#(until I can get a team!!!! that won’t die!!!!!!)

[clowneryplusftf1]

Toto Wolff x journalist!reader

The night before the news about Lewis's departure become public, Toto asks for the help of the only journalist he's willing to trust with such an issue.

Toto doesn’t exactly despise journalists, he just generally prefers to avoid them until meeting them becomes absolutely necessary. Are they vultures? Most of the time, this is why he’s rather not risk an accident that can cost him everything. 

Not like he has such big secrets. 

But today, he knows he needs help from someone in the system to keep as much control over the situation as possible. Lewis will leave the team, the bomb will be dropped tomorrow afternoon, and now, at eight in the evening, he jumps out of a crisis call to contact the only journalist he actually trusts with a topic this big–you. 

“You have a second?” he asks the moment you answer his call. 

No greeting. No small talk. Nothing. Straight to the point.

You let out a sigh on the other end of the line. “All I have is time,” you say, your speech nothing more but a drunken slur. 

Toto is taken aback by the state you must be in based on what he heard so far. “Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice flat, but still full of disapprovement. 

“It’s,” you begin, putting a little more emphasis on the last letter than you should, but then you manage to go on, “none of your business.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose as if it could stop the incoming headache, he speaks up again. “For fuck’s sake. Sober up, I need your help.”

“Awww, the big bad wolf needs little old me’s help?” 

“Are you alone?”

“I have no one. I’ll die alone. How did you know?”

And now you’re sobbing, unable to continue the conversation. For a few moments he listens, even calls out your name to get your attention, but it doesn’t work, so he just ends the call. You’re useless in this state of mind, he has no time to waste on that.

But then, after an hour passes, he comes to the conclusion that you’re the only one he can trust with this, so he arranges his jet to be ready by the time he arrives. If you can’t talk over the phone, maybe he can get through to you in person.

God, the things he would do for the team…

Because it’s for the team, it has nothing to do with worry. He’s not worried about your well-being, about you being alone when you’re clearly wasted. Before he heads to the airport, he quickly asks someone to send him your address–the perks of having good connections–and he’s surprised to see that you are, in fact, in London. During a brief conversation, you were talking about having an apartment near Zürich, he always believed you lived there. 

So, he decides to cancel the flight and gets in his car to drive there, hoping he can get there in time before you pass out. Well, even if you do, he’ll just wake you up. You’re miserable, it was clear from the call, so maybe you could even use some company.

Not like that’s the reason why he visits you. It’s strictly business, nothing more, nothing less. 

##########

It’s late when he arrives, but he doesn’t care about that. Once he parks the car, he searches for your name in his phone and taps it to start the call, then waits impatiently for you to pick up. He lets it ring, hoping it won’t go to voicemail, and after a solid two minutes, you finally answer. 

“What?” you mumble tiredly. 

If he had to guess, Toto would assume you’re lying on your stomach, the phone on speaker so you don’t have to bother holding it, and you refuse to even lift your head a little from the pillow. Why he has this image in his mind is beyond him, but that’s his best guess. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, he leans his head against the head restrain. “No hello?”

“What do you want, Wolff?”

Good, you’re waking up. “I’m here, so you’d better crawl out of bed and open the door when I knock,” he orders, although his voice isn’t as stern as it usually is. A tired groan fills his ear, which is soon followed by some quiet rumbling. “Care to use words?” he asks with an amused smile. 

“Why?”

“Because we need to talk.”

A snort comes out of you at this. “I don’t want visitors, go home,” you tell him, sounding like you’re about to close the conversation. 

Toto gets out of the car when he sees the motion detecting lights turn on inside the building, then, as a young couple walks out with their dog, he uses this chance to sneak inside. “I’m already here, so I’m not leaving without talking to you. I have big news, and I need your help,” he informs you as he calls the elevator. 

There’s silence, which is followed by a heavy sigh, then a groan. “No work tonight. I’m too sad.”

The elevator starts moving, and he lets out a long sigh as he leans against the metal wall. He can’t help but wonder if it would be best if he turned around and went home, after all it seems like you’re gonna be useless. Then again… “Lewis is going to Ferrari,” he says, knowing it’s safe to say it out loud as he’s alone in here.

“Say that again,” you demand, your voice sounding like you’ve been jolted awake. 

“I’ll tell you in a second, just open the door.”

He gets out on your floor, and not three steps later a door opens, and you show up, still wearing a little black dress, your makeup smudged, and his heart clenches at the sight. Whatever happened to you, it hit you hard. Maybe a little too hard. But at least there’s that bright look in your eyes, meaning you’re fully awake and paying attention. 

You’re quick to shepherd him inside, and the moment the door closes, you start speaking again. “Lewis is leaving Mercedes? What? How? Why?” you ask, sounding utterly confused. 

Raising a hand, Toto tries to convince you to stop talking. “Just sit down, I’ll bring you some water, then we can discuss what’s going on, okay?” 

You nod obediently, doing exactly as he asked. When he turns his back to you, he can’t help but smile as he shakes his head. If only you did what you’re supposed to at work too, things would be much easier. Hell, he might as well hire you, although maybe it’s for the best not to work together. 

And then, as he’s going through your fridge to find a water bottle, he comes to a stop for a moment. Why shouldn’t you work together? It’s a thought he can’t comprehend, he can’t understand why it’s suddenly so important. 

“What’s taking so long? I want to hear the details!” you begin to complain. 

“Here. Drink this,” he tells you when he returns and hands you the bottle. 

You narrow your eyes as you put it down on the coffee table, but he gives you a stern look in return, so you change your mind and open the bottle. To be fair, he’s beginning to enjoy this game with you. 

“The news will go public in the afternoon, until then, you can’t say or write a damn word, understood?” 

You nod, and so he begins to tell you the story, strictly the facts, nothing more, he doesn’t want to get his emotions involved. Was it in the cards that he would leave? Yes. Did he expect it to happen so early in the season? Not really. But he has a backup plan, and that’s Kimi. The young Italian is talented, and he might be able to make sure he inherits Lewis’s seat next year. 

Once he’s done with the story, you let out a thoughtful hum. “And what do you expect me to do?” you wonder out loud. 

“I want you to be the first to write the story. Except–”

“You want me to include your point of view to frame the narrative,” you finish. 

Toto can’t help but smile. “Clever girl.”

 “Alright, let me get rid of what’s left of my makeup, change into something more comfortable, then we’ll get to work,” you tell him with a smile, then jump up and disappear into the living room before he could stop you. 

While you’re away, he has the chance to take a better look around, to see where exactly you spend your time. But it’s strangely empty, lacking the personal touch. The furniture is minimalistic, every object has a function, and this is the kind of home one can see in a magazine, not a place that tells someone’s life story. This is nothing more but an apartment where you can stay between the race weekends, that’s all. 

In a way, it reminds him of his home. 

And then he sees it. A framed photo with a broken glass, lying behind the couch. He picks it up to take a better look at it, and it’s you with a guy your age, someone he doesn’t recognize. Is it your boyfriend? Or your ex? Maybe that’s why you’ve been crying and drinking, why the glass of the frame is now shattered into pieces. 

Since you don’t seem to show up anytime soon, he decides to make you both a cup of coffee while he’s waiting. Despite having chats with people in the paddock and saying you love coffee, it’s quite surprising that you have a coffee maker that works with capsules. For a quick moment, the idea of buying you a proper one as a thank you crosses his mind, but he waves it away. 

No gifts for such things. 

“Alright. I’d love to say I’m battle ready, but I can already feel the hangover co–” You stop not far from him with your laptop in hand, the words catching in your throat. “Oh my God, coffee,” you say, as if you’ve just seen a miracle happen. 

It’s quite amusing, really, how you can be cheered up by such simple things like coffee. With a smile, he pushes a mug closer to you, then waits for his own to be ready. There are suddenly so many things he wants to ask you, so many things that make him wonder what you’re like outside the paddock, when it’s just you, the person, not the journalist. 

If one thing’s for sure, is that this will be your little secret. He won’t tell anyone that he showed up in your apartment uninvited, that he saw you at probably one of your lowest points in life, and hopefully you won’t tell anyone that he was desperate enough to ask for your help in damage control. 

He watches as you put the laptop on the kitchen island, then you pick up the mug to smell its content, seemingly happy and content following your outburst a few hours ago about dying alone. 

“Are you okay?” he asks you eventually. 

You look up, eyes wide in surprise. “Me? Yeah, sure, of course, what makes you think I’m not?” you add with a nervous chuckle. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Deep down he wants to know more, he wants to know if that guy in the photo is the reason why you’re this… broken now, but he lets it go. It’s none of his business. 

[laurrelise]

prove me wrong: tua s4 was a giant aidan gallagher thirst trap written and created by yours truly steve blackman

[slicksquid]

return of the king

[heavenlybodies333]

Don’t Touch Her -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader | secret relationship |

The slap of your sneakers on the pavement used to be a comfort, a routine that cleared your head—but lately it’s a metronome for your anxiety, a countdown.

You weren’t trying to attract attention. You were trying to outrun fear. Outrun the texts, the emails, the notes in your dorm room that shouldn’t have been accessible. The way your photos kept getting more invasive. The way whoever he was…knew your schedule.

It’s so hot, the kind of sticky early spring day that makes your tank top cling to your skin by the third mile. Sweat trails down your spine. The black running shorts ride up slightly—practical, not sexy. You’re just trying to clear your head, trying to ignore the way your phone’s notifications have been a never-ending storm of sick, twisted messages for the past three weeks.

You told yourself he was bluffing.

But he’d said he was watching. And you could feel it. For the last mile, your skin had itched with the awareness—every shadow behind you warped with dread.

You turn the corner—

—and slam straight into him.

Arms like iron clamp around you, dragging you off your feet. You scream, kick, thrash against the unsub as he snarls into your ear. His breath is sour. His voice is sickening.

"Thought you were too good for me, huh, bitch?"

The cold press of a blade slices the scream in your throat into silence.

Suddenly—shouting. Tires screech. A vehicle door slams. Then another.

“FBI! DROP THE KNIFE!”

Oh god. The voices—the voices you know like second nature. Your dad. Morgan. JJ. Emily. Rossi. And Spencer.

Your eyes snap toward him, and time warps. He looks like he’s going to be sick, his body frozen halfway between movement and panic. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe.

And your father—your father is yelling your name like he’s afraid he’s about to watch you die.

“I’ll slit her throat! Don’t come closer!” the man shrieks behind you, knife pressing deeper into your skin, the sharp bite of it threatening to cut.

You cry harder. You try not to, but it’s too much.

"Let her go!" your father barks, gun raised, voice like thunder.

“I swear to god, if you touch her—” Morgan snarls, eyes locked on the unsub.

Spencer’s voice is quiet but sharp like glass. “She’s not one of them. She’s not a message. You don’t want this.”

The unsub hisses in your ear, dragging the blade higher, pressing it under your jaw. He laughs. “Oh, I’ve wanted to for a long time. The things I’ve thought about doing to this slut—”

The unsub keeps talking, but Spencer is watching him—no, he’s watching you. And you know exactly what that look in his eyes means. You’ve seen it in the dark, whispered against your neck, in the hush of your sheets tangled with his. You’re his. And if you die here, he will never come back from it.

The unsub starts shaking. He’s losing it. You’re shaking too. Spencer’s eyes won’t leave you. And you can’t stop thinking—I love you. I love you. Don’t let me die.

Then—Bang.

The unsub screams. Blood splashes your legs as Morgan tackles him from behind. The blade clatters to the pavement. You’re released, and you stumble forward, into the only arms you know will catch you.

Your dad’s.

You bury yourself into his chest as he cradles you, as if you’re five years old again and nothing could ever touch you. He keeps asking questions—if you’re hurt, if he touched you, if he’s the one who’s been threatening you—but all you can do is sob.

“She needs to go home,” Hotch mutters to the team. His voice is thick with restrained rage. “Reid, take her. Stay with her until I get back. Don’t leave her side.”

He doesn’t even look at Spencer when he says it.

Spencer nods and gently touches your arm. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

You curl into the front seat of Spencer’s car, hoodie over your scraped knees, throat raw. The whole ride is silent—except for the music he puts on, quietly. Something soft. Piano, maybe. You don’t realize you're crying until you feel his fingers brush the tears from your cheek at a red light.

When you get to your apartment, you wordlessly let him unlock the door. The second the door shuts behind you, your composure shatters.

You’re in his arms. You’re sobbing into his chest. Your fingers grip his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the planet.

Spencer doesn’t say anything. He just holds you. Presses your face into the crook of his neck. His heart is pounding too fast, too loud.

You finally whisper, “He wanted to—he said he thought about—what he wanted to do to me—”

Spencer’s jaw clenches against your forehead.

“I should’ve told someone,” you breathe. “I should’ve told you. But if I told you, I’d have to tell him. And then he’d hate me. And I—I just—”

You’re cut off by his mouth on yours. Spencer kisses you. Hard. Desperate. You whimper against him, still trembling, your body pressed against his like you’re trying to crawl inside him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters against your lips. “You hear me? You were scared. You didn’t ask for this.”

“I wore shorts.”

“I don’t care.” His voice is rough. He cups your face. “If anyone looks at you like that again—talks about you like that again—I swear to god, I’ll kill them.”

That shouldn’t make you ache. But it does.

“Spence,” you whisper, lips brushing his. “I need you. I need to feel something that isn’t fear right now.”

He hesitates. “Are you sure? You’ve been through a trauma—”

“I’m sure.”

His hands are on you in an instant.

He pushes you back against the wall, kissing you with feral need, his fingers digging into your thighs as he lifts you. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, letting him carry you down the hallway to your bedroom like you weigh nothing.

He kicks your door shut behind him without looking. The second your back hits the sheets, Spencer is on you, your fingers fumble with the hem of his sweater, shoving it up his torso, your nails dragging across the soft ridges of his stomach. He’s lean, but the tension under your hands is all wiry strength and frayed nerves. He doesn’t stop you—just watches, eyes blown wide with need

You slide your hand between your bodies, gripping the hem of his shirt. “Off,” you whisper, tugging. “I need all of you.”

He pulls back just long enough to strip, shirt over his head, belt unbuckled, pants shoved down with haste. His cock is already hard, flushed, aching against his stomach—and your mouth waters just looking at him, even through the haze of adrenaline and leftover terror.

But he slows again, kneeling between your legs, just looking at you.

“You’re my entire goddamn world,” he whispers. “You know that?”

You nod, voice gone.

“I mean it. I would’ve let him kill me if it meant you got away.”

“Don’t say that,” you breathe, tears pricking again.

He leans down and kisses the corners of your eyes. “Then don’t make me live in a world without you.”

Your hips arch as he lines himself up, dragging the tip of his cock through your slick folds. You’re already soaked—wet from the adrenaline, from the fear, from the overwhelming need to feel him, to claim him, to be reminded that you’re alive.

He pushes in slow. Your head falls back against the pillows, a moan slipping out before you can stop it. He’s so deep, and you’re so tight around him—every inch of him pushing into you like he’s trying to fill the ache in your chest.

Spencer curses under his breath, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel—fuck—so good. You’re perfect.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Move. Please.”

He starts slow, thrusts measured, letting you feel every roll of his hips. But it doesn’t stay slow for long. The fear that drove you both is still clawing at your ribs, begging to be drowned out.

His rhythm picks up, hard and deep, the bed creaking beneath you. He grips your wrists and pins them above your head, his mouth crashing back to yours as your bodies slap together.

“I need you to know,” he gasps, dragging his cock deep enough to make you cry out, “I would burn the world down for you. Even if he wasn’t the unsub. Even if he wasn’t hurting other women. If he touched you—just once—I’d kill him.”

You moan, thighs shaking around his hips. “You’re mine, Spencer.”

He bites your neck. “Say it again.”

“You’re mine.”

And it’s possessive now—the way he fucks you like he’s branding you, claiming you in every thrust. He fucks you through your first orgasm, and doesn’t stop until he’s coaxed a second from you, your nails clawing down his back as you scream his name.

When he finally comes, it’s with your name on his lips—broken, hoarse, sacred.

You stay tangled in each other after, his body half-crushing you, your fingers drawing patterns into the sweaty skin of his back.

Eventually, he lifts his head and looks at you, still breathing hard. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… let me protect you next time.”

Your eyes flutter closed. “You already do.”

There’s a pause. Then, softly: “I love you.”

You open your eyes and smile. “I love you more.”

You’re still trembling, even in the afterglow. Spencer presses soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your hairline—like each one is an apology for not saving you sooner.

Your body’s wrecked, exhausted from adrenaline, fear, and the sharp release of being his again. You feel safe. Finally. And then you fall asleep.

Spencer watches your face—relaxed for the first time in hours—and he knows he can’t stay like this.

Not when your father is about to walk through the front door.

Carefully, he slips out from under the covers, grimacing as he moves slowly, not wanting to wake you. He leans over and tugs the blanket up over your shoulders, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek before he quietly starts pulling his clothes back on.

His shirt smells like you now. He tries not to think about it.

There’s a knock at the door—three steady raps. It’s unmistakably Hotch.

Spencer runs a hand through his hair and exhales slowly, making sure his tie is straight. He opens the door just enough to step outside, closing it behind him like you’re just sleeping peacefully in the next room.

Hotch is standing in the hall, dressed down from the case but still looking sharp, jaw tight. “How is she?”

Spencer softens his voice. “She’s… okay. She was still shaken up, obviously. But she let me stay with her until she fell asleep.”

Hotch glances toward the bedroom door. “Did she talk at all?”

“No. Just needed quiet. I think it helped, being with someone familiar.”

Hotch nods. “I’ll check on her, but I’ll let her sleep.” He looks at Spencer and for a split second, his gaze lingers—fatherly suspicion flickering for just a second—but then it’s gone. “Thanks for staying. I knew she’d be safe with you.”

Spencer swallows, trying not to flinch at the irony. “Always.”

“Go home. Get some rest,” Hotch says, stepping past him.

Spencer lingers for a second longer, eyes flicking to the door where you sleep, still wrapped in tangled sheets that barely hide what they just did.

a/n: he almost lost her. so yeah, he had to hit. sorry not sorry.

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[astonmartinii]

bandwagon | esteban ocon social media au

pairing: esteban ocon x fem wife!reader

a certain haircut has people seeing what was already there, not to the amusement of a certain someone

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, olliebearman and 108,983 others

tagged: estebanocon

yourusername: a cosy weekend with my love

view all comments

user3: i always thought he was massively batting… but turns out she was in for the long game

user4: she made an early investment

user5: see saw the bank account and then the face and thought, work can be done here

yourusername: are you ready to die?

user6: HUH????

yourusername: talk like that about my husband again and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer

yourusername: at my assault trial

user7: period.

estebanocon: nothing better in the world

yourusername: not even racing

estebanocon: not even racing

yourusername: omg he really is in love

estebanocon: i didn’t give you my last name for no reason

yourusername: right back at you handsome

user8: every time i remember that they both went double-barrelled a fairy GAINS their wings

user9: the way it doesn’t show on the timing tower but he insists that the media addresses him as such

estebanocon: i am incredibly proud of my wife, why wouldn’t i want to show off her name?

yourusername: SWOON

user10: okay … like now i get it

user11: no seriously he’s looking so good

user12: i guess that girlfriend/wife effect is real

yourusername: choke

estebanocon: cherie…

yourusername: you’re hot as fuck and i’m so annoyed that these cretins can talk on you like this

lancestroll: you might wanna let the haas PR team know that you’re stunting on hoes

yourusername: nothing some brownies won’t fix

estebanocon: i’m pretty sure they love her more than they love me

olliebearman: that’s my big sister for real

haasf1team: we’re prepared to look the other way… nothing to see here

olliebearman

liked by kimiantonelli, charles_leclerc and 308,934 others

tagged: yourusername & estebanocon

olliebearman: i guess a couples trip to france can make that country bearable

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user13: the haasbros are so dear to me

user14: este and y/n really are the big brother and sister ollie needed coming into the sport

user15: alicia always looks so uncomfortable in the paddock until y/n gets there, i love them all

user16: really the most underrated group in the paddock

yourusername: nice pun !!!

estebanocon: he’s trashing my country???

yourusername: baby he’s english, that’s like his god given right

estebanocon: you’re english ?

yourusername: but i love you

estebanocon: and the rest of france….

yourusername: fuck no - i love YOU

yourusername: i don’t have love to waste on the rest of them, it’s all reserved for you

estebanocon: awwwwwww thanks baby

pierregasly: ???

isackhadjar: ???

yourusername: wait isack, we love you don’t worry

isackhadjar: PHEW

pierregasly: and me???

yourusername: no comment.

user17: oh y/n really said brazil 24’ might have solved the tension for yall, but not for me

user18: so real of her

yourusername: woah one sec, i don’t hate pierre, this is just how our relationship is - the real villain here is and always will be alpine f1 team (i’ll avenge you jack)

charles_leclerc: am i being cheated on ???

yourusername: that sounds very incestuous

charles_leclerc: you know what i mean, give me back my child

yourusername: you can have him back, he lets us pay for everything

olliebearman: you’re the older ones :(

yourusername: you’re like 19 and a millionaire - what happened to looking out for your elders?

estebanocon: we gotta help him out while he still wants us

olliebearman: I’LL ALWAYS WANT YOU GUYS WTF

user19: esteban is looking… good?

yourusername: first of all, drop that question mark, he’s beautiful. second of all, delete that common and block him please

estebanocon: y/n???

yourusername: you’re mine and they can’t start thirsting now - you’ve always been fine

estebanocon

liked by olliebearman, jackdoohan and 458,340 others

tagged: yourusername & olliebearman

estebanocon: points points points and points for ollie! grazie suzuka, see you again next year!

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user22: omg the last photo

user23: dare i say top three threesome on the grid

yourusername: before i block you on both mine and esteban’s account, let me tell you this: GET THE FUCK OUT AND KEEP MY HUSBAND AND LITTLE BROTHER’S NAMES OUT OF YOUR MOUTH

user24: oh she is bare unprofessional

yourusername: i really don’t care, i accidentally became so important at work they won’t fire me and i know this lowkey turns este on

estebanocon: i will neither confirm nor deny

olliebearman: MY EYES

haasf1team: let’s gooooooooo esteban

estebanocon: thanks team! let’s keep building on this 💪

yourusername: woooooooooooooooooo !!! expect brownies in bahrain

haasf1team: perhaps the best news of the day

estebanocon: so my p5 means nothing?

haasf1team: of course!!!!! but y/n’s brownies are generational

estebanocon: yeah you do have a great point

user25: so is that why she gets away with being so rude to fans

haasf1team: y/n is the nicest person ever, so if she’s being ‘mean’ to you, it’s probably on you

user26: y/n got the streets so bad that the official haas team account out here defending her for telling fans to fuck off

user27: i can’t omg 😭

charles_leclerc: at least someone benefitted from my misfortune

estebanocon: thank you? idk what you really want me to say here… i’m sorry?

charles_leclerc: no i am genuinely happy for you

yourusername: are you fishing for some brownies?

charles_leclerc: no!

yourusername: you walked past haas hospitality three times loudly talking about brownies…

charles_leclerc: sue me, they are good enough that we can excuse you fighting people left, right and centre

yourusername: woah i am sorry i LOVE my husband

estebanocon: i love you too xxxx

charles_leclerc: can i have some brownies or not?

yourusername: fine.

user28: i love how her fighting fans is just a running joke in the paddock now

user29: i mean i get her, i can’t imagine having people openly thirsting over my husband

user30: i think it’s more how people are switching up now they find him attractive, a lot of these people would’ve been the same people to relentlessly hate on him before - i get her frustration

f1

liked by yourusername, olliebearman and 1,204,379 others

tagged: estebanocon

f1: let’s talk about esteban’s season so far! after a worrying start at testing and in australia - esteban now sits ninth in the standings with 14 points after imola!

view all comments

user31: woah

user32: has he always been this hot?

user33: maybe if he looked like this when he was fucking with checo, i might have sided with him

yourusername: you’re disgusting.

user33: excuse me?

yourusername: not used to people calling you on your bullshit?

yourusername: esteban was subject to some of the worst hate ever during that time and if something as superficial as his hair would’ve stopped you sending hate, then there’s something seriously wrong with you.

user34: eat them up.

user35: haas has a new fan in me - he single?

yourusername: no.

user36: oh LOL - don’t look in his DMs

yourusername: we’ve been married for years, i promise you, whatever you think you can give him - he already has

user37: oh babe now he’s learned to do his hair and pose properly, you won’t be around for long

estebanocon: please refrain from talking to my wife like that.

user38: omg you guys are both in these comments? do you not have a life?

yourusername: god forbid a married couple want to defend each other

user39: although this is particularly jobless activities from y/n and esteban, i fully support them

user40: i could not imagine supporting my man through endless hate campaigns and then having to deal with everyone switching up once they found him attractive

user41: real 20/20 vision havers have KNOWN that este is a beautiful looking man

yourusername: real

user41: omg queen i love you

yourusername: thank you for being respectful when calling my husband beautiful

user41: yall looking for a third?

estebanocon: i don’t share

yourusername: very aware i turned this comment section into a war zone but for real LOOK at my man he is tearing up this season

estebanocon: thank you cherie!!!

yourusername: i’m so so so proud of you

yourusername: we love you haas

olliebearman: and ollie

yourusername: and ollie

estebanocon: and ollie

yourusername

liked by olliebearman, pierregasly and 873,096 others

tagged: estebanocon

yourusername: my man, my man, my man. don’t jump on the bandwagon. you can’t like him now you find him attractive. he’s always been sexy and most importantly, he’s always been the best person in the world and in no way deserving of the shit you people have been giving him for years. don’t worry your little heads though, he’s well taken care of.

view all comments

user45: she gagged yall

user46: as she should

user47: i gotta find me a partner this ride or die omg

user48: they are the blueprint for real

user49: the only f1 relationship to never get those PR allegations !!!

estebanocon: i love you to the moon and back, it’s the biggest honour in the world being your husband. i don’t know what i did to deserve a wife like you

yourusername: and how did i deserve you? fate brought us together and i don’t intend on letting you go any time soon

estebanocon: i meant forever when i said forever

yourusername: i love you mr ocon-y/ln

estebanocon: i love you too mrs ocon-y/ln

user50: oh my god …. i need them so bad

user51: idk which one i want more?

user52: which one? bOTH!

user53: i am actually foaming at the mouth for a chance

user54: i am no better than a man

olliebearman: love you guys !!!

olliebearman: can you fight the people in my comment sections as well?

olliebearman: they’re saying i’m cheating on alicia with kimi ???

estebanocon: you aren’t?

olliebearman: HUH

estebanocon: he’s in the haas garage more than y/n is at this point

yourusername: we jest!

yourusername: that girl is my little sister so you best not be cheating with the italian

kimiantonelli: y/n can you fight someone in this comment section? his name is oliver bearman and he’s BETRAYING OUR FRIENDSHIP BY MAKING ME OUT TO BE A HOMEWRECKER

yourusername: okay let’s make it clear, i only ‘fight’ people who are either hating on my husband or thirsting over him… i don’t care about your weird tension

estebanocon: you also don’t have to fight random people for me

yourusername: i don’t care, my sweet prince deserves to be defended

estebanocon: awwwwww i love you

fin.

note: some love for my este bestie !!! and flavy tbf, i would also like to be a third... jokes !!! (not really)

[monserelates]

Drunk Confessions ; James Potter

“Drunk words are sober thoughts” they said.

pairing: f!reader x james potter

summary: Y/N and James Potter have been in love with eachother since 3rd year and it’s common knowledge to anyone except them. But what happens when James gets a tad bit too drunk on a party?

warnings/notes: fluff fluff fluff, idiots in love, use of y/n, girlhood, marauders banter, alcohol consumption, idk what elsee

a/n: oh my god in genuinely so mad it literally erased the WHOLE STORY AND I HAD TO REWRITE IT WHST TJE FUCK hope you enjoy anyway chat 🙏🏻

The sky over the Quidditch pitch is an angry gray, rumbling low and threatening, but it doesn’t stop the crowd from roaring like a stadium on fire. Rain drizzles steadily, soaking scarves and robes, but no one seems to care. Every eye is locked on the blur of red and blue circling high above the pitch, faster and faster—bludgers whizzing past, players shouting, the wind slicing through the stands like a knife.

You’re at the front of the Gryffindor section, heart thudding so hard you can barely hear the chant thundering around you:

“POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!”

There’s no mistaking him.

Even from here, you can see the wild mess of black hair, the scarlet robes plastered to his skin from the rain, the glint of determination in his hazel eyes as he leans into the dive of his life.

James Potter looks like a firework seconds before it explodes.

And then—he catches it.

One hand, mid-air, golden wings trapped in his palm.

The pitch erupts.

Gryffindors launch to their feet like they’ve been stunned. Red and gold streamers shoot from somewhere above, and someone behind you yells so loudly they lose their voice on the spot. You don’t realize you’re screaming, too, until your throat burns.

The sound of celebration rises like a tidal wave—but your eyes don’t leave him. Not even for a second.

He’s grinning, eyes wide, hair dripping, arm still raised with the Snitch clenched between his fingers—and then he’s looking straight at you.

And your breath catches.

⸻

In the professor’s box…

“There it is,” McGonagall murmurs, a little smug.

Slughorn groans and drops three Galleons into her hand. “Every bloody time.”

Sprout passes Flitwick a folded bit of parchment with something scrawled on it—probably a prediction. “I had them getting together before the end of the match.”

“Too optimistic,” Flitwick says. “He’ll probably declare his love by Christmas. Or next century.”

Kettleburn frowns at the field through his rain-splattered spectacles. “Are we still talking about the Quidditch score?”

“No,” McGonagall says flatly. “We’re talking about Potter and Y/L/N. The will-they-won’t-they of the bloody decade.”

⸻

Back on the pitch, James doesn’t even acknowledge the rest of his team dogpiling each other in celebration.

He doesn’t stop to gloat, or bow, or wave at the crowd like he usually does.

He runs straight toward you.

Through the mud, through the noise, through everything—and you’re barely down the stairs when he barrels into you, arms wrapping around you, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing.

“Did you see that?!” he shouts, voice buzzing with adrenaline and disbelief.

You can’t stop smiling. You’re soaked to the skin, freezing, and buzzing like you’ve been hit with a cheering charm. “James, that was insane! That dive—I thought you were going to die!”

“I would’ve died dramatically!” he declares, spinning you in a ridiculous circle, his laugh echoing against your ear. “And you would’ve said I looked brilliant doing it.”

“You did look brilliant.”

He pulls back just far enough to see your face, his hands still on your waist, warm even through the rain. His grin falters just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so seriously.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do.”

“Say it again.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re laughing. “You’re brilliant, James.”

“Again.”

“James—”

“One more for luck, come on.”

You swat his arm, and he catches your wrist and swings it gently between you two like you’re seven years old again on the playground.

⸻

Somewhere a few feet away, Sirius Black is groaning dramatically into his hands.

“This is torture. This is literally slow-burn hell.”

“They’re going to kill me with this,” Peter mutters, wrapping his scarf tighter around his head to muffle the scene in front of him.

Remus crosses his arms and sighs. “They’re standing in the rain. Holding each other. Making heart eyes. And neither of them has any idea.”

“Tell me again why we’re not legally allowed to interfere?” Sirius asks.

Remus shrugs. “I think it falls under cruel and unusual punishment if we force them to kiss before they figure it out.”

⸻

You, meanwhile, are still standing there with James, the rain now falling in soft silver sheets around you.

He’s grinning, breathless, flushed from the cold and the win and something else—something softer.

“You’re my lucky charm, you know that?”

“Is that why you always play better when I’m watching?”

“Exactly,” he says, not even pretending it’s a joke.

Your heart stumbles.

But before you can say anything, before you can even breathe, Sirius whistles from the sidelines.

“Oi! Lover boy! Save the swooning for the afterparty!”

James flips him off cheerfully and takes your hand.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go get absolutely wrecked.”

You let him drag you off the field, hand in hand, heart still thudding against your ribs like a snitch trying to escape.

You don’t know it yet, but that’s the moment every professor marks on their mental betting sheet as the beginning of the end for your denial.

..

The Gryffindor common room looks like a postcard from chaos.

Laughter ricochets off the walls. Firewhisky sloshes dangerously close to priceless magical tapestries. Red and gold streamers dangle from floating lanterns, and the Fat Lady is two notes into an off-key drinking song from her frame before someone silences her with a silencing charm (she keeps singing anyway).

You’re curled up on the couch now, legs tucked beneath you, cheeks flushed from the heat and the firewhisky and maybe the fact that James Potter has just collapsed beside you like he belongs there.

(He does. But don’t say that out loud.)

His head lands against your shoulder with a groan. “Merlin, I can’t feel my spine.”

You snort into your butterbeer. “You just won a full-on war match. What’d you expect?”

“A parade. Chocolate. You serenading me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

He lifts his head slightly, just enough to glance up at you with that lazy, lopsided grin. “Delusion looks good on me, though, yeah?”

He’s too close. Not in a bad way. Just in a dangerous way. His face is warm, hair still damp from rain, and his cheeks are flushed a little from drink and laughter and you.

He bumps your shoulder lightly. “You haven’t told me yet.”

“Told you what?”

“That I was brilliant.”

You stare at him.

He stares back. Wide, innocent eyes. He’s not even joking.

“I literally told you that on the pitch—”

“I know. Say it again.”

“James—”

“One more time. For my ego. It’s fragile. Ask Remus.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours,” he says brightly, and then immediately frowns at himself. “Wait, no. Not like— I meant, like—your ridiculous. As in. You own me. Platonically. Friendly-like.”

Your face burns.

He blinks at you, like his brain is just catching up to his mouth. “Unless you don’t want that? The—uh. Friendly ownership?”

You open your mouth. Then close it.

Then open it again, because he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. And it’s maddening. And wonderful. And unfair.

“James,” you say, voice a little softer, “You’re always brilliant. Match or not.”

His entire face lights up. Like a sunrise, like a Patronus, like you just gave him a love potion by accident. His grin is all teeth, all joy, like he just heard something he didn’t even know he needed.

“Well,” he says, blinking hard. “Now I definitely need you to say it again.”

You groan and drop your head into his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“Say it with more affection next time.”

You don’t move. It’s warm here. You’re tucked against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he’s just—letting you. His hand comes up instinctively, curling over your knee like you’ve sat like this a hundred times before. Like this is just what you do.

You’re both quiet for a beat.

Then—

James shifts, speaking into your hair, barely above the music.

“You looked really pretty today.”

You freeze.

“What?”

“After the match. Or during. Or always.” He says it like he’s thinking it out in real time. “In the rain. With your hair all messed up and your voice all loud. It was really distracting. I nearly flew into a goalpost.”

You pull back to look at him, heart beating a little too loud in your ears.

His smile wobbles, almost shy now. “It’s not fair, you know. How you make it so hard to focus.”

You’re about to say something—what, you’re not sure—when Sirius crashes down onto the couch beside you both, dramatically sprawled like a dying Victorian maiden.

“Will you two just kiss already?!”

You and James spring apart like you’ve been hit with a Stunning Spell. Your knees knock. The blanket slips off your lap. James nearly falls off the couch. Your face is on fire.

“Sirius!” you hiss.

Remus appears behind him, dragging him by the collar. “Sorry, sorry, he’s had four drinks and zero impulse control.”

“I’m right, though!” Sirius yells as he’s hauled away. “This has been a seven-year buildup! You’re killing me!”

James is still staring at the spot where you were just curled into his side, like he’s unsure if it happened or if he dreamed it.

You clear your throat. “Anyway. Butterbeer?”

“Please,” he says hoarsely.

You both stand awkwardly, side by side.

Neither of you says what you’re thinking.

Neither of you notices the way you mirror each other’s nervous gestures.

Neither of you knows that the whole common room is quietly taking mental bets now.

You just walk toward the drinks table—shoulder brushing shoulder, cheeks pink, trying very hard not to fall in love again in front of everyone.

Too late.

..

It’s been, maybe, thirty minutes since you last talked to James — maybe less — and he’s now reached the level of intoxication where he’s bouncing from couch to floor to table like a golden retriever stuck in a Quidditch locker room. A loud golden retriever.

And you, unfortunately, are the center of his universe.

“Y/N,” he’s saying to a poor first-year who clearly only came over for crisps. “Y/N Y/L/N is a genius. A gift to magical academia. She’s rewriting the rules. Have you read her last essay on spell layering? I read it for fun. I highlighted things. I made notes. NOTES.”

The first-year bolts.

Across the room, Sirius groans. “He’s reached stage four.”

Remus raises a brow. “Already?”

“He’s talking about her footnotes again.”

You, meanwhile, are curled into a chair with Lily and Dorcas, sipping from a butterbeer and watching this trainwreck in motion.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you murmur, wide-eyed.

Dorcas snorts. “That’s the problem.”

James turns next to Marlene, wild-eyed and swaying like a tree in a hurricane. “She’s going to change the world, Mar. I’m just some twat with a broom, but she’s—she’s like a wand-core in human form. Powerful. Regal. Glowy.”

“Glowy,” Sirius repeats, deadpan.

“She deserves her own holiday,” James says gravely. “With no homework. And themed pastries.”

Peter, lying starfish-style on the floor, just mutters, “You said that already.”

James ignores him.

“Moony,” he says suddenly, stumbling over. “Did you know she reads magical theory books for fun?”

“I did, yeah,” Remus says calmly. “She’s in our study group.”

James gasps. “You’ve studied with her?! In real life?!”

“Every Tuesday.”

“Why wasn’t I invited?”

“You were.”

“I WAS?!”

Sirius kicks Remus under the table. “Don’t answer that. He’ll cry.”

James wipes his face. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“I would pay to be in a group with her,” James continues, wildly unaware. “Like actual Galleons. Maybe my Firebolt.”

“You’d trade your broom for study rights?” Sirius asks.

“I’d trade my dignity,” James replies, deadly serious.

“You already have,” Peter mumbles.

“Okay but she’s just so incredibly amazi-”

Sirius sighs so loudly his soul escapes for a second. “Mate, please, for the love of Merlin—take a breath.”

“I can’t!” James cries, hand on his heart. “She just talked to me, Sirius. She said I looked brilliant out there. Brilliant. She said it. Out loud. With her mouth. To me.”

He’s swaying. There’s a butterbeer bottle dangling from one hand and a crumpled bit of parchment in the other — no one knows where it came from, or what it says. He keeps trying to read it dramatically, but it’s blank.

He lurches toward Lily now, grabbing her shoulders with too much emotion for someone this off-balance. “Evans. Lily. You’re smart. You get it. Tell me she’s the most magnificent human being to ever live.”

Lily looks him dead in the eye. “She’s alright.”

James’s jaw drops. “Alright?! You take that back right now.”

Dorcas cackles. “Lily, you’re going to send him into cardiac arrest.”

“I just think Marlene’s got better cheekbones—”

“HOW DARE—”

James starts climbing the arm of the couch like it’s a podium. His butterbeer spills onto Sirius’s leg.

“I would die for her,” he declares to the room, fully ignoring Sirius screaming “MY TROUSERS, JAMES!”

“I would go to Azkaban for her!”

“I think you’d go to Azkaban for knocking over that table,” Peter says mildly.

“I would invent new spells for her! Emotional ones! With poetry built in!”

“You don’t even remember the counter-hex for hiccoughing,” Remus mutters.

“I’d learn!” James insists. “For her? I’d learn anything. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Goblin dialects—anything.”

Marlene sips from her cup, eyeing him like a science experiment. “Should we be worried he’s going to propose tonight?”

“No, no,” James says quickly. “Not tonight. I have to make it special. You only get one first proposal. I’ll probably need a broomstick and a dragon.”

A pause.

“Maybe two dragons.”

“James,” Sirius says slowly, like speaking to a spooked Hippogriff. “You do know she’s still here, yeah? At this party?”

James freezes.

“What.”

“She hasn’t left,” Remus adds. “She’s literally by the fireplace.”

He turns slowly.

Y/N is laughing again — head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut — and it hits him all over again like a rogue Bludger.

He turns back to them, hand over his mouth. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I have to tell her she’s amazing.”

“NO!” all four of them yell at once.

Sirius grabs him by the collar. “You already did! At least five times! Just now! You were very loud!”

“I was?!”

“James,” Remus says gently. “If you tell her again tonight, she’ll never take you seriously ever again.”

James frowns, gaze flickering. “But she’s just so—look at her. How is a person allowed to be that capable and that pretty? At the same time?! While breathing?! It’s not fair.”

“Neither is this hangover you’re about to have,” Peter mumbles.

You’re across the room, sitting with Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene near the fireplace, laughing at something. Your head’s thrown back, hand curled over your stomach, cheeks flushed from drink and heat and happiness.

James sees this.

And promptly gasps.

Loudly.

“Did—did you see that?” he whispers furiously to no one in particular, swatting at Sirius’s arm.

“See what?” Sirius blinks.

“She just—” James gestures vaguely in her direction. “She laughed. Like a—like a goddess. Like something out of a romance novel. Did you see that?!”

Remus raises an eyebrow, sipping from his butterbeer. “James, she’s laughed like that since First Year.”

“Yes,” James says, grabbing Sirius’s face. “But this time it was at my joke.”

“It wasn’t,” Peter pipes up from the floor. “She was laughing at Marlene.”

James doesn’t hear him. He’s too busy sinking deeper into the cushions, clutching a half-empty bottle and sighing like someone just recited a Shakespearean sonnet into his soul.

Sirius grabs him. “Alright, Casanova, let’s sit back down before you give McGonagall a reason to revoke your Prefect badge.”

James collapses onto the couch but doesn’t stop talking. He’s now mumbling into a throw pillow.

“She’s so smart. Her brain is like—like a Pensieve made of diamonds. And her eyes? Unfair. Illegal. Should require a license.”

You bury your face in your hands.

“Don’t look at me,” you groan. “Don’t even look at me.”

Dorcas leans into your side, grinning. “You’re not embarrassed. You’re thriving.”

“I’m combusting.”

Across the room, Lily narrows her eyes. “Okay. Who gave him the last bottle?”

Dorcas smirks. “He nicked it from Peter when he was doing that thing with the singing frog.”

“Oh no,” Marlene says, already turning to watch.

“Oh yes,” Sirius says gleefully, patting James on the back like he’s winding up a toy.

“Did I ever tell you,” James says, swaying forward with the glass raised like a toast, “that in Third Year, Y/N got an Outstanding on that bloody Transfiguration essay—without extra credit? And then she apologized for ‘only’ getting one foot over the minimum length. Like some sort of modest academic angel.”

“You have,” says Remus, dryly. “Twice a month. Every month. Since Third Year.”

“She’s just so…” James trails off, blinking at nothing, trying to summon language that doesn’t exist. “She’s like… if the library came to life and had really nice hands.”

“Poetic,” Peter murmurs.

James leans his head against the back of the couch, watching her from across the room like she’s the only star in the sky.

“And her handwriting,” he slurs, dreamy and devastating. “She dots her i’s with perfect little circles. Not hearts, thank Merlin, she’s not insufferable. But like. The neatest circles you’ve ever seen. I’d kill to be one of her i’s.”

Remus spits out his drink.

Sirius is laughing so hard he has to bend over.

“Mate,” he wheezes. “You are so far gone you’re about to become a sonnet.”

James frowns, eyes still locked on her. “She deserves one.”

“Write her one, then,” Remus says, exasperated.

James shrugs. “Couldn’t do her justice.”

Across the room, you start to stand up, clearly preparing to come over. James perks up immediately, nearly launching off the couch, except Sirius holds him down with one hand.

“She’s coming this way,” James whisper-shouts, scrambling to fix his hair and elbow Remus in the ribs. “Do I look tragic? In a romantic, yearning sort of way?”

“You look like you just got hit by a flying book,” Peter says.

“That’s very her-coded,” James whispers urgently. “She’ll love it.”

Y/N appears in front of them, hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “Are you drunk?”

“Depends,” James says brightly. “Are you real or did I dream you up in Charms class again?”

You blink. “What?”

“What.”

Everyone freezes.

Lily, from across the room, covers her face. “Oh my god.”

Dorcas kicks Marlene under the table. “We’re witnessing a historical event.”

“James,” you say slowly. “You dreamed about me in Charms class?”

James’s face goes bright pink. He blinks. “No.”

“James.”

“…Yes.”

Remus drops his head into his hands. Sirius is making a strangled keening sound beside him.

You don’t say anything for a second. Just stare.

James, meanwhile, is staring up at you with the dumbest, dreamiest smile in all of wizard history. “Y’know, you have the best laugh I’ve ever heard. Like music. Not like bagpipes. Like—like harps. But funny.”

You press your hand to your face. “James, you’re sloshed.”

“But still honest!” he says, raising a finger. “And if I die tonight, which is a real possibility—someone needs to tell you. You’re absolutely—stunning. And terrifying. And the best person I’ve ever met.”

You go very still.

“You deserve everything,” James says, serious now. “Every top mark. Every bloody award. And—and someone who worships the ground you walk on.”

Sirius points dramatically at James. “Like this guy, for example!”

James waves weakly. “Hi.”

You stare at him.

Then you shake your head with a disbelieving smile, cheeks burning.

“I’m getting you water,” you mutter, turning on your heel.

As you walk away, Sirius leans in. “Well?”

James is still smiling like an idiot.

“I love her,” he mumbles.

“You think?” Remus says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Across the room, James looks up like he’s just spotted a unicorn.

“There she is,” he whispers reverently, eyes locked on you. “Look at her. Laughing. Being intelligent. Breathing air.”

He turns to the boys. “I’m going to tell her she’s amazing again.”

“No, you are not,” Sirius says, throwing an arm across him.

“You already did,” Remus adds.

“You said you’d invent spells with poetry built in,” Peter says, eyes closed. “That’s enough vulnerability for one night.”

“But I didn’t even tell her about the way her nose crinkles when she’s annoyed,” James insists, distressed.

“YES, YOU DID,” the entire group yells at once.

James flops dramatically back onto the couch, gaze still on you, hand pressed to his heart.

“I hope I never get used to it,” he mumbles.

“To what?” Sirius asks, too tired for this.

“Her. Being… her.”

Silence.

Then:

“That’s it,” Lily whispers to you. “I’m putting a Galleon down that he confesses within the week.”

You snort. “He’s not going to remember any of this.”

“Oh, he will,” Remus says, already conjuring a camera. “Because we’re going to make him.”

..

James is soft in the firelight.

Slouched on your lap, staring at you with those dreamy eyes while you run your hands through his hair. His eyes are glassy, smile sleepy. There’s an empty butterbeer bottle rolling somewhere near his foot.

You think he might fall asleep mid-sentence, right until he says it:

“I’m in love with you.”

No teasing. No grin.

Just the truth — dropped into your lap like a glass heart he doesn’t think you’ll keep.

You stare at him. Everything in you flickering, still, glowing.

And maybe he’s tipsy, and it’s way too late, and maybe you’ve spent years convincing yourself not to say anything — but your mouth opens before your doubt can shut it.

“I’ve been in love with you since third year.”

James turns to you fully now, dazed.

“You have?”

You nod, heart thudding so hard it nearly knocks you over. “You—” your voice catches, and then it softens, wavers at the edges. “You helped me carry six books back from the library. I was too proud to ask anyone. You didn’t even say anything. Just took half of them out of my arms like it was nothing.”

He blinks. “You’re telling me I won your heart with library logistics?”

You laugh — really laugh — the kind that curls into your cheeks. “It wasn’t just that. It was the way you smiled at me like I already mattered. I think I’ve been trying to catch up with that moment ever since.”

James stares at you like you just rearranged the stars.

And then you add, softer, thumb brushing along his knuckles:

“You’ll probably forget this tomorrow.”

He shakes his head so hard his curls flop. “No. Not this. Not you.”

“You said that last time you got drunk.”

“Yeah, but that was about pineapple on pizza, which is totally so wrong by the way, and this is about you, and you’re my favorite person in the world.”

You blink, throat tightening.

He exhales like the truth has been sitting on his chest for years. “You make everything better just by existing. Like—I look at you and forget what I was mad about. Or scared about. You just—calm the chaos.”

You nudge his knee with yours, voice watery. “You’re drunk and romantic and a little bit sappy.”

He nods solemnly. “And I still know you’re the girl I want to marry.”

Then, quieter:

“Kiss me tomorrow, okay? Just to make sure it wasn’t a dream.”

You smile, curling closer to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Only if you remember the third year library incident.”

“Deal.”

He tucks his head into your shoulder.

And in the dying firelight, with the castle quiet around you and the taste of unsaid things still sweet in the air, you let yourself believe it.

Tomorrow, he’ll remember.

Because love like this doesn’t get drunk. It waits.

..

James wakes up like a man reborn.

Which is to say: violently, dramatically, with a sharp inhale and a jolt upright that knocks his glasses off the nightstand and sends his pillow flying to the floor.

He blinks at the ceiling, hair sticking up in twelve different directions.

And then—

“OH MY GOD.”

The sound echoes through the boys’ dormitory like a spell misfired. Peter lets out a strangled yelp and rolls off his bed with a thud. Sirius groans, dragging a pillow over his face.

Remus, who’s reading some poetry book, even with a hangover, doesn’t look up.

“Unless Dumbledore’s tap-dancing at the foot of your bed, I swear to Merlin, James—”

“SHE LOVES ME.”

Silence.

Absolute, stunned, not-this-early silence.

Peter pokes his head up from behind his blankets. “Who? The librarian?”

“Y/N!” James yells, launching himself out of bed and spinning like he’s in a Disney film. “Y/N loves me. She told me. Last night. Right here.” He points aggressively at his chest. “In the heart zone.”

Sirius groans louder. “It’s too early for this level of optimism.”

“She’s loved me since third year!” James says, nearly tripping on his own shoe in excitement. “Third! Year!”

“You’re shouting,” Remus says, very dry. “Please don’t shout.”

“I REMEMBER EVERYTHING!” James howls with glee, climbing onto Sirius’s bed. “She said I make her feel calm. I make her feel calm! I am a human soothing draught!”

Sirius whacks him with a pillow. “You’re a human disaster!”

James falls dramatically to the floor, arms spread wide like he’s been shot. “A loved disaster!”

Peter squints. “Wait, are you sure this wasn’t a hallucination?”

“Hallucinations don’t tuck their heads into your shoulder and promise to kiss you in the morning.”

Sirius sits up at that. “Wait. Did you kiss?”

“No,” James says reverently, like it’s sacred. “We’re saving it.”

Sirius throws himself back down. “Merlin, just kill me.”

“I’m going to marry her,” James says suddenly, with the confidence of a man who can barely tie his tie in the morning.

Remus finally puts his book down. “Maybe eat breakfast first.”

“I’m going to buy her breakfast. Then marry her.”

Peter groans into his hands. “I hope she knows what she’s signed up for.”

“She does,” James says, dreamy, like the thought of you just rewrote his entire brain chemistry. “She’s perfect. Life is perfect. Life is great.”

And then he sprints to the bathroom singing something that vaguely sounds like a love song but might also be the Gryffindor Quidditch chant.

The Marauders exchange a look.

Sirius sighs, rubbing his temples. “You know what the worst part is?”

Remus raises an eyebrow.

“He’s not wrong.”

..

You find him by the lake.

He’s sitting under that same tree you always gravitate toward when the castle feels too full — hair still messy from sleep, tie loose, legs stretched out like he’s been waiting all morning. Because he has.

When he sees you, his face lights up like the bloody sun.

“You came.”

“I figured you’d be here,” you say, soft.

He grins. “Course I am. This is where I first realized I was doomed.”

You blink. “What?”

“Third year,” he says, sitting up straighter. “I watched you lug about twenty kilos of books up the hill after the library kicked us out. I tried to help, and you gave me that look — the one that’s all, ‘I’m fine, but I’ll murder you if you tell me I’m not.’”

You can’t help laughing. “Sounds like me.”

“You dropped a book on my foot,” he says fondly. “A heavy one. Arithmancy.”

“I remember.”

“And I remember thinking—” his voice dips lower, gentler, “—that I wanted to carry your books forever. Even if you hexed me for it.”

Something warm stirs in your chest.

You sit beside him in the grass, close enough that your knees brush. The lake glitters beside you like it knows this is a moment worth shining for.

“Did you really remember everything from last night?” you ask, quieter now.

He nods immediately. “Every word. You said you loved me since third year. That I make you calm. That I smiled at you like you already mattered.”

Your breath hitches.

“You do matter,” he says. “Always have.”

There’s no one around. Just the wind and the water and him looking at you like you hung the constellations he memorized for Astronomy.

You lean in.

“You asked me to kiss you, remember?”

“I said to do it if I meant it,” he murmurs.

“So I will.”

And then you kiss him.

It’s not a firework — it’s a sunrise. Soft. Certain. Familiar in all the ways a first kiss shouldn’t be, but is, because you’ve loved him for so long you’ve practically memorized him.

He exhales into it, like he’s been holding his breath for three years straight.

You pull back just slightly, resting your forehead against his, both of you smiling too hard to speak.

“You’re not dreaming,” you whisper.

His voice is just as quiet, just as real. “No. I’m finally awake.”

You link your pinky with his — that’s all it takes.

“Let’s go back,” you say. “We’ve got Charms in ten.”

James smirks. “I’ve already won.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I got the girl who dropped an Arithmancy book on my foot.”

You laugh, shaking your head, and he grabs your hand properly this time as you both head back toward the castle — together, finally, ridiculously, completely in love.

..

Up on the Astronomy Tower, half-hidden by a stone balustrade, six faces are squished into a far-too-small window view, watching the scene unfold by the lake.

When you and James finally kiss, Sirius lets out an unholy screech.

“YESSSSS! FINALLY! THE ENEMIES-TO-BEST-FRIENDS-TO-SOULMATES PIPELINE IS REAL!”

Marlene punches the air so hard she almost falls off the ledge. “WE CALLED IT. WE CALLED IT IN SECOND BLOODY YEAR.”

Dorcas screams into her scarf. “Do you know how long I’ve had to listen to Y/N say ‘It’s not like that with James’ while doodling his name in her notes?!”

Remus smiles, smug and knowing. “Took them long enough.”

Peter nods solemnly. “I would like financial compensation for emotional damages.”

Lily is beaming, arms crossed, looking like the proudest mum of two tragically slow children. “I’ve had a toast prepared for this day since Fifth Year.”

Sirius wipes an imaginary tear. “They kissed like they’ve been in love since third year.”

“They have been in love since third year,” Lily, Dorcas, Marlene, and Remus chorus at once.

“Oi!” James shouts from below, turning around with you still tucked under his arm. “We can see you, you know!”

Sirius immediately cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “WE DON’T CARE! GET MARRIED!”

“NAME YOUR FIRSTBORN AFTER ME,” Dorcas adds.

Remus chuckles. “Get ready for uncle Moony!”

Meanwhile, in the staff lounge, Flitwick glances out the window and gasps so loud he almost falls off his stack of books.

“They did it! They finally kissed!”

McGonagall doesn’t even look up from her tea. “About bloody time.”

Sprout pulls out a dusty betting chart from under her gardening apron. “Alright, who had post-Quidditch-match, lakeside, mid-June?”

Slughorn sighs dramatically and tosses a Galleon into her palm. “I said Hogsmeade weekend. Close, but no cigar.”

Kettleburn peeks over his newspaper. “Still talking about the students?”

“Yes,” they all say in unison.

Flitwick smiles fondly. “They were always going to find each other.”

McGonagall watches you and James walk back toward the castle, hands clasped, smiling like you’ve just cracked the code to the universe.

“They just needed a few years. And a few footnotes.”

THE END

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it—twice—, please reblog and give feedback! / requests are open!

GENERAL TAGLIST: @strlightfilms @natalia42069 @glittervame

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I liked your writing on reader having to get in between Wolverine and Deadpool all the time 😆 it made me think what it would be like if they were crushing on you and there is a rivalry between them. If you could write what they’d do to win your favor or what shenanigans that would come with it 😂 subtle or not

These two weren’t fond of sharing.

So when the other finds that they have similar feelings towards you, the outcome is never good.

They’re childish in a way where if either Logan or Wade was coincidentally standing too close to you, the other was bound to notice and make a scene out of it, all the while you wished you were anywhere else in that moment.

The pair couldn’t get along even if they bothered to try as sooner or later they’d end up stabbing each other just because the other one was breathing too loudly or just merely existing.

And yet their feelings towards you ends up causing Logan and Wade to butt heads more often, especially if you were constantly teaming up together, with you often being their meditator in all their conflicts.

Wade was more vocal and borderline flirty when it came to interacting with you, he would crack jokes, boop you on the nose or even playfully smack you on the ass just to hear your yelp in surprise and become all flustered.

‘Plush ass you’ve got there, babe! wouldn’t mind laying my head on it sometime and use it as a beautiful fluffy pillow.’ - Wade, skipping away.

Wade could be quite clingy at times so there would be moments where you can barely escape the guy as he hanging on your side like a koala bear.

You: Wade can you let go.

Wade: and let go of my emotional support person? *gasp* Do you want me to die?

You: well considering how fast you regenerate, you technically can’t die-

Wade: do you hate me? Do you think I’m clingy?

You: no- well yes but-

Wade: you hate me!

Wade can be dramatic and the only way to shut him up is to just let him be in close proximity of you and allow him to talk your ear off about how good a dog parents you’d be to Dogpool.

Dogpool is your weakness, you could never say no to Dogpool and Wade knows this like the back of his hand and will use this as leverage over wolverine.

After all It’s not like he has a version of himself that was an actual wolverine or maybe even a honey badger in yellow spandex. So Wade counts this as a win on his end.

Logan on the other hand would be more subtle with his approach, even though to Wade, Logan’s subtly was as an dopey cow standing in a field of grass with how the scruffier man tended to keep by your side protectively; so much so that he might as well start growling at every person who ever laid eyes on you in general.

He’s a guard dog of a man in every sense of the word but how that came to be was from a whole lot of trauma and loosing people he’s ever cared about, so needless to say he won’t act like he’s interested in you at first, his heart had been wounded about as much as his body has and even had the mental scars to prove it.

He’s lived a long life of pain, fighting, suffering and heartache. He’s not going to falter so easily until you did something that made him feel safe enough to fall for you.

Once he has however it was impossible to go about the mission without him always wanting to stand guard by your side when he sees someone he doesn’t fully trust, always using his body as a shield for your own as Logan knew he could handle much more punishment then you could. So he’d rather avoid you being grievously hurt by any means possible.

He’d probably scold you if you ever were hurt as he was afraid that he might loose you, yet his hands were gentle but firm as they worked to patch your wound so it’d heal properly.

Wolverine: you’re an idiot you know.

You: wow I really feel the love over here.

Wolverine: *huffs* you expect me to kiss your ass when what you did was reckless and could’ve killed you? *his hands linger on your own even long after he’s done patching you up as though committing your warmth to memory*

Logan is a secret softy who wouldn’t push you away if you were to ever fall asleep on him, he’d grumble but that’s about it.

He’d even toss you his jacket if you were to ever complain about being too cold or leave it somewhere for you to take yourself, again he’d act like he didn’t want you to but he actually did with how he almost smiled upon seeing you looking comfortable in his jacket.

Logan is evidently more subtle about his crush on you then Wade is, or so he’d likes to think but Wade can messily tell he’s smitten when he sees how Logan’s eyes were quick to follow you in a crowded room with protectiveness and adoration.

Wade: aww has our dear friend taken the stick out of your ass and you fell in love?

Logan: *growls* fuck off Wade.

Wade: *holds his hands to his lips and gasps* oh my gosh! You have! Me too!

Logan: *looks at him* you what?!

Wade: yeah cats out of the bag, I like them too wolvie. you’re not the only one to find them cute, how close minded of you seriously.

They can’t share to save their lives, I’ve mentioned this before but they genuinely can’t even if they tried because one is them was bound to get jealous and try to take you away from the other.

Wade: do you really want to be near me grumpy all the time? Yawn fest much.

You: stop riling him up, you’re making Logan mad. Why are you like this?

Wade: maybe because you deserve to be in the company of someone who isn’t still unhealthily hung up on his previous red headed lover.

Logan: you shut your fucking mouth.

Wade: see! He’s not denying it!

You: I’m going to go now. *leaves*

Logan: you should make full time fuck head your job.

Wade: and you should make full time teenage brooder in a full grown man’s body who still isn’t over his first breakup yours.

The shenanigans that would occur between these two would be headache inducing to say the least.

The constant fights that would break out between them that you’d have to break up.

The bickering over who gets to act like a couple with you on missions. They might even play rock, paper, scissors multiple times behind your back.

Wade probably tried to trip Logan up in front of you once but it backfired when Logan made Wade trip up instead as he puts a hand on your lower back and guided you away from the poor Merc with a mouthful of dirt.

[mywritersmind]

GOOD SIDE - FC43

summary : She hates him, he’s intrigued and doesn’t understand why anyone would distlike him. Franco tries to win Charles’ sister over with coffee and good racing.

listen up : no warnings!! my first franco fic <3

word count : 1067

⋆｡‧˚⋆

All eyes have been on Franco Colapinto for the past three weeks. All eyes including mine.

I watch the boy walk across the pit lane, grinning widely at his team. My arms are crossed in the ferrari garage, Charles is talking my ear off but I'm not even listening.

I miss my paddock best friend. All the boys on the grid are like my brothers, but Logan was genuinely my friend. I didn’t even go to Monza and fucked myself while boycotting because I missed my brother win.

I watch the team embrace the boy. I never realized how young he looks until now. He’s a year older than me, found that out when I was stalking his social media.

Charles noticed my stink eye and nudges me, “He’s a good kid. Don’t be mean!” I know Logan wasn’t performing well. I’m not blind.

But I can’t help but be salty for him.

“I won’t be mean.” I turn to see Alex and Franco walking towards us, I try to walk away but the hoodie for my sweatshirt is grabbed by Charles and I'm yanked backwards.

“Franco, This is my baby sister, Y/n!” Charles swings his arm around me, I roll my eyes and look back at Franco.

He’s cute and as he smiles at me I have a weird feeling that I need to make it stop. I turn to my new favorite william’s boy.

“Alex!” I smile wide and I can see my brother eyeing me already, “Nice Quali! Proud of you.”

He nods, “Appreciate it Y/n.” He glances at Franco, forcing me to say something. I give them what they want and look at him.

“Colapinto, is it?” I blink. “You’ve got an interesting driving style.”

Franco’s smile doesn’t falter. “Interesting enough to earn me P9.” My eyes narrow at him, “Nice to know you were watching me.”

I cross my arms but before I can say more, Charles interrupts me.

He laughs loudly, trying to drown out my voice, “Alright! Don't mind her, Franco, she’s been a little salty recently- well actually she’s always like this.” He shakes his head and leads the men in blue away.

Franco looks back at me as Alex starts talking rapidly, and I swear I’m hallucinating because I think he winks.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’m sitting on the pit wall, Susie is talking me through all the little buttons and graphs. Even though I'm Ferrari till I die, Susie is like family and has always been there for me. I feel an unexpected tap on my shoulder which makes me whip around.

I look down to see Franco holding two cups of coffee. “Morning Mrs. Wolff!” He smiles at Susie, then me. I didn’t even know he met her. My eyebrow is already raised, “Mind if I borrow Y/n?”

Susie laughs softly, looking at him then me, “Go ahead.” I get off the chair slowly and he motions for me to take the cup.

“Charles mentioned you liked coffee.” I hesitate for a second, taking the cup. I sip it and mentally groan because I’ve been needing to get some today.

“Buying my affection already, Huh?” I glance at him as we walk down the pit lane. I'm wearing a short, flowy, white dress and a Ferrari cap, happy since it's so hot.

“Don’t be silly, This was free.” I sip my coffee to stop myself from laughing, “I do have to get on your good side somehow.”

I look away from him, “You took my best friend's seat.”

“He lost it.” When I look back at him, he’s already looking at me.

I sigh and keep walking, he catches up quickly, “So… You’re Charles’ Sister.”

I flip my hair over my shoulder, “You’re sherlock?”

“You’re pretty.”

I let out a dry laugh, “You’re straightforward. I’ve seen three interviews of you flirting and you haven’t even made it to your second race yet.” He laughs and it makes me feel good that I made him do that.

“What can I say? The people love me.” He shrugs and it's my turn to laugh now.

“I’m sure your media crew hates you.”

“I can confirm they definitely do.” He stops when he gets to his garage, “I don’t want you too though.”

I take a breath, “Let’s see how you do in the race and we’ll see.” I hear someone yell his name from inside the garage.

He doesn’t move, “You base all your relationships off of driving results?”

“Relationships?” I scoff as he licks his lips, “Don’t get too cocky now.”

Franco shakes his head, a curl falling into his face, “Not cocky. Just a glass half full type of guy.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I hug Oscar as he walks out of his garage at the end of the day, “You fucking rocked it.” He laughs as I pull back, “Seriously, I'm proud and you beat my brother!”

Charles practically spawns, “We all know your loyalty is not to me.” All the boys have changed and are starting to leave. Carlos disappeared after crashing on the second to last lap but all I can do is smile for Lando who got bumped up to fourth.

Speaking of, Lando joins us with Franco by his side, his mouth running per usual. Everyone starts talking and congratulating Oscar again.

I find Franco by my side, he leans in slightly, “My result good enough for you?”

I look up at the sky, “Pretty good. I hate to say it but… you did well.”

He grins, “Well enough to get your number?”

I look to my brother to make sure he isn’t listening, “You’re playing with fire here, Colapinto.”

“Burn me.” He says it so quick that I almost don’t register the look on his face. He looks at me so genuinely with those hazel eyes and speaks again, “Por Favor? s'il te plaît? Please?”

The ‘Please’s’ makes me laugh. One in Spanish, one in French, and one in English to cover all his bases, “You’re such a flirt.”

“For you.”

“Don’t lie. You flirt with everyone.” I give him a look, he pulls a slow smile.

“If you were mine I'd never look at anyone else again.” Oddly enough, I believe him.

“If I were yours?” I step closer and he nods, “Hm… If I were yours- I think we would see pigs flying.”

He just grins, “I can arrange that.”

[midniqhtt]

aaron hotchner

masterlist • criminal minds • 03/31/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 sick of maybe I @luveline

You worry your boyfriend is ashamed of you. This is very much not the case. Or, 5 times Hotch hid your relationship (+1 time he didn’t).

𑣲 a solitary mistake I @/luveline

You're not sure you're ready to come back. Hotch has total faith in you. Or, your transition back into the team after your abduction doesn't go as smoothly as you'd hoped.

𑣲 spontaneous phenomena I @/luveline

Hotch touches your face much more than a boss should. Or, 5 times you have a nosebleed +1 time Hotch does.

𑣲 love, an abstract concept I @/luveline

You learn how to be someone’s girlfriend. Or, 5 times Hotch raises your expectations (+1 time you raise his).

𑣲 if things go bad I @/luveline

when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time.

𑣲 bau!reader I @/luveline

𑣲 bau!reader I @/luveline

𑣲 bau!reader I @/luveline

𑣲 doctor!reader I @/luveline

𑣲 pregnant!reader I @/luveline

𑣲 bau!reader I @/luveline

𑣲 readers!daughter calls hotch dad I @/luveline

𑣲 change your mind I @luveline

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.)

𑣲 morphine I @/luveline

you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

𑣲 my one and only I @dudeitiskarev

It’s Derek and Savannah’s wedding, and to Hotch, you’re the prettiest person in the room.

𑣲 i want to hold your hand I @/dudeitiskarev

Hotch sends you home and you almost die, which only makes him realize how much he truly loves you.

𑣲 jealously I @/dudeitiskarev

𑣲 some reassurance I @kimstills

in which you try to provide aaron with some reassurance after he asks for his worst qualities.

𑣲 something good I @ssahotchnerr

𑣲 rom coms I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 according to plan I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 makeshift I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 something exhilarating I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 like dad does I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 public displays of affection I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 stay with me I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 on hiatus I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 knowing you I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 nightmares I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 not so friendly competition I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 it’s a date I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 brads back I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 mistletoe mischief I @/ssahotchnerr

𑣲 request I @greg-montgomery

𑣲 something more I @headkiss

you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

𑣲 steady hand I @/headkiss

hotch catches you at the worst times, but you’re not mad about it. or: 4 times you need hotch’s help +1 time he needs yours.

𑣲 gold star I @honeypiehotchner

You’re Jack’s teacher and Aaron is basically your nemesis. Until he’s not.

𑣲 baby I @chvoswxtch

𑣲 half asleep takin’ chances I @hotchfiles

there was no way around it, he needed an actual babysitter. so he finds you. and then he gets home to you adorably sleeping with jack on the couch to spider-man.

𑣲 no rainfall, no sunshine I @/hotchfiles

if there was a god, he wasn’t merciful, he was bloodthirsty, and he had a vendetta against aaron. he’s cursed, he knows it.

𑣲 three cents I @xneens

you butt dial your boss during a girls night … the girls night where you told them you’d fuck aaron hotchner for three cents.

𑣲 coffee, black, two sugars I @erwinsvow

aaron hotchner is a lot of things. in love with you is one that you never saw coming.

𑣲 too sweet I @atlabeth

a night out makes hotch realize a few too many things.

𑣲 reckless I @ptersparkers

After two years with the BAU, you get the feeling that Aaron Hotchner isn’t your biggest fan. That’s too bad, because you really like him.

𑣲 in the east and west I @spacecowboyhotch

hotch and reader realize some things.

𑣲 bias I @velvetcloxds

𑣲 won’t you be my sunshine I @irndad

𑣲 secretly married I @ddejavvu

𑣲 bereal I @/ddejavvu

your BeReal for the day is, perhaps, a little too real

𑣲 nervous!reader I @/ddejavvu

𑣲 a bunch of cuties in love I @lavenderspence

Running late to a meeting with Strauss, Hotch leaves Jack with his favorite person - you. The scene that greets him when he comes back leads to some realizations.

[conellu]

Hiii, could I request a namgyu x reader fic. where nam gyu and reader being on oposing sides (her being on the gin hun team) but after he loses his drugs, for some reason he just starts desprately latching onto her? thanks

Is It Over (Why Dont You Kill Me)AO3 Writing blog @conelluwrites Words: 2,7k Warnings: Platonic Dae-ho x reader, withdrawal, no smut. Nam-gyu is referred as 'Player 124' until he tells her his name. Other: Nam-gyu is a pathetic wet dog here, please let him in and clean him up. Gi-hun's team was mostly evaporated by the start of this fic. I also watched this gif in another window the entire time I wrote while listening to City and Colour's cover of Hop A Plane hah... Didn't wanna make it angst so the ending does feel a lil abrupt, I'm sorry.

After the rebellion failed, the team she had come to find comfort in was looking barren.  Gi-hun was handcuffed, Jung-bae was dead, Young-il didn’t return, and Dae-ho was… Well…  he was stuffing his face full of food.  She thinks it’s stress eating, but she doesn’t bring it up- what is she supposed to say anyway that won’t sound insensitive and vitriolic?  She sits next to him taking significantly smaller bites of her food while trying to ignore the way that Gi-hun stares daggers at him.  She knows where his anger stems from, she was there when Yong-sik said Dae-ho froze up and didn’t bring the ammo.  She looks around the increasingly less populated room and spots Player 124 looking at her.  He doesn’t look angry, doesn’t seem like he’s feeling much of anything.  Maybe he’s just zoned out or something?  It wouldn’t shock her, to be honest.  She looks away from him and focuses back on finishing her meal.

The next game’s set up is easy enough to understand- two teams, red team being the seekers and blue team being the hiders.  She was one of the first people to twist the machine’s crank.  She holds her breath while closing her eyes, letting the ball fall into her hands.  She opens them slowly- it was blue.  She turns around and holds it up to Dae-ho, who’s in the far back, before going to the blue side.  Dae-ho also gets a blue colored ball and stands next to her.  He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t need to, he just exhales a shaking breath and nods to her.  She hardly pays attention as the other players draw their balls, catching Player 124’s eyes before the eye contact breaks.  It’s easy enough to put off as an accident, so she doesn’t think about it too heavily as he walks over to the red side.  Her brain is too preoccupied with what’s next, what could possibly happen to them.  Red .  Gi-hun draws the final ball and it’s red.  She feels Dae-ho tense up drastically beside her, his hand knocking against hers.

Keys and knives.  The boxes provided to the blue team contain a key, the boxes provided to the red team contain knives.  Her stomach drops and she looks up at Dae-ho who glances nervously to his side to see Gi-hun staring at him.  She looks back down at the box, pulling the necklace out and placing it around her neck.  She knows she needs to offer some sort of comforting words to him, say literally anything, but any words die on her tongue.  When they’re told they can switch sides, she weighs her options heavily.  Wait out the time, or potentially find the exit versus having to kill someone.  She sighs heavily, sitting down and fidgeting with the box.  Her ears find his voice quickly, Players 124 and 125 are pretty close to her after all.  She doesn’t look over to the pair, but she listens in.

“You could always switch with that girl.”  Player 124 says, pointing over to her with the knife in his hand, “c’mon, a thing like you killing someone?  Laughable.  We gotta stick together, Min-su .” 

Player 125, rather Min-su, looks over to her before returning to Player 124.  He doesn’t speak, at least not with any volume that registers in her ears.

She looks around the room, not caring enough to listen to the rest of their conversation.  Dae-ho is frantically trying to convince a red player to switch with him but it doesn’t seem to be going too well.  If someone like Dae-ho can’t convince someone to switch, then she has no chance.  Slouching slightly, she shakes her head.  No use in focusing on what she can’t change, she needs to focus on what she can do.

The main room is claustrophobic, especially with all the blue team players crowded in it.  The slam of the doors behind her makes her jump and she turns out instinctively despite knowing what that noise is. 

Two minutes.

She thinks about sticking around Dae-ho, but he takes off in a direction without saying a word.  She could follow him, but she would just be dragging him down.  She gives herself a second to freak out in her head before choosing a random hallway.  Focus on finding a far away room, focus on finding the exit, focus on lasting the 30 minutes.

“Fuck.”  She mutters under the breath.  Her key doesn’t fit in the door.  She gives a glance to the lock- circle- then a glance to her key- square.  Goddammit, of course it wouldn’t be as easy as all the doors being unlockable by everyone.  She hears the audio cue to the seekers to start prowling and she feels panic set in. She’s a reasonable distance away from the start, she thinks so at least, but she’s alone.  Even Jun-hee seemed to have a team behind her.  She can’t afford to give up when it’s not even a minute into the game.  She takes off into another direction, hoping she’s not going to run into a red vest.  This continues on- finding a door, can’t unlock it, move on or finding a door, going up or down steps, and moving on.  Of course some fo the doors lead ot fucking nowhere, opening out into a big drop.

She can hear that obnoxious, grating laughter from a mile away.  His laughter, his voice floods her ears before her heart starts to pound so wildly that it blocks out all other noise.  No, no, no… She tries another door but it fails.  She can practically feel the shred of the knife going through her, feel her warm blood cooling on her skin.  She looks behind her and sees the briefest hint of a red vest and black hair behind a wall and she goes the opposite direction.   Her footsteps alert him though and she panics harder, she’s not quick enough to avoid his line of sight.  For a moment, for what feels like forever, they just stare at each other.  Then a sinister grin spreads over his lips before he raises a finger up to his lips in a shooshing motion and then fucking skips away.  She can’t hear the words he says to whoever the hell he’s with, her anxiety too high to process anything other than the fact she could have just died.  She barely registers anything when the audio of Player 388 being eliminated and Player 456 passing.

When it does hit her, she feels sick.  She knows she needs to focus on staying alive but she can’t help but wonder about her friend’s final moments being spent with a teammate… ex-teammate…  Was it quick?  Was it slow?  Shelooks down at her hands as they tremble.  She doesn’t want to think about it, she can’t bring herself to stop going through her memories of Dae-ho.  The following minutes just feel like autopilot- running when she needs to, hiding when she needs to, she even manages to collect another key from a corpse.

The dormitory is nowhere near as full as it once was as she walks to her bunk.  She glances around, trying to figure out what platers passed and which players were eliminated but her thoughts are interrupted as Player 124 starts to freak out.  Something about him losing a… thing…? in the hide and seek rooms.  He goes to grab the fucking gun from one of the triangle masks, piquing her interest even more.  Of course he doesn’t get the gun and is slammed to the ground, the gun then getting pointed at him before there’s a cry.  A… Cry?  Her head jerks away from Player 124 and towards the door.  Jun-hee had her baby.  She feels a sharp hit of protectiveness before it dwindles to nothing- she’s not strong enough to protect a new mother or a newborn, she’s barely strong enough to protect herself when it comes to the remaining players.

The time moves by surprisingly quickly, she spends the time zoned out before there’s a tap on her shoulder.

“Hey, look, I don’t usually do this but can I sit with you?”  Player 124 stammers out so shakily that she almost asks him to repeat himself but he does it on his own accord, “can I sit with you?”  He’s a fucking mess, blood on his face and hands, his jacket isn’t even on him and he’s breathing so hard that the rise and fall of his shoulders is incredibly visible.  She nods slowly before scooting over, giving him ample room.  He doesn’t offer her a thanks, hell he doesn’t say anything.  He just sits down and runs his fingers through his greasy air before wiping his sweating face.

“Are you okay?”  Her voice is quiet, just audible to Player 124.  He jumps at the sound of her voice as if he was so lost that he forgot she was there.  She feels her eyebrows furrow in concern.

“Wha- yeah, obviously I’m fine.  So fucking fine.”  He snaps before shaking his head and sighing.  “Look- it- I’m sorry for snapping at you.”  He says, his voice quieter and more subdued.

“What’d you lose in there?”

“This damn, uh, this damn necklace.”  He says, making a motion around his neck to show where it’d be. “It was Thanos’s but he died and I- I took it.  It has these pills in it, see, and I need them.  I need them so I can operate and function and I just…”  He trails off, knowing that he has to sound like some drug addict, which he can’t deny.  His words are all jumbled together and stuttering, he’s sweating like it’s a million degrees even without his jacket, and

She’s silent as she tries to soak in his words without overstepping her boundaries by asking for more information.  It’s a lot to take in all at once, but she understands the basics.  She wants to apologize, but she knows it’ll ring hollow.

“Goddammit don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

Silence stretches between them before he rests his head on her shoulder, making her body tense up at the sudden contact.  Even between her and Dae-ho contact was severely limited and now this new guy comes over and rests his head on her?  She’s not strictly opposed, though like everyone else in this place he could go for a hair washing and shower.  She breathes out slowly to force her body to relax.

“Don’t apologize, dumbass.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  I’m just- It’s just- I’m scared, man.”  The last part, the part where he admits to being scared, is so damn quiet that she can barely hear him.  “Look, my hands are already fuckin’ shaking.”  He says, holding up his hand for her to see.  His hand is trembling like a damn leaf.  “Guess that bitch wasn’t wrong when she called me Mr. Shaky Hands or whatever.”

She nods, unsure of who that bitch is- presumably someone on his team that he had lost.

“What’s your name?  I’ll feel weird just calling you ‘Player 124’ in my head.”

“Nam-gyu.  Use it.  I’m not just a damn player.”  He says, clenching his shaking hand up tight.

“Nam-gyu.”  She repeats, committing it to memory the best she can before she introduces herself.  He nods his head, adjusting himself so he’s more or less curled up at her side as she slowly lies back on the bunk.  He’s warm, almost disgustingly so, but she doesn’t shove him away.  It’s the least she can do for giving her a break during the last game.

She can feel his body tense, relax, and tremble in a cycle like he’s trying his damn hardest to calm down but he’s just unable to.  “Look up at me, let me at least clean off your face, okay?”  Her voice is soothing and steady, a sharp contrast to his own voice.  “You’re a mess, let me do this for you.”

He grunts in response, looking up at her before closing his eyes as she tugs at her jacket sleeve until it’s over her hand.  He feels the contact of the soft track jacket and flinches away before settling back into her touches.  The blood wipes away as she pours water on the sleeve, wipes, and repeats.  It takes some effort, but he’s relatively clean when she’s done.

They settle back on the bunk, she has an arm tucked behind her head and the other is around Nam-gyu’s shoulders to hold him closer to her body.  She knocks her foot against his, rubs soothing circles on his shoulder, and hums.  It’s an oddly peaceful moment amongst all the anxiety she’s been facing.

“Why’d you not kill me earlier?”

“You didn’t deserve it.  A thing like you getting stabbed by me and that dickhead Myung-gi… What a sorry way to go.”

“Oh.”

Silence, then she adds, “thank you.”  The silence that encapsulates them isn’t uncomfortable, nor does she want to break it.  He puts an arm over her abdomen and rubs her side, his hand under her shirt to feel the warmth of her skin- to remind him that he’s not alone.

When it’s almost lights out, he goes to get up before she grabs his hand and tugs him back down.

“Stay here, okay?  You don’t gotta go back to your own bunk.  Stay here… please ?  I don’t wanna be alone.”  She appeals more to his ego with her please , she figures it’ll be easier to get him to agree that way than if she sat and insisted that he needed to stay for his own good.

“Yeah, sure.”  He says, tugging the thin blanket over both of them.  He’s not used to being the one getting held, but it feels damn nice.  The way her fingers run through his hair, her other hand rubbing up and down the length of his arm from his wrist to his elbow.  Her eyes are closed, but she’s not asleep yet.  She’s waiting for him to fall asleep, and sleep comes fast for him. 

It’s not a restful sleep, he makes various noises, twists and turns to the point she nearly falls from her bunk, but she makes sure she keeps some part of ehr body touching his.  Be it from her spooning him or her foot grazing his leg, she wants him to know he’s not alone even in his sleep.

When she wakes up to the damn music she feels a weight on her and pushes it off.  But the weight just holds her tighter, nuzzling up into her neck.  It takes her a moment to blink away the last incoherent tired thoughts before she realizes it’s just Nam-gyu.  He groans something in response as she tries to sit up, it’s inaudible though.

“C’mon, we gotta get this done.”  She says, hesitating before placing a kiss to the crown of his head.  “We got this if we do it together, yeah?  I got you. You’re not alone .”

He doesn’t respond back, he’s not about to get sappier than he already let himself get last night.  But her words do mean a lot to him, more than he’ll ever admit even to himself.  It’s a bittersweet feeling, he can’t help but wonder what life would have been like if they had met sooner.  Either outside of the games or within it, he’s sure she would have been his lucky charm.

Everything was so damn fast, Min-su taunting Nam-gyu and then tossing the necklace over to the bridge where it lands.  The mechanical creaking of the rope feels her ears and within seconds she’s back next to Nam-gyu who’s looking increasingly anxious as if he’s debating just running for it.

“Nam-gyu, don’t.”  She says, tugging his jacket and forcing his attention to turn back towards her.  “If you’re gonna get it, don’t be an idiot.  Grab it and make it across to the end.  It’s just jump rope, you can do this.”  She continues, “you don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be alone.  Let’s do this together.”

He looks conflicted as he looks back to where Min-su threw the cross necklace before he reluctantly nods and takes a step forward while pushing her behind him.  He’s got this.  He’s got this if he has her.  It’s just jump rope.

[xoxonamgyu]

Oops stole ya girl

Pairing : Thanos x f reader - namgyu x f reader

Warnings: swearing, toxic relationship (from thanos), fluff sorta?, use of y/n, mention of abuse

SUMMARY: after your boyfriend Thanos died you couldn’t help but go to his “bestfriend”

————————————————————————

you and your boyfriend thanos “the rap god” entered the games cause he blew all your guys money. Yes. He blew his and took yours how rude!

so here you are about to play children’s games for cash

“Baby I promise you I’ll get us the money and you can have all of mine!” Thanos pouts

“Mhm. Doubt that.”

“Cmon don’t be down this might be fun!”

“There’s a guy saying people will get shot playing red light green light!”

“Oh he’s bluffin we won’t”

“You don’t know that.” You huff

GAME STARTING IN 3..2..1

“oh god.” your stomach turns

after the game starts your halfway through and then you trip and while your tripping

RED LIGHT!

you thought this was it thanos left you to fend for yourself he didn’t care.

Until! a guy quickly caught you

“you should be more careful baby.” The man said

“Don’t call me that. I have a boyfriend”

“Thanos yeah I know I met him at my old job didn’t he just leave you?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Whatever you say just be careful” he winks

after the game thanos comes up to you

“Babe I’m so sorry for leaving you I didn’t realize and-“

“Fuck off subong.”

he hated when you called him that and he knew you only called him that when you were really mad.

“Y/n. Please stop.”

“What did I just say. Get the fuck off my bed go to your own.”

He scoffs and leaves to go to that guy who saved you he did say he knew thanos.

the next day it’s now the six legged pentathlon and thanos practically BEGS you to join his team

so here you are sitting with Thanos the guy who saved you he said his name is namgyu semi and some girl named Mina and of course yourself.

you picked to play gonggi you have always been good at it and got it first try.

after the game you sit with your team, you talk with semi for the most part you catch namgyu starting at you a couple times and that mina getting close to thanos as he barely shows interest little do you know he was acting.

A BIT BEFORE

“Cmon why does she gotta know?” Mina asks

“she’s my girlfriend I’m not cheating!” Thanos snaps

“Please just one kiss” Mina puts her hand in his hair and plays with it

*fuck it.* he thinks

thanos grabs minas jaw and kisses her

PRESENT

The masked guards come in and people start to hide.”

“Players congrats on making it through another game. we will now vote”

You vote to leave but the vote to stay is much higher your whole team picked to stay. Lovely.

————————————————————————

the next day Thanos still hasn’t tried to talk to you again since the last game.

The next game is mingle.

The game is blur 4 PLAYERS 5 PLAYERS 10 PLAYERS

after what seemed like a while it was the last round

2 players

just cause Thanos was “mad” and so were you, you still thought he would come grab you but no. No hesitation he grabbed Mina!

you stood there in shock not knowing who to go to when someone grabbed your wrist you couldn’t even see who!

You got in the room you both out of breath you look up to see NAMGYU?

“oh my god I thought I was gonna die thank you so much namgyu”

“Hey don’t thank me just wanted to save my own ass to” he chuckles

“Still you did save me.”

“yeah I’m your saviour i guess” he jokes

You let out a small laugh

god namgyu liked you, your long silky hair, your eyes , the way you smile just everything about you.

“I gotta tell you something that Thanos told me y/n.”

“Uhm what?”

“He cheated on you.”

“what…”

“he told me he kissed Mina and usually I wouldn’t do anything but I had to tell you.”

“why would you tell me tho i don’t get it”

“because you don’t deserve it.”

“…” your speechless

“I’m sorry”

“not your fault.”

“you gonna say something to him?”

“No, I’m gonna pretend it’s okay don’t bring him suspicious he might hit me again.”

“Sorry the fuck did you just say?”

“Well if I ignore him to long he gets way to mad and takes it out on me.”

“you know that’s not fucking right”

“yeah i know but i can’t leave i don’t know why.”

namgyu doesn’t answer he opens his mouth a couple times thinking of something but he doesn’t know what to say

After the game Thanos is all up in your face apologizing, getting mad, threating, back to apologizing

finally your annoyed so you just say

“Thanos I forgive you I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Thank you baby”

“Mhm of course”

You fight back tears

later in the evening Thanos and namgyu go to the bathroom *probably doing drugs.” You think

About 10 minutes later

“Players ***, *** , *** , *** ,230, …. Eliminated.

you freeze and you see namgyu coming out the bathrooms

You run up to him as you look around you see Mina crying great.

“Namgyu what the hell is going on?”

“Those fucking Xs started fighting us. Fucking myunggi got thanos.”

You tear up

He just looks at you for a moment

“cmere.” He pulls you in

You guys stand there for a bit just hugging as you cry

“He was a motherfucker anyway right.”

“But I didn’t want him dead!”

“I know.”

you guys stayed with eachother for the rest of the evening you not wanting to be alone

namgyu takes you to your bunk for the night and then after a couple minutes you doze off

You wake up in the middle of the night after having a nightmare of Thanos your panting shaking and about to cry you couldn’t breathe.

guess you were louder than you thought you were

“Y/n? Are you okay?” namgyu asked you look up and only see his tall shadow

“n-no..”

“what do you need?”

You can’t answer

he sits down on your bed

“Y/n please tell me what’s wrong”

“t-Thanos.” you say barely any sound coming out

You felt pathetic crying to thanos’s “bestfriend”

“Thanos?”

“Mhm”

“What about Thanos y/n?”

“when he would get mad and then I seen his ghost at the end of the bunk.” You cry

Namgyu pulls you into a hug for second time today you weren’t complaining.

As you cry you look up and you guys lock eyes

“Y/n I’m sorry I promise it will all be okay.”

you half smile at him

You guys just stay there you sitting next to namgyu being held by him

you look up at him again “thank you gyu.”

He blushes at the nickname

“Of course baby”

“What did I say about calling me that.” You frown at him but not a serious frown

“What you technically don’t got a boyfriend anymore” he jokes

You can’t help but let out a little laugh

you blush a bit

he just stares at you and you stare at him

“Oh fuck Thanos.” He scoffs

he leans in and kisses you. You are taken back by it at first but then you ease into it not wanting the kiss to end

“oops stole ya girl” namgyu smiles and winks

You smile and giggle

this might become a new start a happier one.

————————————————————————

I am obsessed with both of these men and I had to write them I didn’t wanna make Thanos the abuser type but it fit better with the story line to me. This came into my mind randomly so I had to write it! Hope you liked it!

[deputyrook]

In Her Absence: Lucanis/Rook/Spite.

A03 link! Female Crow Rook x Lucanis. Lucanis POV.

Takes place when Rook is in the fade prison, because 1) I love angst and am a big softie; and 2) I wanted to try to work out the logistics of what the team did in Rook's absence, and how they managed to reach her.

---

In the four days that Rook’s been gone, the Veilguard has devolved completely into infighting.

Taash wants to know why they can’t just “break into the fade and pull her out.” And no one really wants to hear Emmrich’s overly technical explanation as to why that’s not feasible, least of all Taash, who’s grieving and angry. Davrin keeps saying that it should have been him instead, which isn’t helping, and no one even wants to think about what’s happening to Bellara right now. 

Harding is dead. Bellara is kidnapped by Elgar’nan and Maker knows where. They’re a mess as a group, angry and hurting. And Rook...

Rook’s gone.

Neve is the only person who remotely has their shit still together, and for that at least, Lucanis is thankful. 

Because he absolutely does not have his shit together. Maybe the others can’t tell, since he’s not arguing or yelling or breaking down, but his thoughts are spiralling so badly that he’s barely said a word in three days. All he can think about is Rook.

He loves her. He loves her. And she’s lost somewhere, trapped and alone, and they have no plan whatsoever on how they’re going to get her back. 

He never told her. It’s tearing him up inside. The thought that he might never hear her voice again. Never hear her make some stupid pun, or hear her teasing, or hear her give them all one of her legendary pep talks. Never hear her laugh again-

“Lucanis,” Neve’s voice is firm, dragging him out of his despondency, “You need to focus.” 

How can he possibly focus? “You’re right,” he says instead, voice tight, because Neve is right. Standing around brooding isn’t getting them any closer to getting Rook back. What he needs to do is act- but how?

Solas is a God, and even he couldn’t break out of that prison. This isn’t the kind of problem Lucanis can solve with a dagger. He can’t stab at the prison walls until they crumble away- but Maker knows if that could work, he would stab until his daggers shattered and his body collapsed. 

What is he supposed to do? What can he do? How can he help them, when all he knows how to do is kill things?

No. Spite says to his left, his voice hard and determined, No! We will find Rook. Won’t leave them there. 

Neve puts a hand on his shoulder, and gives it a squeeze. 

“When has Rook ever been content to sit and wait to be rescued?” Neve says, and he lets out a long, even exhale, because it’s exactly what he needs to hear. “I’m worried too. But Rook would chew off her own leg to escape a trap. If there’s a way to get out, she’ll find it. Have some faith in her. In all of us- and in yourself.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice quiet. After a moment, he adds, “…Someone should let Viago and Teia know.”

That, at least, is a burden he can bear. 

But the days stretch into weeks. Elgar’nan seizes control of an already broken Minrathous, and even Neve has a hard time keeping herself together after that one. 

Lucanis is in no place to offer comfort. Without Rook’s leadership and steadfast optimism, the lighthouse has gone dark, leaving them all ships to smash into a rocky coast. He won’t soon forget the way Viago’s eyes widened when he told him what had happened to Rook, nor the look of horror that flashed across his face before his expression settled into stony devastation. 

Strangely, it’s Spite that keeps him from falling apart completely. He refuses to accept that Rook is gone. Every time that Lucanis’ mind whispers to him that this happened because he wasn’t good enough, and that he’ll never see Rook smile at him again- Spite cuts him off with an angry, defiant hiss of NO. 

Rook is strong. Rook is smart! Rook will not allow herself to die in a prison. She would not let you die in prison, either. We will not let her. We will find her. We will find her!

He repeats the words in his own head, holding onto them like a buoy. Right, yeah. She’s good at prison breaks. It’s enough to make it through the day.

Sometimes- although Lucanis would never admit it to the others- he realizes that Spite is the one who has been moving his body,  keeping him working while he’s been stuck in his mind, ruminating and aching with missing her. It’s been Spite that’s forcing him to eat, to bathe, to sleep. Spite is keeping him alive. 

Will not let you do this to us. Rook needs us.

It’s that thought that ultimately gets Lucanis to snap out of his despair. 

It’s not over yet. He agrees, finally. Rook needs us. 

Finally! Spite snaps back.

---

First, they try to make a copy of the dagger. Something that will be able to slice through the fade prison, so that they can cut Rook out of it. That’s how Solas left, after all- by tricking her, and stealing the dagger to cut himself free. 

But a dagger of pure lyrium isn’t exactly easy to replicate. Brilliant as they are, Emmrich and Neve can only do so much. So after days of meticulous work, they end up with a dagger that looks identical to the real thing, but doesn’t actually work. Great.

Next, Emmrich hypothesizes that in order to get to Rook in the fade, they’ll not only need to figure out how to access the fade prison, but also to figure out where the prison actually is, physically within the fade.

It is, apparently, not as simple as yelling out “ROOK? CAN YOU HEAR US?” from the top of the Lighthouse, which has been Taash’s strategy. Spite, too, is ready to start just travelling through the fade, for as long and as far as he needs to until he finds her. Lucanis is doing what he can to support the group, cooking the meals and making sure Emmrich and Neve are able to stay on their feet.

Word gets to them that Solas is in Minrathous, keeping the rebellion alive. The news poisons Lucanis so thoroughly with hate that he nearly can’t stomach it. Spite has been so determined to save Rook that Lucanis almost forgot how it felt when he was really, truly spiteful. 

Hearing Solas is pretending to be a hero in Tevinter, after consigning Rook to take his place in a prison? Yeah. That’ll do it. The things he’d wanted to do to Illario after his betrayal had left him conflicted. He is not remotely conflicted about what he wants to do about Solas.

What they want to do. Spite agrees with him on this one. He hurt our Rook.

Finally, Emmrich and Neve work out a real plan, with the help of the Veil Jumpers. It’s based largely on luck, but it’s something. It’s a sliver of hope. It’s enough to keep them all going.

First, they need to find a spot where the veil is particularly thin, where the fade peaks through the seams of reality. Then, they need to use an artifact of the Veil Jumper’s to do… magical, fade, location-y… stuff. Emmrich actually uses a bit of Rook’s blood for this part, located on some stained clothes that Assan had dug out in her room. 

Blood magic. Ordinarily, Lucanis would be opposed. But no one says a word against it. They are all desperate for this to work. 

The first day they try it, it doesn’t work. They make some adjustments, and try again.

The second day, it doesn’t work. They make some more adjustments, and they try again.

On the fifth day, Spite says it in his ear, voice sharp with excitement.

I can smell her- I can smell Rook!

Lucanis’ heart feels like it’s about to burst from his chest. He’s yelling, “Rook?” into the rift before he can stop himself, but the team’s caught on already that this isn't like the other times they’ve failed to make their plan work. The rift is spitting and spasming sparks of magic, and they can see through it in a way they’d never been able to before. They can see a light in the rift.

Emmrich seems to throw caution entirely to the wind, rolling up his sleeve and plunging his arm into the rift. The energy is wild, unrestrained, and they’re all calling out to Rook, reaching and trying to get to her.

“I’ve- I’ve got her!” Emmrich yells out, and Lucanis swears he can see Rook’s wavy form on the other side of the rift. Like looking through a fishbowl, or the walls of the Ossuary.

He reaches in too and grabs her hand with Emmrich, and they yank. Rook stumbles out, collapsing onto the ground.

“Varric’s dead,” she says, voice hollow and wobbly.

Neve shoots Lucanis a confused, concerned look, but he’s too relieved to care. He’s grabbing at her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace, and his throat feels like it’s closing up on him. Tears prick at his vision. She’s safe. She’s alive, she’s free, and she’s safe. She’s back with them.

They all want to hug her, and make sure she’s actually, really okay. But Lucanis gets to first.

Told you. Told you, told you! Spite repeats, ecstatic, She’s back!

“Are you okay?” He murmurs, pulling back and looking her over critically, trying to see if she’s been hurt or if anything has changed. But no. It’s just her. Like not a day has passed.

Rook nods slowly, and Lucanis smooths a hand down her hair, before cupping her cheek in his hand. All he wants to do is hold her, but he can’t be that selfish and drag her away from the others. Not yet, anyway. 

Pulling back, the others take the moment to rush in, making similar careful assessments and doting over Rook. The last few weeks have been almost unbearably difficult. There’s been little to celebrate. But this is joy again. Hope. With Rook back, not everything is completely fucked.

Davrin pulls her into a crushing hug, and Taash joins in, and they’re all hugging and crying a little. The trip back to the Lighthouse is a blur, with Rook thanking the Veil Jumpers and swearing to them she’ll get Bellara back.

How she can already be so determined, so ready to act, Lucanis will never know. He is, as he has so often found himself, in awe of her ability to forge forward, the light cutting through the swathes of dark that seem to surround them.

Spite is just about ready to try to crawl out of their skin in impatience, but they have work to do first. They all brief Rook on what has happened in her absence, and learn- horrifically- that she’s somehow been brainwashed into believing Varric has been alive, for months, by Solas.

Not for the first time, Lucanis feels anger and spite bubbling in his veins and vows to himself that he will not let Solas get away with hurting Rook. God or not. He finds it hard to fathom why he would mess with her head like that, if he wanted her to succeed in at least stopping Ghilan’nain. It reminds him too much of the mind games that his captors would play on him when he was in the Ossuary, tormenting and confusing him for no other reason than to break him down. Was that what Solas had tried to do to Rook, too? To break her down mentally, so she’d be easier to manipulate and trick?

It seems to take forever, but finally, Lucanis gets to see her alone. She’s lying down when he enters her quarters, her eyes closed, but the words spill out of him before he can even consider leaving her to rest.

“I cannot believe we found you,” he says, voice soft. All of the fear he’s felt for weeks, the doubt and the despair that Spite had helped him just barely keep at bay… the relief, now, is making him lightheaded. 

“I’m a little surprised too, honestly.” It’s a testament to the gravity of the situation that she’s not trying to make light of things. The words aren’t meant as a joke. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits.

“And I didn’t think I’d ever get out of there,” Rook tells him in turn. It leaves him cold, to think of her there, alone and believing she might never be found. “How do I know if I really did? This could be... more of the fade.”

Lucanis realizes then, that he’s never seen her vulnerable like this before. Emotional, yes, but lost? Frightened? Rook has always been the solid centre of the group. Unmoving, unyielding, steady. Utterly dependable. 

It’s almost surprising that she’s not actually invincible. She’s so consistently been their guiding light. But more than shock, more than anything else-

He wants to protect her. He wants to hold her until her worries melt away, to chase away the horrible memories of the last several weeks and see her smile at him. He wants her to know that he won’t let anything hurt her. He wants to kiss her until she feels safe and warm again. 

So he does. Kneeling down in front of her, holding her hands in his own, Lucanis reassures her she is real. There’s so much he wants to tell her, that he’s been praying he’ll get the chance to say. But now that Rook’s in front of him again, he can’t seem to find the words for everything he’s been feeling.

So he kisses her. So, so gently. And when he keeps kissing her, pressing her back against the chaise as she wraps her arms around his neck? It seems Spite is right there with him, because the wings unfurl right in that moment, curling around them both protectively, like he wants to help shield them from anyone in the world who might try to hurt them.

[miley1442111]

protective- a.hotchner

summary: aaron (literally) fights for you

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!fem! reader

warnings: angst, talk of abuse, violence, general cm topics, crying, reader is a victim of DV (not aaron), gross men (i think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

------------------

Aaron Hotchner was a leader that you’d known from the beginning. He was your team leader, he was calm, collected, and calculated in everything. His lunch was the same everyday, he didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t swear all that often, and he wore the same sequence of shirts and suits every week. He was organised. 

Mondays was a blue shirt with a black suit, Tuesdays was a white shirt with a navy suit, Wednesdays was a white shirt with a black suit, Thursdays was a blue shirt with a grey suit, and Fridays was a white shirt with navy suit. Everything was fine and dandy, you trusted him, and you enjoyed his company. Everything was fine, until it wasn't. 

One stupid day, 8 whole months after you and your ex had broken up, he just so happens to be at the same bar you and the team are celebrating in, and he must’ve made it his personal mission to find you, to shout at you, to get you back. To piss you off. It hadn’t exactly been a good week, but then again, what week is when you’re dealing with murder cases? 

“Y/n,” Penelope sighed, looking out at the rest of the team on the ‘dance floor’. “I don’t understand,” she drew out the ‘understand’ to a ridiculous length, purely to annoy you. “How are you two so perfect?”

“Keep your voice down!” you hissed, turning back to her again. “We may not be at work but this is a work dinner.”

Did I mention he was your boyfriend too? 

“Have you seen yourself?” she gawked. “You’re gorgeous! He’s gorgeous! You two would make perfect babies” 

You chuckled. “I thank you for the flattery, but we can be honest here, he’s fucking gorgeous, and yeah, I’m alright,” you laughed when she hit you lovingly. “And, we’ve been together for 6 months, not 6 years. No babies for like… a while at least.”

“Y/n!” Charles’ voice rang out in the bar, meaning everyone around you turned to your group. “You fucking blocked me?!”He came up behind you, placing a tense hand on your shoulder, gripping the skin there until it hurt. “What kind of bitch does that?”

“Me, I guess,” you answered simply, staring straight down at your drink. Charles hadn’t been a very good boyfriend, nor a good person, and you didn’t really understand why you’d stayed for so long. Something about watching women get killed by their partners kind of snapped you into reality. Not that he was that bad but, he wasn’t good.

“Yeah right, you bitch. Unblock me, we need to talk about this!” 

“About what?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “We broke up 8 months ago, let it die Charles.”

“Baby, I miss you,” he leaned in closer, his breath heavy with alcohol. “I miss that pretty pussy too.”

You shuttered with disgust. “Get the fuck off of me,” you punctuated each word carefully and spoke slowly, making sure he heard you.

“Don’t be like that baby,” he smirked, tightening his grip. “Or it won’t end well.”   

You felt it. The gun in his holster. He wasn’t past killing you, you knew that. You knew he wasn’t safe. He never had been. He just wanted to get you home and into his bed, and you’d rather that than dead. 

“Get off of her,” Penelope demanded. He turned his attention to her, and you instinctively reached for your gun, only to remember that you left it at home. You weren’t about to let him hurt Pen. “And who may you be?” he asked. “Don’t,” you gritted out. “You’re here for me, not her.”

He turned his attention back to you. “I know that sweetheart, I don’t see why I can’t chat, do you?” 

“Let’s just go,” you told him. He nodded, a smug smirk on his face. You got up, his hand stayed on your shoulder the whole time, his other hand on his hip. 

“Good girl,” his laugh was dirty. Everything about him was dirty and sleazy and it made you sick. But again, better you than Penlope. 

Penelope’s eyes searched for someone, anyone to see you. He needed Morgan, o-or Hotch, or just anyone. “Hotch!” she called when she finally caught his eye. He rushed over to her. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, searching her for injury or signs of upset. 

“Y/n a-and this tall guy, he was talking to her and then she just got up a-and left. She looked scared. I-I didn’t know what to do,” she stuttered through her sentence, tears building in her eyes. 

You. Scared. You. Scared. You. Scared. You. Scared. You. Scared. You. Scared. You. Scared. You. Scared. 

It played in his head like a sick mantra until he finally did something. He rushed out of there as fast as he could. He had to find you. He needed to find you. 

He ran down the alley beside the bar, nothing. Ran down the road with Morgan on his tail, nothing. Cars weren’t even moving, it was just a regular night. 

“Y/n!” Spencer called out to you. 

There you were. Leaning against a car with him standing over you. 

The three of them rushed over, ready to just take you back inside. They didn’t know how dangerous Charles was, how obsessed he was. 

“Stop!” you warned them. “Go back inside, I’m alright, I promise.” 

“We’re not leaving you here,” Derek argued. “Man, get off of her-”

Charles scoffed. “She wants this, she’s into it. It’s just some harmless fun!” 

Aaron almost recoiled out of disgust. He knew what you were into, and he knew it wasn’t this. It had taken you almost the full 6 months you’d been with him to even be comfortable enough to kiss or touch him in public. You didn’t talk about it but… it did come with the territory of being a behavioural analyst. He noticed how you shied away from the way he touched you sometimes, he noticed how you refused to drink a drop of alcohol, he noticed how you flinched at big noises, he noticed how you held his hand during sex. All of these little things, it led him to one conclusion, you’d been abused. 

He promised himself if he ever got to meet the fucker, he’d hurt him, if not kill him. 

Then in came Charles, and thus began the night Aaron Hotchner ended up in jail for aggravated assault. 

------------------

You sat in the police station, your head hung low. This was all your fault, none of this would’ve happened if you’d just-

“It’s not your fault,” Aaron whispered as he sat beside you, putting his cufflinks back on. Of course, you’d bailed him out and he’d gotten off with a warning and a fine, which was pretty good considering what he did to the guy. “Please don’t blame yourself.” 

You shook your head, willing yourself not to cry. “Aaron you got in a fight because of-”

“A choice I made to provoke a dangerous person,” he finished. “A choice I made.”

You nodded. “Aaron, your lip,” you placed a gentle hand on his cheek which he leaned into. His lip was split, he had a bruise forming on his head, and you knew his back was sore from the fight. You knew how hard Charles could hit. 

“My lip is fine, I promise. The paramedics gave me some painkillers. Are you alright?”

The dreaded question. No, you were hilariously, awfully, un-alright. You had to see Charles again, he touched you again, he talked to you again. You shook your head, tearing up.  Aaron didn’t shy away. He held you as you sobbed in that police precinct. He didn’t care about anyone staring, he didn’t care that the team was waiting outside, he didn’t care. He cared about you. You were all that mattered in that moment, and every moment after it.

------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[cheeseatlantic]

I DOMT KNOW WHAT TO CALL THIS BUT ITS ANGST

Pain hits first.

White-hot and blooming, a flare that rips through his side like someone shoved a steel rod through his ribs and left it there. No sound at first, just a rush of pressure and the wind punched from his lungs. Then the noise catches up — the gunfire, the shouting, the thunder of boots against wet concrete.

“Ghost’s hit—!”

No time. No fucking time to die here.

He falls hard — hip first, then elbow, sliding on cracked tile and dust. The whole safehouse is crumbling around them. Intel was wrong. Reinforcements came early, heavy. And now they’re boxed in, with walls thin as paper and no evac window.

Ghost’s fingers twitch. Reach. Drag.

He claws himself behind a broken slab of rebar and wall, biting down hard on a grunt as he presses his palm to his side. Warm blood coats his glove. It’s bad. Bad enough he knows without even checking — he won’t make it out of this.

And the comms are down. Of course they are.

He taps the side of his earpiece. Static.

Nothing.

⸻

He blinks hard, forcing the grey fuzz from the edge of his vision. Forces himself upright enough to get eyes on the hallway. The rest of the team is moving — he can see them in flashes between pillars and debris. Johnny’s yelling something. Price is at the far end shouting orders, voice hoarse and cracking.

They don’t know he’s gone down.

Good.

Good.

They don’t need to see him like this. Crumpled. Leaking. Slower than he’s ever been. He’d only slow them down.

So he stays down. Keeps his rifle up. Keeps cover on the flank, picking off one target, then another. Then another. Muscles screaming with every pull of the trigger. It’s muscle memory now — nothing more. One shot. Reset. Breathe.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Just a little longer.

Then it gets quiet.

Too quiet.

The others are gone — or maybe out of range. Maybe the last of them escaped. He can’t hear them anymore.

Only the sound of his own breathing. Wet. Rattling.

His rifle tips. He grabs at it again, but his hands aren’t listening. His arms feel like they’re underwater — slow and numb.

He blinks again.

Everything’s getting darker.

He leans back against the wall and lets his head fall forward, resting against his chest, the mask still stuck tight to his face. The ache in his ribs is bone-deep now. Echoes through every inch of him like a tolling bell.

This is it.

He’s dying.

Alone.

⸻

His fingers twitch toward his vest. He fumbles with the zipper. Gets it open on the second try. He digs past the spare ammo, the crumpled field dressings, the empty magazine pouch — until he finds it.

The folded square of paper.

He unfolds it slowly.

It’s the photo he printed two missions ago. One of you, blurry, taken in the hallway of your flat. You’d been laughing at something he said — real, full-body laughter, the kind that softened all your sharp edges. He hadn’t even told you he took it.

Didn’t need to.

It was just for him.

Something to carry in the field. To keep the nightmares at bay. To remind him that not everything about him was bloody and wrong.

He stares at it now. At your eyes. That stupid hoodie you always wore. The way your mouth turned at the corner when you smiled for real.

His throat goes tight. The pain’s worse now. Deep. Inside.

I didn’t come home.

He swallows hard.

You waited. And I didn’t come home.

⸻

He wants to say something. Anything. But there’s no one to hear it.

His mouth opens. A dry rasp escapes. Almost a laugh.

“You’re still waitin’,” he murmurs, voice barely audible beneath the wheeze of blood in his lungs. “Christ… I’m sorry…”

He closes his eyes.

And he breaks, finally.

Breaks in the way he never let anyone see.

He sobs — just once — not from the pain, but from everything he left unsaid. Everything he was too proud or too scared to give you. All the years he wasted thinking he didn’t deserve softness. Didn’t deserve you.

You were his future. Someone to raise a kid with one day, to marry, to grow old with.

And now—

It’s gone.

⸻

The last thing he sees is the photo, still clutched in his hand.

He dies with your face in front of him.

And the silence swallows everything.

—————————

hi author note im so sorry for this. public apology with ukelele coming soon x

[t-a-a-1]

Counting Stars

Ch. 5: Skylight

TFP Optimus x Female Reader

Summary: After a dangerous mission where you almost die, Optimus breaks up with you without knowing you are carrying his sparkling. It's not until seven months later that the universe allows you both to meet once again.

A/N: Lots of yearning, jealousy, delusions, craving, fluff. All that good stuff.

5K

Ch.5 Skylight

....

He hasn’t felt a single thing since you disappeared. 

He didn’t even know if he was allowed to feel something. He had a team that depended on his good judgement and sanity to keep things in order. 

But right now, could he be allowed one moment of weakness?

Maybe this is something he should discuss with you. He wants to hear your opinion on this and he wants to see his sparkling, see how they are doing. 

But where are you?

Where is his sparkling?

He wants to see you both. He needs to. If he doesn’t then this aching in his spark won’t ever stop. 

He wants to hold you, to know that you are safe. That his sparkling is still strong and growing inside of you. That it will soon come to this world and greet him. 

Where are you? Where is the sparkling?

Where?

Where? 

Where? 

Where? 

Where?

Where?

WARNING: PROCESSOR UNABLE TO UNDERSTAND LOSS. UNABLE TO KEEP ONLINE. LOCATE SPARKMATE IMMEDIATELY. SURVIVAL CODES ACTIVATED. 

From a distance, he can see you. Carrying his sparkling in your arms and singing lullabies to him. A field of sunflowers surrenders you. You and his sparkling bask in the light coming from the sky. That’s exactly what the two of you were to him. The light that brightens his darkest hour. 

“Optimus.”

Ratchet looks at the berth where the Prime rested. Unconscious and immobilized. His body had given up and after the groundbridge explosion and unable to locate you, he had gone into shock.

“How is he doing?”

“Stable but in a deep sleep.”

Arcee approached the doctor. Concern in her faceplate to watch the leader in such a state. Everyone had been able to get out of the bridge safely, the ground bridge explosion had sent them to their wished destination. But you were the only one affected. Ratchet had mentioned that due to you being an organic and the sparkling having Cybertronian features, the groundbridge wasn’t able to locate you properly, sending you somewhere else. Or maybe …

No, she couldn’t think like that.

If you are gone, everything is gone. Inside you was Cybertron’s first sparkling in eons, you had become a symbol of hope for everyone. Even the Decepticons, in their own twisted ways. For Optimus? He simply couldn’t live without you. 

“What are we going to do?”

Arcee asks the medic to which he only turns to look at her.

“What do you want to do?”

Ratchet’s doesn’t sound hopeless but assertive. He is waiting patiently and that’s when Arcee understood what he was trying to imply.

“I can’t–”

“Bumblebee is too young, Bulkhead can’t think quickly and I am certainly no leader,” Ratchet says as he looks at the Prime on his medic belt. His vital signs are steady but the signals in his processor were showing distress as if he was having a nightmare. “You need to step up … for all of us. Especially if there’s a chance they are still alive.”

“Is there?”

“... Cybertronians emit unique frequencies. They are our version of human fingerprints,” Ratchet started working on his computer, pulling files after files. Data that Arcee didn’t even bother to try and understand. “I was able to make a registry of Optimus and (Reader)’s sparkling and tried locating them using Earth’s satellite and found nothing.”

“Does that mean … they–”

“No,” Ratchet says and Arcee’s faceplate immediately relaxes. 

“I input the frequency into our database system and made a universal search. I couldn’t find anything. A sparkling’s spark wouldn’t disappear into nothingness, it's pure energy. It cannot be destroyed. It would return to the Well of All Sparks and even so, I would have been able to track it.”

“Meaning?” Arcee wished that Ratchet didn’t gave out so many explanations but even she knew she had to listen to all of it before deciding what the next step would be. 

“Meaning that (Reader) and the sparkling are alive but are not in this universe. The groundbridge explosion must have sent them into another dimension.” 

Then, Arcee’s processor started to make connections. 

“Then, if we input the sparkling’s frequencies into the ground bridge …could it take us to where they are?”

“Possibly but we are going to need a vast source of energy to repair the groundbridge and the quantum physics to travel across dimensions will take some time to decipher.”

“Leave the energy gathering to us,” Arcee quickly says. The idea of dimensional travel doesn’t sound so crazy after what happened with Dreadwing. “Start the preparations. Do you need anything else?”

“Bring Rafael on the way, I’ll need an extra pair of .. hands.”

“You go it,” before she left, Arcee takes another look at their Leader. Who, against all odds, always keeps pushing forward. Because he was hope reincarnated and all she could do was to follow those steps.  “Let us know if there are any improvements on Optimus' status.”

“I will,” Ratchet looks at Optimus, his old friend, so vulnerable and yet, he doesn’t give up.  “But don’t expect much.”

.

.

.

“This is a daisy … and this is a sunflower … this a rose.”

You didn’t expect to be spending so much time with Jetfire. 

“And this one?”

“Oh, that’s a mushroom, that's a totally different species.”

Yet, here you are. 

You would have never figured out that Nemesis Prime had a private garden of his own. Around the size of a football field and with an open ceiling, it was your favorite place to be. You could forget for a moment your situation. 

It's not like Prime had you captive, he allowed you to go anywhere … as long as Jetfire went with you. He had become sort of a bodyguard to you.

“I can’t believe it,” Jetfire was in disbelief, his optics widened as a sudden realization hit him. “You, the plants, the animals … your kind cannot live without one or the other … your entire ecosystem … all of it is just one big creature. Everything is connected.”

“Doesn’t Cybertron have an ecosystem?” you ask as you sat in the grass, you gathered a couple of flowers to make flower crowns. 

“Cybertronians are … and invasive species. We can live at any place as long as there is energon we can mine,” Jetfire looks at you with curiosity. Wondering why you would take the life of such beautiful flowers. “Unlike your species who can only live on Earth, we don’t depend on one and other to survive.”

“Is that why … Maybe Cybertronians have such a hard time creating meaningful connections?” you ask, thinking about how even their way of speaking is formal to one and the other. “Never asking for help, living for millions of years, not having the necessity to reproduce either to continue the species … kinda solitary, right?”

“Correct,” Jetfire’s voice is sad as much as it is gentle. “And  between Cybertronians, the creation of another Cybertronian is not an easy task either.”

“And yet, it was so easy for you,” he looks at you with so much wonder and excitement. You never thought how easy it was for humans to reproduce and create new life. To Cybertronians the creation of life was a complete miracle. To you? An everyday thing.  “How does it feel?”

“Well … It's actually kicking right now … do you want to feel them?”

Jetfire reaches a servo towards you. You can see that he is scared by the way he is slow and his servo trembles. Wanting to make him feel comfortable, you put a hand on his servo and guide him towards your belly. 

He puts the servo on your belly and waits. When suddenly he feels something move underneath him. 

He quickly moves his servo and moves a few inches away from you. 

“Sorry, did it scare you?”

“A little … I understand now why Nemesis wants you guarded all the time. You are too valuable. If the wrong individuals were to find out, they will try to capture and keep you and the sparkling for their own benefit.”

This sparks your curiosity and from making your flower-crown, you look at Jetfire. 

“Wait, wrong individuals? I thought the war was over.”

“My apologies, I have spoken too much.”

“No, you—”

Out of nowhere, Jetfire receives a call from his comm-link and quickly answers. You wished you could hear what he has been told but by the look on Jetfire's face, it must be a call from Nemesis Prime. 

“Understood,”Jetfire finishes the call and looks back at you. “Prime wishes to see you. He has requested that you shower and use luxurious fabrics to decorate your body.”

“He wants me to get dressed? Do you know why?”

“Not certain,” he says. “But do not worry, I don’t think Nemesis would want to procreate with you while you are still with sparkling. Although I am sure he is making his preparations for after you give ... birth.”

“He wants another sparkling?” You didn’t want to show your real emotions. You tried to act as calmly as possible but the thought that you might have to bed Nemesis scared you. He was Optimus but it wasn’t your Optimus. 

“Well yes, everyone wants you to have as many sparklings as possible,” From curious, Jetfire’s voice now sounded optimistic.  “We haven’t seen a sparkling in millenia, so everyone is excited. It has lifted our morale.”

“Oh so that’s what you want me to do? Breed me like a cow until I am no longer of use?”

“What is a cow?”

You sigh heavily.

…

It’s been a long while since you took the time to dress up. It was hard and you had many questions. Where did Nemesis get all of this fabrics from? And did he expect you to just wrap them around your body? From what you knew, fabrics in Cybertron were rare. Only those in the high class could afford buying fabrics and only wore them around certain parts of their bodies. 

So you tried your best to wear the fabric around your body, the white silk wrapped across your curves and you feel like a Roman. But thankful for wearing something clean. You feel your sparkling move inside you, probably sharing your happiness. 

“Excited to eat Energon, little one?” you ask your sparkling as you rub your belly. “I just hope I get to eat some human food. I don’t think I can live off Energon.”

Now you sit at a large table. 

Waiting for Nemesis to show up. Trembling hands and feeling cold. You didn’t know what to expect. 

You couldn’t believe that there exists a version of Optimus that lost the Matrix of Leadership by merit. That he didn’t care about this planet and its inhabitants. To the point that it can no longer host humans?

What kind of evil monster … is Nemesis Prime?

And what kind of thing was able to break the unbreakable Optimus Prime?

The doors of the main room open only to reveal the one you were thinking of. 

Standing tall and carrying a silver tray. He walks towards you. You didn’t break eye contact, feeling that he will attack you the moment you take your eyes away from him. Noticing your discomfort, Nemesis began to walk slower. 

He makes sure to be close enough to you and delicately puts the silver tray in front of you. 

Nemesis didn’t mass-shift, still standing at, around 32 feet tall. Yet his movements were all measured. As to not scare or harm you. He takes a few steps back, giving you space to finally guarantee you some sense of safety so you could take a look at the tray before you.

It was kinda like a charcuterie board. With many fruits and vegetables. Edible plants and breads. A tray that was too big for you and definitely something that you will never be able to finish eating even if you had three extra lives. 

Your mouth waters and a part of you wanted to jump and start eating to your heart’s content. 

“I made it myself.”

He finally spoke to you.

And the shock was so great that you stopped your actions and immediately looked back at him. 

“My apologies, I shouldn’t have spoken.”

Nemesis looks down, his optics showed something but what you only thought would be embarrassment. 

“I am thankful that you have finally decided to speak to me,” you say, trying to be gentle with your words. Although it wasn’t your Optimus, you had missed his voice. “Could you please … get closer to me?”

You couldn’t be scared forever and you knew that if you wanted to make any progress, you needed him to get on his good side. That was the only way you could get back to your dimension. 

Nemesis does as he is told and slowly gets closer to you. You can tell that he is nervous by the way his optics try to look at you but suddenly looks away. 

But this time he is more courageous and dares to look at you longer. He analyzes your body and in his collected data, he identifies a peculiar sound. Two heart beats. One belonging to you and the other sounding similar to a spark. 

It was constant, gentle, kind. His sparkling was alive. You were alive. 

Nemesis lets out a heavy ex-vent, his voice glitched as he released his breath of pure relief. 

“I had prayed and dreamt of this moment. Are you certain that this is not an illusion? A dream perhaps?”

“I am very much real.”

“You have to be,” he says. “Otherwise I’ll kill whoever dares to wake me up.”

“You are very different from my Optimus,” you thought how the word ‘kill’ would never come out of intake. “He wouldn't dare to say something like that.”

“You don’t belong to him anymore. The past shall not repeat itself by endorsing foolish ideologies of the past.”

“I never thought your ideologies were foolish,” you say, not breaking eye contact. “I loved that about you.”

“Loved?” His voice glitched and for a moment you saw him again. Deep down on his yellow optics, he was there. 

“My Optimus and I are not on the best of terms. He had broken up with me and then a lot of things happened. MECH was looking for me so I decided to stay with the rest of the Autobots until the baby is born. I’ll be relocated to a new place when the sparkling is here.”

“It … hasn’t happened yet.” 

“I am sorry?”

“My apologies, I am just talking to myself,” Nemesis breaks eye contact and then points at your silver platter.  “Please enjoy your meal. I wish for our sparkling to grow strong.”

Feeling like the atmosphere was calmer, you decided to switch the topic to a more intimate one. 

“Jetfire mentioned that you would like to have more sparklings,” you didn’t know how long you’ll be here so you had to ensure your safety. But you had to be smart about it. 

“Yes, when the time is right.”

“I don’t want to,” you simply say.  “I don’t want to be here just for that.”

“I shall never do something you do not wish,” there was desperation in his voice. Something that looks odd coming from such an intimidated mech.  “If you so wish, I’ll even swear to never speak another word to you. Your wishes are my sole reason for existence.” 

“Just please, allow me to be the one to full-fill every single of your needs and wants. That shall be enough for me. Allow me to be yours and please be mine.”

You have to be a fool to fall for words like that. 

And oh,how stupid you are.

You take a moment to look at him. His blue and red paint had rusted away. Only leaving black and grey colors. He had stopped caring for his appearance and you can tell by the amount of dent and scratches on his body. His broken windows and his battlemask that he wasn’t taken off. 

You wonder if it's uncomfortable for him and you also want to see him. All of him.

“Can I see your faceplate?”

And then … An explosion.

Debris everywhere. Nemesis used his entire body to protect you from the falling ceiling and yet you were still dizzy. Disoriented. The magnitude of the bomb was that enough to hurt any Cybertronian. 

Nemesis falls to the ground, his injuries were too big for him to withstand. 

You couldn’t do anything when a figure came down and grabbed you by the waist. Taking you away as Nemesis stretched out an arm towards you, his pleading optics begged for you to be returned to him. Only for his injuries to get the best of him and make him succumb to his pain. 

You closed your eyes, your body unable to stay awake.

.

.

.

You wake up only to find humans looking down on you.

For  a moment you were thankful. Seeing humans meant that you were back home, right? Maybe everything was just a bad dream.

“Sebastian, run analysis.”

A human male quickly gets close to you. His human eyes suddenly turned blue. Similar to that of a Cybertronian. This took you off guard, and immediately you backed away. 

Seeing your reaction, a female human grabs him by the arm and pulls him back. She looks at you tenderly. 

“It’s alright, you are safe now,” she says. “Sebastian just wants to make sure you or your sparklings don’t have any injuries.” 

Her gentle voice calms you down, but unconsciously places a hand on your belly.  Sebastian, learning from his previous mistake, kept a more comfortable distance. His blue eyes let out a scan light, your body basked on it. It did you no harm. 

“The sparkling is healthy but she is malnourished. Pure organics can’t live off Energon. I recommend giving her a proper meal.”

“Maya, could you prepare her something?” 

Another male asks. He stands in front of you and everyone looks around him. 

“Copy that, boss,” Maya stands up before giving you a smile. 

The male, who seemed to be the leader of the group, stands up as well. 

“Alright, let’s get back to work,” he says. “I’ll take it from here.”

.

.

.

The base was hidden in a cave, on top of a mountain where a waterfall covered the entrance. 

There was as much metal as there was organic materials. With walls made with nails and steel, and flowers where bees were free to feed from. 

But what surprised you the most, was them. 

These humans were not completely human. 

“You weren’t the only one who had a relationship with a Cybertronian.”

You had yet to ask his name but from what you could tell, everyone respected him. He is the captain of whatever movement this was. 

“After Nemesis Prime called the rest of Cybertronians to come to Earth to conquer it, many formed sentimental relationships with other humans.”

The two of you passed by a station, Sebastian was ‘repairing’ the hand of another human. His entire hand, made of circuits, bols and metal but the rest of his body was made out of bone and flesh. 

“That’s Sebastian, designation, Bluewind,” the boss waves to the two and they return the gesture. “He is our medic, his mother was one of the few Cybetronian nurses. His father was a pilot.” 

“The other guy sitting down is Malik, designation, MoonBlazer,” 

You noticed how Malik turned his hand into a modern, alien-like gun. 

“Our weapon expert. His mother was a farmer and his father a Cybertronian smith.” 

You had many questions. But you waited for the leader to finish talking, to first explain his position.

He shows you another section. A woman with scientific  tools and strange liquids in her section. Her table was filled with books and notebooks, written in a language you couldn’t read. Plants all around her and even some insects. 

“This is Shadi, designation RoseStorm, our scientist,” the leader points at a green liquid on her desk. “She’s trying to create some type of synthetic-energon. We don’t really need it since we can also eat organic food but it will create a great negotiation with the other side if she does pull it off.”

“Why are you showing me all of this?” You finally dare to ask, no longer having the patient even though you enjoyed the introductions. 

“Because we are The Resistance and you are a very valuable asset to our cause,” he says.  “We have a few Cybertronians on our side, one of them being JetFire.”

Jetfire’s name made you remember the time spent with him. He had always been kind to you and there was always a curious aura around him. He treated you delicately and the way he discussed nature made you wonder what kind of bot was Jetfire before the war. You can see him as a scientist, always curious, always wanting to learn more.

“He had been loyal to Nemesis all this time until he met you,” the leader's voice is strong and somehow still gentle. Although it didn’t sound mature, you didn’t expect it to be, after all, he looked to be young.  “He contacted us and told us about your situation. Groundbringe explosion, interdimensional time-travel, you carrying the sparkling of Nemesis Prime–”

“Optimus Prime is the father of my child,” you immediately cut him off.  “Not Nemesis.”

“Well, Nemesis is what he is now, and he destroyed this world, to the point that it's no longer habitable for humans.”

There was a sharp pain in your heart. He reminded you of the harsh truth and yet you didn’t want to accept it. You couldn’t believe nor wanted to. Your Optimus, had become that which he hated. And yet, on Nemesis yellow optics, you can see a faint light of who he used to be.

“But you guys are here.”

“We are not completely human,” the leader looks around and so you do. Noticing how everyone used their transforming abilities to accomplish their jobs. “We are hybrids. We age slowly like Cybertronians do. Some can transform certain parts of their bodies. Some more than others. And others like me …”

He makes a pause and puts a hand on his chest.

“We can’t transform at all,” he says.  “Nemesis Prime took my transformation cog the day I was born.”

You will never fully know that feeling. There was a time when Bumblebee was unable to transform for a couple of days. He described it as feeling empty. Like a void. Like you know you are born to do something. One simple thing. But you can’t. Its like having a constant craving to draw but you are unable to pick up a pencil. 

“We’ve been attacking from the shadows, gathering our strength but eventually, we’ll show ourselves to the rest of the world.”

And now, Jetfire’s words made sense. The war wasn’t over but it had just started it. 

“Now that you are here, it is our time to rise up.” 

Unconsciously, his words ran a shiver down your spine. Strong enough that you were sure your sparkling felt it. 

“What are you planning?”

“Nemesis’ dismantlement and governmental surrounder. Right now, I am sure he has his entire Army looking for you. This is the perfect moment to strike. If we take Icon City, we can sneak into the Hall of Records.”

“And that’s important because…?”

“Because there we can find the location of the AllSpark,” he simply says as he walks towards another station. You follow closely, wanting to hear more about his plan.  “And if we find where Nemesis is hiding it, we’ll have all of New Cybertron at our disposal.” 

“And after that, we’ll help you get back to your dimension,” he reaches a desk where he picks up a cowboy hat. Now that you take a closer look at him, he doesn’t have a fashion sense at all. None of them do. It’s not like you could blame them, they don’t have any idea of how humans used to dress. 

 “You don’t hold any responsibility for Nemesis actions nor does your sparkling.”

You stay quiet and look around you one more time. Everything looks so alien to you. It feels off, you know you don’t belong here but you are afraid of how long you have to stay. Your mind drifts to your friends. Are they worried? Is Optimus going crazy? How will you even get back?

“My father used to tell me stories of how great Optimus Prime used to be,” his voice breaks your thoughts, it was comforting.  “So I am glad that in another dimension, he has his happy ending with you.”

You are curious about him. Wondering about the story of the cogless boy that became leader of the resistance. 

“Who was your father, if I can ask?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, I am the son of Megatron, Leader of the Resistance,” he says as he puts on the cowboy hat. 

“My human name is Sam, designation, Skylight.”

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Answering Questions you all may have: 

Why do the Cybertronians stay on Earth if they have the AllSpark?

Earth has the biggest source of Energon in the galaxy, however, Nemesis knows it won’t last forever, they have to expand eventually. The AllSpark, is what creates new Cybertronian Life. But in this fanfic canon, the AllSpark can also take lives. Nemesis plans to build a weapon of destruction by using the AllSpark in which he would be able to destroy organic lives in an instant without suffering.  But this idea is still in the works. 

Cybertron can never be habitable again due that the Matrix of Leadership is gone and is needed for the production of Energon. 

How come Megatron is Sam’s father if in Nemesis’ letter, he admitted to killing Megatron?

While Optimus was going on a rampage, Ratchet was able to resuscitate Megatron. (Since the letter to himself was written from his point of view, this wasn’t mentioned) Ratchet tells Megatron to leave and disappear. But as he was to leave the MECH building, he heard the sad chirping of a sparkling. Left in an ammunition box (Probably left behind by a human nurse who felt pity for the baby and wanted to save him from dissection.) And when Megatron picked up the baby, he noticed his transformation cog had been missing. 

Meg thought he had given Optimus the sparkling’s spark chamber but turns out, he actually gave him his transformation cog! He was the first human-cybertronian sparkling so his anatomy was completely different. This one didn’t have a spark but a heart. 

Megs thought of returning the sparkling to Optimus but seeing that Optimus was drowning in madness and grief, he didn’t want the sparkling growing up nor seeing his father like that. So he took him under his wing. (I should written a chapter about this with Meg’s POV but its too late for that now lol)

This is why Sam sees Megatron as his father figure … Megs disappearance is surrounded in mystery. 

And yes, Sam is Optimus and Reader’s sparkling.

…….

… If any of y'all have any more questions, let me know! Honestly, and I mean this seriously, DO NOT expect any kind of well-thought writing in this fic. This was supposed to be a one-shot fanfiction that got turned into a multi-chapter fic due to popular demand. And this is the fic I least worry about. I think it has good ideas and has the potential for more but I definitely don’t have the patience nor time. 

So, this story will conclude in the next chapter … at MAX, in two. 

Now, I have two possible endings for this fic and I want you guys to help me out on deciding which ending I should go for. 

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD, DO NOT READ ONLY IF YOU WANT TO HELP ME OUT TO FIGURE OUT THE ENDING!!!!!

Ending 1: Nemesis realizes his wrong doings and makes the ultimate sacrifice. He is given the ultimatum. Save the world or let his son (Sam) die. Nemesis chooses to save the world and Sam dies, proving once again that he is worthy of the Matrix of Leadership. He accepts the burden and he will atone his sins by continuing living by doing what’s good until the day of his days.

Optimus and Reader return to their dimension and they live happily ever after. 

Ending 2: Sam makes a sacrifice and he is given the Matrix of leadership. Along with Optimus, he defeats Nemesis. But they let him live. After learning that Sam is his son and that Nemesis almost kills him, Nemesis sacrifices himself to save the world. Ending the story. Finally fulfilling your dying wish … to protect your sparkling. 

Optimus and Reader return to their dimension and they love happily ever after. 

Which one do you all prefer or anyone got better ideas?

END OF SPOILERS!!!

…..

Lastly, I feel like I have strained too far away from the original concept of the story and there’s no going back. I may never finish this and if there isn't much interest, then I’ll abandon this story hehe, back to writing my one true love, The Darkest Hour~~~ 

Ok that’s it byeeeee 

Ps. sorry for the bad grammar, spelling and structure and everything :)

.....

Previous:

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Next: Soon.

[nomoredying]

you will never know

hunger games au! tribute!sevika x tribute!reader

tags: reader is from district 10, sevika is from district 12, canon-typical violence, angst a/n: i blame suzanne collins. english is not my first language — please correct me if you find any mistakes, ty. writing this was a torture never doing anything like that again :/

you don’t know what a person actually feels when they’re burning alive. not until the flame reaches you and you jump back in escape but it’s too late. you got hurt and now you’re going to burn too. just like them who you watched from afar.

that’s how you would describe being chosen for the hunger games, held by almighty capitol. or how you like to call it in your district — the topside. 

seventeen years you watched the mandatory-to-watch broadcast of the games, where innocent children were killing each other or getting killed. and then how the victor was celebrated by the whole country. by the topsiders especially. 

but no child can comprehend the possibility of being chosen to get murdered on the screens of thousands of people just for entertainment’s sake. and a reminder, of course. you can’t overcome the capitol.

despite the nudging voice that tells you this isn’t real and if it is you should flee, you act brave. say all your goodbyes to your parents, your older brother who you know hated himself for inability to volunteer because of his age and to all of your friends. you hope they will actually miss you. 

you listen to your mentor leelan who’s a middle aged woman with clever, but beaten look in her eyes and almost dozen ideas for you to win although she knows that you’ll probably die like all the others. you respect her determination. you even laugh at whatever nonsense your escort and the prep team says. 

“is there anything you’d like to say to your family, watching this right now?” the host, a man wearing ridiculously bright glasses and blazers asks.

“put the kettle on, i’ll be home in a blink of an eye,” you blink at the camera. “and don’t eat all the cookies, achilles. you think you’re watching me, but i have eyes everywhere,” you narrow your eyes now and hear the immediate laugh from the audience.

“oh, siblings,” the host chuckles, shaking his head.

you’re almost a perfect tribute, it seems to be. appearing to the people as charming, but dangerous and sharp, you win over many hearts soon enough. didn’t even have to be a career. no one except your team knows that you clench your fists until your nails sink into your palms enough to draw blood. no one except an avox, a girl who crossed capitol so they cut her tongue, who came into your room in the middle of a night because you started hitting a wall during your panic attack.

if it wasn’t for that, leelan could almost let herself believe in your win. 

you’re excellent with blades and axes, probably won’t have much trouble with finding food and even can make a trap. all the things you’ve learned thanks to your district which specialises in livestock you even score a 10 — 10 for district 10, as someone from your team said.

but if you act like you’re on the brink of a mental breakdown as soon as you’re out of cameras’ reach, how will you act in arena full of poisonous and deadly forces you have to fight against? the boy from your district is in even worse state. he’s a lost cause. 

you don’t interact with others much at the tribute center, trying to learn as many skills as possible, even though it’d be nice to have some allies. temporary allies, you remind yourself.

however one girl does catch your attention. she’s tall, dark skinned, her already short dark hair put up and you can see the well-developed muscles in her bare arms. you’re pretty sure it doesn’t end with just the arms. which surprises you because even if you’re the ones growing the cattle and preparing meat in your district, you don’t really get to have much. one would have thought district 12 can’t have it better. 

her name is sevika and she’s 18. how devastated must have been her family  — getting reaped her last year. you’re not so juvenile yourself too, only a year younger than her. 

she’ll definitely be fine on her own, you think, watching her tying knots. you approach her, starting to do the same and thinking of all the ways you could start talking to her. but before you finally open your mouth to say something, she leaves to another section. not today, then.

and not all the other following days too.

sure, you did talk to some other tributes. a girl named mary from 5, kind and quiet. twins from 11, who made you laugh so hard you had to physically stop yourself because you remembered that you’re being watch and a hysterical laugh isn’t really complimenting. but still not to her and now it’s the day the games start.

all this time it’s like you’ve been asleep. now you wake up from the cold before the horn even sounds.the ground is damp and metallic under your back, and for a second you don’t know where you are. it could be a slaughterhouse. maybe it is. it smells like one.

the sky above you is orange, like rust bleeding into sunset. you’re standing in the center of what used to be a processing plant. abandoned, decayed. smoke still rises from some of the towers. steam hisses through broken vents. the ground is cracked cement, sliced with rails, stains and patches that could be oil or blood. doesn’t really matter which.

this is the arena.

you try not to throw up.

they placed you all around a giant broken platform, like a rusted gear in the middle of some long-dead machine.

in its center is the stock — weapons, food, water, gear, traps, maybe even medicine. you can see the outline of a crossbow, a few blades. there’s a black bag. some kind of armor. a bottle glinting under the lights. a lot of seems like a trap, cursed by the gamemakers.

around you, at the edges of the gear — other tributes stand on their plates. all waiting.

and there’s sevika, four tributes away. she’s not looking at anyone. not even the stock. her eyes are low. arms loose by her sides. like she’s waiting for the whole thing to be over.

she doesn’t look scared. just done.

you wish you felt the same.

you breathe in. you don’t have much time. you know what leelan told you: “don’t go to the middle. don’t be a fool.” but leelan’s not here and you don’t think you’ll find an axe lying around somewhere in the arena.

you run before you even realize that you’re running. fast and low. like cutting through a herd without startling them. tributes are screaming already. one falls on the platform. another lunges for a bottle, only to get their throat sliced open. blood sprays across a shattered crate.

you don’t look. you grab the small axe, half-buried under a sheet of plastic. it’s heavy but familiar. your fingers close around the handle like it’s home. 

you run again — toward the shadows — and hope for the best. toward the smoke and dust and wreckage beyond the gear. you hide in a collapsed control tower on the outskirts of the plant. its roof is gone, but walls still stand, crooked and blistered by heat. the floor is full of ash. you lie down in it.

your hands are shaking. the axe is next to you, warm from your grip. you think of how are you even supposed to find food or water in a huge dead industrial complex. 

you get out of your cover and find that around your collapsed towers are another ash towers. you try to find the highest point and when you do, you finally look around. you think you can see a slaughterblock not that far from you. that’s where you should head next.

you only let yourself to sit, just to wait out whatever’s happening in the gear. you hear the canon and count seven deaths already. seventeen of you left. 

that’s when you see your mentor before you. “leelan?” your eyebrows furrow in disbelief “what are you– how are you here?” your hand tries to reach the woman, but suddenly it weighs more than any axe you held in your life so you can’t even lift your arms.

the mentor says something to you and you nod, but something feels wrong..

“are you okay?” your brother asks. 

“are you here too? i don’t get it,” you mumble and that’s when you notice the blue gas you’re breathing all around you. 

you’re hallucinating. you close your eyes, still hearing their voices. not the worse way to spend you first night, is it? your stomach disagrees.

your eyes open wide just a moment before they start showing the dead tributes in the sky. both from 6, 8, 9 and a boy from 12.

at the early morning the gas disappears, and that’s when you leave the tower and head to your new destination.

the slaughterblock smells worse than anything you’ve ever smelled before. it clings to the walls, seeps from the floor. old blood, rot, bile — all of it baked into the steel and concrete. the heat makes it worse, like someone turned the whole place into a slow cooker for ghosts.

you try to breathe through your mouth, but that just makes you taste it.

the room stretches into darkness, full of rusted hooks hanging from chains, swinging slightly in the stale air. gutting tables still sit in rows, some flipped over, others stained black. broken knives, meat saws, bones — so many bones.

your boots click once on the slick floor, and you freeze. you didn’t mean to make a sound. but it’s not just you. you hear it — screaming. no, not quite human. a pig. and it’s not dying quickly.

you follow the sound, stepping slow. between metal slabs and dripping pipes. the ceiling above you groans. you peek through the gap between two cabinets.

they’re there — two tributes from district 7.

you recognize them. the girl with the long scar down her chin. the boy with unrealistically crooked teeth. they’re butchering a pig they must’ve found somewhere deeper in the block. it’s alive. was alive. they’re laughing.

you grip your axe tighter, but you don’t have a plan yet. until your foot knocks into an empty metal bucket. it clatters like a gunshot. they freeze. 

the girl turns first. “who’s there?”

you don’t answer, why would you? but she sees you anyway and lunges.

your axe meets her before your brain even catches up. the impact jolts up your arm — you feel bone snap, skin tear, the wet thud of meat. she hits the floor, twitching once. doesn’t get back up. you hear the canon.

you don’t stop. you can’t.

the boy’s next. faster than she was, not even stopping to look at his dead ally. he’s yelling something, but it doesn’t matter. you swing — he dodges. he slashes with a blade and slices your arm. again — your thigh. you gasp and stumble. he grabs your collar, grinning. 

you grab his face. the two of you struggle — crash backward — into an old meat grinder.

it groans under the weight.

your fingers find a button. you kick him and press it as quickly as possible and then..

you watch.

the room is quiet again. except for your breath. and the flies. you stare at what’s left. then at your shaking hands.

“disgusting,” you whisper at yourself and hope that this might be to the sponsors’ liking. a terrible thought, but so isn’t everything?

you tear a piece of fabric from the dead girl’s shirt. wrap your bleeding arm. then your thigh. it’s not pretty, but it’ll do.

you take their bag which they must have taken from the stock. inside: bandages, antiseptic. painkillers, some kind of sunglasses. 

the pig they were butchering is half-dead.

but you know what to do with that. you know where to cut. what to keep. what not to touch. it takes you twenty minutes to break it down. maybe less. your axe is sticky. your hands — slick.

you cook a few pieces over a pipe that still leaks fire. it’s dry, but warm. then you pack the rest in cloth, shove it in the new bag. and you leave. 

you walk deeper into the structure, the walls closer now, darker. you’re so thirsty it makes your head pulse. no water at all. but it has to be somewhere, right? instead, you find a room in the back. some kind of office, long since emptied. the desk is broken. the windows cracked. but there’s a corner. dry and covered in dust. you sit there. you unwrap your arm. it’s bleeding again. you clean and bandage it, as best as someone who who has very basic knowledge of healing can do. 

thirteen of you left.

you stay there for few nights, eating your pig, until the thirst becomes unbearable and water fills all your thoughts. not you, unfortunately.

you’re going to die of thirst before anyone gets the pleasure of killing you. that’s the thought that’s been gnawing at your spine for the past two hours you’ve been walking. the meat from the slaughterblock is still warm in your bag, your wounds are holding. but your lips are cracked. your head swims. everything is too loud.

that’s when you see it. the pit.

it’s not really a lake. not even a pond. it’s an open crater so wide you can’t see the other side through the smoke. the ground falls away in uneven steps of clay and metal and bone, and at the very bottom, there’s water — sort of.

it gleams in the toxic light, thick with rainbow shimmer, like someone spilled oil across a graveyard. you know that smell. sharp. chemical. like bleach, rot, ammonia.

and the bones. some old, some not.

you swallow hard. you need water, so you find a path — half-collapsed service scaffolding, mostly rust and wire. it takes almost twenty minutes to get down safely. you slip twice. once nearly fall. but your grip holds.

the deeper you go, the hotter it gets. the air sticks to your lungs.

you step through the bottom of the pit like moving through glue. you hold your breath when the fumes spike. the water’s close. but you’re careful. you know better.

and then you see her. 

sevika.

standing by the edge of the chemical pool like it’s a mirror. her back to you. muscles tense. blade slung low, but not drawn. she crouches and pulls a bottle from her belt. dips it low toward the surface—

“it’s poisoned,” you call out, louder than you meant to.

she straightens. turns. her eyes find you — sharp, wary. in less than a five seconds she’s ready to attack.

but the air shifts and that’s when you know something’s coming. you feel it first — the way your teeth hum. then the tremor beneath your feet. then the shriek.

a shape erupts from the other side of the pool, tearing through bones and rock like they’re paper. a mutt. at least eight feet tall. boar-like, but deformed, furless, parts of its flesh replaced with glowing panels. its eyes flicker red. its tusks drip acid. it charges.

you draw your axe.

“allies?” you shout.

sevika nods once. “just don’t get in my way.”

the beast hits like a train. you dive left — sevika goes right. you slash its leg and sparks fly, it screeches and backhands you into the dirt. sevika climbs its back, driving her blade between its shoulder plates. it throws her off.

you roll. blood in your mouth. the mutt lunges at sevika — she dodges — you bring your axe down on its exposed jaw. it turns on you. 

you think: this is it.

then sevika rams her knife straight into its eye socket. you don’t waste the opening and drive your axe into its throat, both hands, full weight. it collapses.

you both stand there for a second, chests heaving.

“that thing better not come back,” you mutter and slump onto a rock, your whole body’s shaking. sevika wipes blood from her face and walks back toward the water.

“you were serious about the poison thing?” she asks, finally.

“yeah. the fumes alone almost knocked me out.” 

“so what now?”

you look at her. “we filter it.”

she raises an eyebrow, sceptical. “you know how to do that?”

you nod. “i think so. we used to filter rotwater at home. for the pigs. same principle, right?”

“you filtered water for pigs.” sevika snorts.

“and for us, sometimes.” you stand. “you need: cloth, rocks, sand. charcoal. some kind of container.”

“charcoal?” she raised an eyebrow. 

“burnt cloth’ll do.”

“you’re full of surprises, 10,”

“shop kid,” you grin. “axes, knives, smoke filters. we sold them all.”

you spend the next hour gathering parts.

you build the filter from a broken pipe, with layers of sand, gravel, burnt scraps, and a ventilation mesh sevika pulled from an old cooling unit.

you watch the first drops trickle through into a cracked bowl. you both stare at it in silence.

“first sip’s yours,” sevika mutters.

you smile. “scared?”

“you built it,”

well, can’t argue with that. when you drink, it tastes like ash. definitely not that fancy water that comes in all flavours (you didn’t even know water could be flavoured before), but not deadly too. you don’t have any signs of being poisoned, so sevika takes a sip too. and then another. and other.

“so what does your family do?” you ask out of curiosity and because you don’t like silences.

something in her expression flickers.

“my mother was a medic. my dad’s got a hardware stall,” sevika replies shortly, and you decide not to push. why would you want to know all about her family if later? to face that very family after you kill her or someone else does?

“i was hoping we’d at least get a beautiful arena,” you sigh playfully, after getting a look around 

she grins. “yeah? so you could at least die somewhere beautiful?”

“something like that,” you roll your eyes. 

after filling your bowls and bottles with water you get out of the pit, thinking where you should head next. 

“wait,” you say and perform a shushing gesture to silence her. something’s wrong. as if the ground is shaking. “do you feel it? it’s like an earthquake—“ and the surface under your feet collapses right at that moment, sevika’s strong hand preventing you from falling, but the ground she’s standing on also starts shaking.

so you run with ground sunk down behind you.

“hey-hey!” you hear two familiar voices, male and female, from both of your sides. twins from 11. “we were thinking of going into the pit when we saw you two running. what’s happening?”

“game makers are expanding the territory of the pit,” you reply, smiling at them and glance at sevika. oh, she doesn’t trust them.

“can we join you?” they ask.

their bags catch your attention. must’ve gotten them from the stock. they’re quick, clever, funny and you like them. so before sevika says no, you say yes and she glared at you.

“great! follow us, we found something like control rooms,”

“control rooms?” you repeat, curious.

and you still feel her piercing gaze.

“they’re smart!” you whisper at her and she rolls her eyes.

the control core is deeper than you expected.

you follow the twins through a narrow hallway half-collapsed with rusted panels and ash. above your heads, wires dangle like vines. it smells like electricity, dust, and something else — old blood maybe. the deeper you go, the colder it gets.

the twins are chatty. you like that about them. it makes you feel, for a moment, like this isn’t real.

when you finally reach the room, it’s massive. high ceiling, metal walls, rows of broken monitors and blinking consoles. the control core must’ve once powered something big. the lights flicker on and off. it hums, almost alive.

you all sit in a circle. the twins pull food from their bags — sealed packets, dried fruit, bread. you offer them water in exchange. the deal is silent, natural. survival. 

they talk about the games, previous ones, things they saw from the sidelines. the girl twin says she thinks the mutts are more unpredictable this year. the boy twin jokes he’s waiting for the flying leeches. you all laugh. even sevika smirks.

then you go deeper.

you slip on the glasses you found in district 7 boy’s bag, that are apparently made for the night vision. so do the twins. sevika takes the flashlight, checks its battery with a tap of her palm. works.

you move in a line. twin-boy in front, then his sister, then you, sevika watching the rear.

the corridors tighten. the temperature drops again. dust floats in the air like snow. pipes run along the ceiling. you check every side door. most are sealed. some open to reveal broken desks, shattered bulbs, spilled tools. in one room you find an old firebox and a control panel half-lit. in another — something you think is a ventilation map. sevika studies it while chewing dried fruit like it’s jerky.

then you see the first snake. it slithers from behind a console. only about the length of your arm. quick. sharp scales. sevika steps forward and crushes its head with the heel of her boot.

you look at the twins. they look at each other.

“weird,” you say. what would a snake be doing in here?

more steps. more snakes. you find another. and another. before you say you should head back, it happens.

the metal grates beneath your feet rattle. you freeze. a low sound starts building, like whispering steam.

and then — a wave. a swarm of snakes floods the corridor from every direction. tiny ones, red-eyed, fast. not natural.

they’re coming.

“run,” someone screams.

you scatter. the hallways twist and split and you take turns blindly, dodging through narrow gaps and hopping over pipes. the air is full of hissing. you swing yat anything too close.

the boy twin stumbles. a snake latches onto his leg. he goes down. his sister screams. no — she runs back, tries to pull him up.

more snakes pile on him.

you stop running. your body wants to go back. but sevika grabs your wrist. 

“not now,” she growls.

you turn and the last thing you see is the girl dropping to her knees and swinging wildly with a blade as they swarm them both.

you don’t look again and you keep running. when you finally stop, your lungs burn. your skin is marked with shallow cuts and dried blood. the snakes aren’t following anymore. you collapse against a wall. sevika crouches near you, breath sharp.

“they’re gone,” you whisper.

she nods.

“we should’ve taken their bags,” sevika says.

you look at her and she sighs.

“don’t give me that look. it’s awful. but it’s the games. you survive or you die. nothing in between,”

you say nothing because you know she’s right.  and that’s worse.

you find a hidden crawlspace near the end of the control core. small enough to feel safe. you both squeeze in. you rest in shifts, but neither of you actually sleeps. you sit back-to-back, watching the same crack in the wall. 

at some point, sevika says, “they reminded me of someone. the twins,”

you don’t answer.

she continues anyway. “when i was little, there was this pair in our street. always stealing apples. always climbing shit. i think about them sometimes,”

you shift, “i have a brother,” you say, “older. wanted to volunteer for me. couldn’t. he watched the reaping with his fists clenched”

“did he say goodbye?”

you nod, “told me to break their rules. and their teeth,”

sevika chuckles. a quiet, worn-out sound. “maybe you will,”

“maybe we both will, you say,”

and for the first time since the games started, you think maybe you’re not entirely alone.

then you both watch the faces of dead appear in the sky. it’s only 9 of you left. you and sevika, both tributes from 1, 2 and 3. and the boy from your district. the one you nicknamed the lost cause.

“i don’t know how he’s doing it,” you say, furrowing. “he’s so unstable,” 

sevika shrugs, assuming that maybe it plays in his advantage. 

“do you think it’s been suspiciously easy or we’re just lucky?” you ask her and she raises an eyebrow to see if you’re serious. you are. she’s confused, so you are to elaborate, “well, i feel like thirst was the one thing that could actually kill me. there was some gas on my first day, but it wasn’t poisonous. were you injured physically?”

“no. were you?”

“yes, when i was fighting with tributes from 5, but it’s not much,” you reply carelessly, because you almost forgot about those.

you agree when sevika says it’s time for new bandages, and when you unwrap the old one on your hand, you see that your wound has festered and wrinkle your nose. ugly. sevika doesn’t look away but sighs. right, her mom was a healer. 

“did you even clean it?” she asks but doesn’t bother with waiting for an answer and takes the antiseptic and bandages out of your bag. 

you bite your lips, watching her hands work deftly. “do you have any other wounds?” you nod and tell her about the one on your thigh. “take it off,” sevika demands, talking about the bottom of your suit. 

“aren’t you gonna buy me a drink first?” you say resentfully but before she says something insulting you slide your bottoms down enough for her to get access to your thigh. it’s cold — that’s all.

you both fall asleep. not intentionally and definitely not responsibly.

maybe it’s something about the warmth of someone nearby who doesn’t want to slit your throat — at least not now. 

but you two jump wide awake when you hear screaming. loud and coming at you.

your axe is already in your hands, just like sevika’s blade in hers. 

the careers. two from district 1, two from 2 and the last one from 3 — the so-called golden pack. tall, sculpted, polished like statues. 

they weren’t running at you, but from someone. or something. that’s when you see them. two mutated tigers, striped in glitching patterns, like static crawling on their skin. their jaws stretch too far, and their claws spark on contact with stone. they’re playing and their favourite game involves tearing someone apart.

you and Sevika exchange one glance. then it’s chaos.

the careers don’t hesitate to turn on you — the girl from 1 nearly slices your cheek open, the boy from 2 screams something incomprehensible while flailing his blade.

you swing your axe. she ducks. sevika’s elbow meets her nose. it’s a war on two fronts.

the tigers circle.

they pounce and crush the boy from 3 in a snap of spine and spray of red. another screams. the tigers chase him. sevika watches. calculating.

they’re not attacking randomly. they’re actually toying.

you slash at the girl from 1 again, landing a deep cut to her ribs. she backs off, wheezing. sevika moves behind her. and then grabs and throws her straight into a tiger’s open jaws. bones snap like twigs.

you almost freeze, but she doesn’t. she grabs the next, taking them by surprise — the smaller tribute from 2 — and repeats it. the last tribute — girl from 2 — sees what sevika’s doing.

she lunges with a roar and stabs her deep, right under her ribs. 

sevika screams. you turn just in time to bury your axe in the girl’s neck. she goes down.

while tigers play with very dead tributes, you two run as fast as possible before mutts turn their attention to you. when it seems like they’re not following, you finally let sevika sit and fall next to her.

your hands are already covered in blood. she’s breathing, shallow and sharp.

“that bitch,” she mutters.

“you’re okay. you’re okay,” you lie.

nothing in your packs can help her and you know that next day you have to go and find the careers’ pack, maybe they’ll have something. you press her wound, trembling. her blood soaks into your palms.

“sleep,” you whisper.

the next day when sevika assures you she’s fine — another lie — you quickly approach the area where your nap was interrupted yesterday. take all the food you see, which careers’ve got enough, but nothing of the medicine. you sigh.

sevika doesn’t even need you to tell her about that when you come back, your desperate eyes tell her everything. when she doesn’t resist eating, you can’t help but think that this might be her last meal.

then you start rambling.

about the first cow you ever helped deliver. about the time you and your brother painted axes with bright pink paint and your father got mad.

you keep talking until something heavy lands on your head. you look up, taking it into your hands.

a silver parachute. medicine.

your heart jumps, but you don’t hesitate.

you pour the contents over her wound, hands shaking.

sevika flinches. then gasps. you try your best and she tries to talk you through it. you wrap her tight. close the gash. press your forehead against hers. 

you did it. you saved her.

a sigh of relief and joy and happiness escapes your lips when comes the realisation. it’s only three of you left now. the boy from your district, you. and sevika. 

that’s when you hear the gamemaker’s voice that sounds almost amused. three tributes remain, they say. one final event. a gift for each of you, waiting in the heart of the arena. come claim it.

you and sevika don’t speak. you just nod once, gear up, and walk.

it’s inevitable anyway. if you don’t go to this feast now, they will still make you face each other, fight and die. 

you walk through smoke and ruin, past twisted metal and the remains of places you used to hide. it’s almost poetic that the center is the gear — the giant rusted cog that once turned something important but now just rests in the earth like a jaw waiting to close.

you arrive first. he’s already there. the boy from your district.

he doesn’t look like he used to. he’s thinner. twitchier. eyes wild, too wide. his shirt is stained with blood that’s not his. he holds the knife like it’s part of him.

you open your mouth to say something, but he doesn’t wait.

sevika moves first — throws you behind a pile of rubble and blocks his blade with hers. they crash against each other, metal biting metal, and he’s stronger than you remember.

not skilled. just unhinged.

you scramble up, your axe in your hands, heart pounding. you circle. he throws a punch at sevika and she stabs at his leg — he dodges, growling.

then he sees you.

he drops from aevika’s line of sight and charges at you. too fast. your axe swings wide. his knife is already in motion.

it sinks into your chest. not fully in the heart, which would be faster, but close. you stumble back and he gasps.

his eyes meet yours, and suddenly he drops his weapon. stumbles away from you like he’s waking from something.

“no,” he says. “no, no, no — i didn’t mean— i thought— i—“ he falls to his knees, his hands are shaking and he starts crying.

sevika catches you before you hit the ground.

her arms wrap around you roughly, one hand pressed hard over the wound.

“what the fuck did you do,” she hisses — not to him. to you “you idiot. you stupid, reckless idiot,”  she repeats, over and over, “you were supposed to win,”

you were supposed to win.

you can’t breathe properly. your fingers tremble, “shut up, sev,” the only words you can squeeze out before you you lift your hand and cup her face, making her lean in. her face is all angles and fury and grief.

your lips barely touch. a breath. a tremor.

then stillness. you’re gone in her arms.

sevika doesn’t cry. she lays you down gently, like something she carved with her own hands. then she stands. her gaze finds the boy still kneeling. he raises his eyes to her. and for a second, it looks like he’ll say something.

he never gets the chance.

viewers are not sure if what happens next is vengeance or instinct. but when it’s over, there’s only one name left to announce.

sevika.

you will never know that sevika won the games. you died, thinking it, but you’ll never know for sure. 

you will never know that every month your family receives sevika’s winnings.

you will never know that the only family sevika has left — her father — gets killed by the capitol three weeks after her win because she refused to play by capitol’s games. 

and you will never know that when twenty years later a pink haired girl sparks a revolution, she helps adding the fuel to the fire with you in her mind. 

tags: @riotstemple29