#stop making people go through it and then be fine!

[writing-for-marvel]

Take Me Home

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky starts fiddling with his dog tags while out with your friends.

Prompt: comforting one another

Warnings: mentions of Bucky’s past trauma but not detailed

Word count: 1.0k

A/N: this is my submission for @stellar-solar-flare’s Starry Winter Sky Event 💜 just a short fic as I get back into writing. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

You’re sure Bucky doesn’t even realise that he’s doing it, but it signals as clearly as if he had shot up a flare that he needs you.

The fingers of his flesh hand fiddle with the metal of his dog tags absentmindedly, nervously, and you can see by the distant gaze of his eyes that he has completely checked out of the conversation.

In all the time you have known Bucky, you’ve been aware of his short social battery, and though some people in your life put it down as him being ‘grumpy’, you know the real root cause is much deeper than him simply liking to keep to himself.

Making your way across the room, eyes watching him retreat even further into himself and turning over the dog tag with his fingers with every additional input of the conversation he had been involved with, your heart descends deeper into the cavernous pit his clear suffering is carving into your stomach.

You know Bucky well enough that he’ll suffer through this internal anguish because he thinks you want to stay at this gathering with your friends, rather than coming to find you right away so you can both retreat into the comfort of your shared apartment.

But you’re not about to let him endure this torment for a second longer.

“Hey guys, sorry to interrupt.” You cut across the active conversation, putting your arm around Bucky’s waist, snuggling up to his side, really not that remorseful about disturbing their discussion when you know the outcome will relieve your love of his pain. “My tummy isn’t feeling that great, Buck, do you mind taking me home?”

There is relief mixed with genuine concern for you in his baby blues when these words come out of your mouth that somehow make you love him even more - he’s currently bearing the brunt of his own pain for you, but the moment you mention a made up illness he’s more worried about your health than his own.

Bucky’s arms snake around you, finally releasing his fidgeting hold on his dog tags, as he places a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Of course my love.” Bucky says, only letting you go for a brief moment as you both say proper goodbyes to your friends, before he intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you out the door to start the short walk to your apartment.

It’s chilly outside the restaurant, a soft breeze making you shiver, and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to shrug off his jacket and place it around your bare shoulders.

Ever the gentleman your thoughtful, doting boyfriend is.

“Do you think it was something you ate?” It’s genuinely sweet how naive he can be sometimes, but you are also aware that it comes from a place of trauma where his brain can’t make the connection that anyone would do something selflessly for him simply because they love him.

“Bucky, I’m feeling fine.”

“But your tummy.”

“I could see you had used all of your social battery, and I know you don’t like to be the reason we leave places early, so I made it up.” He stops dead in the street. There’s a moment, a couple short breaths, when Bucky simply looks at you with wide, affectionate eyes, as if it’s taking him a moment to process what you have done for him.

“You made it up?” It’s not an accusatory tone, instead one that almost sounds astonished. You nod with a small smile. “So I didn’t have to be the reason we left?”

“Mhmm. I only want to be out places when we both want to be there. There is no reason for you to feel uncomfortable and have to endure that for me.” You caress his cheek, feeling the stubble on his jaw as he leans into your gentle touch.

“But darling-” He starts, but you trace your thumb over his bottom lip as a distraction and to interrupt, not to be rude, but to show Bucky you don’t play when it comes to his safety and comfort.

“No buts Buck. We’re in this together, you and me. If the roles were reversed, and you knew I was feeling out of place like that, would you have let me stay?”

His lips curl inward slightly, involuntarily, in a way you have come to know occurs when he doesn’t want to admit he’s in the wrong. Without speaking, with just a grateful look that communicates more than he could articulate with words, he kisses you ardently in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You don’t have to hide how you feel from me. I love every part of you, even the parts you try hiding away from the world. You’re safe with me.” Placing your hand on his chest, his eyes regard you with adoration - you’re not sure what thoughts are racing through his mind, but you can see the cogs turning behind his pupils.

“You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Bucky, when are you going to learn that unconditional love means no strings attached? You deserve to be loved wholeheartedly for exactly who you are. And I promise to do just that, for the rest of my life.” You can feel his heartbeat quicken underneath the pads of your fingers.

He encompasses your hand in both of his, leans forward and speaks with a low tone, for your ears only.

“I love you too. I promise, I’m really gonna try to do better with communicating how I feel. Old habits are hard to break, but I really would do anything for you.”

With that, Bucky pulls you close, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, like you’re his sturdy anchor grounding him as he tries to navigate the choppy, rough sea which has been his life. As you continue home, the weight of the evening slips away, replaced by the comforting feeling that regardless how traumatic his life has been up until now, you would always be a safe place for him to come back home to.

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[darnell-la]

𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥 ... 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗬

pairing: dark!pervy!professor!logan howlett x student!reader

summary: the job of a mentor shouldn’t be hard, but for Logan Howlett, it was when one of his best students wasn’t so innocent after all. professors are trained to hold themselves, but something within Logan wanted to release all out on that so-called innocent student.

warnings: Logan is a slight perv, nudes, anal, forced anal, rough sex, age gap, overpowering, degrading, jealousy, anger, cnc/SA, etc.

note: many of our supporters are asking for out-of-pocket Logan Howlett, and it’s so hard finding ways to write him in that way. REQUEST!

DO NOT READ IF CNC/SA MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

There has been a situation going on around the school. Some kids have made a hook-up app for mutants around the school. The professor found out after having to confiscate a student's phone for texting during class.

Professor Howlett has been investing, and trying to get several student's names to call the office and shut the app down.

By doing that, he used the student phone he had to take during class. Sadly, that student wasn’t a student people wanted to hook up with, or even go on a date with. Logan had no luck until a few minutes ago when an anonymous student messaged him.

“Hey, I know it’s hard to find people on here, but I was thinking we could maybe hang out?”

Logan couldn't stop laughing to himself, happy that he could put this shenanigan situation to the side until several attachments popped up on the phone.

At first, he didn’t think of anything, but as soon as he tapped on them to reveal what was sent, his jaw dropped.

The student was y/n, and the attachments she sent were something he would’ve never thought of her doing. Half of what was sent were videos while the rest was her masturbating with toys.

A specific one had stood out to him, which made him feel like the biggest creep there could be, but he couldn’t stop watching.

She had laid on her back so when she spread her legs, everything was exposed. She rubbed so much lube onto herself, that he was confused until she pulled a dildo out and pushed it against her back door.

The way she moaned, made him lost in the video. He hadn’t even known the video was five minutes long. He could tell she could barely take it up her ass, but the way she struggled and still tried was amazing. Especially when she finished all over the place.

“I’ve never done anal, so I’m afraid that’s off-limits. Anything else is completely fine though!”

Logan looked at her message, still thinking if that was all real. Was that really y/n? If this was anyone else, he would’ve called a school meeting in seconds, no matter how late it was, but y/n — He didn’t know what took over him.

“Send room number. Be there in 5. Look pretty,”

In y/n’s head, she thought how oddly the student typed. She hadn’t been around the student to know him fully, but she knew no student typed the way he did.

“Could I perhaps have some videos of you?” Y/n asked, making Logan’s heart skip a beat. “No need, Bub. I’m real,” Logan typed, making y/n gasp. Anyone could’ve figured out who the person was behind the phone after using that word. Bub.

“Logan? What the hell are you doing on here??” Y/n asked, only making Logan’s heart drop further. “What?” Logan tried covering himself off, but that only made y/n laugh on her bed.

“It’s fine, Logan. I like older men anyway. Have you done anything like this before?” Y/n asked. Logan wanted to throw the phone and spazz on how he could’ve blown his cover this bad.

“No,” the man replied, not knowing his cock had grown hard at the thought of y/n still wanting to proceed with the conversation. “Just come up to room 411,” Y/n said before going offline.

Logan had thought this would be easy to deal with since y/n never seemed like a student to blackmail people, but something ran through his head as he got up from his office chair.

How many people has she done this with? That thought alone boiled his blood. He had thought y/n was innocent, and one of the good students. She lied to him, telling him a few months ago that all she cared about was her training and education.

Y/n had fallen asleep after the first hour of Logan not showing up. She had thought he had maybe backed out, and she was fine with that.

Little did she know, Logan had been keeping himself back for the past hour. Everyone in this school is still training, even the professors, and though they can usually control themselves, this was a small situation that turned big.

Logan was mentally and physically going insane, wanting to teach a student he had trust in, a lesson for lying and doing this that wouldn’t help her training and education in the future.

He held himself back for as long as he could, but now he was walking through y/n’s bedroom door. Y/n had woken up from her sleep after hearing her bedroom door close and lock.

“Oh, hey! — I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you might’ve changed your mind,” y/n said as Logan basically ripped off his clothes until he was exposed. Y/n’s eyes widened at his huge and throbbing size.

“Where’s the lube?” Logan growled as he stared y/n’s figure down. She had fallen asleep in the little bit of clothing she wanted to surprise him in. “Uh, the desk right here, but, I’m not really into anal,” y/n assured for the second time tonight.

Logan ignored her and went through the desk she had pointed out to him. “On your stomach — Edge of the bed,” Logan said. He had barely given her time to move before he put her into the position himself.

“Sir, just my pussy, okay? I-I didn’t really prepare for anal tonight,” y/n said, hoping her professor would listen. Instead, Logan spread a bunch on her upper hole, and the rest he stroked his cock with.

“Okay, sir?” Y/n asked to know if he heard her. He did, but he didn’t care. Why would she tease him with that one video if she wasn’t thinking about her hole getting used tonight?

“Mr. Howlett, I said the other-“Y/n tried to get up, but Logan pushed her face into the sheets as his cock pushed through her walls, instantly feeling her grip him as tight as she could.

“Oh fuck,” Logan couldn’t believe how amazing she felt within seconds. “Mr. Howlett, please — I-It hurts a little,” y/n whined, shifting under him to feel more comfortable, but that didn’t matter as he pushed further into her until she was filled.

The scream she let out, was enough to make him leak in her already. “Be as loud as you want, Bub. Hank designed these walls for the privacy of the professors and the students — No one’s gonna hear how un-innocent you are,” Logan whispered in the young girl's ear before he leaned back up and began pounding.

The room filled with nasty noises in seconds. Logan couldn’t seem to get enough of what he was doing. It’s like something took him over once he felt the insides of y/n and the noises she could make.

“Logan, please,” y/n cried out, feeling like he would break her any second now. At first, she hated the way he didn’t listen to her, but after the first few pumps, she couldn’t get enough of it herself.

The feeling of her the Wolverine coming in her to have his way with her, degrade her, and even groan at how perfect she was, only send her gushing around his cock in seconds.

“You’re not so innocent, princess, so how about you cum on my cock again, yeah? Because this ain’t gonna be the last time I have you,”

[luvsferrariss]

˚⟡˖ ࣪. ʚ 💌 ɞ who said that I hate you? - OO1

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Synopsis: S/n, the rookie in Formula 1, challenges sexism in the sport, facing criticism, intense rivalries, and false accusations. Amid fierce disputes with Charles Leclerc and unexpected support, she fights to prove her talent.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Charles Leclerc x Female Reader! Red Bull Driver

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ warnings: Heavy sexism, fake news (??), Charles being a complete jerk, and angst. Let me know if I forgot anything.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Author’s Notes: This was supposed to be a short story, but I got carried away and had to split it into two parts. If you guys like it, I’ll post part two tomorrow! English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes, sorry 🤍

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ part two here! ✨

Formula 1 has always been a male-dominated sport, but who said that would stop rookie S/n from claiming her place? No, giving up was never on her list of options.

You’ve spent your whole life hearing that you would never make it into Formula 1, that you could never compete on equal footing with a man. But when you finally signed a contract with one of the top teams on the grid, you realized the biggest challenge wasn’t on the track—it was the people who wanted to see you fail.

Among those people was Charles Leclerc, one of the most beloved drivers among fans. Charles hated the attention you were getting, convinced that everything you did was just marketing and nothing more. He made sure to make that clear, with interviews filled with sharp remarks and intense on-track battles.

To Charles, S/n was nothing more than a lucky rookie. To S/n, Charles was just another jerk trying to bring her down—like so many before him.

“S/n, are you okay? S/n, if you’re alright, just answer!” Your engineer’s panicked voice echoed through the radio just as your car crashed into the tire barrier.

Everything happened in a blur. You had been fighting for the lead on the final lap against Charles Leclerc, and suddenly, you were struggling against your aching body to get out of your wrecked car.

“I’m fine. Just sore, but I’m fine,” you responded firmly as you stepped out of the cockpit.

Adrenaline still coursed through your veins. You kicked the car hard before shrugging it off, trying to calm yourself. The medical team rushed over, but you simply nodded and got into the rescue vehicle, removing your helmet and letting out a long sigh.

Back at the garage, you waved briefly at your trainer and went straight to your private room.

You threw your helmet into a random corner, kicked the couch, and collapsed onto it. The TV in the room replayed the crash. Anger boiled inside you. Without thinking, you got up and stormed back to the garage, determined.

“Do you have any idea what you just did, S/n?! You could have been seriously hurt… or worse!” Your PR manager, Adele, exclaimed as soon as she saw you walk in. Your trainer, Steve, and your public relations assistant, Bree, rushed to you.

You looked down at your race suit, still covered in dust. You brushed it off lightly, but nothing could erase the bitter taste of defeat burning in your throat.

“That clueless idiot is entirely to blame! He threw me into the wall on purpose! Did you see how he closed that corner?! Asshole.” Your voice dripped with indignation.

Steve and Bree immediately agreed, but Adele sighed, running a hand down her face.

“S/n, you can’t afford to lose your head over him. The media is already waiting outside, and I can guarantee they won’t go easy on you,” Bree warned, her voice calm.

You huffed, closing your eyes for a moment before facing them.

“Sorry, guys. But this time, I won’t stay quiet.”

The paddock sweltered under the scorching sun, and the sound of cameras clicking was deafening. You adjusted your team cap, trying to hide the simmering rage.

In front of you, a journalist held out a microphone with a smug smile.

“So, S/n… Do you think that crash was due to incompetence or inexperience?”

Your jaw tightened, but the journalist continued, not even bothering to mask his sarcasm.

“I mean, a lot of people were already questioning your place in Formula 1. Isn’t it obvious now that this sport just isn’t for you?”

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your anger in check. But before you could respond, a firm voice cut through the air:

“Excuse me, are you planning to ask serious questions and act like a professional, or are you just going to keep up this ridiculous circus?”

You turned to see Max Verstappen standing beside you, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

The journalist tried to laugh, taken aback, but Max didn’t back down.

“If any other driver had crashed, you’d be analyzing the data, not mocking them. But of course, it’s easier to tear down a woman than admit she has talent.”

A lump formed in your throat—not from weakness, but from gratitude.

“If you want to talk about who deserves to be in Formula 1, start by actually analyzing things properly. But I suppose real journalism is too hard for you,” Max finished, pulling you away from the journalist, who stood speechless.

When the interviews finally ended, you leaned against a wall near the exit.

“Thanks, Max. I don’t think I’ve ever been at a loss for words before.”

He smirked.

“It’s alright, S/n. Look, I know what it’s like to be criticized. Not like you, of course. It must be even harder for you… Society is still so sexist. But you’re strong. You’ll get through this.”

He draped an arm over your shoulder.

“And since I was so nice, how about you buy me an ice cream?”

You laughed, finally feeling some of the pressure and anger fade away.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

( . . . )

Just minutes after you left, the same journalist who had humiliated you was now grinning at Charles—the one responsible for your crash and disqualification. The contrast was brutal.

“Charles, what a race! You mastered the corners brilliantly and proved once again why you’re one of the best on the grid. How does it feel to be such an inspiration to aspiring drivers?”

S/n watched the broadcast while picking up her ice cream. Max had been smiling at you, but as soon as he saw your expression, his own smile faded. Your muscles had already tensed in anger. The way Charles smiled and basked in the praise made your blood boil.

“Well, I think some drivers need to understand track limits better. But… it’s all part of the learning process, right?” Charles spoke modestly, but his tone carried clear provocation.

You felt your entire body tremble. How dare he act like a hero after what he had done?

Max, standing beside you, whispered:

“S/n, don’t do anything. This is exactly what he wants.”

He gripped your arm, worried about what you might do next, and pulled you away from the shop.

You took a deep breath, but every word from that reporter felt like a knife sinking deeper into your skin.

Minutes later, Charles approached you in the corridors, hands in his pockets, wearing a smug grin.

“Are you okay, princess? That was quite the accident… Shame you couldn’t keep the car under control.”

S/n clenched her jaw, fists tightening. Every fiber of her being screamed to punch him right there.

But she held her ground, her voice a cold, sharp blade.

“Careful, Charles. Because when I win, there won’t be any excuses left to save you.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving him speechless.

When you reached your motorhome, Adele was waiting for you, pacing back and forth.

“Hey, Adele! What happened—” Before you could finish speaking, she pulled out her phone and showed you a news article.

“S/n under suspicion: FIA investigates possible data manipulation in the rookie driver’s car.”

Your eyes scanned the words, your heart pounding. A lump formed in your throat. It was a lie. A dirty, planned lie…

You felt your fingers trembling.

Lando came up behind you and read the headline over your shoulder.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” Lando said, frowning. You jumped at his sudden presence and immediately turned to face him.

“They want me out of the game,” you murmured, pure anger in your voice.

You walked into the motorhome and threw yourself onto the couch, running a hand over your face, exhausted from all the accusations.

( . . . )

Two weeks had passed since your confrontation with Charles, and finally, it was another race weekend. You smiled as soon as you stepped into the paddock—nothing could shake you here.

Everything was perfect. You were in a great mood, and everything felt in perfect harmony.

As you made your way to your team’s garage, you suddenly felt someone grab your arm before you could step inside.

You stumbled, but someone caught you. Looking up, you saw Lando, his hand on his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

“Lando! What happened? Why did you drag me here?” you asked, laughing at his reaction.

The worried expression on his face made your heart skip a beat.

“S/n, did you check social media today?” Lando asked, and you shook your head.

“No, why?” You asked, looking at the phone in his hand.

Frowning, you grabbed the phone, your eyes darting over the bold headline on the sports website:

“SCANDAL IN FORMULA 1: S/N INVOLVED IN AFFAIR WITH COMMITTED TEAMMATE”

“Internal team sources reveal that rookie driver S/n isn’t just trying to make a name for herself on the track but also off of it. According to exclusive reports, S/n has allegedly been having an affair with her teammate while he was still in a relationship with his now ex-girlfriend, who is pregnant!

The secret relationship has supposedly caused numerous arguments within the team, with rumors that tensions in the garage became unbearable after a confrontation between the ex-girlfriend and S/n. Some team members, speaking anonymously, claim that the driver’s performance has been questioned because she has allegedly been receiving internal favors to keep her seat.

Moreover, speculation has arisen that her closeness with her teammate may be influencing certain strategic decisions in her favor, raising doubts about the legitimacy of her season results.

The FIA has yet to comment on the matter, but the negative backlash is growing on social media. Has S/n used Formula 1 not only to prove her skills but also to climb the ranks through scandal?”

“WHAT?!” you shouted, and Lando quickly covered your mouth.

You felt your blood boiling in your veins. Your heart was beating so fast it echoed in your ears. You reread every sentence, every disgusting lie, and the anger inside you grew into a suffocating knot in your throat.

“This is absurd,” your best friend said in a low but furious voice. You looked at him in desperation, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your body shaking with fear.

“What kind of sick joke is this, Lando?” You stared at the phone in your hand. “Who would have the audacity to make this up?! How the hell am I ‘influencing strategic decisions’ when they barely trust me to change my tires at the pit stop?” Your voice was low, but Lando looked at you worriedly, already knowing you well enough to see that you were on the verge of an outburst.

“Whoever did this wants to destroy you, no matter what. First, that ridiculous accusation about the car’s data, and now this?” Lando leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair.

“And the worst part is that people are going to believe it!” you said, deadly serious but clearly terrified.

“S/n, I know you want to explode right now, but we need to think about what to do. They want to destabilize you.” Lando spoke, and silence fell over the place. You weren’t just angry anymore—you were sad, upset. You wanted to cry.

You took a deep breath, but it felt like you couldn’t get enough air. Your eyes returned to the phone, where the article was already going viral. In the comments, a flood of toxic messages appeared:

“Knew she wasn’t actually talented.”

“Women in F1 always end up making headlines for the wrong reasons.”

“Of course, it had to be a woman. Getting ahead the easy way.”

“Shame on the sport. Who’s protecting her?”

That was the final straw for you.

Your chest ached. Not from weakness, but from a deep sadness that made your body tremble.

Lando noticed.

“This isn’t just about destabilizing me, Lando! This is a direct attack on my reputation! They’re basically saying I’m only here because I slept with someone?! This is disgusting!” Your voice cracked, and tears started streaming down your face. You had never broken down like this in front of anyone. Your legs gave out, and Lando noticed, rushing toward you and pulling you into a tight hug.

“You can’t let them win, S/n. You’re not alone, okay?” Lando murmured, running a hand through your hair.

“Why, Lando? Why do they hate me so much? I never did anything to these… assholes, I swear! I may be explosive, but what did I ever do to them?” you sobbed, your voice failing. Your best friend was always there for you, and you were grateful for that.

( . . . )

“What the hell is this!?” Max bursts out, furious, as he storms into the meeting room where you, the team leader, and the PR team are gathered.

You still felt the sadness burning inside you when the door swung open forcefully. Your teammate, Max, rushed in, his eyes blazing with indignation. Right behind him, Kelly, his girlfriend, clutched her phone tightly, as if ready to smash it.

“Oh, so you saw the ridiculous nonsense they’re spreading too? Welcome to hell.” You sigh, your tone calm. Everyone stares at you, surprised. They expected you to be angry—or worse.

Max ran a hand through his hair, visibly upset.

“I saw it, and it’s unbelievable! Who has the audacity to make up something like this? I’m still with Kelly, and now they’re trying to turn this into a scandal?” Max says, sitting down beside you. Kelly joins him, and despite her frustration, she offers you a reassuring smile.

“This is so ridiculous it’s actually offensive! As if I would end a relationship over a stupid rumor!” Kelly says, clearly frustrated with the situation. She looks at you, her expression softening when she sees the emptiness in your eyes. “I know you would never do something like this. Just because you’re a woman working in a male-dominated field doesn’t mean you have to sleep with someone to earn your place. Whoever wrote this deserves to be sued.”

An unexpected tightness grips your chest. After everything you had endured that day, hearing Kelly defend you instead of accusing you was a relief you didn’t even know you needed.

You offer a small, tired smile and meet her gaze.

“Thank you for believing in me,” you whisper, and she smiles back.

“The problem was never you, S/n. The problem is people who refuse to accept that a woman can be great at what she does without relying on anyone,” Bree, your PR assistant, speaks up, and you let out a deep sigh.

Max nods in agreement.

“Exactly. They want to destroy S/n’s reputation because they know they can’t beat her on the track,” Max finally says after a long silence. He takes a deep breath, grabs his phone, and starts typing. “I’m shutting this down right now.”

Within seconds, his Instagram post is already going viral:

@maxverstappen: “Just to be clear: the rumors about S/n and me having any kind of romantic involvement are completely false. Kelly and I are together and doing great, and this attack on S/n is just another disgusting attempt to discredit her. Enough with the fake news. Respect the sport.”

Kelly follows suit, posting a story:

@kellypiquet: “Let’s get one thing straight: S/n has NEVER disrespected me or Max in any way. This story is just another example of how women in sports are attacked for no reason. Grow up.”

( . . . )

After the fake news scandal, you expected Charles Leclerc to use it against you, but to your surprise, he remained silent. No provocative comments, no sly remarks in interviews. He just watched you from a distance, as if analyzing your every reaction.

Charles truly didn’t feel comfortable mocking this kind of situation—not after everything he had witnessed.

Then, the day after the media chaos, when you were alone in the garage reviewing race data, he appeared beside you, casually leaning against the table.

“So… what’s it like being the most dangerous woman in Formula 1?” Charles asked sarcastically, but without the malice he once had.

You narrowed your eyes, already expecting a jab. You were used to his teasing.

“Listen, Charles,” you said, stepping closer, “if you’re here to make jokes, you can turn around and leave. I’m not in the mood.”

Charles crossed his arms, but his gaze lacked the arrogance it usually carried.

“Relax, hothead. I’m not here to fight. I just… wanted to see how you were holding up,” Charles said, scratching the back of his head. You hesitated for a moment, confused.

Charles was asking how you were?

“As if you care,” you spat, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms.

Charles shrugged.

“I’m not going to lie—I enjoy messing with you. But I know what it’s like to have the world call you a fraud.”

Your eyes widened, surprised by his admission.

“You? The media’s golden boy? Ferrari’s prodigy?” you mocked, and he rolled his eyes.

“The media chooses who to attack. Today, it’s you. Tomorrow, it could be anyone,” Charles said before walking away.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel immediate hatred for Leclerc.

( . . . )

After the false news spread, the journalists still hadn’t let go of S/n. Now, more than ever, she was the main target. During a team event, a persistent reporter started pressing her with loaded questions.

“S/n, do you think your involvement with Max could affect your career in the long run?”

The reporter’s words instantly irritated you.

“I’ve already said there was no involvement. That’s a lie.” You responded confidently, keeping your anger in check.

But he just smirked, still trying to provoke you.

“But rumors always have some truth to them, don’t they? Maybe it’s just a matter of admitting it…”

Before you could snap, Charles appeared by your side, resting a casual yet protective hand on your shoulder. You glanced at his hand, then at him, then back at his hand. You raised an eyebrow, confused.

“Interesting… you ask very specific questions for someone who has no proof of anything.” Charles stared directly at the reporter. The journalist hesitated, and Charles continued. “Formula 1 is a competitive sport, but it seems like you’d rather turn it into a cheap reality show.”

You were surprised. It was the first time Charles had publicly defended you or had any interaction beyond provoking you.

When the journalist finally gave up and walked away, you turned to him, suspicious.

“Okay… what was that?” You asked slowly, still looking at his hand on your shoulder. Charles pulled it away, made a face, and wiped it on his clothes.

He shrugged.

“You already have enough problems. You don’t need an idiot like that making it worse.”

You stared at him, trying to figure him out.

“You hate me. Why are you helping me?”

Charles held your gaze a second longer than necessary before smirking.

“Who said I hate you?” He said and then walked away, leaving you more confused than ever.

( . . . )

After Charles’ unexpected defense, the dynamic between the two of you became dangerous territory. You started noticing how often he was around—sometimes teasing, sometimes protective, but always testing your limits.

Then, during another press conference, Charles defended you again. Lando and Max exchanged glances before looking at you, waiting for your reaction. You stared, mouth slightly open, completely lost. You turned to Lando and murmured:

“What was that?”

Lando just shrugged, looking even more confused than you.

That really sent some intrusive thoughts your way.

At the paddock gym? He was there, running on the treadmill next to you.

In team briefings? He made a point to sit close and throw in snide remarks.

At sponsor events? He joked about how you had to smile for journalists who clearly hated you.

And the worst part? He never crossed a certain line.

One night, after a mandatory team dinner, you were walking back to the hotel when you heard footsteps behind you. You turned abruptly—there he was, hands in his pockets, walking casually as if it was nothing.

“Are you following me now?” You rolled your eyes.

Charles gave you a slow smirk, completely unfazed by the accusation.

“Relax, hothead. I’m not that obsessed with you. We’re just heading to the same place.”

He said it so casually, making sure to emphasize the nickname he had given you, something he always did when you were alone.

You crossed your arms, suspicious.

“Right. And you just happen to always be where I am lately? And what’s with that nickname?”

Your arguments didn’t bother him one bit—unlike you, who desperately wanted answers.

He shrugged.

“Coincidence. Or maybe I just like seeing you get worked up.” He clicked his tongue. “And the nickname? It’s just a fact. You’re really stressed all the time, S/n.”

You narrowed your eyes. You wanted to hate him completely, but something about his calm, teasing demeanor made your blood boil in a different way.

And the nickname? He wasn’t wrong.

So you turned on your heel, walking briskly toward your room.

You didn’t want to think about him. You didn’t want to be around him.

That was it.

Avoid him. You told yourself.

[bithcisweartogod]

it’s not that cheng xiaoshi doesn’t trust lu guang. he does, probably more than anyone. him and qiao ling are the closest people he has. hell, he willingly trusts lu guang with his life on a daily, blindly allowing the guy to lead him in every dive, never once doubting that with lu guang in charge everything will be fine. 

yet sometimes he can’t help but wish he would tell him more. not that cheng xiaoshi feels like he’s hiding something. he just wants to know more about lu guang. cheng xiaoshi himself has never been a particularly secretive person. he likes to share bits and pieces of himself with others, but only those that hover on the surface, not allowing too deep of a look into his mind. sure, he also doesn’t tell people everything. why would he? but lu guang barely shares anything at all.

those little crumbles of him that cheng xiaoshi managed to gather over the years either came as a result of pure observation or accidents. sometimes, if cheng xiaoshi asked, lu guang would tell him about the books he reads, or show him movies he likes, share songs he listens to. but that’s about it. cheng xiaoshi’s grateful for what he can get, but is it so wrong to want to know more about your partner? 

and yeah, maybe lu guang’s lack of desire to share stuff about himself comes from the fact that cheng xiaoshi can and will tease him about it but come on. that’s what friends are for! something, he has to share something! like, childhood memories, for instance. it doesn’t even have to be something deep or anything, cheng xiaoshi doesn’t expect lu guang to get into the heavy stuff like he’s in a therapy session. something light and funny though, maybe a little silly, that should be fine, right? everyone has these kind of stories! yet whenever cheng xiaoshi and qiao ling dive into this topic lu guang just observes them quietly, all small smiles and stifled laughter. 

qiao ling brought an old photo album one day. she found it during a major cleaning up session at her parents’ house. despite being her family’s photo album, it had lots of pictures of cheng xiaoshi, so she knew she had to bring it to the photo studio.

and there they were, the three of them seated on the sofa, looking through the photos. the pictures were really wholesome. little qiao ling holding little cheng xiaoshi’s hand at an amusement park, both of them smiling widely. she cooed at the image, and then, in the same sweet voice as before, she said: “remember how you threw up after that one ride that we told you not to take?”, leaving cheng xiaoshi frozen and lu guang laughing up his sleeve.

so that’s how it went. whenever cheng xiaoshi appeared in a photo qiao ling would add some details about its backstory, making embarrassing ones even more so. like, here’s a picture of cheng xiaoshi with mustache drawn on his face in black marker. he’s showing off, posing like a character from a movie.

“a few seconds after that he showed us the marker he draw those with and mom told him it’s permanent” qiao ling deadpans.

“and i took it very well” boasts cheng xiaoshi, crossing his arms over his chest.

“you cried like a baby” 

“did not” 

“i think you did”, intervenes lu guang, who had already turned the page, discovering a follow-up photo, that, although smudgy, showed a wailing cheng xiaoshi. so no, he did not, in fact, take it well. cheng xiaoshi’s ears turned red.

“you took a picture? i was standing there crying and you just took a picture?” he exclaims.

“sorry, sorry” says qiao ling, laughing. “it was too funny”.

cheng xiaoshi, of course, saw that as a challenge. he flipped through the pages of the photo album and then stopped, smiling in that manner of his that meant he’s up to no good. 

“look who we have here” he said melodically.

qiao ling scoffed. 

“it can’t be that bad, let me see— oh god”.

the picture showed little qiao ling, up close, definitely an attempt of hers to take a selfie on her parents’ camera. but the angle wasn’t the worst part. the makeup. what was going on. bright splotches of blue eyeshadow covered her eyes, her eyebrows looked like she got inspired by cheng xiaoshi’s mustache and drew them with a sharpie, her lips were over-lined with pink lipstick, and, as a cherry on top, glitter. it was everywhere. but little qiao ling seemed proud of herself, while the current one looked like she was holding back tears. she’ll definitely ask who and why decided that it would be a good idea to put this picture in the album when she comes home. 

meanwhile,��cheng xiaoshi was laughing uncontrollably, less from looking at the photo and more from seeing qiao ling’s reaction. lu guang was covering his mouth, trying to hide a smile. 

“don’t worry, qiao ling-jie, your skills definitely improved” he tried to placate her. 

“i sure hope they did!” screamed distressed qiao ling, looking as flabbergasted as she was before.

she turned the page to try and change the subject. suddenly, a blurred something caught cheng xiaoshi’s attention. 

“what’s that?” he asked, pointing at the photo. 

and now it was qiao ling’s turn to laugh. 

“idiot, that’s your butt!” 

cheng xiaoshi looked at her, bewildered, then back at the photo and then the recognition finally sank in. 

“what the hell is it doing in your family’s photo album?” he tried to snatch the album away but qiao ling grabbed it first, quickly passing it to lu guang. with the way his palm covered his mouth it was hard to tell whether he’s laughing or genuinely concerned. 

“why— who even decided to develop it?” cheng xiaoshi looked over lu guang’s shoulder, not trying to hide the photo anymore now that he’s already seen it. instead, he buried his face into the fabric of lu guang’s shirt, mortified. 

“actually, you did” answers qiao ling, smiling from ear to ear. 

“what?!” 

“yeah! you were the one who brought it to us! you thought that the scar you got was super cool, so you decided to take a picture of it, and then asked aunt shao to develop it. and she did”. 

memories were coming back to cheng xiaoshi, the way his mom laughed and immediately agreed to his request. she sure had an interesting sense of humor. he looked at the photo again, more intently this time. 

“but you gotta admit…it does look cool. like a lightning…”

“wanna put it in a frame?” lu guang suggested, earning a loud snicker from qiao ling and a death glare from cheng xiaoshi.

they bickered over the photos, competing in who can make the other more embarrassed, but despite all the noise they made over this album, it felt good to revisit those memories. to look back on their past and laugh. to share it with lu guang. 

later that day, when cheng xiaoshi and lu guang were already in their beds, slowly dozing off, cheng xiaoshi decided to ask something. 

“lu guang? you asleep?” 

after a short period of time a muffled answer comes out 

“no”

a beat. cheng xiaoshi hesitates. 

“it’s just…you never showed us any pictures from when you were a kid. or any pictures of your parents” or any pictures at all. for some reason he felt unsure. like he’s stepping into a territory not yet open for him. “i wouldn’t be too surprised to find out you were born an adult” a quiet laugh. an attempt to lighten up the atmosphere. 

“i can just see you saying ‘thank you for carrying me all those nine months, mother’ and bowing to the doctors” he blabbers, trying to continue the joke, which earns a low stifled laugh from lu guang. 

“you’re ridiculous” he says, and cheng xiaoshi can hear him smiling. warmth spreads in his chest. after remaining silent for some time, lu guang speaks again.

“it’s nothing special, really. my parents just never liked to take photos. i don’t have anything to show, that’s it” 

it made cheng xiaoshi sad, the fact that he’d never get to see lu guang little. was his hair always white? was his attitude always so quiet and stoic? did he ever do any of the embarrassing things he and qiao ling were up to when they were kids? 

“you’re disappointed?” lu guang asks suddenly. damn, he’s uncannily good at reading his mind.

“don’t be silly” comes out cheng xiaoshi’s immediate response. then, turning to the side, he ads, “i have you here now. that’s all that matters”.

and that’s true. whatever past lu guang had, whatever things he’s purposefully hiding away from him…he’s here, with cheng xiaoshi. and, as lu guang himself said, he’s not going anywhere.

next day qiao ling comes into the photo studio again. in her hands there’s…a book? she places it on the counter, smiling happily. a book turns out to be a photo album. a brand new one, all pages empty, waiting to be filled. 

“it just hit me suddenly, after i left yesterday. it’s so stupid. we don’t have a photo album of our own! at the photo studio! absurd”.

and just like that, they started piling up a history of their own, capturing time in the pages of the album. a picture of lu guang on the sofa, fallen asleep in the middle of reading a book. sunlight dances on his skin. he scrunches his nose in his sleep. a picture of qiao ling pulling cheng xiaoshi into a hug. he tries to look annoyed but his smile betrays him. cheng xiaoshi with a braid. it looks a little messed up since his hair’s not long enough, but pretty nonetheless. lu guang patting a stray cat near the photo studio. qiao ling and xu shanshan hitting cheng xiaoshi with pillows. qiao ling smiling brightly as cheng xiaoshi scrubs the floor behind her. he lost a bet and was supposed to clean up for a month. lu guang eventually agreed to help him (he always does) and ended up taking the majority of cheng xiaoshi’s cleaning duties upon himself. lu guang with a pissed off expression, huge coffee spot on his shirt. he accidentally spilled it and cheng xiaoshi had to capture the moment as evidence that lu guang does in fact fuck up sometimes. lu guang smiling. lu guang posing with an awkward peace sign. lots of lu guang, actually. because cheng xiaoshi, unlike lu guang’s parents, likes taking photos. especially photos of lu guang. 

it’s not that cheng xiaoshi doesn’t trust lu guang. he does, probably more than anyone. so he knows that lu guang would tell him more when he’s ready. there’s no rush. he likes it even more like that - getting to know him, gradually, bit by bit. 

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

okay you said you like angst so a ominis x mc x sebastian where she ends up breaking down because to pick one would be to hurt the other and neither deserves that. they both have been through so much

An Impossible Choice | Sebastian x Reader x Ominis

UGH okay this was TOUGH, so many directions I could have taken this, but I think it turned out good (and angsty ahah) enjoy!!

Words: ~2,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Hurt/No Comfort

You never expected to find yourself here—trapped between two people who mean the world to you, each step forward feeling like a betrayal of the other. But lately, that’s all your friendship with Sebastian and Ominis has felt like: a careful balancing act, an impossible equation with no solution.

The three of you have been inseparable since fifth year, bound by shared secrets, whispered laughter in candlelit corridors, and the safety of knowing that, no matter what, you’d always have each other. But something changed. And you don’t know when, or how, or why, only that the weight of it presses down on you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It’s in the way Sebastian’s gaze lingers too long when you speak, as if memorizing the shape of your lips. It’s in the way Ominis’s voice softens when he says your name, something reverent and unspoken curling around the syllables. It’s in the sharpness of Sebastian’s posture whenever Ominis leans too close, the flicker of something dangerous in his brown eyes. And it’s in the way Ominis stiffens when Sebastian’s hand brushes yours, his grip tightening on his wand like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

Neither of them has said anything outright, but they don’t have to. You feel it in every stolen glance, every tense silence. And the worst part is, you love them both.

Not in the way a friend loves, but in the way that keeps you up at night, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the knowledge that no matter what you do, someone is going to get hurt.

So you try to ignore it.

You pretend that everything is fine, that nothing has changed, even as the moments between you grow heavier, thick with things unsaid. But ignoring it doesn’t stop the way your stomach knots whenever Sebastian throws an arm around your shoulders, his touch possessive in a way that makes your skin burn. It doesn’t stop the way your breath catches when Ominis murmurs your name, tilting his head toward you as if you’re the only thing in the world worth listening to. It doesn’t stop the guilt that coils inside you like a living thing, twisting and writhing every time you laugh too easily with one of them while the other watches in silence.

You tell yourself it will pass—that they’ll move on, that you’ll somehow find your way back to the friendship you once had. But deep down, you know better.

Because you can feel it. The tension, the inevitable breaking point, pressing against your ribs like a warning as you sit between them, a book open on your lap. You haven’t turned a page in ages—not with the way Sebastian and Ominis keep shifting, the air between them drawn tight as a bowstring, poised to snap.

They’ve been like this all night. Every glance between them is sharp-edged, every word that passes their lips too carefully measured. It’s not a fight. Not yet. But it’s something close, something simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the wrong word, the wrong move, to send it all spilling over.

You pretend not to notice. You keep your eyes on the book, fingers gripping the pages a little too tightly. If you acknowledge it, if you so much as breathe wrong, everything will collapse.

Then Sebastian shifts beside you, leaning in, his arm brushing yours as he points at a passage in the book.

“You’ve been staring at the same page for minutes,” he murmurs, voice low, amused. “Need me to read it for you?”

You barely have time to react before Ominis snaps.

“Do you ever give her any space?”

The words lash through the air, cold and cutting. Sebastian stills, his expression darkening as he turns to face Ominis.

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Ominis lets out a humorless laugh, standing to his full height. “Is you, Sebastian. You can’t go five bloody minutes without draping yourself over her like she belongs to you.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenches. “And you can’t go two bloody minutes without acting like you know what’s best for her.”

Ominis scoffs. “Someone has to.”

It’s spiraling too fast. You sit up straighter, reaching out. “Can we not—”

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy hovering, you’d realize she doesn’t need you to control everything she does,” Sebastian bites out, ignoring you entirely.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Ominis sneers as he gets to his feet. “Coming from you. The man who never knows when to stop.”

Sebastian’s hands curl into fists. “You want to say that again?”

“I’d love to.” Ominis tilts his head, voice sharp as glass. “You’ve always been selfish, Sebastian. Always taking, never thinking. And now you can’t stand the idea that you might not be the only one she cares about.”

Sebastian rises, and for a moment, you think he might actually swing at Ominis. You shove yourself up between them, pressing a hand to each of their chests.

“Enough,” you say, breathless, desperate. “Both of you. Just—stop.”

But neither of them are looking at you. They’re locked onto each other, eyes burning with something raw, something ugly, something that has been coming for a long time, creeping in at the edges of their friendship, poisoning it from the inside out.

And you? You’re the catalyst. The excuse they need to finally let it all unravel.

The thought makes you sick.

“You really think you’re the better man, Ominis? That you’re any less selfish?” Sebastian laughs. “At least I don’t hide behind self-righteous bullshit and pretend I don’t want her.”

Ominis' expression flickers—just for a second—but the crack is there, sharp as a splinter. His lips part, then press into a thin line as if he’s forcing something down, something dangerous. When he speaks, his voice is quieter now, but no less venomous.

“And yet, you act as though she’s already yours.” His head tilts, eerily precise. “Like you have some unspoken claim on her.”

Sebastian’s laughter is sharp, humorless. “Oh, I’m sorry—am I supposed to sit back and watch while you play the noble, brooding protector? While you pretend you aren’t thinking the same damn things I am?” He steps closer, pressing up against your hand. “At least I’m honest about it.”

“This isn’t a competition,” you snap, your voice cutting through the rising tension. “I’m not—”

But Ominis speaks over you, his voice razor-sharp. “Honest?” He laughs, a brittle, scathing sound. “You think she doesn’t see through you, Sebastian? That she doesn’t know how you manipulate everyone around you when you don’t get your way?”

Sebastian’s eyes darken. “And what about you? Hm? You stand there, acting like you have some moral high ground, pretending you’re her protector, her friend—but you’re nothing more than a coward. At least I have the nerve to fight for what I want.”

Ominis’ lips curl, but there’s something restrained in his stance, something barely held back. His next words come slow, deliberate. “No, Sebastian. You don’t fight for what you want. You take. You push. And you never think about the consequences.”

Sebastian scoffs, stepping even closer, his breath warm against your skin as he looms just inches from Ominis now. “You’re so full of shit.”

Ominis doesn’t flinch, but you feel it—the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his throat bobs, the sharp intake of breath like he’s fighting to hold something down.

“Tell me,” Ominis says suddenly, turning toward you. His voice isn’t cruel, but it’s raw, pained. “Are you just going to stand there and

let him decide everything for you? Let him pull you into whatever game he’s playing?” His head tilts, the weight of his words pressing into you, sharp and insistent. “Or do you have something to say?”

Sebastian’s hand twitches at his side. “Don’t put this on her.”

“I’m not putting anything on her,” Ominis counters, voice low, controlled—but there’s something beneath it, something breaking. “I’m giving her the chance to speak for herself. Which is more than you’ve ever done.”

The air is thick with tension, suffocating. Your heart pounds against your ribs, loud enough that you swear they must hear it, too. Your mouth feels dry, your fingers curled into fists at your sides as their gazes burn into you from both angles.

And the truth is—you don’t know what to say.

Because every word you could give them feels like a betrayal to one of them. Every choice, every step, every breath feels like tipping the scales in a way you can’t undo.

Sebastian’s eyes are locked onto yours now, something desperate, something pleading flickering behind the frustration in his gaze. “Just tell him,” he murmurs, voice softer now, edged with something dangerously close to vulnerability. “Tell him that you—”

“Don’t,” Ominis interrupts, and his expression is unreadable, his hands trembling just slightly at his sides. “Don’t try to put words in her mouth.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of both of them, the history, the heartbreak that you haven’t even let yourself acknowledge until now. This is it. The moment where everything shatters.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

It’s barely a sound, but it’s enough.

Sebastian’s face falls, just slightly, just enough for you to see the hurt flash through his features before he masks it behind a clenched jaw. Ominis exhales sharply, sounding almost relieved, before he schools his expression into something carefully composed. His shoulders loosen, and there’s the briefest flicker of something in his posture—hope, maybe, or something close to it.

Before you can speak, Sebastian brushes past you, his hand shooting out to grip the front of Ominis’s shirt.

“Don’t look so fucking smug,” Sebastian snaps, his voice low and dangerous. “She hasn’t said anything yet.”

Ominis doesn’t flinch. He stands his ground, lips pressed together in a thin, unreadable line. His hands remain at his sides, but you see the faintest tremor in his fingers. His voice, however, is steady when he replies.

“Does it scare you, Sebastian?” he murmurs, his head tilting just slightly. “The idea that, maybe, for once, you’re not the only one who matters?”

Sebastian’s grip tightens on Ominis’s shirt, and for a moment, neither of them moves. The air is taut, stretched thin like a wire about to snap. Ominis is taller, his presence sharp and imposing, but Sebastian is the one with strength on his side, his stance coiled tight like a drawn bowstring.

“Say that again,” Sebastian growls, his voice dropping even lower, roughened by barely restrained fury.

Ominis doesn’t hesitate. “You heard me.”

And then, to your horror, Ominis reaches for Sebastian’s shirt in return. His fingers, slender but firm, curl into the fabric, mirroring the grip Sebastian has on him. It’s not quite a shove, but the tension between them spikes, raw and volatile. Your breath catches, panic clawing at your chest.

“Ominis,” you breathe, stepping forward, but neither of them acknowledges you.

Sebastian’s fingers flex against Ominis’s collar, his jaw locked tight. “You think this is about me?” he spits. “You think I don’t care what she wants?”

“Do you?” Ominis presses. His grip tightens. “Because all I’ve ever seen you do is pull and pull and pull until she’s too caught up in your orbit to break free.”

Sebastian’s whole body goes rigid, like Ominis just landed a direct hit where it hurts most. You see it in his expression—that flicker of something deep and wounded before it twists into anger.

“She’s not yours to defend, Ominis,” Sebastian bites out, voice shaking with barely contained frustration. “And she’s sure as hell not yours to decide for.”

“And yet, here you are,” Ominis returns, unyielding. “Acting like the only person who gets to have a say is you.”

The muscles in Sebastian’s arms flex, his fingers trembling against the fabric of Ominis’s shirt, as though he’s on the verge of pushing, of shoving, of—

“Stop it!”

Your voice cuts through the space between them, raw and desperate.

They freeze.

The silence that follows is deafening.

You take a step back, breath shuddering, hands curling into fists at your sides. You feel the heat rising up your throat, the sharp sting of frustration prickling behind your eyes.

"You—" Your voice shakes with something raw, something close to fury. "Do either of you even hear yourselves right now?"

Sebastian's gaze snaps to you, still burning with frustration, but something else flickers beneath it—something hesitant.

Ominis’s lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something, but he doesn't.

"You’re both acting like children," you spit, your voice rising. "Like this is some petty fight over who gets the last fucking piece of cake instead of a real, human person standing right in front of you!"

Sebastian tenses. "That’s not—"

"Don’t," you snap, cutting him off, chest heaving. "Don’t you dare try telling me this isn’t exactly what it looks like. Like I haven’t just stood here and listened to you two rip each other apart over me."

You shake your head, anger curling hot in your chest, almost unbearable. "Neither of you are fucking listening. Neither of you are stopping for one second to actually ask me what I want. You’re both just deciding, making assumptions, thinking you know what’s best, thinking you have any right to—"

Your voice catches, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

"Did it ever occur to you—either of you—that if you wanted to know how I felt, you could have just asked?! And if you had, then you'd know—" You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking your head. "You'd know I can't choose!"

The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel the weight of them settle into the space between you. You don't even know if you mean won’t or can’t. You just know it’s the truth, and you want them to hear it, to feel it, to finally understand the weight they’ve been forcing you to carry.

Sebastian’s mouth opens, but you cut him off before he can even start.

"Because if you had asked," Your voice wavers, and you hate it, hate the way your throat tightens, the way tears burn at the edges of your vision. "You’d know that every time I’m with one of you, I feel like I’m hurting the other. That my heart is breaking constantly because I see it, I see the way it destroys you both. And I don’t know how to fix it."

Your breath is unsteady, fists clenching at your sides. "You think this is easy for me? That I like feeling like I’m being torn in two? Like no matter what I do, I’m going to end up hurting someone I love?"

You shake your head, feeling heat creep up your neck, anger and grief colliding in a whirlwind you can’t stop. "I am so tired. Tired of feeling guilty just for existing in the space between you. Tired of knowing that no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough for either of you because you both want me to be something I can’t be!"

The silence is suffocating, but you don’t stop.

"You think he pulls me into his orbit?" you snap at Ominis, eyes blazing. "Then what the hell do you think you do? You sit there, self-righteous and brooding, waiting for me to prove something to you, like I have to earn your permission to exist between the two of you!"

Ominis swallows hard, and for finally, his composure cracks.

"And you," you turn on Sebastian, breathing hard. "You think he’s the only one who makes decisions for me? You do it all the time. You assume what I want, what I need, what I’m thinking, and you don’t even ask before making a choice for me!"

Sebastian’s expression shatters, his hands flexing like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t dare.

You take a step back, throat thick with everything you’ve held inside for too long. "You both act like you know what’s best for me. But you never once stopped to listen—to really listen—to me."

The words hang heavy between you, and in their silence, you finally hear it. The sound of your own breaking heart.

You exhale shakily, swallowing hard before whispering, "I love you both."

Sebastian lets out a quiet, almost pained breath. Ominis turns his face slightly away, as if the words physically struck him.

"And I hate it," you continue, voice barely above a whisper. "I hate that it’s not enough. That no matter how much I love you both, it's destined to end like this. With fighting. With pain. With one of you walking away while the other pretends they’ve won something."

A pause. A silence so thick it almost drowns you.

And then you take another step back.

"I can’t do this anymore."

Sebastian inhales sharply. Ominis’s hands twitch.

You shake your head one last time, voice hoarse, empty. "If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t put me in this position at all."

With that, you turn and walk away.

[lila-went-missing]

Hiii, saw you wanted some requests for Sevika and I've had this idea bubbling up for a while. Imagine Vika with a reader that's normally experienced, yk has fucked one or two people before and it's not a sex god, and they're growing insecure about sevika never starting intimacy even after months of dating, so they think it's because they're not as good as the girl's she's been with before. Idk just thought that'd be good

I'm kind of obsessed with this, ngl. This isn't the first smut that I've written but it is the first smut that I've posted on here so feedback is always appreciated. Y'all will never guess... it's not proofread. Again. Enjoy my lovelies! X

Warnings: Smut (obviously), mild angst but nothing too horrible, mentions of body image issues but readers body type isn't specified or described.

Fem reader, of course, with female genitalia.

At first, you didn't think anything of it. She probably just wanted to take things slow with you. You weren't as experienced as her so she probably wanted to take her time.

That made sense for a while.

But now, after eight months together, you haven't had sex once. More importantly, she hasn't initiated it.

Realistically, you know that it's fine. There's plenty of reasons as to why nothing has happened so far. But that voice in the back of your head is doing a fantastic job of convincing you otherwise.

Sevika was kind of a sex symbol before you two got together.

She'd been with countless women, she was a regular at Babbettes. Her name was uttered on the streets like a sacred prayer.

You, on the other hand, have only been with two people: your ex, and a drunken one night stand that was less than satisfactory. So you did have sexual experience, but not nearly as much as her.

Honestly, it's starting to worry you.

Did she not like you? Was she not physically attracted to you? Was there something wrong with your body? Were you not showing enough skin?

Thoughts plagued your mind night and day. You were stuck in constant turmoil. It was impossible to stop your own brain once it got going.

It was taking everything in you to focus on the stove and not burn dinner.

You flinch at the sound of the door closing. Heavy footsteps sound through the house, approaching the kitchen.

Sevikas thick arms wrap around your midsection, her face making home in the side of your neck. For a long time, she doesn't say anything. The only sounds come from the meat sizzling in your pan. Moments like this make it easier to not think about the painful lack of aw sex life between you two.

Her lips purse, pressing small kisses against your skin. She hums against your neck.

"What are you cooking doll?" Her voice is muffled against your flesh but you understand her all the same.

"Spaghetti." You feel her smile.

"My favorite.." She mumbles. You hum a small "Mhm" before focusing back on the seasoned beef and water you're waiting for to boil. Her arms tighten ever so slightly, one hand slipping under your shirt. Her thumb caresses your bare skin.

It should be sweet but it really just drives the nail into the coffin for you.

Your voice comes out before you can stop it.

"Why won't you have sex with me?" You regret it the moment it leaves your mouth.

"I- woah, what? Doll what do you mean?" She honestly sounds baffled.

"Forget I said anything, please. It doesn't matter."

Her hands gently grab your shoulders, turning you around.

"No way. What are you talking about?"

You shake your head. "It's stupid.."

"It's not stupid if it's bothering you." She reassures you.

"It's just, we've been together for eight months, and we practically live together. But we haven't done anything. I know you don't have an issue having sex because half the undercity talks about how good you are and I just don't understand. Is there something wrong with me? Am I not appealing to yo-" Your rant is cut off by her lips. Her hands are holding you like glass, one on your cheek, one curled around your hip.

"There is nothing wrong with you." Her voice comes out as a soft whisper. "I'm sorry I made you feel like there was. I just knew that you don't have as much experience as I do. I didn't want you to feel rushed, or forced."

"Rushed? No, you could never.. I thought you just didn't want me that way." She immediately shakes her head. She kisses you again, more urgently this time.

Her hands grab anywhere they can, pulling you in. They're on your hips, waist, groping your ass.

"I do want you." Then they're picking you up and lifting you on the counter. "Let me show you how much I want you?" All you can do is nod as her lips trail down your neck. Her touch dances over your body, removing your top.

Her mouth follows soon after, sucking dark bruises into the skin on your neck and chest. She takes a nipple in her mouth and swirls her tongue around it. A low whimper leaves your mouth at the new, but not unpleasant, sensation.

Her right hand copies her tongue's motions on the other, pinching and pulling. Your body trembles against the counter with need.

She moves away from your breasts, kissing and licking down your stomach to your navel. Her hands unbutton your pants. She looks up at you as she lowers herself to her knees, silently asking for permission. You nod your head. You don't trust your voice. Your pants are off in seconds and thrown somewhere in the kitchen that you'll worry about later.

Her hand splays across your stomach and gently pushes you to lay against the tile. It's cold against your bare and burning skin, your back arching off of it but she keeps your hips pinned down.

You gasp as her teeth nip at the skin of your thigh. A breathy laugh leaves her.

"Shut up.." You mutter.

"Didn't say anything."

Your eyes roll in fake annoyance but you don't get the chance to reply as the cold air hits your bare cunt. Her thumbs pull your lips apart, admiring the sight before her.

"Fuck doll, you're so wet. All of this for me?" Her voice is husky between your legs and it stirs something delicious in your belly.

"Yes, all for you Sev.." She chuckles. Her teeth take the hem of your panties and drag them down your legs. She kisses your hips and navel, sucking hickies and marking you as hers.

"Please, Vika. Need you.." You whine. You can't bring yourself to care about how desperate you sound. You're sure that you look even more so from her position.

It seems, though, that your prayers have been answered because as soon as the words leave your mouth hers is back on you. This time it's between your legs.

She licks a long stripe up your pussy before stopping to suck your clit into her mouth. A loud moan reverberates from your chest as you lean your head back into the counter. Her tongue kitten licks at the bud before suckling on it like shes trying to nurse herself.

You've had people eat you out before but never this well. You don't think it could get better than this.

She moves down, opting to fuck you with her tongue instead. You definitely understand the appeal now. You've given yourself plenty of orgasms but this is the fastest one has risen before.

She feels it in the way you clench around her tongue and moves back to your clit. Her fingers fill up the now empty space, fucking into you in a gently but rough way only she could manage.

She's eating you like a woman starved and with the lack of sex the two of you have had she may as well be. If you didn't know better you might think this is her last meal.

Gasps and whimpers leave your mouth in a desperate way you can't stop.

"Fuck Sev.. ngh~ m'gonna cum, please.."

She smirks against you once more, speeding up her ministrations.

"Come on my tongue baby, make a mess on me." Her voice is muffled against you cunt, vibrations travel through your clit with her words.

You last maybe thirty seconds longer, hand tangled in her hair, before releasing over her tongue.

She laps you up, milking you for all that you're worth. She's never tasted anything more delicious. Her mouth doesn't let up until your whimpering from the overstimulation and pushing her head away.

She looks you in the eye as she sucks her fingers clean before kissing back up your body. Her lips lock onto yours and you can still taste yourself on her tongue. It makes your head spin in a way you've never felt before.

When you come back to earth, her hand is running through your hair.

"I'm sorry I made you believe that I didn't want to do that." She mumbles. "But now I may need it to be a daily thing." You giggle at her words.

"It's okay. I wouldn't mind honestly." She helps you sit up, a large hand cupping your cheek. "You didn't get to cum.." You whisper as you lean in closer.

"Don't worry about me, I'll get my fill later." The look on her face tells you that this isn't over. "I'm going to change out of these clothes. You just worry about dinner okay?" She slips your panties back on along with your shirt.

You nod, sliding off the counter. You wince at the mess you made but she's already wiping it up. Her lips meet your temple as she mutters a low, "I love you."

"I love you more." She shakes her head, chuckling before walking back to her room. You feel much better now, and you really can't wait for what she meant by "later".

[maybankxw]

LIVING ROOM

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings: mature content ahead! [ unprotected sex; public sex; alcohol] minors dni!!!

summary: basically having sex at a party

word count: 2k

a/n: oh its been forever since I wrote my previous work, but wow I've missed it a lot and all of you guys! I hope you enjoy reading this x

links: masterlist / taglist / ask box

any feedback would be appreciated!

“Living room.” I stared at the message that popped up on a screen, someone’s arm nudged mine and I immediately locked the phone so nobody else could see the sender’s name.

“Are you coming for a swim?” Sarah yelled through the sound of music blasting out of the speakers, “Everyone’s gathering outside,” her finger crooked pointing at the door, “I haven’t seen JJ though,” she finished the remains of her drink, throwing her crumpled plastic cup into a pile of trash on the table.

“I haven’t seen him either,” I yelled back, leaning close to her to hold her by the shoulder, “I’ll join y’all later, okay?” 

“Sure thing,” a sly smile curled on her lips, “Oh and if you see JJ by any chance, tell him we’re out, will you?” “Course.” “See you then!” she waved her hand up in the air heading towards the exit and I let out a deep breath I didn’t know I’ve been holding. My head was dizzy from the alcohol and the stuffy air in the house. I spun around, checking my surroundings just to see most of people going outside and the ones who weren’t, well, were too drunk to get up. 

I made my way to the living room, anticipation searing through me, nervousness coiling in my body, despite the whiskey in my system I couldn’t shake it off. It was dark, the skies outside turned navy blue, a few lanterns casted a dim glow over the walls and there he was –– JJ Maybank sprawled across the sofa, watching my every step. He never failed to make my breaths hutch and my heart pound faster, drunk or no, he had an effect on me.

“You’re here.”

His gravelly voice made me swallow thickly and clutch my phone tighter. I took deliberate steps in his direction, “Sarah was looking for you.”

Grey t-shirt with a little logo on his left was tight around his body covered with a checkered shirt draped over his shoulders, a pair of jeans that fitted perfectly and the usual boots. He let out a chuckle, dropping his head, his hair messily hanging low, shading his face, a can of beer rested in his hands, it must have been his tens or even eleventh, “Is this why you’re here?”

“No.” He moved closer to the edge, parting his knees, stretching his arm, inviting me closer. His fingers gently wrapped around my wrist, lustful blue eyes stared into mine, beckoning me.

The metal can went to rest on the floor beside the sofa and his hands went busy with me, huge palms gripped my waist as he pulled me closer, his head bent up to look at my face, chin grazing my stomach, “Maybe we should stop hiding?” his voice was a low murmur as his fingers skimmed my sides, my hips, fiddling with the hem of my dress. Then abruptly he pulled it up to my chest, “I can’t keep pretending anymore.” Soft lips pressed my stomach lightly and my knees buckled at the sensation of his skin on mine. His impatience was showing, his hands captured my ass and he pushed me further into him, leaving wet kisses all over my skin. I grasped his hair, tugging and pulling at the pleasure he caused me, making even a bigger mess on and in his head, biting my lips to prevent from making any noise, couldn’t give it up to him yet.

He squeezed my ass tighter, completely burying his face into my stomach, nuzzling it with his nose, his hot breaths burning my skin, making my stomach tug with new force.

Suddenly, I sensed his vulnerability, which boosted my confidence and as adrenaline kicked in, I straddled his hips, making his back meet the backrest of the sofa we were seated on.

His ocean blue eyes carefully traced every inch of my face, trying to read my emotion, we were in the dark, but still could see each other just fine. My cheeks were flushed, palms clammy, lips parted as I tried to get my breathing back to normal, but it wouldn’t calm down.

“So what do you say?” he put a strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb running over my cheek, “I want to touch you like this in public too.”

“We’re drunk,” a lazy smile stretched on my lips, “We might as well make a stupid decision.”

“Stupid things have good outcomes all the time,” he chuckled, pulling me closer by my hips.

“I don’t mind,” I whispered, cupping his face, stroking his cheek, his skin feeling prickly under my touch.

He covered my hands with his, swivelling his head to the side to kiss the inside of my palm, his eyes never leaving mine.

I couldn’t help anymore, desperate, I needed to taste him and feel him, be with him, now and forever.

My fingers slid lower and I wrapped them around his throat, brushing my lips against his teasingly, my eyes fluttering closed at his presence so so close. My hips shifted, causing him to groan, but he let me tease him a little more, grinning as I left tiny strokes on his lips, “Kiss me already, will you?” his laugh rumbled through me, causing my own smile to stretch out.

“If that’s what you want.”

“Oh, I want more than that.”

And just like that I tasted him, the remains of alcohol on his lips mixed with the scent of his cologne made me dizzy as I gasped for air, his tongue fighting with mine. His huge palms slipped down my shoulders pulling the straps of my dress off and he started nipping on my neck, veering to my collarbone, peppering me with kisses. My face was burning, my eyelids heavy. He was everywhere, invading my space and yet, that wasn’t enough.

“JJ,” I breathed out as he sucked on my neck, leaving a bruising spot, “I—“

“Mhm?”

“Need you,” my eyes searched for his as I ripped the clasps on his shirt open, pulling the grey tee over his head, running my fingers along his naked torso, his chest heaving as he watched my every move.

He was swift to unzip my dress and pull it off completely, leaving me naked. His eyes darkened with lust and he crashed our lips together again, his chest pressing mine, his palm flat on my lower back scooping me closer.

I fiddled with his belt and zipper as we kissed, finally undoing it open, tugging his pants off along with his boxers, his hips flexing upwards to help me get rid of the clothes, his cock jutting out to his stomach, hard and sleek, pre cum oozing out.

My fingers wrapped around the base, bringing a throaty growl out of JJ’s mouth. I gave him a few gentle pumps, kissing his shoulder, my thumb rubbing the head of his cock, spreading his arousal, feeling myself clenching over nothing, aching for him to fill me. 

“Jesus,” he threw his head back, holding my wrist as I stroked him faster, trailing a path of kisses up his throat to his chin. 

“Come here,” he made me let go, lifting me up, stroking my entrance with his tip, slowly lowering me onto him, giving some time to adjust. I gave him a satisfaction of a moan finally coming out of me, tightening around him and easing him out.

“Oh—,” I panted into his ear, hanging over his neck, gripping the back of his hair, deliberately moving my body back and forth, “I’ve missed you,” I blurted out, lifting myself up and down repeatedly, my hands roaming over his neck and chest and stomach as his hands roamed over my sides, caressing my back and the back of my neck.

“I’ve missed you too,” JJ made me look at him, kissing me softly, slipping out and lowering me down the sofa, my back meeting the coarse upholstery.

He was towering over me, his knees on both sides of my thighs, trapping my body beneath him. JJ’s gaze darkened as he studied my face, pure need written all over it, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it, his breathing turning rapid. His sandy hair hung low and messy, covering his forehead. Warm fingers gripped my throat, pinning me down as his hips flexed and he sunk in me slow and deep eliciting a moan out of my mouth. A little necklace caught my attention as it dangled over his neck with every new thrust he made. 

“Fuck—“ I let out a breathy sound, feeling him fucking into me, picking up the pace, his eyes misty, watched me, intimidating. He had full control over me now. 

I was panting, one of my hands settled on his waistline, while the other scratched his bicep, “JJ,” I choked out.

“That’s right, pretty, say my name,” his thumb brushed my lower lip and I parted them, taking his finger in my mouth, sucking on it and muffling my whines as he pounded harder, his hips meeting mine, the sloppy sound of our bodies filling the room, overlapping with the faint sound of music playing in another room. My tongue kept flicking the pad of his finger as he held my neck, his hold tight enough to keep me in place, but not cutting the air off for me.

He felt good, filling me in, holding a steady rhythm of his thrusts.

“J—“ I moaned, running my fingertips across his ribs and down to his stomach, feeling his muscles flex, “I want you to have me from behind.”

He pulled out slowly, leaving me empty and needy, swiftly flipping me over, my knees and palms bent and propped onto all fours, “Whatever you ask, gorgeous.”

I heard him groan, sinking back into me, his hands heavy on my hips tightening their hold. He leaned closer, weighing me down, his lips finding their way to my shoulder, I could hear his throaty growls as he thrusted deeper, lengthening his strokes, his mouth  inches away from my ear.

“Fucking love having you like this,” he grunted, leaving yet another kiss on my back and pulled back to quicken his pace. Thick fingers came to play with my nipples, pinching and squeezing, making me cry out. I pushed my ass back to meet his movements wanting all of him, as close as possible. 

My face buried into the pillow that rested right beside us as I muffled my cries because it was getting unbearable to stay quiet and there were still people in the house. To my surprise nobody even bothered to come here, which was also relieving. 

My hands went back to rest on my lower back, palms up in the air and I felt one of his covering mine, our fingers partly laced.

“Give it up to me,” his voice came out gravely  and low as he gasped for air, our bodies sweaty and hot. I clenched him and then a few more times, before locking in a long spasm, screaming into the pillow, squeezing his fingers so hard it must’ve been painful. 

He fucked me through my high, chasing his own, thrusting harder. The room smelled like perfume, alcohol and sex. A few more pushes and I felt him pull out, cum rushing out to paint my back, thick and warm ropes dripped down my skin. I let out a sigh, trying to catch my breath, relaxing just a little, listening to him stroking his cock.

He put a kiss on my ass cheek, before slipping of the couch, “Stay here.”

I turned my head just to see him grabbing his shirt to wipe me clean, “It will get stained,” I protested, but he kept doing it anyway.

“I don’t care about it, I care about you more.”

I smiled to myself, getting back up to my feet, to finally see his face again, eyes hazy and drunk on sex, hair sweaty messily falling all over his face, chest wet, drops of sweat scattering down, his lips were parted as he waited for my response, “So can I take your ‘I don’t mind” as a yes?” he caught me by my waist, pressing me into him, our skin sticky as he slightly swung us from side to side, smirking.

“Mhm, I don’t wanna pretend anymore either,” I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him deep and gentle, feeling his heart thumping against my chest, “Let’s go for a swim then? Together.”

[your-turn-to-role]

if it helps at all (reblogging directly from you starry bc can't tag you) - as someone who gave up on it pretty early on bc it wasn't really my thing, i have been wanting to look up more positive opinions on the campaign recently, i've just been really busy so haven't had time to respond to anything but what's on my dash, which yeah is a lot of critique, and with what i do know there's definitely stuff i'm not a fan of, sure

but also like. the critical role cast aren't some corporation just trying to squeeze money out of this show, like a lot of the things c3 has been compared to are

while they could have, in retrospect, probably made better decisions to really pull off whatever they were going for, they're also playing the game that makes them happiest (and they're putting it all online for free it's not like they're obligated to follow the fans' ideas of what should happen)

if you enjoyed it all start to finish, you're honestly a perspective i'd like to see round tumblr more! you're seeing what the cast see in this narrative and that definitely doesn't make you wrong or stupid. if there was no value in this story whatsoever they would have stopped a long time ago

as megs said, being able to articulate an opinion well doesn't make it objective truth. god knows i can pull out a million references for any of my essays but when i write them it's always gonna be me shining light on a specific angle of the narrative that appeals to me. other people can choose to pick a different angle and still be just as right, regardless of whether or not it's something i personally would enjoy looking at. and that's even more true in a fandom like this, where every narrative is in fact 7+ narratives that we hope will weave together well, and there's a million things to focus on that haven't all been handpicked by the creators for the sake of telling a singular story

if you're seeing an angle a lot of people aren't focusing on, hell, celebrate that! i love hearing about the moments that genuinely appealed to people, it just feels like there's been fewer and fewer of them focused on bells hells the longer the story went on. but i've also been in fandoms where i truly genuinely enjoyed the ending of a particular story and thought it was well told the whole way through, and then it turned out 99% of the fandom thought the ending was rushed and it ruined the whole thing, so i definitely get how that can feel a bit crushing and like you're fighting a tidal wave

(and hell to your tags about being worried c3 will become an automatic skip in the fandom - i also really love a lot of the c1 episodes before ep24 and think there's some great character stuff there that a lot of people skip bc orion or because the briarwood arc is where it gets 'good', so im with you on that one. it sucks but it doesn't mean i can't talk about, say, trial of the take, there still are and always will be people in the fandom who've watched it, and there will be even more people who didn't watch it but are glad to find out what's in it because they couldn't find out themselves)

so yeah all to say if you ever wanted to write about c3 stuff you loved, im on your side here

if you're just sad that the fandom reaction to stuff you liked has been overwhelmingly negative, that's also fine, and doesn't make you any less a valued member of this fandom

idk I kind of feel like I'm an idiot bc I actually enjoyed cr 3 from the jump to the end but like the blogs who follow bc I feel they are definitely more articulate and insightful than me are like "the whole thing was meaningless and pointless! matt fumbled everything!" so maybe I'm wrong to have liked it all? I'm not really sure where I'm going with this sorry

I think one thing to keep in mind is that many (and in fact, I would argue, most!) people who are critiquing the story and construction have also generally enjoyed the campaign as a whole! Certainly I don't know anyone who stuck it out through the end who did not overall enjoy watching it, for various reasons; I know there are people who hate watch, which I think is an absurd and honestly really stupid waste of time, but from my experience they are normally making snide and vicious tweet-length posts rather than long considerations of what isn't working for them.

There are also a lot of levels of critique—I've greatly enjoyed a lot of moments in isolation that I simultaneously felt weakened, contradicted, or even actively undermined the structure of the story as a whole, but those moments were still really fun and interesting beats. The Arch Heart's cameo comes to mind, as does, in hindsight, some of the construction of the post-Solstice split, but there are plenty of others of higher or lower impact on the story. In the finale the Raise Dead falls into this place very strongly, so I'm going to talk about it at length for a moment, since it was an absolutely stellar moment for me personally and as such I do think it serves as very illustrative of an example where I simultaneously fucking love a moment while finding it worth significant critique. I think it also touches on the critiques you're referring to, which I would summarize overall as the idea that many of the outcomes feel influenced negatively by pulled punches on the part of the DM rather than a flaw of one player or another. (Also, I want to talk about it cuz I love it. :3) This got very long but I think that to your point, it is worth examining in this amount of depth.

First, the good: it is an absolutely phenomenal culminating point of an arc that was only really concluded in summary; I have, as noted earlier this week, written at length about how Essek is never situated as a protagonist, which is functionally fine and even good. He ends up tied very strongly to Caleb's arc, and moves in the narrative in such a way after 2x97 that allows Caleb to reach a concluding note, and strengthens that narrative. So we only really hear about the outcome of Essek's choices, his inevitable leave from the Dynasty, in the summarization of the campaign 2 epilogue. This is not inherently a problem, because he is not a protagonist. But this moment does functionally create a material representation of that denouement, which does strengthen his arc in its own right.

This moment also, hilariously, bears out my argument from this post. That the resurrection should only work with this intervention, particularly while the Nein are involved, does follow through on the Nein's general positioning within Exandria. Essek's leave happening without a fight (and, frankly, with only one attempted Counterspell) both makes for a very well-paced moment and also maintains the overall sense of story that the Nein impart when they are on screen; I'm thinking again of how their Ruidus episodes feel, much like their campaign and their post-campaign one-shots, like an intrigue action thriller series, and this fits well in that framing.

So overall, it is a fantastic moment... for the Nein. The Nein are not the protagonists of this story. They exist in the world, and are such active agents that they do continue to develop and exert motion on the narrative into this campaign, and frankly, I think this would have been fine if the party given ownership of this story and campaign did not abdicate their responsibility for it with unfortunate frequency. They do not exert a strong control over their story, which is at odds with the fact that the Nein do, and are present and also involved by the nature of their ending. It completely overshadows Ashton's heroic moment, in that the culminating action beat of this sequence is Essek getting away, which kind of takes the wind out of the sails of the Hells' involvement in the gods' outcome. It doesn't negate it, certainly, but it does refocus the story from them to, for some reason, Essek. So in this sense, it occurs at the expense of the Hells.

I find that while the handwaving of using dunamantic intervention to push Raise Dead beyond its limits (if indeed the reason it didn't originally work was because Ashton's brain was essentially gone) fits fine and even well within the framework of the Nein's story, and an NPC being able to do so without a roll is fine, since NPCs are vehicles the DM uses to guide the story, this is a significant divergence from the overall mechanics of the world at large; even the Nein had to do a full ritual for the resurrection of their tiefling. Matt put those mechanics in place specifically to create narrative meaning behind resurrections, which can feel very unmotivated and like a get out of jail free card in D&D, and while it's been noted that this would've really strained the runtime beyond its existing length, prioritizing it at the cost of, for instance, more truncated end notes for the Nein and Vox would've bolstered the Hells' presence in an ending to their own story that even many of their fans felt was ultimately lacking.

Giving the resurrection full weight would've also given Ashton's sacrifice and the Hells' involvement more narrative weight; the reason the other parties are involved at all is because the Hells were truly running on fumes by that point, but any lack of involvement this created could've been alleviated by having them directly involved through pre-established ritual elements that are not contingent on them having any mechanical offerings. So this moment sits within the context of critique that I agree with: that it felt like a pulled punch that ultimately also served to decenter the Hells within their own narrative, when it could've been used with more deliberate narrative force.

At the same time, I fucking love it, and watched it four times in a row yesterday, because it is so good—and it is, as I described, narratively and thematically coherent in one sense! And I think that is one issue of the campaign: many, many great moments are excellent and coherent in a certain framework but are weaker to varying degrees when considered as one piece of a larger whole. There are so many frameworks at play in this narrative, and not enough direct intervention to manage those as frameworks rather than as a single story, but at the same time, I think those frameworks are far more apparent if you're really looking for them, and that's much more difficult, if not impossible, when you're in the midst of them and telling the story.

I also don't think this means one cannot critique this; in fact, I would say this is more an issue of being a serialized narrative than an improvised one, which is often how critique of it has been pushed back against within the fandom. I was thinking about this as I'm currently in a course on, quite literally, how to critique comics, and we discussed this week how Marjane Satrapi said in an interview after making the film adaptation of Persepolis, which was first a serialized comic, that she ended up preferring the film, and I speculated that was because with a film, one has the ability to make a more cohesive narrative purely by virtue of the fact that with a serialized form, you cannot go back and make retroactive edits when no developments come to light. This is something that long-running comics must constantly navigate (as do many long TV shows), and in extreme circumstances such as decades-old comic franchises, ends up resulting in infinite timelines and hand-waving, which becomes so ridiculous that at this point it's a meme. In that scenario, though, it is not presented as a non-contradictory story, let alone a cohesive one.

Many of the critiques of campaign 3 are operating within the idea that this is presented as one overarching narrative. (And honestly, comics and other narratives that don't utilize that presentation are also still critiqued on that merit by people who greatly enjoy the texts they're critiquing anyway.) Within that context, I feel that the framing of the Raise Dead, as well as much of what would be my critique of the other pieces I referenced (the Arch Heart's cameo and some of the party-split sections) if I was to do the same kind of rundown of those, actively undermine this presentation by introducing and forefronting too many conflicting frameworks that are not interwoven well enough to create a single, cohesive overarching narrative.

This is a very long-winded way to illustrate my point, which is that I would really encourage reading critique not as a lack of enjoyment of the campaign, let alone a suggestion that no one should've enjoyed it (and if you did, then you're not smart enough to know better), but as a way to engage with the text(s) as presented within one framework or another. I think this is sometimes obscured in online fandom spaces, where we're not engaging in critique in as formal of a sense as one would in, say, an academic setting, where the norms generally dictate the framework one is using is explicitly stated if not fully delineated within the critique, but it is, more often than not, still implicitly present within the critique.

And as a final note, I would also really urge everyone reading others' opinions on something they enjoy to resist the urge to elide their own opinions from the conversation, even if you don't feel as articulate or as well-versed in critique. Critique is a trained skill, so it is certainly something one can pick up if they are inclined, and at the same time, someone doing it does not mean they are inherently right—and in fact, with all argumentative writing, it is up to the reader to consider the argument and decide whether or not they agree with it. (You can decide that you disagree with me about the Raise Dead! Just because I wrote a thousand words on it does not inherently make my interpretation truth; it's just an interpretation. You get to say whether or not you think my interpretation makes sense based on the evidence presented.) Even here I'm using the framework of some critique that others have made, but I don't delineate in full myself. In doing do I'm not presuming that you agree, but I am presuming that you've read it and know what I'm referring to. Strictly speaking it's also not even saying that I take that critique as true; it's saying that I feel the conclusions drawn are applicable as a basis for my argument. If you wanted, you could even say that you feel that my argument is irrelevant to you because you don't feel those critiques are true! But you ultimately do have to be the one to decide any of that, which does involve a balance between a confidence in the formation of your own opinions on the text and an openness to entertaining others'.

[haytan]

WILDFLOWER | G.A

inspired by billie eilish's wildflower. I think you can already predict that it's very angst. I cried writing this and I love it even more because of it.

𓍼 WORD COUNT: 3390

𓍼 SUMMARY: after listening to Two People on Good Riddance tour something invades you, like a fever.

𓍼 WARNINGS: angst, good ending...

good riddance had been out for a few months now, yet you still remembered the nights when gracie came home late from the studio. it might have seemed like a bad thing, but she always found a way to make it up to you—small surprises, late-night apologies that always ended with her between your legs—so, in the end, it was never really that bad.

one of the things you admired most about her was her honesty, especially when it came to her feelings. while working on the album, she never let you forget how much she loved you, how important your relationship was, and how those lyrics were nothing more than echoes of old wounds.

more than anyone, you understood what this album meant to her. it wasn’t just a way to express everything she had been through, but the first project that was truly hers, a piece of her heart laid bare. and you had been there for every part of it.

before love ever crossed your mind, you and gracie were just friends. and you had the luck—or maybe the curse—of knowing her ex-boyfriend, of watching them grow together and, eventually, fall apart.

it should have been easy to let time wash it all away, to accept that the past was nothing more than that. you had promised yourself it wouldn’t matter anymore. you had promised gracie, too.

but then two people started playing.

and when gracie sang that one specific line—

"and you know, you know every inch of my body"

that was when the tears started falling, before you could even think about stopping them. that was the night you started seeing him in the back of your mind again when you started feeling like you were burning alive.

but you knew she didn't mean to hurt you.

so you kept it to yourself.

…

the next morning, usually filled with kisses and silly conversations, is ruined by a tension that settles between you like something unspoken—thick and heavy. the air inside the apartment feels too still, as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for one of you to break the silence.

gracie leans against the sink, absentmindedly stirring her tea, though you’re not even sure if she actually intends to drink it. her fingers tap a slow rhythm against the ceramic mug, eyes fixed on some distant point.

you sit on a stool by the counter, arms crossed, so close yet so far away. the hum of the fridge, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall—everything sounds too loud in the midst of the silence between you.

"are you really not going to talk to me?" gracie finally says, her voice quieter than usual but heavy with frustration.

you exhale through your nose, hearing your own heartbeat echo inside your head. "i don’t know what you want me to say."

"i want you to say whatever it is that’s bothering you."

you shake your head, staring at a spot on the floor. "it’s nothing, gracie."

she laughs, but there’s no humor in it. "liar. you shut down the moment we got home. you barely looked at me all night. just tell me what’s going on!"

"i already told you—i’m fine."

"no, you’re not." she leans forward slightly, exasperated. "and i’m tired of pretending i don’t notice when you’re upset just because you refuse to talk to me."

your chest tightens. part of you knows she’s right. but another part—the one that’s been burning since last night, since that damn song and the way it made something ugly take root inside you—wants to resist.

you run your hands through your hair, a habit stolen from her. "maybe i just don’t want to talk about it, okay?"

gracie shakes her head. "god, why do you always do this? why do you always push me away when something’s wrong?"

"because i don’t want to fight with you!" you snap, your voice rising as your patience wears thin. "i don’t want to ruin the morning or… or make things weird before your show!"

gracie exhales sharply, setting her mug down on the counter harder than she intended. "and you think not talking makes everything better? because right now, it just feels like you’re shutting me out."

you press your fingers against your forehead, breathing heavily. "i just need time, okay?"

"time for what?" her voice wavers now, a trace of hurt seeping in. "for me to stop asking? for me to just sit here and pretend i don’t see that you’re upset?"

"for me to figure out how to talk without sounding like an idiot!"

that makes her pause. the tension between you crackles in the air, the silence stretching too long.

gracie swallows, the sound making you shiver.

"you know what? forget it," she says, turning back to the sink and picking up her tea.

you close your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. "gracie—"

"no, i get it." she cuts you off, taking a long sip. "you don’t want to talk. fine."

gracie turns back to you, searching your face for some sign of regret, but she finds nothing but confusion.

"in the end, i’m always the only one trying to fix things," she says before walking away, the sound of her heavy footsteps echoing as she climbs the stairs.

you stay there, sitting on the stool, staring at the empty space where gracie stood just seconds ago.

your fingers grip the edge of the counter, and you let out a shaky breath, frustration still pulsing beneath your skin. this wasn’t how you wanted the morning to go. this wasn’t how you wanted things to be before her show.

but now it’s done.

you rub your face, trying to clear your thoughts. but everything feels blurred, tangled—a mess of emotions you don’t know how to unravel.

the apartment suddenly feels too small. the air inside it, too heavy.

you need to get out.

standing up quickly, you grab a sweatshirt draped over a chair and shove your keys into your pocket. the soft click of the door unlocking echoes through the apartment, but there’s no sound from upstairs. no attempt to stop you from leaving.

a part of you wishes there was.

you walk down the stairs slowly, hands buried in your pockets, with no real destination in mind. you just keep moving.

the cold morning air hits you the moment you step outside, and an immediate urge to cry swells inside you. your nose starts to sting, your eyes well up, and before you know it, those words are replaying in your head again.

"and you know, you know every inch of my body."

you know she loves you. you should let this go, shouldn’t you? but he lingers, always there, in the back of your mind.

last night, when gracie wrapped her arms around you, kissed the nape of your neck, and told you she loved you, you wanted to turn around, hold her tighter, tell her you loved her more, and start a silly argument over it.

but every time she touched you, all you could think about was how he felt.

had gracie ever looked at you and seen him? in the dark of the bedroom, between kisses and whispered promises, had a part of him ever slipped into her mind?

and if, just for a moment, she had wished it was him instead of you?

you try to push the thought away, try to hold onto the certainties gracie gives you—the way she reaches for your hand without thinking, the way her eyes light up when she talks about you, the i love yous that sound so real.

but doubt creeps in, spreading like a loose thread unraveling everything.

what if they’re not?

what if, deep down, you’re only here because he’s not?

the thought tightens in your chest. you swallow hard and keep walking, unfamiliar streets closing in around you.

but nothing feels as endless or inescapable as the maze inside your own mind.

…

the lights dim, and the crowd erupts into cheers. the air is electric, pulsing with anticipation, and gracie feels it thrumming through her veins. she grips the microphone tightly, fingers trembling just slightly, but she forces herself to take a deep breath. this is her moment—her show. no matter what happened this morning, she needs to push through.

but she knows better than to think she can just shut it out.

as she steps onto the stage, her eyes scan the audience, moving quickly over the sea of faces. the adrenaline in her chest spikes as she catches sight of you.

standing near the back, hands buried in your pockets, shoulders drawn tight, looking at her like you’re not sure whether you want to be here or not.

the moment stretches between you, thick with words left unsaid.

gracie knows that for months she has been exposing you to these painful memories embedded in her own songs. but she also knows that they are past pains, without weight or meaning, and she expected you to know that too. if something was wrong, you would tell her. wouldn't you? but as she stands there, watching you from the stage, doubt grips her chest.

did i cross the line?

abrams swallows hard, forcing herself to keep moving, to wave at the fans screaming her name, to smile like she’s okay. but her mind is already somewhere else, stuck in the heaviness of this morning, the way you looked at her, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you as you left.

she drags in another breath, stepping up to the mic as the opening chords of the first song hum through the speakers. the setlist is the same as always, but tonight, everything feels different. she wonders if you can feel it too, if the weight pressing down on her is pressing down on you as well.

and then the next song starts.

the one that ruined everything last night.

the crowd sings along, voices blending with hers. her gaze, however, is locked on yours. she sings the line without hesitation, without breaking, watching the way your jaw clenches, your eyes darkening just slightly. she wonders if you can tell that she’s looking at you. if you can hear what she’s trying to say through the words that once meant something else.

i didn’t mean to hurt you.

it’s just a song. it’s just a song.

but that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?

the song ends, the moment passes, and yet, the weight lingers. the rest of the show blurs together—flashes of movement, chords, applause—but that moment stays lodged in her ribs, burning like something she doesn’t know how to name.

by the time the final song fades, the crowd’s cheers ring in her ears, and gracie barely remembers getting through it. sweat clings to her skin as she steps backstage, her heart still pounding too fast, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the performance or the way you looked at her.

she doesn’t have time to figure it out before she hears movement behind her.

turning slowly, she finds you standing there, just a few feet away.

you’re still wearing that same guarded expression, the one that makes something in her ache, but there’s something else beneath it now. something hesitant. something like regret.

she wants to say something, anything—but what is there to say?

where were you?

are you okay?

i’m sorry?

but before she can choose the perfect false words, you take the first step. "we should talk… at home."

"yeah, definitely," she says almost automatically.

you hold each other’s gaze for a moment, both fidgeting with your hands—shared habits.

the ride home is silent. the radio plays some random melody, but neither of you really listens. gracie keeps her hands on her thighs, fingers restless, resisting the urge to reach out. she doesn’t know if it would be welcomed. if she still can.

on the other side, you stare out the window, your hand so close to hers. close enough that if one of you just…

but no one moves.

back home, the silence is just as heavy. gracie drops her bag on the counter but doesn’t step away, fingers gripping the marble as if she needs something solid to hold onto.

this time, there are no distractions. just the two of you and the space between you.

"can we talk now?" gracie asks, her voice low.

"yeah," you answer hesitant. but it takes a moment before you can actually speak.

gracie’s breath seems caught in her chest as she waits, and you hate it—hate how uncertainty spreads across her features, like she’s bracing for something bad. but the truth is, you don’t even know how to put what you’re feeling into words.

you run your tongue over your dry lips before finally saying:

"that song last night, two people… it really fucked me up."

gracie blinks a few times, surprised by the raw honesty in your voice. she swallows hard before responding.

"i didn’t…" she pauses, the words dying before they fully form. "i didn’t mean for it to hurt you."

"i know." you squeeze your fingers, letting out a heavy sigh. "but it did."

gracie nods slowly, eyes fixed on you, unsure of where to step. "you never said anything before. about the song, about…" she hesitates. "him."

"because i thought i was fine," you admit, your voice coming out rougher than you intended. "i thought i had let it go. but hearing it—hearing you sing it—just brought everything back, and i hated it. i hated that it still gets to me."

gracie stays silent for a moment, her gaze locked on you like she’s searching for the right thing to say. then, in a hesitant, almost resigned tone, she asks:

"do you want me to stop singing it?"

do you want that?

"because if you do, i will."

"of course not," you say, shaking your head. "that’s not the point, gracie."

"then what is the point?"

"i don’t fucking know!" tears start streaming down your face, and suddenly, you’ve never felt more exposed than now. "i’m sorry…" you bring your hands up to your face, as if trying to hide somehow.

gracie doesn’t think. she just moves.

before she can second-guess herself, she closes the space between you, wrapping her arms around your trembling frame. you tense at first, your body stiff against hers, but then, slowly, you sink into it.

your hands clutch the fabric of her jacket, desperate for something to hold onto, something solid in the middle of everything unraveling inside you.

gracie presses her face into your hair, eyes squeezing shut. "hey," she whispers, voice barely steady. "it’s okay. you don’t have to be sorry."

but you shake your head against her shoulder, fingers tightening. "i hate this," you choke out. "i hate feeling like this. like i’m stuck. like i—" your breath catches, breaking apart in your throat.

gracie pulls back just enough to look at you, cradling your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing the tears from your cheeks. her gaze is searching, pained, but steady. "then don’t do it alone." she almost whispers. "let me be here. let us figure this out together."

"look at me," she continues, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers.

your breath hitches. "gracie—"

"i love you."

you swallow hard, eyes flickering between hers. "i know that you love me."

"no." her grip tightens, not to hold you in place, but to make you feel her, to feel the weight of what she’s saying. she looks at you like she’s searching for something deeper, something that words alone can’t reach. "i don’t want you to just know. i need you to feel it. i need you to feel it in every vein in your body, how much i want you, how much i love you, y/n."

your chest tightens, throat burning with unshed tears.

"you’re my baby, my girl, my fucking adorable, sweet princess," she breathes, her forehead resting against yours. "i’d give you the whole damn universe if you asked me. and i’m sorry for not noticing how hard this has been for you."

"you don’t have to do anything," you shake your head. "it’s not your responsibility. it’s not your fault."

gracie lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with her thumb. "i’m your girlfriend, of course it’s my responsibility. but it’s not just that—i want to. i want to be here. i want to hold this with you."

you let out a shaky breath, your forehead still pressed against hers. the warmth of her hands, the closeness of her body, it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

gracie watches you, waiting, giving you space even as she holds you close. there’s no rush, no expectation. just her, just this moment, just the steady rhythm of her breathing mixing with yours.

"i don’t know how to stop feeling like this," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

"you don’t have to figure it out all at once. we’ll take it one step at a time. no pressure, no rush. just us."

you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself lean into her, feeling the warmth of her presence wrap around you like something safe, something solid.

then, after a beat, you whisper, "say it again."

gracie pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. "i love you."

you shake your head. "no. the whole thing."

her hands tighten around your face, eyes dark and unwavering as she speaks again, voice like a vow:

"i don’t want you to just know how much i love you. i need you to feel it. in every breath, every touch, every part of you. you’re my baby, my girl, my sweet, adorable princess. and i’d give you the universe if you asked me."

tears slip silently down your cheeks, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. it’s love, because of love.

gracie catches one with her thumb, her smile turning just a little teasing, a little mischievous. "and i’m never singing two people again unless you say it’s okay."

you let out a breathy, tearful laugh, shoving her shoulder lightly. "i never said that."

she grins, eyes crinkling, before she leans in and presses the softest, most deliberate kiss to your lips. like a promise. like a beginning.

gracie doesn’t pull away right away. she lingers her lips barely brushing yours, memorizing the shape of you, like she’s making sure you feel every ounce of her love in that kiss. when she finally does part from you, it’s only far enough to rest her forehead against yours again, her breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

"you okay?"

you nod, a little shy now, a little overwhelmed but in a way that doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

she smiles, thumbs still tracing light patterns on your cheeks before one hand slips down, lacing her fingers with yours. "come here," she says, giving your hand the gentlest tug.

abrams leads you to the couch, pulling you down with her, and before you can even think, she’s tucking you against her side, wrapping you up in warmth. it’s so easy, so effortless—the way your body finds its place against hers, the way her arm fits snugly around your waist, like you were always meant to be here.

"do you wanna talk more?" she asks after a moment, her voice soft. "or do you just wanna stay like this for a while?"

you don’t answer right away. instead, you shift, pressing your face into the curve of her neck, breathing her in. she smells like vanilla and something distinctly her, something comforting.

"this," you murmur against her skin. "just this."

gracie hums, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "okay, baby. just this."

and so you stay there, tangled together in the quiet, her fingers trailing lazy patterns along your back, your hands resting against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

it’s not perfect. there’s still a lot to talk about, a lot to work through. but for now, in this moment, in her arms, you feel safe.

and that’s enough.

guys…

thanks for reading <3

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[vigilante-3073]

Right Where You Left Me

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Summary: There had always been something lingering between them, an unspoken connection that could destroy everything.

TW: Boss/Employee relationship, tension, angst, mentions of death/loss, resignation, right person wrong time.

Y/N L/N had been a member of the BAU for years. Y/N looked through case files, arranging them in priority order based on victim amount and methodology. Y/N presented the cases to the team while JJ contacted local officials and interacted with the media. As a result of her role, Y/N spent quite a bit of time with Hotch.

Y/N reviewed cases with him, allowing Hotch to decide which unsub posed the most risk based on his profiling expertise. Y/N was incredibly good at her job, she saw a great deal of darkness and tried her best to prioritize and compartmentalize.

There would always be those cases that made it feel like there was no point in trying to stop bad things from happening. Humanity would always find different despicable ways to harm one another.

Hotch could always tell when the work was beginning to get to her. He was kind, willing to set aside the work and have a serious talk with her about their jobs. There were people out there who counted on them, victims who wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for the BAU.

Hotch always managed to bring her comfort, reminding her why they do what they do and making her entire day better. He was a good man and Y/N trusted him more than anyone. She would do absolutely anything he asked without question.

Some people may call it loyalty, but that's not what it was.

It was love.

Y/N had been in love with him for years, she knew that she could never tell him how she felt. He was married and he had a family at home. Y/N saw Haley and Jack on multiple occasions, each time left her with an uneasy feeling of guilt that settled in her stomach like a rock.

Y/N tried to remain professional, but loving him was ruining her life. Y/N went home every day to an empty house, sleeping alone before returning to the same tortuous place.

Y/N began to look forward to every moment she was able to spend in his orbit. Hotch was a light in the darkness, he burned like the brightest flame and Y/N could only get so close without getting burned.

Y/N knew that what she was doing wasn't healthy, she had an attachment to him that was inappropriate. She should quit, turn in her resignation and leave to save herself the pain of loving someone she could never have.

A selfish part of her didn't want to give him up, he was the one good thing in her life and she wouldn't be able to handle the loss.

Y/N was stuck.

She had taken a step back from Hotch, closing herself off to him and keeping things as professional as possible. Hotch knew that something had changed but Y/N assured him that everything was fine with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Y/N sat at her desk, silently reading through potential case files at almost three o'clock in the morning. A gentle knock on the door made her jump, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Rossi said.

"It's fine," Y/N assured.

"Do you have a minute to chat?" Rossi asked.

"Of course," She nodded, he stepped into her office and sat down on the chair in front of her desk.

"Have I ever told you about why I left the BAU in 1997?" Rossi asked.

"No, I don't think so," Y/N replied, closing her file.

"I told everyone that it was because I wanted to write and got sick of the FBI bureaucracy, but none of that is true... The real reason is that I had feelings for Gideon's wife," Rossi said.

"You did?" Y/N asked.

He nodded, "I would have these thoughts that Jason wasn't good enough for her, so I stepped away from the BAU... I thought it would be best if they went on as a family," He said.

Y/N gulped, trying to blink away the tears that gathered in her eyes.

"I know you're in love with him and I can see what it's doing to you... I know it's hard, but sometimes you have to let go," Rossi said.

"What if I can't let go?" Y/N asked shakily, a tear escaping and rolling down her cheek.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, kid, it's not going to be easy but you'll be better off for it," Rossi said.

Y/N's chest stuttered as she held back a sob, holding her head in her hands as she cried. Rossi stood up from his chair and made his way around the desk. He set his hand on her shoulder, providing silent comfort to her as she broke down.

Rossi watched Y/N go through exactly what he had all those years ago, wanting someone he could never have and getting his heart broken. Y/N was such a kind person and he could see how much loving Hotch had hurt her.

Years of watching the one you love be happy with someone else was a cruel punishment. It was like a knife to the gut, draining the life out of you until there is nothing left to give.

Rossi couldn't stand by and watch her lose herself for any longer. He hoped that she'd be smarter than he was, that she would realize how her feelings for Hotch were affecting her and leave. But love was a powerful thing and it could blind even the smartest person in the world.

...

Y/N made her way over to Hotch's office with a white envelope settled on top of a case file. Rossi was right and Y/N knew that she needed to make some changes in her life. Y/N slowed to a stop outside his office and knocked on the door gently, taking a breath to steady herself and calm her racing heart.

"Come in," Hotch called from inside.

Y/N opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind herself. She stepped over to his desk, taking off the envelope and holding out the case file to him.

"I think this should be our next case, but I wanted your opinion before briefing the team. The unsub is obviously escalating and is desperate to get the media's attention," Y/N said.

Hotch took the file from her hand, opening it and scanning over the information briefly, "It sounds like they could definitely use our help. Have you given it to Garcia?" He asked.

"Yes, Sir, she can have everyone briefed and on the plane within the hour," Y/N replied.

"Perfect," He nodded, closing the file and standing from his desk.

"Um, Hotch... I also have this for you," Y/N said, holding out the envelope.

He took it from her hand, "What is it?" He asked.

"My resignation," Y/N stated.

A look of confusion passed over his face before he quickly regained his composure, "Is there anything in particular that brought this on?" Hotch questioned.

"No, Sir, I just needed a change... I've already spoken to JJ and she'll be able to take over for me so there isn't any need to search for a replacement," Y/N said, glancing at her watch before moving towards the door.

"Y/N, hold on. I- Can we talk about this?" Hotch questioned, setting the envelope down on his desk.

"Hotch, the briefing," Y/N said, her hand settling on the door handle.

"Have I done something to upset or offend you? I thought that we were close, but recently things have changed and I just want to know if you're leaving because of something I did," Hotch said.

"No, I'm not leaving because of you," Y/N stated.

His shoulders sunk slightly as he looked over her, "You're lying to me," He said.

Y/N opened her mouth before closing it, letting out a soft breath as she moved over to him, "You are the best boss that anyone could ask for, Hotch. You did absolutely nothing wrong, I promise," Y/N assured.

His eyes searched her face for any indication of a lie, reluctantly nodding when he found none.

"How long before you go?" He asked.

"I'll stay until the end of this case," Y/N said.

"And there's nothing I can say to change your mind?" Hotch questioned.

Y/N smiled softly, "No, there isn't," She said.

He took a breath, "I'm going to miss you," Hotch stated.

"I know... I'm gonna miss you too," Y/N replied.

They made their way to the conference room, everyone had already settled in their seats as Garcia passed the remote to Y/N.

"Just before we start, I have a bit of an announcement... I'm resigning from the BAU after this case," Y/N said.

"What?" Emily asked.

"Are you serious?" Morgan questioned.

"Where are you going?" Spencer asked.

"I don't really know yet, but I have some promising offers," Y/N said.

"Seems kinda quick. Is everything okay?" Morgan asked.

"I just need a change," Y/N said simply.

"Change is a good thing, kid," Rossi said, Y/N nodded.

"So, let's get started," Y/N said, clicking to the first set of photos.

...

It had been a few years since Y/N had resigned from the BAU, she managed to get a job with the CIA Office of Public Affairs. Hotch saw her on the news occasionally and he always stopped to watch. He had been incredibly close with Y/N and her abrupt resignation left him feeling confused.

Hotch missed her.

Y/N had become an incredibly close friend to him over the years and he wished that they still worked together. Y/N sent him flowers with a kind message when Haley passed away, but there was no other communication between them.

Things had been challenging since she died, Jack wasn't coping well and Hotch didn't know how to help. Hotch had never been an emotional man and he found himself feeling helpless in the face of such a complex situation.

Jack had always been closer to his mother, he felt her loss deeply and struggled to adjust to life without her. He was slowly returning to the happy little boy that he had been before her death, but Hotch would still catch him watching home movies occasionally just to hear Haley's voice.

It had been almost a year since her passing when Hotch made his way through the bullpen, "Hey, Hotch. Check it out, our girl is well on her way to becoming the face of the CIA," Morgan said.

Hotch looked up at the television, smiling softly when he saw the footage of Y/N holding a press conference for the CIA.

"She looks good," Hotch stated, continuing across the bullpen and up the stairs to his office.

Morgan looked over at Emily and Rossi, "Did I just hear that right?" Morgan asked.

"You did," Emily nodded.

"You think Hotch is ready to put himself back out there? Get a little something something?" Morgan questioned, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I don't know... He seems happy, it could definitely be something he's starting to think about," Emily said.

"I'll get to the bottom of it," Rossi said.

"Wing man to the rescue," Morgan smirked.

Rossi made his way up to Hotch's office, gently knocking on the open door. Hotch stood at his desk, eyes downcast as he looked over a case file.

"You got a minute, Aaron?" Rossi questioned.

"Of course," He nodded, closing the file and setting it down.

Rossi stepped into the office, closing the door behind himself, "Are you thinking about putting yourself back out there? Maybe going on a date or two?" Rossi questioned.

"I don't know. It hasn't even been a year since Haley passed," Hotch said.

"Listen, Aaron, Haley wouldn't want you to be alone. If you feel like you're ready to get back out there, you should do it," Rossi said.

"I'll think about it," Hotch stated.

"If you're serious about this, I have a good place for you to start," Rossi said, slipping a hand into the inside pocket of his blazer.

Rossi pulled out a business card, holding it out to Hotch. He glanced at him before taking the card from his hand, looking down at the name on it.

'Y/N L/N '

"Why do you have this?" Hotch asked.

"We get together for coffee a few times a month," He shrugged.

"I don't think she wants to hear from me, Dave," Hotch said, shaking his head and holding the card out to Rossi.

"Trust me, she does... Give her a call, Aaron," Rossi said, making his way out of the office.

Hotch stared down at the business card, brushing his thumb across the paper before opening his drawer and setting it inside. He closed the drawer, picking up his file and making his way down to the conference room for the morning briefing.

It took the team three days to apprehend the unsub, rescuing a few victims and reuniting them with their loved ones. There was a bittersweet feeling when only a few people were saved but a multitude of lives had been lost. These kind of cases made everyone cling to their loved ones a little tighter.

Hotch sat at his desk, diligently completing his report long after everyone had already gone home. He sat back in his chair, fidgeting with his pen before he reached over and opened his desk drawer.

Hotch easily located the business card, pulling it out and staring down at it. Hotch took a breath, picking up his phone and dialing the number.

The line rang, he honestly hoped to end up on an answering machine but the soft click caught him off guard.

"Y/N L/N," She said.

"Hi, it's Aaron Hotchner," He replied.

"Hotch? How did you get this number?" Y/N asked.

"Dave gave it to me... I hope that's not a problem," Hotch said.

"That depends on what you're calling about," Y/N replied.

"Do you want to go out for dinner with me tomorrow night? Or, I guess it's today now," He said, glancing at the clock.

"Like a date?" Y/N questioned.

"Yes, a date," Hotch nodded, fidgeting with her business card.

"I'd love to," Y/N said.

"Really?" Hotch questioned.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, "Were you expecting a different answer?" She asked.

"I was, actually... After you left, I kept thinking about your last few weeks at the BAU. I was wracking my brain trying to figure out what I'd done to make you hate me all of a sudden," Hotch started.

"Aaron, I didn't hate you... I left because I was in love with you," Y/N said.

"You loved me?" Hotch asked.

"I did... But you were my boss and you had a wife at home. I couldn't stay there and keep getting my heart broken," Y/N stated.

"I'm so sorry," Hotch said.

"Don't be. I had to do what was best for me. None of it was your fault, Aaron," Y/N assured.

He let out a shaky exhale, "I really miss having you around," Hotch said.

"I miss the BAU," Y/N replied.

"Enough to have coffee with Dave a few times a month?" Hotch questioned.

"Hey, that was all his idea. If I'm being honest, I think he was just making sure I was still single," Y/N said.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Hotch nodded.

"I missed these conversations," Y/N said.

"I did too," Hotch replied with a small smile.

"For tonight, you can pick the restaurant and text me on this number. I don't really know what my day will look like and I know it's the same way at the BAU," Y/N said.

"Okay, I will make a reservation for us and send you a message... Have a good night, Y/N," Hotch said.

"You too, Aaron," Y/N replied.

He hung up the phone, unable to keep the smile off his face as he packed up his things to head home for a few hours of sleep. Hotch knew that he would have to thank Rossi for his help when he saw him in the morning.

[canirove]

Canary boy | Chapter 13

Previous chapter | Next chapter (coming out on Tuesday)

Masterlist

“He's mad at me.”

“Not this again, please” Carla says, rolling her eyes.

“But he is! Why else would he keep ignoring my texts and calls and being super cold when he bothers to reply?”

“You can't tell if someone is being cold through texts, Inés.”

“You can.”

“You can't. And didn't he say he is busy studying? That he wants to focus on that before getting distracted by the holidays?”

“He did, but…”

“And let's not forget about the fact that he's studying with a scholarship. He can't lose it.”

“I know, but…” I protest again.

“Inés, Pedri isn't mad at you or ignoring you on purpose. He is just busy” she says.

“But you take breaks from studying. You stop to eat, to go to the bathroom, to disconnect. Why can't he text me then? Or give me a quick call?”

“Maybe because he also knows you are busy with training and studying, and doesn't want to bother you?”

“Maybe… But…”

“Inés, no” Carla cuts me. “Stop this, I'm serious. We have an important game in a couple of hours. One we have to win not only because we can't go into the Christmas break with a defeat, but also because Real Madrid are breathing down our necks. So focus on this and stop all this Pedri nonsense.”

“Ok. I'll try” I sigh.

“No, you won't try. You will.”

“Fine, I will” I sigh again. Though easier said than done.

And you may be wondering, what happened for me to be so worried and think that Pedri is mad at me? Well, that the Christmas dinner with the team actually ended up being the worst night of my life (dramatic much? Maybe).

When Víctor and I left the restaurant, there still were photographers and some fans outside, and they obviously took photos of us together. Of me wearing his jacket, him just on his shirt, and us getting together into the same car. And those photos were everywhere online the next day, people going crazy about them. Because we had seemingly arrived together, been together during dinner, and then left together. So if you are a shipper or someone who doesn't know what is going on and saw those photos, you would think that we are a couple. I mean, I saw them myself and we did look like a couple. And I just… Urgh. 

But to make things even worse, Víctor posted one of our photos arriving and one of him hugging me to save me from flashing everyone, photos where I was smiling (even though on the second one I was actually panic smiling if that is a thing) and where we looked as if there was something going on between us, adding a heart emoji to his caption about being a great night or something like that. 

And I'm sure Pedri has seen everything. Even some sports newspapers and websites have written articles about it, using “Barça's new it couple?” as their headline. And even though I explained everything to him, maybe not in the best way at first because I just sent him a photo of my broken dress saying “this is how my night ended, what about yours?”, which Carla made me see could mean that something had actually happened between me and Víctor (as in him tearing my dress from my body if you know what I mean)... He is in his right to be upset. Like, I would. I've felt like that in the past because of him and Nerea. But I just… I… Urgh. Urgh!

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Ok, I can do this. It isn't a crazy idea. Or maybe it is. But Carla said that we need to talk, and at least we will be doing something of that so… Ok” I say, taking a deep breath and ringing the bell.

“Inés?” Pedri says after opening the door of his flat. “What are you doing here? It's Christmas Eve!”

“I know. But here is the thing. Like you may remember, I'm having dinner with my dad, his new girlfriend and her daughter, whom I haven't met yet. And according to my sisters, who have already met them, they are a pain in the ass and I can't go deal with them alone. So I thought that, even if you are mad at me, you could come and be there for me as moral support. Think of it as a Christmas good deed or something like that.”

“Inés…” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“It'll be just for tonight and then you can go back to being mad at me. But I could really do with you being there for me, Pedri. As one last act of friendship.”

“Inés, I'm not mad at you.”

“What?”

“Why don't you come in? My neighbours are a bit noisy and I'm sure they already are checking what is going on.”

“I… Umm… Ok.”

“You look beautiful, by the way” he smiles as I walk past him and inside his flat.

“Thank you” I reply, feeling my cheeks already getting warm. 

“Did you make sure the seams on that dress are all ok?”

“What?” I say, turning to look at him.

“We don't want it to end like the last one, do we?” he smirks. He is… smirking. Teasing me. He… what?

“We… Pedri, aren't you mad at me?”

“No. I already told you” he shrugs. 

“Then why… Then why have you been behaving so weird since those photos with Víctor came out?”

“What?” he chuckles.

“Yes, like… You've barely replied to my texts, and when you've done it, you've been super cold. And you have ignored my calls too. You haven't even liked my Instagram posts or watched my stories!” 

“I can explain, Inés. But why don't we do it while you help me iron my shirt?”

“What?” Is that the only word I know today? Yes, looks like it.

“I can't go meet your dad with a wrinkled shirt, can I?” 

“You… Wait, you are coming?”

“Of course I am. And not as one last act of friendship or whatever nonsense you said. Now, will you help me iron my shirt or not?”

“I… Yes, sure” I say, following him to his room. What the hell is going on?

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Done” I say when I finish ironing Pedri's shirt. 

“Thank you, Inés. I suck at this.”

“Are you going to tell me now why you have been acting so weird or…”

“Yes, sorry” he says, taking off his hoodie and t-shirt all in one go like happened… No, Inés. Don't go there. And don't stare at his naked chest and his abs and those things on his hips and… No. Just don't. Focus. “If I've been a bit weird lately it's because I've been stressed, and when that happens, I sometimes shut down” he says while putting on his shirt.

“You shut down?” I say as my eyes follow the way his fingers are buttoning his shirt. Who knew something like that could be so… sexy.

“Yeah. It's like I go into my own little shell and ignore everything else that is going on around me” he says, finishing with his shirt and taking off his joggers. Oh dear. “It started happening when I moved here and especially at the end of each semester. The pressure of having to pass all my exams if I don't want to lose my scholarship, being away from home and missing my family, all the other things going on in my life like making sure I make it to the end of the month with my bank account not being in red numbers, keeping up with friends, my relationship… It can be a lot, you know?” he says before putting on his suit trousers. “And when it gets too bad, like has happened lately, I shut down. I stop checking on friends and family, replying to their messages, going out… I focus on only one thing, usually studying, and ignore everything else, which is what has happened since we came back from Tenerife. That trip was like… Like a dream, Inés. Having you there with me, with my family and my childhood friends, in my house, finally getting to kiss you, to… you know” he says, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. He's blushing. Pedri is blushing just by thinking about what we did and… Holy shit. “Everything was perfect. And then we came back here, and it was like reality punched me right in the face. I had a lot of things to catch up with, feelings and thoughts to go through, decisions to make. And I just… I… It was too much and I shut down. But it was all me, Inés. All me” he says, moving to wear I am and taking my hands on his. “And I'm sorry for making you believe that it was you, that you had done something wrong, that I was mad at you. I should have explained myself, maybe have Mario talk with you. But since things between him and Carla are a bit awkward, I didn't want to get him involved. He's been doing enough already by dragging me to the gym every day.”

“The gym?”

“According to a therapist I talked with, working out can help de-stress because it releases something and for a while you don't think about anything. So at the end of each day, Mario has been forcing me to go to the gym, making me try different classes to see what works and what I like the best.”

“And have you found anything?” I ask him.

“Boxing is the one I've enjoyed the most. It leaves me shattered and that's why I haven't been answering to our usual before bed calls, because I am exhausted. And I know what you are going to say, but I tried yoga too and…”

“And?”

“And you were right, Inés. It isn't stupid or easy, and it feels so good.”

“Told you” I smile. “But if that's all that has been going on, then the photos with Víctor…”

“Those didn't bother me, they mean nothing. Because I know how you feel about him, and I think I know how you feel about me too” Pedri says, moving his hands from mine and resting them on my waist, pulling me closer to him.

“I… Ummm…”

“I like you, Inés. I like you very much.”

“You… you do?” 

“I do” he says, pulling me even closer. “And I think that you also like me. At least a tiny bit” he says with a teasing smile.

“Yeah, a tiny bit” I laugh. A tiny bit much. 

“At what time is this dinner with your dad?” 

“Ten.”

“Ten…” he says, looking at his watch. “And is the restaurant or wherever we are going too far from here?”

“Like half an hour. But the traffic is really bad, so…”

“Shame” he sighs. “I was hoping we could have enough time to make sure your dress won't be tearing apart tonight, but we'll have to take the risk.” 

“We can do it after dinner.” Wow, Inés. Wow. Bold. Because he was definitely not talking about checking all the seams of my dress and getting thread and needle if one was a bit wonky.

“What would be the point of doing it after?” he smirks as I wrap my arms around his neck. 

“Making sure it won't break the next time I wear it. And if that woman my dad is dating and her daughter are as annoying as my sisters say… I'll be needing a distraction, a physical activity to help me let go. To de-stress. And since you have some experience on that matter…”

“I'm an expert.”

“An expert?” I laugh.

“Make all the fun of me you want, Inés. But in the morning you will be agreeing with me. You'll see” he says, brushing his lips against mine. “Now let's finish getting ready” he says, taking a step back.

“Hell no” I say, stopping him.

“Inés, you are gonna wrinkle my shirt” Pedri smirks, looking down at where my hands are, at the way I'm holding him close to me.

“It’ll survive. But I won't if you don't kiss me right here and right now.”

“Is that an order?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Then make it sound as an order, Inés” he says, the way he is looking at me sending goosebumps all over my body.

“Kiss me, Pedri. Now.”

“Yes, ma'am” he smirks before kissing me, the feeling of his lips on mine turning the goosebumps into fire, making me forget about all my stupid doubts and crazy ideas about him being mad at me, but reminding me of something. Something very important.

He has told me that he likes me. He. Pedri… He likes me. And very much.

[kathlare]

uninvited thoughts

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando finds himself blindsided when his brother, Oliver, informs him that Amelie is attending the wedding, an event that stirs up unresolved feelings.

Wordcount: 1.1 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

April 5th, 2022 - Melbourne, Australia

Lando leaned back in his chair, taking a slow bite of his sandwich as he glanced around the McLaren motorhome. The place felt like it always did—busy, yet strangely quiet, a subtle hum of activity that only someone who had been in the paddock long enough could truly appreciate. His brother, Oliver, was sitting across from him, scrolling through his phone, and the occasional chuckle or muttered comment was enough to keep the conversation light.

—Alright, listen to this,— Oliver said, holding up his iPad and showing Lando a map of the wedding venue. —I’ve been trying to sort out the seating plan, but this thing is a nightmare. Some people just won’t stop making demands.—

Lando leaned forward, curious. —What’s going on?—

Oliver zoomed in on a section of the map where the tables were laid out. —So, we’ve got the bridal party over here, the family section there… and then the rest of the guests. Here’s where it gets tricky, there are a lot of people who expect to be seated near either me or Sav, and I’m trying to figure out who really needs to be near us.—

Lando chuckled, knowing full well what his brother meant. —Sounds like a classic wedding drama. What, they’re gonna start fights over where they sit?—

Oliver looked at him with a smirk. —You’d be surprised. Some of these people think they’re royalty. Anyway, check this out. I’m trying to make sure everyone’s comfortable, but, well...— He tapped his screen. —I wasn’t sure where to put Amelie... oh shit, i guess i forgot to tell you...—

Lando’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name. The words seemed to echo in his head as if the universe was reminding him of the thing he tried not to think about. He blinked, hoping he had heard wrong.

—Amelie?— Lando’s voice came out sharper than he intended.

Oliver looked up, his face apologetic. —Oh sorry Lando, I forgot to tell you... Amelie confirmed she’ll be coming to the wedding. I was trying to sort the seating plan, and, well, I was wondering where to put her. I didn’t mean to drop it on you like this, but—

Lando’s stomach sank. —Wait, what? Amelie’s coming? You mean, she’s coming?— He didn’t even know what he was asking, the words stumbling out as his mind scrambled to make sense of this revelation.

Oliver’s face twisted with a small wince. —Yeah, I was supposed to tell you sooner, but with everything going on, I just… forgot. Sorry, mate, I didn’t think it would be a big deal.—

Lando stared at his brother, trying to make sense of what he just heard. His mind raced. She’s coming. She’s actually coming. He had heard about Oliver inviting Amelie, but he had assumed—and hoped—that she wouldn’t show. After the mess between them, the last thing he expected was for her to show up at a family event like this.

His thoughts were chaotic. He knew Oliver had asked him about inviting Amelie, and he’d said it was fine, even though deep down, he was skeptical. He never imagined she’d actually follow through. And now, with Luisinha coming with him too, what was he supposed to do?

—Shit,— Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair. —You’re kidding, right? She’s really coming? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?—

Oliver’s expression was a mix of guilt and awkwardness. He knew how complicated things were between them. Lando had never been one to hide his feelings, especially when it came to Amelie, but even Oliver knew how delicate the subject was.

—Look, I’m sorry. It’s not like I thought it’d be a big deal. I mean, I know things ended… weird between you two, but—

—Weird?— Lando repeated sharply, before he could stop himself. —That’s one way to put it. It wasn’t just weird, Oli. It was messy as hell. She’s the last person I expected to see at a wedding. Especially your wedding.—

Oliver leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender. —Okay, okay, I get it. But she confirmed. And now, I have to figure out where to seat her. Should I put her next to me, or do I stick her somewhere else, like… near you? I thought I’d ask you first, but you’ve been busy with the race, so—

Lando felt a knot in his stomach tighten. —Oh, god. Don’t put her anywhere near me. Don’t even… fuck, just keep her away from me. I don’t know if I can handle that right now.—

Oliver winced, realizing how serious this was. He’d seen Lando struggle to let go of Amelie after everything went south, and he had always tried to be careful when it came to her. But now? This was a whole new level of awkward.

—Right, okay. I’ll move things around. I didn’t think it would matter, but...—

Lando’s mind was spinning, and he struggled to keep his calm. He hadn’t expected to hear her name today, not like this. Not at his brother’s wedding. Not when everything was still so raw, so unresolved. The way Amelie had disappeared after they’d parted ways... it felt like it had been a lifetime ago, but in some ways, it still hurt like it was yesterday.

The silence between them was thick. Oliver knew better than to push Lando further. He’d seen his brother in a million moods, but this? This was a familiar one. A mix of confusion, frustration, and a pinch of fear. Lando’s heart was racing, his mind flooding with thoughts of her — the way Amelie used to look at him, the way she laughed, the nights they spent talking about everything and nothing. The whole mess that had been their relationship.

Finally, Lando took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He had to act normal. He had to. He couldn’t let his brother see how much this was affecting him, even though his insides were screaming.

He pushed his sandwich aside, his appetite suddenly gone. —Okay. Fine. Just... keep her away from me. That’s all I’m asking.—

Oliver nodded quickly, his eyes darting down to the iPad as he started scrolling through the seating plan again. —Yeah, I’ll figure it out. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I just... I thought it wouldn’t be an issue. I didn’t want to make things weird. But now, uh... yeah, I’ll make sure she’s not near you.—

Lando let out a long, slow exhale, trying to shake off the anxiety that had settled into his chest. —Look, it’s fine. It’s fine. I just... I didn’t expect it, you know? I thought she wouldn’t come. But... whatever. I’ll just... deal with it. It’s not a big deal, right? I mean, she’s just... she’s just there for you. It’s your wedding. Just...—

—Yeah, Lando, I get it. Don’t worry about it, man,— Oliver interrupted, his voice a little too casual for Lando’s liking. He was clearly trying to move past the awkwardness. —I’ll make sure everything’s fine. You won’t even have to talk to her if you don’t want to. But just... relax, alright? It’s gonna be okay.—

Lando forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. —Yeah. I’m sure. Just, uh... just make sure I’m not seated next to her, alright?—

Oliver nodded again, looking relieved that his brother wasn’t completely flipping out. But Lando couldn’t hide the tightness in his chest. This wasn’t going to be easy, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it. He couldn’t exactly avoid Amelie. Not when they’d be at the same event. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to face her. To see her with other people. To think about all the things they never said, all the things they’d left hanging.

His mind kept spinning, but he did his best to pull himself together. —So, uh, what’s the plan after the wedding?—

Oliver glanced up from the iPad, clearly not expecting the question. —Plan? You mean for the party?—

—Yeah, whatever,— Lando muttered, trying to sound casual as he stared at his brother, even though his thoughts were still miles away. —After the wedding. Like, is there an after-party or something?—

Oliver grinned, clearly relieved that his brother wasn’t completely consumed by the seating arrangement drama. —Oh, we’ve got a party planned. You should stick around for it. I know you don’t like all the fuss, but it’ll be fun. Everyone’s gonna be there. You can relax, have a good time, and forget about the stress of the day. Besides, it’s family. It’s your family. No pressure. You know that, right?—

Lando nodded slowly, forcing his thoughts to refocus. The wedding. The guests. The awkwardness. He’d deal with it. He always did. But deep down, he knew this wouldn’t be easy. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to confront the ghosts of his past — ghosts with green eyes and a smile that still haunted him.

—Yeah,— Lando said, standing up and trying to force some normalcy into his tone. —I’ll be there. I’ll, uh... I’ll figure it out. We always do, right?—

Oliver stood up too, giving Lando a slap on the back. —That’s the spirit. Don’t stress about it, alright? You’ve got a race to focus on. We’ll handle the rest.—

Lando didn’t respond. Instead, he just grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and walked out of the motorhome, his mind still racing, his heart still tense. He didn’t know if he was ready to face her. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be.

But he was going to have to. For his brother. For the wedding. For whatever the hell was left of him.

[feral4fiktion]

Just a little fluff and Rookanis unable to express feelings through words.

Cioccolata Calda (914 words) by Feral4Fiktion Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook Characters: Lucanis Dellamorte, Emmrich Volkarin, Davrin (Dragon Age), Rook (Dragon Age), Evka, Antoine (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: can't verbalize feelings Summary: Set after that one comment from Mila where she tells her dad "Rook's Crow Friend" gifted her some of her fav drink.

914 words

nogender!Rook x Lucanis

Cioccolata Calda

Rook nearly ran through the Eluvian, pausing only long enough to let Evka know they were leaving, but would check in soon in a huff of breath so fast the poor woman hardly had time to look up upon hearing it before the elf was gone. Her companions were a few more steps behind, but not in near as much of a rush as Rook had seemed to be in.

“What’s that about? Did something happen?” She questioned Davrin, who had already stopped to give a full report before he realized Rook had left him and Emmrich already.

“No idea…everything was normal when we walked up, right?” He glanced at an equally confused Emmrich.

“Yes…nothing out of the ordinary, I don’t think. Although…” He glanced behind him, “They did pause a half step when Mila spoke with her father…something about cioccolata calda?”

The two held a gaze for a moment, analyzing what was said before a clear understanding reached them both at once.

Davrin chuckled dryly as he shrugged. “All he has to do is open his eyes, much less do something nice for someone.”

“Indeed. The hearts strings tug tighter when pulled by a kind hand, though.” Emmrich replied, his eyes shimmering with something like wistfullness as he gazed in the direction their leader had gone.

“Well, since we didn’t get any, how about I treat you to some gingerwort truffle tea? I hear good things.” Davrin lightly nudged the tall man’s arm and started heading toward the Eluvian.

“Perhaps a taste, purely for academia, but I’m afraid Rook has quite frightened me off the drink.” Emmrich chuckled but followed.

“What was that about truffle tea?” Antoine finally turned from what he’d been fiddling on the table with after a slight pause.

“No idea. At this point I’ve stopped trying to make sense of that group, and just go with whatever.” Evka shrugged with a rueful grin, but paused when Antoine looked at her thoughtfully.

“I borrowed a recipe book from the professor recently…it had a truffle tea in it that sounded…interesting.”

“Oh…If you want we could try it?” Evka looked at him uncertainly, but Antoine met her with a sly grin.

“Of course, perhaps tonight, in the Sheltered Glade?”

Back in the Lighthouse, most of the companions were off doing other things, or working diligently on their own projects, which was fine for Rook because there was only one person they wanted to see.

Before opening the doors to the kitchen Rook could already smell a fresh batch of coffee, stronger than most people might like, but lately everyone had started to appreciate it. And right now, Rook was appreciating the man hovered around the fireplace, steaming cup already in hand.

“Rook! You’re back early…I made this pot strong, I can make another more…drinkable…if you like.” He turned just enough to gift Rook a small smile, while also checking them over for any injuries sustained while he wasn’t around to protect them. His smile widened when he found them completely unharmed.

“Thank you, Lucanis. But I came for something stronger than coffee.” This earned Rook a full turn with a furrowed brow. His eyes flickered to a spot just over Rook’s shoulder for a moment, but apparently Spite hadn’t offered anything helpful.

“What could be stronger than coffee?” He finally asked. Rook grinned at the edge of disbelief in his voice that anything could be stronger than his precious bean water.

They approached calmly, not hurrying anymore now that the assassin’s eyes followed their every movement, maybe slightly on edge, but much less so than he used to be when someone got close.

If he looked overly wary as Rook stopped before him, neither said anything as Rook slowly raised their arms just high enough to wrap around his waist and pull their body closer to his. With a deep breath and their head pressed gently into his shoulder, still moving slowly enough to give him time to move away if he wanted, the two stayed there for a long moment before Rook pulled away just enough to meet his suddenly impossibly wide brown eyes.

“There. That should keep me going for a while.” Rook smirked. “Thanks Lucanis.” Then they stepped away fully, turning to see what he’d already set out for dinner.

Lucanis had frozen with one arm slightly raised…maybe he’d been working up the courage to pull Rook closer into the hug? He wasn’t sure himself as he watched them grab a slice of toast, still reeling from what they’d said.

“Mila liked the cioccolata calda, by the way,” Rook stated before sitting in their usual seat at the head of the table. Lucanis sputtered for a moment, not sure where that comment had come from, and unable to stop a small flush from heating his cheeks. He hadn’t told anyone about his gift to the girl, but the warmth in Rook’s voice (with just an edge of that teasing lilt they’d picked up from Neve), obviously made him want to deny anything.

“She’s been through a lot.” He turned back to the little kitchen, wanting to busy his hands, and not notice the smile that was following him. “And she saved our lives. It’s nothing.”

There was a beat of silence as he stirred the pasta currently cooking in the pot. Just over the sound of the sauce starting to boil came an almost whispered: “It’s everything, to me.”

[hyperlexichypatia]

So you think people with “fundementally bad person” disorder like fucking PEDOPHILLIA shouldn’t be cured of their affliction??? I can accept everything else but having the urge to diddle kids is quite possibly the worst thing one cpuld ever have. If I were one, I would either seek out a cure or off myself if one didn’t exist. It’s NOT homophobic to say they’re evil. It’s NOT anti-paraphillia to say they’re evil because they’re not a true fetish. Fetishes are harmless like feet and consensual BDSM. Pedophillia and zoophillia are mental illnesses that actually NEED a cure or an early intervention in the form of good sex education. That way everyone is attracted to their own age range…

There is no "cure" for any form of sexual attraction. You're moralizing about something that doesn't exist. Nor is there a "type of brain" (or "disorder") (or sexual preference for that matter) that makes someone a "bad person." Morality is determined by people's choices, not their brains.

I can think of plenty of things that are worse than "having the urge to diddle kids." Things like, oh, say... actually doing it.

"Pedophilia" doesn't need a "cure"; it needs to stop being used as an excuse for the chosen behavior of assaulting a child, an actual choice for which people need to be held accountable.

People with pedophiliac tendencies have said that they can't help being sexually attracted to children. Fine. I can't control what I'm sexually attracted to either. Yet, I can manage to be alone on an elevator with someone I find attractive, and not rape them. Wouldn't even cross my mind to rape them, honestly. If you happen to be sexually attracted to children, you can just.... not commit any sexual assault about it, just as most of us go through most of our lives seeing people we're attracted to, and not sexually assaulting them.

It's so... interesting... that feminist anti-rape activism (of adults) has made some progress -- not enough progress, but some -- on destabilizing the myth that sexual assault is motivated by irresistible sexual attraction, and recognizing that gendered violence is motivated by gendered power dynamics... but when the topic is sexual assault of children, suddenly we're all supposed to pretend that "a brain disease made them do it". Even as all extant research on both pedophilia and CSA reveals that: Most pedophiles do not commit CSA, and Most people who commit CSA are not sexually attracted to children (like most rapists, they're motivated by a desire to overpower someone weaker than themselves, and, well, children make easy targets if you want someone smaller and weaker to abuse).

Stop viewing child abuse as being caused by a "mental illness" and start viewing it as being caused by the power of a privileged group (adults) over a marginalized group (children).

[unluckywisher]

- What Is This Feeling? -

A Zayne x Carter smut fic

Content: OOC(?) dom!Zayne, slutty bratsub!Carter, toxic because it's Carter, argument to making out to start of hate sex, use of mild force (against Carter) but that's exactly what he wants, this is unfinished.

A/N: I don't know what I'm doing either. I can't bring myself to finish this so you've been warned about the edging. Word count: ~1.3k

If there was a thing about Carter that was certain, it was his stubbornness. Not only in scientific research, but also when it came to convince a certain Doctor to join his experiments.

It was strange, how he felt about Zayne. Not jealousy, no, after all, he was also an accomplished doctor. Hate. Hate was probably the word.

He made his way to Zayne with confident steps, arrogant smile unwavering. He had convinced him to meet up at his office at Akso with the excuse that he wanted to apologize for his behaviour, and return some stolen borrowed documents.

Zayne was sitting at his desk. Without sparing a glance at Carter, and still typing on his computer, he was the first to speak.

“The documents.”

There was that coldness that always managed to creep up Carter’s spine. Hate. He retrieved them from the folder he was carrying and placed them on the desk.

“Did you think I was lying when I said I would bring them?” He chuckled and casually sat on the opposite chair.

“No, but the sooner I retrieved them from you, the better,” his words practically bit, fully intending to express just how little Zayne wanted to be in his presence. Hate.

He stopped typing and took the documents, putting them away in a drawer. His eyes landed on Carter for the first time since he had arrived, sharp and blaming. The aforementioned tried his best to maintain eye contact.

“You have my most sincere apologies. I didn’t think you’d mind that much.”

“You didn’t think I’d mind you taking my patients’ files?” He raised an eyebrow. Hate.

“We’re both professionals. The information would remain confidential.” He shrugged.

“Right, of course, and that somehow makes it completely fine.” Shut up. Hate.

“Do you understand what’s at stake? That information could be saving lives right now. We could be saving lives right now together.”

Carter got more and more riled up as he spoke, rising to his feet and leaning on the desk with his palms.

“What you’re doing isn’t saving anyone, you-” Shut up.

“Yet! Isn’t saving anyone yet. But it could be, if you just-”

Zayne stood up as well, fists banging against his desk. He leaned forward with furrowed brows.

“No. No,” Zayne’s minty breath caressed his face, “you’re killing people. Treating them like a means to an end.”

Carter’s eyes flicked to his lips for a split second. Hate. Hate. Hate. Shut him up. Shut him up. Shut him up.

His lips crashed against Zayne’s in what could only be considered the weirdest powerplay in history. He didn’t have time to close his eyes or move his mouth, because the cardiologist immediately stepped back, the desk between them impeding Carter from following after him.

“...What?” Zayne stared at him dumbfounded.

Indeed. What. His mind was going a mile a minute, trying to accept that yes, he had just done that, and worse, he was disappointed that it had ended so abruptly. His face was warm.

“What?” He echoed Zayne’s question.

“What was that for?”

“You were talking too much and not listening to me.”

“And so, you decided to kiss me?”

Both men stood still, the office too big yet the space between them too suffocatingly small. Carter’s eyes glued to Zayne’s lips, silently asking for more, weren’t helping.

“You need to leave,” Zayne spoke first, walking around the desk to lead him out, but he got pulled back by his arm.

“Make me,” Carter said with a defiant expression.

He didn’t know what was going through Zayne’s head, but he imagined it was more or less the same as his own thoughts - Hatred and contempt, and a wish to make him stop, whatever that entailed.

Carter got pushed back against the wall, sharp gaze pinning him to the spot, cold hands on the collar of his shirt. Unusually aggressive for Zayne. It made Carter that much more riled up, that he was the only one who would ever see this side of him.

“Do you hate me?” He asked with a smaller voice than he intended.

“I do not think of you in any way,” replied Zayne, though they both knew it wasn’t completely true, “stop being like… This, and just leave.”

Carter wasn’t listening, lost in the way Zayne’s lips moved when he talked, the teeth peeking out from the flesh, his tongue-

“Like I said, make me. If you don’t want to hear me out, force me to-” his words cut off by the sudden kiss, this time initiated by Zayne.

Yes. Yes. He felt the same. Shut up. Hate. Shut up. Hate. Shut up. Hate.

Carter closed his eyes, smirking as he kissed him back, his hands on Zayne’s wrists. He was still pushing him up against the wall, clutching his collar. If he was a little more careless, he might have choked Carter, but he wasn’t that far gone.

Zayne pulled back with an angered huff, only getting angrier at Carter’s cocky expression. He wanted so badly to wipe his smug smirk off his face.

A single sliver of ice darted out of his hand and landed on the office door, freezing it shut. Carter’s eyes widened with both fear and excitement.

“What are you doing?”

“You wanted to stay, so stay,” he said with a challenging tone.

Just like that, Carter pulled him into another kiss, fueled by rage, and frustration, and hatred, and, and, and-

Fuck.

He opened his mouth to give Zayne full access, welcoming his tongue hungrily, sucking on it the way he wanted to suck him off, only stopping to nip at his lips.

Carter’s hands found Zayne’s belt faster than he would like to admit. He unbuckled it messily, anticipation making his chest burn. Hands bigger than his slammed against the wall on each side of his face, and he felt so small, so weak… So hard.

His hand slipped under Zayne’s unbuttoned pants and wrapped around the hard shaft. Oh, he was so big. He wanted it inside of him.

The kiss broke and Zayne looked down with a furrowed brow, then up at him. His glasses had fogged up a bit.

Carter almost whined when he stepped back, hand being removed from Zayne’s cock, but his legs almost turned to jelly when he heard him say;

“Lean over the desk.”

Despite how much he wanted to comply, he instead remained where he was.

“Ooh, who knew Dr. Perfect would have nothing against office sex,” he quipped.

Zayne grabbed his arm and shoved him towards the desk. The force of the action almost made him crash face-down, but he stopped himself with his hands in time. He looked over his shoulder with blown pupils.

Before he could say another witty remark, Zayne reached around Carter’s hips and unbuttoned his pants. His cool palm pressed his erection and made him back up, hips now flush against each other.

Carter opened his mouth but no sound came out, the feeling of both Zayne’s hand and Zayne’s cock on each side of his body was practically melting him. In his heart, he would’ve never guessed it would lead up to this, and yet, he knew it was inevitable.

“Don’t pretend I started this,” said Zayne, taking a step so there would be no space between the desk and them.

“Don’t pretend I’m the only one that wanted it,” retorted Carter.

Ice creeped up his mouth, sealing it shut in an instant. No more quips. His pants and boxers got pulled down, Zayne’s cock resting between his asscheeks.

“Mmm,” he whined, reaching back to touch-

His hands froze against the desk, trapped. It made his dick throb.

Zayne intended to give him exactly what he deserved.

[longwayaround]

The TARDIS' favorite pilot.

After everything he and the TARDIS had been through? No, she might like her, she might even like her a lot, especially considering River seemed to be able to communicate with her, somehow, in a way that the Doctor couldn't, but he'd always the TARDIS' favorite. Right?

Or... maybe she was the favorite pilot, he could accept that. He did... fry a lot of circuitry and cause some teeny tiny accidents in the TARDIS by asking maybe a little too much of her.

She liked the adventure just as much as he did, though, he was sure of it.

"You can understand the TARDIS and fly her," he mused, and the knew the question implied in those words wouldn't be answered, but he couldn't help but wonder either way. How could she do that? How could she communicate with the TARDIS better than him, better than a Time Lord, better than the person who'd been bonded with her for centuries?

Suspicious, or we're in luck.

He really wanted it to be the latter. They could do with a bit of luck right now, especially considering the fact that it was an honest concern whether he would be able to make the fifteen minute walk to the TARDIS or not. In his experience, though, it was usually the former.

His grip on her hand tightened a little as he continued onwards, telling himself that he was absolutely fine and his knees would take his weight, because that was what they were there for and they were just fine. They had no excuses.

"Tell me about the planet," he asked after a moment, looking for something to keep his mind busy. "Stage of development, the people, anything that stands out about it. Must be something here if the TARDIS picked it. Assuming she did. Must be something here if I picked it, too."

Alright, time to stop talking again — this was going to get very annoying very quickly, wasn't it? He liked talking. He was good at it, too.

But for now, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. His main theory as to why the TARDIS might have picked this planet if there wasn't anything there she wanted to nudge him towards was that she'd picked it because of River.

She brushed her thumb over his cheek, River Song intended to stick with him until this adventure was through and maybe a little after.

He needed her.

And she needed him just as much.

"Quite well." River Song confirmed, amused by his disbelief. "I'm her favorite pilot."

The excitement and favoritism that came with actually listening and being able to communicate with the TARDIS, knowing all of what she liked and disliked about not only the Doctor but those who moved in and out her door, made River Song feel powerful.

He was bothered. He was bothered a lot. And River Song laughed at his desire to keep face than be shown up by her expertly piloting the TARDIS to him. Certainly he wouldn't pass out along the way. Right? Right.

She laced their fingers together. Maybe it would help the Doctor take his mind off the possibly of ending up on the ground again. Or that she was simply better at things he thought himself to be a pro at. It had to sting to know his wife outsmarted him with his own TARDIS.

"Nothing between us and her." She shook her head. "Which could be suspicious, or we're in luck. Guess we'll have to find out."