#But like I said. wanted to draw something different

[reignpage]

She's Crazy But She's Mine

Synopsis: In which everyone wonders why hockey player!Toji is with the weird girl  Warnings: smut, fluff, porn with some plot, fem!reader, some cringe - might hit home for some people lol, cockwarming, semi-exhibitionism, blowjob, unprotected sex, roleplaying, biting, dirty talk (at parts cringy on purpose), boxers sniffing, improper use of hockey sticks, cunnilingus, fingering, not proofread - like seriously, not at all. sorry Word Count: 2k

Toji’s the star of the hockey team — highly skilled, a strong performer, speedy, agile, a visionary, and so damn hot. Everyone loves him: the guys want to be him and the girls want to ride him. With those broad shoulders, his slutty waist, sinful smirk and tempting scar, he’s earned his title as MVP. 

What people don’t get, though, is why he walks the halls of campus with his arm slung over a girl who is clearly not on his level: you wear anime merch, galaxy leggings, and big, boxy glasses you don't seem to actually need. People who have classes with you gossip about how you sit at the back, in the far right corner, chewing on your hair and drawing male characters in intimate positions. One cheerleader even swears you hissed at her when she said she likes your art style. 

After practice, he doesn’t hang back with the guys, instead, he’s heading over to the robotics lab to pick you up.  You’re rambling about circuits, the future of android domination or whatever to some nerd. He blushes when you press close. Toji, at the doorway, is staring daggers at the lanky little shit, who obviously didn’t get the memo about his claim. 

“Ya like nerds, ma? That why you were practically milking his dick in the lab?” He’s bullying his fat cock inside your tight, sloppy pussy. Your ugly-ass leggings are ripped apart at the crotch, legs spread to their limits as he fucks you against some shelves in the janitor’s closet.

Breathless, glasses askew, you reply. “N-no. Was just -ah, Toji, slow down!- just excited to tell him about LADS… I think he’d -hah- really like Zayne.”

He laughs against your neck, sucking at a sensitive spot just to feel you tighten around him. 

“God, if your moans didn’t sound so damn good, I’d stuff your panties in your mouth.”

In the locker room, after a good game, the guys ask him why he’s even with you. They point out that you talk to yourself sometimes, that you have different pictures of pretty men in your phone case every day, wear brightly-coloured clothes you made yourself, and have only ever been seen drinking cans of Monster.

Toji doesn’t bother answering. Why would he? They’ll never understand your dynamic, your appeal, and the fact that he wouldn't be able to shake you off even if he did want to. 

With the pummelling of the water, he hides the nasty slurrrrrrps coming from your mouth as you kneel between his legs in his stall, at the very back of the showers. Toji's always the first one in the locker room after a game because he knows you'll be hiding somewhere; you love to lick, suck and fondle his balls after he's gotten all sweaty and sticky. Something about his 'musk' and 'pheromones' unlocking your 'inner moon goddess.'

You’ve got a tail plugged in your ass, all soaked and pathetic looking, but when it twitches as you clench, empowered by the taste and enormous size of him filling your throat, your hockey player boyfriend can’t help but cum hard. 

“Drink it all up —yeah, just like that, good girl.” He licks his scar when you stick your tongue out, playing with the cum on there with your long fingers, making yourself gag just for him. “Shh, keep quiet, yeah? Don’t want them to catch you. Alright, turn around, baby, show me your pretty pussy.”

Bent over, you smoosh your face against the cold tiles and spread your cheeks for him, purposefully clenching so he can see your juices drool out when he lifts your soggy tail up. Wriggling your ass, you whisper, “Come and plant your seed, oh Dark Lord. Make this mudblood bear fruit for my serpent king.”

He shakes his head in disappointment but sinks his cock into you anyways. “You got back into your Harry Potter phase again, didn’t ya?”

Since he's started dating you, his understanding of pop culture has broadened considerably. For example, just recently, the new Marvel movie came out and you couldn't stop replaying edits of Bucky. He was doing push-ups when you dropped to the ground and crawled right under his body, his arms fully extended. That mischievous grin on your lips could only spell out one thing: trouble. 

That was how he found himself, folding you into a pretzel, in his bedroom. And despite the dangerous hold he had around your neck, you could only whine out, "Harder, Buck!"

"Yeah, Steve, take my fat cock. Milk the Winter out of my Soldie—God, these lines are so shit, ma. Who wrote this garbage?"

Nails digging into his meaty forearm, sweat-slicked and delirious, you reply with a giggle, working your ass back against his pelvis to feel his tip kiss your cervix. "My mootie. Don't worry about it. Come on, we're only in Act Two out of seven. Think you can last?"

He grunts. "Worry 'bout yourself, doll. I can do this all day."

Sometimes, your weirdness doesn't even involve him. Just last week, he came home after practice and dumped his duffel bag in the living room on his way to the bathroom, keen to get clean. When he finished, he noticed the bag unzipped and rifled through. Sighing, he saunters into his bedroom, bends down, grabs your ankle, and drags you out from under his bed.

With his boxers covering your entire face, he tuts. "What have I said about taking my shit? Huh? What did I say about going around and sniffing my boxers like some kinda dog? Said you just gotta ask, didn't I?"

Shamelessly, you come to a kneeling position, pulling his towel off so you can nuzzle his already half-hard cock, still wearing his boxers on your head. "Sorry, Toji."

"Show me, ma. Show me how damn sorry you are."

Not a moment of peace is given to him with you as his girlfriend. Not when you always have a new hobby, when there's drama unfolding all the time in all the online communities and fandoms you're part of, and certainly not when your appetite is seemingly endless. He can't even tape his new stick up for grip without you climbing on his back and laying kisses all over his neck. "No."

"But I wanna!"

Trying to shape you off, he says, "You gotta wait. Need to get a feel for it before I keep taping."

Of course, you don't listen to him. So, he's forced to throw the tape aside and let you crawl onto the floor, between his legs. The hockey stick is hooked on your clothed pussy, pressed deliciously right against your slit.

"Needy fucking girl, aren't ya? Can't fucking wait. Well, fine. Go on, then. Make it a good one. Make it worth my damn time."

Grinding, you get lost in the friction, groping your bouncy tits over your shirt. He huffs a laugh when you meet his gaze, eyes clouded over with desire, and lick a long stripe up the shaft. "Toji, tie my wrists to the ends and fuck me from behind, please."

"Sure, but I get to choose the movies for the next week. Getting tired of all the Lord of the Rings shit."

You moan in agreement when he suddenly tugs on the stick, pulling it hard against your clit. Your pussy juices coat the toe and he can't resist rubbing his throbbing cock over his shorts, already imagining all the good luck seeping into the stick, carrying him onto his victory.

"Cum, baby. Get it all wet for me, yeah? I'll be sure to thank you real good when I win next time."

Showing up to practice with a crick in his neck, Toji shrugs off any questions about it. His teammates would only tease him for being a simp if they found out he had spent hours the night before eating you out under your desk as you gamed.

He had three fingers stuffed inside your drenched cunt, curling them again and again against your gummy spot as he sucked hard on your pulsing clit. Your thighs quivered around his head, keeping him close, threatening to suffocate him; there are worst ways to die, he supposed.

"Fuck! Whose goddamn Venti is that? Did they even equip any fucking artefacts? I gotta carry this team with my Yaelan. Again."

Toji fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead focused on rolling your clit around with his tongue, teasing the bundle of nerves with his skills. Despite your less than perfect diet, he finds that you actually always tastes good. You only eat fast food and chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs, yet you're sweet, mild, and completely addictive.

Sucking hard, partly to bring you closer to an orgasm and partly so he could bring your attention back to him rather than whatever's on your screen, he listened to your sharp intake of breath. "Ah! T-toji, be gentle. I'm still -ngh!- sensitive."

"Hurry up and win then, ma. My balls are about to fucking burst."

You giggled, brushing a hand through his hair, scratching just right and gaining a low groan out of him. "Give me one more -hah- o-orgasm and I'll let you -fuuuuuck, Toji- creampie me. You can watch it ooze out like custard filling, whatd'ya say, baby?"

"Yeah, sure. But don't make me recite any lines from whatever mafia erotica shit you're reading, yeah?"

He bit back a chuckle when he felt you pout, through some cosmic connection (your words, never his) and shoved your chair back suddenly. Standing to his full height, he lifted your hips with him, leaving you dangling in the air, clinging to the armrests desperately as he sucked the soul out of your drooling pussy. "Yes, fuck! God, y-you're so good to me. I love -hngh!- you! Marry me!"

"Shut up. That's my fucking line."

Even his brother sometimes wonders why you two are even together. It’s not that the younger boy doesn’t like you, no, of course, he does — you’re nice, and you bake him cookies. He just thinks you two are so different from each other. Toji likes sports and fitness. You like anime and bedrotting.

He's brought it up before, and his older brother would only muss his hair and tell him, 'You're asking questions you're not ready to hear the answers to.'

What he doesn’t get to see, because he’s at school, is that you two have found a common ground, a way to blend your worlds together. 

Your boyfriend watches sports on the TV, beer in hand and you on his lap, arms and legs wrapped around his body. You watch whatever anime you’re obsessed with at the moment on your iPad, which you hold up behind his head, nuzzling close into the crook of his neck. Occasionally, you’ll take a long whiff of his scent or chomp on his skin, and in retaliation, he’ll rut his cock deep inside you. Something about quality time and cockwarming really gets you going, apparently. 

“Up, baby. Need to get another drink.” He grunts when you tighten your hold around him, even going as far as to clamp down on his throbbing cock, grinding your hips around. A dribble of cum runs down his balls. “No? You’re a real piece of work. Alright, hold on tight then.”

Every step he takes drives him deeper inside you, nudging his fat cock head against that gooey spot inside of you. “Ah, Toji, your rock-hard member is impaling me!”

Groaning, he smacks your ass. “Do you gotta call it those weird ass names, ma? Ain’t ‘dick’ just fine?”

“What about ‘manhood?’”

“Try again.”

You hum. “‘Shaft?’ Or, ‘wizard’s staff?’”

He takes a swig of his beer, sighing. “Forget it.”

Yeah, his girl might be weird, but you're cute. Toji’s never met anyone else who can get his dick hard and leaking like there’s no tomorrow all while you ramble about which fictional world you'd love to be ‘isekaid’ into, whatever that means. You might be weird, but you help his brother out with his homework, massage aches out of his limbs after a particularly violent game, don't judge him for not having many real friends or for his family situation, and you push his desires to their very limits with your wild imaginations and lack of reservations. You’re incredible and people would never understand that.

And plus, Toji really doesn’t think you’re that weird, anyway.

“Hey, Toji? Can you cum inside and then eat me out? I want to record you making bubbles on my clit.”

Never mind.

[artvscvntymullet]

OVERVIEWS - WILLNE

content warnings : small arguments, small mentions of burnout and anxiety, first time, light mentions of drunkenness

word count : around 4500 words !

A/N : thanking the sun and the pinot grigio for this one, but this was also to counteract the sad will one i did earlier this week, and i loved the atv one - so i wanted to sort of remake that, but with a few different scenarios - hope you enjoy !!

masterlist here !!

THE FIRST DATE :

The evening began with a bit of hesitation, the quiet anticipation hanging between you and Will. You weren’t nervous - well, maybe just a little, but it was the kind of nervousness that felt exciting, promising. Will had chosen a bistro not too far from his place, one of those hidden gems where the lights are warm, the food is amazing, and the vibe is cosy but not too intimate. It felt like the perfect setting for a first date.

As you sat down at the small table, you both immediately fell into easy conversation. The usual first-date questions came up: favorite movies, childhood stories, what each of you thought of your respective jobs. But even in the midst of all that, the chemistry was undeniable; every laugh seemed to draw you closer, and Will’s eyes sparkled in the dim light, full of curiosity about you. You noticed that every time you spoke, he leaned in just a little closer, genuinely interested, hanging on to your every word.

As the night went on, the table between you two felt smaller, the words fewer. There was a quiet moment when you both just sat back in your chairs, the conversation ebbing and flowing naturally. Will, his usually confident persona slipping just a little, smiled shyly and said, “I’m really glad we’re doing this.”

You nodded, your heart fluttering. “Me too.”

Will seemed a little flustered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, it’s a good start, hey? Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

You grinned, and your chest warmed as you answered, “Definitely.”

The walk back to your car felt like a moment suspended in time. With each step, you felt closer to him, the evening unfolding into something far more than you had imagined it would be.

YOUR FIRST TIME TOGETHER :

The first time you and Will shared a physical connection was gentle, slow, and carefully attuned to each other’s needs. You both wanted to take your time, neither rushing nor forcing anything. It was as if you were both discovering each other in the most intimate way possible, slowly peeling back layers of vulnerability and trust.

It began with an accidental brush of fingers as you both reached for the same book on the shelf. That small, innocent contact seemed to electrify the air between you. Will caught your gaze, his eyes flickering with something deeper than mere curiosity. You both stood there for a second, unsure whether the moment should pass or if something should happen. And then, without saying a word, Will took the first step and he leaned in kissing you passionately.

It was tender, not rushed. His lips were gentle, as though testing the waters, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart race, matching the rhythm of his touch. Will was careful, making sure you were comfortable, always checking in. His hands brushed over your shoulders, your sides, memorizing the feel of you.

He was tentative throughout, keeping eye contact as he kissed and left hickeys down your body, whispering affirmations and sweet nothings as you moaned his name, nails scratching his back. It was about connection, a melding of body and heart, not just about having sex - a moment of vulnerability and excitement between two people who were learning to trust each other in a whole new way.

When you both finally pulled away, breathless, Will smiled sheepishly. “You okay?” he whispered, standing to pour a bath for the two of you.

You nodded, your chest full of warmth. “More than okay.”

As you lay together afterward, Will wrapped his arm around your waist, your head laying on his bare chest, knees drawn in, and it felt like the start of something beautiful, something long-lasting.

MEETING THE PARENTS :

You’d heard so much about Will’s parents. He’d spoken about them in the most loving way possible, mentioning how they’d shaped his personality and given him the values that made him so genuine. But meeting them in person was a different experience entirely. Will had promised you that they were both lovely, and that promise was quickly proven right.

Will’s mum greeted you with open arms and a bright, welcoming smile as soon as you stepped through the door. “Oh, you must be the one Will’s been going on about!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a warm hug. “I’ve heard so much about you! It’s so lovely to finally meet you.”

Her presence was calming, her voice light and full of love. You couldn’t help but smile at how similar she seemed to Will, in both appearance and mannerisms. She was quick to offer you a drink, making sure you were comfortable from the moment you entered.

Will’s dad, on the other hand, was more reserved at first. He watched you carefully from across the room, but the moment he spoke, you felt instantly at ease. “Will’s told us a lot about you,” he said, his voice steady and kind. “It’s good to finally meet the person he’s been so happy with.”

There was a subtle nod between them, a silent confirmation that this was important, that you mattered to their son. Will couldn’t stop smiling, the love he had for them so clear in his eyes. Dinner was a lively affair, full of stories, laughter, and Will’s usual cheeky comments. But beneath it all, there was a real sense of family, a feeling that, for the first time, you were beginning to understand just how much Will valued his roots.

The night wrapped up with Will’s mum handing you a small package. “Just a little something,” she said with a wink. Inside, there was a knitted scarf, soft and handmade. “For the colder months. Keep warm, love.”

You couldn’t help but feel touched. In that moment, surrounded by Will’s family, you felt like you were starting to build something of your own with them, a sense of belonging that was more than just a relationship—it was a family dynamic that was forming right in front of your eyes.

AND MEETING THE FRIENDS..:

The first time you met Will’s friends, it was like stepping into a whirlwind of personalities. Will had warned you that each one was a character in their own right, but nothing could have quite prepared you for the full experience.

George was exactly what you expected - an outgoing character. The kind who was always up for a pint and could make anyone laugh with a perfectly timed joke or a playful nudge. He had a loud laugh, one that could be heard from across the room, and wasn’t afraid to get everyone involved. You quickly realized he was the life of the party, the type of guy who would be at the centre of any group and keep the energy high. He was just constantly making fun of himself and anyone else who dared to get involved. It was infectious, and before you knew it, you were laughing along with him, enjoying the easy-going vibe he brought to the group.

Then there was Chris, who was more laid-back but no less passionate. His love for football was something that came up in nearly every conversation, and he always knew the latest gossip or rumours. His eyes lit up when he talked about favourite team, and even though you didn’t know much about the game, it was hard not to get caught up in his excitement. He was also super into promoting his YouTube channel, always talking about his latest videos and the tips and tricks he’d learned along the way. You could tell he was dedicated to his passions, and that energy was contagious, despite George taking the piss out of him from time to time.

Stephen, on the other hand, had a dry wit that made you laugh even when you weren’t sure if he was being serious. His stand-up comedy experience was evident in his quick comebacks, and you could see why Will loved him so much. It was almost like having a personal comedian in the group—his delivery was spot on, and his observational humour hit just the right notes. The more you got to know him, the more you realized he had this perfect mix of sarcasm and sincerity. And when he decided to tell a story, it was hard not to get sucked into his world.

Harry was the one who kept you on your toes. Social situations made him a bit awkward at first, but once he had a drink in his hand, his confidence seemed to spike. He had this sharp, deadpan humour that could cut through the room, and he wasn’t afraid to dish out a little banter, even if it was a bit on the mean side. But despite his occasional sharp edges, you could tell Harry was just a bit shy, using jokes an non-meant insults to shield himself. He had this charming gruffness about him, and once you saw past the surface, you realized that, like the others, he was just looking for connection.

All in all, it was a group of personalities that perfectly balanced each other out. And Will, right in the middle of it, couldn’t help but beam every time his friends made you laugh or feel at home.

AFTER A NIGHT OUT :

Will’s nights out with his friends were always chaotic, loud, and full of energy. But tonight was a little different. Maybe it was because you’d both had a little too much to drink, or maybe it was because you were both feeling the heady effects of the night, but the world outside the pub felt quieter.

Will, ever the gentleman kept his arm around you as the two of you made your way down the street, away from the pub’s noise. “You doing alright, sweetheart?” he asked, his words slightly slurred but his concern clear. You nodded, even though the ground felt a little unsteady beneath you.

“Yeah, just feeling the buzz,” you grinned, trying to stay balanced.

“I’m not letting you walk home like this,” Will chuckled, pulling you closer. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”

“You’d try,” you teased, laughing.

Will laughed too, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I love you.”

As the two of you wandered down the quiet streets, you ended up sitting on a bench, leaning into each other as the buzz from the night finally wore off. The city was still alive around you, but here, in this little moment, everything felt still. Will was leaning back, his arm around you, his head resting against yours.

“No one else I’d want to be with right now,” he said softly, and you felt your heart swell. “You make everything better.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing patterns on his hand. “Same here.”

It was a moment that would become one of those small, treasured memories. Just you two, the quiet night, and the feeling of being completely in sync, despite the world around you.

GETTING JAMES' APPROVAL :

Getting James' seal of approval on your relationship was priority for Will, so introducing you to him was a must. James was loud, full of energy, and always had some hilarious story to tell. However, there was something deeper to him as well, a kind of quiet loyalty that Will clearly relied on.

You met James during one of Will’s video shoots, and you immediately noticed how comfortable the two of them were together. It was like watching a well-oiled machine—James knew exactly when to crack a joke, when to step in with a quick suggestion, and when to just sit back and let the shoot happen.

“Alright, alright, so we’ve got the lighting just right, but how do we make this even better?” James joked, looking at Will with a smirk. “Maybe throw in a random dance break, yeah?”

Will rolled his eyes but grinned, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous. But you’re not wrong. Let’s make it fun.”

As the shoot went on, you could see how much Will valued James’ input, how he trusted him completely. When the cameras were off, James was easy going, with a sarcastic edge. But when it was time to get down to business, he was all focus. You could tell they had a history, a bond that was unspoken but so clearly present.

“So, this is the infamous James, huh?” you teased, as you made your way to the craft table after the shoot.

James gave you a cheeky smile, raising an eyebrow. “Infamous? I’m just here to make sure Will doesn’t take himself too seriously.”

You laughed, instantly feeling at ease. “I think that’s a full-time job,” you replied, earning a playful shove from Will.

MOVING IN :

Moving in together felt like the most natural next step. The whole process was a whirlwind, filled with boxes, late-night packing sessions, and the occasional bicker about who forgot to bring the extra set of keys. But despite all the little stresses, you both found ways to make it fun.

Will insisted on assembling all the furniture himself, but there was no hiding his frustration when he couldn’t figure out how to put the coffee table together. “This is a two-man job,” he muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration. “But for some reason, I’m doing it alone.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, kneeling beside him with the instructions in hand. “Let me help, Will.”

“I don’t need help!” he insisted, only for the coffee table leg to fall off. “Okay, fine. Maybe I need a bit of help.”

Eventually, the place started to feel like home. The walls, once bare, were filled with photos of your favourite memories, little knick-knacks you both had picked out, and cosy touches that made it feel like you were building something together. The small, silly moments, like waking up to find Will still asleep with his hand dangling off the edge of the bed, became the moments that would stick with you forever.

A SPONTANEOUS MOMENT:

Getting a dog was a decision that came on a lazy Sunday morning, while you and Will were sitting on the couch, scrolling through photos of puppies. It started as a joke: “What if we got a dog?” Will asked, laughing. But that question quickly spiralled into a serious conversation about responsibility, timing, and what kind of dog would fit into your lives.

You both decided on adopting from the shelter. Will was the one to find her - a small, scruffy pup with big brown eyes and a coat that could use a little TLC. From the moment Will laid eyes on her, he was hooked. “She’s perfect,” he said, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, and you couldn’t help but agree.

When you brought her home, the chaos began. She ran around the apartment, wagging her tail, excited by her new surroundings. You and Will spent hours playing with her, trying to train her, and of course, bonding over the joy that a puppy brought into your lives.

“You think we’re ready for kids now?” Will asked one evening as you both sat on the floor, the dog curled up in your lap.

You chuckled, rubbing the pup’s belly. “Well, we’ve got some practice.”

Will grinned, leaning in to kiss you on the forehead. “It’s a good start.”

ANNIVERSARIES:

Each anniversary with Will was unique, a celebration of the time you’d spent together and a quiet acknowledgment of the memories you had created. The first one was simple - a quiet dinner at home, just the two of you. Will surprised you with your favourite- lasagne and garlic bread, homemade, and despite the occasional burnt piece, it was perfect.

The second anniversary was a surprise weekend getaway to a small coastal town. Will had packed the car with snacks, a couple of blankets, and a few too mant bottles of wine, and the two of you spent the weekend exploring the beach, sharing lazy afternoons in front of the fire, and watching sunsets that painted the sky in shades of pink and orange. Every moment felt magical, even if it was just sitting quietly together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

As the years went by, anniversaries became an opportunity to reflect on how far you’d come and to remind each other of why you chose each other, year after year. No matter what life threw at you, those quiet moments were the ones that stood out; the ones where Will’s hand was in yours, and it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.

PROBLEMS WE FACE:

Every relationship has its bumps in the road, and you and Will were no exception. It wasn’t anything major, but the argument still left a mark. It started over something small - leaving dishes in the sink, a bit of miscommunication about weekend plans, maybe both of you being a little too tired and stressed. It was the kind of thing that snowballed until it was bigger than either of you had intended.

You had been standing in the kitchen, frustration bubbling under your skin. Will stood opposite you, arms crossed, brow furrowed in that way he always did when he was upset. His usual easy-going demeanour was gone, replaced by a sharp edge you didn’t see often.

“It's not just about the dishes, is it?” you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of irritation and hurt. “You’ve been distant lately, and it’s driving me crazy.”

Will’s jaw tightened, but you could see he was trying to keep his cool. “I’m not being distant, I just—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been stressed, okay? Work, life, it’s all piling up, and I don’t know how to handle it sometimes.”

You paused, letting his words sink in. The anger in your chest began to ebb, replaced by something softer - concern, maybe even understanding. “I get it,” you said quietly. “But you can’t just shut me out. We’re in this together, Will.”

For a moment, there was silence, and you saw Will’s eyes soften, the frustration melting away. He stepped closer, and you could feel the tension between you both start to dissipate. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low. “I don’t want to push you away. I just don’t always know how to talk about it.”

You took his hand, the familiar warmth of his touch grounding you. “You don’t have to have all the answers, Will. But just talk to me. We’ll figure it out together, we always have each other's backs. You're my best friend Will.”

He nodded, pulling you into a hug. “I promise, I’ll try harder.”

The argument, though tense, ended in the kind of understanding that made your bond stronger. It was a reminder that no matter what happened, you could face anything as long as you were honest with each other.

ROMANTIC GETAWAYS:

The first holiday you took together was a spontaneous decision. Will had found an affordable last-minute deal to a cabin in the countryside, and with just a few days off, the two of you packed your bags and drove out of the city. The air was crisp, and the landscape looked like something out of a postcard, rolling hills and forests stretching into the distance.

There was something special about the simplicity of it all. You spent mornings wrapped in blankets, sipping coffee by the fire, talking about everything and nothing at all. Will, being the adventurer he was, suggested a hike one afternoon, even though it started to rain halfway through. You both laughed as the rain soaked through your jackets, but it didn’t matter. You were in it together, both giddy and carefree in a way that only a holiday could bring.

As you sat at a tiny table in a candlelit restaurant that evening, the rain tapping against the windows, Will reached across the table, his hand finding yours. “This is perfect,” he said with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more me than I do right now, with you.”

You smiled back, squeezing his hand. “Feeling's mutual darling.”

VULNERABILITIES AND TRUST :

There were moments when Will’s usual charm and wit faded, and you saw a side of him that not many people got to seethe vulnerable side. It had been one of those days, the kind where everything felt heavier than usual. Will had been quieter than normal, his usual jokes falling flat, his usual enthusiasm nowhere to be found. You knew something was up, but it took a little prodding before he finally opened up.

You found him sitting on the edge of the couch, his fingers tapping nervously on his knee. “Hey, what’s going on?” you asked gently, sitting beside him.

He hesitated for a moment, then finally spoke, his voice tinged with frustration. “I just feel overwhelmed, you know? With everything. Work is so challenging at the moment, I love it, but production are always demanding more from me, I don't know how much more I can give.”

You watched him, seeing the raw vulnerability in his eyes, something he rarely let show. It hurt to see him like this, but you were grateful that he trusted you enough to let it out. “You don’t have to have it all figured out, Will. I’m here for you, always,” you said softly, your hand gently resting on his.

He exhaled, shoulders slumping as he leaned into you. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I just don’t want to disappoint you, I guess. I’m not perfect, and I feel like sometimes, I’m just too much, or not enough.”

You shook your head, pulling him closer. “You don’t have to be perfect. You’re perfect to me just as you are. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. What did I say, William, you're my best friend.”

He finally let himself relax, the weight on his shoulders lifting just a little. “Thank you, darling - for not running away, for being here with me always. I love you endlessly,” he whispered, his voice full of gratitude.

In that moment, you both knew that even the hardest parts of life were easier to navigate when you had each other to lean on.

It was an evening that came unexpectedly, as most deep conversations do. You and Will were sitting on the couch after dinner, the dog curled up at your feet, the soft hum of the TV in the background. It had been one of those lazy, content evenings when the world felt calm.

SHOULD WE? :

Will, looking thoughtful, turned to you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your hand. “So you ever thought about kids?” he asked quietly.

You looked at him, surprised by the suddenness of the question. “Yeah, I mean, we spoke about it when we bought Nora (the dog). Why?”

He nodded slowly, looking into your eyes with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. “I think I want them, someday, with you obviously. I want to see you be a parent. I want to see us have a little version of us running around, making us laugh.”

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter at the thought. “I can see it too. I think we’d be great parents.”

“I hope so,” he said with a soft laugh. “But no rush, right? I want to make sure we’re ready, that we’ve got everything in place. It’s a huge thing, but imagine it, babe, mini-us running around, and if they have their mother's genes - oh my.”

You giggled, heat rising to your cheeks, “Stop it you. I agree, but when the time comes I’ll be right there with you. Ready to take it all on.”

Will smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “We’re going to be good at it, I know we will.”

WILL YOU :

When Will proposed, it wasn’t in some grand, over-the-top fashion, it was simple, sincere, and completely him. It happened on a quiet Saturday morning when you were both in the kitchen, making breakfast. He’d been acting a little strange all day, but you hadn’t thought much of it, until he suddenly turned to you, dropping to one knee, holding out a small box with a ring inside.

“Will,” you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth as your heart skipped a beat.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, his voice steady but his eyes shining with emotion. “I can’t imagine my life without you. Will you marry me?”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, your heart full to bursting. “Yes. Yes, of course!”

You both laughed, and he stood up, pulling you into a tight embrace. The ring slipped onto your finger, and you felt a weight of joy settle in your chest. This was it - the moment that sealed your future together.

The wedding itself was just as simple and beautiful. You had a small ceremony surrounded by family and close friends, and Will, dressed in his best suit, looked at you like you were the only person in the room. When the vows were exchanged, everything else faded away, leaving just the two of you.

KIDS OF OUR OWN :

Being parents was a wild ride, one you and Will had both hoped for, but never quite knew what to expect. The first few sleepless nights were filled with laughter and frustration, but through it all, you were in it together. Will, ever the one to lighten the mood, would try to make you laugh even when the baby wouldn’t stop crying.

“Hey, we’re learning,” he would say, holding the baby awkwardly in his arms while rocking him gently. “We’ve got this. We’re totally winning at parenthood.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his optimism. Parenthood had its hard moments, but there was something about seeing Will with the baby that filled you with a kind of love you didn’t even know existed. It was in the way he would whisper to the baby in the middle of the night, rocking him back to sleep, or the way he would talk about his day, trying to figure out how to balance work with being a dad.

There were moments when the exhaustion hit, when you both felt like you were running on fumes, but then there would be a tiny hand reaching out for you, or a laugh, and everything would feel worth it. Parenthood was challenging, yes, but it was also beautiful, especially when you had someone like Will by your side.

Together, you were building something new—something incredible. And as you looked at your child in Will’s arms, you knew you’d be ready for whatever came next, as long as you were facing it together.

ANOTHER A/N : i will edit this when my blood isnt purely white wine, but if you enjoyed, then there may be one for george and chris...who knows

[aventurineswife]

Dan Heng with a creative and crafty Reader (drawing, painting, embroidery, ceramics, etc) and one day Reader makes for him a scented nudibranch/sea bunny plush that smells like lotuses, water lilies and rain. Something cute and huggable whenever he isn’t sleeping well or just wants something to hold onto. 😊

A Whisper of Lotus and Rain

Summary: Dan Heng struggles with sleepless nights haunted by the past. Noticing his restlessness, you—an introverted and creative individual—decide to make him a special, handmade plush of a sea bunny that smells like lotus flowers, water lilies, and rain. The plush is meant to offer comfort when Dan Heng is unable to sleep. While he is hesitant at first, Dan Heng quietly acknowledges the gesture, finding solace in the softness of the plush and the thoughtfulness behind it.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Scented Plush, Quiet Moments, Thoughtful Gifts.

The Astral Express was quiet, the usual hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the train’s frame settling in the background. The crew had gathered in their usual spaces for rest after a long journey, but tonight was different. Dan Heng sat by a window, staring out at the passing stars, his spear leaning against the seat beside him. His quiet contemplation was his usual refuge, but lately, he’d been struggling with more than just his responsibilities.

There had been nights where sleep seemed impossible. Thoughts from his past would creep in—unwanted, unsettling—and he couldn’t push them away, no matter how much he tried. He would wake in cold sweats, the weight of his past and the darkness that trailed him pulling him into restlessness. But no one knew. No one but you.

You had seen him struggle, though he never openly confessed to it. His demeanor was always calm, but the subtle exhaustion in his eyes didn’t escape your notice. You’d always been the creative sort, your hands busy with things that brought you peace—drawing, painting, and lately, embroidery. Your talent for crafting was something you took pride in, and it was your way of expressing everything you felt but couldn’t put into words.

One evening, as the train rolled into a new, unfamiliar station, you decided to create something just for him. It was your way of offering comfort in a way you knew best: with your hands.

You spent the next few days working in your small corner of the train, sketching designs, picking out fabric, and weaving threads into a creation that would be small enough to fit in his hand but meaningful enough to offer the comfort you thought he needed. Your creation would be a plush—a soft, cute, and huggable sea bunny, a nudibranch, with the colors of ocean blues and the pale whites of lotus petals.

You wanted it to smell like peace—like the serene beauty of a quiet lake after the rain. You found the perfect scented oils—lotuses, water lilies, and rain itself. With each stitch, each step of the process, you poured your thoughts into it. You imagined him holding it in the night, something to comfort him, to hold onto when his thoughts wouldn’t let him rest.

When you finally finished, you carefully placed the small plush on the seat near his usual resting spot. It sat there, soft and delicate, its hues offering a subtle warmth. You hesitated before calling out to him.

“Dan Heng?” you said softly, standing near the door of the cabin, your heart racing a little at the thought of his reaction.

Dan Heng looked up from his seat, his usual calm gaze shifting to you. His eyes narrowed slightly, perhaps noticing the uncertainty in your voice, but he didn’t say anything.

You gestured toward the plush. “I made this for you. It’s... just something to hold onto when you need it.”

His gaze shifted to the plush, then back to you. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, his expression unreadable. But then, slowly, his gaze softened—just the slightest shift, a flicker of emotion he didn’t often allow others to see. He reached out, picking up the plush in his hands, his fingers tracing the soft fabric.

“It smells like rain...” he murmured quietly, his voice quieter than usual. “Lotuses... water lilies.”

You nodded. “I thought it might bring you some peace when things get... heavy.” You shifted a little, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to say anything. Just... if you need it.”

For a brief moment, he said nothing, simply holding the plush in his hands. His fingers gently pressed into it, as though testing its softness, as though deciding whether or not he could allow himself to find comfort in it.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice soft but sincere. “Thank you.”

His words were simple, yet the weight behind them was something you hadn’t expected. He wasn’t one for overt displays of emotion, and this quiet acknowledgment felt like a rare gift.

“I’ll keep it close,” he added quietly, his gaze softening as he stood up. “It’s... nice.”

And with that, he walked to his sleeping quarters, the small sea bunny plush clutched in his hand. You stood there for a moment, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

Later that night, you could hear the gentle sound of Dan Heng’s door opening and closing, but there was something different about the way he walked past. He no longer seemed as weighed down by the usual tension that hung around him. You smiled softly to yourself, knowing that somehow, you had managed to give him something to hold onto—something that could help ease the weight of the past, if only for a little while.

The next morning, when you checked on him again, the plush was placed on his pillow, the scent of lotus and rain still faintly lingering in the air. And for once, Dan Heng had managed to sleep soundly.

[22ayla21]

the recent hsr trailblazer quest is so peak i actually cried, especially for anaxa my baby. Can i request anaxa with a sister who's also a chrysos heir albeit shyer than him

From the Shadow of the Current

Having lost everything to the Dark Current, Anaxa found what he had long ceased to believe in — a kindred spirit returned from the darkness.

Years later, the Grove of Muses still hummed with life: the voices of students, the rustling of ancient pages, the unseen pulse of magic and knowledge. Anaxa remained the same — detached, as if polished by time and the pain he had endured. He stood out among his generation, yet kept to himself, immersed in his own thoughts.

He did not believe in the Titans. The death of his parents was the first unhealed wound of young Anaxa. The loss of his sister had burned him out from the inside.

He remembered her warmth. How she, smelling of fresh bread and lavender, carefully wrapped his drawings in soft cloth and placed them in his bag. How she stubbornly bargained with merchants, saving every coin for his reagents. How she would gather her hair in a simple knot at the back of her head and purse her lips, counting the money to ensure it was enough for his passage by caravan to the Grove.

He had vowed to return. And then… the Dark Current. A black vortex that swallowed their village. He fought his way through the chaos, only to see smoking ruins. His older sister lay in the very center, a fragment of his letter clutched in her hand.

He buried her himself. Without tears, without a single word. Then he swore to himself never to turn to the Titans again.

Years passed.

He became a Chrysos Heir. A master of his craft, whose research and knowledge inspired both admiration and awe. The wise whispered: "Talent. Abyss. Blasphemer. Sorcerer." But behind all these words, there was a void, like an empty chair in his life. No one suspected that he had lost not only his family. He had lost his faith, his childhood, his ability to feel warmth.

And then one day…

The day was no different from any other. Anaxa walked through the gallery, heading to a lecture. Suddenly… he felt something strange. A slight tremor in the air. An inner premonition. Like a faint scent, subtly reminiscent of home.

He turned around.

A girl. Short, fragile, with eyes the color of a scarlet rose. Her hair, like his, was braided in an unusual style. He would have passed her by if not for her gaze. She looked directly at him, and in that gaze, there was too much.

"Anaxagoras?" a quiet, trembling voice sounded, as if on the verge of sleep and reality.

He froze.

No. This couldn't be.

"Anaxagoras… is it really you?"

He slowly approached, not believing his eyes. He dared not believe. But her eyes… he had only seen that look in the mirror.

"Sister…?"

And then she wept.

He was lost. Emotions were alien to him. He could not have imagined that he was capable of feeling so intensely again. He cautiously embraced her, as if afraid she was just a ghost.

"You…" he breathed. "You were dead."

"I should have been," she replied softly. "But they found me. A kind man led me out of the swamps. I was sick for a long time… then I studied. I wanted to find you. But… I was afraid. What if you wouldn't forgive me?"

"Forgive?" Anaxa recoiled as if struck. "You… you're alive. That's all I've ever wanted."

She smiled through her tears. Her face, though older, retained its former softness. There was none of the darkness in her that had accumulated in him over the years.

"I am a Chrysos Heir, Anaxagoras. Just like you. I have read your works. I… I am proud of you."

He turned away. His chest felt so tight that it was difficult to breathe.

"Do I deserve such honor? A blasphemer, a sorcerer, who does not revere the Titans and questions the Prophecy…?"

"You deserve it," she said gently. "It is people like you who achieve true success. And I know you will achieve much."

She was different. Bright. Kind. Intelligent, but without a hint of arrogance. The person he might have become… if not for the losses.

And now they were together again.

He introduced her to the professors and watched as she surprised even those who were accustomed to genius. He heard her quiet voice captivate the audience. He began leaving books and manuscripts on her desk in the library again. And she — bringing him tea, which he constantly forgot.

They needed no explanations. They sought no forgiveness. They simply began to live anew — as brother and sister. Not broken, not lost, but survivors. Two Chrysos Heir. So different, yet complete in their own way.

For the first time in many years, Anaxa allowed himself to wonder:

Perhaps the Titans were not so silent after all. Perhaps he had been wrong.

But he still did not pray.

He simply sat beside his sister in the shade of the Grove of Muses, listening as she read an ancient text aloud.

And for the first time in a long time… he felt peace.

[katakaluptastrophy]

Judith joined the army at 11, Marta at just 10. The Third "wanted a matched set" who they gave the same name and homeschooled to ensure the correct image. The Fourth were sent into a hostage-ward situation at 4 and 5, leaving behind their surviving parents and many, many siblings. You get the impression the Sixth moved into dorms around the same age. Dulcinea was diagnosed with Heptenary cancer as a child. We hear nothing about Silas' immediate family, only that he was laboriously grown to order. Maybe the Fifth were the outliers and had lovely childhoods, or maybe it was more of a come in to recite your theorems to mama and mummy in the drawing room at teatime and then back to the nannies until you're old enough for boarding school situation.

That all said, I think there's more familial complexity to the House naming system than first meets the eye. Although obviously it's designed to make one's primary association the House - "Pent for my people", "Nav was a Niner name" - the "A Little Note on Naming Systems" at the end of GTN suggests that much of the familial meaning we expect to find in something like a patronymic surname is instead conveyed in the first name: Harrow has a "-hark" suffix passed down through the generations, "heirloom name particles" are used to form double-barrelled names like Coronabeth, the daughter of Violabeth, and children's names are diminutives of their parents' like Mortus and Ortus. It notes that while siblings sharing an arithmonym like the Tridentarii or the Asht brothers is unusual, sharing name particles isn't uncommon.

So when Abigail Pent says she is named "Abigail for my mothers, Pent for my people", she's emphasising the familial connection of her first name. And while the House loyalty aspect of the arithmonym is of course in many respects just a different authority structure, unlike many women even today, there was no expectation that Abigail would change her arithmonym on marriage.

What's interesting is that although the primary significance of the arithmonym is supposedly to the House, they do seem to have some familial aspects: the Cohort Intelligence Files state that Jean has the arithmonym Chatur because she is the first non-necromancer of her generation in the family - so although the name is mainly referential to her identity as Fourth and as a cavalier, it is also referential to her being a member of a cavalier family, and presumably means she shared an arithmonym with a parent and grandparent.

It speaks volumes that people have had to exercise some creativity to build family connections in a naming system perhaps designed to de-emphasise them, but does suggest it's something people are keen to do.

And the vexed question with all of this is that we only see an extreme elite from House society. What do family structures look like outside of a feudal aristocracy obsessed with succession and imperial power?

Thinking about how Palamedes tells Pash that they "are conversant with the concept of family in the Houses" in Nona....because, like, are they? Are they really?

Palamedes calls his own mother by her full name or job title more than he calls her 'mother'. Their relationship is COLLEGIAL at best. The Sixth raise their children in some kind of communal academic system, from what we can see in canon. Meanwhile, on the Second, it's all about that sweet sweet military command structure. On the Seventh, your parents literally try to pass super cancer onto you, and probably die of it themselves before you reach puberty. The Eighth is a monastic order where EVERYONE calls each other 'brother' or 'sister', regardless of family relationship. From everything we hear, the Tridentarius' parents are fucked-up in some way. The Ninth is....the Ninth, and on the Fourth, parents just tend to be dead.

So, like, are they really 'conversant with the idea of family'? Everything about the system John has set up discourages real family relationships. There is no socially acceptable way to share a family name with your spouse, parent, or sibling - the arithmonyms encourage you to identify with your HOUSE, not your family, and everytime characters share an arithmonym, that is considered 'weird' (see the Tridentarii). John's system demands allegiance to the EMPIRE, not any individual family units.

This dissolution of family has the side effect of also dissolving (unjust) gendered roles, but it is also VERY effective at creating the kind of existential, deep loneliness that so many of these characters experience and that John's system then uses to fuel their loyalty to him as God. It's this dissolution of family that creates the codependent structures you see in so many cav-necro relationships (Cam and Pal above all else), because WHERE ELSE but in this (fundamentally militaristic) relationship that was originally intended to serve the Empire could you find the closeness family often provides.

And, like, every time characters prioritise their chosen or blood family over the values of the Empire, it's transgressive. Any relationship that emphasises the individual - as a spouse, friend, lover, sibling, child, parent - over the 'imperial role' of cav, necro, soldier, or servant, is transgressive in the world of TLT. Magnus and Abigail are transgressive for that. Gideon and Harrow are. Even the Tridentarii have something going on that seems to go against imperial power structures, even if it's a different kind of fucked-up. Cam and Pal are such a complex case because they DO earnestly love each other outside of their role as necro and cav, but are so fundamentally alienated from healthy relationship dynamics because of their absurd upbringing that they immediately become *like that*, to the point of doing ye olde soul-merger. Still - they fundamentally hold allegiance to each other as family of some sort, whether romantic or platonic.

Which, I think, is why it's so perfect and messed-up and appropriate that Juno Zeta, Palamedes' literal mother, spends the last few minutes of her son's earthly existence as an individual quizzing We Suffer about her family structure. Rather than. Y'know. Talking to her son. Who is about to eradicate himself as an individual within the one relationship that ever transgressed that enforced, non-familial distance.

Camilla, meanwhile, does not let her fathers watch her death/ascension at all.

[bittydragon]

Sign Ups for Sonic Telephone are live!

It's my pleasure to finally try out the Sonic Telephone event for all of you! This is a simple event where both artists and writers get a chance to play a long game of telephone with their art and writing!

The Sign Up form can be found here! -> Telephone Sign Ups

Discord will be required for communication purposes, an invite link to the discord server will be given upon signing up

EDIT (5/5/25): The invite link for the discord server should appear once you complete the sign up form. I have realized that some people were missing the link at the end, so I am modifying the form to be able to send you a copy of your responses just in case. No worries if you missed the invite link, send me an ask (not on anon) or message on tumblr confirming your discord username and I'll send you another link. And I'll begin reaching out on discord to the submitted usernames if people miss this message. Apologies about the confusion!

Basic FAQ under the cut

What is Telephone?

Telephone is normally a game in which a group of people line up with the first person in the line coming up with a phrase. They then whisper that phrase to the next person who then has to relay what they heard to the next person. This continues until the end of the line is reached. The last person then reveals what they were told. Typically, things become misheard as it travels down the line, often ending in something much different than what was originally said.

How does the Telephone Event work?

Much like a regular game of telephone, a chain of people will be created and they will pass their works onto one another until the end of the line. However, instead of verbally passing a phrase along, this will be done with writing and art. The first person will be given prompts and will be expected to write something based on their prompts. Once they finish, their work will be sent to next in line, an artist, who will draw a scene from the writing. That will be sent to the next person in line, a writer. This continues until everyone has gone!

How much time will I have to work on my piece?

Each person is given 5 days to work on their piece. There's a buffer period of 2 days in between creation periods in order to allot for sudden dropouts due to emergencies or last minute changes that needed to be made. This is a faster paced event with more waiting than anything.

What if I get prompts I don't like/want to write/draw for?

Good news! With how things are organized, this shouldn't become an issue! Once in the discord server, participants can determine types of themes they'd like to create for. Once everyone is in the server, I will host polls for everyone to vote on themes they'd like to participate for and themes they don't want at all. This way, we can avoid people being forced to create for a topic they dislike.

A more detailed explanation of the event can be found here! -> Telephone Info

Bear with me as this is my first time hosting one of these and hiccups are bound to happen.

I hope everyone enjoys themselves in this new event!

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (drabble)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny @knight-of-thesun @scottstr3et

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, smoking, brief PTSD, super light allusions to suicidal thoughts if you wanna read it like that

A/N: this is too damn long for a drabble but look away. LOOK AWAY. NOW. ENJOY<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The sky hadn't changed in days. Same murky stretch of clouds occasionally allowing the stars to peek through, same biting wind. At least it all felt a bit warmer now, either because of the nights spent indoors or due to the slightest temperature rise that the first days of March brought to Mourmelon. I leaned on the outer wall of the barracks, hands in my pockets, cigarette burning too low to draw from. I didn't bother lighting another.

The barrack door creaked behind me. The sound attracted my gone gaze, and I met hers for an instant. I couldn't tell who looked away faster.

"You're gonna freeze out here."

"Ain't that bad." I tossed the stub to the ground, grinding it with my foot. "You lost?"

"Looking for you."

I spared her another look, longer. Her arms, until now crossed, unfolded to fish out a pack of smokes.

"Okay," She lit a cigarette, the flame catching her visage just enough for me to see the dark circles under her eyes. "Let's talk." Plain, simple, with her foot half-turned like she was ready to bolt if it went sideways.

"Oh, now you wanna talk?" I asked, mouth curling bitter at the edges.

She took a long drag, held it, then breathed out slow. "Well, now that I don't wanna blow my brains out, yes."

I scoffed, searching for something in the distance that would distract me from the tightening of my chest and the ghost of the deafening shot ringing in my ears. "You forgot how to be funny or what?"

"I dunno, Joe," she accompanied her quiet response with a shrug. "I forgot a lot of things."

We stood in silence for a beat, the wind rustling through the barracks' roof above us. Inside, someone laughed too loud. It felt like a different world.

"So?" She prompted, shifting from one foot to another. "Do you wanna talk or not?"

I found myself at loss of words, not even knowing where to start. Every sentence I rehearsed came out wrong in my head, and if it came out wrong in my head, it'd sound fatal out loud. So I settled for the thing that felt most true.

"I don't know how to do this." Not without it ending up badly, I wanted to add. I didn't.

She exhaled a defeated sigh. "Makes the two of us."

Another silence followed, heavier than the last but not as sharp. The wind cut sharper, clearing up the night sky ever so subtly.

She looked down at her cigarette like it would give her answers, took another drag and held it out to me, like the gesture alone was a truce.

I took up the offering without a 'thank you', and we stood still, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the same smoke like it might fill the cracks we couldn't name.

She inhaled a sharp breath before breaking the quiet. Didn't look at me while doing so. "You think we're friends?" The question hit soft but landed hard. She didn't mean for it to matter as much as it did. An afterthought in delivery. A loaded gun in disguise.

For a change, I took my time to answer —which in retrospective, might have made it all heavier.

"It's something I've been thinking about lately." She filled my reticence with another sentence, another absentmindedly voiced thought. Perhaps to give me time without being too obvious about it, or maybe to cover up the fact that she had made the air between us ache.

I twirled the cigarette between my digits. The paper was torn from her teeth, still damp at the end.

"No." I said, taking a drag, the taste of her mixing up with the burning sensation. "No," I repeated, blowing the smoke away. "we're not friends."

There was no accusation in her expression, only a quiet kind of acknowledgment. She had known the answer before asking, and wanted to hear it from me anyway. Tactless and unceremonious, but sincere nonetheless, as sad as it was.

"Friends don't..." I cleared my throat, kicking a pebble away from me. "They don't treat each other like we do. You know that."

"I know." Her hands buried deep into her jacket, seemingly to preserve the cherished heat we had been missing for months. "I'm just tryin' to place you somewhere."

I spun my head to check on her, only to find her eyes as lost as mine in the horizon of the camp, slightly squinted, as if she was trying to put something together.

"Do you even like me?" Her question wasn't sad, nor angry. It was curious, the way you ask about the the drills scheduled, or whether the mess is still serving coffee.

"You don't gotta place me anywhere." My words had no malice, and I prayed for her not to hear a fight in them.

It should've been easy to say yes. But it never was, not with her. Not when I didn't even know if she fell into that category. Like. Seemed like an understatement. Sounded off. No, I didn't like her, and I wasn't about to lie to her, but the truth was tangled up into anger and denial, and I didn't have it in me to unravel it.

I rubbed a hand over my jaw, trying to crack a response that would convey the overwhelming mess I felt for her without digging my own grave.

"You drive me crazy."

Her brow pinched slightly. She hadn't expected that, but it was something manageable, a confession already known among us. She could work with that. She just needed to find her own way to do so, so she asked, "'S that good or bad?"

"Ain't a compliment."

I was fast—faster than what had become usual. It left her stunned for two seconds, having lost practice when it came to giving it back as good as she was handed. With the corner of her lips twitching, she let out a small huff. "Alright, Liebgott."

There wasn't a smile on her face, but some of the tightness had eased out of her shoulders. The cigarette hung forgotten between my fingers, smoke curling between us in slow, lazy spirals. I handed it back, my fingers brushing hers too deliberately to pass as casual.

"Just a kiss, huh?"

I didn't miss the way her jaw tightened. She would have rather chewed glass than have to go there again. But because she humored me just long enough to keep me hooked, she asked, "You're still thinking about it?" Her eyes met mine, guarded, expectant. A bit eager for an answer, a bit confused by where I wanted this to go.

"That what you asked Grant after fucking him?"

"Oh, fuck off." She dismissed me, mentally taking a step back. I was trying to make her jump. She saw it clear as day, and chose not to give me the satisfaction. "Just answer the question." She urged, her lips wrapping about the cigarette immediately afterwards.

I looked straight ahead, jaw locked. If I wanted this to go anywhere at all, it was my turn to relent. "Yeah. I'm still thinking about it."

Stillness on her part. Not a single reaction to my admission, not even a quick glance out of pity. Then—

"It felt good." It could've passed as a slipup, but she was determined. "The kiss."

"Yeah. Fuck." My mouth went a little dry, but I pushed through, just like she had. "It felt good."

She nodded once, almost to herself. "We shouldn't do that again, though." It functioned as a full stop on the topic, but she tried to go further, "You and I... We're-"

"I know."

I cut her off, unwilling to hear what came next. We remained suspended in the moment for a while; two ghosts trying to play house with her burning Lucky Strike and the ruins of a conversation.

"Rumor has it they'll have us jump into Berlin." she tried, flicking the ash to the side, too casual to be genuine.

I latched onto the chitchat like a man drowning. "I heard the drop won't be ours."

"Doesn't matter." She paused, staring back past the shadows casted by the barracks. "One way or another, we're entering Germany."

I hummed affirmatively, disinterested in the superficiality of the exchange, yet not wanting to give up on recovering whatever normalcy we seemed to be regaining.

"How d'you say Nazi pig in Yiddish?"

I couldn't help but snort at the levity of her tone. "What?"

"Come on," she insisted, glancing at me for the first time in minutes. The glimpse of her old self peeking under her shell mimicked the starlight seeping through the clouds. "Teach me a bad word, I'll make good use of it."

"Fuck. Okay, try uh..." I cursed under my breath, rummaging through the memories. "Alright, try schweinehund."

It was her turn to laugh like she used to when I talked nonsense just to get a rise out of her. "Sch-wine-what?"

"Jesus, that's awful." I winced. "Schweinehund."

"Schveinyhoond?" she tried again, lacking knowledge but not determination.

"You're butchering it." I scrunched my nose at her, not bothering to hide my annoyance. Not that she minded it anyway. "You want the Krauts to shoot you twice?"

She huffed, putting out the cigarette against the barracks' wall behind us. "Just say it again."

"Schweinehund." I complied, slower this time.

"Schweinehund?"

"Close enough. They'll know what you mean."

"You sure that's not a compliment?" She attempted a joke that somehow landed.

"Yes, Y/n," I retorted, putting emphasis on her name. "I'm pretty fuckin' sure it's not a compliment."

"Just making sure." She gave me a distracted shrug, sneaking one last tentative glance at me before stepping back, her hand reaching for the door's handle. "Let's go in, yeah? I don't miss freezing my ass off."

Let's go in.

Not I'm going in. Not Wanna go in.

Let's go in, she commanded, so I followed.

[angellcvkes]

𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 - 𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 ౨ৎ

౨ৎ

pairing : hyunjin x y/n

quiet day

genre : fluff ♡

a/n : just a little blurb ! still working on you're guys requests !

wordcount : 293

౨ৎ

y/n found him sitting on the floor of your living room, legs folded underneath him, a small sketchpad resting against his knees. the pencil in his hand moved lightly, pausing every so often like it was waiting for his thoughts to catch up.

the sun was setting behind him, throwing golden streaks across the floor. he looked soft like this—hair pulled back loosely, sleeves pushed up, lost in whatever he was drawing.

y/n walked in quietly, not wanting to break the moment.

"you’re staring," he said, without looking up.

y/n smiled. "how do you always know?"

"i can feel it," he murmured, finally lifting his head to meet y/ns eyes. "your stare feels different from anyone else’s."

that made y/ns chest tighten a little. gently.

"what are you drawing?"

he turned the sketchpad toward y/n. it was a messy pencil sketch of the window, the way the light fell in strips, the way y/ns plant leaned toward it like it knew how to hope. and in the corner, small and not fully finished—y/ns silhouette. curled up on the couch from earlier this morning.

"that’s me?" y/n asked, voice quiet.

"yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "i started it when you fell asleep. didn’t want to forget how peaceful you looked."

y/n walked over and sat beside him, her knee brushing his. neither of y/n moved away.

"you make everything feel softer," y/n said, not even meaning to say it out loud.

he looked at you for a long moment, then set the sketchpad aside. his hand found yours, fingers weaving together like they were meant to.

"so do you," he whispered.

outside, the sky turned a little pink. inside, your world settled into something that felt a lot like love.

౨ৎ

xoxo, elle.

[havocskies]

hhihi i love the ur headcanons sm and i was wondering if u could also write girlfriend reader x brian headcanons 💗

tags : romantic , he’s still pretty evil sorry , brian is mostly rudy here , so i guess you’re probably fine

honestly brian would have to REALLY like someone to truly date them i feel like

like, his main concern is getting to dexter

BUT he did seem to like monique a bit, so it’s at least not impossible

even though he did still kill her….

i feel like brian, if he TRULY loved someone, would be very protective

of course, he knows how to not make it seem overbearing

he’s very good at playing ‘rudy,’ and he’ll never let it slip around you

you’re the last person he wants to find out about his little taboo hobby

sometimes he fantasizes about showing you the freezer room, about taking you on kills and having you help out with the prep

but he knows realistically that’s just wishful thinking

it’d be too big of a risk, one he doesn’t really want to take

so, he’ll continue to play the loving and innocent boyfriend who’s only motive in life is to help the needy

brian would absolutely be very touchy, both in a possessive way and in a casual, subconscious way

he loves to let people know you’re his, but at the same time he also just loves the reassurance that you’re there, with him

even if he doesn’t show it he does inwardly get insecure, worried that you’d somehow find out about his tendencies and leave him

once he has something he likes in his grasp he isn’t very keen on letting it go

brian would heavily enjoy painting your nails, wanting to keep them colored the way he loves close to constantly

the moment they begin to chip he’s commenting on it, already wanting to fix it

brian also clearly seems to enjoy putting his attractions on display

he has a large drawing of a naked woman on his living room wall, and limb sculptures all around his apartment

with that being said, brian absolutely would enjoy taking pictures of you (both compromising and not 😇)

like, he’s clearly a freak

i don’t, however, think he’d be too possessive in public

of course, he loves physical contact and being near you

however, making it known you two are dating isn’t exactly being possessive

i don’t believe brian would get jealous very easily

he wouldn’t dictate what you wear, instead finding it more enjoyable to show you off in a way

i do think, however, that if you wanted him to give suggestions towards your outfits he would absolutely love it.

while not very possessive, he does love having control

brian would strongly enjoy picking out minor things, such as your jewelry or a specific shirt

if you wanted him to pick out an entire outfit, however, he wouldn’t complain

since brian would be playing as rudy around you i don’t think he’d have too many red flags

of course, he’s still the ice truck killer, but he’d be more careful around you

if you weren’t a killer, that is

if you were that’s an entirely different story

regardless, if you’re a moral and true citizen of society, brian is careful around you

he doesn’t drop many hints, and the ones he does are only small comments you couldn’t possibly catch on to

(both brian and dexter do this in the show and i think it’s so funny it kills me)

brian in general is also very touchy

we see this in the show when he’s with deb

listen, if he could be that touchy and needy with a woman he hates with every fiber of his being and piece of his soul imagine how he is with someone he loves

yeah he’d never be leaving you alone

brian does (assumingely) hook up with hookers somewhat often

unless he’s just killing most of them i guess, obviously

regardless, since brian’s life is centered mostly around dexter, i don’t think he’s had many partners if any at all

i don’t even think monique really counts, as they seemed to be portrayed more as just sex partners than actual partners

they don’t really have anything romantic to say about each other so 😭

with that being said, that would mean his entire focus would be on you

also, if his apartment decor is so shameless i would not be surprised if his drive was high

considering how he was acting with deb, he would be beyond needy with an actual partner

he’d absolutely insist on keeping control in every situation

but he’d without a doubt be wanting your attention fairly often

now, i do think he’d still have cold spells where he’s distant, but i don’t think they’d truly last that long

all in all, as long as you’re dating rudy, you’re pretty safe

[sunsetmade]

Sunsetmades Masterlist

Rafe Cameron

Mini Series (newest to oldest):

The Tutor > His Tutor > My Tutor:

You start to tutor the notorious Rafe Cameron unaware that he has taken a liking to you.

So You Want a Race? > The Race to Love:

You support your bestfriend during his motorcycle race.

Secrets of Camp > Secrets of Camp: The Dinner:

Two summer camp counselors—one frustrated with the other, the other finding joy in annoying her—find themselves caught in a tangled mess of flustered feelings and cocky attitudes during a break at the spring. But when he asks her to the counselor dinner, will things change?

One shots (newest to oldest):

Early Pickup:

Coming soon

What Are We?:

Coming soon

Pottery Date:

She somehow convinces Rafe to agree to a pottery painting date, even though it’s far from his idea of fun. When the day arrives, he’s grumpy and unimpressed—completely opposite from her bright excitement. But as they settle in and he starts to get the hang of it, Rafe’s attitude begins to shift.

Stupid Mistakes:

When she overhears Rafe joking about their closeness to his friends, she quietly pulls away, breaking both their hearts in the process. But Rafe isn’t about to let her slip away without showing her just how much she means to him.

Too Quiet:

She’s shy, quiet, and everything the chaotic world of Rafe Cameron is not—yet she’s the one thing that keeps him grounded. To him, she’s perfect. But when his friends start mocking her behind his back, all hell breaks loose.

Unspoken Looks:

After many stolen glances over the years another one of the frat parties finally pulls them together.

Oops!:

After a small baking mishap sets off the alarm, a firefighter shows up to check things out—he leaves with a cookie, and she’s left with his number.

Firelight Crushes:

Mutual friends — that’s all they were. But after a chilly bonfire, a borrowed hoodie and a few stolen looks it became impossible to ignore what was happening between them.

Said It First:

A late night drive leads to the first “I love you”.

When the Storm Came:

A viscous thunderstorm hits the OBX and the only person Rafe is thinking about is his best friend, who has the biggest fear of them.

Beach Bar, Heartbeat:

A harmless interaction shows Rafes jealous and possessive side leading to an intimate reminder. *Not smut*

Stand With You:

One night, he disappears without a word — only to return hours later, covered in blood and guilt. Even though he tries to push her away to keep her safe, she refuses to leave his side, proving that some hearts are too stubborn to scare off.

You Noticed:

A cute shopping trip with Rafe turns into a meaningful moment.

The Greenery:

Your the new cart girl in the country club and a certain Kook takes an interest in you.

Meaningful:

Rafes gift to you for your anniversary blows yours out of the water.

He’s Dead…:

Rafe would do anything for you and you would do anything for him.

Not Me Anymore:

After the turtle incident on the beach Rafe runs into you, a pouge.

Eyes on You:

Even when you’re arguing with him, Rafe still gives you his full attention.

My Talker:

You love to talk but some people don’t wanna hear it.

Aphrodite:

He hates her, well at least he thinks he does, but when she turns out to be in trouble he doesn’t hesitate to help.

Iris:

He suppose to hate her but here he is standing at her front door or based on the song ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls.

The Perks of Rafe Cameron:

Having Rafe Cameron as a boyfriend has many different perks or three scenarios about dating Rafe Cameron.

Oklahoma Smokeshow:

Based loosely on the Zach Bryan song ‘Oklahoma Smokeshow’.

Taking Chances:

The pouges take pleasure in locking Rafe away, all except for one.

The Bliss Within a Promise;

She wants to signify their commitment to eachother but is embarrassed to ask.

You’re Going to be Trouble:

She’s suppose to stay away but something about him draws her in every time.

[i-arch-my-backula]

Show me your fangs: Logan Howlett/Autistic reader

This is very self insert-ish. I just wanted an excuse to write about an autistic reader with my favorite characters. Like I said, this is more just servicing my self shipping ass.

Content Includes: Ambiguous relationship (can be platonic or romantic)

You are a part of the X-Men team. You work with students one on one during school hours and help everyone else deal with whatever bullshit Magneto is trying to pull. But you don't exactly act like everyone else. You have a way of taking things literally, not picking up on things you probably should. You have some niche interests you spend hours doing research into, you only eat the same seven meals every time Logan sees you eating. Sure you're a little weird, but this is the X-Men mansion, who isn't a freak?

It's mid afternoon on a Saturday, everyone else is off doing something. The Professor and Storm most likely trying to help some students. But Logan finds himself doing what he usually does, drinking a beer, walking around the mansion. He's been here for a while, and as long as he's been here, he's never really seen many other people's rooms.

Sure they're usually the same kind of thing. Similar furniture and layout, with some personal details added from that person's interests and whatever. But when Logan caught a glance from the corner of his eye at your room, he had to take another look. He didn't mean to be a creep or anything, despite his somewhat assholish nature. Your room had the same basics that everyone did, the same wooden floor, part wooden walls, and that cream color paint.

But yours was different, remarkably different. Over the entire room was decorated with vampire themes and memorabilia. Thousands, if not tens of thousands of dollars worth of posters, books, DVDS, VHS tapes, books, figures, so many things in your room dedicated to vampires.

Right now you've got your headphones on while watching how you're filing your sharp nails. You have some kind of animal mutation right? Logan can't help himself. He has to ask some questions. He clears this throat and steps into your room. You don't seem to notice him so he tries to make it more obvious.

"Hey." You glance at him and take off your headphones, your eyes staying down on your nails.

"Hi." You reply. Are you uninterested? Logan doesn't blame you, you've barely said two words to this man before, no big deal if you're awkward around him.

"You uh...You got a vampire mutation or something?" He asks, taking a sip of his beer. You shake your head and blow some dust off your nails. After a pause something crosses your face and you look up from your nails, then at Logan, then back around the room.

"No I uh...I have this cat kind of mutation thing or whatever. I just really like vampires." You set your file on your nightstand and walk over to the closest shelf. You pick up an action figure and pose it while speaking more. "It started when I was 11. I watched the 1958 Christopher Lee Dracula movie for the first time with my siblings and I just fell in love. I spent every minute I could learning about vampires. I started collecting when I was 15 and I got my first job."

Logan suppresses a smile as you slowly become more and more animated.

"So my collection started with this Universal Dracula collectible knife I got at a garage sale. I haggled for a bit and probably didn't get the best deal, but it's still really cool." You explain, walking over to Logan holding a slightly coffin shaped object. The word "Dracula" written on the top in silver. You flip it open to reveal one side of the knife has bats all over it and the other side has a drawing of Dracula. Then you shut it and expose the knife.

Logan nods his head and sips his beer again. His eyes catching your little fangs when you smile.

"Real interesting stuff." His tone is as flat as yours, but you don't seem to notice. You set down the knife then pick up a VHS tape, pointing to a signature written in black ink.

"I got my copy of 'Fright Night' signed by the guy who plays Charlie in the movie. I don't really like Charlie all that much, I think he should have just minded his own business, but that's just me." You shrug and turn the VHS tape over, showing Logan the back. He didn't expect to get sucked into a lecture about vampires, but for the next half hour, you spoke uninterrupted about vampires. Going through your collection of things one by one. But Logan had only one thing he wanted to see.

"Hey Y/N," He finally says, putting his beer bottle on your dresser. You look over at him for a moment before quickly looking down at the ground. "Show me your fangs." You look at him again, just for a moment before opening your mouth wide enough for him to get a look at your sharp, cat like teeth. He smiles and nods his head. Match made in heaven, he's sure.

[autumnmobile12]

Yuina walked down to the riverbed where she’d left her charge to relax for lunch.  He liked to lie there in the shade and she hated to disturb him on a such a lovely day.

But this, unfortunately, would not wait.

Touya opened his eyes at her approach and pushed himself upright, wary and searching.  It wasn’t time to go back inside yet and he hadn’t called her for anything.  In his mind, that almost always meant someone was here to see him, and it wasn’t Shouto.  Shouto was always welcome and would just walk down to meet him.

“Your parents are here,”  Yuina said softly, kneeling beside him.  “What would you like me to tell them?”

Touya thought about it a moment, then signed,  “Send them away.  I don’t want to see them.”

Yuina nodded.  “I can lie.  I can tell them you aren’t feeling well and want to rest.”

“Tell them the truth.”

“Very well.”  She started to head back the way she’d come, but hesitated.  “It isn’t my place, I know, but I am curious.  Will you ever see them again?  You allow your brother to visit.”

He wouldn’t tell her why he spoke to the youngest brother alone.  The sister called often, not to speak because he was unable, but just to check in.  And sometimes she asked to visit.  The other brother neither called nor visited.  Their parents made the drive out here at least every other week, as they’d done when Touya began refusing their company last minute.

Today was no different.  He offered her no explanation.

So Yuina nodded in understanding.  It wasn’t her place to argue, and though the importance of family was deeply ingrained in her heart, she knew it was not always so simple.  Still, she could not help but mourn her young patient’s loss.  “Can I get you anything else?”

Touya looked to his unfinished meal, his books, his journal, and seemed to think on it a moment, but all he signed was,  “This is enough.”

“All right,”  she said and she left to break the news to his family.

They will leave in silence.  Sometimes, the mother will cry.  Sometimes, the father.  But they never protested.  They never insisted.  They never pleaded.

And maybe, Yuina thought, maybe that was what Touya wanted.

Some sign these visits weren’t just parental obligation.

Or the product of their guilt.

...

I'd been wanting to draw something with a garden in Touya's house arrest. This isn't so much a garden and more so just the bank of a river on the property, but I think there's room for some symbolism in water being the opposite of fire.

But at this point, Shouto is the only family member Touya is one speaking terms with.

I may do a full one-shot with this eventually.

[kenzidaydreams]

The Space Between (part 3)

Jayvik x female!reader

Content: Touch Aversion, Use of Y/N, Mutual Pining, Slow-Burn (kinda), Polyamory, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, me making up science stuff, mutual care

Summary: Y/N learns that touch can mean safety, especially when she’s in Viktor and Jayce’s arms.

Word Count: 900

Author's Note: Hi! This is the final part of The Space Between. I hope y’all enjoyed reading it, idk how to open up my requests but I’m gonna figure it out and if anyone has one, please send it in!!! Also, I’ve just been writing fanfic for myself in my notes app for a while now, so I got more shit to post if y’all want it lmao.

Part 1 Part 2

ーーー

Jayce started leaving notes on her workstation. Nothing dramatic—just scribbled observations or half-jokes in the margins of her schematics. “You’re the only one who noticed the voltage echo. I’m stealing your brain.” Sometimes he added little sketches: a spark crystal with a happy face, a tiny doodle of her with safety goggles too big for her face.

She kept every one in a drawer in her desk.

Viktor showed affection differently. With precision. Deliberation. When her hand ached from holding a soldering wand too long, he gently took it in his and rubbed the muscles loose. When her hair tangled during late-night experiments, he combed through it with a patience that made her want to cry.

**

In the weeks that followed, it became routine.

Not just the experiments or the long hours or the notes passed between hands—but them. Something built not on urgency, but on trust. On choosing softness again and again, even when the world outside demanded steel.

No one spoke the word relationship aloud. It didn’t feel necessary. What they had was lived, not labeled.

It was the quiet nights, the shared meals, the shared cot. Y/N would nestle next to or between them now without hesitation, fitting perfectly like a missing piece finally found.

Touch had become safe. Familiar. Craved.

And when her thoughts spiraled—when the past crept in like smoke under the door—she never had to speak it.

Jayce would reach for her hand, anchoring. Viktor would draw her close, resting his forehead gently against hers. They didn’t ask her to explain. They just stayed.

**

That next night, they didn’t sleep in the cot.

Jayce, bold as always, suggested they go back to his quarters. “The cot is fine,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’d rather not wake up with Viktor’s elbow in my ribs again.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “That was your knee in my spine.”

Y/N snorted. “I vote for beds. Plural or otherwise.”

Jayce’s smile faltered for just a second—unsure.

Then she reached out, took both of their hands, and gave a small nod.

“Let’s go home.”

Jayce’s bed was large enough for all three, barely. She lay in the middle, Viktor’s arm tucked under her head, Jayce’s hand resting lightly at her waist.

“Is this alright?” Jayce whispered, his voice softer than she’d ever heard.

She turned toward him, nose brushing his.

“More than alright,” she said, and kissed him.

Not with fire, with certainty. Slow, deep, and sweet.

Jayce froze, then melted. His hands tighten on her waist, grounding himself in her touch like it was more important than air.

When she pulled away, Viktor was watching—eyes dark and tender. She turned toward him, heart pounding, and cupped his jaw gently. He leaned into her palm like it was a vow.

He kissed her with warmth and reverence, lips brushing hers like he couldn’t quite believe it was allowed. She leaned into it without hesitation.

After, she laid between them in stunned silence, heart almost bursting.

They didn’t speak again that night. Words were unnecessary. She fell asleep with Viktor’s heartbeat under her hand and Jayce’s breath at the back of her neck.

The next day thunder rolled across Piltover and the lab hummed with soft light. Jayce stood at the window, watching the lightning dance. Viktor sat beside her, working one-handed on a schematic with his other hand entwined with hers.

She watched them both and felt her chest swell. “I love you,” she said. It slipped out, quiet. Unintentional. True.

Jayce turned immediately, eyes wide, and Viktor stilled, lips parting slightly in surprise.

But neither hesitated.

Jayce crossed the room in two strides, kneeling to kiss her hand. “I love you, too.”

Viktor turned her palm in his, brushing a kiss to its center. “Without question.”

**

The physical affection grew—not in urgency, but in presence.

They kissed her cheeks, her temple, her shoulders. Not always with passion—sometimes just in greeting. Sometimes just because they could.

They never rushed her.

Not even when her hands trembled with want and fear all tangled together. Not when she whispered, “I don’t know how far I can go,” voice barely there, eyes filled with uncertainty.

Jayce kissed her fingers and murmured, “Wherever you stop, we’ll be right there with you.”

Viktor rested his forehead to hers. “Love is not a threshold to cross. It’s a path. And we’ll walk it at your pace.”

She hadn’t expected her tears.

But they didn’t recoil. They just held her as she cried, whispering sweet nothings.

**

Do love continued to bloom like ivy—persistent, winding its way around everything.

The relationship wasn’t perfect. There were days when Viktor’s work consumed him, when Jayce got snappy under pressure, when Y/N doubted her place between them.

But they talked. They listened.

They made space for each other. For her.

And in time, the ache that had once lived beneath her skin—tight and coiled and defensive—unwound.

It didn’t disappear. But it softened.

They were all still learning. Still growing. But Jayce and Viktor? They were her home.

And she no longer flinched.

She reached.

[happylittleshrub]

Rocket and Art Headcanons

I actually don’t see Rocket as being much of an artist in the painting/drawing sense. 

Sometimes he’ll sketch up drawings of different inventions he wants to make, but they’re not detailed in the way blueprints tend to be. Rocket doesn’t need to work from blueprints so when he sketches down an idea it’s more like him writing a note for himself, how this is something he wants to work on at some point.

I think Rocket’s creativity lends itself more to a 3D creation space. He likes working with tactile mediums. 

In most instances when he makes something the form follows the function. Rocket usually works with a lot of repurposed parts and he’s generally more concerned with what a gadget does than how it looks. 

That being said though he does have a great sense of what looks frickin’ awesome. It’s canon that he’s the one who designed the Bowie which is amazing, and there’s also the aero-rigs which look so cool and sleek. I definitely think he adds flair to different weapons and such when he wants to.

I also like the headcanon that he participated in the creation of the Guardians’ uniforms in Vol. 3.

Headcanon of mine: He knows how to sew. He mends and alters his clothes 

He’d be really good at metal working. He already knows how to make a gun or a spaceship so if he wanted to create a sculpture of something he’d have no problem identifying what metal parts to use and how to put them together. 

I think he would also have a talent for origami (Raccoonfallsharder wrote a rly cute hc about this)

Rocket doesn’t really judge art on its technical aspects. A painting could be the most technically proficient piece ever created but if Rocket feels no connection to it he’d just be like “That’s worth millions of units???” Conversely he wouldn’t get why a single dot on a canvas is worth millions of units either just looking at it. 

For him the context of a piece, who created it and why, would matter far more in determining an artwork’s value

He adores the little drawings Baby Groot would make of the Guardians. He’d call them masterpieces and fully mean it. It’s his son expressing his love for his family and that means the absolute world to Rocket.

[0xeyedaisy]

Can I add that it’s totally ok to have multiple iterations of the same character and have lots of different aus and versions to explore new ideas and draw them in any way you like! There is a frustration that I too sometimes get Where I have like three different ways to Do a character and I love them all equally because they serve different purposes and I feel like if your priority isn’t telling a story (like you say!) then Why should you have to choose just one? Contradicting and trying out new things even if they seem ”ooc” is something that is uniquely cool to Do with ocs because they are boundless! I extra encourage it to you and really anyone that has characters that aren’t tied to a story! They never have to be finished and I think that can be a beautiful thing! They’ll evolve with you and grow branches that can be multiple things and as long as you’re having fun what’s the harm in growing a new branch to keep yourself from getting bored? This goes for character relationships as wellll

Omg.,., Thank you again for your words! Augh I dunno even what to say, but I do agree w everything that you said, and it def helps me feel better abt how I approach my OCs! Also nice to know that I'm not the only one who has this struggle hehe,, but yea! In the end, it's your OCs and you can do anything you want w them!! 🔥

[itadoraki]

Sewing the Empire of Beauty.

—————————————————————————

Vil Schoenheit x R.femele ( stylist gothic )

—————————————————————————

.

.

The clock was 6:45 p.m. when Vil entered her studio - a room wrapped in translucent black curtains, lit by electric candles suspended on thin cables, as if they were floating. The shadows projected soft shapes on the luxurious fabrics that spread across the floor, benches and mannequins.

She was there, in the center of creative chaos, with a measuring tape hanging from her neck, scissors around her waist and her fingers stained by dark tailor's chalk.

- "You arrived early," - she said without looking, focused on adjusting the collar of a shirt with matte black lace. - "I was waiting for you only after the rehearsal."

Vil leaned against the wall, crossing her arms, her eyes sliding through her creations like someone who analyzes works of art.

- "The rehearsal ended earlier because I couldn't concentrate. The image of you sewing with that fiery look got stuck in my mind."

She looked over her shoulder, an arched eyebrow.

- "Don't provoke me, Vil. I'm working with unstable satin. One more compliment and I'll cut myself."

He smiled from the corner, approaching with elegant steps.

- "Sholl I shut up in front of an artist who transforms darkness into elegance? You're... dangerous. Like a dress with invisible zippers."

She turned completely now, leaving the piece on a mannequin bust. She wore a tight black dress with asymmetrical cuts and lace socks. A dark rose was stuck in the hair. It was a gothic, unique style, as if it had come out of a macabre haute-couture editorial.

- "Do you think I'm dangerous?"

- "I think she's the only woman who makes me question if I'm the one who dictates the rules of the game."

She approached, defiantly.

- "And yet you came here... knowing that I don't create to please catwalks, but to provoke the world."

Vil gently held her hand, observing the black line stain on her ring finger.

- "And that's why I'm here. Your fashion is bold, visceral... different from everything I've ever worn. And yet, it dresses me better than any brand in the world."

She looked away for a moment, visibly touched, before letting out a theatrical sigh.

- "You talk as if you wanted to be my next collection."

- "And if I say I want to?"

She looked him in the eyes, serious, and pulled out a sketchbook.

- "Then take off that shirt. I want to trace the seam directly on your body."

Vil obeyed with a restained smile, taking the piece with the grace of those on stage.

She ran her fingers on his shoulders, then on his back, gently marking the alignment points.

The silence was dense, tense - full of intentions.

- "You know I don't design for anyone," - she whispered. - "My clothes are for those who are not afraid to reveal themselves."

- "And you think I'm afraid?" - Vil's voice was low, defiant.

She landed the pencil on the center of his chest, drawing the beginning of a Gothic necklace, with fictitious chains and inverted crosses.

- "I think you hide more than you show. But I have time. Sewing your truth will be my most intimate project."

Vil held her chin lightly, leaning until their noses almost touched.

- "Then unveil me... piece by piece."

She laughed, lowered, and kissed her collarbone before whispering:

- "But be careful, Schoenheit. I sew with threads that hold hearts."

- "I'm already stuck."

And that night, between dark fabrics, pins, intense silences and subtle promises, two artists - one of beauty and the other of shadows - began to create something beyond aesthetics.

They were sewing an empire. One of which only they would be kings.

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