the same day, joined the military and lost his best friend, joined the Time Agency and lost his memories (and maybe thinks he did something terrible). Then he died, and when Rose brought him back, he was all alone on the satellite with nothing but the corpses of the people who had fought beside him and zero explanation as to why he survived, and he had lost Rose and the Doctor besides. And then all his life on earth since, he has lost coworkers and lovers and civilians he tried and failed to save and probably also aliens he tried and failed to save. And I think by the time he becomes reluctant leader of Torchwood, every action is, whether conscious or subconscious, taken with the intent of minimizing that kind of trauma and the impact of loss.

Except that I think that the survivor's guilt has another layer to it, which is that feeling of needing to sacrifice or absolve himself in some way. No one else is willing to make the difficult decisions, no one else will move forward with the painful and unpleasant actions, even if there's no other way, even though they will someday perish and no longer see the ripples of their actions. But Jack - who cannot die, who must live with the guilt or the pain or the trauma of those actions and decisions for the rest of his very very very long life - is the one who realizes that he must take on those painful responsibilities and must do certain things even though they're terrible, because it ends up being the sacrifice of one over the whole world. And every single time, he's guilty about it, and that makes him want even more to sacrifice his own hurt for the grief and loss of others.

So it's this strange cycle of wanting to protect himself from hurt and from loss and from the survivor's guilt, but being driven by guilt towards painful and/or self-sacrificing actions. Which then makes him fear being seen as vulnerable or uncertain, and he struggles to do things on a smaller scale or in a more level-headed way, because he's not supposed to be leading like this, it's not something that comes naturally, and if he makes emotional connections by being a leader, he'll end up trapped in survivor's guilt yet again each time one of his employees or friends or lovers dies.

It's just a terrible cycle and he's trapped in it for the rest of his existence. Although if he really is the Face Of Boe, then I imagine at some point he eventually finds peace with it all or something, but I think so long as he has a human-form he's stuck with this cycle of leadership and loss and sacrifice and mistakes.

I think it's really important that Jack is not good at his job as a leader. He makes a ton of mistakes, he fucks up so much and his employees or even civilians end up collateral damage, whether physically or just emotionally. He wants to be a good leader, I think, and he's trying, but he's fallible, and he's a stranger in literally every sense, and I think a really big part of his character is that he constantly is forced to live in this bizarre dichotomy where he has to be both very distant and cold and detached, and also very emotional and intense and personal. And any other person would collapse under the stress of repeating that over and over and over again for decades, but he has to figure out how to navigate this weight as an infinite existence that can't ever collapse or let it burn him up and kill him.

[annwrites]

⸻ corsets & clockwork one-shot collection

· pairing: assassin!jacaerys x fem!reader · type: one-shot (collection) · summary: to get out of the group apartment for the night, you go onto the rooftop, but jace of course follows you up. · word count: 677

Zepplins and airships soar along slowly through the cool night air.

You sit perched atop the ledge of the brick rooftop of the apartment complex, watching them idly.

You then look down and study the faraway cobblestone streets below, watching as gas lanterns flicker, warding away the looming dark that engulfs narrow alleys and alcoves people skulk through and tread along. The occasional clop of hooves echoes as wooden and metal wheels roll along, taking passengers to their destinations for the evening.

It being this time of night, however—the large clock in the town square near to tolling midnight—there are only few places they could be headed to.

Casinos, perhaps. Or brothels. Or, to the docks to do business which would otherwise be deemed unseemly were it to take place in the light of day instead. If not illegal, most likely.

You're interrupted from your assumptions by the soft scuff of boots, but don't bother with turning your head.

You've everyone's gaits down-pat now, including his.

Especially his, maybe.

You ignore that fact.

"Get down."

You roll your eyes. "Why?"

He takes a few steps closer. "Because I told you to. You don't need more reason than that."

You snort quietly and slowly swing your legs to and fro while leaning back, pressing your palms to the hard brick beneath you. "I'm perfectly comfortable where I am."

He lets out a low curse, which instils within you a small sense of satisfaction.

Whenever you're both in the apartment at the same time—which isn't incredibly often—he always leers at you from across the room beneath furrowed brows, with a dark gaze, and a tightly clenched jaw, so you come up here to escape, and still he's displeased.

"You're making me nervous up there. If you fall—"

You stand suddenly and he clamps his mouth shut.

You level your arms on either side of you and begin to imitate a tightrope walker while placing one foot in front of the other—toe to heel, heel to toe—and Jace crosses his arms while a frown tugs at his lips.

"You must think yourself terribly clever, but you're only serving to ignite my ire."

You shrug slightly while smirking at him over your shoulder. "As if that's terribly difficult to achieve."

He grits his teeth.

"I came up here to be alone, you know?"

He steps closer. "Get down. I won't ask again."

You swing one leg over the edge and snicker. "Look—no hands and only one foot!"

He bares his teeth—a sign that his anger has finally reached its limit.

You giggle, strictly from nerves at the unsettling sight, and he quickly reaches out, takes hold of your hand, and pulls you suddenly from the ledge.

You lose your footing and scream in fright as your body lunges in the wrong direction, but he holds firm and you fall into his chest.

He catches you beneath your legs and cradles you against his body while you draw in ragged breaths, trying desperately to calm your pattering heart.

You stare into his dark eyes, half-hidden beneath curls that are of a similar shade, and the words you mean to say—so as to give him a piece of your mind—become stuck in your throat at the sight of him staring at your lips.

Your brows knit together momentarily, and then he practically tosses you down.

You land on your bottom, and a foul word slips from your lips in response to the pain that starts at your tailbone and radiates up your back.

"Ow, Jace! That hurt!"

He glances to the ledge, then back to you. "Imagine how much worse you'd feel had I not pulled you down."

You rise to your feet. "I came up here to get away from you, since all you seem in there is bothered by my presence!"

He rolls his eyes, but of course doesn't deign to reply as he turns and walks to the door.

He holds it open with an expectant look, and you sigh dramatically before going back inside, with him following closely behind.

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @tvangelism @aemondwhoresworld @cecestea

[cherubcameron]

I love you, I’m sorry

Rafe x Sofia

Authors note: this might be a little meta, but reader is in this. She’s not romantically linked to either Rafe and Sofia in this one. So this is almost like an au where she’s just Sofia’s pogue friend. Can yall tell I really like the whole singing thing.. also I won’t lie to yall. My mental health has decline by a lot so here’s something that’s helping me cope.

You’d been surprised when Sofia had told you; she quit. You’d been even more surprised that she had told you that Rafe told her too. You’d told her that was a terrible idea. That rich guys like Rafe would end up fucking her over and she shouldn’t be financially dependent on him. She hadn’t listened.

A rapid knock was heard at your door. You went quickly towards the door. You opened it, seeing a crushed Sofia.

She had told you everything.

You hadn’t realize how deep it’d all been. But now you were with her on the beach. Trying to distract her from all that had to do with Rafe Cameron. You’d brought your other friends. Hoping that’ll cheer her up. But to no avail, she sat on the beach blanket; quiet.

“Ay amiga! I know it hurts now. But you’ll heal from it eventually.” You say, holding her hand. She looked towards you, furrowed brows and a frown.

“I just— I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me. He told me he hates when people break his trust. And I did the worst thing possible. I’m such a piece of—

You stopped her before she could continue. Your hand on top of hers.

“You can’t beat yourself up for it. Even though, was it excessive? Yes, but it’s already been done. You can’t keep hating yourself because you were hurt by his words. You acted out of hurt.” You say, trying to console her.

Her head falls to your shoulders. “I’m still an idiot. I should have known it was a swindle. The whole thing felt sketchy. Now Hollis is dead and Groff ran away with Rafes money.”

You give her a sympathetic look. “It’s like, no matter how hard I try. I always make dumb decisions that hurt the people I care about most. I let my anger get in the way.” She continues. “He did so much for me and I threw it all away. If he never forgives me. I don’t blame him.” She looked down at the ground, a frown on her face.

A Karol g song starts to blast through the speakers and you looked down at her and smile.

“Dame tiempo/que no estoy mi mejor momento.” (Give me time, that I’m not at my best) You start to sing, Sofia looking up at you, a sad smile on her face.

“Y mientras me curo del corazón/Hoy salgo pa'l mar a aprovechar que hay sol/Está bien no sentirse bien, es normal, no es delito” (And while I heal from the heart/Today I go out to the sea to take advantage of the sun/It's okay to not feel good, it's normal, it's not a crime)

Tears start to roll down her face as you continue to sing. Your hand now in hers. You sway a little as you sing. Unaware of someone approaching you two from behind.

“No necesito más/Solo amor, dame tiempo/Yo me sano con tu compañía/Esa paz que me das” (Don't need more/Just love, give me time/I heal with your company/That peace that you give me) She finally is back to eye level with you. She sings along with you. You nudge her, making her smile.

Someone clears their throat, you and Sofia breaking apart. Turning to see who it is. Your eyes widen as you see who it is. Rafe. You turn to see Sofia then back to him.

“I’ll leave you two… alone.”

(Sofias pov)

Sofia looked at Rafe as he sat down beside her on the sand. Rafe looked back as her friend walked away. He turned back to Sofia.

“So..” Rafe starts.

“I’m so sorry.” She sobs, it comes out of her quickly. He turns to her suddenly, his expression unreadable.

Then he sighs.

“Why did you do it?” He asks coldly, he looks towards the ocean. The waves rolling out towards shore. It would have been peaceful, had it not been for the tension between them.

“The deal with Hollis? It was stupid and it’s just going to make you more mad.” Rafes face hardens, his jaw ticking.

“I’ll be more mad if you don’t tell me. Tell me why? I deserve to know that much.” He looks at Sofia intently, she could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t know how to begin.

“My dad had came to me, asking for my help. He’d— he’d asked me to help Hollis nudge you for this deal.” Sofia sighs, her eyes looking towards him. But he’s still watching the waves roll out, kissing the shore before rolling back in. “ I told him no, originally. That I wouldn’t scam you like that. That it was dishonest.”

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head. “Oh yeah?”

Sofia face screws up, “Yes Rafe, I wasn’t going to do that to you. But then. But then I heard you with Ruthie and Topper.”

Rafe finally turns when he hears those two names. His brows furrow.

“That just because we hooked up didn’t mean that made me your girlfriend. That you wouldn’t live with a pogue… how you have standards.” She says, now being the one who turned towards the ocean. Unable to look him in the eyes.

Her friends had gone towards the water now. Making sure to give them privacy. —Silence engulfs them. The sounds of the seagulls, people laughing, and the waves crashing can only be heard.

“I didn’t mean that.” He says, “I just— when I have something. I don’t want people to ruin it and I just didn’t like how she spoke to me. I was being defensive. But I didn’t mean it.”

Sofia scrunches her eyebrows. “It still hurt to hear, Rafe. I-I know I messed up. I only did what I did out of anger…”

Rafe is silent for a while, he rubs his hand across his face. Biting his lip, which she wasn’t used to seeing.

“I just need time okay.” He finally says.

“Time?”

“Time to forgive you. I know I broke up with you so fast. I should have let you explain yourself. But it’s not like you were dying to say anything.” He says bitterly. Their eyes finally meet. It feels almost like the first time it ever did. Without her betrayal. When things were fresh. She would do anything to go back to that.

He’d been so kind. She didn’t think someone like him would ever notice her. But he did.

“I love you, I’m sorry Rafe.” She whispers, his face can’t settle on an emotion to feel.

“Just give me time.” Sofia nods, placing her head on his shoulder. He lets her. Both of them watching was the waves settles. Smoother than the crashes it had been.

Taglist

@lostsyren

[lasandra]

Super Massive End Game Veilguard Spoilers Under the Cut!

Seriously. If you haven't finished playing Veilguard, DO. NOT. READ. So I finished DA:tV and I have been really trying to sort out my thoughts... And well...

Sdlkajshdfklajhsdfklajhsdflkjahsdklfjhaskldfjhaskldfhj I CAN'T!!! My dudes I am SO conflicted!!! Solas is the only character I have ever come across that I both love to pieces and want the best for him but I also want to beat him until he is a puddle of bruised yolk and cracked shells. This dude KILLED VARRIC FOR REALSIES! I am not okay with that. My Hawke's GOING to hunt him down when she finds out. If the Tevinter Magisters can get into the Black City then dammit so can she. And when she does, I am not sure even Lavellan can save him. Amelia (My Hawke) has lost so many of her friends/family/loved ones she can't handle this anymore. He also killed God's gift to elves Felassan. It's been over a decade since I read The Masked Empire but I don't remember there being a great reason other than him being upset that Felassan failed. Dude has GOT to stop killing his friends lol. Especially the hot ones. Like. Come on. As if that wasn't enough, he manipulated Rook. I love my first Rook (Carwyn de Riva) so much that I am STRUGGLING to play another playthrough with any of the other Rooks I had planned. To see that he manipulated her with blood magic... Stopped her from being able to mourn Varric with the others properly.... AND tricked her into that prison??? He didn't think she'd be able to get out. Luckily she had plot armor because if she hadn't gotten out I would find a way into Thedas to rip him apart myself. *Aggressive breathing noises* I feel very normal about this, obviously. Seriously though, guys, I came THIIIIIIIS close to tricking him with the fake dagger even knowing that Lanaya (my Lavellan) wouldn't have gotten her happy ending. JUST so I could see the LOOK on his face when he realized ROOK outplayed him at his own game! At the SAME time however... The idea of sending him into the Black City alone... hurts me lol! I don't want him to suffer. Dude has suffered a lot and honestly, I'm not entirely sure his being a friend-murdering ass is *entirely his fault... The longer I sit with everything, the more certain I am that Solas didn't really have a choice. Seems very much like he was sort of bound to the will of Mythal. Maybe I've missed something, I'm not as lore-savvy as I once was. But in the end when Mythal tells Solas that she releases him from her service and only THEN (NOT when Lavellan BEGS him to stop) is he willing to do the right thing? I don't know. It just reminded me SO much of his personal quest in Inquisition where his Wisdom Spirit friend had been bound and twisted against its purpose. If it works anything like what we saw in Inquisition with whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows, who's to say when something was him vs the will of Mythal? It could be a bit of a stretch but, there's certainly room for that interpretation, I think. And if that's the case, then he doesn't deserve the hell that awaits him. It's also the only interpretation I can really accept Lanaya still wanting to be with him. Varric was her friend too. While forgiveness is something I give freely, I cannot imagine reconciling with a man who did what Solas did without him having been essentially forced into doing it. *Sighs deeply* I saw the different versions of his endgame images... Shit man. The only way this man gets a happy ending is with Lavellan. Dude looks so miserable and gloomy in all the other endings. Moire (Trevelyan) was Solas' friend. She wouldn't want to send him off to be alone in such a terrible place. That would seriously eat at her. (Rook wouldn't care. Her give a damn was busted after he betrayed her for the twenty-billionth time.) It can never be anything but a complete and utter rollercoaster with this man! I do think that the ending I got with him was as good as it possibly could have been though, given everything. Sorry for this really poorly written rant. I needed to get this out of my system and it's almost 3am lol.

[greatpoetrychopshop]

About DA:TV ending

My thoughts on the veilguard ending, which might be not in line with most people think of it, in particular on the final scene (but I would very much like your opinion and point of view in replies).

I finished the game yesterday and I didn't stop thinking about the implications of the last Solavellan scene, asking myself many questions and the more I think about it, the less I am happy with the fate of the ship.

I do believe that the Solavellan ending is not as happy as many people thought it would be. To be honest, I think Solavellan's fate is particularly sad, awful. I did not intend to express my opinion about it but I am so troubled by it that I need to write it down.

Let's talk about the thing I liked first; I really loved the fact that Mythal decided to "free Solas from his duties" toward her. It implies that from the very moment Solas took a physical body, he was torn between its nature turned to Wisdom and his proud side growing from his actions dictated by Mythal, showing that the many mistakes he had done are as much Mythal's fault than his, which, in my opinion, calls for a fate made of redemption, and hope in a future where he could finally choose his destiny. As a fan of the Dragon Age saga, from the very beginning we know that forcing a spirit doing things against its nature is a terrible thing, and Solas, as any spirit we saw having the same fate in the franchise, deserves our compassion and his friends forgiveness.

However, what is his fate when he is convinced to make peace with his past mistakes? Going back to the prison (this has been confirmed by Weekes on their social media account BlueSky), and linking his destiny with the Veil and protect it as much as he can. And I insist on it, it's a PRISON, so it is very much implied that he is PUNISHED for his past actions.

Are we talking about the same prison Rook has been stuck ? This place of horrible emptiness and despair, cut from the rest of the world and the Fade itself, the Fade he loves so much ?

That means that Lavellan will live with him yes, but a Lavellan cut from her roots, her family, her Dalish clan, her friends she made while running the Inquisition ?

I don't think this is a deserved fate for any of them.

There is as well the argument that an immortal being must be linked to the Veil for it to not collapse, that feels like a last minute narrative twist to force the ending toward a certain direction, and justifying (again) that Solas cannot choose his fate.

Solas is now bound to the Veil by blood, and the implications of this are SO HUGE, that means that he has now new duties that falls upon him (after spending millenias having duties toward Mythal), after deserving having his own destiny in hand. That means as well he is FORCED to remain alive in order to maintain the Veil and avoid a new cataclysm that would destroy the world.

And what does that mean for both Solas and Lavellan? He is condemned to live forever, again, not choosing his fate, and see Lavellan die, for she is mortal. And THIS, for me, is the coup de grace.

Solas wanted two things : having a simpler life just like the one he had while helping the Inquisition, and not dying alone. Both of them are not resolved, for there is no chance that he could have a simpler life with his life now bound to the Veil, and being left alone in the world as ages pass…

I cannot see it as a good ending for them and I cannot imagine anyone thinking this knowing all those facts.

There could have been such better ending for them, I had that idea that maybe Solas could have known the same fate similar to what Cole had, meaning that there was a possibility for him to become more human, even if its mindset and personality would have been a little altered.

An Ancien immortal Elven, choosing to become mortal, and finally making its own choices with his lover at his side with a death he could have chosen. It would have made a wonderful echo to the discussion Varric and Solas while trying to help Cole during his personal quest, and a last hommage to the character of Varric himself that remain central to the story of Veilguard itself…

I know that every Dragon Age game has its story with a certain bittersweet ending, but what I feel for the Solavellan ship is not bittersweet, it's unfairness, after everything we kown of this two wonderful characters…

As I am writing down right now, I feel so enraged by this ending and non said things about it, leaving us with questions calling only, if we apply logic, for dreadfull answers.

For my part, I will let the Veilguard behind me (even though there are some parts that I enjoyed anyway) go back to DA:I in some time and make my own headcanon for the Solavellan ship, far from the one Bioware decided, unless there is a possibility for both of them in the future to have a better resolution.

Anyway please don't hesitate to comment to tell me what is your opinion about it, if you don't agree I'm very interested.

[vigilskeep]

2 + 25?

2. how did rook get the nickname? what do they think of it?

i assume it’s a gift from varric. his “always thinks in straight lines” bit is so real. plus it deeply amuses me that rooks are just chatty sociable crows. and it makes sense that going by another name was useful while with varric; there was always a lingering question mark on if one of the other talons was going to off them for the antaam incident. no sense antagonising them by throwing your real name around. sol found it mildly irritating at first—you go to all that trouble picking out a nice name for yourself and then have to use another one—but they’ve worn it for a year and they like how it fits these days. still weird from fellow crows. stop being professional teia it’s me

25. how does rook like to spend their free time?

sol’s got a lot of energy. they like to be out in markets, up in rooftops, clambering all over the lighthouse and the crossroads. they like to talk. really, they hate being alone, and will just sort of sit near you and occasionally demand attention in a cat-like manner, but they’re usually not too much trouble to entertain if you get them focused on some kind of puzzle or problem. thrilled to be set to work on tasks, especially ones they can do with you or in your vicinity. (bellara is terrible at this because she feels bad asking people to do things. harding has gotten the hang of it over the months. neve had them as an errand boy and beaming about it on day one.) being called to help a friend move house is, like, their ideal day. or to move a body. whichever

they play that one trevisan string instrument that you can pick up for your room in the lighthouse. they refine their voices. (they’re really proud of this one they’re doing rn, genuine localised fereldan! they’re trying to recreate their distant childhood memories, just as a project to pass the time. it’s not weird. harding’s always weird about it, but that’s probably because they never warn her before they switch out of it.) they practice sleight of hand tricks. they scrawl over viago’s recipes for weapon coatings with “improvements” and then wonder why theirs never turn out as good. they wrestle assan

[why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat]

Oh! For read Star Wars, it'll have to be Vader Down! It's something that I feel shows just how insane Vader can really get during a battle in space and ground. Many people would think that him being an old quadruple amputee would put him at a disadvantage in a one man vs army situation, but that comic demonstrates that he is still perfectly able to fight

Though the Vader fight scenes are a plus, my actual favorite parts is Luke and co vs Dr. Aphra. The whole comic expands on the relationship that they all have really well in my opinion and keep to the original series while also making them act more than just the original. They don't act like they're stuck in (figurine) boxes

The two sides of Vader fighting the rebels and Luke and co fighting Dr. Aphra and co compliment each nicely too. Vader is shown alone, winning with brute force and using fatal battle tactics with little care of how he wins so long as he does. Meanwhile Luke and co are shown using their wits and plan on how to take down their foes. Vader is more a show of a natural disaster on a warpath to his son, while Luke is grounding of a human fighting for his life, knowledge, and freedom

Pawing through it again actually made me sad for Vader because you can see how much being trapped in that suit has forced him to think outside the box when it comes to fighting. Anakin wouldn't have set off those grenades unless it was to create a nonfatal diversion or to open up an entrance. He also would have more than likely done it manually instead of overly relying on the force like was taught to while being a Jedi. Though that was the whole point in Star Wars, showing the tragedy of Vader's life

Unread (Star Wars) comics, it'll have to be from a single panel I saw. I don't remember the name of it, but I remember the context of the scene very clearly. It was an ending of a comic where Vader is hunting down Luke, and he is in an aviary. The birds scream out "Luke Skywalker" then eventually just "Skywalker" all around Vader, and he then kills them all so that Luke couldn't be traced back to him and get a higher target on his back from the Empire (read Palpatine).

Iirc this is after Hoth and Vader was slowly changing his ideals to protecting his son from the Emperor and from his legacy rather than to claim him. I think it might have been this scene where it was written where Vader finds out that Luke is his son? Don't quote me on that though.

But the scene that left a deep impact on the reader, Vader snapping in a panel full of "Skywalker" being screeched as birds flew in chaos and then shown standing over the slaughtered birds in dead silence. The writers knew what they were doing and I love them for that. The scene after that was subtly emotional as well, when Vader walked out of the aviary and was asked by an officer (imperial forces were standing outside the aviary) what happened in there

I don't remember exactly what Vader said, but it was along the lines of "Nothing, let's move on" and (I think, again I haven't read the actual comic just saw a few pages years ago) the officer was shown taking a peak inside the aviary and internally thought along the lines of "It certainly wasn't nothing but I won't question him more about what happened"

That scene is my favorite out of all the scenes.

I haven't read any DC comics or even interacted with any DC media past watching some of the Teen Titans and a third of Young Justice S1 and not even reading the full S1 for WFA (which when I wrote this post it's in S3 and I haven't read it in months lmao). Which is hilarious if you ask me (I'm a DC fanfiction writer)

But if I have to pick a favorite DC comic . . . I think it'd have to be the one where the Titans are fighting against the Greek gods on . . . whatever planet they were fighting on (I have terrible memory). That war really emphasizes how much and we'll they can work together, even when they're fighting with a very small percentage of rebels against an entire planet and gods setting out to kill them. They aren't shown as infallible, the mistakes they make are very human and the fear they have comes across as having weight.

Sure, that comic has been out for decades so we know that no one died (at least permanently, again I haven't read the whole thing) but at that time? When everyone was taking hits, letting their fear and anger take over them? I would've been sitting on the edge of my seat, and I was when reading the few pages I had even though I knew the outcome. Watching the Titans work like a well oiled machine, falling apart like a clock tower collapsing, then eventually getting back into the grove was thrilling.

If I could remember the comic name I'd hunt it down now that I know free comic sites, even though I don't use them lol, just to read that specific comic. Anyways, this went on for a long while, thanks for the question! It was fun to answer and to choose which ones I like the best

What are you favorite Star Wars or DC comics and why?

[stargirlbryce]

Phone addiction and depression is not a good combo

[canisalbus]

Vasco and Machete are absolutely adorable, your style is so lovely and you draw the softest beds I’ve ever seen in any art ever

.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

ngl i hear people talking a lot about lestat but i think i'm even more obsessed with whatever the fuck louis has going on

[byanyan]

just a head's up: while I hesitate to call hiatus of any kind bc I want to give myself the freedom to write when I have the energy/focus/etc., I will just note that I'm gonna be even slower than usual around here for... idk, probably for a bit. I'm in the worst state mentally that I think I've ever actually been in and it's uhhhh. it's not great lmao. writing is my main escape & distraction so I don't want to step away from it but doing anything is hard as fuck rn so I'm really not interested in pressuring myself to get shit done when it comes to the hobby I'm supposed to be having fun with. I'll be slow, I'll be selective, and it's possible I'll be dropping a lot of drafts?? maybe?? OR at least like. temporarily removing a bunch from my drafts (to be added back later) just so the number is less big & overwhelming lmao.

thank u guys for ur patience w me & for writing w my glittery lil creature, I appreciate u all sm 💜

[moonchild-in-blue]

Oh.