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popamolly · 9 months ago

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‘DANCE WITH THE DEVIL’ ALASTOR

summary. Alastor grapples with the realization that he might actually have feelings for you, as you contend with the internal conflict of obeying your mother's wishes or pursuing your own happiness.

warnings. dark romance, smut if you squint, human!alastor, age gap! you’re in your early 20s while Alastor is in his early 30s, you're naive, Alastor preys on your innocence, blood, kidnapping, implied murder, 18+ minors dni

author’s note. thank you so much for 800 followers! as well as the amount of love this story is getting! i am enjoying writing for human!Alastor and can’t for you all see where i’ll take this. enjoy sinners. (also, if you saw the rough draft and all the mistakes, no you didn’t)

One moment you were on Alastor’s cluttered desk and the next you were in his spacious bed. You had no idea how you got there as it all remained a mysterious blur. The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow on both of your bodies as you two continued to move in sync with one another. Straddling his waist, the rhythmic dance against his hips had your head tossed back in pure bliss. It was a slow, deep, sensation that was vastly different from a few hours before.

His fingernails dragged across your back as he watched your face contort in pleasure, he loved the sight of you— the various marks on you caused by him stirred something within him. It made him wonder how many times can he break you before you crumbled into a million of tiny pieces.

Before you knew it, you were waking up in Alastor’s bed again, only this time you were alone just as the sun reached its peak in the sky. The sunlight was so bright you had to squint your eyes as you sat up in the bed. A delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee and breakfast wafted through the air making your stomach grumble. Knowing that Alastor was perhaps in the kitchen, you pull the sheets from over you and go to stand, your legs felt like jelly and the soreness you felt in between your legs truly made it harder to walk.

You scanned the room for something to wear. All traces of modesty had disappeared since Alastor had taken you across nearly every piece of furniture in his possession, at that point what did you have to be modest about? Opting for one of his blouses, you opened his closet with the expectation of finding a more varied collection, only to discover that each blouse and pair of trousers adhered to a more monochromatic theme.

While reaching for a shirt, you accidentally knocked down another hanger. As you got on your knees to searched for the fallen garment on the floor, your fingertips brushed against a wooden box that was neatly tucked away into the shadows of the closet, sparking your curiosity. You sat down on the floor of the closet, dragging the box toward you to open it- but it was locked.

You decided to leave it be, excusing it as a mere heirloom or something of importance to Alastor. It was left in the back of your mind as you retreat from the closet, you changed into the blouse before leaving his bedroom to follow the delightful scent of breakfast- but before you left the room, you couldn't resist picking up Alastor's forgotten glasses from his nightstand.

As you made your way to the kitchen, the delicious scent of breakfast intensified. The memories of the night before lingered in your mind, a mix of passion and tenderness with Alastor. The soreness between your legs served as a reminder of the intimate moments you shared.

You found Alastor humming a jazz tune as he cooked, completely absorbed in his culinary endeavors. The clinking of utensils against pans filled the air, harmonizing with his cheerful humming. He turned to look at you, a smile spreading across his face.

"Well, good morning, my dear," Alastor greeted, his tone a mix of charm and, at least you hoped, genuine affection. "I hope you slept well."

"Goodmorning Alastor, I did sleep well, thank you," you returned his smile, feeling a sense of comfort in the domestic scene. The small kitchen table was set for two, adorned with a simple but elegant lace. Alastor had an uncanny ability to make even the most mundane tasks seem like an art form.

You took a seat at the table, placing his glasses carefully beside you. Alastor joined you, serving a delicious-looking breakfast onto your plate.

"Help yourself," he said, gesturing to the spread before you. "We had a long night so I am sure you are quite famished.”

You looked down at your silverware as you thanked him, your entire body heating up at the mention of your shared affairs last night as you dug into the meal, savoring the flavors. The comfortable silence between you and Alastor spoke volumes, a example of the connection formed between you two during the night.

Alastor sat across from you with a delighted hum, newspaper in hand while he sipped from his coffee mug in the other, "And how are you faring, my dear? I supposed I did get quite carried away." He broke the domestic silence with a grin, his eyes looking over your neck that was littered with marks. His marks.

"I'm fine," You say honestly, "I enjoyed it really, it was good...for my first time." You all but whispered the last part.

"Well that eases my worry," Alastor puts on his glasses to rest them on the bridge of his nose as he looks over his newspaper again, turning the page as he crosses his right leg over his left, “Let me know if you prefer tea in the morning, I have some brewing on the stove for the afternoon.”

Tea. You audibly gasp at the word as the realization dawned on you. You were supposed to be at home, sick in bed, and drinking tea— that was your cover for the night but the night was long since over. Glancing at the clock, you noticed that it was thirty minutes until eight o’clock, which was the usual time for breakfast to be served at your house. Your mother always expected you at the table a minute before her, groomed and ready for the day ahead. If you weren’t there on time then surely it’ll cause suspicion.

“I hate to cut this short but I have to go,” You hurriedly gobble up the rest of your food before standing up from your chair, “I have to be home soon or my mother will kill me!”

Alastor raised an eyebrow at the irony in that, “Surely, you have time to at least finish your coffee?”

You spared the moment a thought but ultimately shook your head, “I’m sorry but I can’t,” you walked past Alastor to go into his bedroom to slip on your clothes from the night before. His footsteps followed, accompanied by the jingle of car keys in hand.

As you hurriedly grabbed your belongings, Alastor offered to ease your worry with a smile, "I'll drive you home. No need to rush alone in your state of distress."

Grateful for the assistance, you nodded in agreement, and together, you both left his place. You felt different now, a bit lighter, more mature as you slipped into the passenger side of Alastor's car. He held the door open and closed it for you like a true gentleman. The car ride was filled with light banter, Alastor's charismatic demeanor easing the tension that lingered from your hasty departure.

Once you reached your home, Alastor parked the car a little ways away from your estate and turned to you. "Thank you for the company, darling. I hope your mother's wrath is not as fearsome as you anticipate."

You chuckled nervously, appreciating his understanding. "I hope so too. And thank you for everything, Alastor.. I enjoyed our time together."

He leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and planted a gentle kiss on your lips. "Until we meet again," he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

With a promise to see each other soon hanging in the air, you slipped through the back door of your home, grateful for the concealment it offered. Hastily, you made your way to your room, hurriedly taking off the clothes from the night before taking a moment to compose yourself. You had only a few minutes to spare and you couldn't waste them.

After freshening up in your own personal water closet, you did your hair as neatly, and quickly, as you could— following up with a light touch of makeup. The faint taste of Alastor's farewell kiss lingered, and you couldn't help but smile at your reflection in the mirror. Now, groomed and ready, you braced yourself for the day ahead and the potential questions your mother might have about your ailment.

You rushed downstairs into the dining room, the scent of freshly brewed tea and warm toast filling the air. Just as you took your seat, your mother entered, her expression stoic. Unfazed, you greeted her with a bright smile, attempting to mask any trace of your recent escapades.

"Good morning Mother, How did you sleep?" you asked cheerfully, reaching for the toast as if it were any ordinary morning.

Your mother eyed you with a raised eyebrow, as she sat down at the head of the table, allowing the maid beside her to pour her tea, "Well enough, dear. I found myself tossing and turning all night. And you? That cold seemed to be really troubling you last night."

You laughed nervously, hoping your casual demeanor would deflect any probing questions. "It was, I could hardly get out of bed last night but thankfully sleep eventually came."

She continued to observe you, suspicion lingering in her gaze. Of course she knows you snuck out but she wouldn't reveal her cards too early. She would let you have this win for now in the hopes that when your rendezvous did come to light, your spirit would be so crushed by then that you'd have no other choice but to lean on your mother for support because she knew that this was a mere distraction for you and you were nothing but a toy to the man that wanted to use you. Your mother should know, after all she was a young girl once herself. "Mm-hmm," she responded, not fully convinced as she eyed the turtleneck dress you wore. "Anything interesting happen last night?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you maintained your composure. "Not really, just a quiet night. How about you? Anything exciting on your end?"

She hesitated, scrutinizing you for a moment before deciding to drop the subject. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual."

Relieved, you continued with a light breakfast, inwardly sighing at the narrow escape. Little did your mother know about the intriguing night you had spent with Alastor, and you hoped to keep it that way—for now, at least.

As you sipped your tea, hoping to steer the conversation away from any further inquiries, your mother decided to drop a bombshell. With a casual tone, she announced, "Silly me, but I forgot to mention that we're hosting a party in two days. We must prepare you for that so I have list of errands we need to run. Oh, and I've decided it's time that I take over in your matchmaking process."

Your eyes widened in surprise, nearly choking on your tea. "A party? Matchmaking? Mom, that's a bit sudden, isn't it?"

Your mother smiled innocently as she was spreading jam on her toast. "Nonsense, dearest. You've had quite a bit of freedom lately, and I think it's only fair that I take charge of finding you a suitable partner."

You were taken aback by the revelation. "Mom, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle my own affairs. I don't need you picking a match for me."

She raised an eyebrow, her expression turning serious. "And where has that led us? It's time to consider your future. I've arranged for some eligible suitors to attend the party, and by the end of the night, we'll have a decision."

You felt a sense of frustration and helplessness. The control over your own choices slipping away yet again, replaced by the traditional expectations your mother seemed determined to enforce. As you finished your breakfast, a sense of foreboding settled in—the upcoming party was more than just a social gathering. It held the potential to reshape your life in ways you may not be ready for.

As the conversation about the upcoming party lingered, a maid entered the room, carefully placing a radio on the table. You couldn't help but notice that this particular maid was new, and a quick glance around revealed that the other servants bustling about the home were also unfamiliar faces.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you leaned in and asked your mother, "Mother, What happened to our usual staff?"

Your mother, engrossed in the morning radio, responded nonchalantly, "Oh, I fired them, dear. They simply weren't meeting my standards. Now, please hold your tongue; I'm trying to listen to the morning news."

You were left you speechless, a mix of surprise and concern washing over you. The familiar faces that had been a constant presence in your household were replaced without warning. You couldn't help but wonder what had transpired behind the scenes and what might be the real reason for this sudden change. Then you realized that maybe your mother knew of your outing with Alastor and she was acting like she didn't, and if she was, why was she acting clueless?

Your mind began swirling with questions about the upcoming party, the matchmaking, and now the unexplained dismissal of the longtime staff. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, leaving you with an uneasy feeling about the changes that were unfolding in your once-familiar surroundings.

"Oh, what a delightful morning it is! I trust everyone enjoyed a restful night, as I certainly did!" Alastor's voice resonated through the radio, carrying a distinct weight. Despite being the renowned radio show host, he seemed like an entirely different person. Though the broadcast introduced some static, his charm remained. "Let's kick off this morning with some smooth jazz tunes, shall we? I have Louis Armstrong & His Hot Seven's top hits ready to grace your ears! We'll return shortly after this brief interlude, folks!"

Alastor flipped off one switch on his microphone and activated another. The sounds of "Potato Head Blues" filled the airwaves, spreading throughout New Orleans. While the jazz played in the warehouse, Alastor rose from his chair with an irritated groan, heading towards a locked closet at the end of the hall. Using a key, he unlocked the door and descended the creaky wooden stairs. As he reached the bottom step, another voice in the room caught his attention.

"Mmmh!" The person, bound to a chair with a cloth in their mouth, struggled against their restraints, fear evident in their eyes as they observed Alastor approaching with a stoic expression. Tear-filled eyes followed his movements as he walked to a table in the corner, his fingertips brushing over an array of displayed knives. "Mmmph! Hmph!"

"Your grunts and stifled screams are growing rather tiresome," Alastor remarked, his hand hovering over one of his cherished knives with a sinister grin. Lifting it up, the blade gleamed in the light. "I understand it's rather solitary in this space. You were supposed to have a companion, but," Alastor pulled a wooden chair across the floor, creating an unsettling echo against the concrete. He positioned himself in front of the restrained individual, heightening the bone-chilling atmosphere, "plans change."

Alastor glided the blade deliberately across the person's cheek, the chilling touch of the metal causing involuntary shivers. Despite their struggles against the restraints, Alastor sighed, tapping the blade against their skin in a disturbingly mocking rhythm.

"This person, this woman," Alastor mused, tilting his head to the side, "is confusing me, and I don't like it." The sadistic atmosphere in the room thickened as he increased the pressure of the blade against their cheek, drawing blood. Suddenly, he halted, as if a realization had struck him.

"But I don't hate it either," Alastor declared with an unsettling calmness, leaving an ominous pause that lingered in the air. The duality of his emotions toward the captive person added a perplexing layer to the unfolding scene, intensifying the disturbing nature of the situation.

Alastor, maintaining his eerie composure, turned to the restrained person and asked, "What do you think? Is it true love?" A twisted amusement gleamed in his eyes as he awaited a response.

A cruel chuckle escaped him as he noticed the person's inability to answer, their mouth securely gagged. The absurdity of the question in the face of their silent predicament seemed to amuse the madman further. The room resonated with Alastor's unsettling laughter, creating an atmosphere of malevolence that hung heavily in the air. The captive, helpless and silenced, could only endure the scene unfolding before them knowing that this would be the last sight they ever see.

"One, two, three, one, two-" The ballroom echoed with the rhythmic counting of the waltz, your mother diligently guiding you through the steps. As you twirled with your elderly dance partner, your mind drifted to Alastor. The memory of dancing with him under the stars tugged at your heart, and an undeniable longing for him filled your thoughts.

In the midst of the waltz, you couldn't shake the yearning to be with him, whether listening to his radio broadcasts or engaging in casual conversations over coffee. The mere thought of Alastor sent your heart racing, leaving you flustered and questioning the nature of these emotions. Was this love? The answer seemed evident with each flutter of your heart, each bounce of the balls of your feet. Love, it seemed, had taken root in your heart.

The dance partner, an elderly servant, winced as your foot landed squarely on his toes. "I am so sorry!" you began to apologize, but your mother's sharp voice cut through the room.

"A woman must be graceful like a swan," she admonished, tapping the back of your thighs with a cane, the sting making you wince, "not a tumbling tiger."

"I—" You attempted to offer excuses, but your mother's stern gaze silenced you.

"You are distracted," she declared, shaking her head in disapproval. "I need you to dismiss whatever is taking over your mind and be present. The ball is tomorrow, and I can't have you embarrassing me on your big day." The weight of her expectations pressed upon you, urging you to set aside your personal feelings and focus on the upcoming event.

A heavy sigh escaped your mother's lips as she turned her attention to the elderly servant. "You may leave us," she instructed, her tone carrying a hint of disappointment. The servant bowed slightly, acknowledging the dismissal before exiting the ballroom.

Now alone, your mother circled you, her scrutinizing gaze causing you to shrink under her watchful eyes. The atmosphere grew tense as she examined you, her expression a mix of frustration and concern.

With each step, your mother's presence loomed, and the weight of her expectations seemed to intensify. The impending ball was not just an event; it was a reflection of her social standing, and any misstep could ruin her reputation. As she circled, you couldn't help but feel the pressure to conform to her ideals and expectations, the desire for personal connection and freedom momentarily eclipsed by the demands of societal decorum.

Your mother's gaze didn't miss the marks on your neck you tried to hide, remnants of the passionate night you spent with Alastor. She dismissed it with a grimace, a silent disapproval lingering in her expression.

As the tension in the room hung thick, your mother took a deep breath before opening her mouth to speak once again. "Did I ever tell you the story of how I was in love?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

"Of course, you and father—" you began, but your mother cut you off with a firm gesture. "This was before your father. Before everything…before I became a woman of high society."

The weight of her words hung in the air, and you could sense that she was about to share a piece of her past, a side of her life that you hadn't even thought to acknowledge. As the ball loomed on the horizon, the barriers between you and your mother seemed to momentarily lower, providing a glimpse into a time when love and passion took precedence over societal expectations.

"I fell in love with a man during the summer months," your mother began, her voice carrying a bittersweet tone. She continued to circle you, sharing the intimate details of a past you had only glimpsed before. "He swept me off my feet quickly, and I was blinded by that love because, in my eyes, he was my happily ever after."

Your eyes widened as you listened intently to your mother's story. The ballroom, once filled with the echoes of waltz music, now held a poignant atmosphere as she delved into her personal history.

"I was merely a farmer's daughter, and he, a factory worker. It truly was a good match. But…" Her mother's expression darkened at the memory. "My dear, you can give a man everything, every ounce of your entire being, and he will still want more."

As the weight of her words settled, you could sense the bitter undertones of regret and heartache in your mother's story. It opened a window into her past, a time when love seemed boundless, yet reality had its own lessons to impart. The circling continued, each step a reminder of the complexities that love could bring.

"What I thought was love was nothing but a game to him," your mother continued, her voice carrying the weight of past heartache. The circling ceased abruptly, and her cane tapped hard against the ballroom floor as if emphasizing the gravity of her words. "He was gone with autumn, taking everything I had given him—my money, my body…my soul. I would've been truly ruined if it wasn't for your father."

She stood in front of you, gripping your chin harshly, forcing you to meet her gaze with glossy eyes. "I say all of that to say, do not be fooled by a wolf in sheep's clothing."

The words hung in the air, resonating with the tale she had just shared. The ballroom, once a place of elegance and grace, now echoed with the cautionary wisdom of a mother who had weathered the storms of love and loss. The vulnerability in her eyes and the firmness of her grip conveyed the sincerity of her warning, urging you to tread carefully in matters of the heart.

"I don't care what you do from this point forward but know this, you will attend the ball in your honor and you will marry the man who I deem worthy of you, understood?" After your mother releases her grip from your chin, tapping her cane once more, she steps aside, allowing you to pass. "Practice is over. You may go," she declares.

The aftermath of this encounter leaves tears welling in your eyes and a heavy weight in your chest. Unable to meet your mother's gaze, you hurry past her, fleeing the ballroom without a backward glance. In your rush, you even collide with a maid, but offer no apology as you hurry out the front door. Emotions swirl within you, mingling anger towards your mother with a deeper frustration directed toward yourself. The struggle between fulfilling family expectations and pursuing your own happiness weighed heavily on your mind. Are you truly prepared to forsake everything for Alastor? And more importantly, would he do the same for you?

Descending the stone steps of your home in haste, you decided to find Alastor and confront the questions you've been avoiding. Only his response would determine your next move.

"Mr. Ray?" You lean down to peer through the driver's side window, where your family chauffeur is taking a cigarette break. His complexion blends seamlessly with the setting sun. "Could you take me somewhere?"

"Without your mother?" He arches an eyebrow. "I believe you still require a chaperone, young lady."

"She allowed me out for the afternoon as long as I am back before curfew. Please, I'll be under your watchful eye. I promise to behave," you nearly beg, your puppy-dog eyes meeting his.

With a resigned sigh, the chauffeur relents. "Get in," he says, giving in to your plea and falling for your sweet lie.

With a sense of purpose, you climbed into the car, knowing that the journey ahead would be filled with uncertainty but you were determined in proving your mother wrong, you wanted to follow your happiness and Alastor was that happiness because in your mind— no, in your heart, you knew you loved him.

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misspygmypie · 3 months ago

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Unexpected Return

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader, Lando Norris x Noah Words: 1543 Request: How would Lando react if Noah's dad came back? And him wanting to know Noah but only so he can met all thease famous people? Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando and Y/N had built a beautiful life together. From the day they met there was an undeniable spark between them, one that grew into a deep and fulfilling love. Lando, with his warm smile and unwavering support, had become everything Y/N had ever hoped for. They married in a cozy ceremony surrounded by close friends and family and Lando even adopted Y/N’s son, Noah.

Noah was now seven years old, full of energy and curiosity, a constant source of joy and laughter in their home alongside their daughter Maebry. Lando had embraced his role as a father with all his heart and Noah adored him in return. Their bond was unbreakable but one fateful day their happy bubble was about to be burst.

Lando sat at the kitchen island, staring blankly at the stack of papers in front of him. They were from a lawyer’s office, detailing the request for a meeting with Noah’s biological father, Tom. The words blurred together as a storm of emotions swirled in his mind.

He had been up all night, grappling with the realization that Tom was back. The man who had left Y/N and Noah without a second thought, the man who had abandoned them in their most vulnerable time, was suddenly reappearing as if nothing had happened. Lando’s heart pounded with anger and disbelief. How could he just show up now, after all this time? After not giving a damn for seven years?

He remembered the early days when Y/N had told him about Tom’s departure. The pain and uncertainty she had faced while raising Noah alone had been palpable. Lando had stepped in as a steady presence and he had come to love Noah as his own. To him, Noah was his son in every way.

The idea of Tom coming back now felt like an intrusion, a violation of the family that Lando and Y/N had worked so hard to build. He couldn't help but think of all the moments Tom had missed - the shared hot chocolates on a cold night, the splashing in the water together on the beach, the late-night cuddles on the sofa and the countless days filled with laughter and love.

He paced the kitchen, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The thought of Tom sitting across from Noah, trying to claim a place in his life after so many years of indifference made Lando’s blood boil. It was about Noah’s well-being, his stability and the family Lando had fought so hard to create and nurture. Lando’s role was to ensure that Noah felt safe and loved and now Tom threatened that.

When Y/N walked into the room, her eyes filled with concern, Lando’s frustration bubbled to the surface. “I just don’t get it,” he said, his voice rough and loud. “He didn’t give a damn about Noah. Now he shows up like he’s entitled to something?! How can he just come back after all this time?!”

Y/N moved to his side, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard, Lando. It feels like a betrayal and it’s not fair but we have to handle this carefully. Noah deserves to understand his past but he also needs to know that we’re here for him, no matter what.”

Lando nodded, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface. “I just can’t stand the thought of Noah being hurt or confused. He’s my son. I want to protect him from this.”

Y/N squeezed his shoulder. “I know you do and you will. We’ll take this one step at a time, together. Noah’s safety and happiness are our top priorities. We’ll show him that, no matter what happens with Tom, you are his dad.”

They gathered in the cozy corner of the living room, the same spot where they had spent countless evenings reading stories and sharing moments of joy. Noah, sensing the seriousness of the conversation, nestled into the cushions of the sofa, his small frame wrapped in his favorite blanket. Y/N and Lando sat down beside him, their expressions tender but concerned.

Y/N took a deep breath and began gently, “Noah, there’s something we need to talk to you about. It’s very important and might be a bit confusing but we want to be honest with you.”

He looked up at her. “What is it, mommy?”

Lando reached over and gave Y/N’s hand a reassuring squeeze before speaking. “Your biological father has reached out to us. He wants to meet you.”

Noah furrowed his brow, trying to process the information. “But... why?” he asked, his voice small.

“We don’t have all the answers right now, sweetie,” Y/N leaned in closer, her voice soft and comforting. “He’s reached out because he wants to be a part of your life but what’s most important to remember is that nothing changes for us.”

Noah glanced over at Lando, his eyes searching for reassurance. “But I have a dad,” he said softly. “You’re my dad.”

Lando’s heart ached at the vulnerability in Noah’s voice. He smiled gently at the boy next to him. “I am, buddy. Nothing is going to change that. I love you and I always will. No one can take away what we have together.”

Noah’s face softened at Lando’s words, though the confusion still lingered in his eyes. “So... what happens now?”

Y/N wrapped an arm around Noah, pulling him close. “We’ll take things one step at a time. We’ll be there with you. And if you have any questions or need to talk about how you’re feeling, we’re here for you, always.”

Noah nodded slowly and looked up to his parents. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I guess we can figure it out together.”

The next few weeks Lando watched as Noah met Tom under supervised conditions, feeling every pang of discomfort and mistrust. Each visit was a reminder of the betrayal that Tom represented but Lando remained composed. Through it all, Lando’s love for Noah never wavered.

As time went on, it became clear that Tom’s presence did little to alter their family dynamic. Tom’s attempts were weak and in return it was almost as if Noah didn’t care at all about the man who tried to insert himself into his life.

The meetings with Tom had left Lando feeling uneasy and he couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that Tom’s motives went beyond a genuine desire to reconnect with Noah. Lando had seen enough to know that something was off.

One afternoon Lando’s suspicions were confirmed. He received an unexpected phone call from a close friend in the entertainment industry, someone who had become familiar with Lando’s life through various public appearances. His friend revealed that Tom had been dropping Lando’s name in circles, speaking of the “potential” opportunities his association with Lando could bring. The friend had heard Tom’s comments about meeting famous people and leveraging Lando’s status for personal gain.

The realization hit Lando like a ton of bricks. It was as if Tom’s return was nothing more than a carefully orchestrated scheme to benefit from Lando’s fame and connections. Tom wasn’t interested in being a father; he was interested in the perks that came with being connected to someone like Lando.

His anger flared. He felt nothing but betrayal - not just for himself but for Noah, who had been unwittingly caught in the middle of this. The thought that Tom could use Noah as a stepping stone to further his own agenda was infuriating and he had to tell Y/N.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her body tense and her eyes brimming with tears. She looked up at Lando with a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak. The weight of what she had just heard was clearly overwhelming.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m positive,” Lando said, his tone resolute but edged with a deep-seated rage. “It’s clear that he doesn’t care about Noah or us, he just wants to use this situation to benefit himself.”

The tears she had been holding back now spilled freely down her cheeks. “How could he do this? How could he be so selfish?!” she choked out, her voice breaking with each word.

Lando’s heart ached at the sight of Y/N. Seeing her so devastated made his anger toward Tom burn even hotter. He moved to sit beside her on the bed, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “I know, love,” he said softly, his voice filled with pain. “I hate that he’s causing all of us this hurt. He doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near us, especially not around Noah.”

“We can’t let him do this,” Y/N leaned into Lando, seeking comfort in his embrace. “Noah deserves so much better,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I won’t let him hurt you or Noah. Never.”

The next step was clear. Lando and Y/N made the difficult decision to formally sever contact with Tom. They consulted with legal advisors to ensure that Noah’s well-being and safety were protected, ensuring that Tom’s presence would not be a part of Noah’s life moving forward.

________

AN: This was actually a bit challenging, so Anon I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya

#lando imagine #lando norris imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando angst #lando x noah #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando x reader

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squidsystem · 10 months ago

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fire emblem dragons are so cool and awesome when they actually interact with the implications of them and it's a shame that some of their character designs are just really bad which obscures the cool stories involved with them. Because fire emblem dragons are just people, they think like people, they grow like people, they act like people, but they live a mind bendingly long time. I love the child dragon characters because more often than not they're either unnerving with how much they've lived and how much they understand when they literally just look like 10 year old, and or they are too young to even comprehend the meaning of their quite literally thousands and thousands of years lifespans. The fact Tiki is still grappling with the traumatic experience of losing everyone she's ever loved 2000 years after losing them is just such big frown. Like imagine the existential horror of being an 11 year old weird girl but for centuries instead of a year. The old as fuck dragons are really cool too, I think the degeneration lore is really cool and I don't see concepts like it get explored enough, the idea that being so powerful that mortals consider you an unknowable is so unsustainable that they essentially lose their sanity and eventually their sapience is so fucked up. And they probably didn't even realise it was happening until entire ages had already passed. Imagine being a member of a species with a fatal flaw that no one could know about until it was far too late. The fact pretty much all dragons in Fire Emblem are the humanoid manaketes is literally because the ones that didn't are more or less extinct because they were too prideful to relinquish their power, and in some sense, their entire identity. More FE stories should examine the experience of their dragons. Are any manaketes dysphoric because they're forced to live in a body that doesn't reflect who they really are? Imagine the angst. I love fire emblem

#fire emblem #manakete #fe dragons #fe worldbuilding #cw dementia #kinda i guess #bantu is so rad for being like incomprehensibly old but still so chill #i love you peepaw stay cool and keep pickling vegetables

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thatgiraffefromtlou · 21 days ago

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The Aurora Project

(part 1)

paring: ellie williams x fem!reader(ish?)

summary: as a result of a malfunction, you and ellie awaken from cryosleep aboard a spaceship with no memory. will you find evidence that you’re more than just shipmates? something to give reason to your nagging familiarity to the stranger you wake up next to?

warnings: eventual explicit language, potential for smut in later chapters (depending), close description of the start of a panic attack? maybe? idk that’s what mine feels like. uh cringy teasing idk- lmk if there’s more this is pretty tame-

A/N: ellie loves space, we love ellie, why now combine the two? i’m really gonna try my best to finish this one. because it’s not in the tlou universe i don’t have to match naughtydogs pacing in the games (like i do with my other DYHMN) and can make up my own so it won’t be such a long story! still long and definitely slow burn tho!

work count: 2.6K

– Chapter one –

The hiss of escaping air pierced the silence, a sharp and startling sound that jolted you from your dreamless slumber. Your eyes snapped open, your vision blurry and unfocused, struggling to adjust to the dim light that surrounded you. The metallic taste of cryosleep lingered on your tongue, a bitter reminder of your long suspension. You gasped, drawing in your first conscious breath in what felt like an eternity, the cool air burning your lungs as if you'd forgotten how to breathe.

Disoriented, you fumbled with the release mechanism of your pod, your fingers clumsy and uncooperative. The smooth, cold surface of the controls felt alien under your touch. As the glass canopy finally slid open with a soft whoosh, the chill of the ship's recycled air kissed your skin, causing goosebumps to ripple across your body in its wake. The sensation was both uncomfortable and oddly invigorating, a stark contrast to the numbness of your suspended state.

Your muscles protested vehemently as you pushed yourself up with a groan, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Every fiber of your being ached, as if you'd run a marathon in your sleep. "Where... where am I?" you mumbled to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and dry from disuse. The words felt strange in your mouth, your tongue thick and unresponsive.

The low emergency lights cast an eerie red glow across the vast expanse of the cryobay, creating long, ominous shadows that danced along the walls as they flashed. Your gaze, still adjusting to consciousness, slowly scanned the room, taking in the surreal scene before you. Lines of pods, seemingly endless in number, filled the space, each containing a silent, motionless figure. The dim white light emanating from within the pods created a strange, almost ethereal contrast to the blinking of the red emergency lights, giving the entire bay an otherworldly atmosphere.

As your mind gradually cleared, you slowly started to realize the gravity of your situation. You'd woken from your cryosleep, but why? A small panic began to creep through your chest, its icy tallons wrapping around your heart. Your head swam, an almost floaty feeling overtaking you as you grappled with your new reality. The disconnect between your last conscious memory and your current situation was jarring, leaving you feeling untethered and lost.

You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and clear the fog from your mind. With great effort, you struggled to slide out of your pod, every muscle in your body aching and pleading you to stop. The simple act of movement felt like an insurmountable task, your limbs heavy and uncooperative. You had no idea how long it had been since you'd last used your muscles, but from the way they felt - weak, stiff, and painfully sore - and the way your throat was begging for water, parched and raw, you'd say it had been a pretty significant amount of time. Months? Years? The uncertainty only added to your growing anxiety.

With trembling legs, you finally managed to get on your feet, immediately reaching out to hold onto the edge of your pod for support. The cool metal under your fingers provided only a small measure of comfort. "Hello?" you called out, your voice cracking, barely louder than before. Your heart raced, pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. The sound of your own voice echoing in the vast, silent chamber only intensified your feeling of isolation.

There was no response to your call; all you were met with was the low, persistent hum of the machines around you, the sound of your own panicked breathing, loud in the oppressive silence, and the whoosh of your heart beat in your ears. The lack of any human presence or activity only heightened your sense of unease. Slowly, carefully, you turned your head, your gaze falling upon the pod next to yours. To your surprise and relief, its occupant was stirring, showing signs of life amidst the previous stillness.

A woman with dark auburn hair struggled with the release mechanism of her pod, mirroring your own recent experience. Her movements were just as sluggish and uncoordinated as yours had been. You turned your body, every movement still an effort, and slowly walked around to stand at the foot of her pod. Your progress was painfully slow, each step deliberate as you used the edges of the pods for support, your legs still unsteady beneath you.

As you watched, the glass canopy of her pod slid open with a soft hiss, a type of misty fog slowly spilling out, curling and dissipating in the air. The woman inside sat up, her movements jerky and uncertain. As she looked around, her expression mirrored the confusion you felt, a mix of disorientation and growing alarm evident in her features.

"Are you alright?" you asked, your voice still rough but gaining strength. The woman turned at the sound, your words seeming to bring her down from her disoriented state. Her green eyes, bright and alert despite the lingering effects of cryosleep, met yours. As your gazes locked, a flicker of recognition flooded your brain, quick and elusive. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, quickly replaced by uncertainty and a nagging sense that you should know this person, even though you couldn't place how or why.

"I... I think so," the woman replied, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her voice was as dry and raspy as yours had been, another testament to the long period of disuse. She cleared her throat, the sound harsh in the quiet of the cryobay, before she spoke again. "I'm Dr. Williams. At least, that's what my pod says." She motioned to the foot of her pod, where a nameplate was clearly visible. Her eyes, however, held a mix of confusion and frustration as she continued, "But I can't... I can't remember anything else." She shook her head in defeat, her dark hair falling around her face, adding to her disheveled appearance.

The admission sent a chill down your spine. It wasn't just you, then. The realization that you weren't alone in your confusion was both comforting and alarming.

Your breath caught in your throat as the implications of her words sank in. "I'm…" you began, then paused, suddenly unsure. You looked over to your nameplate at the foot of your pod, reading the name etched there. You gave the woman your name, but your tone was questioning, uncertain, as if you were trying the sound of it for the first time. Your eyes found hers again as you spoke, searching for any sign of recognition or familiarity. "But I don't remember much either," you admitted, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

There was a heavy pause as you both looked around the cryo bank, taking in the rows upon rows of occupied pods, the blinking lights, and the humming silence. A deeper sense of panic began to fill your chest, more intense than before. The enormity of the situation was starting to sink in - you were awake, with no memory, on what appeared to be a massive ship, with potentially hundreds or thousands of others still in cryosleep. "Are we the only ones… awake…?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly might make the situation more real, more terrifying.

The woman looked back at you, her expression a mixture of hesitation and uncertainty. "I'm not sure... I think so..." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. There was a prolonged pause as you both continued to search the room with your eyes, desperately seeking any clue that might shed light on your situation. "But why...?" she finally asked, voicing the question that had been echoing in your own mind. Why? And not just why, but how? How did you end up here, in this unfamiliar place, with gaps in your memory?

You strain to recall your last clear memory, the one that stood out the most was only a fleeting image. A brief flash of signing a document. The paper, you remembered, was meant to secure you the very pod from which you had just awakened. But the reasons behind your signature and your intended destination remained frustratingly elusive. Along with most of your past experiences, these crucial details seemed to have vanished from your mind.

It was as if your brain had undergone a selective wipe, retaining only the information necessary for basic survival. Perhaps even the lessons your experiences had taught you remained, but the experiences themselves had faded away like morning mist. You couldn't help but wonder: Was this a common side effect of cryo sleep? Had the people who placed you in this state warned you about potential memory loss? If so, those warnings were now lost to you as well. How long would this amnesia last? Would your memories ever fully return?

These questions swirled in your mind, each one giving birth to a dozen more, creating a dizzying spiral of uncertainty and confusion. You felt yourself being pulled deeper into this mental whirlpool, losing touch with your immediate surroundings.

Suddenly, the woman called out your name, her voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts like a knife. Your head snapped back to face her, the motion so quick it left you slightly disoriented. As your eyes met hers, you experienced a flooding sensation of familiarity again, a feeling that dissipated as quickly as it had come. The constant ebb and flow of recognition was both frustrating and deeply unsettling. In an attempt to regain your composure, you shook your head, as if trying to physically dislodge the confusion. "Sorry, yeah... I don't know..." you managed to stammer out, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.

For what felt like an eternity, the two of you stood there, locked in a mutual gaze. Neither of you seemed capable of finding the right words to break the heavy silence that had settled between you. The atmosphere was thick with tension, your nerves on edge as you both continued to search each other's faces for any sign of recognition or understanding. Finally, the woman spoke, her voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Help me out of this thing?" she asked, gesturing to her cryo pod.

You nodded silently, moving to assist her. However, as you reached out, you quickly realized that you weren't in much better shape yourself. Your muscles, still sluggish from the prolonged period of inactivity, protested against even this simple movement. Despite your best efforts, you found yourself offering little more than moral support as she struggled to extricate herself from the pod.

As she finally managed to step out, her hand inadvertently brushed against yours. The brief contact sent an unexpected jolt through your body, an inexplicable warmth spreading from the point of contact and radiating through your chest. Instinctively, your eyes snapped up to meet hers, half-expecting to see a face you'd known your entire life. Instead, you were met with the same mix of confusion and intrigue that you felt mirrored in your own expression. The familiarity of the sensation contrasted sharply with the stranger's face before you, adding another layer to the frustration of your situation.

"We need to figure out what's going on," the woman declared after a moment, her voice carrying a forced confidence that barely masked her underlying uncertainty. You found yourself nodding in agreement once more, still reeling from the unexpected warmth that her simple touch had evoked. It was as if your body remembered something your mind had forgotten, a connection that transcended your current state of confusion.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you took a step back and began to survey your surroundings more thoroughly. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of an exit. The woman seemed to have the same idea, her gaze darting from one corner of the room to another. Without exchanging words, you both began to move away from your pods, heading in the same direction down a long corridor lined with other cryo units. You could only hope that this path would lead you to some answers, or at the very least, a way out of this situation.

As you walked side by side, a thought suddenly surfaced in your mind. "Dr. Williams?" you ventured, turning to look at the woman. She responded with a soft hum, indicating that she was listening. You hesitated for a moment, your eyes dropping to your feet before meeting hers again. "What's your first name? If you can remember, I mean. Might be easier than Dr. Williams..." You trailed off, feeling somewhat awkward about the question.

To your surprise, she let out a soft chuckle. The sound was strangely familiar, sending a small rush of heat to your cheeks. Why was everything about this woman so familiar, so intimately known to you, yet simultaneously foreign? Like smelling something outside in the wind and feeling the emotions attached to that smell, only to not be able to put your finger on what and why. The feeling was tantalizingly close, hovering just at the edge of recognition, like a word on the tip of your tongue. And only sometimes were you blessed with the epiphany of what that smell was, days or even weeks later, that would strike without warning, bringing with it a flood of understanding and the satisfying click of pieces falling into place. "Ellie," she replied, a smile playing on her lips as she watched for your reaction. Your brow furrowed slightly as you processed this information. "You remember that, or was it on the pod?" you asked, unable to keep a hint of teasing disbelief from your voice. After all, you had awakened first, yet she seemed to be recovering her memories more quickly.

Ellie's smile widened, taking on a slightly sheepish quality. "It was on the pod," she admitted, "but it feels right now that I've said it out loud." You nodded, understanding the sentiment. "Ellie..." you repeated, testing the name on your tongue. It yet again felt familiar, comfortable, as if you had said it countless times before.

As the two of you continued your search for an exit from the bay, you couldn't shake the persistent feeling that there was more to your relationship than simply being shipmates or colleagues. The ease of your interactions, the inexplicable warmth you felt in her presence, and the nagging sense of familiarity – it all pointed to a deeper connection. These sensations were too intense, too immediate to be explained by a chance meeting between strangers.

Your eyes drifted to the viewports lining the corridor, taking in the vast expanse of space beyond. The cosmos stretched out infinitely, a silent witness to the mysteries of your past and the uncertainties of your future. As you gazed at the star-studded blackness, you couldn't help but wonder what other secrets it held. What events had led you to this moment? What purpose had brought you to this ship, drifting through the endless void? And most intriguingly, what role did Ellie play in your forgotten past?

The questions multiplied with each step you took, but answers remained frustratingly out of reach. You glanced at Ellie, noticing that she too seemed lost in thought, her brow furrowed in concentration. Perhaps together, you could unravel the enigma of your shared circumstances. For now, all you could do was press forward, hoping that somewhere in this vast ship, you would find the key to unlocking your memories and understanding her true purpose in your life.

chapter 2

A/N: lmk if so if u wanna be in the tag list!

#ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams × reader

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inbarfink · 1 year ago

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Okay, so I already wrote a bunch of stuff about how that scene, although it is really sweet, is also kind of a Bad Sign for Simon - how he refuses to learn the Obvious Lesson from the Winterworld adventure (that being the Ice King again is probably a really really bad idea). But I want to talk about it also a little more about what it means for Fionna’s character as well.

Because while sitting around and wallowing in self-loathing is probably bad for Fionna, especially after being told that she shouldn't be allowed to exist, and Simon is right to try and get her out of her funk. It's also still worthwhile for Fionna to have some introspection about the Consequences of Her Actions. Because she and Cake really did not consider them at all at first. They have a sense of morality and an instinct towards heroism, but they also tend to kinda forget the fantastical worlds they visit don’t exist entirely for their fantasy and have kind of a Protagonist-Centered-Morality fallacy.

Most obviously you can see it in the market in Ooo. How Cake, in her excitement, damaged and hurt and even killed

A bunch of innocent marketgoers without even noticing. And then Fionna immediately jumped to Cake’s defense against these ‘weirdos’, who were actually just normal kinda-righteously-angry Oooian citizens.

It’s actually very similar to the whole Winterworld situation. Fionna’s assumption that she’s automatically the hero and protagonist of the story and black-and-white view of the situation and her tendency to kick ass first and ask questions later meant that she just recklessly injured a lot of innocent people.

(It might’ve been worse actually cause at least in Winterworld she was at least manipulated by an evil Wizard)

Fionna and Cake clearly have a great potential for heroism, but they do need to be a bit more considerate of the situation and people around them. And it does make sense considering that from their perspective - they’ve been living a very ordinary life up until now (and Cake was literally an animal. A very clever animal, but still not bound by the same standards of morality as the talking animals in Ooo). Action and adventure and fantasy stuff has been purely the realm of daydream and video games for them - and Fionna literally speaks about it in these terms.

(also, Fionna's Main Character Syndrome was undoubtedly validated when God literally told her that she was created to be the main character of her universe)

So yeah, it takes them some time to really process how to be heroes - they need to grapple with questions that Finn and Jake already kinda dealt with seventeen years ago. And actually a lot of those; how to resolve a situation without necessarily using violence, when does a 'villain' actually deserve sympathy and kindness, the importance of the larger context of any given conflict... their confrontations with Ice King all played a big part in that. It was never just him, but he was still a very major part.

And for Fionna and Cake right now, learning these lessons require some amount of personal introspection. So while it was a sweet attempt at comforting, I dunno if Simon’s little ‘the only problem with that universe is that this Alternative Me was terrible because he didn’t even acknowledge or remember Betty as the love of our life and the light of my entire universe’ thing is actually Good.

I’m not quite sure Simon is the best person to teach Fionna and Cake heroism 101, because he is so focused on the Crown Quest as the thing that brings back Meaning to his life, and because his fatherly instincts just kinda go “Sad Young Person???? MUST GIVE COMFORT!” and also on account of the kidnapping.

I’m sure Fionna is going to become the heroine she dreams about eventually, it’s just going to be a bumpy ride. The best we can hope for is that they accept Simon’s comfort, that she doesn't start believing that she is nothing but an Error for the entire universe like the Scarab claims, but don’t necessarily listen to all of Simon's his words either.

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dceasesd · 6 months ago

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why juni ba’s the boy wonder has my favorite jason characterization of any contemporary comic run: a needlessly in-depth analysis (pt.2)

alright here we are with part two! i promised i'd be quick with it, didn't i? you can find part one here. thank you guys so much for all the nice comments, i love yapping to a receptive audience :D

so, if you haven't read part one, i've been going over the common critques of ba's characterization of jason, the main three being:

the typical boiling down of jason's character to "the angry one"

his lack of strategy going into the fight with the demon is out-of-character

the neighbor's kid interaction

in the first part we went over #1, so now were gonna look at #2!

so, a problem people have with the story is how ba writes jason's reaction to the fight with rok (white tophat demon guy); damian and jason jump into the fight with seemingly no preparation at all, "underestimating" rok and paying the price for it.

i'll be honest, i do agree with this critque a bit. jason, if he is nothing else, is an obsessive planner and strategist; his back-up plans have back-up plans, and so on. we see this in plenty of his comic renditions, especially in lost days and under the red hood, where there are numerous examples of jason's competency. despite this, many comics fall into the habit of treating him as the "reckless, stupid robin", once again reducing his character to just his anger, usually to make the other robins more competent. looking at his actions in utrh & lost days, however, makes him jumping into a fight with no information uncharacteristic.

so, i sort of agree with this critque. HOWEVER. i will attempt to rationalize this part of ba's writing (because there are still parts of it i disagree with and it's more fun than just agreeing and moving on)

alright, to begin, lets look at these three different series; utrh (under the red hood), lost days, and the boy wonder. there is obviously many other examples out there, but i'm just gonna focus on these three for now because otherwise we'd be here all day.

in utrh & lost days, jason is driven by an obvious goal with an obvious end result; in utrh his goal is making bruce kill the joker & taking over gotham's underbelly, and in lost days it is getting skilled enough to complete the previously mentioned objective. i also chose to highlight the scene where jason puts a bomb underneath the batmobile in lost days, intending to kill bruce, because it's another very clear example of jason's strategic prowess. the whole bomb thing even happens before jason starts his murder training, making the feat even more impressive.

ba's jason, though, exists in a reality post-utrh; his plan failed and he must live with the consequences and implications of that truth. the recklessness that he presents in the fight in the boy wonder could be a representation of him grappling with this idea-- his supposed failure and banishment obviously must have had an effect on his psyche, and ba is attempting to portray that. ba plays a lot with the sadder side of jason's existence in the comic, so it's a plausibly theory, even if it is admittedly reaching a bit.

additionally, referring back to the earlier conversation about jason's anger in the first part of this discussion, i have the same sentiments about portrayal's of jason's recklessness. he can possess a strategic mind while still being reckless; it's his numerous paradoxical character traits that make him such an interesting character (at least to me). he's a mess of contradictions.

furthermore, while jason's actions are reckless and brash in this specific instance of the story, that does not mean that ba presents him as a reckless character. there's a difference between a reckless character and a character being reckless, and i feel like jason mostly falls into the latter. while maybe not super obvious, jason's tactical-ness is still present in ba's portrayal. this is represented through damian's responses and reactions to jason.

the fact that damian goes to jason for help in the first place is baffling. as a prideful kid desperate to prove himself, damian is not predisposed to asking for help, which is clearly presented in the first issue when he interacts with dick and babs.

damian's willingness to work with jason could be a result of him recognizing their similarities; he's more approachable than dick "golden boy" grayson. beyond that, he goes to jason because he needs a certain set of skills to help him catch the demon.

while jason is not able to fully present his usefulness at this task because the demon finds them first, he is clearly seen taking charge of the situation and dictating their plan to locate the demon, and damian actually defers to him. while brief, this instance represents that despite his recklessness in the battle against rok, ba still accurately presents jason's tactical skills, underscoring the intelligence he has that so many author's ignore or downplay.

i could go into how this plays into jason being a foil character to damian, but i'll save it for another day. sorry if this post is a little nonsensical, i did my best. i'll finish up my analysis in part 3! :)

part 1 / part 3

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thebestofoneshots · 4 months ago

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Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.6 K Warnings: semi-smut? PG-13 Prompt: What will Sirius think? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.Proofread by Lovely @aremuslupinsimp

The innocent life, the innocent touch is never enough For the ones who love, the ones who love The ones who love

“Wait, are you serious?” he asked in disbelief. The way his lips turned slightly up when he asked was telling enough. He wants this too.

“No, you are Sirius,” you responded, not resisting the temptation to tease him.

He almost scoffed at that, but pulled you into a hug and raised you up just slightly from how tight he was hugging you, then as if something else came into his mind he let you down and turned to you, “We need to talk to Remus.”

“Remus already knows,” you replied with a smile and walked towards the door, opening it for Remus to walk inside. He had James’ cloak neatly folded under one of his arms. “He was also a little reluctant to tell the truth, but once he did we both understood that we love you, and that we love each other, and that nothing would make us happier than that.”

Sirius looked at both of you almost too shocked to speak. It was as if seeing Remus in the room along with you took the entire ordeal into another dimension. From a delusional dream to an awake frenzy, from a fantasy only proper of his secret thoughts to reality. You were looking at him with a calm smile and Remus was looking at him with a sort of hopeful gaze that made his heart hammer against his chest.

“Is it– is it true?”

“What is?” Remus asked.

“You like her? In the same way that you like me?”

Remus nodded, almost feeling sorry about it, he never thought he’d be admitting that to anybody, let alone to Sirius.

Sirius gulped, he could barely grapple with the idea of one of you loving him, and yet the two people in front of him were telling him they did. Not only that they loved him but they wanted him, and not as a friend, but as a lover. Sirius had been both abhorred and wanted before; by his mother, by the girls he’d been with, by his friends and by his enemies, but he’d never been wanted like the two of you wanted him. Or at least he had never wanted anyone back in the way he wanted you. Of that he was certain.

His eyes watered as he turned to you, almost checking on you, as if you really were okay with everything that was happening, there seemed to be no doubt in your eyes, but he still slumped down onto the floor, his knees bent and hiding his face on his knees as he sobbed, and… laughed?

You turned to Remus, and you exchanged a second long look before the two of you leaned down on the floor, one on each side of Sirius.

“Hey,” you said softly. “What is it?”

“I can’t believe it,” Sirius muttered. “Is this some kind of joke? Are you trying to get back at me for falling in love with him?” He turned to Remus, something akin to anger and betrayal as he looked at him. “Did she put you up to this?”

You frowned and placed your hand on his chin as you softly made him turn to face you, “Would I ever do something like that to you?” you asked him softly, he pouted in response. He knew you would never do such a thing, but even if you wouldn’t do it, he still thought he deserved it. He deserved to be punished for breaking your precious heart. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, Remus was now touching him too, he had his hand on Sirius’ back, slowly rubbing circles near his neck in the same way he’d used to relax you earlier.

“Sirius, it’s all true, we both like you,” Remus reassured. “And we like each other too.”

“But it’s… not possible, too good to be true,” Sirius retorted. “You cannot, it’s impossible…”

You and Remus exchanged another look. He nodded, as if he knew exactly what you meant, “Sirius, do you not like the both of us?” you asked as you leaned to him, enough to press a kiss to his temple.

“Yes…”

“Then why can’t we like you and each other?” Remus asked as he too leaned closer, not quite kissing Sirius, but close enough for Sirius to feel his breath against his neck. It was as unnerving and enticing as yours.

“Because I’m broken, and I’m sick, and I’m a terrible person and you’re both the best people I know!”

You laughed at that, but Remus beat you to speak, “I was crushing on my best friend and on her girlfriend for months, I’m far from good.”

“I left while you begged me to stay because I was too scared of dealing with my own problems, Sirius. I’ve done more damage than good.” That last phrase came from a place more hidden than the rest of your words. Both boys noticed.

“Étoile,” Sirius reproached.

“I’m trying to fix that now, though.” You cut them both out before either decided to change the subject. “Who cares if we’re all broken? We’d still have each other.”

“And you’re both willing to share?” Sirius asked.

“And you?” Remus retorted. Although Remus knew Sirius had never shown an inch of jealousy towards the closeness the two of you shared.

“I think it would be kind of hot, frankly,” he said with the smallest of smirks.

“Pervert,” you reproached playfully and moved your hand to shove him, but he instead pulled on your hand and manoeuvred you onto his lap.

“But you love me anyway,” he retorted, his smirk growing as he did. Remus was so close to the two of you, you could feel his chest almost behind your back, “I’ve missed you Étoile,” he said honestly.

“We both did,” Remus said afterwards, trying not to feel excluded, you both noticed. Sirius turned to him with a smile, before leaning down and whispering something in your ear, Remus didn’t hear it, even as he tried, he suspected Sirius had used some kind of silencing magic.

“You should definitely do it,” you responded with a smirk that almost perfectly mirrored his own.

Remus knew, almost in an instant, that he had gotten himself into mischief by confessing his love to the two of you, shameless flirts, he didn’t even know how his heart would survive the flips and turns from–

His train of thought was interrupted when Sirius placed one of his hands on the nape of his neck and pulled Remus into a kiss. It was a soft, and yet rather demanding kiss, much hungrier than the first kiss he’s given you. You whistled and cheered as the two of them kissed. Sirius was trying to hold back the smile from your contagious laugh as he deepened the kiss.

Remus Lupin was far too gone, taken into oblivion by Sirius’ lips to be distracted by your gleeful teasing. The Lethe was on his lips, and he would happily drown on them. He moved one of his hands to Sirius’ face and deepened the kiss, he was sitting on his calves as he leaned closer to accommodate Sirius better. Meanwhile, you tried to slide down to give them some space, but Sirius grabbed onto your wrist to stop you from sliding entirely, now it was your back that rested on Sirius’s lap. He seemed almost desperate because he couldn’t kiss you both at the same time. You smirked as you looked up at them, your heart only filled with warmth as you saw them give each other that long-desired kiss.

Sirius loved the way Remus kissed him, as much as he loved the way you did. Of course, they were different, you were softer, your lips were more supple, and your movements were a lot more fluid, Remus was demanding and hard, but both kisses made his stomach flip, and both kisses enraptured him completely. The jarring differences only fueled his desire to have the two of you.

And he did! He had the two of you as if that wasn’t the craziest thing to ever happen on this earth. He had gotten lucky enough to fall in love with two people at the same time, and rather than ending in tragedy, as such loves were meant to, the revelation of his longings had become, after some torturous days, one of the best decisions of his life.

He never thought he’d be kissing his best friend while the other held his hand so tenderly, and here he was, losing himself to Remus’ touch as he used your hand to keep himself grounded. Remus tasted of the chocolate he’d given him on the train. He initially thought the taste was nice, but it was nothing compared to getting it from his lips. There was something magical about the way Remus kissed him, tender and yet demanding; as if saying a thousand words without having to speak any of them. He knew instantly that there was no other way things could have gone, he was meant to fall for the two of you, from the very start.

When they finally pulled apart, they stared at each other for a few seconds before they turned to look at you, head comfortably laid on Sirius’ lap and a teasing grin adorning your lips.

“What?” Sirius asked, with a diverted smile, “You want one too? I’m sure Moony here would be delighted–” he got a slap on the shoulder from Remus before he continued speaking.

You shrugged, “I was just thinking,” you said casually, grin unfaltering. “What words did you use? Kind of hot? Was it?” Sirius raised his eyebrow at you while Remus cleared his throat.

“Little Witch–”

“No, no, allow me to speak,” you intervened. “It was,” you finished with a shrug.

Remus’ cheeks tinted a light shade of pink, almost matching Sirius’ swollen lips. You thought they both looked far more than enticing.

“Who's the pervert now?” Sirius retorted.

You eyed Remus, there was a twinkle of mischief in both of your eyes, as if you silently agreed to something, “Still you,” the two of you replied at the same time.

Sirius huffed in return, “Will you always team up like this to tease me?”

“Only when I’m not teaming up with you to tease him,” you retorted, still smiling. Remus smiled and leaned a hand over your head, gently playing with your hair as he looked at you. He hadn’t seen you as happy in a long time, and he loved that he and Sirius were the reason for your excellent humour. He wondered if there was a way to keep you perfectly safe and happy forever. If both Sirius and himself had such an ability and positive influence on you when they were around, then they should never leave your side.

“Come ‘er,” Sirius said as he pulled you into his lap again, leaning over to kiss you now. His kiss was softer, almost as if he was making sure not to use the same force he was using on Remus. But it was nonetheless demanding, or hungry. One kiss turned into another and suddenly you were devouring each other’s lips. You almost instinctively turned yourself over, now straddling him as you deepened the kiss.

You could taste Remus on his lips, you thought it was delightful to be able to kiss both of them, that’s when you figured the hand on your back was not Sirius’, but rather, it was Remus the one who rubbed soft circles, in the way he knew was always relaxing to you. You gave him a side glance, paying close attention to his expression. He seemed to be awfully comfortable with Sirius being all clingy of you after kissing him so passionately. Perhaps it was never hurt what you saw in his eyes after Sirius and you showed affection to each other, but rather, it was longing. Because now that he knew he could lean over and kiss either of you without upsetting anyone, he seemed happy with the way Sirius would –almost literally– manhandle you to his heart’s content.

You pulled back from Sirius’s kiss with a smile and leaned over to take the other boy’s head in your hands and pull him over to kiss you. Remus seemed surprised by the abruptness of your actions, but he didn’t pull back, instead, he leaned closer. Almost instantly his lips were moving on yours. His eyes fluttered as he kissed you. He could barely believe he had kissed Sirius less than a minute ago, and now your lips were on his, eager to discover everything he had to offer.

Perhaps he had fallen asleep on the train and this was just a fiction of his delirious imagination. But it couldn’t have been, not with the way you were kissing him, your lips had never felt like that in his dreams, let alone in his imagination.

Somehow it was more comfortable, you were warmer, softer and even more indulging than he imagined you would be. You brushed your tongue over his bottom lip and he was almost too quick and eager to please you by parting his lips for you to find your way in. Your lips were as bewitching as Sirius’, but somehow you were sweeter, like honey or syrup, while Sirius’ were more like dark chocolate. Both so addicting that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop kissing either of you. Not unless he was kissing the other.

The kiss was quick to heat up, the ballet of your tongues becoming even more demanding than before, Remus was still softer with you than he’d been with Sirius, but there was a roughness, and a hunger transmitted with each of his movements that it no longer felt like a simple, innocent Nutcracker kiss, but rather it carried with it the salaciousness and debauchery of Carmen.

Remus grabbed onto your waist, his hands brushing against Sirius’ for a moment as he tried to pull you into him, but Sirius was quicker to hold you in place, almost having you grind against his leg from the sudden movement. You felt yourself pulsing at the mere suggestion of such a movement. Meanwhile, Sirius leaned closer to Remus, tired of just watching propped kisses from his jaw, to his ear. “Stay here,” Sirius beckoned to him. It wasn’t an order, it was a suggestion. “I’m loving the view,” he added salaciously. Remus didn’t stop kissing you, but his hands on your waist tightened. “I’ll make it worth it,” he said then and leaned in to give an open-mouth kiss to Remus’ neck, sucking and smiling at the way Remus’ grip on your waist faltered when his teeth grazed over the delicate skin.

That’s when you felt Remus moan into your lips. You were tempted to tease him over it, but then you realised it had been Sirius who pulled out that moan from him and your competitive nature took over, enticing you to deepen the kiss, leaning closer to Remus while Sirius tightened his grip on your waist yet again. You knew he wasn’t doing it out of jealousy, but his determination to keep you close as you kissed his best friend right in front of his face only fueled your fire.

You bit Remus’ lower lip as you pulled back for air, only a second before you hungrily returned to kiss him, the kiss almost so abrupt he pulled back, his head bumping into Sirius’ who laughed in return, and then pressed one of his hands to Remus back to drag him closer to the two of you again.

The three of you were so enraptured in the kiss that the steps walking up the stairs and towards your door faded into the rest of the background noise of kids unpacking and preparing their things for the next day. In fact, it wasn’t until the door was suddenly opened that the three of you stopped kissing each other and turned to look at the intruder.

“What the bIoody– Did I just see Moony and Vixen kiss?” James asked, absurdly loud once the door shut behind him.

The three of you had paled. The heat of the moment dissolved like a bucket of cold water had been dropped over you.

“There’s a perfectly good explanation for this,” Sirius said, you were still straddling him, and you weren’t sure leaving the place was a good idea, not when you were perfectly hiding the tent on Sirius’ pants from James’ view.

“Really?” James asked in disbelief.

“Turns out we had a crush on Moony,” Sirius said as he pointed at you and him. Then he threw an accusing finger at the other boy, “Moony had a crush on us.”

James looked slightly confused as he took in the information and allowed it to process in his brain. The more he thought about it, the more he realised– “So this is what your fireplace dilemma was about?” He said as he looked at you, you merely shrugged. “I guess it makes sense,” he said as he nodded in agreement and sat on the floor a few feet from you, to Sirius’ mortification. Remus, who was more used to controlling his excitement, had simply pulled his jumper down a little.

“Wait, it does?” Remus asked with a frown.

“I mean, did you ever see Moony around the two of you? And I mean Moony, not Remus. I thought it was a dog thing but” –James shrugged– “It makes sense.”

“You’re not weirded out in the slightest?” You said then.

“Why would I be?”

“Because we like boys?” Sirius said, “Because we like each other?”

“What do you mean ‘because we like boys?!’” James asked, confused. “Don’t we all?”

“Now, that’s a very forward way of thinking, Prongsie,” you said.

He frowned at you, and then turned to Sirius, “Is that why you were ignoring me, and shutting me out? You didn’t want me to know?”

“I wasn’t–”

“You were,” James retorted.

Sirius huffed. “We couldn’t tell you why Vixen left, because then you’d know I liked Remus and that she left because she thought she was stopping us from being together…”

“Have none of you seen how you cuddle each other?” James asked, almost diverted. “I mean, I sometimes felt shot out because of it, and then Peter said it was a dog thing –damn Peter– I knew I was onto something!”

“James, are you saying–” you started.

“I could have told you guys were into each other weeks ago!” He retorted. “Bunch of idiots,” he mouthed. He then sighed, “Actually I’m kind of relieved, I thought Sirius was changing me for Remus, but I’m glad it was a crush, not that he wanted a new best friend.”

“I would never replace you, Prongs!” Sirius reproached. You threw Remus a look, both thinking the same thing: Was that how dramatic you three had been?

James smiled satisfied, “I can tell, you were just horny for the werewolf.”

You couldn’t hold the laugh that escaped your lips after that. Let alone when Sirus tilted his head in reproach as he stared at you, and when you noticed Remus’ ears had turned red, you couldn’t stop the second wave of giggles.

“Glad someone finds this funny,” Sirius said sarcastically.

“Sorry, sorry,” you said as you tried to hold back the stream of laughs that threatened to leave your mouth again. “It’s just, I mean… Aren’t we all?”

“Just the two of you, I promise,” James said as he shook his head, not even being able to fathom the idea of liking Remus like that. Not to say he wasn’t attractive, James wasn’t blind. But he was far too tall for James to be into him. He liked smaller men, except for Sirius, Sirius was too Sirius for him to ever consider him anything other than a brother.

You laughed again and smiled. “Does this mean you’re not fighting anymore?”

“What’s that song from Lennon say? Don't make war, make love?” Sirius retorted with a smile and got a hit from Remus on the side who was now hiding his face in between his hands.

“You’re flustering him more,” you reproached, but not because you felt bad for Remus. No, you did it because you knew your statement would only make him even more flustered.

“You know, my parents hung out with a male Veela for a while. He lived at our house and everything, I think they were together for a while…” James said thoughtfully. And then turned to the three of you. “Is this gonna be a one-time thing?”

“NO!” the three said at the same time. Wait, did he say male Veela? you wondered.

“Male Veela? Do you mean Misha?” Sirius frowned.

You eyed Remus who shrugged confused.

“Yeah, he was actually with them that first Christmas you spent in my house, wasn’t he?”

“Are you saying Effie and Monty were fucking Uncle Misha?” Sirius asked with what looked like a traumatised frown. You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. You actually moved from his lap, sitting between him and Remus now that Sirius wasn’t as excited.

“I once saw them kissing,” James said with a shrug, as if it were the most normal thing. “If it’s not a one-time thing, does that mean you’re all dating? Like a three-way relationship?”

“Well–” you started and then closed your mouth. “I think we– we haven’t actually defined what we are yet…”

“And you were about to shag? Are you guys stupid?” James asked, scandalised. “Don’t even respond,” he added when he saw Sirius open his mouth to sass something at him. “You know it’s already complicated to be in a relationship with two people right? How much more complicated do you think that’s gonna become by adding a third one? You need to talk.”

You were actually speechless after that, James was right, you were making out with each other without even thinking of boundaries. What if Remus didn’t like being kissed while he kissed you? What if you didn’t like being on Sirius’ lap while you kissed someone else? Although, I’m pretty sure we both liked that quite a lot…

“I could ask mum and dad how they–”

“Please don’t!” Sirius intervened. “Effie and Monty don’t need to know about this… yet.”

“I think it would be better for us to figure out what the hell we are before we go public,” Remus added, as he moved his hand over yours.

James smiled when he noticed the small gesture and stood up, “I’m gonna go.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said.

“But you have to talk before you shag–” he warned.

“Prongs!” Remus complained and you laughed. James just winked his way and walked out of the door.

“That went–” Sirius started.

“Not that bad for it to be the first person that finds out,” Remus completed, then he sighed. “He’s not wrong though, we should probably talk first.”

You laughed, hiding your head in your legs. “What?” Sirius asked as he looked at you. Your laugh was something in between nervous and diverted.

“Nothing, sorry. I just- horny for the werewolf,” you said and laughed again, so brightly you ended up letting yourself fall back until you were lying on the floor.

Both boys looked at you with an amused smile, before they eyed each other. “Right, very horny for the werewolf,” Sirius said as he leaned in to press a short kiss on Remus’ cheek, then he turned around and rested his head on your stomach. Remus did the same, his head just beside Sirius’, a little lower on your torso.

“This is nice,” you said now that your laughter had subdued. Both boys hummed in response.

“We’re a thing then?” Sirius asked.

“A thing like what?” Remus quipped.

“Ménage à trois,” you said. “Has to be.” Sirius hummed in agreement.

“I don’t speak French,” Remus complained, a trace of annoyance in his voice.

“Right, you speak Gaelic, Mo chailleachan àlainn,” you said with a smirk. He turned to you with a gasp. “You know, it was Hope the one that called me àlainn in your house, Beag Gille,” you teased him with his own nickname. “I didn’t understand why she would insult me and that’s when I found out–”

“What, Étoile?” Sirius asked.

“Àlainn is not an insult, it means beautiful, lovely, splendid… “

“Wait! You weren’t insulting us back then?” Sirius asked as he turned to look at Remus, his nose was so close it brushed against the other boy’s cheek as he tried to cover his face with his hands.

“Oh he was,” you retorted. “Chailleachan was the insult.”

“What does that mean?”

“Fools,” you replied knowingly. “I checked the dictionary in your house,” you replied. “Someone” –you looked at Remus– “had stolen the page for àlainn by the time I looked though.”

“He was calling us Beautiful Fools? That was months ago!”

You hummed, and Remus groaned in response. “What have I done to deserve this type of torture.”

“You fell in love with two Beautiful Fools,” Sirius retorted with a teasing grin.

“Perhaps I deserve it then,” he sighed. And then turned around to look at Sirius. “What’s a ménage à trois?”

“Home of three,” you said with a smile.

The boys and you discussed the relationship for at least an hour after that, from how things would be to boundaries and limits. The three of you spoke, giving your thoughts and input while one said something that the other agreed or disagreed with. You started playing with Sirius’ hair at some point and Remus stole one of your hands to play with your palms and fingers as he often did after the full moon.

Although you went through rather in-depth conversations on how you’d keep the dynamic the gist was simple:

Remus was not just some additional thing you and Sirius would play with sometimes, he was in this relationship, for the good and the bad. Both you and Sirius wanted him like you wanted each other, which was as terrifying as thrilling. Love was already a fragile thing, a balance so delicate that it was like walking on a high wire. And while neither of you was entirely sure how to navigate these new waters, you knew one thing for certain: You wanted to do it together.

Therefore, it was three and not two in the boat, and it would be three and not two, the ones that ensured smooth sailing. But no more. Neither of you was interested in an open relationship, you loved seeing Sirius kiss Remus, but you were certain your bIood would boil if you ever saw him kiss anyone else. It was the same for both boys, they were willing to share you and the other, but only with each other and you.

That didn’t mean two could never have fun without the third. The three of you agreed that you could kiss, cuddle, and “stuff” (not even Sirius was brave enough to clarify what “stuff” was back then) with each other even if the other wasn’t in the room. And you didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission for it either. Remus had asked rather shyly if he had to ask for Sirius’ permission before kissing you the next time and you retorted with, “Wouldn’t that mean you have to ask for mine to kiss Sirius? Nobody owns me!”

Remus realised just seconds after how stupid his question had been and whispered, “No need for that then…”

“Nobody asks for permissions,” Sirius said. “Except if we’re playing…” he added with a smirk which got him a hair pull from your side and a pinch from Remus’. “Oi, no need to be so aggressive!” he retorted while laughing.

Regardless of the slightly archaic implications of Remus’ original question, you all thought it was actually a legitimate one –only if it went both ways and not only one– and had to discuss that at length too. No, nobody owned anybody, and you could all show affection to each other as much as you pleased, unless anyone, at any point, mentioned that something made them uncomfortable. None of you knew what you were getting yourselves into, hence most of the clauses had to be left a little open, that way you could get a feel of the relationship, what you liked and what you didn’t.

“We could probably ask Ricchie how he dealt with it?”

“And tell a ghost?” Remus asked in disbelief. “You want the entire school to find out?”

“Ricchie is trustworthy,” you retorted. “Besides, he knew about us before we did. He always teased me by telling me I was going to meet my ‘boyfriends’, plural. He meant the two of you.”

“Is that what we are now?” Remus asked hesitantly.

“Want a different term?” you asked. “Lover?”

“Partner?” Offered Sirius.

“Fancy Man? Doxy?”

“Concubine?” Sirius was smirking when he said the last one.

Remus figured out, a little late, you were both teasing him. “Fuck off,” he said with a smile. “You didn’t even let me enjoy the new title without turning me into your concubine.”

You laughed, your stomach shaking, making both boys’ heads bob up and down a little. Remus never thought feeling someone laugh would be as delightful as it was. His head in your stomach, right next to Sirius’, felt like home, like a safe place, like he was meant to be there.

“But, Rem, you’d be the most precious of concubines!” You teased further.

“Yeah, Moony, out of the concubines you’d be the favourite,” Sirius added.

“Maybe you’re just Chailleachan,” he sighed.

“Whoever believed Vixen and I are not beautiful would have to be blind!”

“And terribly haughty at that…” Remus added with a smile. “Let’s just keep the first one…”

“I’m quite fond of lovers, actually,” Sirius retorted thoughtfully. “It’s a lot more… romantique. Ça ressemble à mes amours, ou mes cœurs. Les amantes…” he sighed “Oui, romantique.”

“I can be your lover and Remus’ girlfriend,” you said with a shrug, “frankly giving a title feels like overkill. Do we need one when we know what we feel for each other?”

“Titles are not for us, Starshine, they’re for the rest. So they know we’re committed to the other.”

“The others?” Remus asked. “We’ll make it public?”

“It’s not like we’re going to announce it to everyone, but I don’t think we should have to hide it either. What if I ever want to kiss Remus in the middle of the hallway?”

“And be openly bisexual?” Remus asked, a little scandalised.

You took in a breath and let out a long puff of air, “They’d probably call me a slut too…”

“Does that mean no kisses in the hallway?” Sirius asked and Remus sighed. His hand now playing with your nails, you could tell he was getting anxious over the whole thing.

“How about, only when nobody’s around?” you offered.

“Would you be okay with that, Moons?” Sirius asked as he turned to his new lover.

“With your kisses? Anytime.” Remus responded smoothly and Sirius almost choked with his own tongue. Remus had never flirted with him before. A boy had never flirted with him before. And it was as thrilling as it was disarming.

“And you call us tease,” you said as you looked at the way Sirius averted his gaze, he looked absolutely adorable when he got shy, especially because it wasn’t something either of you saw often.

“What about our friends?” Sirius asked. “James knows, will Peter know too? I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to keep it from him… I mean we’re roommates.”

“He might not notice,” you said with a shrug, “He’s been quite distracted lately.”

“I’m sure he’ll notice if Sirius kisses me in the morning like he does with you.”

“We can say it’s a dog thing,” Sirius offered.

“Peter’s not stupid!” Remus retorted, which got a sceptical look from Sirius who didn’t actually think Peter was stupid, but who didn’t consider him nearly as clever as any of his other friends.

“We tell him then,” Sirius said with a shrug. “You’re okay with that, Starshine?”

“Of course, Peter’s my friend too,” you said thinking of that time when you were both locked under a rock and Wormtail didn’t let you sleep, too scared you wouldn’t wake up if you did. “Can we tell Lily? The girls?”

“You think they’d understand?” Sirius asked.

“Yeah,” you retorted confidently. “Also…” you added hesitantly, “Tom and Minho kind of know already.”

“What?” Both boys asked as they turned to look at you. Remus seemed anxious and Sirius seemed a little irritated.

“Minho found me at Hogsmeade today. He saw how upset I was and he brought me along to the three broomsticks.”

“You were ignoring us, but you went with him?” Sirius complained.

“Sirius,” Remus chided as he nodded for you to continue your story.

“It was thanks to Tom that I figured I liked Rem, more than a friend, I mean. Even then, I would have wallowed in my self-pity if Minho hadn’t mentioned that he liked me back.”

“You’re telling me we owe it to them that we’re together?” Sirius asked with a diverted scoff. “To think I was jealous of Tom and you being so close for a while, I never thought I’d have to thank him for this.”

“It’s very mature of you to admit it,” Remus teased.

“Shut up, Moony.”

“Shut me up, Padfoot.”

Sirius turned to Remus with a shocked expression and stared at him for a second as if trying to decide whether that had been a joke or if he was being serious.

You just laughed at the interaction, Remus had definitely read too many romance books. “You should get him a gift basket,” you teased Sirius further, having him turn to you with a confused gaze as Moony threw a wink your way, which had you laughing a little more. “Is it dinner time yet?” you asked.

Remus turned to look at the clock, “Yeah, they should be serving it by now.”

“Wanna go? I’m kind of starving,” you complained with a sigh. “Don’t skip meals for 2 days straight, boys,” you joked, realising too late, that neither of them would have found that information as funny.

“You what?” Sirius asked sitting up to look at you with a concerned expression.

“I… well– I didn’t really feel like eating much,” you admitted. Remus had seen your appetite diminish and fluctuate back at his cottage. He’d seen you eat less breakfast after a bad night, and eat more when you were in a better mood, but he didn’t expect you to completely forgo eating while you were gone.

“What the hell were you doing those two days?” Sirius asked. “You shouldn’t have left!”

You sighed, not finding a good argument to contradict his. “Little Witch, you said you’d tell Sirius and I what happened once we solved this issue.”

You closed your eyes, you were sure this moment would come, and while you weren’t eager to talk about the mirror, that now felt like an eternity ago even if it had just been a couple of hours since (about 9, you realised after looking at the clock). But you knew it had to be done, and so, you started to tell them all that had happened, from the broken chair, to how hard the fire had been to turn on, to James’ letter –although you omitted the alcohol he gave you– the bottle you broke, your hurt hand (that was still a little sore), visiting Olivanders and Knockturn Alley (they were both pretty concerned over that one).

You showed them the pin and the Peruvian powder you’d gotten (it was still in your small bag), you told them about going back to the inn and attempting to get Nina’s wand to work and failing miserably. About sleeping in Remus’ jumper because it smelled of them and about almost burning down a glass of water because of Nina’s wand being completely unpredictable.

“And how the hell did you get it to work?” Remus asked.

“I suppose I did what Mr. Olivander wanted,” you said as you started telling them about Gringotts.

“You took Draught of Living Dеath for a fucking riddle?” Remus asked, concerned.

“It was to get to the other side of the vault, not to solve the riddle,” you retorted, although you completely understood his concern, you’d be equally concerned if it was him the one telling the story.

“And then you jumped off a fucking cliff,” scoffed Sirius when you got to that part.

“You wouldn’t be as shocked if you’d solved another one of Silas’ riddles.”

“That does not make it better, darling,” Remus said as he shook his head and placed his hand on your shoulder, he was clearly concerned for you, but it didn’t matter, it’s not like you’d be playing any of Silas’ games anymore.

You sighed and proceeded with the story, both boys seemed surprised at how you’d solved the riddle and horrified about the riddle itself. But it was when you got to the mirror part that they both leaned closer to you. You had somehow managed to tell most of the story in a clinical way, completely detaching yourself from it and telling it as if it had been someone else’s. As if the things you were saying weren’t as bad as they had been. Perhaps the reason you liked danger so much was because you wouldn’t have survived being Silas’ daughter if you hadn’t.

“The mirror was– I’m sure it was there just to keep people from actually finding the ring but–” you had to take a deep breath to continue. “It wasn’t easy.”

Neither of them thought any of what you’d done had been easy, and both were in awe at how composed you seemed after going through it, which was perhaps among the most shocking things. Not that they had seen you when you were ready to swallow the entire glass of whiskey Minho had gotten. Perhaps the only thing holding you from breaking apart was the fact that you had them now. You weren’t alone anymore.

“Nina and my mother were there, they begged me to use the resurrection stone to bring them back, to put on the ring,” you explained. “There was dark magic inside of it, it was something strong, a curse of some kind, I could feel it lurking in the shadows– feelings are… they’re much worse inside the mirror. Whatever charm it was, I knew it would have to pay a very expensive price for using it and I… I didn’t care.”

Remus whispered your name, so soft it was almost as if he hadn’t said it at all.

“But you didn’t use it?” asked Sirius.

You shook your head, “I was going to, they had almost convinced me and then–” you hesitated, letting out a much-needed breath to relax your tension again. “Then came the butterfly.”

“The butterfly?” Sirius asked, “Nina?”

He had been much quicker to figure it out than you had. It should have been obvious, though. You had been the one to turn her body into a bunch of butterflies that dreadful night. Sirius must have seen it through the necklace. You nodded, “I thought she was another soul I had let down; it thought she wanted me to bring her back as well. Turn the stone three times and all my mistakes would be gone, like turning back time, all my stupid decisions wiped away. My mum, my friend– they would have been safe.”

Sirius tilted his head to the side with a sigh, he knew what it was like to make mistakes, he knew what it was like to wish he could turn back time, to change things, but he also knew there was no such thing. No matter how magical the world was, no matter how many time turners one had in hand, some things just couldn’t be changed, and they shouldn’t be either.

“But the butterfly… she wouldn’t let me use it. She kept getting in my way before I could put on the ring, and that’s when I understood who she was,” your eyes were watery now, a single tear streaming down your cheek. “No matter how much Nina might have wanted to come back, she would have never wanted me to suffer because of it. Nina would never let me use the resurrection stone, not the real Nina. And she–” you stifled a sob. “She was protecting me, even after her last breath….”

You were not planning to break down into tears, but it was like everything from earlier came back to you, and no matter how you tried to control it, the silent droplets of salty water continued streaming down your face on what you considered the most pathetic display of weakness in front of your lovers.

Of course, neither of them thought of it that way, Sirius was barely holding the the tightening of his throat as he saw you cry –he hadn’t seen you cry– while Remus was about ready to pull you towards him but wasn’t exactly sure if he should do it now that Sirius was around –even if technically he was also dating you now.

Eventually, both boys found a way to embrace you. “It wasn’t your fault, she diеd,” Sirius intervened.

“Except it was,” you said then. “If I hadn’t–”

“If you hadn’t done anything she would have diеd anyway,” Sirius insisted, “You saved her from dying in pain, from being the enjoyment and laughing stock of those wizards, of–”

“But my mum diеd because of me,” you said then, bitterly. You felt Sirius falter, how could he counter the truth? No matter how much reassurance he wanted to give you, you knew there would be no way in which he could–

“You were doing what you thought was right, sweetheart,” Remus said, now that Sirius couldn’t find the right words to comfort you. “You were trying to save her–”

“And I lost her and my mum instead,” you insisted. You were being absolutely despicable to yourself, it didn’t matter if you had accepted their passing, you were still sure it was all your fault, the burden of the thought weighing you down like lead; as if you had jumped into the black lake with heavy rocks in your pockets.

And while they both knew what it was to torment yourself as a result of bad decisions, they also knew you didn’t deserve it. Not the way you were talking to yourself, not the guilt that was eating you up from the inside.

“Sometimes we do everything in our power to change things and we still lose,” Remus said, almost somberly. “But that doesn’t mean your efforts were worthless. Martyrs are remembered even when they lose, not because of what they didn’t accomplish but because of what they tried to. What you did was heroic, not because of the result, but due to the hard choices you had to make.”

You listened to him while you breathed, there was somberness in your gaze as you tried to process the words, “But what if I had made better choices? I’ve thought about it hundreds of times and I’m sure there would have been a better way, a way to save everyone.”

“And there was also a way in which you didn’t get out of there alive, so what? You did what you could and–”

“Sirius!” Remus interrupted him, he wasn’t sure that was what you’d needed. He turned to you then “Have you heard the legend of Thermopylae?”

You almost thought it was ironic that he would mention yet another Greek tale. “Leonidas the brave king? I’m familiar.”

“I’m not,” Sirius said as he turned to Remus with a confused gaze.

“Leonidas knew he was going to lose, he knew there was nothing he could do to win, and he still fought the battle.” You didn’t say anything, only looked at Remus attentively. “His actions, even when he lost, inspired Greece, they bought time for the rest of the country to prepare. Leonidas was betrayed, he lost the battle and his life, but Greece won the war in the end.”

“Even if we did, would the dеaths of his spartans be justifiable?”

“Can any dеath be justifiable?” Remus retorted. “Darling, what happened was not fair, we live in a time of war, and nothing is equitable in war, but that does not mean you’re to blame. You didn’t start this war, you only fought in it and lost a battle.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’ll lose the next one,” Sirius added.

You sighed, remembering Dumbledore’s words. What he said about something like that never happening again. You had stopped crying at some point, perhaps when Remus started talking, with the fantastic way in which he said things, he’d caught your attention, almost monopolised it, but that was good, because if Remus was on your mind, then your mistakes weren’t.

And even if not all of the boys’ words actually got through you, the gist was there. Perhaps you still thought it had been your fault, perhaps you’d still torment yourself with your choices and their result, perhaps you would never be able to truly process what happened, to understand and to deal with it. But there was one thing that felt secure and stable, the way both boys held you in between their arms, they way their breaths brushed against your skin… When you felt like drifting away in that ocean plagued with despair, they would be there, your anchors.

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A/N: Awww, finally some happy times!

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lxndonorris · 7 months ago

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to be loved - Logan Sargeant

Y/N x Logan Sargeant Theme: angsty fluff you're invited to a gala to honor you're achievements at work. Logan, however, is doubting himself. You show him how much you love him just for who he is x word count: 1120+ taglist: @game-set-canet thanks to @iworldlywriter for the idea! Another Logan story might be coming very soon as well. Haven't written angst in a while...

The Miami Grand Prix has culminated in a whirlwind of emotions and adrenaline. Logan, your boyfriend and talented young racer, gave his all on the track, pushing boundaries and challenging limits. However, the aftermath of it all leaves him feeling more defeated than ever. As he sits in the dimly lit living room of his home, the weight of his recent crash pressing down on him, he can't shake the lingering sense of inadequacy that gnaws at his soul.

Across the room, you sit perched on the edge of the couch, your gaze soft as you watch Logan. Then, you look down at your phone, glancing over the email you'd gotten a few days ago.

The success of your latest book, "Echoes of Eternity," surpassed even your wildest dreams. Its poignant prose and captivating storyline captured the hearts of readers around the world, propelling it to the top of bestseller lists and earning rave reviews from critics and fans alike.

Amidst the flurry of interviews and accolades, one invitation stands out above the rest—a prestigious gala to honor your literary achievement. As you read the elegant invitation again, adorned with intricate gold foil and embossed lettering, a sense of pride and gratitude washes over you.

Still, a heavy cloud of concern lingers in your heart for Logan. The recent string of disappointments on the racetrack weigh heavily on him, casting a shadow over his spirits even amidst your own success.

"Logan," you say softly, breaking the silence that hangs between you. "I want you to come to the Gala with me."

Logan's eyes flicker with uncertainty as he meets your gaze. "I don't know, Y/N," he replies, his voice tinged with doubt. "I'm not sure I belong there."

You move closer, sitting down right beside him, and take his hand in yours. "Logan, listen. to me," you say earnestly, but he lets out a long, deep sigh.

"Y/N," he breathes, "I know what you're going to say." Logan looks at you, searching your eyes for reassurance. "But this season... I haven't lived up to the team's expectations, to my own expectations," he admits, his voice lancing with regret. "I feel like I don't deserve the seat... like, I don't deserve you."

Logan's admission cuts deep, stirring a tumult of emotions within you. The raw honesty in his words lays bare the depths of his inner turmoil, and the weight of his self-doubt feels like a heavy burden on your shoulders.

As much as you want to reassure him and chase away the shadows that cloud his mind, you know that healing his wounded spirit will take time and patience.

Tears well in his eyes as he avoids your gaze, but you softly cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Logan, look at me," you say firmly.

"You are so much more than your racing career. You're kind, compassionate, and incredibly talented. And none of that changes just because of a few bad races."

Shaking his head in disbelief, his jaw clenches with pent-up frustration. "It just feels like I can't catch a break," he admits, his voice raw with emotion. "No matter how hard I try, it's like I am stuck in this endless cycle of bad luck."

You squeeze his shoulders gently, offering silent support as he grapples with his emotions.

"I know it's tough," you say softly. "But remember, racing is just one part of who you are. You're so much more than your performance on track."

He swallows hard, a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty washing over him. "But what if I let you down as well?" he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Like I always do."

"You could never let me down," you reply, your voice unwavering. "Because being with you, sharing this journey together, is the greatest reward of all."

A few tears run down his cheek as he searches your eyes for even the slightest hint of doubt, something to fuel his belief in failure.

"Do you really mean that?" he whispers again, his voice laced with vulnerability.

With every fiber of your being, you nod, your gaze unwavering as you meet his. "Yes, Logan," you say firmly. "I mean that with all my heart. I love you, not for being a professional racer, but because of who you are deep down inside yourself."

For a moment, silence hangs heavy in the air, the weight of your words sinking in as Logan grapples with the depth of your love. And as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close in a tight embrace, you know he needed that.

With Logan wrapped in your arms, his vulnerability lays bare. You hold him close, a beacon of unwavering support amidst the storm of his doubts. Gently, you lift his chin, guiding his gaze to meet yours, your eyes filled with love and conviction.

"Logan," you begin, your voice soft yet resolute. "I believe in you. I believe in the strength of your spirit, the depth of your resilience, and the power of your determination. You are capable of greatness, of achieving heights beyond your wildest dreams."

A glimmer of hope flickers in his bright eyes, and his expression softens just a little.

"What if I never live up to my potential?" His voice is barely hearable, rough, and husky.

You brush a tender kiss against his forehead, your touch a gentle caress against the storm raging inside him.

"Every setback, every stumble, is a stepping stone on the path to greatness. And I will be here, by your side, every step of the way."

As the weight of your words sinks in, a sense of resolve settles over Logan, his shoulders straightening with newfound determination.

"Thank you, Y/N," he murmurs, gratitude shining in his eyes. "For believing in me, even when I couldn't believe in myself."

"Always, Logan," you reply, your voice a whisper of reassurance in the night.

He leans in once more, hugging you tightly, and as you hold Logan close in a comforting embrace, you feel the tension slowly melting away from his body, replaced by a sense of peace. With a gentle smile, you pull away.

"Hey, how about we order some of your favorite takeout?" you suggest, your voice warm with affection. "And then we can snuggle up on the couch and watch that movie you've been wanting to see."

Logan's eyes light up at the suggestion, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"That sounds perfect," he murmurs, his voice soft with gratitude. "Thank you, Y/N."

With a tender smile, you press a loving kiss to his lips, a silent promise of unwavering support and devotion.

"Anytime, Logan," you reply, your heart swelling with love. "I'm here for you, no matter what."

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant fic #logan sargeant fluff #logan sargeant fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 imagine #logan sargeant angst #f1 angst

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thesmutsideblog · 2 years ago

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Never Ever? - Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After a you and your long term ex breakup, some truths about your sex life come to light at the BAU and the idea that you've never had an orgasm, does not fly with Spencer Reid.

Reader is AFAB, and the story is using she/her pronouns, mostly because this one is really self indulgent and loosely based on me being pissed off about my ex.

Content warnings: dumbification of Spencer Reid, simp Spencer, shitty ex boyfriend, self indulgent writing, no beta or proof reading, cursing, smut, sexual worship, porn with plot I guess.

I have never written in second person before so I can only apologise for the shit quality of this, I havent written smut since 2018 and it's unedited, there is going to be spelling issues it's the dyslexia I'm sorry xx

GIF by comeandjointhebigboys

Spencer is doing everything in his power to look like he is minding his business, mostly because he really is trying to not eavesdrop. He came over to make a cup of coffee because he got barely any sleep last night and he wants to keep focused. But with no case directly at hand, there was something else the team were paying attention to and it was impossible for Spencer to completely ignore it.

"So he just, broke up with you?" Emily asks, dumbfounded.

"Over the phone," you say tilting your mug towards yourself, choosing to stare down at the small remainder of your coffee rather than to make eye contact with your team members.

"What an asshole," JJ says, lacing her arms together, until she looks like a disapproving mother. "Did he say why?"

"He said, we were going different places, and it would be a disservice to the time we spent together to pretend to be happy and keep lying to eachother," you say, sighing and putting the mug down, choosing to accept this caring interrogation about your breakup as your fate for the next twenty minutes.

"He used those words?" Emily asks, still trying to grapple the concept that your boyfriend, who she had met on a few occasions and had some thoughts she kept to herself about, had broken up with you.

"He used those words but what he really meant was 'I want to start sleeping with my twenty year old coworker and you spend too much time at work, so I'm ending things,' but he won't have the decency to admit that, despite the fact he was sleeping with her before the week was out," you roll your eyes as Emily and JJ continue to voice their disgust, loudly across the bullpen. You catch Spencer's eye for a moment and give him a small sad smile across the room, he nods and then looks away.

The guilt is eating Spencer alive. It's not like he actually had anything to do with the end of your relationship, he actively kept himself far away from it and even discussing it with you as possible. But the facts still remained the same, he likes you. He has liked you since your first day at the BAU and his feelings have never faltered. But you have always been in that relationship since long before he met you, and he knew that he didn't stand a chance, and he wouldn't want to mess around with that anyway. But he was unable to disagree with Prentiss, his own feelings for you aside, the simple fact of the matter was you have always been well out of your exes league. You are beautiful, and intelligent and charismatic, and your ex thought he was those things but more often than not fell short.

It's not like he even wished that your relationship would end and could blame it on the unlikely event of magical intervention. But the sheer fact that he was undeniably happier that you were no longer dating a man you were once very much in love with, that was enough to have him feeling guilty. Which is one of the many reasons he is really trying to not get involved in this conversation. One of the many reasons he is trying to keep a distance.

"How long were you two together again, like three years?" JJ asks. You shake your head.

"High school sweethearts," you correct her, "it's been a lot longer than three years."

"And he broke up with you over the phone, for a co-worker?" Emily emphasis each word in the sentence as she slowly sounds them out.

"He denies the last part but, yes," you nod.

"What are you beautiful ladies being so loud about?" Derek asks, approaching the three of you with some files in hand.

"The fact that men never fail to both disappoint and astound me," Emily states looking up at Derek from her seat, "no offence."

"None taken, but a little context wouldn't go a miss," he says looking at each of you in turn.

"My ex is a pig," you explain as nonchalantly as you can manage. You're trying really hard to be very collected about this. You've had a few days to process the breakup and you knew it was coming, even if you won't admit that to yourself. But being broken up with hurts, whether you see it coming or not. He was the only person you ever really dated, and having spent so much of your life with him this was a big adjustment. But deep down you weren't exactly mad about the situation, as much as it made you feel a lot better to complain about it. Things had not been right between the two of you for quite some time, and you find yourself almost relieved that it's over. But that still gave him no right to be as much of an asshole about it all as he has been.

"So he is the only guy you've ever really dated then, huh?" Emily asks. You give her a look as the thought crosses through her mind. "Wait, does that mean?"

"We started dating when we were barely more than kids Emily," you defend.

"So it's just been that guy, that guy?" Emily is struggling to be even the smallest part composed. "What is wrong with men?"

"You need some strange," Derek says casually.

"Morgan," JJ scolds him but Emily is slowly nodding her head. "Emily..."

"Best way to get over someone," Emily points out.

"Wow, I am not getting under anyone," you state, holding up your hands.

"Look, I understand the appeal of someone you've been with for a long time, they know you, they know what you like," Derek leans back on the table, "so new is risky, and some people really don't have a clue what they're doing I'll admit," he chuckles, "but trust me the longer you leave it-" Derek knows he isn't crossing a boundary, you and him have had plenty of conversations, but as soon as you give him the look to stop talking, he stops.

"I appreciate your concern but sex, is really not at the top of my priority list," you say.

"Please don't let a guy like that ruin it for you," Emily is staring up at the ceiling all types of distressed at the idea of your ex and his general existence.

"I don't think you need to worry about him ruining anything for me, more like just wasting my time," you say before realising that may be revealing too much. All three of them look at you instantly. "Do not read into that."

"Disinterest," Emily states looking you up and down. "And no immediate desire to release that usually comes with a breakup."

"We're not really doing this, are we?" JJ asks looking between the two profilers concerned.

"She's been distant the last few months, talking less and less about him, so the breakup wasn't unexpected, which means the sexlife probably wasn't up to scratch at the time," Derek adds.

"Oh you guys are doing this," JJ gives you an apologetic look as they start rattling off assumptions.

You try your best to ignore them until Derek says something which does tiptoe over the line- by a mile. "Pretty boy, what are the statistics on post breakup sex?" He is half joking but it pulls Spencer directly into a conversation he had been trying to avoid.

Spencer knows the answer, and that's obvious, but answering will only encourage them to get him involved in the conversation. But not answering is suspicious and could cause worse problems. He pushes his thumb into the centre of his palm as he speaks. "27% of adults report having sex with an ex within a two-year period," Spencer states knowing that's not what Derek meant but hoping he could get away with it.

"No, I mean rebound sex," Derek corrects.

"Studies show that thirty-five percent of those who are broken up with have sex to get over their ex, and twenty-five percent as a form of revenge," Spencer says giving in and stepping closer to the group.

"Look sixty five percent of rebound relationships fail within six months," you say. That's a safe thing to say you believe, as you know the team would likely assign that research as an attempt to make an educated guess how long the fling with the coworker would last. But Spencer knows better. He cannot help but wonder if that's what has been making you act differently the last few months. If you saw the end in sight and wondered what that means for you when it's over.

"You're not looking for a relationship though, you're just looking for some fun," JJ points out.

"You do remember how to have fun, don't you beautiful," Derek asks giving you a wink.

"Yeah," you say brushing him off.

"Do you?" Derek asks, unconvinced.

"I told you, I'm not interested in going out and getting laid, it's not worth the energy," you say.

"When was the last time you had an orgasm?" Emily asks. Spencer chokes on his coffee.

"Emily!" JJ chastises her.

"Someone had to ask," Emily says.

"No one had to," you tell her.

"Come on, six months?" Emily asks. "A year?"

"Emily," JJ warns.

"Shit..." Derek whispers and you feel his gaze on you intensifying. He has you all figured out.

"What?" Spencer asks, not meaning to.

Derek is keeping his eyes on you and you cannot meet his eye. "Tell me I'm wrong pretty girl," Derek says, wanting himself to be wrong.

"I... I don't know... You're a profiler, how am I supposed to lie to you?" You huff.

"Are you kidding me?" Derek asks.

"Derek you're not helping," you state.

"Sorry," he says, "I just don't understand how that can be the case."

"You said it yourself, some people really don't have a clue what they're doing," you say.

"So you've never?" Emily asks cottoning on.

"Can we please stop talking about this," you say.

Spencer's brain is ticking over trying to read between the lines and when it clicks he is struck with a similar dumbfounding as Morgan. How? How?

He cannot help but have one clear thought scrambling around his brain at a million miles per hour. If he had ever had the chance, he wouldn't have wanted anything more than to make sure you felt good. To know he had made you feel good.

How inconsiderate could your ex be? How little attention must he have been playing to not even notice that you were not getting what he was out of it? How had he never cared to make that better?

And why did you not feel cheated by that fact?

"I'm not eavesdropping," Garcia defends bringing Spencer out of his head and back into the room.

"Okay why don't we just fax everyone the stats on my sex life," you groan, resting your head in your hands.

"I'm just saying," Garcia tries.

"I appreciate all of the unnecessary concern," you say, "but my sex life isn't a BAU case." Emily smiles as she goes to speak but you catch her thought right before she opens her mouth. "And it's no ones problem to solve either."

"It's a little tragic," JJ confesses.

"JJ," you're surprised, JJ is normally the one you can count on to get the others back on track but she just shrugs.

"Let's leave it be, Garcia do we have a case," Spencer is talking with his hands even more than normal and you cannot help but notice. He is trying to come to your rescue and you appreciate that. You appreciate everything Spencer does.

"Maybe," Garcia explains, waving her tablet at the group. "Hotch wants us in the conference room, five minutes ago."

You're quick to get out of your seat and away from the grilling you are receiving from the team and everyone else is quick behind you. Hotch and Rossi are at the desk when you all enter.

Hotch frowns. "You took a while," he notes.

"Discussing the breakup?" Rossi asks, looking you up and down.

"I dont even want to know what has given that away," you admit taking a seat. Hotch nods a half apology which you silently shrug off in return.

You were trying your best to pay attention, giving Hotch the respect he deserves, but the case he was talking about didnt feel like it required the BAU's involvement and Emily is quick to voice that opinion. You managed to register a few words about consulting and favours, but nothing is really sinking in, not when you can feel Spencer's gaze on you as hot as a fever.

You raise your eyes to meet his and they dart away. You think back, and it occurs to you that maybe conversations about your sex life or anyone of the teams sex lives for that matter wasnt exactly what Spencer signed up for. You feel a little guilty, knowing you kind of indulged the others and let him get pulled into the conversation even if that wasnt your intention.

You catch him looking at you again but he doesnt see you looking back, it's like he is trapped in a thought, and in this moment you've never seen Spencer look so without a clue.

"Reid?" Hotch asks, repeating the question.

Spencer looks to Hotch, and he buffers. You know he knows the answer to the question, you know he always knows, but his brain seems to have frozen up on him. "I... sorry what?"

"This is statistics kid," Derek says, "are you sick or something?"

Emily gently pokes Spencers shoulder. "Maybe he is getting a software update," she jokes.

You lean forward and give Hotch the answer he is looking for, remembering from a conversation you and Spencer had a few weeks back about Ohio. Hotch gives a side eye to Rossi before continuing.

You look back at Spencer and he is watching you again, you offer him a small smile and he returns it. You've always been better at reading Spencer than most members of the team but you don't recognize this behaviour at all.

"Are you okay?" You ask him as you both make your way down the steps of the BAU.

"Of course, why do you ask?"

"You blanked back there, Spence, pretty hard," you say as gently as you can, "I havent seen you like that since..."

"Since when?" Spencer looks curious, and softer somehow.

"Since we worked that case in Illinois, with the models, you took one look at that girl Annie Grant was it, and your IQ dropped like a hundred points," you laugh gently.

"She was pretty," Spencer confesses.

"I think Morgan got her number," you recall.

"He did," Spencer agrees.

"So, what is it? Because it's not a pretty girl in lounge wear," you say.

"You dont know that for sure," you can tell he is trying to joke around the subject, and normally youd find that cute. Cute in the kind of way you havent been able to admit to yourself before. Because having a crush on a coworker is not convenient at the best of times.

"Okay, Dr Reid, keep your secrets," you give him gentle shove and his smile is disarming, soft and so happy to just be involved. "Got any fun evening plans?"

"There's this new study into cognitive dissonance in specific trauma patterns I have been meaning to read," he offers. You bite back a chuckle.

"You've got a date with science," you nod to yourself, "of course you do."

He looks around, thinking for a moment. "Are you going to walk?" He asks.

"I usually do," you admit, "it's only a few blocks after all."

"Can I," he pauses, "can I walk you?"

"You want to walk me home?" You ask, a little suprised at the offer.

"If that's okay, the study can wait," he says. There is a look in his eyes you can't quite pinpoint, somewhere between pleading and hopeful. You nod.

"I'd love that Spence."

The distance to your apartment door had never felt so short, and you hadn't realised until now quite how much you enjoyed the moments when you were with Spencer, and no one else was watching. Maybe because he paid less attention to making sure no one noticed him watching you, and he just keeps watching.

Spencer looks at his feet as you fumble with your keys, he has no idea what he is doing. He didn't think any of this through, he just kept thinking about you, and what you deserved and what you should've always been given and now he is stood at the doorstep of your place with no plan, no idea of what compelled him to think any of this was a good idea and no idea of what to do next.

You smile at him, and bite your lower lip just a small bit, the look is so demure that Spencer wonders if he imagined the entire conversation in the bullpen, wondering if maybe he was really so wrapped up in these months of conflicted feelings for you that he managed to lapse from reality so badly that he got himself here.

"Do you want to come in for coffee?" You offer and his heart damn near stops in his chest.

"Coffee is never coffee kid," Derek's voice rings in his head. "It's an invitation."

"Got decaf?" Spencer asks, and you laugh.

"Like anyone who works at the BAU knows what decaf is," you open the door wide and walk through. "You coming?"

He doesn't answer but follows you, closing the door behind him. Your apartment isn't a mess but it's clear things have been moved around since your breakup, there is clear empty spaces where things once collected dust, like so many things once filled a place and vanished. You weren't dwelling on the relationship, because there wasn't a point. You had loved and you had lost, and you knew it went like that sometimes.

"You better not be profiling me Dr Reid," you quip as you catch him looking around.

"I wouldn't dare," he says.

"So, are you going to explain why you're being so sheepish?" You ask, reaching for a mug, to actually make coffee.

"I'm being sheepish?" he asks. He had hoped he was hiding it better.

"Nervous at the very least," you say putting the kettle on. He says nothing and you sigh. "Did we make you uncomfortable earlier?"

"What?" Spencer asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Talking about my ex," you offer up. "I know that sort of gossip isn't exactly for everyone-,"

"No," he is quick to defend, "that's not what's bothering me."

You smirk and he sees the trap you laid for him that he walked right into. "So something is bothering you pretty boy," Morgan's nickname for him falls from your lips and it sounds so different. It burns every nerve ending, each fibre of his being and he forgets how to speak for a moment too long. "Spence?"

"I," he brings himself back.

"I don't mean to pry, you don't have to tell me anything," you explain quickly.

"How was your ex such an idiot?" he asks outright. You laugh, it's short and shallow because you're not expecting anything close to that from Spencer.

"What?" It's your turn to feel dumb now as you spiral trying to process what Spencer is suggesting. That the conversation had gotten to him, but not in the way you'd thought. His problem hadn't been with the topic but the content, the confession. The kettle brings itself to a boil but you're interest is elsewhere now.

"I don't mean to speak out of place here, but if I were him there are so many things I would've done differently," he fidgets with his tie but doesn't stop. This confession is coming out now or not at all and he wants it finished. He needs it finished. He does not want blurred lines. Not between the two of you. "Not even touching the subject of how your relationship ended. I wouldn't have left you in the rain last October, I wouldn't have held all the things I knew about you when we met as reasons to run years after I agreed to love you regardless. I wouldn't have let you go to work angry all those times. I wouldn't have lied about plans. I wouldn't have let you go to sleep sad or angry, and be gone in the morning. I wouldn't have left you wanting, for anything. Because if I was him I would understand what a beautiful rarity it is to find someone who does what you do, with your compassion and determination and dedication and is still kind, still hopeful, even when things are dark. There are not a lot of things I don't know much about, and maybe relationships, and romance and sex are in that limited list, and maybe he would argue that hypotheticals hold no ground when your experience is as limited as mine, but I frankly don't care what his opinion would be. Because he didn't see you for what you are and that means his thoughts are of no value to me. I don't tell you this because I am expecting you to say anything, it's just burning me up that you weren't treated, hell worshiped, in the way you deserved and I had to tell you that I can't think of anything more wrong." He steps back and you're still catching your breath. "I, I am sorry I shouldn't have... I will see you at work."

He turns and strides to the door, and your breath heaves in and out of your chest and you wonder if you can find your voice before his hand finds purchase on your doors lock. "Spencer," you breathe out. He pauses, hand hovering over the door handle.

"Yes?" his voice is so quiet, and he doesn't turn to look at you.

"Please don't leave," the request falls from your lips and Spencer has never felt more of a need to do something than to do anything you ask of him in this moment. But his doubt still hangs gently in the space between the two of you.

"What?" he asks again, searching in the word to find something to hold onto, looking for some guidance or instructions he missed. He didn't have a plan, and he doesn't know what to do with this.

"Please," you say again, voice sturdier now as you start to close the distance between the two of you, "Spence," his breath hitches as you place a hand gently on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn back to you, and he does, "don't leave."

His eyes stare into yours and you swear you feel all the months of unsaid things, of quiet wanting, of stolen thoughts in weak moments, bursting at the seams. You had told yourself in another world, another life time, had you met Spencer Reid and the timing had been different, if you had been different, he would've been everything. You told yourself from that first day that those brown eyes may plead into you with every moment you meet them but it was never going to be the right time.

His eyes stare into yours and he feels the weight of all the things he long tired to bury, crawling their way up from the depths and pushing against his skin, desperate to get out. Desperate to be known. Desperate to correct the wrongs and do right by you. Desperate.

His hand hovers touch's length away, scared to close the distance, scared to make the move, to change everything. You both know in this moment, that all it takes is one touch and you're going over the cliff.

This is a road you do not turn back from.

You whisper one last time, like a prayer, "Spence," and in a blink gravity turns back on, and everything blooms in bright technicolour.

It unfolds in a rush, his hand to your waist, pulling you that much closer, both of your hands gripping to the fabric of his shirt as he pulls you up to him, other hand moving gently under your chin to guide the tilt of your head. His lips crash onto yours and there's a hunger you've never seen in him, and a hunger you've never known inside yourself.

There's a gentleness, a caution in his desperation, in his need, one that you don't have in your own. He keeps kissing you and you back up, footing not very careful as you tighten your grip on his shirt. Your back finds support against the edge of your counter and you find yourself letting on of the hands slip from the fabric of his button down to tug at his tie, to keep him closer at first, and then in an attempt to remove it entirely.

He pulls back for a moment, not to catch breath as either of you would be happy to drown in this moment, but his eyes are scanning you, like he is looking for something else, something missing.

You pause, slowly tugging the tie from his collar and letting it fall to your floor. "Spencer?" you ask.

He looks lost as he breathes in. "I don't know what I am doing," he says.

"You're doing great is what you're doing," you say, not looking away.

"Is this okay?" he finally asks. Your heart starts running away from you as you try to remember to breathe.

"This is more than okay," you assure him, "please Spencer, don't stop kissing me."

That's all he needs to hear and his lips are back on yours and the kisses are feverish and starved and he presses his hands into your hips and the gentle moan that leaves your lips sends Spencer's mind spinning.

He pulls his lips from yours and starts kissing a trail down to your neck, you lean more into the support of the counter top and let a hand find it's way into a tangle of his brown hair.

His tongue against your skin, the gentle brush of teeth on that spot that makes the sound from before seem like a draft of a masterpiece. Spencer knows that now he has heard you, voice like honey, moan trembling from your lips, nails dug into his scalp gently tugging on his hair, barely able to keep your eyes open yet again your breathing steady, no sound will ever compare.

In the the times he had let himself think about you, imagine all the things, let his fantasies and dreams run away with him, he had never come close to this moment. How your fingers shake as you start to unbutton his shirt, needing to do something, needing something.

Needing him.

And you can feel his need in return, in the way he holds onto you, on the way he is listening to your body, hearing every response, feeling every movement, determined to do this right.

He feels the way you press your tights together, tight against the counter, the need for something more radiating off of you, and you don't give time for the doubt to creep in. "We should," you breathe out as you feel the blood rushing through you, knowing that there will be marks from where he is kissing you that you won't be able to hide tomorrow, not that you want to, "move this to the bedroom."

"Is now a bad time to point out that I have mostly just a conceptual understanding of what we are about to do?" Spencer asks between kisses.

"I think you're worrying too much, because if you're basing this on theory," you take his hand leading him towards your room, "so far you're giving nothing but hard evidence."

You let your own innuendo slide as you both fall back onto your bed, he looks down as he leans over you, and there's a softness, a patience in this moment, as he needs to soak it all in.

You reach up and continue to undo the buttons on his shirt until they are completely undone, and he watches you as you do, you give the fabric a gentle tug and he catches on, slipping the rest of the shirt and the jacket off and letting it fall back somewhere out of mind. You trace a hand gently up his arm and he leans down to kiss you again, your lips, your jaw, your neck.

He runs a thumb over the deep red mark he has left and you feel the fever rising again. You need out of these clothes, you need more.

You start to undo your own shirt buttons and as each button comes undone Spencer follows the trail of exposed skin and leaves hot kisses on each new place.

You can feel the hard outline of his cock against your thigh as you reach to unzip the side of your skirt. The nervousness is still fluttering in Spencer's face as he helps you slip out of it. His fingertips brushing over exposed skin, his hand creeping up the inside of your thigh and you buck up gently at the touch.

His lips trace kisses up your torso to your chest and like this, each kiss so intoxicating, each touch so electrifying, his hand inching further and further up your thigh, as his lips dance over the skin around the fabric of your bra there is nothing he could ask of you that you would not do.

Sex may never have been perfect before, but you'd always thought it was at least decent, passing, respectable. But this build up with Spencer, his hands on your skin, his lips leaving evidence on your body that he has been here, this was more than you'd ever felt. And he hadn't even really touched you yet.

You reach to undo his trousers, eager to get him in less clothing but he pulls back, out of your reach. "Not yet," he whispers against your skin, "you start doing that and this will be over way too soon." He brings his lips to yours again, stealing a deep kiss as he unclasps your bra. "And this is about you, all about you," he is mumbling again, almost incoherent against you. He is determined, his mind is focused on you and your pleasure and what you deserve.

You don't think you've ever wanted anything as much as you want this.

His thumb brushes against the your clothed skin, and sparks shoot through your body, nails digging into his shoulder as you gasp at the contact.

He nudges closer, his forehead pressed to yours, and you look at him. Spencer, your colleague, your friend. Spencer who never forgets your coffee order. Spencer who stayed all night to help with paperwork because you lost a bet. Spencer who has accompanied you to every movie you've ever asked him to. Spencer who bought an extra ticket to every convention just in case you would want to come.

"Please," you plead, like you need to, as if it was possible that he wouldn't do anything for you in this moment. As if you even needed to ask.

He kisses you, pulling you up and towards him, breathing you in as his hand finds its way between the elastic of your underwear and your skin.

Your nerves are as quick to respond to his touch as fire to a accelerant. Every movement makes you wonder if Spencer was given some map of your body that you didn't know existed, a guide to movement and pressure and timing that couldn't be more perfect.

You are nodding at his movements, keening at every increase of pace, every finger curl, every swipe of his thumb. Your body shuddering in anticipation and a pleasure you never knew courses through you.

Spencer is leaving compliments with every kiss across your body, so eager to please, so desperate to worship. When he hits the spot, your body gives you away at alarming speed, you buck, moving your arms to prop yourself up on elbows, leaning into him, into the movements, rutting against him. "Fuck," you manage in the haze.

Spencer responds to this approval with dedication and vigour and then you feel it, that hot white coil of pleasure pulling at you, like a tight chord. "Shit," you start breathing heavier, faster, "shit, shit."

"You're so incredibly beautiful," you hear Spencer whisper. You can't keep your eyes open as your knees begin to shake.

"Spencer," you whimper, not for any reason but to say his name. The need to say his name over and over, and over as the chord pulls tight and finally snaps.

The pleasure explodes through you, every nerve tingling, like fireworks cascading through you. You shake, riding the high through and fall back onto the bed, slumped with a laboured breath.

Spencer moves back up to be level with you, gently brushes some stray hairs from your face and he smiles down at you. "That is what it's supposed to feel like?" You ask.

If this was all he could have for the rest of his life, Spencer would be a happy man. He plants a kiss on your forehead, and that look of devotion has not left his eyes.

But he has been filled with a new sense of purpose, like he was made for this. For you.

He doesn't have time to debate internally if your ex was purely just that poor at what he did or if it feeling so easy, coming so naturally to him was something else entirely. He didn't really care which it was, maybe both. Right now all he cared about was making up for lost time, lost opportunities, all your disappointment.

He kisses you again and the force of it is more knowing, more sure, it's hot and messy and every moment it feels like you need to be closer, deeper, more entwined. The whole time he keeps his hand in your underwear, thumb running in soft, intensely accurate circles as his fingers do most of the work.

It crosses your mind that maybe it should be almost embarrassing that he is making it so easy. It should be embarrassing that Spencer barely needed any time to bring that second orgasm to precipice. It should be embarrassing that you're convinced this man could make you come by the way he kisses you alone, but you're not embarrassed. Not because you've never felt the pleasure like this before, not because you think pleasure it never something to be embarrassed about and not because after everything you deserve this. But because it's Spencer Reid, and everything with him has always felt like it is exactly as it should be, and him making you feel this way, is no exception.

He holds you in the kiss as your second orgasm pulses through you, just as intense as the first one, he feels you shake as it floods you. A moan escaping into the kiss, from your mouth to his and he groans against your lips.

He is so focused on you that he isn't paying any attention to how this is effecting him, how hard he is against you. How desperate he is for you. His need for your pleasure overtaking any need of his own.

You know if left to his own devices Spencer would stay as the two of you are, skin pressed to skin, lips on yours, trying to write years worth of wrongs in one night. But you do not want to give into exhaustion before you have let him ruin your expectations in all the ways you know.

He moves from your lips to your neck and before you can process much of his plans you feel the kisses trailing your hipbone, and with the third orgasm approaching you can see where his mind has wondered to. You lean forward, gasping in pleasure, but determined to get his attention, you place a hand on the side of his face, tilting up his chin to meet your eyes. "Wait," is all you manage to moan out before the pleasure tears into you, your head falls back and you grab a fistful of sheet, trying to keep yourself up through the pleasure.

Spencer does as you ask and waits until you manage to gather your words, eyes on you. "Please," you try. He runs his eyes over your body trying to understand your request.

You reach down, pulling once again at the edge of his trousers, fumbling to undo them, to get him out of them. You've never known Spencer to be so slow to catch on, but he is practically drunk on you.

"Oh," he manages. "Oh."

Before he can start to explain all the reasons he doesn't think that's important right now you look up at him with those eyes so pleading. "Please," you whisper again.

And he is putty in your hand, happy to do anything you ask of him, he nods and you finish undoing his trousers and push them down, he finishes discarding them.

Now it's your fingertips against his skin and he holds his breath as you move for his boxers. "Is this okay?" you ask quietly.

"You're everything I have ever wanted," the honey leaves his lips and you kiss him, his lips focused on you as you help him out of his boxers and pull him down and close.

"I need you," you whisper. "Right now, I need you."

"I am yours," he responds.

You keep your fingers threaded in his hair, and you tug a little harder as you become overwhelmed with him. "Fuck," Spencer's voice shudders in pleasure and you understand his desperation to please you instantly, because you want nothing more than to give him everything.

Everything becomes a mixture of moans and names, lips pressed to skin, and fabric scrunched with every thrust. You kiss Spencer's neck, finding his sweet spot with a similar precision to which he found yours. Leaving a collection of marks on his neck before her buries his face into yours, repeating your name over and over, becoming more and more wanting. His neediness matching your own and as he digs his fingers into your hips that now familiar feeling starts to rush you.

"Spencer, I am going to cum again," you whisper. Spencer cannot form words, he just keeps kissing, sucking, digging at your skin, even now he isn't close enough to you. "Fuck!" You scream out and the pleasure of your orgasm is almost too much for Spencer.

"Fuck, I," Spencer's brain is doing flips trying to figure out what to do, what he is supposed to do. "I am going to."

"Please," you beg in his ear.

"I should, I haven't," he is trying to piece the words together but they're not coming. You know what is trying to say, what is cannot find the words to ask.

"Please stay with me," you say, nudging his nose with your own, "please."

Your gentle request is his breaking point and he crashes his lips back onto yours as his own orgasm comes to fruition.

He collapses down next to you, both catching your breath. "Fuck," you repeat, for what might be the millionth time, as you long lost count.

You cannot help it, you let out a little laugh and Spencer glances at you, a smile breaking out on his face. "For the record, I hadn't planned that," he says.

"For the record, I really planned on drinking my coffee."

"I can make you a coffee," Spencer offers, turning to his side.

"We should, get cleaned up first," you smile.

"Then coffee?"

"Then coffee."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid smut #smut #smut fanfic #no beta we die like jason gideon #reader x spencer reid #bau fanfic #bau smut #matthew gray gubler #fanfic #x reader #bau #criminal minds fic

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a-town-called-hometown · 8 months ago

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yippee! apologies if my takes are horrendously bad

my personal take on the matter is that i definitely think the dark worlds can work as a metaphor for escapism without undermining the darkners' personhood. it can be more than one thing, yknow? the darkners are important, their lives matter. and the lightners do go to the dark world as an escape from the problems they face in their own life. but that's not the darkners' whole PURPOSE, yknow? i mean. according to the laws of the universe of deltarune yes darkners' "purpose" is to serve the lightners but like it's not their whole purpose in the STORY.

it's sort of like how, in UNDERTALE, LOVE represents how distant you've become, how easy it is for you to hurt people. but it also literally gives you the power to destroy the world.

i think the biggest reason i believe escapism is at least a part of deltarune's narrative is queen.

queen's whole speech in both of her fights is about how she intends to provide escapism for the lightners (so that they will worship her but also so that they will he happy). she wants to turn the whole world into a dark world, so that everyone can live in bliss and not have to worry about the woes of the light world. she mentions "Staring, Tapping, To Receive Joy. Staring, Tapping, To Avoid Pain." which is like pretty much the definition of escapism

she wants to help Noelle with the problems she faces in the light world ("Noelle. Who Will Be There To Help Her? Her Strange And Sad Searches" and "My One Idea To Help Noelle, Failed") by just... shoving it away for a blissful fantasy world ("Wake? No, She Has Already Awakened Too Much. Let Her Close Her Eyes And Sleep Away, Into A Darker, Darker Dream.")

...i forgot the rest of what i wanted to say!

well first off, thank you for your ask! I'm going to get extremely in depth in my answer, so bear with me here. sorry it took several weeks to write this. the escapism reading of deltarune is pretty deeply entrenched in fandom, and to refute it, I felt it required a full-length essay to completely explain my viewpoint.

yes, "the lightners desire escapism" does not automatically translate to that being the darkners' actual narrative purpose. escapism can be a theme without dehumanizing those who are used in order to escape - in fact, I've read a number of stories that use someone's desire to escape to HIGHLIGHT how they're hurting others in pursuit of that. I believe that toby fox is definitely capable of telling a story about kids having a valid desire to escape, and about them grappling with having inadvertently created a world of real, living people as a result.

(I'll reiterate again that this is not the story arc that generally shows up in fanon. the common consensus is that the game will end in an omori-esque "growing out of" the dark worlds. it's why I have a huge dislike of the fanon escapism reading, given that the darkners are shown as people whose lack of agency parallels kris' own. it would feel cheap if the resolution to that plot was that the darkners were actually never meant to be agents in their own fates. but this is a digression.)

the reason why i DON'T believe that this is a story that toby fox is telling is because of the way the world, themes, and characters are written. put simply, it just doesn't come across as congruent with the story being told.

deltarune's main themes are agency, fate, identity, and control. this is a conflict that shows up in nearly every major character, is baked into the worldbuilding, and is the central struggle involving us, the player. the protagonist of deltarune is literally possessed by us against their will. the darkners are objects that have no choice but to serve and be discarded. over and over again, there is emphasis on roles that characters play - and crucially, roles that are imposed on them.

what would escapism mean, in this thematic context? in real life, escapism can represent any number of things, but in a story, a major narrative theme generally has to dovetail with other major narrative themes in the work. I would argue that escapism in deltarune would likely mean going to a place where characters are able to choose for themselves what roles they embody, or even to discard the notion of roles altogether. a fantasy of control is the only way to escape a reality where you have no agency. and honestly, it's hard to imagine that something could count as an escapist fantasy if you don't even get to choose whether or not you participate in it.

let's talk about kris.

I see a lot of discussions around kris that say that kris goes into the dark worlds to escape. the dark worlds are posited as kris' fantasy of heroism. it's a world where they can seem heroic and cool, a world where they can have friends. this theory makes a decent amount of sense on the surface level, but only until you consider that kris is being controlled in order to go into the dark worlds. and it is not a control that they appear to welcome.

if those worlds represent kris' fantasy, then why don't they get to choose what happens in those fantasies? why are they being controlled by an external force, one that they actively push back against? if it's really an escape, then why does everything about this world reflect their lack of agency? if they really think this world is just a pure fantasy, then why do they care if spamton falls when his strings are cut?

because they're being deliberately obscured to the player, it is hard to say how kris actually feels about many subjects... but I do seriously doubt that they view the dark worlds as an escape. they don't act in a way that is consistent with that. they resist their lack of agency, and what little we do see of their reactions to darkner characters doesn't suggest that they view those characters as part of a disposable fantasy, either. they seem to have complicated feelings on ralsei. and of course, one of their biggest emotional reactions in the game is to the spamton fight. I would argue that that suggests they have empathy for spamton, which is a hard emotional reaction to have if you believe he's just part of a fantasy. not impossible, mind you, but it seems unlikely that kris believes that all this is simply fantasy.

also, considering that snowgrave both actively discredits the idea that the dark worlds are mere fantasy and is actively traumatic for kris... I seriously doubt they'd open another dark world in chapter 3 on a snowgrave run if their motive was purely to escape. on that route, they've seen the damage we can cause in a dark world. they know that berdly has sustained lasting damage due to our actions, assuming he's not outright dead. why would they want to try and "escape" to a place like that again now that they know what can happen?

the only answer is that they have a motive that isn't escapist.

now, as for ralsei... what part does he have to play in all this?

ralsei does play a lot to the fun, fantastical elements of the dark worlds. he delivers the prophecy that kickstarts the adventure. he flatters both kris and susie endlessly when they act appropriately heroic. he welcomes them into the castle and even makes nice rooms for them. he initially seems tailor-made to enable a fantastical experience where no real issues can ever complicate anything, and where the pain of reality can successfully be hidden from. but there's a lot of complications to the idea that he might represent an escapist fantasy.

the first, and what honestly seems the most important to me, is that he doesn't encourage kris and susie to remain in the dark worlds. he is welcoming and kind, but once the adventure is over, he prompts them to return to the light world. he wants them to deal with their more "real" problems like homework. that doesn't feel like he is trying to facilitate escapism in them. a real fantasy would encourage you to stay in it, wouldn't it?

and while ralsei is definitely invested in making sure the lightners are happy, there are always cracks that show. he isn't able to make kris ignore what happened in the spamton fight. he isn't able to convince susie to be peaceful and kind. and in his very essence, he represents a number of uncomfortable ideas. very importantly, he represents a number of uncomfortable ideas to kris.

this probably ain't your first fandom rodeo, so I'm not going to explain all the different ways that ralsei interacts with kris' personal issues. there's plenty of posts on it out there. what i will point out is, once again, it feels odd that a character who seems tailor made to bring up kris' most uncomfortable associations with their lack of agency and their outsider status in their own family would be part of a fantasy of escapism to them. you'd think that they'd prefer something that didn't have an inbuilt hierarchy, a prophecy that denied them autonomy, or especially a person that reminded them how little they fit into hometown.

that doesn't mean kris doesn't care about him at all - it seems very likely that they do. what I mean to say here is that he just seems ill-suited to an escapism reading, both behaviorally and on a conceptual level. it doesn't seem like that's at all part of his servitude towards the lightners.

of course, there is another non-lightner entity that ralsei seems diegetically engineered to serve. but I'll discuss that later.

now as for susie...

yes, susie definitely views the dark worlds as more fun than the light world. and why wouldn't she? the light world sucks for her, and she doesn't seem very aware of the fact that the dark world can also suck. you could definitely make the argument that she views the dark worlds as a fantastical escape from reality... were it not for the fact that she treats her darkner friends with just as much importance as she does kris and noelle.

can someone treat components of an escapist fantasy as real and important? of course. but given deltarune's themes of agency and control, as well as the fact that darkners exist in servitude to the lightners, I feel like you'd have to make escapism tie into forcing others into a lack of agency if you wanted the theme to feel coherent with the rest of the work. this would require susie to be limiting the agency of the darkners around her. and obviously, she doesn't do that. her presence around them might be inherently limiting, just by simple virtue of being a lightner, but she isn't aware of it, and clearly is uncomfortable with the idea of limiting anyone's agency. she encourages ralsei to make choices. and she supports lancer in basically anything he wants to do. her treatment of lancer is integral to chapter 1's narrative, and it seems like that treatment of ralsei is integral to the ongoing narrative as well!

her preference for the dark world feels very rooted in her engagement with it as its own reality. rather than trying to avoid her real-life problems by engaging in a pretense, she seems to simply want to spend time with her friends in a place that isn't cruel to her. she isn't ignoring any of the dark world's problems in service of that, either. she notices when things don't line up. if she thought of it as a fantasy, wouldn't she be inclined to ignore issues that impede the fantasy?

and critically - like kris, she does not intentionally choose her imposed role in the prophecy at first. she steps into the role of bad guy to resist it, but that role is limiting too, and she eventually acquiesces to being a hero. it's never something she's completely on board with, though. she actively pushes back the limitations that the role places on her. I find this important to reiterate when we are discussing the notion of the characters viewing the dark worlds as fantasy.

noelle has a complicated relationship to the dark worlds. susie tells her that it's a dream to make her accept the strange reality she finds herself in, which works well on her. she continues to think of it as a strange dream throughout the chapter. (though, like the others, it is not a 'dream' she entered of her own volition!)

it is also a markedly unpleasant 'dream' at times. she has her agency restricted, is kidnapped, has to evade a controlling monarch, and is even tied up in a weird evangelion cross thing on the hand of a giant robot. it's not purely fun. noelle does like scary things, and while it might be healthy for her to have an experience where she stands up to a controlling adult figure... again, the circumstances make it difficult for me to assume that this is a fantasy she would choose for herself. not impossible, mind you, but it's not the first reading of the situation that comes to mind.

and while she does say she wishes she could dream like this every day in the normal route, that does happen specifically because she was talking to the girl she likes. it makes sense she'd find that pleasant. I don't think that necessarily equates to her finding the dark worlds escapist.

and importantly, this isn't the sentiment that she expresses in every route.

again, there's a lot of analysis on snowgrave, so I won't bother regurgitating it much here. but it's nightmarish for both kris and noelle, and very likely fatal for berdly. noelle needs to believe that the event is a dream, for her own psychological safety, but one of the most important parts of snowgrave...

...is that its events, and the world it took place in, are very, very real.

noelle wants to have the strength to face her problems, both in the regular route and in the snowgrave route. rather than escaping from them, she views the "dream" as a chance to practice dealing with her day-to-day issues. it's just that in the regular route she finds that strength authentically, and in the snowgrave route, that desire is manipulated and pushed until she is forced to kill berdly. she doesn't interpret snowgrave as an escape gone wrong. she views it as a dream that became a nightmare. and those are two extremely different things.

but i haven't even gotten to the biggest thing that undermines the concept that the dark worlds are a metaphor for escapism! which is: this fucking guy is dead wrong about everything.

so full disclaimer - I really love berdly. I think he's slept on a lot in the fandom because he's annoying and weird. which is fair, I suppose, but I think ignoring him hinders a lot of people's understanding of deltarune's overall narrative. because berdly often illustrates a lot of concepts in the game, but his narrative framing as a joke (usually...) prevents the player from taking it completely seriously. he has things to say and ideas to show off, it's just that he's often very loud and kind of dumb in his expression of them. which is kind of the point!

ralsei brings up the idea that the darkners are meant to serve the lightners very seriously in chapter one. by extension, and by way of the literal mechanics involved in a dark world's creation, we can infer that this logic is probably something that also applies to the dark worlds themselves. they are allegedly worlds and characters that only are supposed to fulfill a dream of the lightners. but due to narrative framing and deltarune's themes, we know that that's not the full truth. however dark worlds and darkners are created, they deserve to have their own agency. they can't just exist to fulfill a higher being's wishes.

you know who else undermines that view of the dark worlds? berdly! berdly does!!!!

because berdly is the only lightner in the game so far who does take the dark worlds to be an escapist adventure! he wants to turn cyber world into smartopia. he views this as a chance to be a cool hero. he believes he's going to get the girl, he's going to shape this world to his own liking, and maybe also he's going to get queen to acknowledge him or something so he stops being a forgettable little bluebird. and not only does none of this happen, his steadfast belief that it will happen is continually a joke within the narrative!!

berdly's wishes for uncomplicated escapist fantasy are flat-out denied by the dark worlds themselves. as a lightner, those worlds should be serving him. he should have the power to do whatever he wants within the bounds of an escapist fantasy. these npcs should be singing his praises!

but he doesn't have the power. and this world doesn't sing his praise. because it just isn't an escapist fantasy. he isn't right to view it that way. his wishes for heroism are always going to be thwarted.

so now that I've gotten all that out of the way, let's swing back over to the subject of your original ask. queen.

because, like berdly, queen's entire character arc is about how she's completely wrong about what the lightners actually want.

queen would in fact like nothing more to place the lightners into an escapist fantasy. she believes that that's the best way to serve them and make them happy forever. as a darkner, queen has very much internalized the idea that a lack of control is what actually makes people happy. since darkners have no choice in their destinies and are supposed to be happy in it, and since she personally finds her role as a darkner fulfilling, she believes that that's true of all people everywhere. if you want to make people happy, you just have to remove that pesky personal agency!

so she spends the story trying to force the lightners and particularly noelle into situations where she controls them in order to make them ostensibly happier. she does genuinely believe that this is the right thing to do, but as she finds out eventually, she's just wrong. noelle doesn't want that. queen believes that escapism is why the lightners use the internet... but that's totally wrong too.

while there are other searches mixed in, noelle is trying to use the internet to find her sister. instead of trying to hide from whatever happened, noelle wants to figure it out. queen's thesis about noelle and the lightners is proven wrong even before she personally encounters noelle in the dark world. it's just that queen doesn't realize it due to her limited perspective.

the concept of escapism being brought up with both queen and berdly is not there to say that the dark world is escapist. rather, it's there to say that it isn't. despite the dark worlds being a fantastical place, they are extremely real. to view them as a means of escape is foolhardy at best. you cannot act as though you are above consequences within them.

themes and ideas exist within the story for a sake of an audience. so let's get into the final character I need to discuss here. hopefully this will tie my thesis of deltarune together neatly.

that character is of course us. the player.

when creating a piece of fiction, an astute author will often identify and anticipate an audience's reactions to certain things in their work, and write things in such a way that they elicit the desired reactions. in essence, a writer is directing the "character" of the audience. how we feel and how we are anticipated to react to things is an integral part of nearly every fiction.

that effect is far more overt when dealing with metanarrative fiction that diegetically involves the audience. since the fiction is saying a lot of things about the general 'you,' the audience in aggregate, your reactions to certain things in the story have to be finely cued and anticipated by the author, so that the author can thus commentate on the reactions that you have to the story. the "character" you are assumed to inhabit is posited by the author to have certain traits.

to explain what I mean in plainer terms, I'll use the player of undertale's no mercy route as an example. because undertale is commenting on the way rpgs generally work. the player's behaviors in no mercy are attributed by characters in the story to be the result of us acting like a typical gamer. we kill the characters in the game because we want exp. and more than that, it's because we want to see everything the game has to offer. the role we inhabit in this role-playing game is that of a completionist. you could say that that's assumed to be our "character" in no mercy.

deltarune also posits that certain things are true of its audience. by being written to evoke certain cultural ideas, rpg tropes, and references to undertale, it guarantees that its audience will probably have certain traits, and spends a large amount of its conceptual focus commenting on those traits. one of those traits is nostalgia, which is probably an idea that I'll expound upon in a further essay because it's quite integral to my reading of deltarune. but the main one I mean to discuss here, and why I went off on this tangent about how audiences are dealt with in metafiction, is that we are posited as someone who believes in the logic of certain narratives.

deltarune's writing evokes a lot of portal fantasy narratives. alice in wonderland, narnia, pretty much every story where it's revealed at the end to be all a dream... the story of deltarune superficially resembles a lot of those. this, I think, is responsible for the popularity of the escapism theory. because those stories are often at their end about a child learning to put away fantasy and grow up, people tend to believe that deltarune must be about the same thing. but I truly don't think that deltarune is trying to do anything with that aspect of portal fantasy narratives, at least not directly. its main characters aren't involved in that exact type of coming-of-age arc.

instead, deltarune is very concerned with what happens to characters in fantasy, and specifically fantasy rpgs. if your world is deemed to not matter because it's a dream, what does that mean for you, who has no choice but to live in it? if you are an npc whose role has been predetermined for you via script, then can you ever decide for yourself what you want? what if you want to matter? what if you want to be your own person?

as the major controlling force of deltarune, we are initially cued to believe that deltarune is like a dream. it superficially fulfills so much of what we want from undertale fanon. hometown seems like it's a perfect idyllic town, at least until you start noticing the obvious cracks. and remember what I said about ralsei earlier? he is so reminiscent of asriel, and extremely eager to help us. it's not a stretch to say that making us specifically view deltarune as dreamlike and idyllic is probably part of his purpose in the game.

I would not say that we are posited as escapist. but the idea of escapism as brought up with queen and berdly is meant to strike at the heart of a much deeper idea that deltarune is trying to deconstruct. because if we view deltarune as a dream, escapist or otherwise, then we are inclined to write the internal realities of the characters inside off. the dark world can disappear without it mattering. we can control kris without it mattering. if it's all a dream, what does it matter? why should we care to let its characters go free? aren't we supposed to be in control?

if deltarune is an rpg... what is the significance of us interacting with it?

#deltarune #deltarune analysis #BIG big thanks to tvlandofficiall for being my sounding board and providing the flavor images for this essay #this one gets into some big overarching analysis of deltarunes construction and what it deconstructs. hope u enjoy

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