#I spent too much time on this it needs a step by step progress

[nicolejones412]

Out of Sync Part 5

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You've found yourself with the 107th fighting Hydra, where you meet a handsome Sergeant. But something just isn't right.

A/N: Not much to say about this one. Let me know what you think!

Read Part 1 here. Read Part 2 here. Read Part 3 here. Read Part 4 here.

FIC:

A few weeks passed as Shuri did tests to figure out the core of the brain washing, and you spent them mostly recovering.

Your stay at the raft had taken more of toll on you and had influenced your decision to stay in Wakanda more than you'd like to admit.

After you were starting to feel better, Shuri proposed that you take a look in Bucky's head.

"We will keep him sedated, but not fully in cryo like he's been. You may have better luck than we have at finding the root."

You nervously agreed. As much as Bucky seemed to trust you, you were still learning to trust yourself. What if you did mess him up even more somehow?

You tried to push the thoughts away. There was no way those could be helpful.

So you sat down next to the table he was laid on, and pressed your fingers into his temples.

Your heart broke as you searched his mind. You sifted through memories until you saw some that looked...wrong was the only word you could think of.

You saw a cryo chamber, not unlike the one he had just been in, but this wasn't Bucky.

You moved toward it, and placed your hand on the glass.

The dark eyes of the Winter Soldier shot open, shocking you back to your body as Bucky tried to sit up on the table, fighting his restraints and searching for a weapon as Shuri stepped back and security was called.

You looked down at him and his eyes locked with yours, full of anger and fear.

And a determination to kill.

You blinked and you were back in his head, just having entered the room with the Winter Soldier.

You exited his mind, not wanting to risk disturbing anything further. You opened your eyes and saw Bucky, still under on the table.

"What did you see?" Shuri asked. "You look pale. Are you-?"

"I found it," you said. "I found the Winter Soldier."

Now if you could just figure out how to get your abstract view of his mind to line up with Shuri's scientific view, that would be great.

-

Months passed, and it seemed that slowly Shuri was making progress. Between the two of you, you were able to locate the specific area of the brain that had been hijacked, and Shuri was working on a solution to help him heal. Some fancy science stuff and some therapy combined with a bit of luck and one day he would be clear.

One of the first days they woke him up and had him walking around, you joined the Dora Milaje who were escorting him.

You spent most of the time giving him a tour to the best of your understanding. He was mostly silent, taking in all the sights. He'd hum in agreement or give whatever responses were polite, but that was about it.

As you prepared to turn back, he spoke up.

"Thank you."

You turned to him, wondering exactly what he meant. He said it with too much gravity to mean your mediocre services as a tour guide. You couldn't help getting a glimpse of his surface thoughts. Lots of fear and self-hatred going on.

"Of course." Was all you could think to reply.

-

You settled into a routine as Bucky adapted over the following weeks. Wakanda had truly begun to feel like home.

Of course that was when you got a call from Natasha.

"We need you to come in."

And of course you'd go.

It was relatively simple. There was a terrorist organization with Chitauri weapons, they just weren't quite sure where. You were less recognizable than the rest of the Avengers, as keeping out of the public eye had been your preference. Add your telepathic abilities and you had the best chance of quickly figuring it out without being found out.

And you were more likely to be able to call for backup if needed.

There was a knock at your door as you packed a bag. You knew who it was before you answered. You'd grown used to his mind at this point, and he was thinking pretty loudly, thoughts racing.

"So you're leaving?"

"Nat says they need me. Shouldn't take took long."

What if you don't come back?

"Of course I'll come back. It'll be-"

You didn't realize until you'd already replied that he hadn't asked out loud. You turned to face him, struggling to read the expression on his face.

"I'm sorry. That's got to feel incredibly invasive. Just with all the connecting I've been doing combined with how loud you were thinking."

"It's fine." He looked down at his feet. "I mean, those powers of yours have been a great help to me, and I may not trust my mind, but I do trust yours."

You paused for a moment before turning back to pack, really not knowing how to reply to that. You wanted to ask him why he was thinking so loudly. Why he seemed so worried. But you thought better of it. You'd obviously become close, who wouldn't?

Combine that with how long he's been on his own or surrounded by people who just wanted to use him, you couldn't blame him.

You threw your bag on your shoulder. "I'll be back in a few days, maybe a week." Bucky nodded.

"Just, stay safe out there." You nodded and walked past him toward your ride.

-

You were made on day 2 of being undercover, so you had to improvise. You really hadn't planned on the number 1 Psychrono superfan being part of this organization, and you were so focused on finding the location of the weapons, that you didn't really have a heads up.

You almost turned time back, but what were you gonna do? Shoot the guy who named you? You were brand new there was no way that was gonna go well. Convince him not to out you? Not likely. Better to conserve energy.

So no more undercover, you were just going to have to convince them you were mad at the government over the whole Sokovia Accords thing and you didn't tell them who you were because you assumed they wouldn't believe you and you wanted to make sure their operation was worth really being a part of before revealing you were enhanced.

Please tell me no one told her about Blue Ridge.

Crap does she know about Wintergreen?

That would have to be enough. They seemed to buy your story enough, now you just had to convince them you were worth keeping around. At least long enough for Cap and the others to get to you since you signaled them and passed on the intel as soon as you got the location.

Just in case they decided to just shoot you now, at least they got the info. Not that you intended to die today.

You stood with your hands in the air as three of them huddled up. At least they hadn't had the good sense to restrain you. Would make it easier to run if the opportunity presented itself.

It's too risky.

What are we gonna do? Kill an Avenger?

Is she even an Avenger anymore?

Maybe she'd make a good hostage.

Or maybe she does want to help?

Steve's thoughts broke through the noise.

Brace!

You braced yourself and put your hands behind your head just before an explosion rocked the building. You curled yourself down, covering your head as others were knocked from their feet, but you immediately recovered and made for cover.

You felt a sting in the back of your calf as you dove behind a metal desk. You drew your weapon, adrenaline helping you ignore the gun shot wound in your leg for now, but running for real might not be an option.

The chaos continued, and most of the focus turned to the explosion, but there were still shots aimed in your direction.

You felt a pain in your stomach. Like you were being pulled backward by your belly button.

You drew your weapon, trying to decide between firing and just waiting it out, when something landing on the ground in front of you.

A grenade.

You panicked and tried to wind back time in the split second that it blew.

The tugging sensation got more powerful and then everything was quiet.

The gun fire stopped and when you opened your eyes it was far to bright.

As your eyes adjusted you realized you were outside, sitting on the ground in a field by a pond, and as you turned to see a building you didn't recognize, you fainted.

-

A/N: What happened? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I hope y'all are enjoying this one!

[thatluckystrudel]

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Inglorious Basterds master study

original pic

[lotuzies]

౨ৎ MY PERSONAL SHIFTING MINDSET — from a master manifestor

little disclaimer, this is what works for me because it's what i genuinely believe in. it's called a shifting journey because it's up to you to explore what works for you and what doesn't.

after years of practicing the law of assumption i could experience with my own eyes what everyone says online: reality really is malleable, i'm the one that gets to shape it.

how does that work? we all know that persisting = hardening it into a fact. when you persist on an assumption, you'll perceive it as the truth, becoming the reality. in other words — the only reality is what we decide to perceive as reality.

if you perceive yourself as weak, insecure, ugly, poor, etc, that's your reality. if you perceive yourself as kind, confident, beautiful, rich, whatever your desire might be, there you go.

and why? because we are pure consciousness. we are not our physical body.

— okay, izzy, get to the point . . .

right, so what did i do to help me manifest 10 times faster and progress a lot in my shifting journey? i detached myself from my body and from reality in general.

i understood i am simply consciousness and this body is not me, it's a reflection of what i perceive as me. i achieved a mindset that i'm not bound to this body, i'm not chained to it.

anytime i manifest something, i'm simply shifting to a reality where i have my desire. simple as that.

it's funny because because every since i was a kid i had these moments where i looked at myself in the mirror and questioned "is this really me?". i spent so much time living inside my mind that i barely acknowledged my body...

same thing when detaching from reality —

many shifters might have the feeling that when getting to their desired reality, it'll be too easy to come back, way too easy. as if a simple thought about this reality will immediately bring your consciousness here again. like there's a magnet in this reality that will pull you back any instant.

this might be because you still don't fully understand how real your desired reality is. however, i do want you to have that feeling about your cr. understand that there's no magnet here or anywhere, you're the one who decides. you're the one that chooses what to perceive. this reality is merely temporary, just as shapable as your dr.

please note that you do not NEED to detach in order to shift/manifest. it's not a mandatory requirement because there's no such thing when it comes to shifting. there's no step-by-step. (i've said this like 10 times..)

to achieve this mindset, what i did was simply affirm until it became second nature to me, like common knowledge. i implemented it into my daily life, for example, i'd take a completely random moment throughout the day and look around, really observing everything around me and understanding: this is all what i choose to perceive. i'm in control. i'm not chained to this body, i don't belong to it. i'm what i choose to be. reality is only what i decide. etc...

i became really detached to everything. it's freeing, honestly. once i started living with this belief i was less anxious, focusing more on the little things of life instead of being in constant alert mode.

i hope i could help some of you on your manifesting/shifting journey. this was probably my personal "key moment" where i finally realized something that was missing and decided to share with you all! happy shifting <3

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, still quite angsty (sry), strong language.

Notes — Lots of plot, we're closing out the 2019 year in this one! Not much Lando in this one (Im still mad at him). This gets crazy. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2019

Two weeks after Spa, Amelia stood outside her dad’s office at the MTC with a manila file in her hands and the taste of copper in her mouth.

The door was open, but she still knocked.

Zak looked up, startled, like he wasn’t used to seeing her there anymore — and maybe he wasn’t. She’d stayed away from the MTC for the past few weeks.

“Hey,” he said, getting up too quickly. “You want to come in?”

She stepped inside, cringing when her new trainers squeaked against the floor. Her arms were stiff from holding the file too tight. “Brought you something,” she said, and handed it over. No eye contact. She stared at a plaque on his shelf instead — a dusty one from 2007, still etched with a podium that felt like another lifetime.

Zak took the file and sat back down behind his desk. “You put this together?”

She nodded once. “It’s just data. Analysis. Trends.”

He opened the folder and started flipping through, slower than she wanted, be he was a much slower reader than she was. Pages of her notes, charts, predictive modelling, comparative pace metrics, aero versus power unit deltas from the season so far. Even some basic projections based on engine supplier performance curves over the last six years.

He hesitated, eyes scanning the pages. “What is this, Amelia?”

“McLaren’s had a better season,” she said, not bothering to hide the way her nose scrunched. “You’ll probably finish fourth in the Constructors’. Best of the rest. Everyone is going to be very happy.”

He looked up at her, sensing the ‘but’ before she even said it.

“I am not,” she said. “I don’t think we should be happy with fourth. I think we should be aiming for much higher.”

Zak leaned back slightly in his chair, file still open in front of him. “Amelia…”

“I think we should drop Renault after next season,” she said, cutting him off.

He blinked. “Jesus,” he muttered. “That’s a big swing.”

“I’ve run the numbers,” she said, a little sharper now. “Reliability. Raw power. Upgrade cycles. Driver feedback. Even manufacturer investment in long-term hybrid development. Renault is… not consistent, and they’re not progressing fast enough. Mercedes is more efficient, more stable, more scalable. If we want consistent podiums, a chance at race wins, then we need to align with a manufacturer that knows how to win. Not just how to score points.”

Zak sat back again, slower this time, like the weight of the idea was physically pressing into him. He tapped the edge of the file absently with his fingers.

“You know how much this would rock the boat, right?” he said. “We’ve spent years building this partnership. Renault’s got skin in the game. Contracts. Commitments. There’ll be consequences if we walk away.”

“I know,” she said. “But you always said we should act like a front-running team, even when we weren’t. So act like one. Make a decision like one.”

Zak was quiet. Still.

“I started working on this after Hockenheim,” she added, voice lower now. “I just… didn’t show anyone.”

He closed the file. “This isn’t a light suggestion, Amelia.” He sighed. 

“I know,” she said again. “But I think it’s the right one.”

He exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand across his mouth, then looked at her; really looked at her.

She was calmer than she’d been the last time they’d spoken. Still paler than usual, still guarded, but steadier somehow. Like something had hardened and solidified inside her in the silence of the past few weeks.

“I’ll take it to the board,” he said finally. “Quietly. Just to test the water. No promises.”

“Okay,” she said.

There was a beat. She stared at the paperweight on his desk, the one she’d bought him for Father’s Day when she was thirteen.

“I just want us to stop being afraid of wanting more,” she added, softer now. “That’s all.”

Zak didn’t respond right away.

And as she turned to go, hand already on the doorframe, he couldn’t help but ask, “You didn’t just do this for him, did you?”

She paused. “No,” she said. “I did it for the team. I did it for you.”

She walked out. 

— 

The press release dropped on a Thursday.

A neatly timed, efficiently worded, professionally curated announcement: McLaren Racing to become Mercedes-AMG Powertrain customer team from 2021 onwards.

Quotes from her dad. From Toto. From Andreas.

A photo of a handshake she wasn’t in.

No mention of the folder. No mention of the analysis. No mention of her. 

Of course there wasn’t. She hadn’t expected it.

Not really.

And yet she sat at her desk, surrounded by pages and pages of sketches of cooling architecture redesigns, and felt… strange.

Not angry. Not exactly.

Not proud either.

Mostly just quiet.

She clicked out of the article. Closed her browser. Opened a new tab, then immediately forgot why.

When she'd handed her dad the folder two weeks ago, it hadn’t even been about recognition. She hadn’t cared about credit. She’d just wanted them to be better. To try harder. To take a worthwhile risk. 

And when he’d said, I’ll take it to the board, she’d believed him.

She just didn’t think that would be the end of it.

He hadn’t spoken to her about it since. No follow-up. No texts. No update. No “you were right.” Not even a half-hearted thank-you over dinner or a passing “good job” in the hallway.

The decision had come. And it had come without her.

Which made sense. She wasn’t a department head. She wasn’t on the executive team. She didn’t even have an official job title.

She wasn’t owed anything.

But still… still, she sat there with her heart lodged high in her throat and her fingernails digging crescents into the seam of her jeans, wondering why she suddenly felt like a ghost.

Why it felt like this was supposed to mean something.

And why it hurt so much to realise that her dad was okay with taking her work, her time, her thinking, the thing she’d built, and not giving her even a whisper of recognition.

Because he was used to it.

Used to her just handing things over for free.

And the worst part was, he wasn’t the only one.

She’d been doing this for years, hadn’t she? Offering up all the sharpest pieces of herself like they were scraps. Little theories, little fixes, the way she could spot patterns no one else could, pick through race data like thread. Suggestions left on the kitchen counter, ideas floated during test weekends, whispers passed to engineers when no one else was listening. Quiet contributions, all of them. Invisible fingerprints.

She’d given it away. All of it. Every clever thought, every hard-earned observation; just laid it down, like it didn’t belong to her in the first place.

And now someone else got the credit. Again. And she wasn’t even surprised.

She was just tired. And quietly furious.

— 

The house smelled like woodsmoke and dog shampoo. Roscoe was already halfway into Amelia’s lap, snoring, his head heavy against her stomach as Lewis slid a mug of tea across the coffee table.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, settling into the armchair across from her. “He’ll try and sleep there all day.”

“I won’t complain about that,” she murmured, scratching behind Roscoe’s ears. He was a big dog, solid and heavy. He felt a bit like her weighted blanket. Anchoring. 

Outside the windows, snow clung to the corners of Lewis’ sprawling. Quiet. Still. The way winter was meant to be. Amelia pulled her sleeves down over her hands and stared at the steaming mug.

Lewis leaned back, watching her over the rim of his cup. “You keeping up with the silly season chaos this year?”

“As always.” She nodded. 

“Gasly back to AlphaTauri, Hulkenberg out, Ocon sliding into Renault. There will be a bit of a bloodbath next year.” He said. 

She nodded, though her mind was elsewhere.

Lewis gave her a second longer before asking, “What about Lando? You two—”

“I don’t want to talk about Lando,” she said quickly, too quickly. Her eyes stayed on Roscoe’s fur.

Lewis didn’t press. He just leaned forward, brows faintly furrowed. “Right. Okay.” 

They let the silence settle again. Roscoe shifted in his sleep, his paws twitching as if chasing something through a dream. Then, quietly, Amelia spoke. “The Mercedes-McLaren deal,” she said, voice low. “That was mine.”

Lewis blinked, gave himself a second to repeat her words in his head, and then said. “What?”

“McLaren dropping Renault, becoming a Mercedes customer team.” She rubbed a thumb over Roscoe’s collar. “I ran all the projections. Power unit deltas, reliability, development pace, all of it. I put together the entire case. Handed it to my dad in a file. And two weeks later, they made the announcement.”

Lewis stared at her. “You’re serious?”

She nodded, swallowing. “No one said anything. Not to me. And I wasn’t… part of the meeting, or the rollout. He never even followed up. I just saw it in the press release like everyone else.” Her voice wavered, but didn’t break. “And I know I don’t work for McLaren. But I thought; I thought maybe it would mean something.” 

Lewis’s jaw twitched and his eyes looked darker than they usually did. “Amelia. That… that’s a big deal, you know that? That was your intellectual property.” 

“I know.” She hugged her arms tight around herself. “It just… it feels wrong to be angry. Like I should’ve known better. Like it’s my fault for not asking for anything in return. For just giving it away.”

“That’s not on you,” Lewis said, voice hardening. “That’s on him. Your dad. And on the team. They’ve taken advantage of you. You should get credit. You should get a bloody job offer and a signing bonus. Not… whatever the fuck this is.” 

She sniffed. “I don’t have a degree.”

Lewis scoffed. “So what? Since when does a piece of paper mean more than years of proven genius?”

That made her pause.

“You are one of the sharpest minds I’ve seen in this sport,” he said. “And I’ve been in it a long time. You see things before they happen. You think ahead of the curve. That’s what teams dream of having. And if McLaren can’t see that, if your own dad can’t see that, it’s not because it’s not there. It’s because he doesn’t know how to recognise it in you.”

She nodded. She already knew exactly what the problem was. “He doesn’t know how to see me as anything but his daughter.”

“Toto does,” Lewis said. “And that offer is still on the table, by the way.” 

Amelia looked away, cheeks flushing. 

“I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want you to know that you’ve got options,” Lewis said, softer now. “Real ones. And you don’t have to keep waiting around for your dad to finally recognise your potential.” 

She didn’t answer, but her hands were steady on Roscoe’s back now. And when she finally did glance at him, there was something a little sharp in her chest. Something that felt a lot like clarity.

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2019 F1 Grid

Lewis H. @Lando You are an absolute prick.

Sebastian V. Good morning to you too?

Daniel R. Shit. What’d he do this time?

Charles L. Ah, this does not seem good.

Lando N. what the fuck did i do

Lewis H. You ghosted her. Like a child.

Carlos S. What??????????

George R. Wait are you serious?

Lewis H. Dead serious.

Lando N. oh my god can you not it’s literally none of your business ok

Max V. You’re an idiot, Norris.

Pierre G. Landooooo bro.

Alex A. Yeah nah that’s rough. You ghosted her? I actually thought you liked her, man.

Daniel R. She was so nice. Bet she feels like shit now.

Sebastian V. Is she okay? @Lewis

Lewis H. She’s fine. Too good for him anyway.

George R. I can’t believe this. Didn’t he literally write his racing number on her shoes? Or was that a fever dream??

Max V. @George He did. He’s just a right dickhead.

Carlos S. 😐 Told you not to screw it up, @Lando

Lando N. ok fucksake i get it You can all stop now i already feel like a piece of shit

Charles L. Why would you ghost her when she is so pretty and smart? I do not understand.

Daniel R. He’s still a kid. Dumb as hell. He’ll regret it in a few months, trust me.

Lewis H. He should be regretting it already.

Max V. Extremely dumb move. I wouldn’t have ghosted her and I’m famously difficult.

Sebastian V. Maybe I will set her up with my younger brother. He’s very clever. And rich.

George R. Is it weird if I throw my uncle’s name in the hat? He’s only 24. Really lovely guy.

Carlos S. My cousin Carlo is already in love. He will be thrilled to know she’s single.

Lando N. fuck off i get it I’m the villain Jesus christ can we drop it now

Daniel R. Glad you’re finally on the same page, mate!

Alex A. You could’ve just talked to her. Didn’t need to ghost her. That was cold, man.

Kimi R. 👍

— 

Interlagos was hot and loud and humming with tension, and Amelia made sure to stay pressed to the edges of it; a shadow against the garage walls, an expressionless face hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses.

It was her first time at any track since before Belgium. Her first time being in the same place as Lando since he’d decided that she was not worth knowing. And she was careful. Careful to keep to service corridors and briefing rooms, careful not to risk running into him. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she looked did. 

Nothing, probably. He would just ignore her, like he had been for two months. 

She had just slipped away from the hospitality bar, iced-coffee in hand, when a voice called out to her from the outside deck; warm, accented.

“Chica! Are you too busy to stop and talk with a very ignorant old man?”

She turned and found Carlos Sainz Sr. waving her over, a bottle of water in one hand and a wary smile on his sun-worn face.

“I was just—” she started, but he was already rising from his seat, gesturing for her to come join him. 

“Come, come. Sit. I have good seats here.”

She hesitated for a breath, then nodded and climbed the short steps up to the guest viewing area. The chaos of pit lane sprawled out below. Mechanics scrambled. Tyres stacked like soldiers. Race engines sang in the background, vicious and alive.

“Gracias,” she murmured, sliding into the chair beside him.

He nodded, then stared at her for a long, quiet second. “I wanted to say,” he said, his English thick with Madrid roots, but kind. “I think that… earlier in the year, I judged you too quickly.”

Amelia frowned at him. “Yes, you did.”

He sighed and nodded. “I assumed that you were just a pretty girl in the paddock.” He said. “And you see, my son has a terrible habit of becoming fixated on pretty things. But I realise now that I was wrong. You were there to, eh, help. To fix.” He sounded worn, like he’d had to work hard to say that out loud. 

She shrugged, staring out at the grandstands. They were full. “I was upset about it, I think. But it was not a big deal.”

“It was,” Carlos said, serious now. “It was a very big deal. My son made that clear to me. You are very clever. A real asset to the McLaren team.” He told her, firm and steady. 

She didn’t have anything to say to that. Just gave him a tight, (hopefully) polite smile and turned her eyes to the pit-lane as the cars peeled out of the garage to line up on the grid.

The race was long, and she stayed on the balcony throughout it all. Heat shimmered off the asphalt. Pit strategies flexed and fractured as the laps ticked down, and through it all, Amelia sat with her hands still in her lap, her mind sharper than the TV graphics overhead.

And when Carlos Sainz, the younger one, made it to third after a messy, brilliant final few laps, when the checkered flag waved and the paddock exploded into cheers and disbelief, she turned to his father and smiled, truly smiled, for the first time all day.

“Felicidades,” she said, voice soft but real. “That was very well done.”

Carlos Sr. beamed, pride etched into every line of his face. He stood up quickly, hurrying down to find his son and the rest of the team.

Amelia stayed.

The viewing deck emptied fast. Celebration echoed below. But she just slipped back into the motorhome, past the catering crew and out of the line of sight, into a quiet alcove near the storage lockers where no one would think to look for her.

She sat down on the floor, pressed her back against the cool wall, and closed her eyes.

She was proud. Of Carlos. Of the car she had helped make faster. Of the whisper of her fingerprints across the strategy that had put him on the podium.

But the truth still sat heavy on her ribs; that it had all happened without her. That even here, even now, she felt like a ghost.

— 

The paddock at night after a race was one of her favourite places in the world. Empty water bottles clattered in the wind, discarded tyre blankets lay forgotten in corners, and the once-buzzing garages now hummed low and tired beneath the fluorescent lights. Amelia walked slowly, hands in her pockets, trainers scuffing against the tarmac, the cool Brazilian evening pulling the heat from her skin.

She passed the Mercedes motorhome, its sleek black exterior reflecting the dim light. Through the tinted glass, she caught a glimpse of Toto Wolff, head bent in conversation with one of his engineers. Calm. Assured. In control.

She didn’t stop walking, but something in her twisted. Guilt, maybe. Or the quiet ache of uncertainty.

Red Bull had been circling for a while. Quiet at first; emails she half-dismissed, a few engineers asking her strangely specific questions, casual feelers through people she didn’t realise even knew her name. Then Christian on Dutch TV, mentioning her potential. Helmut at COTA, watching her from the edge of the pit wall like a cowboy evaluating livestock. And Adrian Newey, who bypassed all of them and emailed her directly in early November. Short. Direct. Complimentary in a way that didn’t feel rehearsed.

She hadn’t told her dad. Not yet.

Nothing was official, anyway.

“Brown,” came a voice behind her.

She turned, blinking as Max strode over from the Red Bull suite. His jacket was unzipped, and he still reeked faintly of champagne. Hair a bit damp. Grin lazy.

“Christian asked me to make sure you knew where to go,” he said, lifting his brows. “You’ve got ten minutes before Jos starts vibrating.”

She pulled a face. “Is everyone going to be there? Like… your dad is going to be there?”

“Obviously. It’s Red Bull. We are very theatric,” he said, deadpan. “Zusje, you are the most in-demand person in Formula 1 right now, of course everybody wants to be in the room when we finally win the battle for your brain.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t call me that. Zusje. I don’t know what it means.”

“Little sister,” he said, Dutch accent thick, shrugging as he fell into step beside her. “It suits you. You talk just as much as I do, and you are equally annoying as me. We will give Christian many headaches, I think.”

“I always carry ibuprofen in my handbag.” She tried to joke, but it came out flat. 

Max looked at her for a moment, but then he grinned, so she imagined he must have thought her joke was funny. At least somewhat. “Adrian’s been trying to steal you since Canada.” He told her. 

She sighed. “That explains the espresso machine he sent to me during the summer break. I was very confused.”

He gave her a look. “You kept it?” He asked curiously. 

She nodded. “It is a good machine. Expensive.”

“Of course it was. It’s Adrian.” Max shrugged. 

They stopped a few feet from the Red Bull motorhome, which buzzed under the night lights like it was wired into a different voltage. Something kinetic hung in the air; possibility, maybe. Restlessness. Momentum.

She stared. “This feels like betrayal.”

Max rolled his eyes. “It is not betrayal.”

He nudged her shoulder. She recoiled, glaring at him. He raised his hands in defence. “Sorry. Sorry.” Then, quieter, he said. “You’ve outgrown the shadows, zusje. It is not your fault that your dad doesn’t know what to do with you. But we do. Adrian does. Christian definitely does. You belong somewhere that doesn’t try to keep you small.” 

She started to chew on her bottom lip anxiously, “Do you really think that I am worth all of this?”

He didn’t even blink. “I think you’re going to make me a world champion, Amelia Brown.”

— 

The Yas Marina Circuit gleamed beneath the Abu Dhabi sun, all smooth marble floors and overly modern hospitality suites. It felt more like a luxury mall than a racetrack, but Amelia liked it. Everything was polished, controlled. 

She slipped through the back corridors of the McLaren unit with practiced ease, unnoticed as usual. It was early, quiet, the calm before the chaos of FP1.

In Carlos’s driver room, she placed a neatly bound packet on the table beneath the television. His telemetry from the entire season, annotated and colour-coded: green for improvements, yellow for repeat tendencies, red for danger zones. She’d included braking inconsistencies, corner exit deltas, and fuel load trends, with suggestions tailored to the 2020 chassis.

He’d get it. He always did. Carlos read data like scripture.

In Lando’s room, she left the same. A different binder. Different tendencies. More throttle hesitation in traffic, sharper degradation when chasing, lapses in tire preservation across high-deg circuits. A note in the front, written in her smallest, sharpest handwriting.

You are an asshole. You are also better than your instincts. Learn the difference between fast and frantic. Good luck.

She didn’t linger. She didn’t need to. No one would know she’d been there except the two of them, and even then, it didn’t matter anymore. She’d done it. Helped them. One last time.

She turned down the corridor toward the exit, and almost walked straight into a man who was standing too stiffly in her path.

He was older, expensively dressed, with the familiar face of someone she’d seen on enough pit walls to know he didn’t belong there out of curiosity. Adam Norris. 

He looked her up and down, his voice clipped. “Ah. Amelia, is it?”

“That’s right.” She muttered. 

“I suppose we haven’t met.” He said. 

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

He hesitated. A beat passed. Two.

“I’ve… heard you’re very capable,” he said finally. “Talented. Bright.” He said it like he didn’t really believe it. 

She tilted her head. Frowned at him. “Did you tell Lando to stay away from me?”

He flinched, just barely. “I advised him to focus on his career.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t a happy smile. “You should teach your son better manners.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She stepped around him, slow, deliberate, and kept walking. Past the orange panels, past the McLaren logo, past the team she’d poured her entire self into. 

By the time the sun dipped below the grandstands and the lights came on for the weekend's final showdown, she was long gone from the paddock. A flight booked for her under a new team name. A seat at a new table. A blank page waiting for her red inked scrawl.

Red Bull knew she was coming.

They just didn’t know what she was prepared to become.

— 

The Browns’ living room was filled with the scent of cinnamon, pine, and whatever Christmas candle Tracy had been obsessed with that week. The fireplace crackled softly, fairy lights twinkled around the windows, and somewhere in the background, Ella Fitzgerald was crooning something vintage and sentimental.

Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor in sweatpants and a hoodie, half-watching as her dad unwrapped a book about American muscle cars from the 1960s. He grinned like a kid, holding it up for Tracy to see.

“This is great,” Zak said. “I’ve been looking for this one.”

“I know,” Tracy said, leaning in to kiss his cheek before returning to her place at the table with a glass of wine. “I listen, you know. I’m a good wife.”

Amelia smiled faintly. She hadn’t said much all day. She’d made breakfast. Helped put the chicken in the oven. Unwrapped the gifts they handed her; socks, a new set of sketching pencils, a silver pen engraved with her initials, and said thank you each time. But the weight in her chest hadn’t lifted, not even when her mother handed her a plate stacked high with garlicky roast potatoes. 

Zak was still talking, flipping through the book, animated now. “I’ve got such a good feeling about next season,” he said, his eyes bright. “The team’s in a good place. Carlos is dialled in, Lando’s matured a lot. And the Mercedes power unit; I know we’re still with Renault this year, but it’ll be a game-changer for us in twenty-one. Might be the year we really start bothering the top three again.”

Amelia swallowed hard. Her fork hovered above her plate, untouched. She glanced down at her food. It was getting cold. Her stomach turned.

Across the table, Tracy watched her. Her gaze was soft but sharp, a mother’s intuition in full force.

“Everything okay, Amelia?” She asked gently.

Amelia nodded. “Yeah,” she said, quickly. “Just tired. Long few months.”

Tracy didn’t push, but Amelia could tell she wasn’t convinced.

Her phone buzzed once, facedown on the table beside her glass of water. She flipped it over, half expecting a message from Carlos, or worse, from her dad, who had a terrible habit of sending her random articles from F1Tech like she wasn’t sitting five feet away.

But it wasn’t Carlos.

iMessage — 17:02pm

Vrolijk Kerstfeest,

Can’t wait for you to build my championship-winning car. – M.V. 

She exhaled, barely more than a breath. The corner of her mouth lifted. Not a smile, not really, but the closest she’d come to one all day. She tapped her fingers against the table, hiding the message beneath her palm.

Of all the gifts she’d been given that morning — the socks, the pen, the awkward hug from her dad that still smelled faintly of cinnamon and gasoline — this was the only one that made her feel something. Recognition.

She glanced at her dad, still rambling about wind tunnel simulations and team morale like the world hadn’t shifted beneath their feet. Then she looked back down at her plate, her fork still untouched.

She hadn’t told him yet. She didn’t know when she would.

Maybe she wouldn’t at all.

Maybe she’d take a page out of his book. 

— 

“Red Bull Racing Hire Amelia Brown as Technical Design Intern, Working Under Adrian Newey”

— Motorsport.com

Red Bull Racing Announces Amelia Brown as New Technical Design Intern “Mini Newey” Joins Office of the CTO Ahead of 2020 F1 Season

Red Bull Racing has officially confirmed the addition of Amelia Brown to its technical department, naming her as a Technical Design Intern working directly under Chief Technical Officer Adrian Newey.

Brown, 19, has quietly gained a reputation in Formula 1 circles for her analytical precision and instinctive approach to problem-solving. Though never officially affiliated with a team, her behind-the-scenes contributions have turned heads up and down the paddock — especially within the aerodynamic development community.

“She’s one of the sharpest minds I’ve come across in years,” said Newey in a brief statement. “She has an innate understanding of car behaviour, balance, and airflow mapping that’s rare at any level of engineering, let alone someone so early in their career.”

While her appointment as an “intern” may sound modest, Red Bull insiders are already referring to Brown as “Mini Newey,” a nod to the technical savant under whom she will be working and a reflection of the high expectations within the team.

Team Principal Christian Horner added, “We’ve always prided ourselves on fostering talent, and Amelia represents the next generation of creative engineering thought. Her insight, even during early informal conversations, has already helped shape some of our thinking going into 2020.”

When asked about her appointment, Brown declined to comment directly, but sources inside the team say she will be working across simulation, aero development, and design review cycles throughout the season.

“She’s not here to make coffee,” said Gianpiero Lambiase, Verstappen's race engineer. “She’s here to change the game.”

Red Bull Racing’s 2020 challenger is set to be unveiled in Bahrain next month. Whether Brown’s influence will be visible from day one remains to be seen — but if early whispers are any indication, she won’t stay behind the curtain for long.

NEXT CHAPTER

[be4chywritez]

man vs. machine | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader

Quinn takes a simple claw machine challenge way too seriously

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

Summer in Michigan had been great so far—days on the lake, bonfires, and lazy afternoons where you could actually get Quinn to slow down and relax.

A night at the roller rink hadn’t exactly been your idea.

But somehow, Jack and Luke had inserted themselves into your plans with Quinn, and now the four of you were at the most aggressively outdated skating rink in Michigan. The whole place smelled like burnt popcorn and questionable rental skates. The DJ was playing Low by Flo Rida for what had to be the third time.

Jack had already disappeared—probably making enemies with a group of middle schoolers—while Luke was currently smacking the side of a vending machine that had stolen his dollar.

Which meant Quinn had an opening to pull you toward the arcade.

"Finally," he muttered, barely looking back as he led you into the dimly lit room lined with old machines. “I was about two minutes away from throwing Jack onto the rink and letting the universe take it from there.”

You laughed. “I’d honestly respect that.”

Quinn huffed. “Me too.”

You were mid-step when you saw it.

The claw machine.

It was old, the kind with a slightly busted joystick and claw arms that had clearly given up on life. The stuffed animals inside were even worse—off-brand cartoon characters, unidentifiable blobs, and one absolute disaster of a penguin.

The penguin.

It was hideous.

Bubblegum pink, with little black eyes set just a bit too far apart, giving it the expression of someone who had just received life-altering news. Its beak was stitched on at an angle, and one of its wings flopped down like it had simply given up.

It was perfect.

You grabbed Quinn’s arm. “I need that.”

He followed your gaze. “That thing?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t question it. Just nodded, already pulling out his wallet.

“I got this.”

He did not got this.

The first attempt was bad. The claw barely brushed the penguin before swinging uselessly to the side. The second attempt? Somehow worse. The claw closed too early, missing everything entirely.

By the third attempt, Quinn’s jaw was tight, his grip on the joystick getting progressively more hostile.

You glanced at the screen. He had already spent ten dollars.

“Babe,” you started, biting back a smile, “maybe we should—”

“I’ve got it,” Quinn muttered, fully locked in.

That was when Jack and Luke finally found you.

Jack took one look at the situation and blinked. “Wait. This is what you guys snuck off to do?”

“He’s trying to win me the penguin,” you explained.

Jack squinted at the machine. “That ugly thing?”

Quinn didn’t even acknowledge him, completely focused.

Luke, on the other hand, grinned. “How much have you spent?”

“Not important,” Quinn said.

Jack leaned over and checked the screen. “Ten bucks?!”

Luke wheezed. “No way.”

Jack shook his head. “Dude.”

Quinn pressed the button. The claw dropped—

And completely missed.

Jack let out a sharp breath. “Yeah, no. This is painful.”

Luke looked amused. “You ever consider just… quitting?”

Quinn ignored them both, lining up another attempt like his entire career depended on it.

Jack nudged Luke. “Alright, someone’s gotta put him out of his misery.”

Luke sighed dramatically, then reached into his pocket for a token. “Alright, move over.”

Quinn shot him a warning look. “Don’t—”

Too late. Luke had already slid the token into the machine.

With an ease that should have been illegal, he adjusted the claw, barely hesitated, and pressed the button.

The claw dropped.

The claw grabbed the penguin perfectly.

The claw actually carried it all the way to the chute.

Luke bent down, picked up the penguin, and turned it over in his hands before offering it to you.

“For you, sweetheart.”

Jack blinked. “That was—” He exhaled. “Man.”

Quinn just stared.

Luke clapped a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “You still have hockey, dude.”

Quinn shoved him off and turned away. “I’m not speaking to you for the rest of the night.”

Luke grinned. “That’s fair.”

Jack snorted. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Quinn sulked. You happily hugged your slightly deformed pink penguin.

A win was a win.

[caracalla-dondus]

Lonely Nights

pairing: emperor caracalla/wife!reader

summary: caracalla wakes up lonely without his wife and decides to go to her

author's note: this is my first fic in the gladiator fandom 🎉 i have a few fics in progress right now (most of them are for geta) but this one got posted first because it's short, the plot is simple, and so it didn't take me much time to complete. i have a geta fic with a similar plot as this one but i'm not sure if i'll be posting that one. enjoy :)

~~~

The palace was too eerily silent in the dead of night. The only sounds were the occasional crackles of the fire in the brazier. Most of Rome slept, but Caracalla was wide awake, his mind feverish, his skin clammy.

His thoughts were a mess, slipping between aggression and yearning. He had spent the day and evening indulging himself. Watching gladiators slaughter each other, drinking enough wine to drown a lesser man, and laughing as his little monkey Dondus pranced about in the small dress he had commissioned just for him. But now none of it satisfied him. Things were too quiet and he felt too alone.

He craved warmth. His wife’s warmth to be exact.

His wife had retreated to her own chambers for the night, a habit Caracalla detested. He had tolerated it long enough. He could order a guard to summon her, but impatience gnawed at him. He didn’t want to wait for her to come to him. So he decided he would go to her. 

With a sharp exhale, he rolled out of bed with the sheets bunched up around his body while grumbling to himself about how dare his dear wife make him do things like this. He walked barefoot through the dimly lit corridors, his breath slightly uneven. His body ached in ways he didn’t quite understand, but his mind was focused on only one purpose. He needed to be with her.

The Praetorian guards outside his wife’s chambers barely had time to register his presence before he shoved the doors open, stepping into the dimly lit room. A fire burned low in the brazier, casting its flickering shadows across the mosaic covered floors and spreading its warmth throughout the room. The curtains were slightly open, letting the moon’s light stream in. His wife lay on her side, her delicate form curled beneath soft linen sheets. His wife only ever wanted the most softest and most velvety of sheets and blankets on her bed. She remained unaware of his entrance.

Caracalla stood over her for a moment, his mood wavering. He had wanted to storm in, to rudely wake her and make his frustration known to her, to demand why she always left him alone at night. But now that he's here looking at her peaceful form, something inside him softened.

He slid under the soft sheets, pressing his skin against the coolness of her body. His arm draped over her waist, and he nuzzled his face into her neck, inhaling her sweet scent.

His wife stirred, her body tensing before she groggily turned to face him. “Caracalla?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

“You weren’t in my bed,” he mumbled against her skin, arms tightening around her as if she might slip away again.

“You were still drinking when I retired,” she replied, though she made no move to push him away. “I thought you would be preoccupied.”

His grip on her hips grew possessive. “I’m never too preoccupied for you.”

His wife exhaled, her fingers brushing against his bare chest, feeling his coarse hair there. He was volatile, she knew. The slightest thing could set him off. He could be a cruel, wrathful man angry over things his ill mind had imagined or he could be like a needy, affectionate child depending on the moment.

Tonight she was thankful that he was the latter.

Caracalla pressed his lips against her shoulder. His breath warm against her skin. “I don’t like sleeping alone,” he admitted. “It makes my head hurt.”

His wife sighed. Her fingers gently threading through his fiery hair. “Then sleep husband, you are not alone now” she whispered, pressing a small kiss to his forehead.

He made a sound of contentment, his body relaxing against hers. For now the storm inside him was quiet.

~~~~

you would think not much research would need to go into a fic this short but when I mentioned the brazier in Caracalla's room and his wife's room, I had originally put the word "fireplace" but that seemed too simple for ancient Rome so then I used the word "hearth" but that didn't seem quite right either so I finally looked it up. I found out that wealthy Romans often used a hypocaust, which was underfloor heating, in certain rooms. If a room didn't have a hypocaust then they would use a portable brazier that would be filled with charcoal. I'm still not sure if bedrooms would have had a hypocaust so I just used the brazier for this fic 😭 

[ay0nha]

Please Forgive Me | Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

SUMMARY: You needed to let go of the illusion that it could have been any different. You were both slowly losing yourselves and your patience. Instead, resented for being weathered and callous. But the pain and hurt were still there; nobody acknowledged how it had gone so long ignored.

Where you and Robby explore the first steps towards Ho'oponopono.

PAIRING: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!attending!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.2K

WARNINGS: Canon-typical things, blood, death, smoking, Myrna, ANGSt-heavy, the "Kraken" mentions (mental health is no joke, I have opinions), seizure mentions (also no joke, although used humorously), plot driven by movie magic, reader getting physically hurt, flashbacks, arguments, fluff if you squint, word vomit, therapy session w/Kiara, mentions of terminal cancer, incarcerated patient, razor blades, glass, (let me know if I missed anything, I've been staring at this too long), etc.

Inspired by @skulandcrossbones's post, @xxdrixx's post, and @sunkissedburns' post. Also inspired by Joan Didion, that one Grey's episode, and other things I can't remember, so remind me if I missed things. CREDIT GOES WHERE IT IS DUE.

A/N: So I REWROTE this part because it was just Not It for me tbh. It didn't hold the angst/vibes I wanted it to, so please forgive me (*wink*) if this is confusing or jumbled, I just felt like this fit better for what I'm trying to do. Comments are HEAVILY encouraged; they truly keep me going and motivated to write. Many thanks to @hummusforthewin, @est1887, and @sunfairyy for helping me out! Enjoy.

prologue

“They all say ‘Life doesn’t work that way,’ ‘Live with the consequences and learn,’ ‘No one can cheat the system,’ but I did.” You paused, letting the admission be a placeholder. “Why would I regret that? They want to humanize everything; they just see wanting to die as a crime.”

Kiara always started with a baseline. It helped ease you into conversations you avoided. Yet, today the air was different. You came in with vexation. You kept storing up all that anger. You hoped for it to spill over. Otherwise, you’d drown in it. 

“And you don’t?” Kiara prompted. She was subtle with her interjections, learning your habit to retreat when prodded. 

You’d already mourned what could have been, what would not be, what you couldn't save. It was a daily practice. But this, what got you here, this was different. This didn’t come with the same leverage of sadness and authenticity; this felt radical even for you.  

“I’ve seen so much life and death that it’s become one and the same.” You continued. “I’m not trying to be clever, here…I just—” Another pause before you decidedly gave up. “—don’t get it.” 

Kiara hummed. She balanced her opinions well. She never pressed you too far, but you could tell that with your little progress, she needed to be more critical. 

“How poetic.” Kiara rested her hands on her lap. It was picture professional, minus the smirk settled on her face. “Yet another doctor who thinks they can control life—death. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”  

“Administration doesn’t see it that way.” You welcomed being brought down from a pedestal. It was the last thing any doctor’s ego needed.  “Aren’t I lucky?”

“Who doesn’t?” She challenged, eyebrow perked. “You gave Gloria more paperwork, but more than that,  she doesn’t have the time—or energy to evaluate your morals, frankly.” 

“Dana—

“Please,” Kiara laughed. 

You frowned. 

There was no point in arguing; you’d fallen for the bait you’d spent weeks avoiding. Kiara saw it firsthand, eyes always finding yours when you were both on the floor of the ED. It was easy to brush off, blaming time and urgency. 

Now, you were just stuck, trapped. Your eyes fled to the clock, its slowness insulting you. 

“Everyone’s eyes are always on me, waiting for me to crack with regret, with…guilt…” You held in the bitter laugh, knowing the reaction would be scribbled down. Your humor wasn’t always appreciated. “...but—nothing. I know what I did and I didn’t hesitate.”

As the topic shifted, the spacious room felt like it was suddenly collapsing in on you. You kept your breathing even. You learned young that nobody touched you when you looked sharp, but Kiara’s gaze could see through whatever facade you felt the need to put up. 

“If Robby is who you’re referring to…” She eyed you as she pressed further. 

“Robby?” You scoffed, echoing Kiara’s humor. “Please.”

“Your anger seems pointed.”  Kiara was specific with her words, adjusting in her seat. 

The office felt awfully small.

Robby stood far away from you, leaning against the opposing wall stiffly with hands in his pockets. His hair was a mess, a clear indication of the utter frustration he was in. 

Despite the distance, the tension between the two of you was palpable. He was absolutely livid.

Deservedly so. You should have listened to him and stayed out of it, but you didn’t—couldn’t. Now you had to simply stand and take whatever he was about to throw at you.

You swallowed the knot in your throat, preparing for a half-hearted apology. “I’m so—”

“You—” He straightened himself, finger pointed out in accusation, “—had one job. I asked you to stay out of it— no, I ordered you to stay out of it. And what the hell do you do? The absolute fucking opposite. The actual fuck were you doing?”

Robby’s eyes narrowed deeper, the sharpness of the glare hitting you right in the chest. You flinch. “What makes you think you can ignore the rules? Have you forgotten that I’m your attending? I—”

“Do not pull rank with me.” You snapped. So much for just standing there and taking it. “You know damn well I am just as competent as you are.”

“Competent doesn’t mean that you’re—” Robby paused, taking in a tight breath. His voice stayed level, a refusal to let his anger get the best of him. “You were reckless. Out of line. I have to pull rank if you choose to act like one of the students.  What is not clear here?”

 You can’t help the bitter laugh that burst from your lips. You had a meanness inside you, real as an organ. With a slit down your belly, it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor just so you could stomp on it. 

“You can pretend to be Adamson all you want, but this morning, you froze.” Low blow. But the ripple of emotion in Robby’s face was satisfying.“ So, sure, I’m fucking sorry for taking things into my own hands when you couldn’t.”

“This was not your patient, and you are too stubborn to understand that. Now she’s dead.” Robby kept going, “Gloria is expecting you this afternoon. You will listen to her if you want to stay here. Don’t fuck up again.”

You tried opening your mouth, but nothing came out; your face was too hot, too hurt, too full of rage. 

“I’m not angry.” A lie.

“What’s your diagnosis then?” Kiara was kind, her tone carrying her warmth. 

Just like most people in the ED, you struggled to show your appreciation for Kiara. She was always present and shared everyone’s bad days. She braved the follow-through once the doctors walked away after the patient stabilized. She not only took on the burdens of the patients, but also the doctors. 

The guilt made you prickle. 

“She was going to die anyway. By my hand or theirs.” You put it starkly. “I just made her fate more bearable…she deserved the dignity…” 

You had never addressed what you had done so directly. It always lingered as something you both just knew. Everyone knew. It was memorable. You sat in the quietness, letting your words sink in, remembering the day the Earth stood still. 

“...what I did was wrong. I was willing to lose my license—prepared even.” Your arms crossed across your chest protectively, your voice becoming hushed. “But Robby—Robby told me I was playing God..…can you believe that?”

The words came to you so suddenly, it felt like you’d lost your breath. They wrapped around you like a boa. You heard them when you slept, and they loitered until you rubbed the exhaustion from your eyes. It had never cracked down on you like this.

“And now, this—” You gestured around you. “It’s a Sisyphean act, never-ending, useless—whatever you want to call the write-up, the babysitting, the obligation, the—t-the…”

One must imagine Sisyphus happy. Robby’s words mocked you. 

“You can convince anyone that I meant well. Robby, though? You’d die trying.” You jeered. “He expects me to be grateful for keeping me here. Prick.”

Kiara was proud; you could see it in the soft look she gave you. The foundation was finally laid bare to explore. 

Yet, you recoiled at your vulnerability. At your harshness. It shocked you, how gentle a tug it took to unravel everything that you built up. Truthfully, you were petrified. The core issue had been exposed, and you felt like a child throwing a tantrum. 

However, it took many years of vomiting up all the filth you’d been taught about yourself, and half believed, before you were able to walk on the earth as though you had a right to be there. You’d be damned to forget that because of him.

—

The ED was slow. 

No one acknowledged it; everyone was too superstitious to. 

The quiet no longer felt like rest. The weather consisted of sleet that kept everyone off the streets. All that could be done was to wait idly for those who were brave enough to come in and those who had no choice but to succumb to the danger of it all. 

The snow fueled your smoke break; it was a subconscious way to find warmth and stave off the anxiety that lingered from your morning with Kiara. Neither was remedied. Instead, your fingers were stiff from the temperature, and there was no relief from how the pit in your stomach grew. 

“I could fake a seizure.” 

“Too ‘boy who cried wolf’…” You shook your head. The strike of your lighter was motivated by agitation. On the first exhale of your newly-lit cigarette, you said, “It has to be a…casual—believable lie.”

“All this for what? Feelings?” Myrna gestured at the air with mocking disgust. “I know a thing or two about a crime of passion.”

“Robby’s allergic.” Something swirled in your chest, but you brought the cigarette to your lips to suffocate it. 

“Oh, honey, I knew you were stupid, but not that stupid.” Myrna cracked with humor. Her insults made you feel electric. Normal. They humbled every egotistical vein in your body. “Robby looks at you with nothing but feelin’.”

“That ‘look’ is….” Disgust? Resentment? Loathing? “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’d bend him over my knee for what he did to you.” Myrna carried on with her opinions, humoring herself as she continued. “I like big butts and I cannot lie…”

Your eyes sparkled with the image. You’d pay good money to see Robby’s face painted with discomfort. His self-control irked you, got under your skin without even trying. It used to drive a competitive friction between you both, one that was light, teasing, even. But it festered to the point it controlled you; you relied on proving a point. 

“Breach of duty, my ass.” She barked. “So you were a drug dealer, so what! I know plenty. God forbid you did something about healthcare in this country.”

“Myrna,” You warned. You wish you were just a ‘drug dealer.’ Instead, you became the judge, jury, and executioner.  “When are you going to stop bringing it up?”

“When you do something better.”  

“It’s temporary, anyways.” You said more to remind yourself. It hadn’t quite stuck as a mantra, but it was enough to get you through a shift. “Family emergency? No—Robby would call my sister and that’s—

“Find an obituary.” Myrna shrugged. “You’ve got four grandparents to choose from.”

“Can’t.” You filtered smoke through your nose, half-lidded eyes remaining ahead. The thought caused your lips to tingle with indifference. Deep down, you knew nothing would change.  “Used that one not too long ago, Robby’d sniff that out…”

“You asked me how to get him off your back: seizure.” Myrna snapped playfully, not letting your eyes glaze over for too long. “Give me a few minutes, I’m sure I can start foaming at the mouth.” 

“He’s already onto us.” You didn't have it in you anymore to struggle and fight and suffer; you wanted to enjoy the quiet when you could find it. You smiled. “‘Fruitcake,’ though—that always gets me through the day.”

“Happy to oblige.”  She snorted. “Now, if you really need him gone—I can make it look like an accident.” 

A laugh bubbled through your chest. “I’ll remember that for when I really need it.”

“Listen, girlie…” Myrna gave you the least offensive nickname in the ED. It was why you passed the dwindling cigarette to her; you always played favorites. “...whatever you do, don’t bet on a losing dog.”

You hummed in response. You didn’t need to look too deeply into her words, but you knew they’d ring true when things got too quiet, when you’d want to avoid them the most. 

“I’ve made that mistake before, and lemme tell you: not worth it.” She smothered the roach on her wheelchair, flicking the remains to melt into the snow. “Sad eyes comin’ in, twelve o’clock.” 

The hospital door popped the bubble created. The interruption was overdue. 

“Everything alright out here?” Robby’s voice was traced by the cold air, cautious enough not the call too much attention but aware enough to know you weren’t.  

“Just gettin’ some air.” Your sigh was heavy. Your day was not ruined. Your world was not over. Take a deep breath. It’s just temporary. 

“Patients shouldn’t be out here.” Robby's lips pressed together. You knew he wasn’t surprised, but entirely unimpressed. 

“I don’t clock in for another…” You looked at your watch. “...eight minutes. Not my circus, not my patient.” 

“Myrna.” He greeted her. Robby ignored you, nodding to the nurse who followed him out. “Please make sure someone keeps an eye on her.” 

Before being rolled past him, Myrna winked at you. “Fruitcake.”

Robby stayed quiet, head dipping with feigned politeness. 

You looked ahead, avoiding his eyes. It gave a moment for Robby to imagine the way your fingers deftly played with your lighter. The way your side profile was traced as you exhaled the smoke. The smell lingered, and his finger twitched with desire. 

From your peripheral vision, you watched Robby rock on his heels, wanting to say something. You didn’t smoke often, so he knew nerves formed the habit. His attentiveness made you nauseous. 

“Need something, doctor?” You snapped first. 

“Nicotine lowers the seizure threshold...” He hummed. You focused on Robby carefully, watching how his disappointment fed through his body language. “...but there’s no way Myrna can smoke with those handcuffs, right?” 

“Right.” Your tone was always tight around him. Sterile. “I’ll meet you inside.”

You meant to be firm. To give Robby no option other than to leave you to the cold. However, the more you spoke, the more he lingered. 

“You’re gonna freeze out here.” His hands were deep in his pockets, as if talking about himself. “Coffee’s fresh in the lounge.”

“I’ve got a few more minutes until the frostbite kicks in.” You clicked your teeth with sarcastic resistance. 

Robby left, his attempt futile. He only got a few strides away before bursting. 

“You’ve got to stop—” Robby rubbed his palms to his eyes. “Besides it being extremely unprofessional, you’re doing my head in. You fucked up. Accept it.” 

Your eyes widened. It was early for him to be fed up with you. It usually hit after the day’s first coding, or if Gloria hit below the belt. This was new. Anger rarely settled so explicitly in Robby’s voice. 

You were always quick to retaliate. “You think I enjoy this?” 

“I’m starting to think you do, yeah,” Robby egged you on. He’d come to his boiling point. “We save lives, we work with the circumstances given to us. We strategize. We treat. We cope—

“She swallowed razor blades—” You bit. Prepared.  “—then, a lightbulb, Robby! How’s that for coping, huh?”

“She wanted a break from solitary, do you know how many incarcerated—

“She did what she did because she had to.” 

“That is not for you to decide.” Robby provoked in a low voice. Hissed. “And neither was her death.”

“She was metastatic! What difference would it have made?” Your words were weak with exasperation. Yet again, a repeated conversation. “What I did was safe and comfortable. No one deserves to go through that in prison—”

“She would have received another round of radiation—”

“She was non-responsive to chemo for years.” You laid the well-known facts bare. The patient wouldn’t have made it to the end of the month. It was a surprise that the ED was able to bring her back. “Besides, you know prisons are the first place the shortages affect.”

Robby spoke to you distinctly. Professionally. He didn’t delve into morals or politics, but standards of care, something he was usually willing to be flexible on. He was the first to put himself on the line or take the hit for perilous risks. Yet, now he suddenly remembered standard treatment: evaluations that measure the quality and adherence to established medical protocols or best practices. 

“We did what we were supposed to do.” Those textbook methods always forgot how much empathy could treat. “You went rogue.” 

“This is more than that—”  The air stilled. This was new. Things haunted. Things existed long after they’d been smothered. “—and you know it.”

You remained leaning against the brick building. It’s frigidness bled through your thin scrubs. Yet, you could feel the warmth, the frustration, in Robby’s movement towards you.  

“What are you saying?” The lines of worry between his eyebrows deepened, and hands hands pulled at the ends of his stethoscope to stop fidgeting.  Yet, they couldn’t decide to settle with irritation or confusion.  

“I doubt you would’ve batted an eye for Abbott, Langdon—Jesus—even Whitaker.” You finally confessed the truth, your anger. “They’d get a slap on the wrist. Yet, I’m not allowed to be anything but perfect; you second-guess my every breath, Robby.”

You’d noticed it before, a pattern when Robby was sinking. The days were hard, the hours unrelenting. The times that were harder than others, his inclinations, conscious or not, took control. Robby moved on instinct, but it always revealed how he saw you. 

Now, he understood. You accepted your so-called punishment. You just expected more from him. Disappointment was never a welcome feeling, and it struck Robby sharply, painfully. He didn’t move fast enough to apologize, so you did. 

You pushed off the wall, the eight minutes up. “Forgive me that losing this patient only proved my point.” 

—

Mr. Krakozhia woke up. 

The sedation wasn’t monitored. The fault didn’t fall on anyone when the ED had resources spread thin; no available beds, never enough nurses, and emergencies that required split attention. 

No one volunteered to restrain the ‘Kraken.’ Robby declined Dana’s request for assistance, merely providing a verbal order for sedation. Nurses, inexperienced learners, and you were left to haphazardly fill the gaps. All your strength combined, you still received a boot to the mouth. 

A metallic taste spread in your mouth. You tongueed at the teeth that’s nerves felt stunned. All twenty-eight were accounted for, but blood spilled from your tongue and lip. 

“Oh, he got you—you alright, kid?” Dana laughed sympathetically, pulling you up from where you’d been knocked back. “I’ll keep ‘em off your back for a little. Take a break. You know the drill: direct pressure, cold compress.” 

You had a love-hate relationship with hospitals. You thought they were always too bright with a bleak atmosphere. There were phones constantly ringing, monitors always beeping, people coughing all of the air out of themselves; everything was too overwhelming to the senses.

So, your attempt to decompress, to stop your lip from throbbing against your heartbeat, was always found in the stairwell. They were rarely used and acted as a sound barrier to the city’s whelm. 

You sighed heavily, letting your head drop. 

The tears that fell from your cheeks left dark bruises on your scrubs. Quiet, like they always do. You wiped at your eyes; your tears felt like a burden. But they wouldn’t stop until they ran out. Then, you were still and silent. Because if you opened your mouth, you were afraid you'd never stop screaming.

“Hey—” 

You hadn’t heard the door creak. Or felt the hand that rested on your shoulder. It was the first time in a long time you didn’t flinch. The words I’m fine died before you could breathe them out. Instead, Robby met you at your level, sitting on the stairs next to you. 

“Let’s take a look.” Robby’s gloves were pulled on with dexterity. Your bloodshot eyes were wide, reading worry on his expression. Robby assessed you softly. Even softer when you winced.  “Tender?” 

“Dana told you where to find me?” You exhaled slowly, the edge of defiance in your posture softening into something a little more tired.

“She could only hold me off for so long.” He pulled his gloves off, hands retreating tentatively. “Feeling dizzy, headache…did you hit your head?”

“No LOC, EOM intact, just a busted lip.” 

Your pupils were wide with stress, but they were equal and reactive. You knew Robby wouldn’t press further, but he was reading into every twitch and movement just in case he missed something crucial. But he knew not to misread your calmness, healthcare assault, accidental, incidental, or not, happened. 

For the past few shifts, you didn’t need to avoid Robby. He gave you space, still processing your last interaction. You wouldn’t admit it, as if felt hypocritical, but it was strange not having him close. Even his eyes had stopped tracking you, and it felt like something was wrong. 

It felt like your fault that one day you both woke up, no longer speaking the same language. You hadn’t heard from him since. You couldn’t translate how badly Robby wanted to tell you he knew you didn’t need to be saved, protected. That you needed to be found and appreciated. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Robby started, but you heard an undercurrent of hesitation. Nothing haunted him more than the things he didn’t say. “About what you said…”

You’d been thinking too. 

You knew he’d been trying to catch you for days. Weeks. But his irritability got in the way. Impatience for Gloria got in the way. He had trouble sleeping, and when he was awake, he was vigilant. Then, when you didn’t see him, you knew he carried his sadness to the roof.  

“Let’s not—not now, at least.” Your plea was soft. You cleared your throat, as if telling the tears that pricked your waterline to stop. 

“Okay.” Robby swallowed everything with that tight-lipped, polite smile and nod. That smile that he wore—it didn’t shine. Soft and a little sorry. It settled over guilt.

You needed to let go of the illusion that it could have been any different. Both Robby and you were slowly losing yourselves and your patience. Instead, resented for being weathered and callous. But the pain and hurt were still there; nobody acknowledged how it had gone so long ignored.

You were both stalling, not used to being so close for so long. You both desired one last deep breath, but the air was running out. You both didn’t know how to exist so softly. 

You heard a new tone when people asked how you were, a tone you had not noticed before and found increasingly distressing, even humiliating: these people seemed impatient, half-concerned, half querulous, as if no longer interested in the answer. As if all too aware that the answer will always be a complaint. 

You’d been trained to speak, if asked how you were, only positively. That was healthcare; you were not allowed to not be OK. You framed the cheerful responses. What you believed to be the cheerful response, as you framed it, emerged, as others hear it, more like a whine. 

Do not whine. Do not complain. Work harder. Spend more time alone, you told yourself. 

You listened. 

You did not whine when hunger sawed your body in half. You did not complain when, after you worked for hours, trying to get the sound of a sentence right. You bled politely all over Pittsburgh. 

However, the cold was catching up to you. So was the exhaustion. It weakened your senses and put your emotions at the forefront. You wanted to be held, to be cared for in ways you couldn’t provide alone. Robby was familiar with the feeling, but was better at hiding the ache. 

Now, Robby could handle your anger. Anger was good. Anger meant that there was something he could react to, challenge. But your self-restraint dwindled. The smallest gesture of affection brought a lump to your throat, whether it was directed to you or at someone else.

So, Robby stood, hand reaching for yours. He had the awkward tenderness of someone who had never been loved and was forced to improvise. 

“Ready?” For the chaos.

He pulled you gently, eyes still roaming you for discontent. It felt good, as if one thing were normal. The rest of the shift, you knew he’d be back to lingering, back to playful chiding that would burn your skin, and watching you so closely for any pain he could relieve. 

It wasn’t a long-term solution, but this shift’s abatement. 

“Yeah, yeah,” You sniffed through your words, clearing any emotions that loitered. “I want a good case after that beating.” 

Once you stood, Robby was going to release you from what he suspected was torture. Yet, your grip tightened, palm to palm. You clung to his hand so that something human could exist in the chaos. Hand in unlovable hand, you stay attached until the buzzing took over at the nurse’s station. 

Robby understood why people held hands: He'd always thought it was about possessiveness, saying, "This is mine." But you had revealed to him that it was about maintaining contact, speaking without words, and saying, regardless of everything, "I want you with me, and don't go."

[slowbison]

Feral! Miguel O'Hara x Top! Male Reader

Summary: Miguel returns to his personal break room after a fight to heal, but forgets to replenish his spider DNA serum, turning him feral. since you’re a spiderman similar to him, he needs to be fucked to be stabilized.

words: 3k

warnings: breeding, wrestling, anal sex, biting, smut

A tired Miguel emerged into his personal break room as a portal from an alternate reality closed behind him. He had spent the last few hours fighting and capturing another anomaly in the wrong multiverse. Body aching from being thrown into buildings, throat parched from yelling orders along with being mentally drained from an old lady that repeatedly hit him as he tried to direct her to safety. Slumping tiredly onto his couch, groaning as he continued to sink into the comfort. He remained still, quietly waiting for his supernatural abilities to kick in and do the healing for him then realized that it was progressing much slower than usual. Soon everything began to heat up around him, pupils dilating and contracting and the suit felt more tightening.

He attempted to stand on his feet before a wave of intense pain and pleasure washed over him causing him to fall, landing on the hard floor. Claws protruding unwillingly from his fingers, muscles tense as his breathing picked up from the sudden wave of heat, fangs feeling much heavier in his mouth. Miguel felt helpless laying on the ground, gasping as it continued to ripple throughout his body after realizing too late that he forgot to intake the serum after returning.

“F-fucking shit, this c-can’t be hap-happening! Not now!” Miguel spat out through gritted teeth as he attempted to resist the sensation sweeping over him, dick growing increasingly aroused. Moaning as he began dryly humping the ground for any form of friction to ease his growing needs. He didn’t even hear any approaching footsteps until an all-too-familiar voice spoke through a door, cursing under his breath. That was the last word he said before fully succumbing to his desires, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

“What couldn’t be happening?” You asked through the door. You were with Miguel earlier, along with the other spider people, captured an anomaly stuck in the wrong dimension. The man in question had asked to see you after imprisoning the anomaly in a trap box to report on the current status of the last reality. When you came up to his office which was seemingly empty, you scanned around the room until your senses began tingling; warning that a strange presence radiated from a rather hidden door in the back. Tracking it down, you honed your hearing to any noises present coming from the door. Only to then discern it was Miguel, making questionable noises that were having an odd affect on you. A flicker of a small flame, lit within you.

“Miguel? Are you alright? I’m getting strange vibes in there. Talk to me.”

You could hear incomprehensible speech and hissing as a loud thunk crashed onto the ground, followed by a low moan. Your face slowly heats up at the possible thoughts of what may be occurring, but this wasn’t the time for your silent desires held for the man to emerge.

Hand on the knob you twisted it before speaking out, “I’m going to open the door if you don’t stop me right now!” You could hear scattering as the door opened, revealing what appears to be a softly dimmed room. Carefully stepping in, you looked around and noticed claw marks on the floor and walls, along with a table flipped over. After completing a full circle around the room, you placed your hands on your hips confused when your senses could not pick up a presence.

"What is this, hide and seek? Thought you said it was childish when I did it to you-" You were cut off as you were tackled to the ground, a strong grip on your shoulders pinning you down. Pain surged as the claws teared into your skin. Peering up at your attacker was Miguel, who looked more feral than usual as he towered over your face, angrily bearing his fangs. His head turned to the side of your neck, grazing over your veins before sinking his fangs - lapping at the blood spilling. You let out a groan, feeling your dick stirring at the action. The flame within you grew brighter, enough to light up a small campfire.

“Hey now, if you wanted to initiate something with me. This wasn’t really what I had in mind, yanno?” You quipped, attempting to push him off with your legs. Though it seemingly felt useless as he’s much stronger than you in terms of strength. Detecting resistance, he growled pushing you deeper into the ground until his body shuddered and let out a soft whine, losing power over you. Taking the opportunity, you quickly switched your positions around before exerting force to his wrists above his head, locking his legs around yours at the same time.

“It’s over Miguel, I have the high ground. So let’s start talking, yeah?” You said, taking the time to fully analyze his current state as he thrashed around, attempting to break free.

His hair was disheveled from its usual swept back appearance, brown eyes tinted with red, and lips lightly stained with blood from what would be assumed of yours. What mainly held your attention was the hard dick pressed up against your own, albeit not as hard… yet. More logs, added to the flame. Paying even more attention, Miguel had long since begun rutting on you, releasing soft whines that progressively got louder. Face flushed, his cries got louder until moved your hand down to his hips, forcing them to still.

Upset by your actions, he began squirming once again in your grasp trying to gain any friction on his straining dick. Entertained by this you let out a chuckle at his actions, “I didn’t take you for a bitch in heat Miguel. I don’t mind fucking you senseless if that’s what you want.”

For the first time, your words seemed to have been processed in his mind. Perhaps at the words “bitch” and “fucking you senseless” was all he took away. And from what you could interpret, Miguel seemed to be more compliant as he waited, staring into your eyes for your next move.

You trailed your hand from his hip across his torso, feeling the toned firm abs on your palm. Closing your eyes, you heightened your sense of what his soft skin must feel like underneath. It wasn’t your first time running your hands along his abs, as you had decided to join his customary workout session. More like you invited yourself claiming that steel-ton trucks weren’t going to be handled by just anyone. He begrudgingly sighed refusing to argue although he didn’t put up much of a fight and the next morning you stood in front of the gym, duffel bag slung across your shoulders with Miguel at your side.

The gym had been far greater than your own personal gym’s dimension, but what really made the place shine was watching a slightly sweaty Miguel performing curl ups beneath you as you held down his legs. He didn’t ask you to but rolled his eyes while hearing you proclaim that proper positioning of the feet were important to ensure a safe workout. His face was lightly scrunched as he focused on completing his sets, your eyes lingered on his chest that were more profound and round each time he came up and traveled to his torso, abs showing due to sweat clinging onto the shirt. You didn’t even realize Miguel had finished his sets and begun looking up at your face as he laid on the ground, chest heaving, trying to maintain his normal breathing.

The tension was palpable between you two, as it had been whenever you were both left alone in a room. Moving your hands from his legs, tracing at his abs but before you could slip your hands under his shirt to feel more, a stranger rudely interrupted your rather boner-inducing moment by asking to use the area if you both were done. Miguel let out an annoyed click before standing, clearing his stuff out and proceeded to the pull up bars. You stared daggers into the strangers back, gritting your teeth, before returning to completing the rest of your workout, huffing as you went along and closed your eyes embedding the view into your head; opening them at the sight of Miguel’s thrashing beneath you as your mind had carried you elsewhere away from him. Heat swarmed within your body, as much bigger logs fueled the flames.

You let out a chuckle and gripped at his suit before tearing the fabric apart on his thighs. Asking that he’d forgive you later, Miguel hissing at you before quivering, at the cold hands felt on his skin. Palming his dick on your hands, not willing to give him just what he wants so soon. Miguel let out a drawled moan as he pushed hips up, applying more pressure on his leaking dick, aching for more.

No longer able to resist your own throbbing prick, you removed your hand from his cock and went to release your own from its imprisonment, making the mistake as your grip on his wrists loosen. Miguel seized the opportunity and broke free, wrestling your own arms for control. Snarling as he pushed you back slightly which was short lived as your hand returned — after managing to pull your pants down — grabbing at his arms and flipping him around, laying flat on his stomach. You pressed the side of his head into the floor, hissing at his ear.

“Stay down like the bitch you are and take it.” you snapped shoving three of your fingers into his mouth, lining your cock at his cheeks, fucking those fat globes hidden underneath his tight suit. Tearing at the fabric, giving you more leverage to his ass. Miguel moans around your fingers, sucking and coating them in his spit as you increase the pace. “Gonna fill you up so good,” you huffed into his neck, marking the sensitive skin, “Won’t stop till you’re full of my seed, carrying my kids.” Miguel whimpered, cock twitching at the thought of being bred so thoroughly in order to carry your children inside of him.

You purred into his ear, loving the way he began losing himself more to the pleasure. “You like that? Breed you full of my kids inside your cunt, huh?” Miguel whines got louder, desperately moving his hips further against your own in response. You slipped your fingers out his mouth, rimming around his entrance before slipping inside. At first, you toyed with him, simply thrusting it in and swirling it around, but hearing his broken whimpers you curled the finger relishing at the sounds.

Miguel’s face altered between pain and pleasure as you slipped the second finger in. Stretching the ring in scissoring motions as he jerked weakly back into your fingers, cock straining against his torso, swollen tip leaking onto the floor desperately wishing for more.

You tutted at his actions, shoving his hips down on the ground — digging your nails into his side. “Last warning love, I’ll have to web you down on this floor. Is that what you want?” Miguel turned to his side, face flushed and glaring into your eyes, a low growl emitting from his throat that was cut off with a yelp as you inserted a third finger. You pump your fingers in and out of his entrance, watching as he slightly arched his back and let out small mewls of pleasure. You could feel him forcibly relaxing as you readied him for your cock.

After a few more of these ministrations, you removed your fingers from and spat at your hand, coating your erection, aligning at his puckering hole. The thought of thrusting in with the lack of decent preparation crossed your mind as it would be pleasurable, but the second Miguel was sane he’d tear you to half, refusing to allow you anywhere near him. For a while at least. Flames had turned into a roaring bonfire, slowly dissipating your desire to hold back.

Taking it slow, you eased your way in, groaning as the tight crevice swallowed you deeper. Miguel gasped at the intrusion, squirming away as you plunged deeper into his, settling fully inside him. Your senses melting at the seams as intense flames of pleasure surged throughout your body, letting out a keen growl into his ear. The unknown wave of heat continued to boil within you, huffing steams of hot air from your nostrils. Your eyes slightly tinted red peering back at his own.

“Fuck, you feel so good baby, so fucking tight for me” you growled into his ear, nuzzling your face into his neck. “So fucking tight for me, gonna make you my personal cum dump.”

Miguel whimpered, closing his eyes and buried his head into the floor while the pain of the stretch died and anticipation of getting fucked full arose. He wiggled his hips back, hoping to entice your animalistic urge that you’ve been holding back to give him adequate time to adjust. You cooed at his submission to you and rewarded him with continuous hard thrusts, shoving your cock as deep as you could, flames consuming your entire body.

Miguel’s eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out, letting out broken cries, clamping down around your cock. There was a mix of pain at the brutal thrusts as he didn’t have the best preparation, but that didn’t matter as he continued to beg, throwing his ass back to meet your pace. Garbling nonsensical strings of ‘words’ that were stuck in his throat, cries of pleasure coming up instead.

You keened as you put more pressure into the grip on his hip, releasing your hold on his wrists and rammed your cock in, molding his ass so it would remember only you and your shape. The thought reeling you deeper into the unconscious, leaving only your carnal desires to devour you whole along with dumping all your cum into the man below, belly round - full of your cum. Miguel clawed at the ground bracing himself as you continued your onslaught, drool pooling at the edge of his mouth. He could barely think straight, the only thing he can remember is sitting at his chair before a scalding heat washed over him and now he’s being fucked into oblivion until his desire to be thoroughly bred satiated.

Miguel pressed his hips back and rocked against yours, not wanting to waste any drop of cum that could fertilize his children carrying within him. Seeing Miguel so pliant to be fucked full of your cum drove you to the edge, biting his neck which left a dark mark. Though it wasn’t enough to break skin, it will warn others that the bitch was claimed and to stay away. Either way, the reaction that got out of the submissive man was a choked sob, body trembling before spurts of cum sprayed on his chest, dripping onto the floor. He collapsed underneath you, but still weakly tightened his hole around your cock, determined to milk it for all it’s worth.

Your thrusts became erratic as you neared closer and closer to eruption. Panting heavy into his ear you snarled, “Fu- fucking shit, here it comes baby. Don’t spill any of it bitch, got it?” Miguel whimpered, but obeyed as he mustered up all his remaining strength to clench his hole. Pushing your chest against his back, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you soon let out a groan, hips jerking before stilling altogether. Strings of curses leaving your mouth, swearing that for a small moment your soul ascended towards a warm comforting light.

Miguel was in a similar disheveled state as you, though slightly worse off. His face laying in a pool of his own drool, red eyes dimmed as his brown eyes returned, claws retracting into his fingers and ass quivering to hold in your cum, slowly reaching its end.

You rolled to the side, cock still lodged in Miguel and ran your hand along his side, stopping to caress his stomach, feeling a slight bump that was undoubtedly your cum. Which was almost concerning as you had never come this much before, much less been this aggressive during sex with anyone, but you shrugged it off assuming that it was just different with Miguel, curling your arms around him. Speaking of the man, he let out a groan as he shakily turned his body to face you. Eyes piercing into your soul, face contorted in slight anger. You chuckled and ran your hand in his hair, caressing the side of his face, whipping off the drool gently.

“Welcome back my charming beast. Did your dashing prince break the curse?” You smiled, watching as Miguel huffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“It wasn’t a curse, I just lacked the necessary genes of a spider and lost control a little. It’s a side effect of sorts.”

“A little?” You eyed, glancing at the room covered in claw marks that matched the scratches on your shoulders and arms.

Miguel turned to the side, mouth creased.

“I’m sorry, this was a first for me too… I’ve never attacked someone before,” he quietly muttered under his breath. Seeing this, you huddled him close into your arms and kissed the top of his temple.

“Hey now, it’s alright. Nothing I can’t handle anyway, you forgetting that I’m Spider-Man?“ You chided, pressing your forehead against his. A small smile gracing his face as you both quietly waited to regain your strength. Falling in a trance of listening to one another's breathing, body’s conjoined as one.

“Say, when you were working on that DNA thing, was there a little bit of wolf involved?”

“No there wasn’t, stop talking. You’re ruining the moment.”

“So it’s just a cute little kink of yours to be bred by me?”

“We are NOT having this conversation.”

“My dick is literally still in you.”

Miguel grumbled and made a weak effort of pushing away from you, but you laughed it off, pulling him closer.

a/n: hey y’all, it’s a little bit late but here it is, in all it’s smutty glory. i would also like to say that my eyes have been opened to a much softer side of Miguel as a soccer mom, but because of a bastard on my tiktok fyp, there is an angst ending in my mind that could be separated from the main, if one wishes to remain in la-la-land. i might write up a lil on that world to see how it'd work, not sure when it'd drop. but because of this smut, my brain kept making different branches of miguel getting fucked and it won’t stop plaguing my mind so those are in the works, one of them including jealousy towards lego spider-man… hope y'all enjoyed this.

that being said, leon’s fic is up next to be dropped though i might be a smidge late on that. apologies. if you are interested in that, you the reader purchase an experimental drug that heals wounds made by the merchant. you give it to a wounded leon who later on notices changes in his body, specifically his chest as stains show up on his shirt... around his nipples...

[whereisthelxmbsauce]

I was reading the Losing Interest SAGAU story and I love it.

Do you think you can write a similar one where we lose interest with Genshin Impact and move on to play Honkai: Star Rail? (Hoyo's favorite child)

The Genshin characters do try to sabotage the pulls for Star Rail but instead it's their wish pulls that get sabotaged. (The Herta, with the heads up from our unhinged Trailblazer, was one step ahead of them)

If you can't, that's fine 👍

AAA I love this concept anon ^-^

I don't know much about honkai star rail, but I'll try to write something based off of my pre existing knowledge (and what I've learned from reading the wikis). Please bear with me if some things are inaccurate. 🙇‍♂️

also I was dealing with some technical difficulties and had to factory reset my phone, so progress definitely slowed down. Sorry for the delay. Without further ado, here is your request!:

Not on our watch

SAGAU x Reader x SAHSRAU

They saw how you've been paying way more attention to a different world, one extremely similar to theirs. At first, they noticed how you spent less time with them. A minute lesser, 10 minutes less, an hour, until you basically stopped seeing them. Your divine presence barely felt by your most prized vessels anymore, if you even bothered to see them. Even the traveler, your first vessel, barely felt your presence anymore.

So they decided to check it out. They saw a parallel world, one similar yet way more advanced: Honkai: Star Rail. Was their world so lacking to you that you had to focus on another one? If it was the technology, they could replicate it for you. They wanted your attention back. They needed it. They couldn't just accept it.

So that's why you haven't been caring as much as you used to about them anymore. It was because of them. They had to do something about it. Their Grace cannot focus on another world, especially when Teyvat is there for you.

So they tried to sabotage your experience in the other world. Keyword: tried. Any reward you got from quests or mail, taken away. Your warps? rigged against you. Thinking of getting Stellar Jades? good luck with that. You just need a small push, and you'll be focusing on then again, as you should.

All their attempts were successful at first. That was until they felt a strange presence, something similar to what they feel within the traveler. It was your vessel in this world, and they've probably noticed something wrong. But before they could do something about it, the presence disappeared as fast as they felt it.

That was when things changed. It took way more effort to rig pulls, steer things in the right direction. Was it because of that presence? It seems like even the characters in the other world have gotten aware of their attempts to mess with their world. The Star Rail characters have even been hinting at it through strange voicelines and mail in an attempt to warn you.

Deciding that it would be too risky to stay in the other world since they could be caught, they decided to go back to Teyvat. But it seems like their bad luck has followed them outside of the other world. They've noticed how their gacha pulls have been rigged, their voicelines interrupted, even your mail and their gifts to you all gone like they were never there.

It seems like the roles have been reversed. Instead of being the saboteurs, they're the ones being sabotaged. How ironic, isn't it?

Meanwhile, you've been growing annoyed at your constant bad luck streak after getting lucky in Star Rail and Genshin. Things have bern buggy, you've been getting less rewards, the list goes on. You tried to look up how and why things are happening, but to no avail. You even tried to contact support, and even they couldn't help you.

"Naturally, messing with things you don't fully grasp will ruin you."

[mrsvante]

{ before you continue }

media literacy is a MUST on this page (look it up 🙃)

be sure to check the warnings before reading

my writing covers almost every trope, but i’m a romance girl..if the characters aren’t boning at least once then why are we reading it?

if you come into my house (this blog) acting weird (bots, bullies, etc.) you will be blocked.

do not copy or steal my work. the guilt would eat you alive. so let’s not, okay?

please remember doxxing is a federal offense, let’s be respectful on the internet 🛜 it’s not that serious

i’m not anyone’s mother so it’s really out of my hands, but this is NO place for minors. if you’re under 18 and reading my work, ya NASTY! and i AM judging you.

my writing style is mainly written in the second person pov (reader is the main character), with my secondary protagonist written in the third person pov. if you don’t like it, have a beautiful day. thank you so much for stopping by

this is a SAFE space for all 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🇦🇫

my main character (reader) is female 95% of the time, however, you can expect MM, MFM, and non-binary characters..i love a challenge

i don’t have a tag list, i recommend turning on my post notifications 🔔✨

lastly, at this time i’m not taking requests (i put enough pressure on myself as is)

if you got this far, pat yourself on the back for that attention span. remember, it’s just words on a page, so enjoy ✨

the long game (m)

↳ sugar daddy au | yandere | drabbles | in progress

namjoon was never supposed to fall in love. the arrangement was simple. money for time, desire for indulgence, no strings, no expectations. he was supposed to be your provider, your safety net, the man you called when you wanted something but never needed anyone. but somewhere between the swipe of his black card and the way you sigh his name in the dark, he lost control.

one | two | three | four | four ½ | five | six | seven | eight

anywhere but the end 1.2k

↳ taxi driver au | strangers | drabble | complete

there’s no destination. you get in the backseat of his taxi with no plan—only a heart full of ache and the hope that maybe if he just drives long enough, the noise in your head will quiet.

for eomma 4k

↳ idol au | established relationship | drabble | complete

seokjin never imagined that love could break him open this way. not until you handed him a child and slowly slipped out of reach. he held the world in his arms and watched it unravel in your silence, your sadness, your absence. but he stayed. for you. for her. for the family you’d dreamed of on quiet nights before everything changed.

a gentle kind of forever (m) 4.3k

↳ ceo au | strangers to lovers | yandere | complete

there was always something different about the way he loved you. gentle, patient, like he was studying a language only he could understand. even when you'd parted, he carried you quietly in the soft folds of memory, never once questioning whether you'd return. and when you finally do... he knows. this time, he won't let you go.

he touches you like you're made of glass, speaks to you like every word has been rehearsed for years. there's comfort in his arms, safety in his silence. but behind the calm is a devotion that doesn't waver, doesn't yield. It waits, it watches, it binds. you think you've come back to something familiar. but you're stepping into a love that never left. one that's willing to reshape the world just to keep you close.

one | epilogue

where we left off (m) 4.4k

↳ college au | friends to lovers | drabble | complete

you’ve spent years dancing around the inevitable — soft glances, blurred lines, and too many nights pretending not to want more. but when the game finally ends, nothing feels casual anymore. not his touch. not his kiss. and definitely not the way he says you’ve always been his.

class of ‘69 (m) 17.3k

↳ class reunion au | friends to lovers | series | complete

hoseok and gahee were the ultimate high school oddballs—chubby goofball meets nerdy wallflower, bonded by awkward moments and bad cafeteria food. until time and distance pulled them apart.

fast forward ten years, and life has seriously leveled them up.the night before their high school reunion, they meet at a bar—except they don't recognize each other. flirty banter? check.off the charts chemistry? double check. one steamy, no strings attached hookup in the bathroom? ...oops.

cut to the reunion, where their eyes meet across the room, and bam—realization hits like an embarrassing yearbook photo. as they navigate nosy classmates, cringey memories, and some seriously awkward tension, one question remains: was their wild night a hilarious mistake... or the perfect setup for a second chance?

one | two | three | four | five | six

the fire between us (m) 2.6k

↳ mafia au | yandere | exes to lovers | drabble | complete

he would have torn the world apart to find you. and when you left him—believing the worst of him, believing he was a monster—he simply waited. patient. certain.

because you were always his. you always would be.

the world can rage and rot outside these walls, but here, in the home he built for you, nothing will ever come between you again.

not fear. not doubt. not even you.

what you make me (m) 4.7k

↳ friends to lovers | yandere | drabble | complete

taehyung was never just hoseok's friend, not really. Five years of unspoken tension shattered by one kiss, leaving hoseok afraid of feelings he can't deny and taehyung too obsessed to let go.

avoidance only fans the fire, and when taehyung finally snaps, their friendship burns into something brutal, messy, and possessive. love was never supposed to look like this... but taehyung doesn't care. he's not letting hoseok run.

waiting in the water (m) 38.9k

↳ mermaid au | strangers to lovers | series | complete

when alma finds an injured man on the shore, she has no idea he belongs to a world beyond her own. jimin is unlike anyone she's ever met—mischievous yet gentle, with an undeniable pull that draws her in. as he helps her find joy again, she opens his eyes to the beauty of life on land, and their connection deepens into something neither of them can ignore.

but jimin's presence hasn't gone unnoticed, and forces from the sea threaten to tear them apart. with the weight of two worlds pressing down on them, alma and jimin must decide if love is enough to bridge the divide—or if some destinies can never be rewritten.

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | epilogue

beyond the shore (m)

↳ mermaid au | established relationship | series | in progress

jimin, once fearless beneath the waves, now struggles to find his footing as a father and partner on unfamiliar shores. alma, strong and steady, holds their little family together as doubts quietly creep in. when their son’s fragile health threatens to pull them all under, jimin must face the part of himself he thought he left behind… and decide how far he’s willing to go for the ones he loves.

one I two | three | four | five I six I seven I eight | nine I ten I eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen

a house between us (m) 12.9k

↳ entrepreneur au | strangers to lovers | trio | complete

he moved in next door with a job to do, then he saw you. polite, perfect, hiding bruises behind your smile. now your husband’s dead. jimin’s in your bed. and the only thing more dangerous than his devotion…is how much you love being kept.

one | two | three

borrowed time (m) 7.3k

↳ military au | strangers to lovers | angst | series | complete

trapped behind enemy lines after a mission goes sideways, staff sergeant kim taehyung is forced to navigate a war torn city alone. his only objective is to regroup with his unit—until he stumbles upon a civilian woman hiding from the chaos. with danger closing in, he makes a split second decision to help her reach safety.

one | two | three | four | five | six

table four 7.4k

↳ college au | strangers to lovers | drabble | complete

when he sees you at a campus café on a random tuesday, he knows he has to know you. but you’ve sworn off love after a brutal breakup and want nothing more than to focus on yourself. what starts with a croissant and a crooked smile slowly turns into study sessions, spontaneous adventures, and a love story neither of you saw coming.

what you make me (m) 4.7k

↳ friends to lovers | yandere | drabble | complete

taehyung was never just hoseok’s friend, not really. Five years of unspoken tension shattered by one kiss, leaving hoseok afraid of feelings he can’t deny and taehyung too obsessed to let go.

avoidance only fans the fire, and when taehyung finally snaps, their friendship burns into something brutal, messy, and possessive. love was never supposed to look like this… but taehyung doesn’t care. he’s not letting hoseok run.

bad decisions (m) 5.9k

↳ biker au | secret relationship | drabble | complete

by day, jeongguk is the youngest heir of the noble seven—untouchable, lethal, and born into power. by night, he's the ghost on a matte black Husqvarna, tearing through city streets with recklessness only royalty can afford. but there's one thing he can't control: you. the girl he's been sneaking around with in stolen hours and secret places. when a high stakes race throws you back into his path, a charged game of cat and mouse ignites—your biting words matched only by the heat in his stare.

later that night, you find yourself exactly where you swore you shouldn't be—underneath him, breathless and begging for more. but what starts as a heady, sweat slicked surrender spirals into something neither of you expect. in the quiet between moans and the hush that follows release, something shifts. words are whispered that neither of you can take back.

the night always finds you (m) 1.9k

↳ assassin au | unspoken relationship | drabble | complete

every time he comes back to you bruised, bloodied, and alive, it’s a stolen miracle. in the hush of a rain soaked morning, without words, jungkook finally shows you what his silence has always meant.

stolen orbit (m) 13.6k

↳ alien au | yandere | enemies to lovers | two shot | complete

you were meant for eradication with the rest of your planet—erased without a trace, just another speck in the galaxy’s endless purge. but jeongguk saw you. fragile, insignificant… human. and something his kind had long forgotten stirred in him. Instead of erasing your existence, he took you, stole you from extinction and made you his.

now you live in a celestial cage, adored and possessed by something not quite capable of love, but desperate to keep you. he doesn’t understand your fear, your resistance, but he craves your surrender all the more because of it. and if it takes breaking you to make you his completely… he will.

one | two

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Sugilite x Reader

A devoted servant rescued from slavery, you have always strived to meet Sugilite’s expectations, earning his favor and trust. To you, it seems like fate that he has saved you, but the truth is far from that.

The grand halls of Sugilite’s estate had long since become your home, a place of silken comforts, gilded expectations, and the unspoken weight of his favor. He had plucked you from the depths of slavery, refined you, molded you into someone worthy of standing beside him. You had proven yourself time and time again, meeting every expectation, anticipating his needs before he even voiced them.

And yet, tonight, all of that seemed to tremble on the edge of ruin.

You stood before him in his private study, candlelight flickering against the polished surface of his desk. The air was thick, not with incense, but with unspoken accusations. Across from you, Sugilite leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, gloved fingers tapping idly against the armrest.

The moment he had called you in for a "progress update," you knew the real reason behind his summons.

"Tell me" he murmured, his voice as smooth as the gemstone he was named after, "what exactly were you doing behind my back?"

You swallowed hard, maintaining your composure. You had seen him interrogate others before—his methods were never crude, never cruel. But his power lay in the way he unraveled people, in the way he made them doubt themselves under his gaze.

"It was a misunderstanding" you said carefully. "There was no affair."

Sugilite watched you, violet eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Is that so?"

He didn't believe you. Not yet.

But, to your relief, he let you go.

For now.

You knew better than to assume the matter was over. Sugilite was meticulous—he would investigate, would ensure there was no deception. However, fate had other plans, and he was far too busy to waste time chasing shadows.

As a high-ranking member of the Strategic Investment Department within the Interastral Peace Corporation, he had been sent to resolve a tax dispute on a distant planet. The matter was convoluted, tangled in bureaucracy and corruption, and rather than entrusting his subordinates, he turned to you.

"I’ll require your assistance in this matter." he had stated simply, offering no room for refusal.

And so, you found yourself in a foreign world, navigating the intricacies of corporate politics alongside him. It was here, amidst the ledgers and negotiations, that you stumbled upon something that hit far too close to home.

A case of slavery, much like your own.

It was deep into the night when you approached him in the hotel, the glow of the city outside casting faint reflections against the glass. Sugilite stood near the window, still clad in the elegance of his tailored uniform, his tie loosened ever so slightly—a rare glimpse of something unguarded.

"You’re still awake" he mused as you entered, glancing over his shoulder.

"I had an idea..." you said, stepping forward. "Regarding the slaves we found in the records."

He turned fully now, watching as you placed a data pad on the nearby desk. You had spent hours combing through files, identifying loopholes, strategizing a way to use the IPC’s influence to free them.

But as you spoke, laying out your findings, Sugilite remained silent.

And then, finally, he sighed, setting his gloves aside as he leaned against the desk.

"You misunderstand something." he said.

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

His gaze met yours, unreadable, piercing.

"Do you think I make a habit of saving people?" he asked, voice quieter now, almost amused.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"You weren’t chosen because I had some grand sense of justice." Sugilite continued. "I chose you because you caught my eye." He tilted his head, watching your reaction. "If it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have bothered."

The weight of his words settled over you like a chain, invisible but unyielding.

He had saved you. He had given you purpose. But in the end, was it ever truly freedom?

And yet, despite everything, you still owed him.

"You… wouldn’t consider doing the same for them?" you asked cautiously.

Sugilite smiled—small, knowing.

"I don’t waste my efforts on just anyone."

The answer was clear.

You were his exception. No one else.

The estate’s grand halls were as pristine as ever, untouched by the events that had unfolded beneath the surface. Yet, within the privacy of Sugilite’s office, an entirely different tension lingered.

You stood before him, your heart hammering in your chest, still shaken from the night’s ordeal. The scent of ink and parchment filled the room, but neither of you cared for work at this moment.

Sugilite sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable, fingers idly tracing the rim of a glass filled with dark liquor. The glow of the city outside barely reached him, casting his eyes into an abyss of shadow and dim light.

"So" he murmured at last, "what exactly were you trying to accomplish?"

You swallowed hard. "I only wanted to help them."

Sugilite sighed, setting his drink aside as he leaned forward.

"Help" he echoed. "A noble sentiment. But hopelessly naive."

Your fingers clenched into fists. "I thought—"

"You thought you could do something I hadn’t already considered?" His tone was not cruel, but there was something there—something dangerously knowing.

You had expected him to be furious when he found out what you had done. Expected him to reprimand you, to tell you how reckless you had been.

But he was too calm.

Too composed.

As though he had known all along.

And the truth?

He had.

From the moment Sugilite had noticed your restless gaze upon the IPC reports—your poorly masked determination to act on your own—he had predicted this outcome.

He let it happen.

He had known you would sneak out. Known that your kindness would make you easy prey for those who sought to manipulate it.

So he had orchestrated the perfect scenario.

The slavers you had hoped to rescue? A trap.

But not a trap set for them.

A trap set for you.

Sugilite had allowed their operation to continue under careful watch, ensuring they remained desperate enough to accept a lone visitor like you. Then, he had stepped in at just the right moment—timing his arrival perfectly to play the role of your savior once more.

Just as he had before.

You were never in danger.

The plan had never been yours.

And now, as he sat there watching you—his favorite servant, his carefully cultivated creation—he knew that after tonight, you would only be more bound to him than before.

You, of course, did not see the full picture.

You only saw the man who had once saved your life saving you again.

You only saw the hand that pulled you from ruin, not the one that orchestrated the fall.

Sugilite’s lips curved into something almost fond as he spoke his next words.

"This is the second time I’ve had to rescue you." he murmured, tone gentle yet firm. "It won’t happen again."

You lowered your gaze, guilt and shame flickering across your face. "I understand."

And that—the quiet submission, the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of your mistake—was what he had truly wanted to see.

Not gratitude.

Dependence.

Because no matter how much freedom you thought you had…

Sugilite knew.

You would never escape the hand that had saved you.

And he would never let you go.

[twilightcitysky]

Everything Is Meant (long S2 analysis, part 3)

Part one

Part two

There's SO MUCH excellent meta out there right now, and I'm going to try not to reinvent the wheel too much, but I want to keep going with tying the episodes/ elements up together because on first watch it wasn't entirely clear how everything fit. I also strongly recommend a rewatch, no matter what you felt about the ending... if you need to stop it 10 minutes early, do that, but you pick up so much more the second time around.

So: Maggie and Nina. I spent most of my first watch wondering why we were bothering with them, honestly. Later in the season Nina, and then Maggie and Nina, gave Crowley some insightful advice, but their actual relationship didn't progress despite all the meddling, and the amount of emotional investment BOTH Aziraphale and Crowley had in making them get together was frankly strange.

I started thinking in terms of mirror couples, since that was such a big deal in S1 and that's clearly what they were set up to be, but I made the mistake that all of us made on first watch: that Nina was Crowley and Maggie was Aziraphale. It still wasn't really coming together.

Then I put the psych hat back on and started to think about displacement. Displacement is a defense mechanism, and it consists of satisfying an impulse (usually an unconscious one) with a substitute object. At the beginning of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley aren't really in a good place, and I think on some level they know that. Aziraphale is trying to SHOW Crowley that he wants to take the next step through all the casual touches and phone calls and inviting him in, and feeling frustrated because Crowley doesn't seem to be taking the bait. (I absolutely think that Aziraphale tried to get Crowley to stay with him at the bookshop instead of living in his CAR, and Crowley said no. That's a whole other meta.) Meanwhile, Crowley, I think, is waiting for a Grand Gesture. Where did he go, as soon as Aziraphale brought up trying to get two humans to fall in love? Romantic tropes. Getting caught in the rain under an awning. A dramatic kiss that opens someone's eyes. That's the sort of thing he's always done, right? Big rescues, impassioned pleas on the street, fancy dinners, "give you a lift anywhere you want to go". He's defensive and guarded and unlikely to let someone in unless he's CERTAIN he won't be rejected, and Aziraphale's approaches are just too... quiet. No one's fault, they just don't speak the same language.

Then, they're handed the opportunity to make two humans fall in love, and they're both All In immediately. Look at Crowley's face when he summons the rainstorm. This is HUGE for him. Why? Because of displacement. Look at Aziraphale arranging the ball and being borderline deranged about it. They're both desperate to demonstrate what they think it takes for two people to move past their misunderstandings and fall in love. They can't do it for each other because the stakes are too high, and if either of them shows their cards unequivocally the vulnerability feels life-shattering. They're codependent and terrified of rejection and also, importantly, have no idea what they're doing when it comes to love. "Saw it in a film", Crowley says. Aziraphale's read about it in books. But they have zero practical experience.

Instead of learning to communicate, they try to say what they want to say through the medium of Maggie and Nina, up to and including the questionable moral decision to exert control over people's actions and thoughts during the ball. If I can just make this come out right, they both think, then things between us will be alright too. It HAS to come out right. They're attempting to gain some control over their own lives, over something that feels so overwhelming and shattering they can't look directly at it.

It doesn't come out right. Nina's relationship falls apart, but that doesn't mean she's in love with Maggie. While Crowley's stress-cleaning the bookshop to the music that played when Aziraphale got his books back in 1941 (just fuck me up David Arnold), they come in and tell him so. "I don't understand", says Crowley. Because it should have worked. Why didn't it work?

They tell him, of course. "You need to talk to each other. Say what you're really thinking." But here's the thing about communication: you have to learn it. You need to get the hang of expressing your feelings without blaming your partner, and separating intent from impact, and staying away from getting defensive and lashing out. No one has ever taught Aziraphale and Crowley how to do this. It's like Maggie and Nina put Crowley in front of a loom and asked him to recreate the Bayeux Tapestry. He doesn't have the skills; he's always going to get it wrong, even if he tries his hardest.

And he does try. But that's where Maggie and Nina the mirror couple, rather than Maggie and Nina the displacement relationship or Maggie and Nina the Greek chorus, come in. Aziraphale, as Nina, has just ended an incredibly toxic, invasive relationship with Heaven. A relationship that invaded every facet of his life, isolated him, and prevented him from being close to anyone else. "Rebound mess," Nina says. Aziraphale is a rebound mess. He's transferred the responsibility for his emotional wellness to Crowley. Crowley is the person he calls when he's in trouble, or (and this is key) when he wants to report a clever/ good thing he's done, or when he's bored. (At no point did Crowley reference Aziraphale calling him for a solicitous reason-- another problem.) Crowley is meant to take care of him. He forgets, I think, that Crowley is a person with his own wants and needs, just like Maggie and Nina are people with their own wants and needs who don't appreciate being messed with. (I think things would have been much different had Aziraphale BEEN THERE for Maggie and Nina's talk with Crowley, but he wasn't.)

And Maggie-as-Crowley? Lonely. Behind on rent, at risk of being evicted (it's important to note that Aziraphale saves Maggie from losing her record shop, as he couldn't save Crowley from losing his flat). Pining. Awkward. Revolving around Nina like a planet, to the extent that we don't get much of an impression of her otherwise. They realize, there at the end, that they both need to round themselves out before jumping into a relationship. Aziraphale and Crowley need that too. They need to take time apart and learn to be healthy on their own. Unfortunately they don't have the skills to get to that conclusion in a healthy way, so it all explodes in their faces and everything falls apart.

Aziraphale tries to teach Nina and Maggie to dance as a substitute for communication. Nina and Maggie try to teach Crowley communication as a substitute for the dance they've been doing around each other. That's the reason they're a part of the plot: they exist to demonstrate the way Aziraphale and Crowley might have succeeded in forging a better dynamic. Sadly, the boys' dance is too practiced and they got sucked right back into it.

It's okay, I think, that Nina and Maggie's storyline never really went anywhere. It wasn't supposed to. It's an allegory, not something that needs to stand alone.

[aspenmissing]

Would it be possible for you to do a reader X Viktor and X Jayce oneshot about if the reader had curly hair? :)

ᴄᴜʀʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ! || 3395 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴄᴜʀʟʏ ʜᴀɪʀ ɪꜱ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜ. ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!

ᴘ.ꜱ. ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴄᴜʀʟʏ ʜᴀɪʀ, ɪ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇɴᴠʏ ʏᴏᴜ. ɪꜰ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ, ɪ ᴀᴅᴍɪʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ. ʏᴀ'ʟʟ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀɪʀꜱᴛʏʟɪꜱᴛꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰʀᴇᴇ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

It had been a typical evening in Piltover. The soft glow of the fireplace flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls of the warm, cosy apartment where Viktor, Jayce, and Y/N shared their lives together. The crackle of the fire filled the silence, a comforting background to the exhaustion that had settled over them after a long, fulfilling day. They’d spent hours in the lab working on their latest projects, Viktor pushing the boundaries of his invention and Jayce tirelessly overseeing the progress of their work. By the time they were both sitting comfortably on the couch, all they wanted was a moment of peace, a time to simply exist together.

As much as they loved their work, Y/N had always been the centre of their world. Her presence in their lives had added a layer of warmth they hadn’t realised they were missing, a gentle contrast to the intensity of their professions. She was the one who knew how to ease their minds, to bring a sense of calm when the weight of their responsibilities became too much. It was moments like this—when the world outside seemed to fade away—that Viktor and Jayce cherished the most.

The storm had been building for hours, the rain relentlessly pouring down, rattling against the windows. Y/N had gone out earlier that evening, meeting some friends, and Viktor and Jayce had no doubt she would return soon. They knew her well enough to understand she had an uncanny ability to return home just when they needed her most, even if it meant braving a storm.

It wasn’t long before they heard the front door creak open, followed by the familiar sound of boots tapping against the floor as Y/N entered. The scent of wet earth and rain-drenched streets filled the apartment as she stepped in, dripping from head to toe. Both Viktor and Jayce’s attention snapped to the doorway as they saw her standing there, her usually smooth, straight hair now a complete mess of frizz, wild and untamed from the downpour.

Y/N sighed dramatically, glancing up at them as she pushed damp strands from her face. The water had wreaked havoc on the neat styling she usually worked so hard to maintain, and it was clear the storm had turned her once carefully straightened hair into a chaotic, frizzy mass. She couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Not exactly the look I was going for," she muttered under her breath, her tone playful but tinged with slight frustration.

Jayce looked over at Viktor, his lips curving into a teasing smile. "Well, this is certainly a change," he said, his voice light with amusement. "You don’t usually wear your hair like that."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips made it clear she wasn’t upset. "Not by choice, believe me," she replied, running her fingers through the tangled mess. "I’ll be back in a bit. Just need to fix this disaster."

Without waiting for a response, she disappeared into the bathroom, her footsteps soft but purposeful. The sound of water running could be heard shortly after, and Viktor and Jayce exchanged a glance, knowing exactly what this meant. They had long since grown used to Y/N’s elaborate haircare routine—how she spent hours on end tending to her hair, making sure every curl and strand was in perfect condition. The shelves of their bathroom were lined with an assortment of hair products, oils, conditioners, and leave-in treatments that she swore by.

But there was one thing neither of them had ever seen: Y/N’s natural hair. She had always kept it straightened when they were around, and though she’d mentioned her curls a few times, she’d never fully revealed them. The mystery of her natural hair texture had remained just that—a mystery. Viktor and Jayce had often wondered what her hair would look like if she just let it be, but they respected her boundaries and never pushed her to show them.

Still, as the minutes stretched on with the sounds of Y/N in the bathroom, they couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation, each of them wondering if tonight might be the night they finally got to see the real her. They exchanged knowing looks, both curious yet patient, waiting for whatever would come next.

It felt like an eternity before Y/N finally emerged from the bathroom, but when she did, neither of them could have been prepared for what they saw.

She was dressed in her softest, most comfortable pyjamas, the kind she often wore after a long day of work or when she wanted to unwind. But it wasn’t her clothes that caught their attention—it was her hair.

Y/N’s hair, which had once been a sleek and controlled mass of straight strands, was now a glorious sea of wild, natural curls. The moisture from the rain had set them free, and they were a stunning cascade of coils that framed her face with such beauty and complexity that it left Viktor and Jayce breathless. The curls bounced with every movement, each one unique, twisting and curling in different directions, adding a sense of wildness to her otherwise calm and composed presence.

Her hair wasn’t just curly—it was alive. The volume was impressive, and the depth of the texture made it look as though it had a personality all its own. Jayce’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise, while Viktor’s gaze softened in admiration, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of her. For a moment, they simply stared at her, the storm outside forgotten as they took in the new version of Y/N they had never seen before.

Y/N smirked, noticing their astonished expressions. She leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed, clearly enjoying the effect her natural hair was having on them. "Well?" she asked, her voice playful yet tinged with a hint of self-consciousness, as if she were waiting for their verdict.

Jayce blinked a few times, shaking his head as if to snap out of his daze. "I—I didn’t realise it was this curly," he admitted, his voice a mix of awe and surprise. "That’s… impressive."

Viktor leaned forward, his expression softening even more, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It suits you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I think I prefer it this way."

Y/N laughed softly, her heart fluttering at the compliment. She slowly walked over to them, her curls bouncing with every step, and sat down between them on the couch. "I’ve always had it this way," she explained, her tone more relaxed now that the initial shock had worn off. "It’s just a lot of work to maintain." She ran her fingers through her hair, clearly still getting used to the feeling of it after so many years of straightening it. "Straightening it is easier, but this—" She gestured to her hair. "—this is my real hair. It takes a lot more care, especially with the humidity around here."

Jayce nodded, still fascinated by the way the curls framed her face. "How do you even manage it? It must take hours."

Y/N smiled, a playful glint in her eye. "Not quite hours, but yeah. There’s a whole routine—shampoo, conditioner, leave-in treatments, oils, and then, of course, the drying. And the silk bonnet at night. You really don’t want to see this mess in the morning if I don’t take care of it."

Viktor, always the attentive one, reached out gently, his fingers brushing a curl that hung near her ear. His touch was tender, his voice soft. "You should wear it like this more often."

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the attention, and she leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of their embrace. "Maybe I will," she said, her voice a little breathless. "You’ll just have to get used to it."

Jayce’s grin was wide as he placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing small circles against her skin. "Oh, I think we’ll get used to it just fine."

Viktor’s gaze never left her, his fingers still lightly caressing her curls as if memorising the feel of them. "I think we’ll love it," he said quietly, his words filled with affection.

Y/N smiled, leaning back against them both, her head resting on Viktor’s shoulder while Jayce’s arm wrapped around her. The storm outside seemed to fade into the background, the warmth of their shared space enveloping them, and for a brief moment, it was just the three of them—together, in this small but perfect moment of peace.

A few days later, Y/N, Viktor, and Jayce were once again lounging together on the couch after a long day. The evening was peaceful, the soft hum of the city outside barely audible through the windows. Y/N, however, wasn’t rushing through her usual post-work routine. Tonight was a special occasion, one she knew would bring a smile to her face, as the two men she adored were eager to learn something about her that had always been part of her daily life: her natural haircare routine.

Her hair was no longer the sleek, straight style she had once favoured. Instead, it had grown out into its natural, curly form, a testament to the confidence she’d developed over time. No more straightening, no more taming it into submission. Y/N had embraced the fullness of her hair, the wildness that came with each tight coil, and she’d never felt more at home with her true self.

"Alright," Y/N said, smiling softly as she opened a large, organised bag onto her lap. "You two wanted to learn about my haircare routine, so let’s see if you’re ready for this."

Jayce and Viktor exchanged amused but curious glances. They’d always admired Y/N’s curls but hadn’t quite realised how much effort went into maintaining them. Y/N had shared her routine with them before, but they’d never taken the time to fully understand it—until now.

"You know," Y/N continued with a playful smile, "you might want to prepare yourselves for some surprises. Maintaining curls is a lot more work than you think."

Viktor chuckled, intrigued. "We’re ready for anything. We want to help, really. We know it’s something important to you."

Jayce leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. "Yeah, we want to understand your process more. If you’re willing to let us help, we’re all in."

=

Y/N’s heart warmed at their genuine eagerness. "Alright, let’s start simple," she said, pulling out the bottle of shampoo with a flourish. "Shampoo and conditioner are the foundation. They’re crucial for maintaining moisture in curly hair, so don’t skimp on either."

Viktor leaned forward, inspecting the bottle curiously. "I had no idea it required this much thought. It seems so straightforward when you do it."

Y/N smiled softly, her fingers brushing through her hair. "Well, I’ve spent a lot of time learning what works. Curly hair tends to be drier, so keeping it hydrated is key. You need to take care of it from the roots down."

She handed Jayce the shampoo first. "You go first. You only need a small amount, about the size of a coin. Rub it between your hands before massaging it gently into the scalp. Don’t rush; it’s important to treat the scalp carefully."

Jayce took the bottle, looking at her for reassurance. "Like this?"

Y/N smiled warmly, nodding. "Exactly. You want to make sure it gets evenly spread, but don’t overdo it. Gentle pressure is best for curly hair."

Viktor watched intently, his curiosity piqued as Jayce massaged the shampoo in. "Seems simple enough. But I can see how delicate it all is."

Y/N chuckled softly. "It may seem simple, but it’s all about the little details. You can’t rush the process if you want the best results."

Once they finished massaging the shampoo into her scalp, Y/N guided them through the next step—rinsing thoroughly. "Make sure you get rid of all the shampoo. If there’s any left, it can make the hair feel weighed down."

=

After rinsing, Y/N pulled out the conditioner. "Now, this is where it gets important. Curly hair gets dry faster, so conditioner helps lock in moisture."

She showed them how to apply it from the middle of her hair down to the ends. "The roots don’t need as much moisture, so don’t apply it there. The ends, however, are where all the dryness hides. That’s where you want to concentrate it."

Jayce was absorbed in the process, gently working the conditioner through Y/N’s hair with careful precision. Viktor followed suit, his eyes wide with admiration as he watched the curls take shape, each one becoming more defined and softened as the conditioner worked its magic.

"This is surprisingly satisfying," Viktor commented, his hands now moving with purpose. "I can see the difference already. The curls look more alive."

Y/N smirked, enjoying the attention. "It’s a little therapeutic for me too. I like taking the time to care for it properly. It’s not just about aesthetics, it’s about the whole experience."

=

After they rinsed out the conditioner, Y/N pulled out the next product—a leave-in conditioner. "This is a game-changer," she said, her tone serious but playful. "It’s like a final layer of protection for the curls, helping them stay hydrated and defined throughout the day."

She applied a generous amount to her hands and demonstrated how to distribute it evenly through her hair. "Make sure you don’t apply it too heavily, or it could flatten the curls. Work it through carefully, focusing on the ends."

Jayce tried it out, his hands becoming more confident with each step. "It’s amazing how much difference each step makes. I thought it was just about washing and going, but it’s so much more than that."

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling at their willingness to learn. "That’s the trick. Curly hair needs time and attention, but once you find your rhythm, it becomes second nature."

=

Finally, Y/N reached for a small bottle of hair oil. "This," she said, holding it up with a mischievous grin, "is my secret weapon. A little goes a long way. It locks in the moisture and gives my curls that healthy shine."

She demonstrated how to apply it in small amounts, just a few drops, and worked it through her hair with care. Both Viktor and Jayce followed suit, their movements now smooth and sure, as though they were working through a well-practised routine.

As they finished applying the oil, Y/N leaned back against the couch, her curls now bouncy, glossy, and full of life. "And that’s it. That’s my wash routine."

Jayce, his hands still in her hair, gave a satisfied smile. "I can’t believe how much work goes into it, but I see now why you put so much effort into it. Your hair looks incredible."

Viktor nodded, his expression softened with admiration. "I understand now, Y/N. It’s not just about looks—it’s about taking care of yourself in a way that feels right for you. And I’m glad we could be a part of it."

Y/N beamed, feeling a deep sense of gratitude. "I’m really glad you two are so open to helping me with this. It means a lot."

Jayce grinned, gently running his fingers over her hand "If you need help with anything else, we’re here. Even if it’s putting your silk bonnet on before bed."

Y/N laughed softly, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth. She leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You’re both getting pretty good at this."

Viktor leaned over as well, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "Maybe we should start our own haircare line."

Y/N smiled, leaning against them both. "Well, I wouldn’t say no to that."

=

But as she turned to grab the final tool, her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Alright, now for the fun part."

She pulled out an array of brushes—some wide-toothed, others finer, each one designed for a different purpose in her routine. As she laid them out in front of them, Viktor and Jayce’s expressions faltered, and their hearts sank.

Jayce swallowed hard, his eyes shifting from one brush to another. "Wait, you’re telling me... we need to use all of these?"

Y/N grinned, enjoying their moment of panic. "Yes, each one has a different role. But don’t worry, I’ll guide you through it."

Viktor, his brow furrowing as he took in the daunting task ahead, sighed. "I thought we were almost done."

Y/N laughed, her voice light with affection. "The drying process is just as important as the rest. Trust me, it’s all part of the routine. But no rush—let’s take it one step at a time."

She picked up the wide-toothed comb first, running it gently through her damp curls. "This one helps detangle without causing frizz. It’s important to be gentle."

Jayce, looking slightly relieved, grabbed the comb and copied her motions carefully. "Alright, I think I can manage this."

Viktor, still sceptical but determined to be helpful, followed suit. "One step at a time, then."

=

As they finished the final touches, Y/N’s curls bounced with life, each one perfectly defined and full of shine. She leaned back, admiring their handiwork in the mirror, the satisfaction of a well-done routine settling in. Jayce, grinning, reached for the last item they’d been teasing about—the silk bonnet.

"I think we’ve made it this far," Jayce said with a chuckle, his hands steady as he took the bonnet from the table.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile. "You both better be gentle with this. I can’t have any mishaps now."

Viktor, his eyes soft with amusement, stepped closer as Jayce gently placed the bonnet over her head, ensuring her curls were carefully tucked inside. "It’s all part of the process, right?" Viktor teased, his voice warm.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, admiring their careful movements. "You’re getting the hang of it," she said, her tone filled with affection. "You two have done better than I expected."

Jayce adjusted the bonnet, ensuring it was snug but not too tight. "All set," he said, his voice lighter than before. "Now you’re properly taken care of."

Y/N reached up to adjust the edges, running her fingers lightly along the fabric, then turned to face them both, her expression filled with warmth. "Thank you. For everything tonight. It means more than you know."

As she spoke, both Jayce and Viktor leaned in at the same time, their faces softening with affection. They kissed her cheeks in tandem, the gesture so tender it made her heart swell. Each kiss was a silent promise, a moment of connection that spoke volumes without words.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to absorb the closeness, her heart full of gratitude and love. She was surrounded by people who not only cared for her but also took the time to learn the little things that mattered most to her—things she once thought might go unnoticed.

When they pulled back, Y/N smiled softly, her hand resting on her cheek where their lips had just been. "I don’t think I could ask for a better team. You both make this feel like something more than a routine—like a moment we share."

Viktor, his eyes filled with affection, reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, gently tucking it back into the bonnet. "We’re just happy to be part of it, miláčku," he said softly, his voice warm. "Whatever makes you happy." (Darling)

Jayce grinned, his fingers gently tracing the edge of the silk bonnet. "And we’ll be here whenever you need help with anything else. Even if it’s more hair care experiments."

Y/N laughed softly, leaning into their embrace, her heart content. "I think you two have officially earned the title of honorary curl specialists."

With her hair now perfectly cared for and their hearts full of affection, the three of them settled into a peaceful evening, their bond growing stronger with each shared moment. Y/N, feeling the love and care that Jayce and Viktor had put into learning about her routine, allowed herself to relax, knowing that they truly understood and accepted every part of her—natural curls and all.

[zvaigzdelasas]

The defeat of a liberal Portland prosecutor at the hands of a tough-on-crime challenger has hardened a view among top White House officials that Democrats need to further distance themselves from their left flank on law-and-order issues.[...]

The White House is banking on the idea that voters will reward them for public efforts to crack down on immigration and boost spending on law enforcement — and, perhaps as importantly, that the liberal forces that so effectively moved the party away from those planks in 2020 won’t punish the president come November.[...]

But the president has not needed much convincin[sic] [...] having personally favored an approach that emphasizes more traditional support for law enforcement alongside criminal justice reforms. Biden spent much of his half century in politics as an ardent advocate for law enforcement and anti-crime measures, a reputation that complicated his path to the 2020 Democratic nomination amid scrutiny over his role in passing a controversial 1994 crime bill.

And even as the broader party shifted leftward [sic] on issues like police funding and immigration during that period, Biden sought to stake out a middle ground that often put him out of step with his progressive base — perhaps most notably using his first State of the Union address in 2022 to exhort lawmakers to “fund the police.”

In recent months, Biden has warned advisers that scenes of chaos at the border or crime in cities pose an increasing political danger. They risk turning off the independent and suburban voters, he’s said, who may be repulsed by much of Donald Trump’s policies and personality but could be willing to vote for him anyway in the name of public safety.[...]

Biden and his senior-most aides are united on the need to push for greater border security. [...]

“The narrative about Democrats on crime became deeply distorted after Defund the Police became kind of a thing,” [sic] said Matt Bennett, executive vice president for public affairs at the center-left think tank Third Way. “In fact, [Biden] has been very aggressive about funding the police, and has flipped around that narrative in ways that I think are really helpful.”[...]

The White House, to that end, has battered Republicans in recent days over their abandonment of a bipartisan border security bill that would’ve imposed strict new limits on immigration.

The legislation, which Senate Democrats are forcing a vote on for the second time this week, has fueled blowback among progressive and Latino lawmakers who blasted its “extreme and unworkable enforcement-only policies.”

But Biden has fully embraced the measure, repeatedly emphasizing the tough restrictions it’d put in place and criticizing Republicans for stalling the bill solely to avoid handing him an election-year victory. The White House is also preparing an executive order on immigration as a fallback, in a long-germinating [sic] display of his commitment to a border crackdown.

The president has also made a point of voicing support for law enforcement in recent weeks. He refused to criticize police conducting mass arrests of pro-Palestinian protesters on college campuses, even as he backed the right [sic] to peacefully protest. And he’s repeatedly touted a plan to invest $37 billion in crime provision [...]

There is also deep-seated fear throughout the party of the alternative: A Trump presidency that has made clear it would prioritize mass deportations and sharp shifts away from the progress [sic] Biden has made on other criminal justice issues like gun violence prevention.

23 May 24

[abbyslovergirlxo]

Liar

Pt2 to The Most

synopsis: after your wife’s death, grief consumes you. three months have passed and Mel Medarda finds you on the balcony painting

Tw; grief, reader is not so nice to Mel, conflicted feelings, death

It had been three months since Ambessa’s death. It hadn’t felt like it though, days would fit more so to you. A lot had happened since, lots of ‘progress’ as Mel liked to remind you. Time to time you’d indulge her and listen to all the beautiful things she made possible due to the defeat of her mother. In your head you knew she meant well, it truly made you happy to hear about the news. But there was a pit inside you so deep that it swallowed anything you thought made you happy.

Week by week was spent in the confines of your room. Mel had tried many times to draw you out but to no avail. Sure she’d see you at supper and other tiny moments but that was all that you allowed the world.

Night after night you dreamt of her, her ruby painted lips and hazel eyes. Sometimes it was comforting in approach, you’d see her in her robe laughing on the marbled balcony under the sun. Or you’d get lucky and envision her whispering sweet nothings to you, her voice blurrier every time though. Other nights were not so gracious. The nights where you saw her dying over and over, always left you in a cold sweat. The first time you’d dreamt it you’d refused to go to sleep for three days.

Time had not proven to heal you at all. Everyday you felt heavier and heavier. Here and there joy would find you in small moments, but always in the back of your mind was her. Always. And you weren’t sure if you were prepared to live with that for the rest of your life. Maybe you should’ve considered it when you agreed to kill your lover. But that was of no use now.

Currently you stood in front of your easel, splotching purples aggressively into the corner of the canvas. Occasionally you’d step back and look over it, examine it, study it. It wasn’t exactly perfect but it was something and you hoped that was enough.

“ They told me I could find you here.”

You didn’t bother to turn around, knowing who it was.

“ Found me.”

Your voice was different, your once light voice was now rough and raspy. Either little emotion thrown into it or too much to conceptualize. Mel had noticed it a couple weeks ago. She worried silently that it was all of your outburst that caused it. She had been stern with the staff to keep quiet about the screaming that could be heard from your room most nights.

You didn’t stop your painting, pressing streaks wherever it seemed called to be. Mel opted to walk next to you, since it was apparent you were making no true effort to face her. She looked at you, then trailed her eyes to your work. She grimaced slightly at the painting but held her composure well.

“ There is something we must discuss.”

You hummed, the only gesture you allowed to let her know to continue.

“ The founder's ball, we need you there.”

Instantly you shook your head no.

“ I need you there. The people need to see us as a united front.”

“ Mel–”

“ They need to see that the remaining Merdardas are dedicated to our city. I can’t do that without you, not entirely. My mother left many things in your name, without y–”

“ Take it. Whatever has been left to me, strip me of it and take it.”

She looked at you, stunned. Mel clenched her fist slightly, trying her best to refrain from anger.

“ No, that’s not possible. Noxian titles are only passed on in the death of a person.”

“ Then I’ll die.”

“ You need to stop this.”

You pressed the brush harder into the canvas, moving more rapidly now. Mel said something, of which you couldn’t be sure. The only thing you were sure of was that you hated this fucking painting. You didn’t get her eyes right. Or her arms. Or her hair or her hands or anything. Especially her lips. No matter how blurry everything else had gotten, you’d never forgotten the blueprint of her mouth, the creases of them like a roadmap to your heart.

Until now, apparently. You clenched the brush. Another press. Another one. Then another. A black streak, unloving and darkening. You weren’t sure when you’d started ruining the painting. You hadn’t even noticed what you were doing until you felt a hand grab your shoulder, spinning you to look at such a familiar face. The tears made it a bit blurry, the horrid expansion of paint like a decrepit mirage in your peripheral. You sobbed, looking over the fuzzy face.

The gold ring. You’d forgotten the gold ring.

“ Hey…hey I need you to look at me.”

Your head dropped, salty tears dripping from your face onto the marbled floor.

“ I can’t remember her face, Mel…”

At Least not in the way you wanted to.

It’s something that came to you three days ago, when you sat at your desk trying to sketch her. You’d scribble out her beautiful curls, and under eye bags. But then you’d mess up the crease in her neck, the softness of her iris. You’d spent the next 2 hours trying to capture your wife onto tear soaked papers. The ones she’d brought you from that one shop you’d liked, even if you protested about its expenses. But to no avail. It wasn’t until finally you gave into that pounding, that monstrous noise in the back of your head.

Not even 10 minutes later, you stared soullessly at the lifeless body of Ambessa. Why couldn’t you remember her with that sunkissed tinge in her cheeks? The abrupt laughter against your neck? The curve of her smile as she danced with you? Why couldn’t you remember your Ambessa how you wished? Why were the splatters of blood on her face so much easier to paint? Five years of marriage blurred and five minutes of grief ingrained.

Mel looked as if she too wished to cry but she feared your grief was too big to make room for her at this moment. You looked unwell in such a way that she wished for just a second she could be her mother if it meant it’d take that look off your face. It reminded her of a deer, one too weak to stand and too anguished to allow help.

“ I…”

You finally peered up at her, eyes glossy, her hand holding you up almost. Your eyes were distant, as if you were neither here nor there. For the past three months every time she looked at you, one of two things were at the forefront of her mind. One being that you really needed help, that your mind was proving to be more sick than your body. And then the second. The thing she never let seep out of her, the thing she always kept stuffed down. I’m sorry.

“ I do.”

She seemed unsure of what to do, what to say. She felt as though she had a delicate thing in her grasp and the last thing she wanted was to break you even more. For a moment she forgot about the founders ball, about the regulations and to-do’s, about Jayce, about everything. And in the next moment that followed, all she could think about was her mother. For years she’d spent her time hating her, angry at the morales she clung to, the abandonment. For so long she spent her time seeing her mother as a dark shadow with no face, only an evil presence who she needed a drip of love from more than she’d ever admit.

But after her death it's as if something had lifted. Grief still invited itself into her bed most nights but now she could rest that piece of her heart that always resented her mother. Now that shadowy figure was the stern faced woman who brushed her hair, the applauding voice during her training, the smiling mother who greeted her.

It suddenly occurred to her how you both must’ve been different sides of the same coin. You’d known the kindness of your Ambessa for the entirety of your marriage. But after her death, that seemed to die with her. Now all your mind allowed you was the distorted images of her body. Maybe it was your way of punishing yourself. Who knows. All you knew was that all her death offered you was oblivion. And yet her death offered the woman in front of a way out from such darkness.

Mel smiled at you, wiping the tears from your face.

“ I can tell you about it if you’d like.”

She reached over cautiously to your shaking hand that still clutched the brush. She grabbed it softly, but your grip was firm, your breathing still uneven. God, why did your chest burn?

“ I can paint her for you too if it’d please you?”

Finally you looked at her, really looked at her. You let the brush go, allowing her to take it. Your hand moved for you, your mind not catching up to your body. The touch of your palm caught your off guard causing her to flinch. She didn’t remove it, waiting for your answer. But you didn’t respond, your thumb doing small circles on her cheek. She wondered if you’d even heard her.

“ You…”

She nodded, as if encouraging you.

“ You look like her, you know?” You whispered.

Mel nodded again this time, unable to hold back the tear that fell. She cried softly as you continued, your hands roaming over her face gently and softly. You traced her face as if she was going to disappear any moment, as if the last piece of your wife was going to vanish into thin air. She leaned into your hands, your ring finger trailing her jawline, rubbed over her brows and caressed her nose. Mel was pleased when she saw you smiling softly, even if it held a million echoes of torment behind it. Atleast you were smiling, she thought.

“ Was it worth it?”

Her brows furrowed, knowing exactly what you meant. She stared at you, your smile never gone, only a bit weaker now. She’d asked herself the same thing many times before she’d rest her head at night, before she stormed into meetings, before she did anything. She considered telling you the truth. But then she looked past you, at the distorted image of her mother in purple, the violent strokes of black across her face. She looked at the bags under your eyes, felt the tenderness in your touch. Mel thought back to the night she’d come to you, telling you what must be done. She’d told you that it was necessary and once it was done it’d be worth it. She remembered the tremble in your lip when you’d asked her this same question months ago.

And she answered the same way she did before.

“ Yes.”

Mel watched as your smile faded, your hands retracting. You looked gone again, the echoes of torment no longer in the background.

“ Liar.”

The tone of your voice was so light, so empty that she had no idea if you were speaking to her or yourself. She watched as you walked away without another word. She stood there, holding that stupid brush before she threw it at the painting. Her knees betrayed her as she crumpled to the floor, her formal composure leaving her. The soft tears she’d offered you before were heavier now, louder with a burning truth behind them. Mel Medarda broke apart on that tile, eyes burning holes into that awful painting.

“ You’ve left me here with this! With her!”

She screamed at the canvas as if she’d hear her mothers voice do the same back to her. But it never did. Solemnly her voice died down and her chest burned.

I’m sorry. She thought. I’m so sorry.

[un-petit-sanctuaire]

Night Ride

Pairing: Sylus x f!MC

Genre: Fluff

Rating: General

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You were stressing out over your work, so Sylus decided to take you on a joyride on his motorcycle that night.

Author’s Note: It’s my first Love and Deepspace fic! I’d say it’s set not long after around Nightplumes. Anyway, I haven’t written in a while, so please excuse any rustiness. Also, English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes kindly. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ Constructive criticism and feedback are very welcome! I’d really appreciate them to help me write better in the future. Last but not least, happy reading. ♡

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡

You were pacing back and forth in Sylus’s living room that evening, a bunch of files and documents spread around you on the floor. The owner of the house himself was sitting in a nearby armchair, his hands nonchalantly flipping today’s Linkon newspaper you brought him. On his shoulder, a familiar mechanical crow sat, glancing between the newspaper and your restless movements.

Two days ago, the Association assigned you and your team a mission. The assignment was broken down into smaller individual tasks and divided equally among your team members. Yet, somehow, you felt your part was very challenging to figure out. Your assigned location was close to the N109 Zone, though—you weren’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse. Feeling that your brain might explode for working outside alone, you decided to grace a certain white-haired man with your presence in his vicinity.

And that’s how you found yourself stressing out at Sylus’s home.

“That’s it,” his voice thundered, making you jump on the spot after what seemed to be an endless staring contest with the papers in front of you. Even Mephisto let out a sharp caw, flapping its wings as it flew off, startled by his master’s sudden break from the silence. Sylus rose from his seat, turning towards where he kept his keys before adding, “Let’s go, kitten.”

“... What?” You turned your attention from your papers towards him, eyebrows knitted.

“You should see the agitated look on your face. Your task isn’t going to resolve itself unless you have a clear mind.” With a casual flick of his finger, he sent his motorcycle keys spinning into his palm. “Let’s head outside.”

“But—”

“Do I look like I take no for an answer?”

Given how much time you’d spent together lately—no thanks to the energy linkage—you seemed to understand there was probably no room for debate with him under these circumstances. “Wait, where are we going? Can’t I just stay and do my work?” Despite your protests, you found yourself trailing after him, half-running to keep up with his long strides as he headed for the door.

“Somewhere to get some fresh air,” he replied without looking back at you. With another flick of his fingers, his jacket effortlessly landed over his shoulder. “I could use some too. Your little pacing game made my head spin.” He stopped outside in front of his bike, finally turning around to hand you your usual helmet. “And no, you’re still going whether you like it or not,” he declared. His sentence sounded like a threat, but his tone was somehow gentle.

You considered for a moment. He might have a point; you wouldn’t make any progress with your head clouded by frustration. Besides, your task wasn’t due any time soon, and after working on it all day long, you desperately needed to clear your mind. Normally you would argue, but your energy had already been drained from all the thinking. Sighing, you took the helmet from his hand and slipped it on. Your fingers fumbled, trying to fasten the buckle. Sylus let out a small scoff, stepping forward to help you click it into place.

As you settled behind him on the motorcycle, his eyes found yours in the reflection of the side mirror.

“Don’t be shy, sweetie. Hold on to me.”

You hesitated for a bit and ended up gripping his jacket, not quite fully clutching onto him. “Ease up on the speed, though,” you remarked, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Oh? You get to tell the driver how to behave, now?” he shook his head, a subtle smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Sure, I’ll keep it civil,” he replied, though you weren’t sure if he was being genuine or merely teasing you.

With a rev of the engine, he drove out of the side street and onto the main highway. The night sky above the N109 Zone hung in its usual dark and misty state, but the city lights gradually sprung to life around you. You inhaled the cool evening air, soaking in your surroundings. You were a biker yourself, but for once, it felt refreshing to be the passenger—especially since he always took the reins when the two of you rode his motorcycle.

You slowly became aware that you were heading towards Linkon. The highway stretched before you, nearly deserted, and the night enveloped you in a hush. The breeze rustled past, making your hair dance behind you.

The bike was gaining speed.

“Sylus,” you called, yanking his jacket lightly.

“Hm?”

The teasing tone in his hum was now evident.

“Don’t pretend that I don’t notice what you’re doing,” you retorted, the wind whipping fiercely around you.

“And what is it that I’m doing besides taking you for a ride?”

And as if on cue, the motorcycle roared, surging forward with a sudden burst of speed. The unexpected acceleration forced you to cling onto him for support to the point you were practically hugging him from the back, your fingers intertwined just below his stomach. “You’re doing this on purpose!” You half-shouted, your voice barely cutting through the rush of wind. “This was supposed to be a joyride, not a race!”

You couldn’t quite discern his response, but the side mirror reflected another smug smirk playing at the corner of his lips. You rolled your eyes. Oh, how you longed to wipe that smirk off his face. Speeding could be dangerous; what if a cat or some other creature suddenly crossed your path? You had no doubt he was far exceeding the speed limit. Luckily, the road was now completely empty. It also dawned on you that you weren’t heading into the center of Linkon, but rather veering towards the outskirts.

He slowed down as the bike left the main road and entered a slightly narrower one. “Don’t tell me Miss Hunter herself never accelerates?” he finally said, amusement lacing his tone.

“I’m a law-abiding citizen,” you rebutted, not quite answering his question. You did, in fact, once or twice speed up when you needed to arrive early for urgent missions. However, you were sure as hell it had never been as fast as Sylus was driving just now. “I mean, it was thrilling, but—”

“A-ha.”

He snickered, cutting you off. “I think someone is enjoying the ride more than they’re letting on,” his sing-songy tone made you roll your eyes again. “She’s practically holding onto me for dear life.”

Looking down, you realized your arms were still encircling his waist.

You quickly let go, straightening your posture behind him. “Because I was afraid I would be thrown off with that speed of yours, that’s why,” you said, pinching his side in an attempt to hide your own fluster at being caught off-guard. “It just seemed dangerous,” you mumbled.

“Careful, sweetie, no pinching the driver now,” he teased. As if reading your mind, he added with unexpected seriousness, “Your safety always comes first. We’ll be fine as long as I have good reflexes and solid bike-handling skills, which, lucky for you, I actually do.” Another smirk was visible from behind his visor, reflected in the mirror. “Besides, did you forget that I can use my Evol to secure you in place?”

You decided to ignore his remarks. Pretty sure the more you took the bait, the more amused he would be.

You noticed the road ascending towards the hill, and soon you found yourselves leaving the city behind and entering a somewhat wooded area.

“You’re not kidnapping me, are you?”

Your question elicited a chuckle from him. “You are powerful enough to knock me down when I’m distracted, and you could easily run off with my bike, leaving me here alone,” he said casually. “What makes you think I’d be kidnapping you? No, kitten, I’m not. Aren’t you curious to know what I have planned?”

He sounded almost giddy that your brows furrowed, half-annoyed.

“Very, actually,” you snorted, growing impatient. Was teasing you his way of taking your mind off work? “But as if you’ll actually tell me what it is.”

Sylus cackled. “Correct. You’ll have to suffer with anticipation, just like always.”

You restrained yourself from launching a punch at his shoulder. The area around you grew darker, with hardly any light in sight except for Sylus’s motorcycle and the occasional flicker from the lampposts. “Well, the breeze is getting rather cold,” you complained. You were only wearing your trusted white cropped jacket, while he was comfortably clad in leather.

There was a pause before he replied rather thoughtfully, “Stick close to me.”

You scooted forward, inching slightly closer to him. You heard him add, “We’re almost there.”

The bike eventually came to a halt a few minutes later. You dismounted, placing your helmet on the seat. Sylus followed suit, ruffling his silver hair back into place. You were probably going to involuntarily stare if the landscape before you didn’t capture your attention.

“Oh, wow...”

You took in your surroundings as you stood at the top of a hill, gazing out over the twinkling city below. The sky was a deep, rich shade of navy blue, dotted with shimmering stars. Linkon was clearly visible from up here; the illuminated skyscrapers flickered like fireflies, casting a warm glow against the darkness.

“Impressed?”

Sylus’s tall figure towered beside you. You glanced at him, expecting to find a smug expression there to show you an I-told-you-so look. However, while the corners of his lips did curl upward, his gaze remained soft, overlooking the gleaming city.

You were about to pester him, ‘Oh, even the big, scary leader of Onychinus can get sappy over things like this?’ but somehow the words stayed lodged in your throat.

“I am,” was all you could manage to utter. “I never knew we could see the entire city from up here.”

“I come here a lot whenever I need a break or want to be alone,” he nodded. “Just looking down at the city makes me feel at ease.”

Were you hallucinating, or did he seem a bit more sentimental than usual?

You felt his red irises shift from the scenery towards you.

Quickly, you turned your head away from him back to the view stretched beyond. “Oh, well,” you cleared your throat. “I didn’t know you could feel stressed too. You always seem... collected.”

Sylus laughed heartily. There was a pause before he replied, “I only do what I need to do.” He slid his hands into his pockets as if his words held no weight, leaving you to ponder for a moment.

The cold wind swept between you once again, prompting you to inch a little closer to him. It was really not that bad, but you hugged your arms for some warmth.

“... Thanks for bringing me here,” you muttered.

He noticed you creeping towards him, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, without averting his gaze from the city lights below, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and gently pulled you closer to share his warmth. You were surprised you didn’t object or retreat—his presence felt oddly nice and comforting.

“You’re welcome, kitten.”

There were a few seconds of comfortable silence between you. Linkon was rather quiet that night—whether it was because you were quite far from the city center or because everyone else was already in a deep slumber. The only sounds that reached your ears were the delicate breeze rustling through the bushes and the distant hum of car engines.

“You’re right. This place is perfect for clearing your mind,” you spoke after what felt like a pregnant pause.

“It indeed is,” he replied. “You know, I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

The air felt warm, a stark contrast to the cold wind earlier. Or perhaps it was just your cheeks? “Not even Luke and Kieran? Or Mephisto?” You quickly covered it up and asked rather amusedly.

“Especially not the twins,” he chuckled. “Last time they discovered my hideout, things went chaotic. I take it you know them well enough now?”

The corners of your lips twitched upwards.

He then continued, “Mephisto would be a great companion, yes, if only he didn’t get too territorial and challenge the local birds to a boxing match. You saw how he was last time during our video call when I was in the park.”

You laughed—a genuine laugh after waves of frustration throughout the whole day. It felt warm and fuzzy, but it didn’t quite fight another blow of the cold gust. Up here definitely felt colder due to the high elevation. You fully folded your arms this time.

“Cold?” you heard Sylus ask.

“A little,” you allowed yourself to approach him closer. Half your back was now covered by his towering frame. You noticed him shifting, positioning his body to block the chilly breeze, his arm still wrapped around your shoulder.

You tilted your head upwards slightly to see his face. He wasn’t looking back at you; his eyes seemed glued to the illuminated city below. Only then did you realize how soft he looked, a striking contrast to the way he had presented himself during your first encounter. You couldn’t help but wonder what was on his mind. Was he thinking about...?

“You know, most people would be enjoying the view from up here,” his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “But someone would rather stare at my face, apparently.”

This was the second time that night you realized you were staring at him. You turned your head, frantically searching for something else to look at from the glimmering Linkon.

“Yes, sweetie, the scenery is over there.”

You could feel he was grinning.

“Shut up.”

Perhaps it was another gust of wind that made you press your back against his chest, closing the distance between the two of you. He didn’t move, but his arm was still protecting you—practically hugging you from behind now with his hand reaching across your neck. A light chuckle escaped his lips when hearing your response, and you could feel his head leaning downwards. “No denying?”

“Not answering,” you muttered. You tried not to turn your head towards him, knowing that your faces would be only inches apart.

There was another chuckle before he called you in a low murmur.

“Kitten.”

His free hand glided from his pocket to your chin, delicately coaxing your head to face him. His touch felt so careful—so cautious as if he feared you would push him away or break or explode. You could even barely feel his finger graze your skin.

“... Hm?”

Once again, somehow, you obliged without protest. You looked at him; his face was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. His crimson eyes locked onto you, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze this time. Only a few centimeters separated your face from his. You could feel your cheeks flush once again, your heart thumping faster than usual.

“I was right,” he uttered quietly. A smirk adorned the corner of his lips, but his eyes were tender.

Your answer was barely audible when you murmured, “About what?”

“I knew you were staring at me and not the city view,” he spoke in a soft whisper. His face was very near now that you could feel his nose lightly grazed yours, his breath warm against your skin. With such closeness, you realized how nice he smelled, how the faint radiance bathed his face, how his silvery strands fluttered and danced with the breeze.

You glanced down at his lips for a split second before darting your eyes back, locking them with his again.

“Three times now,” he breathed, catching you again. “Admit defeat, kitten...”

“... Fine.” You swore you could hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears by now. One small move forward and—

“Fine, you’re right,” you repeated.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath—your mind hazy from his proximity.

“Kitten?”

“... Yeah?”

His fingers still held your chin in place, his eyes never left yours, and his other arm remained wrapped around you. Perhaps it was his body acting like a shield, or perhaps the cold breeze ceased to exist, but you were almost sure you felt blanketed with warmth. You could feel your heart quicken, the anticipation hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

“May I...?”

Very subtly, your head nodded, and your eyes gave him the signal.

With that, Sylus closed the distance between you, and your lips met delicately. The world around you faded into a gentle hum, the city lights twinkling like distant stars as you closed your eyes. His lips were surprisingly warm, a tender caress you never expected from someone like him. The warmth radiating from him enveloped you, making you forget the chill of the night air as you melted into his kiss.

For the first time in two days, you gladly decided to ignore your work.

And perhaps scheduling future night rides with him wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.