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wwandaslover · 2 days

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STRANGERS | W.M

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x F! Reader

Warnings: A bit angsty, swearing, fighting, short little fic bc I’ve been gone too long

Summary: Wanda’s trying to get her boys back and Doctor Strange comes to you for help, trying to get you to kill your ex wife. Wanda’s not happy that you’re in the way.

You had been living your life as peacefully as you could ever since Thanos. You quit using magic, you moved across the country to Oregon. It was lonely.. but it was calm. You appreciated no longer having to put yourself under such immense stress, no longer fighting people and aliens, no longer worrying about stupid diets, no longer constantly feeling like you were going to die. It was amazing to be alone despite how boring it was.

You had heard about Westview from the news not long after moving to Oregon, and though it worried you to hear that Wanda was getting to such a horrible point, you couldn’t get involved and part of you didn’t want to. You and Wanda did not end on good terms, Wanda broke your heart. You were staying out of all of that shit, you were finally getting your well deserved lull.

It grew harder to not try and help Wanda the more you heard about her, you were constantly worrying about her wellbeing. Then to your luck, Doctor Strange showed up at your doorstep asking for help and disrupting your peace, telling you he had gone to Wanda and found out she’d been corrupted by the Darkhold, trying to kill America Chavez to go to her sons in another universe. It took him very little time to convince you to help.

He needed your help since you were one of the most powerful magic wielders, yet still not anywhere near Wanda’s level. Despite being stronger than you, Wanda couldn’t absorb your magic when used on her or it could kill her, you were a Green Witch. You wielded earthly magic while Wanda wielded chaos magic, and Strange wanted you to trick her into trying to absorb your magic.

You refused to kill the woman you had loved so dearly, instead you promised to help her. You wanted her to be happy and no longer hurt so much, despite how much you hated her for what she did to you.

Standing at Kamar Taj, seeing the dead bodies of sorcerers lying on the ground after Wanda used her magic to kill them all, seeing her walk over them like nothing.. it hurt you to see her now a shell of the woman she once was. Wanda stared at you with an icy glare as she stepped closer, annoyed that you were blocking her path to America.

Wanda laughed dryly “Of course, you’re the one they bring to stop me.”

You took a deep breath, swallowing thickly. Part of you wanted to hug her and the other wanted to punch her as hard as possible. You spoke calmly, “Wanda, I’m here to help you end this madness. I don’t want to fight you.”

Wanda hummed “I’m sure you don’t. You’d rather not die, I’m sure.”

You scoffed softly “I doubt you want to either.”

Wanda sighed in annoyance “You’re right, what I want is my sons. Now get out of my way.” She began stepping closer and you used your powers to push her back.

Wanda snarled and threw blasts of energy at you which you managed to dodge by a hair. Wanda lunged at you and grabbed you by the throat, squeezing your airways shut. You gasped and coughed, gripping her wrist, your eyes wide and full of shock. You kicked her harshly and Wanda instinctively let go.

Wanda stumbled back and shouted at you, “You little bitch, get out of my way!”

You coughed into your arm, glaring at her. Once your throat hurt a little less you shouted back, your voice slightly hoarse “Fuck you! You’re the one acting like a bitch!”

Wanda scoffed “You sound like a petulant child.”

You rolled your eyes at that, annoyed by Wanda’s comments “I have no idea how I put up with you for half a decade.”

Wanda raised a brow “You never complained about me when we were together, so I must’ve been alright.” Wanda pushed you aside and began walking inside the temple.

You caught her wrist and tried to pull her back but it didn’t quite work how you wanted it to, instead she simply dragged you along with her. After a few seconds Wanda looked back at you in annoyance. “Wh- are you seriously not going to let go of me? You know I’m just going to keep dragging you with me.”

You shrugged and tightened your grip on her wrist, trying to plant your feet on the ground but they simply slid over the stones as she dragged you. You got irritated by how your efforts fell flat, so you opted for tackling her. The two of you fell together and Wanda shouted, looking up at you “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you held her down and Wanda was distraught by the sweet sound. It had been a long time since you laughed like that around her. Wanda swallowed thickly and tried to speak angrily, but sounded more nervous than anything, “Quit laughing! What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly at the situation. “This is all so stupid..”

Wanda’s jaw clenched and she quickly became angry again, mad that you had called it all stupid when she was struggling “I’m trying to get my sons back, how is that stupid?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, your laughter dying out. “I’m not saying that you losing your kids is stupid, I’m saying us fighting is stupid. I also think you’re stupid for believing this’ll work, for believing those boys would just accept you as their mother when they already have one. I mean seriously, you can’t truly believe that they’ll immediately love you, or ever love you for that matter. This won’t go your way.”

Wanda roughly pushed you off and stood up, glaring down at you “Stay out of my way. I don’t want to hurt you.” She began walking away but you used your powers to throw her back to the ground, walking over to her.

“You are not killing that innocent girl! You have no right! She’s just a child, she doesn’t deserve to die, or to go through any of this! Think of how terrified she is!” You yelled at her, angered by her lack of humanity and remorse.

“I need my boys, you don’t understand! You aren’t going to stop me!” Wanda sat up and yelled back, her eyes tearing up. She didn’t want to kill anyone, or hurt anyone.. she just needed her boys.

You stared down at her, wide eyed and in disbelief of how she was acting. “Wanda, you can still have a family in this universe!”

Wanda scoffed and stood up, stepping closer to you “And how on earth would I do that? I lost Vision, I lost my boys, I lost everything!”

Your heart ached when Wanda brought up Vision but not you. You were her first love, and apparently the least important. You ignored your own feelings and spoke, “There’s still someone out there in the world for you, somebody you can love and have a family with.”

Wanda shook her head, wiping away her tears away with a scoff. “I don’t want anybody else, I don’t want other children. I can’t just replace Vision and my boys.”

God, you wanted to strangle her for acting like this. You wanted to be understanding, but she was making it so much harder than it needed to be.

You snapped at her “I’m trying to help you find happiness somewhere in this universe instead of giving up on a life here and ruining a different version of yourself’s life, so quit acting like a fucking idiot!”

Wanda stared at you with widened eyes, surprised that you had actually gotten angry at her. You were usually not the type to get mad, but when you did it was always hard to ignore.

Wanda muttered “Calm down, there’s no need to get so-“

You cut her off by yelling at her “You’re so goddamn selfish! You are condescending, controlling, possessive, overly protective, you are so infuriating and yet here I am trying to help you all because I care about you, and I still love you, but I also fucking hate you at the same time!”

Wanda sputtered slightly, her eyes still wide. Her expression was a mix of concern and shock, concerned because you were so upset, and shocked by what you had just said. You still loved her after four years of being apart.

“Are you serious?” Wanda scoffed. It had been years, you had to be over her. She didn’t want you to keep loving her, especially not after what she had done both to you and other people. She wasn’t a good person and you were.

You scoffed back, mocking her “Yes, obviously, I’m being serious. Can you quit being such a dick now?”

Wanda hated that you were still in love with her, she wanted you to move on and she wanted to move on as well. No matter how much she loved Vision he couldn’t fill the hole in her heart from leaving you. She didn’t feel worthy of your love, or your help, not after what she did. How she left you so heartbroken and then she just went and got together with Vision. She felt horrible for what she had done to you back then, and she felt horrible for leaving you again now, knowing she should immediately go back to you and mend your broken relationship, she could experience happiness for the first time in months, but she wouldn’t.

Wanda thought for a moment and decided to just ignore the whole situation, turning away and continuing to walk. “I’m going to get my boys back.” she muttered.

You watched her with now tearful eyes, your jaw clenched and your breathing turning shaky. You were done trying to help her. You shouted after her, “I’m going to finish this whether you come out dead or alive, Wanda!”

Wanda’s heart hurt from your words, but she kept walking. She still felt great love for you, but she needed Tommy and Billy. She needed them more than she needed anything else, even you. You knew that, and watching her disappear into the temple made your heart squeeze in your chest, you knew you had lost her but you weren’t going to give up on saving America from Wanda.

I kinda wanna make a part two but I dont know, also I have three other WIPs I’m working on. 😓

#wlw #gxg #lesbian #wlw post #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x fem reader #wanda mcu #wanda x reader #mommy wanda #wanda marvel #wlw angst #wwandaslover

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ssa-dado · 1 day

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5 - Antithesis

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, slowest burn in history

Summary: The BAU tackles a complex case involving international victims and cryptic messages. Hotch’s growing insecurity intensifies as an agent returns from an undercover operation, revealing his close past with you. At the hotel, you and Hotch have a heated argument, exposing hidden vulnerabilities and unspoken boundaries between you two. Hotch struggles with his feelings of being just a replacement and questions his connection with you. Rossi confronts Hotch, encouraging him to be the partner you truly need.

Warnings: Usual CM case stuff, grooming (it feels to me, at least. To someone wouldn’t but idc), angst

Word Count: 6.1k

Dado's Corner: the dreaded chapter, I've been working on it for a week and still I'm not completely satisfied yet. I had to use another OC character, I'm sorry if you're bothered with that, but even if I hate him with all my heart he will be helpful in the future to narrate Y/N's backstory. If this broke your heart, synthesis might even more

previous part ; masterlist

Hotch’s gaze dropped, the weight of your accusations settling on him. “I thought that’s what was best,” he murmured, the admission almost painful. “I thought… I thought it was enough.”

●

It was yet another early morning at the BAU, and as usual, you walked into the office to find Hotch already at his desk, a cup of black coffee in hand, looking as composed and sharp as ever. No matter how early you tried to get in, Hotch always seemed to be one step ahead and especially today, you couldn’t help but comment on it.

“You know, Hotch, that’s 76 coffees you owe me now,” you said, dropping your bag on your chair and crossing your arms, pretending to be stern. “Maybe it’s time to rethink your strategy. You could try showing up late, just once. Shake things up.”

Hotch glanced up, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I could, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, I have to keep beating you just to remind you of your constant failure.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the side of his desk. “Wow, Hotch, who knew you were this petty? I bet you’d stay up all night just to make sure you’d beat me here.”

He chuckled softly, not denying it. “Well, someone has to keep you grounded. Can’t have you thinking you’re invincible, partner.”

In the past couple of months, the term “Partner” had become a running joke between you two. Whether by design or coincidence, Gideon and Rossi kept pairing you together on cases, and even when they didn’t, you’d find yourselves seeking each other’s opinions anyway – you were desk mates after all, it was impossible not to rely on each other’s expertise. Yet the nickname stuck, a testimony that had made working together more natural than either of you could have ever predicted.

Your familiarity with Hotch’s desk arrangement had grown, too. You knew his precise system of organizing case files, the way he stacked them according to urgency, but today, something was different. As you glanced at his desk, your brows furrowed in confusion: the stack of case files was unusually tall, casting an odd shadow that didn’t quite match its usual shape. It looked as if something bulky was hiding underneath.

“Hotch, what’s with the fortress of case files?” you asked, pointing at the strange shadow. “Are you hiding something under there?”

Hotch hesitated for a moment, as if he didn’t expect to be caught in the act. With a slight, amused shrug, he grabbed the files and lifted them off the hidden unknown object – or the unob - revealing a thick book on architecture history.

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “A World History of Architecture?! Didn’t take you for the type, I’m surprised.”

Hotch looked down at the book, his expression a mix of embarrassment and pride. “I picked it up after the Frank Lloyd Wright case,” he admitted, almost shyly. “That night we spent going over his designs at the library, I don’t know why but something about it stuck. I guess I wanted to know more. So I’ve been reading this during my ‘waiting for you to show up’ time.”

You smirked, leaning in to examine the book. “SSA Aaron Hotchner, secretly an architecture buff. Who would’ve thought? Next thing I know, you’ll leave the Bureau and go to architecture school, you would still owe me 76 coffees though.”

He scoffed playfully, closing the book and setting it aside. “I don’t think I’m quite ready to go that far. But it’s been... nice. You know - learning something just because I want to, not because I have to.”

You gave him a teasing nudge. “Hey, don’t underestimate yourself, partner - maybe one day you’ll be the next Frank Lloyd Wright of the FBI. Designing prisons, interrogation rooms, you name it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to profiling, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Just as you were about to tell him your kitchen needed some renovation – so he could start with something easy – an unexpected way-too-familiar voice interrupted from behind.

“Y/N!”

You turned around, and there was SSA Peter Rogers - one of your closest friends you ever had since you were fifteen - standing in the bullpen with his easy smile and that overly confident stance of his, just as you remembered him.

“Pete!” you exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you rushed to hug him, the familiar warmth on your body you missed so much made you hold on to him a little longer. “What are you doing back so soon? I thought you were still overseas.”

Peter shrugged with a modest grin. “Operation wrapped up early. Figured I’d come back and see what kind of trouble you’ve been causing around here.”. That smile of his had the ability not to change one bit since the first time you saw each other, causing you to travel six years back in time.

▪︎

It was the first day of your mother’s Italian Literature class at the university. You were just fifteen, juggling between high school and university courses, your hunger for knowledge insatiable as a shield from what was daily happening between the walls of your own house. You always sat in the front row, scribbling notes furiously, letting your brain disconnect from reality in order to lose yourself in the lyrical beauty of Leopardi’s poetry.

Peter had been sitting a few rows back, finishing his degree in linguistics. He’d noticed you immediately, you were quite easy to spot as you were visibly way too young to sit in that room – and if it wasn’t enough, you made sure to ask at least a question to the professor, at least once in the lesson, always being deeply engaged with the material. Hence why after that particular class, he approached you with curiosity.

“Hey, you’re not the typical student, are you?” Peter asked, leaning against the desk beside you. “You’re taking university classes while still in high school? That’s quite impressive.”

You looked up, a little taken aback by his easy confidence but not put off. “Yeah, I’m kind of…double-booked,” you replied with a shy smile. “I just really love literature. My mom’s a professor here, so she lets me sit in when I can.”

Peter nodded, intrigued. “I’m Peter, by the way. Linguistics major. So you must be some kind of prodigy, huh?”

You laughed. “No, not a prodigy. Just…curious. I love philosophy, languages, psychology, all of it.”

The two of you clicked instantly, and since that encounter both of you would always exchange notes, in order to make sure none of you ever lost a word said in the class. Peter became a sort of unofficial mentor, “Have you ever thought about profiling? It’s all about understanding people, their languages, their motives. With your skills, you’d be amazing at it.” He asked one day after class.

That was the very day you learnt what a profiler was.

▪︎

Peter greeted Hotch with the same familiarity. “Hotch! Good to see you again, man. I missed having my desk buddy around.”

Hotch stood up, shaking Peter’s hand with a polite but reserved smile. “Welcome back, Peter. I heard about the undercover operation. You handled it exceptionally well, no one expected for you to come back so soon.”

Peter shrugged, his usual modesty in place. “Thanks, Hotch. It was a tough one, but we got the job done.” He immediately turned his gaze towards you “Y/N, who knew you would have stolen my desk too”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, glancing at the two of you briefly. That “too” echoed in his mind, the sudden realization just hit that there was more history between you and Peter than he’d previously understood, founding himself feeling like an outsider.

Peter, ever observant, caught the flicker of something in Hotch’s expression. “So you know Y/N? She’s one hell of a smart cookie,” he said, looking between you and Hotch with a teasing smile.

You rolled your eyes playfully, brushing off the compliment. “Oh, please Pete let’s not start with this just yet”

Peter laughed, leaning closer to Hotch as if about to reveal a secret. “Did she ever tell you she can sing? Like, really sing. She’s incredible. I’ve heard her at a few college events back in the day.”

Hotch looked at you, surprised, taking in this new piece of your past. “No, she never mentioned that.

You felt your cheeks heat up, flustered by Peter’s unexpected praise – especially because you were both standing in your workplace. “That’s because it’s not important,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “Besides, Peter’s just exaggerating. I’ve only been in the field twice with Hotch anyway, so there’s not that much to tell, most of my work has been here at the office.”

▪︎

A year ago, you attended a conference at the FBI Academy, and Peter was there as a speaker, discussing linguistic analysis in criminal profiling. It was the first time you’d seen each other in years, and the connection was immediate, even stronger than your days together at the university.

‘’Y/N is that really you?! You’ve grown so much you’re making me feel kind of old” Little did you knew that you would spend the entire evening catching up, sharing stories of your separate journeys still having in common your mutual love for the complexities of language and behavior.

“You’re exactly where you’re meant to be,” Peter told you as the two of you sat at a table, away from the noise of the main event. “I knew it from the moment I met you. You’ve got the mind for this work.”

You’d been touched by his confidence in you, feeling like the teenage girl he’d mentored all over again. “Thanks, Pete. But you’ve always been the one pushing me forward, I don’t know if I’d have chosen this path without your nudging.”

Peter’s smile was genuine, warm. “You would’ve found your way, Y/N. You always do.”

▪︎

The more Hotch listened to the two of you catching up, the more he felt that gap, as if Peter was pulling you back into a shared history that he hadn’t been part of.

Peter grinned, nudging you playfully. “Always aiming for perfection, huh?

You tried to brush it off, cheeks warming under their combined scrutiny. “Oh, please. That was a long time ago.”

Peter shrugged, turning back to Hotch. “But she hasn’t changed. I can see it in your eyes, you know?! Same drive, same brilliance. So, how’s she been doing? What cases has she solved?”

Hotch took a moment, his expression unreadable as he considered Peter’s question. “She’s been doing great,” Hotch said finally, his voice measured. “We’ve worked on a few tough cases together, a few high-profile cases. She’s brilliant, as you know, we’ve had our hands full. But it’s good to have you back - we can always use the extra help”

Peter nodded, his enthusiasm palpable. “Looking forward to jumping back in”

Before anyone could say more, Rossi approached, cutting through the atmosphere with his usual flair. “Well, looks like we’ve got our team for the day. Gideon’s out, so Peter, you’re coming with us. We’ve got a complicated case ahead, and I’d rather have all hands-on deck, we might be in desperate be of two linguists on this one”

Peter’s eyes flicked to you, then to Hotch, his smile never wavering. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The team’s arrival at the police station was met with a wave of unease that hung heavy in the air. The case they were stepping into was far from simple. Multiple international tourists had been brutally murdered, each crime scene marked by cryptic messages in different languages. This was a killer who thrived on complexity, and with every new clue, the puzzle seemed to grow more intricate.

Rossi led the team inside with his usual calm authority, his eyes scanning the room with the practiced ease of someone who had seen too many crime scenes in his career. Peter and Hotch moved in tandem, flanking him on either side as they entered the station. The moment they stepped inside, the chaos enveloped them like a wave crashing on the shore.

The police station was a flurry of frantic movement and tension. Officers darted between desks, paperwork scattered in their wake, and phones rang incessantly, demanding attention that no one seemed able to fully give. The space, clearly not designed to handle the intensity of a high-profile investigation, felt claustrophobic and stifling, the walls closing in under the pressure of a case spiraling beyond control.

The air was thick, not just with the stress that permeated the station but with the unmistakable grit of dust being churned by the old, neglected air conditioning unit overhead, blowing more dirt than relief, only adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Everyone was on edge, their nerves stretched thin by the weight of a situation they were ill-equipped to handle. Rossi could almost taste the desperation in the room, a palpable sense of urgency that clung to every officer as they hustled to keep up with demands they were never trained to meet.

Rossi exchanged a knowing look with Hotch, both of them wordlessly acknowledging the uphill battle they were about to face - not just against the unsub but against the limitations of a team clearly overwhelmed.

The lead detective, a grizzled man with a permanent scowl, approached Rossi, barely acknowledging the rest of the team. “Agent Rossi, we appreciate the Bureau’s help, but I hope you realize this is a time-sensitive situation. We’ve got international press breathing down our necks, and the mayor’s about ready to pull his hair out.”

Rossi nodded calmly, his authoritative presence immediately establishing control. “We’re here to provide a profile and assist in any way we can. What can you tell us about the latest victim?”

The detective began briefing but his eyes kept darting towards you, flickering with something between doubt and annoyance. Finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m sorry, but are you sure you brought the right team? She looks like she should be at a college lecture, not a crime scene.”

The comment hit like a slap, and you felt the familiar burn of frustration flare up. You’d been here before, countless times, actually. You were used to your youthful appearance and academic background drawing skepticism, but that still didn’t make it any easier to swallow, especially in that particular case. Before you could respond, Peter jumped in, his voice carrying a mix of defense and pride.

“Detective, she’s not just some college student. Y/N’s one of the best linguists you’ll ever meet, and she’s cracked more complex cases than most agents twice her age. I’d trust her instincts over anyone else’s, any day.”

There was a quiet confidence in Peter’s words that seemed to force the detective to take a second look, though his skepticism remained stubbornly in place. Hotch, noticing the tension, stepped forward, his expression firm. “Agent Y/L/N’s skills are exactly what we need for this case. If anyone can figure out what the unsub is communicating, it’s her.”

The detective hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “Fine, but we don’t have time for trial and error. Every minute we waste is another chance for him to strike again.”

“We’re all already aware of this, Detective. I’m sure you know that making my work any more difficult than it already is isn’t going to benefit any of us.” You finally had the courage to bite back.

As you settled into the briefing room, you felt Peter’s hand gently squeeze your shoulder, a silent but reassuring gesture as he said, “Don’t let it get to you.” You glanced at him, grateful for his unwavering support, and gave a small, determined smile in return. You were here to do a job, and you weren’t going to let some old-school cop’s doubts throw you off your game.

Once inside, the team gathered around the evidence board, covered in photos, maps, and printed copies of the unsub’s cryptic messages. Hotch and Rossi started dissecting the behavioral aspects, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the linguistic patterns.

Peter set up next to you, and the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, just like old times. “This one’s in German,” Peter pointed out, highlighting one of the messages. “It’s a proverb that loosely translates to ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ but it’s the context that’s strange. He’s placing blame close to home.”

You nodded, your mind already racing through the implications. “And this one in French, ‘Nul n’est prophète en son pays’ - ‘No one is a prophet in their own land.’ He’s building a narrative where he’s the misunderstood hero, vilifying his victims in the process.”

Hotch watched from the corner of his eye, noting the seamless back-and-forth between you and Peter. It was clear that you two shared a deep understanding of each other’s thought processes, effortlessly piecing together the unsub’s motives and the cultural implications behind each message.

Rossi leaned over to Hotch, his voice low. “They’ve got something, don’t they?”

Hotch nodded, keeping his expression neutral even as a flicker of something uncomfortably familiar passed through him. “Yeah. They do.”

As you and Peter continued to dissect the messages, the detective returned with another dose of skepticism. “So, what’s the point of all this? We know he’s targeting tourists, but what’s the endgame?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his judgment holding yourself to punch him in the face, but Peter jumped in, his confidence never wavering. “The messages aren’t just random: they’re statements about identity, belonging, and betrayal. He’s targeting people who represent something he feels threatened by, probably linked to his own experiences.”

The detective was confused by the complexity of the message Peter was trying to communicate but at least he seemed less doubtful. Hotch and Rossi exchanged another look, Peter’s ability to not only support but elevate you was undeniable, and it left a lingering question in Hotch’s mind that he couldn’t quite shake, an unresolved history between you and Peter that was palpable to everyone in the room, even if no one dared to say it aloud. As the team continued to piece together the unsub’s twisted narrative, it became increasingly clear that the linguistic clues were the key to unlocking his motive.

“Here’s the first message,” Peter said, pointing at a wall covered in scrawled Italian text. “‘Chi semina vento, raccoglie tempesta.’ He’s quoting an old Italian proverb. It translates to ‘He who sows the wind shall reap the storm.’ Classic justification tactic. He’s blaming his victims for their own deaths.”

You nodded, running your fingers along the paper. “He’s using cultural proverbs to deflect responsibility. It’s not just about justifying his actions; he’s making a statement that he’s in the right, that the victims somehow deserved this.”

Peter smirked, recalling your sharpness from years ago. “You know, you’ve always had this annoying habit of being right. Remember that time back in your mom’s class? You corrected Professor Ricci about Dante’s theological influences.”

You laughed, half-embarrassed. “Oh, God, don’t remind me. I just couldn’t let it go.”

Peter turned to the others, Rossi didn't throw away his shot. "Remind us, Peter. I'm not going to let an opportunity like this slip from my fingers"

Peter jokingly cleared his throat. “Y/N stopped the guest professor right in the middle of the lecture and said,”

He made sure to pitch his tone up in order to mimic yours “While Dante’s work is often linked to the influence of Saint Augustine, we also need to remember that his beliefs were also shaped by the dominant philosophy of his time: Platonism, especially the Neoplatonists and Plotinus.’ The whole room was stunned, and Professor Ricci just stood there.”

Hotch couldn’t help but smile, picturing a younger version of you challenging a university professor with such confidence. Yet there was something more bubbling up in his blood, this was another glimpse into a part of your life he hadn’t seen, hadn’t known. It made him feel strangely out of the loop, like an outsider looking in.

Peter continued, still caught up in the memory. “You finished him when you also provided proof to support your thesis”

“Of course, how else was I supposed to-“

He immediately cut you off. “Early Christian thinkers adapted Greek philosophical ideas, particularly Plato’s concept of eternal forms from which the material world originated. This was quite convenient for the Christian theologians of that time, indeed this philosophical influence is evident in the biblical phrase - and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.' You had everyone in the room, including the professor, rethinking what they knew about Dante.”

You shrugged modestly, glancing at Hotch, who seemed both amused and thoughtful. “I wasn’t trying to show off. It just… bothered me that no one pointed it out – and because of that my mom forbid me to attend her class for two weeks straight. Pete, I’m still thankful for your notes.”

Hotch chuckled softly, meeting your eyes. “Some things never change.”

The team continued working for hours straight, but the frustration began to mount. Despite your and Peter’s best efforts, the linguistic puzzles refused to crack completely. The police officers were growing visibly impatient, and you could feel their skeptical glances as they hovered around the room.

One officer, who had been particularly dismissive, sneered as he walked by. “So, this is the genius team the FBI sent us? Still no answers?”

The comment hit harder than it should have, and for a moment, you felt the sting of self-doubt. Peter, noticing your silence, shot the officer a glare. “We’re not here to waste time, Detective. We’re here to solve this.”

Peter leaned closer to you, his hands grabbing your shoulders, speaking softly so only you could hear. “Don’t listen to them. We’ll get it, like we always do.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his words rather than the creeping sense of inadequacy. Hotch watched the exchange, noting the way Peter seemed to know exactly how to lift you up when you needed it most. He wanted to say something reassuring himself, but the moment passed, leaving him feeling strangely sidelined.

The hours dragged on, and eventually, the team left the station to get some rest. At the hotel, Rossi and Hotch were assigned to share a room, while you and Peter were given the one next door. As you walked down the hallway, Rossi turned to Hotch with a pointed look.

“You know, Aaron,” Rossi said with a grin, “if I catch you working tonight, we’re gonna have words. You need sleep just as much as the rest of us. I’m serious when I say I’m a light sleeper, so I swear, if you keep me up with that damned desk light, you’re a dead man.”

Hotch gave a tight-lipped smile, appreciating Rossi’s concern – even if he expressed it in his own unique way - although he knew he’d never be able to turn his mind off. “Don’t worry, Dave. I’ll try my best.”

On the other hand, in your room, you and Peter settled in, and immediately surrounded yourselves by case files and coffee cups. You tried to solely focus on the work, but as the night wore on, the conversation drifted, after all it had been over six months since you’d seen each other, and there was a lot to catch up on. Peter leaned back, studying you with an easy smile.

“You’ve changed, Y/N,” he said, his tone light but sincere. “You’re still that perfectionist who can’t let a puzzle go unsolved, but… there’s something different.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “I don’t know about that. I’m just… trying to keep up, I guess.”

Peter reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear in a gesture that was both familiar and affectionate. “You’ve always been better than just keeping up. Don’t forget that.”

You found yourself caught between the comfort of Peter’s presence and the tug of unresolved emotions that you hadn’t quite figured out.

“Let’s go to sleep, shall we? I think we’ve done enough work for today” He winked at you as he placed his hand on the small of your back guiding you towards the bed.

“Oh don’t worry, you should sleep though. I think I might go down the lobby to clear my head for a bit.” You lied to him, but you couldn’t ignore your gut feeling telling you that there was something else you hadn’t considered yet.

Similarly, just across the corridor, the case weighed heavily on Hotch’s mind, and despite Rossi’s threat, he knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d figured out what was missing. Hours passed with Hotch lying in the dark, the puzzle pieces of the case refusing to align, finally, at nearly two in the morning, he couldn’t take it any longer. Careful not to wake Rossi, he grabbed his files and slipped quietly out of the room, making his way to the lobby to continue working.

To his surprise, he found you there too, hunched over a table with notes sprawled out, lost in concentration. You looked up when you heard him approach, unable to hide your surprise.

“Partner,” you said with a grin, noting his rare appearance in his white t-shirt, checkered blue pants pajamas, with the slippers provided by the hotel at his feet. “I’ve got to admit, this is new. Did Rossi finally threaten you into losing the suit?”

Hotch smirked, taking the seat across from you. “He did, actually. But desperate times, right? I didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

You chuckled, enjoying the casualness of the moment despite the late hour. Hotch spread out his files, his brow furrowing as he glanced over them. “I think there’s something we’ve been missing, there’s a pattern in the language choices. It’s not random. He’s escalating with each message.”

You leaned closer, your fingers tracing the messages. “You’re right. It’s chronological. He’s building something: a timeline, like each phrase is a step toward his endgame. It’s not just blame; it’s justification.”

Hotch nodded, grateful for the way your mind seemed to work so fluidly alongside his, especially in the late hours of the night. But as you continued to dissect the sequence, Hotch’s thoughts drifted back to earlier, watching you and Peter work so seamlessly together. The old familiarity, the easy way you bounced ideas off each other, it had been hard to ignore. And now, in the quiet of the night every sensation was amplified, especially the ones he’s been trying to brush off for the entire day, they stung a little more than he wanted to admit.

The ease of the moment was shattered when Hotch suddenly broke the flow of your thoughts with a wry comment. “You know, I’m surprised you’re even here working. I figured you’d be busy... catching up with Peter. He’s been flirting with you nonstop since he came back.”

You froze, your jaw tightening as his words sank in. The casual, almost careless tone hit a nerve, and you could feel a flicker of anger flare up inside you. “What’s that supposed to mean, Hotch?”

Hotch leaned back, crossing his arms, trying to mask the hint of frustration that was seeping through. “Nothing. Just an observation. It’s not like you haven’t been a little distracted since he got back.”

You stared at him, incredulous. The casual arrogance in his words struck a nerve, and before you could stop yourself, the frustration that had been building all day came spilling out. “You really think you know everything about me, don’t you? Just because we work together, you think you’ve got me all figured out.”

Hotch’s expression tightened, caught off guard by the sudden burst of anger. “That’s not—”

“No, let me finish,” you said sharply, your voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “You don’t know me, Hotch. You have no idea what I’ve been through or what I’m dealing with. You’ve worked beside me for months, calling me partner, acting like you’ve got me all figured out, but you don’t. You don’t know the first thing about who I am or what’s going on beneath the surface.”

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but the sting of your words left him speechless. You were relentless, every word cutting through his composure. “You think just because we’ve been working together constantly, you’re entitled to know me? To judge me? But you know what, Hotch? You’re wrong. You don’t know a damn thing.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched, the carefully maintained façade he wore slipping for just a moment. “I’m not judging you,” he said, his voice low but strained. “I’m just trying to figure this out, okay?”

“Figure what out?” you shot back, your frustration boiling over. “The fact that you’ve been constantly analyzing everyone around you while keeping yourself locked away? You think that you’re the only one capable of reading people like an open book? You act like you’re open and honest, but you’re not. You insist on wanting to be called ‘Hotch’ on the job by everyone, and you think I wouldn’t catch onto that? You do that because ‘Aaron’ is too personal and ‘Hotchner’ is too formal. You straddle the line because you’re scared to be either. You’re terrified of being too close to anyone, yet you don’t want to seem too distant. It’s like you don’t even know who you are.”

Hotch stared at you, your words hitting deeper than you knew. You had seen right through him, through the carefully constructed barriers he put up to keep everyone at a manageable distance. He didn’t know how to respond because, for once, someone had called him out on the one thing he feared the most: his own inability to truly connect.

“I keep things professional because it’s easier,” Hotch admitted, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of vulnerability. “Because it’s safe.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Safe? You call this safe? You’re so busy keeping people out that you don’t even realize how much you’re missing. We’ve been partners at work, sure, but that’s all it’s ever been, right? Professional, compartmentalized, no mess, no feelings. That’s how you want it.”

Hotch’s gaze dropped, the weight of your accusations settling on him. “I thought that’s what was best,” he murmured, the admission almost painful. “I thought… I thought it was enough.”

You sighed, your anger waning but the hurt still fresh. “You don’t have to figure out anything, you said that yourself – I thought - It’s not enough for you Hotch, and not even for me.”

There was a long, heavy silence between you, both of you staring at the scattered papers on the table, as if the answers you sought could be found in the scrawled handwriting and cryptic messages. But this wasn’t something that could be solved with profiling or deduction. It was messier, more personal, and neither of you were sure how to navigate it.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “For making you feel like you’re just another piece of the job.”

You nodded, the tension easing but not entirely gone. “I appreciate your apologies but if you really want to change things up all you have to do is to agree to be vulnerable with me, that’s all.”

You turned your attention back to the case, pushing through the lingering discomfort to focus on what you could control. You worked in silence, each of you lost in thought, both aware that this argument had pulled something to the surface that couldn’t be ignored.

By the time you finally cracked the pattern in the unsub’s messages, the sun was beginning to rise.

As Hotch made his way back to the room at nearly 4 a.m., he was trying to be as quiet as possible, mindful not to wake Rossi. But as he slipped inside, he was met with the sight of Rossi already awake, leaning against the edge of his bed, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of amusement and disapproval.

“Couldn’t resist, could you?” Rossi’s voice was low but carried a playful edge, tinged with the knowing tone of someone who had seen this behavior from Hotch too many times before.

Hotch tried to hide his fatigue, rubbing a hand over his face as he set the files down on the desk. “It was important. I found something we missed. Had to double-check.”

Rossi’s smirk didn’t waver. “You found something, huh? Or did you just need an excuse to get out of this room and clear your head?”

Hotch stiffened, but he knew there was no point in denying it. “We figured out the sequence, the messages weren’t just random. They were chronological, like a timeline leading to his next target. We were close, but we couldn’t afford to miss it.”

Rossi nodded, his expression softening just a little. He knew Hotch was right; they were on a tight timeline with no room for errors. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing his friend. “You could have figured that out in the morning, Aaron. You can’t solve every problem by burning the candle at both ends.”

Hotch sat down on his bed, glancing at the clock, Rossi’s words lingered, cutting through the tension Hotch had been carrying all day. “I know. But you said it yourself—we can’t miss anything.

Rossi studied Hotch for a moment, his voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. “You’ve been different since Peter came back,” Rossi said, watching Hotch’s reaction closely. “It’s like you’re working twice as hard, pushing yourself even more than usual. What’s going on?”

Hotch’s expression tightened, his usual stoic demeanor wavering under Rossi’s probing gaze. He knew exactly Rossi could read from his face what had just happened between the two of you. “I just… wanted to make sure we didn’t miss anything,” he repeated, his tone defensive.

Rossi wasn’t buying it. He moved closer, sitting on the edge of his own bed, facing Hotch directly. “You’re not fooling me, Aaron. I’ve seen this before. You’re not just worried about the case. This is about Y/N, isn’t it?”

Hotch looked away, pretending to be preoccupied with the files on his lap. But Rossi’s words hit too close to home, and he couldn’t ignore the knot of emotions that had been building inside him since Peter’s return. “It’s not what you think,” Hotch said quietly, though even to him, it sounded unconvincing.

Rossi leaned back, giving Hotch a knowing look. “Look, it’s natural. You and Y/N have been working closely, you’ve got this rhythm. Peter comes back, and suddenly you’re reminded that you’re not the only one who clicks with her. But it’s not a competition, Aaron. You’re more to this team, and I’m sure you are to her as well, than a stand-in.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. He had spent the last few months building a partnership with you, appreciating your insights and the way you challenged him. But Peter’s return had stirred up insecurities he hadn’t even realized he had.

“It’s not that,” Hotch said finally, though the weight in his voice suggested otherwise. “I just want to make sure we get this right. Peter’s good at what he does. It’s just… different.”

Rossi gave him a pointed look. “Different isn’t bad, Hotch. And you’re still you. You don’t have to prove anything: to her, to Peter, or to anyone else.”

Hotch nodded, though Rossi’s words did little to ease the knot in his chest. “Thanks, Dave. I know.”

Rossi watched him for another moment before standing up, his tone lightening as he made his way back to his bed. “Just remember, she was never looking for a replacement for him while he was gone. She’s looking for a partner. And you’ve already proven you can be that.”

Hotch lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Rossi’s words echoed in his mind, he knew he needed to get some sleep, but his thoughts were restless. It wasn’t just about the case anymore, it was about finding his place, about understanding what you truly meant to him beyond the walls of the BAU. As he finally drifted off, he promised himself that whatever happened next, he wouldn’t let his insecurities cloud his judgment. He’d be the partner you needed, and maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way to fit into your life outside of work, too. If you ever let him after today.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds x reader

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poisonlove · 2 days

Text

Break up | j.o

Pairing: Jenna Ortega X reader

It was a cold and foggy day in Romania, the gray sky seemingly merging perfectly with the gloomy and surreal atmosphere surrounding the set of Wednesday, Tim Burton's new project. I was walking down the corridor leading to the lounge, nervously clutching my jacket around me. The damp and biting air seemed to penetrate to the bone, but the tension inside me was even more oppressive. It had been three months since I last saw Jenna. Between my commitment to a horror film set in Los Angeles and Jenna’s long days of filming, our lives had intertwined in a chaos of distance and frenzy. That’s why I had decided to surprise my girlfriend.

"Hey." I nervously smiled at Emma, while her blue eyes sparkled with amusement, noticing my agitation.

"Jenna’s in there," she said with a smirk, pointing me toward the direction that would lead me to my girlfriend.

I nodded in understanding and made my way to the door that led to the lounge. The room was large but relatively quiet: a coffee machine in one corner of the room, a table, chairs, and a sofa at the other end. A few staff members were bustling around with cameras and props, my eyes searching for the one I loved and admired so much.

There she was.

Jenna was sitting on the sofa, her usual headphones around her ears, allowing her to isolate herself from the world while flipping through what looked like a script. I approached her, my heart pounding, and positioned myself in front of her. Her brown eyes slowly scanned my figure, so slowly that I could feel my heartbeat increase by the second. When her eyes met mine, I sighed and gave a spontaneous smile.

"Hi," I said with a small smile on my lips.

Jenna took off her headphones and left them around her neck.

She blinked in surprise. "I wasn’t expecting this," she murmured timidly, making me frown in confusion.

She got up from the sofa and gave me a quick hug, but it felt so strange and forced. "Is everything okay?" I asked nervously, a strange feeling creeping into my gut.

Jenna took a step back and looked at me without blinking, a small smile on her lips. "Yes... I’m just tired," she replied, her gaze drifting off into space. "This project is draining me."

I nodded, trying to smile in a way that would ease the tension. "I understand, maybe we can spend some time together afterward... you know, watch a movie or something."

"I don’t know, I have a cello lesson," she said calmly, her tired eyes meeting mine. Huge dark circles underlined the sleepless nights she had been through.

"Dinner, maybe?" I asked hopefully.

Jenna nodded timidly, but there was no enthusiasm on her face, only acknowledgment. I placed my hands on her waist and leaned in to capture her lips with mine. The kiss was mechanical. Her lips, once soft and warm, were now cold and distant.

Something was wrong.

"Jenna, can we talk?" I asked in concern. Something was off, and I needed answers.

She sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall, frowning. "Break’s almost over, I have to get back to the set."

Frustration started to build.

"It won’t take long, I promise," I insisted. I felt my voice tremble, but I couldn’t let this slip away without an explanation.

I took Jenna’s hand and led her toward the exit of the lounge. The biting cold hit my face immediately, making me feel the chill down to my bones. Jenna wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shield herself from the icy wind as her eyes watched me with a mix of anticipation and frustration. She quickly glanced around, almost cautiously, making sure no one was nearby before turning her attention back to me.

"What’s going on, Jenna?" My voice was a whisper, my fear too evident. I couldn’t ignore this distance between us.

She looked at me for a long moment, her expression impassive as if she were trying to find the right words. Finally, she sighed loudly. "Nothing, I’m just tired from work."

"Jenna..." I started, immediately picking up on her lie.

"Really, it’s nothing," she said with a smile.

"It’s not true," I insisted, the anger of being deceived taking over. "I know you, Jenna. Please, tell me what’s going on," I pleaded with a small voice, fear growing in my chest.

A tense silence settled between us, and my nervousness grew with each passing second. Jenna lowered her gaze, then raised it again with a look full of unease, as if a secret torment was consuming her. "I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what I want... We... we’ve been moving too fast," she finally admitted, her voice faltering with hesitation.

The realization hit me.

"What? Are you trying to say that..." I started, tears threatening to spill at any moment. No, it couldn’t be true. All the months spent together, the video calls, the kisses... Everything made sense.

Jenna looked at me with guilt.

"I..." she began, tears welling up in her eyes. Her lower lip trembled, and the awareness of what was about to happen hit me like a punch to the stomach.

"I’m exhausted, y/n," she admitted.

I quickly shook my head, unable to accept her words. "We can make it, Jenna. We can do it together," I suggested nervously, unwilling to give up so easily.

Jenna shook her head, making me feel an intense pain in my chest. "No, y/n. The distance, the work, all of this is hurting me," she confessed.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"It’s over between us," she murmured.

The world collapsed around me. There was nothing left to do; Jenna had already made her decision. I looked at her in pain, tears running down my cheeks as she gazed at me with sadness, the pain visible on her face.

"I’m sorry..." she added in a broken voice.

I bit my lower lip, trying to stifle a sob, and bowed my head, hiding my emotions. My heart was shattered, and a feeling of emptiness dominated my stomach. It was over. I turned my back and walked away from the set, the awareness that Jenna had left me dominating my thoughts.

Don’t turn back. Don’t turn back. Don’t go to her to try to change her mind. Don’t look into her eyes.

Don’t do anything.

Just move forward, even though the world had fallen apart.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday x you #wednesday fanfic #break up #cry #jenna x reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega imagine #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #miércoles addams

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beneaththebirches · 18 hours

Text

Seafoam Green

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

Summary: Rafe and the reader meet at Midsummer and continue their most recent naughty shenanigans.

A/n: Just a reminder this is a repost from my original account @sublimecatgalaxy! Love you all!

Midsummer is the same every year.

Loud music, drunk adults, bored teenagers wandering around, stealing sips of parents drink when they're not looking, too enthralled in conversations of wealth and status with others.

The whole night is just a fun excuse to get dressed up and pretty, an excuse to make people look at you with wide, intrigued eyes- it's like the one night of the year where girls can be princesses without strange looks. Pretty but dainty diamond tiara's, flowing dresses, a sneak peak underneath for those you end up going home with.

My dress is green, his favorite color, a dash of silver and green on my eyelids, sparkling under the twinkling lights just enough to get the attention of who I want.

It's been all night and he's yet to notice me from across the room but I've noticed him; black suit, a pale green shirt underneath, his hair swooped to the side in a calculated way and it makes me feel drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

When he notices me, he looks around- almost to see if anyone's watching- before he approaches me with a kind smile, eyes dipping down the front of my dress, giving me a once over as his cheeks blush an auburn red.

"You look stunning." He smiles, holding his hand out to me which I gladly take, slipping my hand into his as he leads me away from the bar and to the wooden floor where, mostly, the older people dance. He pulls me flush against him with a grin, hand slipping down my exposed back and I instinctually wrap my arms around his neck, securing myself to him.

"You look good too, Rafe." I soothe my hands down the front of his suit and he grins, hands gripping my waist as we wander slowly throughout the dance floor, skilled and untouched by the laughing couples around us. Like it's only us.

"We matched." He smiles, pinching the fabric of my dress as I give him a simple knowing nod, shoulders shrugging.

"I'm smarter than you think I am." He grins wickedly at the confident smirk that I give him and he bends me back over his arm, dipping me skillfully without wobbling in the slightest.

"You're more beautiful that you think you are." His eyes seem to be fixated on the ways that my lips spread out into a bashful smile, tongue sweeping out to wet my lips as I lift myself to his ear, whispering quietly so only he can hear me.

"I just thought you would like to know that I’m not wearing any underwear right now." His body turns to stone against mine, hands stalling momentarily from the sweet circles he was drawing into my skin with his thumbs and I feel a rush of confidence wash over me as I lower myself back down to my heels. "Do what you must with this information."

"Come with me." He says without another word, gripping my hand and dragging me past both of our parents and into the building. I can already see the bathroom in view and know what this means, nervous butterflies swarming in my stomach at the thought of feeling him. "I want you to bad." He mutters, shoving the door open with a bang and locking the door after giving the bathroom a once over as we finally find ourselves alone. "Sit down." He orders and my brows furrow, not sure why I would have to be sitting down for him to fu-

"What're you-" I start but he forces me down into the seat without looking up into my eyes, his whole body lowering in front of me so he can kneel on the ground between my thighs, hands already working on pushing up the fabric of my dress as it dawns on me what he wants. He's never done this for me before.

"Bend your legs, sweetheart." He pats my thighs gently and I do what he says, not in the mood to argue and give him any push back when he's look up at me like that, eyes full of excited lust as he whispers against the sensitive skin of my thighs. "Fuck, you're so beautiful."

#rafe cameron #rafe #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #obx #obx x reader #obx fic

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dragoncopper · 2 days

Text

The Apparition - Continued.

A/N: Please read The Apparition first, if you haven’t already, or this won’t really make sense.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x female Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5475

Warnings: Major character death, crying, sadness, suicide, smut, fluff

Link to The Apparition

Read the whole thing on A03 here.

You

The diagnosis was unexpected.

You sat in the doctor’s office while she was telling you about it, and you felt shaky and like your breath was not reaching your lungs and that you were kind of floating near your body, but not inhabiting it. You heard what she was saying, and yet it was not sinking in.

You felt nervous and afraid. You did not know how you were supposed to feel. How you were supposed to process the information? How were you going to explain it to him?

Driving back home you took it slow, no music. You needed the silence to be able to not feel overwhelmed and overstimulated. You dreaded seeing his face now. His reaction scared you more than any of the realities of the situation ever could. You wanted to protect him from this more than you wanted to save yourself.

You were sitting on the couch staring off into the distance for a while, you don’t really know how long, before you felt him appear. He smiled at you and came closer and soon he realised that you were not yourself and he sat down next to you. You felt the familiar dip next to you.

‘What happened?’ he asked his voice immediately worried.

You were quiet trying to decide which words to use. He placed his large hand on your lower back in a gesture of comfort and you felt the heat of it through your shirt.

‘I am… I have cancer,’ you say, your voice flat, but you needed it all out as quickly as possible. ‘It already started spreading. I…,’

‘You just had some neck pain,’ he whispers after being quiet for very long.

‘Yeah,’ you nod. ‘It’s in my spine.’

‘How,’ he started a sentence he did not know how to finish. ‘It doesn’t….’

‘I’m sorry,’ you say to him.

‘What? Why are you sorry?’ he asked with the deepest frown on his face.

‘I know this is going to hurt you more than it’s going to hurt me,’ you say. Looking in his eyes the emotion hits you finally.

He shakes his head and leans in to you and holds you. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he whispers. ‘What do we do? How do we fix this?’

‘There’s not much to be done. It has already spread all over,’ you reply into his shoulder.

‘But surely, they gave you some advice? Some options?’

‘I can try chemotherapy. It can slow the spread. Maybe give me more time, but by the sounds of things there is no fixing this anymore,’ you explain.

‘But you didn’t have symptoms,’ he is trying to make sense. ‘How, I don’t understand.’

‘I don’t either, Noah. I am so sorry.’

‘Stop apologizing,’ he says. He holds you quietly. After a while you feel his breathing start to pick up and you feel it begin to shake, and hitch. You hold him back tighter and for the first time since you have gotten the news, you feel the tears prick at your own eyes.

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ you say your voice small.

‘Baby,’ his voice cracking. ‘I don’t want you to hurt.’

Noah

It took me some time to convince her to do the chemotherapy. She didn’t want to, arguing that it was pointless. I argued that it gave her some more time. Gave her more opportunities to do things and live. I am sure that she is doing it purely for me. But I feel we have to try.

So, we are in the car where Nick is driving her to the hospital.

We moved a few years ago. She made the amazing and selfless decision to move closer to Nick for my sake. That way I could have my two people near me. The move felt like a new beginning for us, we picked a new flat together and moved in and I had an input, and for a while we could both imagine that we were just a normal couple moving in together.

While our lives have so many strange things about it, we were so normal and everyday that I often forgot the fact that I was dead. She loved me so fully and completely despite the fact that I couldn’t be real for her. We were happy and delusional and had started to live in our own little world where everything was what we wanted. This news cracked open that illusion. Reality caught up with us.

‘You say you have snacks and something to drink?’ Nick asked ad he pulled into the parking area of the hospital.

‘Yes, Noah packed me a whole little goody bag,’ she answered him.

‘I will be here to pick you up,’ he says with small, reassuring smile. ‘You sure you don’t want me to come?’

‘Noah is with me,’ she says. That’s all the explanation she needed to give.

‘I got it,’ I say to Nick. ‘Thank you, brother.’

‘Good luck,’ Nick said somberly.

She grips my hand to the point of pain as we walk inside. They take her to a chair with so much shit set up around it. I stand back and watch as they connect her to all the medical equipment. Then they slide the thick needle into her arm where the chemicals that is supposed to help her live longer will enter her body. She doesn’t flinch. She watches as it slides into her skin and they place a bandage over to keep it in place. The people at the hospital were being so nice and sweet and told her to not hesitate to call them if she needed anything. But my sweet girl seemed numb, she nodded along but her eyes were empty. That upset me so deeply.

When we are alone, I approach and cup her cheek. ‘You okay?’ I whisper.

She nods. ‘I think so,’ she gives me a small smile. It’s barely there.

We have to be discreet. She cannot have a full-blown conversation with a ghost in the hospital. So, she has a book to keep her entertained. I sit down in front of her on the floor, she hooks one leg over my shoulder and I roll up her pant leg, and I start massaging her calf and ankles and feet. She touches my hair every now and then, hugs me with her leg by squeezing me closer to her. Later we swop her legs. She falls asleep at some point.

Six hours later, Nick is waiting, smoking a cigarette by his car. He seemed anxious. Relief flooded his face when he sees us. She seemed okay at this time, but I know we are in for a rough night.

‘How was it?’ Nick asked.

‘It was great,’ she answered sarcastically.

‘Sorry, that was a stupid question,’ he scrunches his face.

‘No, I’m sorry. It was okay. It’s just really long, that was the most annoying bit,’ she slips into the car and leans back into the seat.

Nick squeezed my shoulder. ‘And you?’

I nod in determination. ‘She took it like a champ.’

‘How did you take it?’ he asked.

‘It broke my heart,’ I admit quietly.

You

‘Hey, Noah,’ you call to him.

‘Baby?’ he answers.

‘I need your help please,’ you approach him and he looks at you warily. You take out the clippers from behind your back. ‘It’s time.’

You can see the moment he realizes and you see the pain in his eyes. He gets up without a word and walks closer to you and takes the clippers from your hand and then kisses you solidly on the lips. ‘It’s not that bad yet,’ he says softly.

‘No, but a few clumps came loose in the shower and I just cannot handle it. I need it to be over with,’ you explain.

‘Okay,’ he nods and takes your hand and he starts for the bathroom.

‘No, can you do it in the kitchen? I don’t want to see it in the mirror,’ you say and you feel shy about admitting that.

‘Whatever you want,’ he smiles. When you’re in the kitchen he drags a chair closer. You sit down and take a deep breath. ‘You have a hair tie?’

‘Yeah,’ you dig the one you had out of your pocket. ‘Why?’

‘So can keep the hair I cut together,’ he says and he gently and with so much care gathers your hair together and ties it at the back of your head.

‘I thought I would feel sadder about this,’ you admit something to him again.

‘It’s just hair,’ he says simply. ‘You ready?’

‘Mmm,’ and you feel him cut the hair with a scissor, you feel the weight of the hair disappear. It takes him a moment before he holds the ponytail out to you. You take it and hold it, run your fingers through it. He leans over your shoulder and kisses your neck affectionately.

‘Let me know when I should continue,’ he whispers.

‘Now, please.’ You say, beginning to feel very anxious. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

You hear the harsh sound of the clippers being turned on and then he starts running it over your head. Whisps of hair fall down your back, over your shoulders, past your face and you hold your breath to not get any of it in your mouth. It also helps to keep the tears back. He takes his time; you feel him go over some spots to make sure its even. When he switches the clippers off, the silence is deafening.

He runs his hand over your scalp. ‘All done,’ he says.

‘How does it look?’ you ask, brushing across your body to get the hair off you.

‘It looks like you,’ you hear his voice is thick. Both of you keep quiet for a moment, both trying to keep composure for the other one. You busy yourselves with gathering the hair on the floor together and picking it up, using a dustpan to get the finer hairs. When it’s all clean, he grabs your hand and pulls you to him and he wraps his arms around you. With your face buried in his chest, you feel safe and like it will all be okay. His tall frame is concave so he can hold you with as much of his body as he can.

‘Let’s go look,’ you say after a while and you drag him to the bathroom. Even though you knew what you were going to see it shocks you. ‘Jesus,’ you say immediately touching where your hair used to be.

He is behind you nervously.

‘I don’t hate it,’ you say after a while with a smile. ‘It looks bad ass.’

He smiles with relief. ‘It does,’ he agrees. He steps closer and also touches your head. ‘You are the most beautiful human,’ he kisses your bald head a few times and then buries his face in your neck. You feel the wetness of his kisses and tears and pretend not to notice.

You turn in his embrace and kiss his amazing lips. God you will miss these lips. You make the first move and slide your hands under his shirt and lift it up until he lets go for a moment to lift his arms so you can pull the shirt off. You press yourself against his bare chest, immediately back to kissing him again. He leads the way to the bed without losing contact with each other.

He lays you down and starts by climbing over you. He kisses your stomach where the sliver of skin shows and moves your shirt up with his nose and he kisses every inch he can find. He slides the shirt off with practiced ease and then kisses your chest, between your breasts and removes the bra you had on. He lavishes attention on you with kisses and gentle bites.

You grab his head and bring his mouth to yours and then you change your positions, so that he is on his back. You undo his button, move the zipper down and then shimmy his trousers and boxers down at the same time. All the way down, you nearly fall off the bed to get his long legs free. He laughs for a moment. ‘Do you want me to take your socks off?’ you ask.

‘No, it’s okay. The pants were almost too much,’ he jokes.

You huff a laugh, ‘It’s not my fault your legs are that long. Scoot up, please. You are too tall.’

He moves up against the pillows, and lays diagonally across the bed. This was really the only way his frame fits on the bed. You have even taken to sleeping next to the each other stretched diagonally across the bed. You settle down between his legs that he spreads for you.

He was already halfway to being hard. Before you touch him at all, you just look for a moment. You have been feeling the strong need to memorize some things. You find yourself staring at all kinds of things about life thinking that you must file it away. But mostly it happened with Noah, who was worth remembering the most. Every single inch of his being was being recorded in your mind. His cock was slowly standing up, his balls contracting every now and again. He was pale just like the rest of his body, his head slightly darker. When he flexes again, you wrap your hand around him at the base where your hand almost rests on his balls. You hear him let out a sigh. You lick at his frenulum and he immediately bucks his hips.

‘Sorry,’ he breathes out. ‘I’ll keep still.’

‘It’s okay, baby.’ You lick again, pushing your tongue against him, before taking the head into your mouth. You stay there for a while, until he was fully hard in your hand. You start to take more of him in your mouth. You go slow, going slightly lower.

‘Oh fuck,’ he breathes repeatedly. ‘Baby.’ He is struggling to keep his hips down on the bed and it gives you a thrill to see the impact you can have on him. Even now.

‘Keep still for me, for a moment,’ you say, looking him in the eye. He nods. You sink down on him as far as you can go.

‘Fffffff, I……. B…baby.’

You smile. You love it when he couldn’t get a word out. You keep at him, following the thick veins with your tongue, paying a lot of attention to his glans. You lose yourself in your task. You memorize the weight of him on your tongue, the slightly salty taste of his skin. How his skin is so impossibly soft. How he reacts to your actions. How you feel his balls clench every now and then.

Before Noah, you never understood why women would willingly do this. Now you felt privileged to get to taste him and see him be so vulnerable with you.

Eventually he stops you, and sits up to kiss you. Your jaw hurts a little, but you kiss him back. ‘Goddammit, I love you,’ he says into your mouth. ‘Please take off your pants.’

You lay back to wrestle your pants off, he grabs the ends by your ankles and yanks. ‘Lay back, like you were,’ you tell him. He complies quickly and without argument.

You straddle his hips, and he moves the pillows so he is sitting up. With you in his lap, you were closer to a similar height. Your faces close to each other’s. He grabs himself and guides himself to your entrance and then you lower yourself onto him. ‘I love you,’ you breathe out. You take it slow and just grind into his hips. His hands moving all over your body, even lovingly over your head. You breathe each other’s breath, skin to skin, whispering words of love into the other’s mouth, throat, ear.

After you both come, you fall forward onto him and he holds you. He pulls the blankets over you both and you lay there like this is where you want to be for eternity – him still inside. ‘I will always love you,’ you try to explain to him what has been battling through your mind. ‘Nothing is going to stop me.’

He hugs you tighter. ‘Death has already tried, my love. It has no power over us.’

Noah

Nick drops us off after the final chemo session with bags of food and drinks and I hug the man before he leaves. ‘I cannot thank you enough,’ I say gripping onto his jacket.

‘My guy,’ he says. ‘I wish I could have done more. I am so sorry for you both.’

‘You have done so much for us,’ I say pulling back.

‘Let me know if you need anything else,’ he smiles sadly.

Inside, she is eating food straight from the container. I leave her, and go the bathroom, where I unroll the old sponge mattress and put a sheet over it, bring blankets and pillows. I make sure there’s tissue, ice water a washcloth. Then I join her for dinner and I have nice time. She is making jokes and smiling at me.

We shower together, we wash each other’s backs and I can tell she is trying to enjoy feeling human before the side effects hit.

We sleep together on the tiny mattress, I keep holding her because she is cold. She is always cold after. We fall asleep peacefully. But soon, I am woken by her ripping herself from my arms and she leans over the toilet on her knees and she throws up all her dinner. It comes in waves, I kneel behind her and rub her back, keeping my body close to hers for heat. She starts sweating, but her skin is ice cold. I feel all the muscles in her back contract as she keeps vomiting. She is shivering. Eventually she sits back and I wipe her mouth with the wash cloth. She blows her nose and takes a few sips of water. I open my arms and she climbs into me as close as she can get. I lay us down and cover her with the blankets.

‘I am not doing it again,’ she says. I thought she had fallen asleep. I keep quiet. I know what she is saying. I suspected this was coming. ‘I’m sorry, but I just can’t.’

‘It’s okay, love.’ I rub my hand along her arm to warm her up. ‘I understand.’

‘I would rather just enjoy what I have left,’ she whispers.

I start crying, but I try to hide it from her. But she knows. She grabs my hand, and weave our fingers together. ‘I’m sorry, Noah.’

‘Don’t be,’ I sob.

‘You know,’ she sighs. ‘The part that scares me? I don’t want to leave you. I am not scared of anything else. Everything else is nothing. I am terrified of not being with you.’

This makes me cry even harder. I am shaking by the time I get a reply out. ‘I am scared of a lot of things.’

‘Like what?’

‘This. Watching you suffer is tearing me apart. I am scared of you being in pain. But, yeah. I don’t know what will happen when…’ I cannot say it.

‘When I die,’ she finishes for me.

I nod.

‘Well, if my soul lives on,’ she says. ‘What if I don’t remember you? You know how you couldn’t remember anything.’

My heart clenches in pain. ‘I will remember for us. I will remind you of everything you need to know.’

‘I am trying to commit things to my memory. Trying to burn it into my being, so that I will remember.’

‘Things like what?’ I ask, curious.

‘Mostly you,’ she answers. ‘Running my fingers through your hair, how soft your lips are. How cold your feet are in bed. How your hand makes mine look ridiculously small when our fingers are together like this. Your kindness, and your laugh and how utterly loved and safe I feel in your arms.’

I ugly cry into the skin of her bald head and squeeze our fingers together and pull her body even closer to mine. I feel her start to hiccup too. She reaches back with her free hand and cups my head. ‘I will find you, love. I found you once, I can find you again. Just look out for me, I’ll be there.’

When we calm down, we make up scenarios of what our souls will do together. She is exhausted, but she keeps going. We fall asleep with wishes hanging on our tongues.

You

After all the bad side effects of the chemo were gone, I started feeling normal again. My hair was growing back out, I gained a little of the weight I had lost to all the vomiting back and my body felt like mine gain. It was a dangerous thing. I could so easily fool myself that everything was fine.

I decided to fill my days with as many good things as possible. Which meant spending time with Noah. For months we made a point to just do all the things we wanted.

We have game nights with Nick, where we would play video games or board games, order loads of food, listen to music and waste hours and hours laughing and having fun. It was so good to see the two friends together. To see the friendship they had after all the years. To see a different side of Noah when the two of them were heated in their discussions or arguments about game rules. I memorized the carefree way he plays. The freedom is his reactions.

You go on road trips together often. You pick famous places you’ve never been and also pick obscure spots to go see if there’s anything worth seeing. Noah always packs bags of travel accessories, he has gotten very good at it. He remembers all your medicine, your favorite sweets, drinks, tissues and extra jackets for when it gets cold. He knows how you will react better than you do yourself. He knows what you will need. While driving, you guys play the same games you started on the trip to see Nick for the first time. You hold hands while walking around. You cuddle and watch countless sunsets from the hood of the car. Each trip was immeasurably special – not because of where you went, but because of the opportunities you had to burn memories into your soul.

You spend hours cooking together in the kitchen, picking things you have both wanted to try. This does not always end in success. But it does end with dances in the kitchen, or kisses in the kitchen, laughing in the kitchen. It ends with meals enjoyed together, feeding each other, cleaning up together. Memories.

Lazy days laying about, reading books or watching movies – as long as the two of you were tangled up in some way, it didn’t really matter. During this time, you learned by accident that he gets full body chills when you play with his ears. You realised he falls asleep within minutes if you run your fingers through his hair. You craved the feeling of his weight on you – his head resting on your stomach, his legs thrown over yours, his whole body on you with his lips against your neck. You paid attention to all the details.

You and Noah had a lot of sex. You both always took your time with it, savoring every moment you had to bring each other comfort and pleasure. Even when you were being rough and harsh there was so much love. It was a way to show each other the anger, disappointment, heartbreak that you both felt. And at the same time, it was a chance to be close and pour affection and love into the other one. Each time had a lot of ‘I love you’s whispered. Each time had a rush of overwhelming emotion that caused at least one of you to cry.

When you start to realise that the medicine was not really taking away your pain anymore, you knew it was time to have a conversation with Noah.

While you were in bed, his head resting on your shoulder while your fingers ran up and down his bare back, you take a deep breath before you begin. ‘Noah?’

‘Mmmm,’ his face squished against you.

‘I think the time is getting near,’ you say.

‘What time?’ he mumbles.

‘My time. I don’t think we have very long left,’ you keep your voice low, like it would soften the words.

He lifts his head and looks at you with sadness. ‘Why?’

‘The pain is getting worse,’ you say with a grimace. ‘But, the reason I bring it up is because I have a terrible thing to ask of you.’

He closes his eyes. Like he knows. Maybe he does. He knows you better than you know yourself. This hurts your heart so much.

‘I don’t want to suffer through it, baby,’ your voice cracks.

He nods against you. ‘I don’t want you to either, love.’ You run your finger over the frown on his forehead, wanting to smooth out his worry.

‘Will you help me?’ you ask. ‘When it’s time?’

He shakes his head with small movement. ‘I don’t want to,’ his face crumples in pain. ‘I want to do anything you need, but how am I supposed to do that to you?’

‘I hate that I am even asking,’ you sniff. ‘I will do it myself. But I need you there. I need your face to be the last thing I see. I want you in my brain when it dies.’

Tears stream down both your faces. It has been happening so often lately and yet it still broke you to see his nose turn red, his lashes clumped together. He was still so fucking beautiful. After a while of contemplation, he says, ‘Alright.’

Noah

Today was the day.

When it started getting bad, it went downhill very quickly. Her pain became worse, she had no energy, no appetite. The life was draining out of her before my very eyes and it was infuriating. I had rage in me that it had to be like this. She deserved so much better.

While I understand her decision completely, it didn’t make it easy for me. The emotions warring inside me made me nauseous all the time. But I wanted her to get what she wants.

I made her her favorite breakfast that she nibbled on a little. We spoke at length about out favorite memories of our time together. We tried to make love, but I couldn’t get hard, so I made her come with my tongue and fingers instead. We cried a lot. She fell asleep on my chest, even though she said she wouldn’t, she didn’t want to waste any time with me. But she was tired. She was tired in more than one way.

I had to get into contact with Nick to hook me up, because we didn’t know the area like he did. He asked friends, that asked friends and eventually we got a lethal dose of prescription pain medication that we would use tonight. She made sure that it was more than enough.

So that evening, I crushed up the pills in the kitchen, while she was hugging me from behind. I placed the powder in a glass and filled another one with water. I placed it on our bedside table. After a hot bath and a cup of tea she dressed in her most comfortable pajamas and we sat together on the bed.

‘What will happen to you?’ she asks, leaning into me, her head on my shoulder.

‘I really don’t know,’ I answer back.

‘What if you are not okay?’ she sobs.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ I counter.

‘I only worry about you,’ she cries. ‘I’ll stay longer if it means you will be okay.’

‘It won’t, love,’ I put my arm around her and hug her into my side.

‘Here’s what I think you should do,’ she says through the tears. ‘If you can’t find me, I think you should go to Nick. You two will take care of each other.’

I laughed. ‘I did think of that.’

‘I am so sorry,’ she starts.

‘No,’ I stop her.

‘I am sorry for so many things,’ she carries on.

‘Please, don’t be sorry for one single thing. Please don’t think that even one single minute with you was not the best moments of my existence.’

‘You can’t remember your whole existence,’ she counters.

‘I know. But I know,’ I sigh.

‘You were definitely the best part of mine. I can never express how much I have loved you since I have known you. I owe my soul to you.’

I try to find words, but they won’t come to me. There isn’t really anything I can say to her that I haven’t said already. ‘You are my soul.’

She calls Nick to tell him she is about to do it. He is supposed to notify authorities. They have a brief conversation. And then I thank him and tell him I love him.

She pours the powder into her mouth, makes a face at the bitterness and then swallows it down with a few gulps of water.

She kisses me quickly. ‘I love you.’ Then she lays down and cuddles into me and I hold onto her for all I am worth.

I grip her while I cry and cry and hope to whatever god is listening that she will feel no pain. That she will be okay wherever she will go. I pray that I will find her again. I feel her breathing stop after a while, her grip on my shirt goes slack, but I keep holding on. The warmth of her body lingers and it comforts me, until I start to fade away. I can feel myself slip. Her peaceful face is the last thing I see before I, too, am gone.

You

The fog around you is thick to the point where you find it difficult to tell what time of day it is. Through the wisps of white you see tall trees all around you. The temperature around you is comfortable, even though it seems like it should be cold, it isn’t.

You have no idea why you are here or where you are going, and the fact that you cannot remember does not upset you. You walk slowly through the trees and the almost complete silence until you see a path. You follow the path as it winds between the trees and the further you go, the fog seems to lift little by little. Then a warm light becomes visible and as you get closer you see a cabin. Warm, yellow light glows from the windows, smoke curls out of a chimney, it is calling you closer.

Then when you have almost reached it, the door opens and a tall man steps outside. Your heart beats faster at the sight of him. He is wearing all white, beautiful tattoos showing on his skin, his dark hair frames his face. He smiles at you. Like he knows you.

He takes light steps down to you. ‘Hi,’ he beams.

‘Hi,’ you say, unsure of what was happening.

‘Are you lost?’ he asks you.

‘No,’ you say. ‘I don’t really know.’

‘It’s alright,’ he says. ‘I can help you if you need it.’

You look into those eyes that are so dark they are almost black and you know that he is safe. He feels familiar. ‘Do I know you?’

‘Come inside for some tea?’ he says reaching out his hand. You take it without a thought and your fingers twine like you have done it a thousand times before. ‘I have a lot to tell you.’

Inside is warmth and comfort and home. You sit near the fireplace and he hands you a cup and you drink it. It is just like you like it. ‘Who are you?’

‘More importantly, who are you?’ he counters.

You frown, not knowing the answer. ‘Do you know me?’

He nods.

A/N: This part was never supposed to happen, but a comment from someone on A03 put my mind to work. I’m sorry that this part was also sad, but in my mind, there was no other way to do this. Thank you to everyone who took actual time out of their day to read my story.

#noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian smut #bad omens #ghost noah sebastian #soulmates #noahsebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x reader

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 2 days

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Monty, Charles, and Edwin (College AU)

And just adding to the stew of strange emotions sloshing about in Charles’ heart is the fact that he hasn’t spoken to Monty in weeks.

It’s not that Monty’s missing- he’s been in class, after all- but he doesn’t talk to Charles anymore. He doesn’t show up at the library to hang out with Edwin and Charles, a practice kept long after the group project that he and Monty worked on in the spring (and bonded over how annoying the slackers in their group were).

Monty’s gone, and there is an ache where he used to be. No more debates with Edwin. No more bantering and trading snacks with Charles. No more casual open mic night offers. No more random flowers, the ones that others would call weeds, brought in and casually given to either Charles or Edwin because Monty works with the maintenance department on campus to earn free room-and-board and he often has extra clippings to give to friends.

It’s put Edwin off for the past few weeks, Charles can tell. He’s gotten used to having someone to casually debate with, someone to tease him in a different way than Charles does, someone to hand him something to twirl between his fingers when his pen isn’t quite doing it anymore.

And yeah, Charles will admit that he’s missed Monty a bit, too, even if the swirl of feelings in his chest is still utterly confused when he looks at him, scribbling away in his notebook at the other end of the room.

(Maybe more than ‘a bit.’ Maybe a lotta bit.)

-aletterinthenameofsanity, sorry, but i fell in love tonight (is there somewhere you can meet me)

Sharp as a tack, but in the sense that I'm not smart, just a prick

In the fingers and the toes of all of those who show interest in me

Can we act like we never broke each other's hearts?

At least mine, I don't know how you felt from the start

Oh, that's vile, oh, I'm cruel, oh it's goddamn mean

I sure as hell know one thing

You sure ain't dead to me

-Modern Baseball, The Old Gospel Choir

@idliketobeatree @tragedy-machine @nix-nihili @tumblerislovetumblerislife

@anything-thats-rock-and-roll @every-moment-a-different-sound @pinklemonslices

@jaysbraindump @spacegirlsgang

#college au #ghostcrow #montwin #payneland #cricketcrow #fanfic #my fics #aletterinthenameofsanity #dead boy detectives #ao3 #edwin payne #charles rowland #monty the crow #monty finch #moodboard #my edits #fic update #writing update

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autumnslance · 2 days

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FFXIV Write 2024: 21 Shade

(You can all blame @voidsentprinces and one of their posts for inspiring this one cuz I sure as heck am. Spoilers through Dawntrail.)

In the colorful forests of Kozama’uka, a strange movement of light green catches my eye. For a moment, I imagine.

“This one finds this forest so lively! Will these ones feast soon with the bright feathered ones again?”

It was a trick of the light on banana leaves. The shade of our little courageous one is gone again.

We’re still in Kozama’uka, but the roar of the waterfalls is below instead of above, and we’re trying to reach out to the bandits harassing the Potsworn.

I think of a boy with gold hair and an eager smile, no longer wearing blue. “You gave me a second chance, and I’ve never regretted it. We’ll find a way to help them, too!”

I blink, and realize the only resemblance in the bandit before me is that he’s young and blond. The shade of our foolishly brave boy is gone again.

I cross the bridge to Shaaloani, with its hot, dry plains rolling into the distance, eventually leading to grasslands in the northeast and craggy hills in the west, toward what was Yyasulani.

A Landsguard officer speaks an order, but in familiar tones, a comrade to his men. His voice stirs a memory, and my mind wanders again.

“We’re a long away from Quarrymill, but this reminds me in some ways of home. I bet you still hear thanks enough whenever you go back.”

I look at the soldiers laughing with each other before dispersing to their duties. The shade of our revolutionary captain is gone again.

The sky always seems so close in Worlar’s Echo. The Yok Huy see a few more traders these days. I’m watching the moon cross the sky when someone lights a pipe, the smoke wafting past my nose. Comfortable as I am, I’m halfway to dreaming already.

“Foolishness. We know what it is now, hardly deserving the veneration bestowed upon it for so long. And you surely have better things to do than mourn the likes of me.”

I turn to protest, but now I am fully awake and see the pelupelu merchants smoking and haggling. The shade of our spiteful witch is gone again.

There’s a sense of responsibility to the people afflicted with levin sickness, especially the children. I make sure that Oblivion is getting the families everything they need. I visit the first boy we met with this illness, and offer a treat of real fruit juice from the farms. It’s a good day, and he smiles as he sips, his mother smiling through her tears as he manages the straw.

“You learn to take what moments of happiness you can get. You figured out how to help the light afflicted and the tempered; this too will be defeated in time. But find the little victories where you can meanwhile.”

I look up from the boy’s bed. It’s just him, his mother, and me in the room. The shade of our fierce carer is gone again.

I’m still awake in the pre-dawn hours, so take a mug of mate with me to the end of the boardwalk to watch the dawn. The endless blue of the water, with the light piercing into my eyes, makes me remember a similar sight at the end and start of everything.

“There is no true challenge in this land. ‘Tis a wonder you are not bored. But you always have found meaning and pleasure in people and their small matters.”

The sun continues rising and the city wakes. The shade of my antagonistic mirror is gone again.

I finish my mate, return to my cabin, and go to bed.

They come and go, these ghostly memories. Some not as much as they used to, since that journey into the aetherial sea. Perhaps their aid and that last chance to say goodbye made a difference.

Maybe I am simply sentimental.

“The burden of heroes and leaders,” one of my newer ones says. “We spend all our time fighting for their lives and happiness, and feel it keenly when we fail them. Yet they helped to shape us, and so stay with us. And we strive to do better by those who come after them.”

I look up, but the shade of that heroic father is gone, the echo of his boisterous laugh ringing through his city’s streets, in his daughter’s own laughter. She waves to me now, her brother, her nephew, and our comrades with her. They are all exuberant and bright and alive, with so much possibility ahead.

I laugh as I wave to my friends.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxivwrite2024 #lyn writing #Dawntrail #Warrior of Light #gang's all here #the ones who didn't get recalled before #or have happened since #Noraxia #Wilred Glasse #Meffrid Noward #Yotsuyu goe Brutus #Tesleen Stoneplowe #Zenos Galvus #Gulool Ja Ja

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brodygold · 3 days

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The Water Boy

Max wasn’t thrilled about his new living arrangement. That might be a bit of an understatement. After a string of bad luck and a breakup with his girlfriend that left him without a place to stay, his only option had been to move in with his old colleague Brody. The problem? Brody was an athlete—through and through—and Max had never gotten along with jocks super well. He didn’t understand their obsessive drive, their fixation on training, or their constant talk about “the game.” And it’s not like Max was homophobic, but Brody having trouble bringing any guy he wanted to his bedroom hit a sore spot.

Brody, of course, was part of the Golden Army, the top-tier soccer team everyone in the city knew about. Their shining gold jerseys, their camaraderie, their relentless work ethic—it was all lost on Max, who had no patience for any of it. Brody, though, was unfazed by Max’s disdain, always inviting him to hang out with the team or come to a game.

But Max wasn’t having it. He spent most of his time in his room, away from Brody and the other Golden Army guys who sometimes dropped by. He just wanted peace and quiet, but it was hard to find that in a household that lived and breathed soccer and all kinds of other sports.

One evening, Brody approached Max in the living room, holding a gleaming golden jersey in his hands. “We could use some help at the next match. Just as a water boy. No pressure, no running around, just help out with the bottles and towels.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’m cut out for that.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad. Plus, it’s just a way to hang out. You don’t have to love sports, but you’ll get to see the team up close. Maybe you’ll even like it.”

Max sighed. Brody was impossible to refuse when he got that encouraging, boyish grin. “Fine, but I’m not wearing one of those jerseys.”

Brody chuckled. “You might change your mind.”

The day of the big game arrived, and Max found himself on the sidelines, watching the Golden Army warm up. Their gold jerseys shimmered under the stadium lights, and the crowd roared with excitement. Max couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something—a pull he hadn’t expected. Even if he didn’t care about the sport, the energy was contagious.

As the match kicked off, Max went about his tasks, handing out water and towels, keeping to himself. But then, Brody jogged over, looking a bit winded. “Here, take this,” he said, tossing Max one of the spare golden jerseys. “You’re part of the team now, whether you like it or not.”

Max stared at the jersey, reluctant at first. But something compelled him to put it on. The moment he pulled the fabric over his head, something strange happened. It wasn’t just the smooth texture or the comfortable fit—it was as if the jersey changed him. His mind relaxed, the frustrations and irritations of living with athletes melting away. He felt a connection to the team, to Brody, and to the spirit of the Golden Army. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he started seeing them in a new light. Max found himself hoping to spend some more “quality time” with the team after the game. Especially with his good friend and roommate Brody.

Suddenly, being a water boy didn’t seem so bad. In fact, it felt like the perfect place for him. He smiled as he ran to refill the bottles, his steps light and easy. The crowd, the game, the team—it all mattered now. And when Brody scored the winning goal in the final moments, Max felt a surge of pride unlike anything he’d experienced before.

After the game, as the Golden Army celebrated their victory, Brody found Max near the bench. “How’s the water boy life treating you?”

Max grinned, still wearing the golden jersey. “Not bad, actually. I think I could get used to this.”

Brody laughed and pulled Max into a tight hug. “I knew you’d come around.”

The team celebrated into the night, and Max found himself surrounded by new friends—people he once thought he’d never relate to. But now, with Brody by his side and the Golden Army embracing him as one of their own, he felt like he belonged. For the first time in a long time, Max wasn’t just watching from the sidelines—he was part of something bigger, something golden.

Later that night, when the stadium was quiet and the celebrations had died down, Max and Brody stood together, looking out at the empty field. “Thanks for pushing me to do this,” Max said softly.

Brody smiled. “I always knew you had it in you. Now you’re one of us.”

Max chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

The two of them walked off the field, the bond between them stronger than ever. And Max knew exactly how to pay him back.

#golden army #thegoldenteam #soccer tf #male transformation #golden team #male tf #straight to gay #gold #hypnotised #jock tf

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hazelira · 2 days

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Part 1 of Wrong Person, Right Time - Heeseung

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The dim glow of the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement as you stood outside the café, the cool night air biting at your skin. Heeseung was late again, but you were used to it by now. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, watching the steam rise from your coffee cup as it grew colder, much like the man you were waiting for. It had been months since the two of you started this strange dance—seeing each other but never truly connecting. Heeseung was distant, his words sharp, his gaze detached. Yet, somehow, you had convinced yourself there was something worth holding onto, something beneath that cold exterior that still made you hope. The sound of footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. You looked up to see Heeseung walking toward you, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his face expressionless. He stopped a few feet away, his eyes briefly meeting yours before glancing away as if the sight of you wasn’t worth the effort.

“You’re late,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. He shrugged, not even bothering to apologize. “I had things to do.” You bit your lip, forcing down the disappointment that had become familiar. “Heeseung, we need to talk.” His eyes flicked toward you, a hint of irritation in them. “About what?” You inhaled deeply, gathering the courage to say what had been weighing on you for weeks. “About us. About how you’ve been treating me.” A faint scoff escaped his lips, and he leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed.

“What is there to talk about? I thought we were… having fun.” The words stung more than you cared to admit. “Fun? Is that what this is to you?” Heeseung's eyes were cold, devoid of the warmth you used to imagine he was capable of. “What else would it be?” You swallowed hard, your throat tight to hold back tears. “I thought maybe… maybe we could be something more.” For the briefest moment, something flashed in his eyes—regret, doubt, you weren’t sure—but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the same detached indifference he always wore around you. “You were wrong,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’m not the person you think I am.” The weight of his words hung between you, crushing any hope you had left. You had given him everything—your time, your heart, your vulnerability—and he had only given you distance in return. He wasn’t cruel, not in the obvious way. His cruelty lay in his indifference, in the way he could break your heart without even caring that he was doing it. “I know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But I thought that maybe… the timing was right. That we were meant to be.” Heeseung’s gaze softened for a split second before hardening again, and he pushed himself off the wall. “Timing has nothing to do with it. Even if it was the right time… I’m still the wrong person.” The finality of his words hit you like a wave, and you nodded, the tears you had been holding back threatening to spill over. You had known all along, hadn’t you? Known that Heeseung would never be the person you needed, who would love you how you wanted to be loved. But you had convinced yourself that with time, he would change. That you could be enough for him. But now, standing here in the cold night air, you realize that you weren’t. You never were.

“I guess that’s it then,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. Heeseung’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the slightest flicker of something in his eyes—something that almost made you believe he cared. Almost. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s it.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you with your cooling coffee and a heart that felt too heavy to carry. You watched him disappear into the night, the sound of his footsteps fading until all that was left was silence. You stood there for a long time, staring at where he had been, wondering how long it would take for the ache in your chest to go away.

You had loved the wrong person at what you thought was the right time. But maybe you realized there was never a suitable time for someone like Heeseung. You stood there, frozen in place, as Heeseung's silhouette disappeared into the darkness. The ache in your chest only deepened with every second that passed, the weight of your unspoken hopes and shattered dreams pressing down on you. Your mind replayed his words on a loop. "I’m still the wrong person." You had known, deep down, from the very beginning. Heeseung had always been distant, always held a part of himself back. Yet you clung to those rare moments when his guard slipped, his gaze softened, and you felt like you mattered for a second—those fleeting moments had kept you hanging on, convinced that beneath the cold exterior, a version of Heeseung cared. But tonight, he had made it clear. It wasn’t about time, circumstances, or you are not trying hard enough. It was about him.

You began walking, your steps heavy as you descended the empty street. The cold night air stung your face, but you welcomed it, hoping it would numb the deep pain in your bones. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you didn’t reach for it. You weren’t ready to face the world yet. As you walked, memories of you and Heeseung flooded your mind. The late-night drives, the silent moments where you thought you understood each other without words, the way his hand would hover near yours but never quite hold it. After weeks of silence, he had shown up at your door, not explain, just a quiet presence that you mistook for affection. You had never asked for much. You just wanted him to see you. To feel for you the way you felt for him. But he had always been out of reach, no matter how hard you tried. By the time you reached your apartment, exhaustion had settled in—emotional more than physical. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, the quiet of your home swallowing you whole. The stillness was suffocating. The kind that reminded you just how alone you were. Sinking onto the couch, you let the tears finally fall.

ENHYPEN MASTERLIST

#hazelira #enhypen #enhypen angst #heeseung oneshots #enhypen heeseung #heeseung angst #heeseung x reader #pov #engene #kpop fanfic #x yn #enhypen oneshots #heeseung

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bucktommyfanfic · 2 days

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A list of BuckTommy fics posted on April 8, 2024

These fics are carefully read through to ensure that they are BuckTommy positive. Any listed works do not feature character/ship bashing (apart from the Buckley parents or Gerrard, who do not count). These fics may feature other mature or triggering content, so please read author tags and warnings carefully and don't forget to leave some love!

Fic Recs - Navigation Page – Send a Message

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a bright side to this by @half-bakedboy Oneshot | General | 777

Tommy has to stamp down his worry before he walks up to Buck’s door. He’d only gotten the short story from a coworker who’d heard from a former partner that a firefighter on the 118 had gotten himself into trouble again.

Unfortunately, Tommy was immediately certain who that firefighter was.

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But 15 Seconds Later, They Were Clappin' Too by StarrySummers04 Oneshot | Teen | 1456

Bobby and Athena are having a little party to celebrate 5 years of marriage. Buck hasn't told any of the fire fam that he's bisexual or that he's dating Tommy but he really wants to bring his boyfriend to join them. How will everyone react?

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Every time we touch (I get this feeling) by @livelaughbuck Oneshot | General | 1466

Buck loves touching his partners, he just doesn't know what it's like to not be the one who gets cuddled.

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Eyes Wide Open by @inell Oneshot | Teen | 3365

Tommy drops by and wants to talk, which has Buck drawing some wrong conclusions.

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First Of Many Dates by JamieHarper Oneshot | Teen | 708

They go for drinks on a first date and Buck opens up about the kiss being a surprise to him.

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flaws by thisclose Oneshot | Not Rated | 548

buck and tommy cuddle and admit some things...

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go easy, kid (it’s only rock and roll) by selfmythology Oneshot | General | 1747

He’s about to head to bed early, ready to call it a night and sleep off the worst of the pain when there’s a knock at the door. He frowns but opens it anyway.

He’s not sure who he expected, but it certainly wasn’t Tommy.

“Hey,” he breathes. Even that one word aches on the way out. “What—”

“Eddie called me,” Tommy says by way of explanation. “Can I come in?”

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good place to start by kitthekazoo Oneshot | General | 807

Buck and Tommy's first date goes pretty well, Buck thinks.

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I'll Cover You by ALilyPea Multichapter | Teen | 2867

Buck had never found himself ashamed of his body, not once he'd begun treating it right and not like a temporary shell that would crack under too much pressure. But it was sometimes challenging to take care of, even when he did his best.

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The Imperfect Date by theonesthatreallymattered Oneshot | General | 1136

Buck wants his first date with Tommy to be perfect. It’s anything but.

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It might be worth it for once by ActuallyIntro Oneshot | General | 2922

For as long as he could remember, Buck hated being called Evan. Despite that being his real first name. His teachers, his mom, and even his sister would use that name and it drove him crazy. Especially when it was for something he did wrong.

But then Eddie Diaz stepped into his life and became one of the first people to call him Evan without the negative connotation. Then Tommy stepped in, and suddenly he became the second. But Tommy seemed to only call him Evan even when nobody else did. And strangely, Buck didn't mind. Like a light switch had flipped in his mind and Buck had no desire to turn it off.

The feelings were complicated and more than he knew how to process but he knew one thing. He was starting to like Tommy.

Aka, my version of a 3 times Buck hated being called Evan and 2 times he liked it.

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let’s get lost between the lines by @capseycartwright Oneshot | General | 2086

“You handled that well,” Tommy said, as they left the restaurant and stepped out into this cool evening air. His words were soft, and gentle – genuine, even. As though he really meant it. Buck was baffled, frankly.

“I handled that with as much grace as an elephant doing ballet,” Buck glared at his - his date? - incredulously. “Tommy, did you hit your head? Are you concussed? Do I need to take you to the emergency room?”

or, after the eddie shaped hiccup of their first date, buck and tommy walk and talk - about coming out and why buck deserves a nice boyfriend.

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The Most Natural Thing by @tabbytabbytabby Oneshot | Teen | 666

As calm and sure as Tommy might seem when he kisses Evan, he's still nervous about Evan's reaction.

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my family is yours by @half-bakedboy Oneshot | General | 709

“I can practically hear you spiraling, and I feel like that’s supposed to be my job,” Evan interrupts Tommy's, well, spiraling

“I’m meeting your entire family together for the first time. How is this about you again?” Tommy asks. Evan must know he means well because there’s a soft smile on his face and he reaches out to grab Tommy’s hand.

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oxygen in my soul by 2pretty_2die Oneshot | General | 554

Tommy kissed him.

Tommy kissed Buck and turned Buck's world on its head, in the best way possible.

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pregame by kitthekazoo Oneshot | Teen | 846

Buck gets caught snacking by Tommy before their date.

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Step 3: Slick, Sensual Showers by TrustDivineChaos Oneshot | Explicit | 1225

Tommy's eager to see this special showerhead Buck mentioned, but more than that, he's eager to see Buck in the shower. Thankfully, he gets both things he wants! It's sexy shower time!

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this is what it feels like by orphan_account Oneshot | Teen | 1361

Buck blushes. Always has. Gets flustered easily, ducks his head with a giddy, boyish grin at any compliment. It’s poetic, really, that he’s a firefighter because he flushes bright, fire engine red every time.

Still, though. He’s not sure he’s ever blushed as much as he does with Tommy.

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trembling on some new beginning by drcloyd Oneshot | Explicit | 2803

Buck enjoys the beginning of things with Tommy.

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#bucktommy #tevan #bucktommy fic rec #bucktommyfanfic #buck x tommy

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simplydnp · 12 hours

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you majored in straight up math??? God that's so fuckin cool of you!!

yeah! i've always loved math, so even though i registered late for uni, i knew it would be for math--i just wasn't sure what to do with it. ended up in math-ed. but, unlike some places, i did a double degree, so i have my full mathematics degree & my full education degree

the math degree was so cool. i've really considered going back for my masters since i loved it so much. there's something about pure math that just,,, makes sense to me. proofs are sometimes a pain in the ass, but there's really nothing like staring at one for hours and then it suddenly Clicks and you're off to the races. it's all built on logic--everything that happens makes sense and has a flow.

i also really enjoy the language aspect of it--which a lot of people find couter-intuitive. math should be numbers! but when you do high level math, there's not a lot of numbers involved usually 😂 it's all logic and arguments and specific wording and sentence structure. i love that shit. there's a specific and intentional way to communicate. there's words you use for getting from one idea to the next.

there's a really great video that breaks down how math and language is connected and, in particular, if you're good at 'traditional' math, you might not want a math degree.

here's a transcript:

if you want to go to school for mathematics and this is what you think it'll look like [gestures to background full of equations, trigonometry, and formulas] i suggest you do something else. the joke in the math community is that after sophmore year, you don't see a number over like, 10 again. this is because you learn math as a language. it's like the difference between studying Spanish and studying linguistics. you can study Spanish, but that doesn't mean you'll understand language as a whole. while linguistics studies syntax and semantics because it's the structure of language as a whole that they study. so in this example, if you want to just study spanish, be an engineer. if you decide to take this [math] route, you have two options: pure or applied mathematics. so applied wants to study linguistics as a whole, so they can become a Spanish translator--and maybe pick up Portuguese along the way. while pure mathematics wants to study linguistics so they can make up their own language. it sounds strange but the best mathematicians are often very good with languages too. if you're interested in learning why they have so much in common, then mathematics is for you.

[end ID]

it's like problem solving to the nth degree. a silly example is something like 'what's 1 + 1?' hopefully you know the answer is 2. but in pure math, they'll ask you why 1+1 is 2. and it takes you down this path of laying the foundations for the building blocks of traditional math. (now, that's advanced linear algebra which, frankly, i really disliked, but it's an easy example)

calculus & number theory were actually my 2 favourite 'subjects' in the mathematics we did (which, is very funny bc calculus has the least proofs and you take 4 years of it, vs 1 entirely proofs based course). i was lucky to have really great profs for most of my courses as well

#thank you for calling it cool!!#i mean this in the most heartfelt way: im a fucking nerd #i love learning i love math #you can show me something once and i understand it #genuinely could talk for hours about it #my camera roll is full of proofs i had to write for homework. stuff so obscure you cant find it online. it's just you against the whiteboard #loved it so much #c.text #math #answered

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selunesdreams · 18 hours

Text

Chapter 50: Hope in Half Desire

“I dreamt about you while you were away.” “People dream of me all the time, darling. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+, mdni. Brief allusion to history of SA, forced restraint See AO3 for other chapter-specific warnings

Around nightfall, Gale and the others had returned with a handful of Noblestalk from Halaster. Shadowheart hastily brewed it into a concentrate, and Astarion carried it to Celeste’s room with a grimace. After centuries without eating, he wasn’t sure if he had a natural aversion to mushrooms, or if it truly was that awful.

When he looks in on her, Celeste is curled atop the sheets with her father’s journal, the displacer cub sleeping in a ball at her side. He knocks softly upon the doorframe to warn her of his presence. Noticing him, she shoves the book aside and sits up.

“Hi.” She breathes. There was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, like she was actually…happy to see him.

Astarion gives her a small smile as he steps inside. “How’s the reading?” he asks, sitting at the edge of the mattress.

“Strange.” She glances at the journal, “My father wrote about abandoning the Dark Lady, the falsehoods of her teachings...” she hesitates, carefully choosing her words, “It still feels…sacrilege, but I’m trying to give it the benefit of the doubt. ”

“And what finally convinced your father to abandon Shar? Perhaps it would work on you.”

Celeste swallows. “My mother. Their relationship began as a sinister plan, but…he grew to love her more than his goddess.”

Astarion hums to himself, pursing his lips. Uncomfortable with certain parallels and eager to change the subject, he holds up the swirling, deep indigo vial of Noblestalk.

“How about we retrieve your memories and get this over with?”

She cradles it between her palms, wrinkling her nose and abandoning it on the nightstand.

“Gods below, it’s worse than earlier.”

“Shadowheart’s been tinkering with the potency. I was hoping you’d take it willingly this time.” Astarion says, “But if you’d prefer to be pinned down again, that could be arranged.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh?” Celeste tilts her head to the side, as if calling his bluff.

His smirk fades. He’d been expecting a biting retort. Not for her to be coy and play along.

Before he can respond, she uncrosses her legs and leans forward.

“I dreamt about you while you were away.”

“People dream of me all the time, darling. You’ll have to be more specific.” The flirtation comes to him instinctively, like a familiar knife. This was the woman he loved, the body he was comfortable with, attracted to. But something about her advances was so foreign. So…wrong.

“I think it was a memory.” She says. “You used to feed from me when you were a vampire. On several occasions, it seems…”

“You were an enthusiastic volunteer.” The playful air is gone from his voice.

“It does seem I enjoyed it. A shame I can’t sustain you that way anymore.” As she crawls towards him, the displacer cub abruptly leaps from the bed and paws at the cracked door, letting itself out.

“But there are others ways I could… sustain you.”

Astarion stares in disbelief, searching her face for any sign that she’s manipulating him again, or perhaps joking.

“Come now, darling, we’ve made so much progress. You’re not relapsing into Sharran pain and suffering fantasies, are you?”

“It seems I enjoyed a bit of pain all along.” She says, her hand sliding towards his thigh.

Astarion bites back the groan building in his throat and grabs her wrists, holding them in place as he leans down over her.

“I’m not sure we should do this.” he shakes his head. “And I don’t think you want to either.”

She arches her back, pressing her body to his, as she slips a wrist out of his grasp and traces the line of his jaw.

“I’ve never wanted to remember something so badly…” she whispers. “You could make me forget my goddess…”

Astarion closes his eyes. Despite his resistance to her advances, he can’t help from leaning into her touch, pressing his face into her hand. Desire throbs at his core. Gods, he wants her.

“How can I trust you? That this isn’t another ruse?”

“How’s this for trust?” She murmurs, hooking her fingers around the back of his neck and pulling him in. Her lips crush against his, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she deepens the kiss. Their last kiss had been a lie, but this…this was genuine. If not a little too desperate.

But it still wasn’t all of her. Just echoes.

She tugs off her shirt, lying half-bare underneath him, and he tenses. Her eyes pour into his - she knows what she’s doing. Or this version of her does. Without her memories, Celeste is less reserved, and far more seductive than he’d expect her to be. She isn’t seeking escape or control. No, she just wants him .

But at her core, there was a reason his Celeste was hesitant about these things.

And that was the heartbreaking part of it all. That in making her remember, she’d experience all that pain again. Perhaps they should allow her to remain oblivious. He could make love to her here and pretend everything was normal. Let her fall for him all over again, let those feelings turn her from Shar. Forge a new life, one where her past is only a shadowed memory…

“Stop.” he growls, more at himself than her, and gently pushes her off.

As he throws his legs over the side of the bed, she hastily pulls her shirt on, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry-“

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not- this isn’t you.”

“You can’t tell me who I am! It isn’t fair. This is all I have. The only thing I know about myself is that I loved you. Or she did…Does. That…other version of me.”

There was a hint of jealousy in her voice. As little sense as it made, she was jealous of herself.

“Celeste, listen to me. I want this. Gods, trust me, I want this.” He takes her chin with his free hand and turns her head, looking into her eyes with desperation. “But I need all of you, darling. Not just scraps and fragments and a body acting on familiar desire.”

Astarion smiles in an attempt to placate her humiliation, resting his forehead against hers, and closing his eyes. Gods, this is painful.

He grants her one kiss. Innocent, tender, comforting. She returns it hungrily, and he pulls away, his thumb resting on her lower lip as she blinks at him in surprise.

“Come now,” he says, taking the Noblestalk suspension from the bedside table, “I know seducing me is an appealing path, but I’m afraid this is far more effective.”

He takes her silence as her answer, and uncaps the bottle, raising the rim and parting her lips with it.

“Drink.”

She holds his gaze, looking at him under lowered eyelids, but allows him to tilt her head back. She stops to cough, wincing at the taste, before taking the rest from him and finishing it in one swallow. As she pushes the empty glass back into his hands, she rises to her feet, wiping her wrist across her mouth.

“It burns…” she whimpers, running her fingers through her hair as she stares at the rafters.

Astarion sets the vial on the nightstand as he watches her pace frantically. When she becomes more distraught, he crosses the room to stand in her path.

“Come, Sit.” he pulls lightly on her arm and she sways in place.

“No, you don’t understand, it-“ she looks at him wide eyed. “Something’s wrong.”

“Look at me.” he wraps his hand behind her neck and studies her. The flush of her skin had vanished, and her pupils were dilated.

“What...did you...?” She slurs with a look of betrayal before her head lolls back and she faints.

“Shadowheart! ”

He calls for the cleric in a worried tone as he catches Celeste around the waist. Lowering her gently to the floor, he checks her pulse, taking a relieved breath when her heartbeat flutters beneath her skin.

The stairs creak under his companions’ footsteps as they enter the room. Shadowheart rushes to Celeste’s side, pressing her hand to her forehead.

“Did it work?”

Astarion scowls. “Did it work ? How am I supposed to know? That Noblestalk put her in a bloody coma!”

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s not a coma,” she says, opening each of Celeste’s eyelids to check her pupils.

“Did you plan this?” he asks, incredulous, “What possible reason could you have-”

“One bad memory sent her into a fit. What do you think remembering a lifetime all at once will do?” Shadowheart snaps at him. “I mixed in a draught of angelic reprieve so they can come to her in dreams, slowly. Being conscious is the last thing she needs. If it works, she’ll wake as if nothing happened.”

“It’s rather brilliant, actually.” Gale murmurs admirably from behind her.

“And why,” Astarion asks through gritted teeth, “are you just now telling me this?”

“Your head isn’t straight when it comes to her, soldier.” Karlach says. “We had to keep you in the dark until she drank the Noblestalk.”

“We couldn’t risk you changing the plan.” Wyll adds.”which you are apt to do, when you assume you know better…”

“Unbelievable. So because I have her best interest in mind, I suddenly can’t think clearly?” Astarion lets out a bark of laughter, scrubbing his hands over his face before he turns on the wizard.

“I spent the last two centuries being controlled like a puppet on a string.” He seethes, “Pardon me if I don’t want Celeste to not bear the same-“

“Spare us the centuries of torture speech and be grateful they didn’t knock you unconscious as well, faerie.” Minthara growls. “That was my plan.”

He makes an irritated sound and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine.”

Crouching beside Celeste’s unconscious form, he brushes hair out of her face with his fingertips. They linger at her temple, and he frowns.

“Will it work?” he rasps, barely audible.

“We have no reason to believe it wouldn’t.” Gale says. “But there is one more thing.”

Astarion slips a hand under Celeste’s knees and the other under her back, lifting her from the ground and carrying her to the mattress. His movements are stiff and controlled as he eases her down gently, before glancing over his shoulder at the Gale with narrowed eyes.

“What? ” He asks, a command, rather than a question.

“Halaster had some insight into what happened. The Noblestalk will help but…the only way to truly break Shar’s hold is to destroy the connection to Nightfall. Otherwise, we risk her recasting the spell, putting us right back at the beginning.” Gale says.

“Which means we need her to remember enough not only to turn from Shar, but to want to help us kill Keresta and Nightfall as well.” Shadowheart says.

“She’ll help.” Astarion says, staring down at her unconscious face. He sighs and leans against the wall, rubbing his temples.

“So. What’s next in this clandestine little strategy of yours?”

Shadowheart takes a seat at Astarion’s desk, crossing one leg over the other.

“We wait.”

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate oc #baldurs gate astarion #formsofimprisonment #forms of imprisonment #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #baldurs gate fic #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion romance #astarion x oc #astarion fluff

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formulapookie · 3 days

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❛ i need you. please. i'll be quick. ❜ with beznaia :)

The scent of Bez can probably be perceived by the whole paddock with how strong it is.

It shouldn't tho, not with the scent suppressants he's taking, not when his heat is always on time and has to arrive two weeks from now.

And Bez knows, or at least, he gets it, with the way mechanics, fans or other riders stare at him while he walks.

Fuck fuck fuck it's early. He's sweating and it doesn't help his situation in the slightest.

He's hot, he needs this to fucking calm down or he won't be able to race.

The one time it happened out of schedule he was at the Ranch, and he didn't manage to train because it was so shocking he didn't come out the bed until one his boyfriend of the time had arrived and helped him out.

He broke up recently with his ex, he doesn't have anyone to help him and fuck no he's not asking a random mechanic for help with this.

"Shit why now it was supposed to come later come on"

He's in his motorhome, he needs help, he knows he does, but who can he ask to?

Not Diggia for sure, he's got that strange this with Enea going on, and he thinks he's seen a bite on the ducati rider recently.

A mechanic is out of discussion.

Vale? No absolutely not, he remembers all too well when he got in heat near him and Marc was there, that man had practically dragged Vale away and looked at him like a psycho for days.

Much too jealous.

Cele is racing currently, Mig is and Franky are busy with something and Luca is - he doesn't really wanna know where Luca and Alex are.

So. That leaves one guy only to his desperate need.

Pecco.

Which wouldn't even be a bad idea, it would be a great on even, but the problem is he's got a crush on him that's been lasting forever.

Can he control himself around Pecco when he's in heat? Maybe. Maybe not. But he's the only solution.

God knows how much strenght it takes to him to get up from the floor and sneak out, his scent must be going off the rails fuck's sake.

He uses a secondary exit from the garage and manages to sneak in Pecco's motorhome, he's hot, too hot, he needs Pecco. And he needs him ow.

"Pecco?"

Pecco is sat on the couch, head in his hands, breathing in and out.

"Bez you don't want to stay here" "Pecco please I need help" "Is there- no one in your garage?"

Pecco is trying so hard not to grab Bez by the shirt and rail him on the couch, he smells so sweet and inviting, it's almost sickening how good it is.

"No. The others are all busy, and after last time I'm not going with a mechanic"

Pecco looks up, it's a mistake, Bez is flushed and hot, and he's looking at him with a bit too much need.

"Bez I - this can - God this can end badly"

Bez's brain doesn't fuction well anymore, he needs to fuck, and Pecco is - well he's not a beta like Mig or Franky, and despite smelling less strongly than Vale he's an amazing alpha.

"Please" "Bez" "I need you. Please. I'll be quick" "Marco I don't think I'm the best option"

He doesn't know how he's still in control of himself, his best friend, and way too long time crush smells so good he could beat any of the other omegas out there.

He's had desperate omegas throwing themselves at him, he's even fucked a few of them, but Bez? Bez is another story, what if he gets too intoxicated by the scent an does something he regrets? What if he gets too rough?

Bez reduces the distance between them two, and sits beside a clearly scent-affected Pecco, who's practically trying to hold his breath in not to smell him.

"Come on Pecco don't you want to help a friend in need?" "Jesus Christ Marco you can't say things like that" "Why? Don't you want to be a good friend?"

The scent truly feels intoxicating, Bez is practically radiating lust, he's looking at Pecco with too much need and the other can only resist so much before giving up.

"Marco seriously, we both crashed in the sprint it's not a good situation, aren't Mig or Fr-" "Aren't you the Alpha, Pecco? Are you not good enough? You think you can't do enough?"

Then it's a mess. A rough kiss with too much hunger and too many teeth, but they both feel so taken by it they wonder how it never happened before.

"Fuck please"

Pecco has never been quicker in undressing someone, and gets rid of Bez's jeans in two split seconds, and just as quickly he's got a hand in his underwear, teasing and feeling just how wet Bez already is, but not acting on Bez's need.

"Fuck you're so wet Marco, you get like this every time? Might help you more often" "I ah yeah, now do something or I swear if you don't fuck me" "What will you do? Huh? You came begging to my door Marco, because no one out there can fuck you like you want me to do right?"

And - yeah that's true, for how harsh it can be it's the truth.

"Then you better prove you were worthy"

Sliding two fingers inside Bez's cunt may just be the most satisfying thing of Pecco's weekend, especially with the little whimpers he makes, and how his hands start to travel underneath his shirt trying to get it off.

"Desperate"

Bez moans, he needs Pecco to fuck him now or he might go mad, seriously, he needs to have him inside.

"Alpha"

Every single cell of Pecco's body is activated, a primordial need basically taking over his brain and ability to understand where they are.

He slides a third finger in, but judging by the amount of wetness in Bez's briefs it won't be a long wait before actually fucking him.

And it's not a lot of work in effect, Bez is practically drenching the boxers, and Pecco's fingers can only do so much, even with the intensity and speed he's putting in it.

When he takes off his own jeans his bulge is really noticeable, his scent is - Bez gets lightheaded from it, and the lust in his eyes makes the younger want to give him kids.

Bez climbs on his lap, his neck exposed just the right amount for a bite, but Pecco restrains himself.

When Bez gets both their boxers completely off he wastes no time in stroking Pecco's dick once or twice and then slowly sinking down on it, letting out the prettiest moans Pecco ever heard.

They kiss once again, less messy but equally as lustful, and Bez starts riding him slowly, moaning in the kiss.

“Don’t tease Bez, you wanted it so bad then fucking earn it”

“Oh the champion can’t handle a bit of teasing? How sad, and I thought you were the best out here”

“Shut up”

“Truth’s harsh Pecco?”

“If you don’t shut up i’ll make sure you can’t even get on the bike tomorrow because of how sore you’ll be”

And it does something to Bez, shakes him inside, makes him want to see how far Pecco can actually go.

He’s on birth control anyway, even if - even if Pecco came inside him, he’d be safe.

And God does he want it.

“Bez you smell so good”

Pecco buries his face into the crook of Bez’s neck, inhaling the scent and fucking yo his brain more than it already was.

He moves so he can lay Bez down on the couch, and starts thrusting with a rapid pace, little ah ahs being the only words Bez can get out his system.

He’s fucked omegas before, more than once, but fuck, they were never like Bez.

So open, ready to give themselves up like he is doing, soft and burning hot beneath his hands, so submissive to his every touch or whisper. And they weren’t so fucking wet.

“Pecco please fuck more”

He picks up the pace and kisses his friend again, tongues twisting inside each others mouths in a tango of many unsaid things.

“Fuck. Bez fuck I want to mate you”

He stills, fuck he said it. Shit shit shit it wasn’t supposed to happen he should’ve kept himself in check.

That’s fucking why he didn’t want Bez to spend his heat with him. The risks were too high, he’s too uncaring when he’s having sex.

“Please say it again”

There’s a moment of utter shock in Pecco’s eyes, he’s not sure he’s heard correctly.

“Pecco please say that again”

He gulps, he’s still buried deep inside Bez, his mouth is so dangerously close to the neck. All too much but all so right at the same time.

“I want to mate you”

“Fuck!”

It’s like a shock wire touched his skin, the way Bez clenches around him and grabs his biceps to hold himself from flying away.

“Please do. Pecco please I beg of you please mate me. I need it to be you I - I need it since were fucking 17 and you had your first big rut and I just wanted you to have me”

He’s frozen, he wants to but what if things go bad? What if it goes like Marc and Vale? He can’t leave Bez like that.

“Get out of your head Pecco I hear your thoughts. You want it? Do it. Get your mark on me and fuck me with it on my neck”

“Bez you need to be sure, we’re- it’s not a simple situation and this is serious”

“I told you Pecco, been sure since we were 17, you smelled so good even back then, always thought you smelled better than the others, better than Vale even”

It’s a fire that ignites inside of Pecco’s stomach, travels to his dick, to his brain, crackling like fresh wood burning in the open.

Bez gets closer to his ear, gets one of his hands on his back, and digs his nails in a bit.

“Mate me. Alpha please”

And God it’s pathetic but it’s all he wants right now, he wants Pecco to claim him and ruin him for any other guy who may think they’ve got a chance with him, wants that asshole of a Pramac rider to never look at Pecco like that again, understand he’s ever gonna be his, not like Bez is.

It’s a whole three seconds of internal debate for Pecco before he gets his mouth on Nez’s neck and opens it, the. lowers himself and bites.

The hand on his back digs more inside, the broken whimper coming from Marco is basically a melody, he wants to hear it again.

“You’re so sweet, smell and taste all so fucking sweet amore”

He leaves other kisses and bites all over his collarbone, moans getting louder and louder form both parts.

He picks the pace up again immediately, thrusting into Bez with force, holding him down by the hips and just going.

“You’re big fuck Pecco, so big and so good, I need you to fill me up, need to feel you everywhere”

“Mh you like it? Yeah fuck I’ll fill you up so much, fucking get you pregnant. I want to breed you so bad”

Bez lets out a louder moan, it’s almost a cry, he wants it too.

Pecco hasn’t stopped thrusting inside him, actually he picked up the pace once more, it’d be uncomfortable if any of the two could properly think.

“Mine. Mine mine mine you’re mine Marco, I will mark you everywhere on the neck so no one comes close thinking they can have you. Do you have any idea how many guys there want to have you as their omega? Mh? You just go around smelling so good, everyone wants a piece”

“Then make me smell like you. I want your scent on me for days Pecco, you’re mine too, I don’t ever want to see Martin looking at you again, he can’t, and also - fuck also your friend he better take his fucking eyes off you”

Pecco grunts, he’s close, but Bez’s is closer, he’s on edge, so close anything can tip him off.

Another bite coming from Pecco is what does it, makes him come and shudder, a long dragged whine to accompany it.

He clenches around Pecco, who can deem himself strong as much as he wants, but when Bez clenches like that, so wet and hot and his, it’s not something he can resist.

He comes deep inside, still thrusting, as Bez lets go of his back, just helpless little moans in the background mixing with the loud sound of bikes and machines in the garage.

They kiss again, their scents mixing, the motorhome must smell like sex and them, like love.

“Mine”

Pecco says it again before collapsing on top of Bez, he was an exhausting omega to take care of, and to think it’s only the first day of heat.

“Pecco shower, shower then we have to go to the hotel”

“No. We stay here they won’t notice”

“Yes they will, you’re the Champion amore forgot it?

“I want to stay here with you”

“Yeah I know I know but we need to go”

They shower, make out in the meanwhile, Bez still tastes so sweet it’s incredible.

When they get out Bez actually looks at the mark.

It’s beautiful, perfect.

“What’s going on?”

“You had to do it so high? Pecco this is not gonna be hidden by shirts”

Pecco smiles, leaving a kiss on the back of his neck, then running his fingers over the fresh mark.

“Yeah it was my intention”

“Oh fucking possessive bastard”

“Mig stares, too much. And Franky does too, when you went in heat last time and your stupid ex wasn’t there he immediately offered to help you. Also Cele, he stares at you every chance he gets he looks at you, now they’ll know you’re mine”

They get dressed rapidly, luckliky Pecco’s clothes fit him, and he can get out the garage without seeming like too much.

Of course the day after all the journalists will ask about his new bite, and he’ll smile and just say that he’s been mated, not by who.

But he hopes he’ll still smell like Pecco so they’ll know anyway.

That he is his.

#alice journal of asks #anon🩷#alice writes #beznaia #ASK GAME #uuuuuu FIRST TIME WRITING A/B/O #SO #yeah it’s an attempt #but I think it’s good #hope you like it :3

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