#Just to like... explain where I disappeared to

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

assassin nanami and his clueless little wife <33 (nsfw under the cut)

part 2

nanami is a man of precision, efficiency, and control. he doesn’t take unnecessary risks, doesn’t waste time, and certainly doesn’t make a spectacle out of his kills. everything is calculated, every movement precise. if he’s been assigned a target, they’re already as good as dead.

his presence is intimidating. dark suits, crisp and tailored to perfection, black gloves covering his hands at all times, and sharp eyes that don’t miss a single detail. he carries himself with a quiet authority that demands respect in the underworld. no one questions him. no one dares.

the left side of his face bears deep scars, remnants of a mission that didn’t go as planned. he never talks about them. when people ask, he merely stares them down until they drop the subject. the scars make him look even more menacing, but they don’t bother him—not like they used to.

he follows a strict routine every morning: wakes up before sunrise, trains to keep his body in peak condition, and goes over the details of his assignments with the utmost care. he’s meticulous, almost obsessive, when it comes to preparation. mistakes are unacceptable.

he prefers to keep his hands clean—silenced weapons, poison, or carefully orchestrated accidents. but if things do get messy, his knife work is terrifyingly efficient. he moves with deadly precision, wasting no energy, striking only where it matters.

despite the nature of his work, he carries himself like a gentleman—never crude, never reckless. in his world, those who act without thinking die the fastest.

his reputation is near-legendary. whispers follow him in the underworld—stories of his efficiency, his lack of hesitation, the way he never leaves a job unfinished. yet no one knows anything about his personal life, and he intends to keep it that way.

when the job is done, he disappears into the crowd, blending seamlessly into the life of a normal man. by the time he walks through the front door of your shared home, he’s no longer an assassin—he’s just your nanami, the tired salaryman who works too much and loves you more than anything.

the moment he steps into the house, all the weight he carries on his shoulders disappears. seeing you—your bright, warm smile, the way you rush up to hug him, wrapping your arms around his waist as if you’ve been waiting for him all day—reminds him why he does this. why he keeps going.

you are the light of his life, the only soft, pure thing in his otherwise dark existence. he protects you, shields you from the ugly truths of the world, ensuring that you never have to know the kind of violence he’s capable of.

you think he’s a normal salaryman working a stressful job. it explains why he always comes home so exhausted, why he rubs his temples and sighs when you ask about his day. “just meetings,” he tells you, pressing a tired kiss to your forehead. “the usual.”

you worry about him overworking himself, always fussing over his health. you make him sit down so you can massage his shoulders, your small hands kneading the tension from his muscles as you ramble about your day. he listens intently, eyes half-lidded, letting your voice ground him.

every morning, you pack his lunch with a little note tucked inside—sometimes a doodle, sometimes an encouraging message. “have a good day, kento! i love you ♡” he keeps every single one, folded neatly in his wallet, a secret reminder of what he’s fighting to protect.

you never question the way his reflexes are too sharp, how he catches things before they fall, or how his body tenses when you walk through crowded areas. you just assume he’s naturally overprotective. he keeps a hand on your lower back when you’re outside, guides you away from groups of strangers, and never lets you walk home alone.

he adores watching you do the most mundane things—humming while you cook, curling up on the couch with a book, getting excited over small things. it reminds him that there’s still good in the world, that not everything has to be soaked in blood and violence. sometimes, he just sits in the kitchen with a glass of whiskey, watching you move around, committing every detail to memory.

no matter how exhausted he is, he always makes time for you. you don’t even have to ask—his arms naturally find their way around you when you least expect it. he presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in, letting himself exist in this moment with you, away from the chaos of his real job.

he spoils you to an unreasonable degree. if you so much as glance at something while you’re out shopping, he’s buying it for you. you tell him he doesn’t have to, but he just responds, “it makes you happy, doesn’t it?” and that’s enough reason for him.

you love his hands—the way they’re always warm, the way they fit so perfectly when you intertwine your fingers. you don’t know how many lives those hands have taken. he lets you hold them as much as you want, lets you kiss his knuckles, never telling you how many times they’ve been bruised and bloodied.

when you ask about his scars, he always gives you a vague answer—“an accident at work.” you believe him, frowning as you trace the rough skin with delicate fingers. you kiss them so softly, like you think it’ll make them hurt less. he closes his eyes, letting himself pretend, just for a moment, that you’re right.

sometimes, he wakes up in the middle of the night, haunted by the things he’s done. you don’t ask questions—you just reach for him, wrapping yourself around him, pressing sleepy kisses to his chest. “i love you,” you mumble against his skin. and just like that, the nightmares fade.

he never lets you see him vulnerable, but there are moments when you catch glimpses—when he buries his face in your hair after a long day, holding you too tight, or when he lingers just a little longer in bed before leaving for “work,” pressing slow kisses to your shoulder as if he’s memorizing the feeling of you.

if anyone ever tried to hurt you, he wouldn’t hesitate. he’d burn the entire world down to keep you safe. you’ll never know the lengths he’s gone to in order to ensure that no harm ever comes your way. you’ll never know how many people he’s eliminated because they so much as looked at you the wrong way.

but he never wants you to know. never wants you to see the blood on his hands. to you, he’s just your loving husband, your overworked salaryman who brings you home flowers for no reason and kisses you awake every morning.

and as long as he can keep it that way, as long as you’re safe in his arms, he’s willing to carry the weight of his sins alone.

nanami is a patient man—until he isn’t. most of the time, he likes to take his time with you, savoring every little reaction, making sure you feel everything he does to you. but there are moments—moments when he comes home after a job, his suit still pristine but his head clouded with the weight of everything he’s done—where patience is the last thing on his mind. those nights, he kisses you the moment he steps through the door, hands gripping your waist, pulling you into him like he’s been starving for you. he lets out a deep, shaky breath against your lips, and when you ask what’s wrong, his voice is hoarse when he murmurs, “just need you, sweetheart.”

he thrives off your innocence. you have no idea how much it ruins him when you look up at him with those big, trusting eyes, so unaware of the kind of man he really is. it drives him insane—the contrast between his dark, violent world and the softness of you. he doesn’t deserve you, he knows that much, but that doesn’t mean he’ll ever let you go. he tells himself he’s keeping his distance, staying in control, but the moment you touch him—tracing your fingers over the scars on his face, pressing those feather-light kisses to his jaw—his composure shatters.

he’s impossibly composed—until you beg. nanami can resist anything except the sound of your voice when you plead for him, so breathless, so sweet. you don’t even realize what you do to him, how easily you can break him just by whispering please, kento in that shy little voice. his jaw tightens, his grip on you tenses, and the way his breath comes out heavier lets you know just how much he’s holding back. “do you have any idea what you’re asking for?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. you don’t answer, too lost in the way his fingers are teasing along your skin, but that’s okay—because he’s more than happy to show you.

his voice gets deeper, rougher when he’s in the mood. nanami already has a deep voice, but when he’s hovering over you, his lips ghosting over your skin, his words dark and teasing, it’s like pure sin. “you’re so easy to please,” he murmurs, watching you shiver beneath him. “so needy for me. you really have no idea what you do to me, do you?” and he’s right—you don’t know, don’t realize the restraint it takes for him to hold himself back, to take his time with you instead of ruining you the way he wants to. but when you whimper his name, gripping his shoulders like you’re desperate for more, he lets out a low chuckle. “impatient, aren’t we?”

he worships your body like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. his hands never stop moving, tracing every curve, every inch of soft skin, memorizing the way you tremble under his touch. his lips are everywhere—brushing against your throat, grazing over your collarbone, trailing lower and lower until your breath hitches. he loves hearing your reactions, loves how sensitive you are to the simplest touches. “so responsive,” he murmurs against your skin, smirking when you squirm beneath him. “you were made for me, weren’t you?”

nanami is a firm believer in eye contact. he wants to see you—wants to watch the way your breath catches, the way your lips part when he teases you, the way your eyes glaze over when he finally gives you what you want. if you try to look away, too shy to meet his gaze, he tilts your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to look at him. “don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark. “i want to see everything.”

he’s so careful with you—until he isn’t. he treats you like something delicate, something precious, because you are. but there are times when his self-control slips, when the weight of the world is too much, and the only thing keeping him sane is you. those nights, he’s rougher, needier, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises, his kisses desperate, consuming, hungry. but even then, even when he’s losing himself in you, he never forgets to check on you, murmuring against your lips, “is this okay?” and when you nod, breathless and wanting, he lets out a low groan and gives you exactly what you need.

his favourite thing is watching you lose yourself on his cock, doe eyes shiny with desire and chest heaving with panting, shallow breaths as you beg, and beg, and beg for him to fuck you, and nanami is a weak man when it comes to you. your cute little whines and wanton moans are the only thing he hears, your pleasure is the only thing he thinks about and your pussy makes him want to never stop fucking you because the warmth of it is as addicting as your pleas and expressions.

he’s possessive in the most devastating way. nanami is a man of control, a man who keeps his emotions in check—but when it comes to you, he can’t help himself. he doesn’t like when other men look at you for too long, doesn’t like when someone makes you laugh too much. he trusts you, of course, but that doesn’t stop the sharp edge of jealousy from creeping in. later, when it’s just the two of you, he reminds you exactly who you belong to. his lips trail along your skin, marking you in places only he will see, his voice low as he murmurs, “mine.”

aftercare is everything to him. no matter how intense things get, no matter how much he loses himself in the moment, he always takes care of you afterward. he pulls you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple, his voice warm and soothing as he whispers praises against your skin. he runs his hands up and down your back, grounding both of you in the aftermath, making sure you know just how much he loves you. and when you finally drift off to sleep, curled up against his chest, he watches you for a long time, fingers threading through your hair, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

and in those quiet moments, as he holds you close, nanami lets himself believe—if only for a little while—that he’s not the monster the world has made him out to be. because in your arms, he’s not an assassin. he’s just a man who loves his wife more than anything.

[4linos]

love unmasked.

lee minho x 9th member

synopsis: despite months of quiet affection, you and minho decide to share your secret with the group. the members' reactions are a mix of laughter, teasing, and understanding.

wc: 1637

It had been months since you and Minho first started dating, and in that time, you'd grown accustomed to keeping your relationship under wraps. Every stolen glance, every quiet conversation, every brief, secret touch felt like a dangerous game you were playing with fate. You weren't sure why you were so nervous about the secret getting out, perhaps it was because you weren’t sure how the other members would react, or maybe because your connection with Minho was something so precious that you didn’t want to risk tainting it with anyone's judgment.

But the more time passed, the harder it became to keep your feelings hidden, especially when it came to moments like tonight.

It was your one-year anniversary with Minho, and even though the excitement of the day filled you with joy, there was also that familiar tension hanging in the air. You had spent the evening out together, just the two of you, laughing and sharing small, loving moments, nothing overly dramatic or showy, but everything felt perfect in its simplicity. As you made your way back to the dorms, you were still laughing, your cheeks warm from the affectionate pecks Minho had given you.

But just as you rounded the corner of the hallway, a familiar figure appeared from the end of the corridor. Hyunjin. You froze, a sudden wave of panic flooding you. Minho’s hand brushed against your back in reassurance, but your hearts raced in sync.

“Hey, where have you two been? You missed dinner,” Hyunjin asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. You could tell he was suspicious, but not entirely sure what was going on.

You took a deep breath, summoning all the acting skills you could muster. “Oh, we… we stayed back at the company for some extra practice,” you explained, trying to keep your voice calm. “Minho was helping me with some last-minute choreography for the comeback.”

Hyunjin glanced at you both, still trying to read the situation, but ultimately shrugged. “Whatever Minho says, I guess. Just don’t keep me waiting again. You two better not be doing anything weird…”

The tension in your chest eased, and you gave him a small, nervous smile. “Promise we won’t.”

Hyunjin let out a disinterested hum and walked past you, disappearing into his room.

You both knew the day would come when you would have to tell the others, but you weren’t sure if you were ready.

-

The next morning, practice for the comeback was intense, everyone pushing themselves harder, giving it their all. During a brief break, you found yourself sitting next to Minho. He glanced over at you, a look of quiet understanding passing between you two.

He nodded towards the group. “It’s time. We can’t keep this secret anymore.”

You hesitated for just a moment, the knot in your stomach tightening. But deep down, you knew Minho was right. It had to happen. And as much as it terrified you, it would be a relief to stop hiding.

You cleared your throat, catching the attention of the others. Everyone turned towards you, curiosity flickering in their eyes.

“Minho,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. “Can you tell them?”

Minho didn’t hesitate. He looked around at the members, his gaze briefly meeting yours before he spoke without sugarcoating. “Y/N and I have been dating for a year now.”

The room went silent. The members blinked at him, the words hanging in the air like an unexpected punch. Then, Seungmin suddenly burst into laughter, his face lighting up with amusement. “What?” he gasped, wiping a tear from his eye. “It was so obvious!”

The rest of the members exchanged confused looks. Some were surprised by the news, others confused by Seungmin’s reaction. “What do you mean, ‘obvious’?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Seungmin grinned and leaned back. “Well, remember that time I woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water? I saw you two in the kitchen kissing. You said you were just having a midnight snack, but… uh, your lipstick was smudged, Y/N, and Minho had some around his lips too.”

You buried your face in your hands, mortified. Minho rolled his eyes, nudging you softly. “I told you so.”

You groaned in embarrassment, your face burning bright red. Seungmin’s laugh didn’t make it any better, but his teasing only made the situation more surreal. “I mean, you two were pretty obvious. And let’s not even talk about how you guys act around each other. Like, seriously, we all knew.”

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, Seungmin.”

As everyone processed the news, Hyunjin suddenly spoke up, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “Honestly, I didn’t know,” he admitted. “But now that you mention it, I should’ve figured it out after last night. You two lied about staying late for practice, didn’t you?”

You winced, feeling caught. But you could only shrug sheepishly. “Yeah… we were kind of trying to avoid getting caught.”

Chan, ever the level-headed leader, broke in with a smile, trying to ease the mood. “I’m happy for you two, really. But you have to be careful. You’re both in the public eye. It’s cute, though. You two are adorable together.”

The warmth from his words settled in your chest, and even though you were still a little nervous, you felt relieved. It was done. Everyone knew.

There were no more secrets. And as awkward as it might be at times, it felt good to be able to hold Minho’s hand without the weight of hiding it from the members.

-

That night, after practice, the group gathered in the dorm living room to wind down, everyone sitting around on the couches, catching their breath after the intense rehearsal. The air felt lighter now that the secret was out, and you found yourself sitting next to Minho, your hands brushing occasionally, and not having to hide it.

Seungmin, ever the mischievous one, had a big grin plastered on his face. “Honestly, I’m still kind of shocked you two managed to hide it for so long,” he said, leaning back on the couch with his arms crossed. “You guys were so obvious. The kitchen kiss? Please.”

You felt your cheeks redden again, but Minho just rolled his eyes, clearly used to Seungmin’s teasing by now. “You could’ve kept that to yourself, you know.”

“I couldn’t resist,” Seungmin said, laughing. “But seriously, I’m glad you two are together. You’ve always been so… cute, I guess,” he added, shrugging as though the comment wasn’t that big of a deal.

The rest of the members chimed in, and what followed was a wave of lighthearted teasing, but it was clear no one was upset or bothered by the news. In fact, they seemed mostly excited. Chan was the first to speak seriously.

“I’m happy for you both,” he said, offering you both an understanding smile. “Just be careful with how you handle things in public. You know how fans and the media can be. But other than that, just make sure you take care of each other.”

“Yeah,” Changbin added with a smirk. “We don’t need any extra distractions. Especially during comeback preparation. Focus on that first, yeah?”

Minho nodded. “We will. We’re not letting this get in the way of our work.”

As the night went on, the group shifted back to their usual rhythm. The teasing and congratulations continued, but it was clear that everyone accepted your relationship. It felt strange, in a way like a new chapter had opened and things were slightly different, but also not. You were still a part of Stray Kids, still the same group of people who’d spent years together, and nothing about that had changed.

-

The next few days at practice felt different, but in a good way. There was a new sense of ease between you and Minho, a quiet acknowledgment of your relationship in the air. Still, the dynamic of the group hadn’t shifted. Everyone was still working hard toward the comeback, and despite the occasional teasing from Seungmin, things felt balanced.

But the true test came the next evening when you and Minho were in the kitchen alone, preparing your dinner after a long day of rehearsals. The members had already gone to bed, and it was just the two of you, standing in the quiet kitchen, your hands brushing as you passed ingredients to each other.

Minho opened the fridge and pulled out some fruit, then handed you a bowl. “I’m glad things are normal, even after all of that,” he said quietly, his voice soft. “I was worried it might get awkward.”

You smiled at him, heart warming at his words. “Yeah, me too. But I think everyone just wants us to be happy. Even if it means they have to deal with Seungmin’s constant teasing.”

Minho laughed, a low, soft sound. “I think I can deal with Seungmin. As long as you’re happy.”

You stepped closer to him, resting your hand on his arm. “I am. And I’m happy we’re doing this together.”

Minho’s eyes softened, and he gently pulled you into him for a quick hug. “Me too,” he murmured, his voice steady with affection. You held onto him for a moment longer, enjoying the quiet, simple comfort of being with him without any pretense.

//

masterlist.

[a/n: i have many 9th member requests that i’m working on. i hope u all enjoy 🥰]

❌proofread

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Clone Danny Fenton amuses me so here's another dumb crossover idea: Danny is one of the "failed" clones of Kon that Tim tried to make, but clockwork snatched his lifeless baby corpse before Tim could dispose of it (Tim just assumed he did when it disappeared, writing it off as he did it while too sleep deprived to remember clearly or something) and CW uses the pit to revive it before dropping him off with the Fentons in a completely different dimension.

Danny knows he's adopted and realizes he's not normal fairly early on, but doesn't manifest the more noticeable of his powers til after his accident, so he blames it all on his halfa status and not the alien heritage he has no way of knowing about. Once shit hits the fan and his dimension is no longer safe for him to live in, CW sits him down and explains both his alien (in more ways than one) and clone statuses. CW then offers Danny the chance to meet his maker and template, which Danny agrees to because why not? He's got nothing to lose. Danny's injured 16 y/o ass is then dropped a short distance from a timberkon (who are now in their early 30s because that'd how time works) date/hangout and Danny just plops himself at their table and steals some of Tim and Kon's food before literally any words are exchanged.

Kon, freaking out because this kid looks like him???: Uhhhh??? Kid??

Tim, bewildered: Who?? What?? Kid, wtf??? Do we know you??

Danny, swallowing his mouthful of stolen food: Yes and no.

Danny, points lazily at Tim: Creator.

Danny, equally lazy point to Kon: Template.

Danny, blinking slowly at Bernard: I don't think you had anything to do with HOW I'm here, but as you clearly are part of this now, surprise, it's a scientific freak of nature.

Danny, ignoring the devastated looks on his "parents'" faces and steals more food while continuing: He/him pronouns and I go by Danny. AND ONLY Danny, not Daniel, not Danno, and certainly not Dan.

Tim, slowly takes a deep breath and slides most of his meal towards the clearly starving child: Danny... You're NOT a freak, kiddo

Danny, seems to beam without changing his expression when he's got the food in his hands before processing how his comment must have sounded without context: Oh-ho! But I am! Finding out I was a half human alien clone was just the icing on the cake, really! I had an accident that I'm pretty sure destroyed all my flimsy human dna. I'm now half something else, that hilariously has a lot of crossover powers so I just assumed my accident gave me all of them before the dude that cradle robbed my dead baby corpse from the evil mastermind lab my creator.. has? Had? Meh. Who cares. But baby me was very dead and then he did something and I wasn't. This is where I inform you I grew up in a different dimension and know jack shit about this one.

Bernard: Okay, I have so many questions

Kon: Me too! What's your other half? What's your dimension like? Why did you seek us out now? What's your favourite colour? Any food restrictions? Do you have a place to stay? Why is your heart rate so slow? What's that buzzing sound coming from your chest? What-

Tim: KON! Let the kid actually tell you answers!

Bernard, sliding some of his food over to Danny while eyeing the subtily stiff way Danny is moving: Plus, the more pressing question is, how hurt are you, Danny?

Kon: You're HURT???

Danny, frowns at Bernard ratting him out before turning his attention back to the food in front of him: I got vivisected, it's fine, it's healing

The adults all suck in a sharp breath before sharing a look. They agree this is their kid now and people can take him from them over their cold dead bodies.

Danny feels 3 shiny new parental bonds snap into place, startling the shit out of him. He didn't think they'd want him tbh, AND he didn't think they'd have enough ectoplasum to even do a claiming like that. He nearly starts crying, BECAUSE THESE PEOPLE WANT HIM.

Tim, concerned: Danny? What's wrong?

Danny, blinking wetly: You're liminals?

Bernard: "Liminals"?

Danny: Human with ectoplasum in their system. I just.. you want me?

Kon, sacrificing what's left of his food to Danny: I don't know what that means. AND of course we want you. You're family now.

Tim, nodding: There's no escape.

The adults all giggles, thinking of different situations with supers or bats or both. It only lasts a second because Danny bursts into tears, just completely overwhelmed by the situation. The adults instinctively get closer, but don't touch, unsure if it would help or worsen Danny's state.

Tim: Danny?

Kon: Would you like a hug-oof!

Danny dives into Kon's side and desperately clings to him with enough force to break a human's ribs. Tim and Bernard crowd closer and rub his back in soothing motions.

Bernard: What's wrong, kiddo?

Danny: Dani should have been here too!

Tim: Danny? I thought your name was Dani?

Danny: She was Dani with one n and an I. I'm Danny with two n's and a y. She- She was my clone, but...

Bernard: You don't have to tell us

Danny: ...She wasn't super stable. I'd help her restabilize every time she started to destabilize, but... but I got caught! She came for help and got caught too! I watched her melt in that shitty lab! There was so much- I wanted- SHE'S GONE!

The adults are devastated. Kon squeezes Danny tightly.

Kon, softly: tell us about her?

And so Danny does. Explaining how she came to be, their first interactions, her strong and independent personality, the little souvenirs she brought him while she traveled to figure herself out, how her condition always worried him, but she wouldn't-couldn't stay with him, and how he wanted to talk about finding her a new name because she deserved to have her own name, not something that reminds her she's a defective clone, but he never got the chance. He has a messy breakdown while explaining her final moments and how his bindings, power suppression cuffs chained to the floor and a muzzle, prevented him from giving her comfort and how SHE apologized to HIM. He thought he was going to die with her in that moment, his core cracking at her loss.

This leads to a short explanation of his ghost biology and how dangerous a cracked core is. And by then, he's flagging, so the adults start persuading the kid to crash in their guest room, with the promise of dinner.

Thus begins the process of timberkon convincing Danny to stay with them. Teaching the kid about his original dimension and the many heroes. They get him so MANY books about space and alien civilizations once they find out his obsession (literally) with that kind of thing. Danny still misses his sisters and friends like an amputated arm, but he slowly rebuilds, letting himself gain a new family and new friends.

His introduction to both the Bats and Supers could have gone better.

He's suspicious and wary of Clark the whole time he was meeting the Kents because of how Clark has treated his own clones in the past. Danny doesn't understand him, and Clark doesn't truly understand, but is more sad than anything about it and accepts he made his bed, now he must lay in it. He warms up to the rest fairly quickly. He's also introduced to Bizarro and Clara eventually and that goes well.

With the Bats, Danny, Bruce, and Dick verbally pace around each other. Bruce deep throating his foot, and Dick not being much better while trying to keep the peace. The rest watch on with amusement before the show is a cut short by Damian of all people intervening. The problem is Damian snuck up behind (unintentionally), grabbed his shoulder while calling Danny "Daniel" (something he was informed to NOT do), and Danny's brain went "VLAD FOUND ME??" (despite there being no way, CW will not let him find Danny) and reacts with violence. Damian barely escaped having any broken bones, that being said, where Danny grabbed to literally throw Damian has DEEP bruising, that arm was dislocated, he has more bruising from hitting the floor, and gained a concussion. Danny apologizing profusely while scolding this 28 y/o man about sneaking up on him AND using a name he specifically told everyone NOT to use. Damian is man enough to apologize while Alfred patches him up. Meeting Duke and Cass is nice, he's unsure about Steph (because how rambunctious she is) and Alfred, Barbara makes him homesick for Jazz, and Jason is funny til he gets a heart attack in the form of Danny offering to eat the corrupt ectoplasum (Lazarus waters) out of him. There's chaos after that, but it eventually calms down, especially since timberkon are protective of their baby and Tim looks like he's about to go super villain on them the moment "tests" are brought up. Danny is embarrassed and pleased as his Creator (he never stops calling jokingly calling Tim that, Kon gets Template, and Bernard is Human, when they aren't just called their name. Eventually he calls them all dad, though Bernard is sometimes called mom) threatens to ruin their everything if they continue. Threats they take seriously because they know Tim will follow through. After that it goes well.

[loulou-land]

8x10 coda

bucktommy fix-it (sort of), emotional hurt/comfort, hopeful ending | cw: angst, dissociation, mild descriptions of a panic attack | 1.5k words

(Buck’s face at the end of that episode got me in the feels and I had to get these words out of me. Thank you @fuselsstuff for making me feel better about my writing and my endings 😘❤️)

As Buck watches Eddie drive away, something inside him crumbles, another piece lost to the wreckage that has come to be his life. He stands frozen in front of what used to be Eddie’s house—his house now, technically—but the words don't sit right. 

His house.

They feel foreign, misplaced. Like a title handed to someone else by mistake. He knows he chose it, knows the reason why he did it, yet what seemed like a good idea at first now feels like a crushing weight around his shoulders. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. Staring at nothing. His head filled with static noise. All feeling draining out of him, until emptiness is all that surrounds him. Distantly he’s aware of his clothes progressively getting soaked as the gentle drizzle grows into a steady downpour. But he can’t seem to make himself move, staying rooted to the spot. 

Eventually, however, the cold seeps so deep into his bones that it forces him into movement. Buck turns, steps inside and shuts the door behind him. And is promptly at a loss. He feels like he took a wrong turn somewhere and forgot where home was. It’s a disconcerting feeling. 

Buck makes his way to the bathroom, peels his wet clothes off and steps into the shower, turning the heat up as high as it’ll go. It skalds his skin, but even then, he’s still cold. It’s like it’s burrowed deep inside and refuses to let go. He pulls on a hoodie, refusing to think about whose it is and why he picked that particular one. 

By the time he stumbles into bed, his limbs feel heavy, weighted down by something vast and shapeless. His mind is scarily blank. Whatever thoughts flicker into his mind are gone too fast to take hold of. Maddie almost died. Eddie’s gone. And, why won’t they listen to me? Why can’t they see I’m drowning? Everyone has something, someone. And what do I have? What am I left with? 

Nothing. It’s always nothing.

I am nothing. 

For once, the thought doesn’t hurt. It barely registers at all. It’s just a fact—objective and empty. He notes the detachment like he’s reading about someone else’s life. It should scare him, but he doesn’t feel much of anything right now. I don’t like this, Buck thinks distantly, I don’t like this at all. 

He sees his hands move as though from far away, outside his body. His fingers close around his phone. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to focus, to process the screen in front of him. He scrolls through his contacts, searching for Dr. Copeland. That’s who he meant to call. That was the hazy plan he’d formed in his head. 

But somehow, Tommy’s name is the one he presses. 

The phone rings. One. Two. Three times. 

The sound should make his heart pound with anxiety. Instead, he finds himself being soothed by the repetitive sound. His mind latches onto the rhythm, following it like a thread in the dark. The longer it rings, he starts to fill each pause with a thought. Of course. He won’t pick up. You don’t matter to anyone. He didn’t want you. 

And then—

“Evan?” 

A pause, a quiet breath. Then softer, “you okay?” 

It shatters something in Buck. The numbness that had settled in him disappears. The concern, the familiarity, the way Tommy has never been anything but honest with him—hearing it now, when everything else has started unraveling In him, it’s too much. 

His breath is knocked out of his chest. His throat closes up. He feels a tingling in his hands as his heart rate picks up. He wants to speak, to explain, to say something, but all that makes it out is a choked, heart-wrenching sob that feels like it’s been ripped right out of him. 

“Sweetheart,” Tommy says, instantly alert. “Evan. Talk to me. What’s wrong? Where are you?” 

Buck tries to breathe, tries to push the words out, but they’re trapped behind his lips. He can’t speak and that drags him deeper into desperation. He clutches his shirt, as though if he grips it tightly enough, he’ll be able to keep himself together and he’ll remember how to use his words again.

His whole body shakes with the force of it, and it’s humiliating, it’s embarrassing, it’s—

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way,” Tommy says, voice steady but urgent beneath it. Buck hears the sound of an engine turning on, the rush of movement on the other end. “Just breathe for me, baby.” 

“Eddie’s,” Buck finally manages to croak out. 

“What?” Tommy asks, slightly distracted. Buck hears car horns and the shift of gears. 

“I’m at Eddie’s.” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The words come quick, sure, no hesitation. 

And Buck appreciates that Tommy doesn’t ask any more questions. He just keeps talking, filling the silence with warmth. You’re okay. I’m here. Breathe for me, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re doing good. You’re so good. Just hold on, I’m almost there.  

Buck clings to every word like a lifeline, tucks them inside himself. He tries to believe them. After all, Tommy doesn’t lie to him. 

His sobbing has slowed, but now something worse is creeping in—the weight of reality pressing back down. He called Tommy. He’s on the phone with him right now. He’s crying like a fucking baby. 

“I’m sorry.” Buck rasps, voice raw. “I—I shouldn’t have called you. Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Evan.” Tommy says his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s something precious. Like it means more than Buck ever let himself believe. Like it means love. 

Buck inhales sharply, stomach twisting in knots. He’d missed that. God, he’d missed hearing his name spilling from Tommy’s mouth. 

Tommy’s voice softens. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s okay. Whatever it is…I’m here for you.” 

He can’t accept that. “No—no, I…you were probably busy.” Buck’s voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to pull you away from anything important.” 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Tommy says, simple and reassuring. Then, quieter, “And, even if I was…I’d still come.” 

Buck should feel comforted. Instead, it makes something ugly rise in his chest. A sick, gnawing pit of self-hatred. Sharp and precise. 

Why does he always do this? Always need too much? He feels everything so loudly, and then drags people into the mess of him, makes them carry it when they shouldn’t have to. 

He lets out a dry, broken laugh. “There I go again,” he mutters, bitter. “Bucking it up. Making it all about me.”

Tommy exhales roughly through the line. And then, firm but gentle, “Evan. I don’t know what’s going on, but it's okay to feel things. And you’re more than allowed to be upset and want to talk about it. It’s okay to need people.”  

Buck closes his eyes. His whole body hurts. He wants to argue. He wants to tell Tommy he’s wrong. That everyone else thinks he’s too much. That Buck’s needs  are a burden. 

But before he can—

“I’m here. Can you open the door for me, sweetheart? 

Buck manages to drag himself out of bed and down the hall. His breath hitches once he reaches the front door, hands trembling slightly, his mind still caught between panic and exhaustion. 

He opens the door. 

And there’s Tommy. 

Standing on the other side, rain-damp and breathless. There’s concern written into every tense line of his body. His shoulders are squared, his jaw set, like he’s ready to take on every single one of Buck’s battles without hesitation. 

Buck swallows hard. “Tommy.” 

So much weight in a name, in a single word. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything. He just opens his arms. 

And Buck simply falls into them. No second-guessing or uncertainty. He clings to Tommy like he’s a safe haven, fists gripping at the fabric of his hoodie, pressing in close until there’s no space left between them. And still, Buck wishes he could crawl inside Tommy, just to be even closer. His mind quiets, the storm inside him calms into a single thought, repeated over and over again. 

Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. 

He breaths him in, the familiar scent anchoring him. Slowly, he matches his breathing to Tommy’s. And, in that moment Buck is entirely convinced their hearts are beating in sync. As one. 

Tommy holds him just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other cradled protectively against his spine. He starts to run soothing circles up and down Buck’s back, murmuring lowly in his ear. 

“Shh, I got you. I’m here.” 

Then, gently, hesitantly, Tommy presses a kiss to the side of Buck’s head. Soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid he’s not allowed to touch Buck like that, but still feels compelled to, needs to do it. 

Buck lets out a shaky sigh, melting further into his arms. 

He knows eventually they’ll have to talk. About the break up, about them. About what had set Buck off.

He’ll have to untangle the mess inside him, sort through everything he’s buried deep. There will be therapy. There will be hard conversations. 

But not right now. 

Right now, he lets himself believe Tommy—that he’s here, that he means it—and decides to go from there. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Will you stay?” 

They speak at the same time. 

And then—

Yes. 

For the first time that day, Buck feels a genuine smile break across his face. 

It won’t be easy.

But he thinks that maybe—just maybe— things will be okay. 

[lenneygirl4ever]

PREVIEW

a sneak peak at part one of THE ALCHEMY

pairing: will lenney x fem!reader

warnings & tags: friends to lovers. slowish burn. idiots with tension. also idiots in denial. lots of nerdy football talk + a side of willne.

summary: The two times you were recruited to play in the Sidemen charity match, and the one time you score.

a/n: hello!!! here’s a brief view of a two/three (?) part series i have in the works. it’s not perfect, but i’m much too excited to wait to publish the whole thing. please enjoy <3

…⚽️

The buzz that interrupted your sleep wasn’t what concerned you, it’s the fact that after you had hung up the first and second time, there was a third call. Begrudgingly, you toss your sheets aside and sit up eyeing the phone on the bedside table. To no surprise, it was Simon.

You were no stranger when it came to working with the Sidemen. Starting off as a crew member who was good with a camera, slowly you were incorporated into videos, and eventually had the confidence to create your own platform. After leaving the Sidemen to focus on building your solo career, most of your audience didn't know where you gained your footing, becoming a bigger public figure outside of their work.

Getting a phone call from Simon wasn't uncommon, needless to say. You were always ready to film, to bring in new ideas for them, to be on set. After all, you had been friends with the lads for years.

"Hello?" you croak, trying to smooth down the hair that was knotted in the back of your head.

"Y/n! How are you, mate?" Simon's voice was overly chipper and sweet, too sweet. You eye your phone for a moment before pressing it back up to your ear. It was too early in the morning for either of you to be awake.

"Christ, Simon, I know you aren't just calling me at seven in the morning to ask how I am," you replied. Simon sighs briefly before letting out an airy chuckle.

"Alright, I need to ask you for a favor." That's what you were expecting. His voice hesitant and low, it made you wonder what this could really be about.

"Okay, go on then," you yawn. You weren't sure why Simon was being so ominous; you had done the lad loads of favors in the past. Bringing in extra camera crew, reaching out to other influencers, helping plan out events-

"Would you sub in for Andres for the charity match next week? I know it's last minute, but he had other conflicts, and you're one of my best mates. You-" Simon rambles before you swiftly interject.

"Simon, what are you waffling on about? You can't be serious," you say seriously. The grogginess from waking up immediately disappears, and you begin to regret picking up the phone.

"I know it's mad, but we've tossed around a ball quite a bit before-"

"I haven't seriously played footy since I was in high school! I can't imagine the shit I'd get if I were to even step foot into that stadium."

"I know-"

"And I'm the only girl! That's like a misogynist's nightmare, a woman who can think and compete!" Getting on your feet, you pace around your room like a madman. Your free hand finds its way into your hair, coarsing through it multiple times, stressfully.

"Would you let me finish? Then you can decide if it's bollocks or not," Simon asked finally. You heave out a breath of air and then hum in response. The least you could do is give him time to try to convince you.

"Look, it's the first time a lot of them have played football, and some of them play like it's the first time. It's really about having a good time, " he explains, which admittedly puts some of your worries at ease- and gets a small laugh out of you.

"Also.." he says hesitantly, hitching his breath as he trails off. You roll your eyes and groan. Of course, there's more to it; there always is. You sit back onto the edge of the bed, foot impatiently tapping on the wood floor.

"I may have called Will, and he may have told me to ask you; he promised me that with enough begging.. you'd say yes," he says, almost like a question. There's a small hint of teasing when he says it, and you can practically see the prat smiling through the screen.

Your end of the call goes silent. A flush starting at the tips of your ears and growing at the bulbs of your cheeks.

..

In 2018, the day before the charity match, you met Will in person for the first time. You knew of him through brief passing and mentions of him from Cal and the other Sidemen. Yet you never spoke to him until you were messing around with your camera during practice, getting ready to film the match the next day.

"This is who I was telling you about, Will," Cal smiles, grabbing your attention from the camera. You peer over your shoulder to see a younger lad with dark hair standing beside him. You politely set the camera down on the bench and extend your hand out to him.

"Hi, I'm y/n, I've heard good things about you!" you smile, and he leans down, weakly taking your hand and shaking it.

"Hello," he responds, his once loud chatter with Cal made you assume he'd be much more talkative. But now he is quiet and fidgety, and it makes you wonder if you've already made a bad first impression.

"Y/n is our best camerawomen. I ought to get you familiar with her; maybe you can get some good screen time." Cal smirked. Will shoves him lightly with a chuckle.

"I'm not all bad, I reckon," he insists, and you put your hands up defensively.

"Hey, we'll just have to see on the field, won't we?" you express, grabbing the large equipment and getting ready to move it inside. You stand up, getting a better look at his face. He's tall, his hair short and freshly cut, his jawline is carved out sharply, making it hard to go unnoticed.

"Cheeky," Will commented, crossing his arms over each other. And unknowingly, a grin had worked its way onto your face, your tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek. You shrug,

"I gotta get going, it was nice meeting you Will,"

..

Since then, you and Will have kept in contact frequently. He interacted with you on social media, had you come to feature in his videos, and texted you almost every day. Seeing one another once every few months had become every weekend when you moved closer to London. And you can bet that this didn't go unnoticed by anyone. Sharing clothes, traveling together, posting each other, seeing each other more than your own family— you can only assume why everyone has their presumptions.

Yet, you were great at denying, avoiding, and more importantly ignoring these blistering questions on if they or won’t they.

"So.. you called Will first, before calling me?" you ask slowly, processing it yourself. The pads of your fingers rub against your temple, then smoothing your palm across your cheek hoping it would brush away the pink that dusted your face.

"Yeah," Simon says quickly. "Is it more convincing now? "

"Fuck off,"

"I know it is," he insists. You mutter profanities under your breath before letting it go silent.

Because it is much more convincing knowing that Will had that kind of faith and trust in you. It's more convincing knowing the person closest to you would be right by your side. You weigh out the options in your head. If you do play, you'll get to say you played in front of 30,000 people, raised money for charity, and more importantly, were able to help out some of your closest friends.

"Simon, I don't know.." You mutter hesitantly, biting the nail on your thumb. Sure, you had played footy competitively in high school and tossed a ball around here and there with the lads, but other than that, you hadn't really played in a few years now.

"C'mon, you don't have to be any good, it's for charity y/n! You have to! There will be loads of fans happy that you're playing!" Simon coaxed. You shake your head instantly, knowing that half the boys lived and breathed football.

“You can’t say I don’t have to be any good when you’re probably one of the best players out there.” Countering his argument, you can tell you're at the breaking point. He's cracked you down efficiently, being nice, complimenting you, bringing Will into it- It's working so well you almost hate him for it.

“I’ve exhausted my options, y/n, please, this one time, and I’ll never ask again.” Simon protests. You huff, exasperated, and without letting another beat pass,

"Alright,"

"Alright?" he repeats, the surprise evident in his tone. You gnaw at your bottom lip, and squeezed your eyes shut before speaking again.

"Yeah, okay, put me in." You decide finally. You can hear movement on the other end and a few other voices shout in delight. Of course, he couldn't be alone when he made the phone call.

"Oh my god, this will be legendary, thank you, thank you, thank you," Simon begins excitedly, which brings a smile to your face. Simon, even though he always was teetering on the edge of your limit, was charming and kind and that's what makes it hard to deny him.

"You're playing center, by the way. See you in a week mate!" and the phone call clicks. There, you're left to stare at your phone screen, watching as you get added to a group chat and texts start to roll in.

One week, seven days, to magically get good at football again. Right, well, it’s much too late to turn back now.

"Cheers," muttering to yourself. You fall back onto the bed, checking your messages to see a new one from Will.

"wanna show this novice the ropes?"

Word obviously spreads fast, is the first thing you think. And then you snort, with a quick eye roll, the pads of your fingers drumming against the screen.

"fuck off" you begin to type but instead you text back,

“pitch at 6 sharp"

And almost immediately Will texts back,

“wouldn’t miss it :)”

[littelovelunette]

can you pls write something like Vi and reader use to be together when they were younger but then the whole of s1 happened and they meet again bc after Caitlyn hurt Vi, Vi went to visit the brothel in one if her drunken states and had sex with reader even though she didn't realize who she was until the following morning. they have like a sorta sweet but mostly heavy angsty reconnection and vi explains everything. - tysm i loveeeee reading ur stories honestly they make my day jst better 🩷

Reunite

Thank youuu I'm glad my fics make your day better

Contains angst, smut, fingering, light oral

Violet x Reader

When you had seen Vi enter the brothel you worked at, it felt as if your heart had actually sunk to your stomach— you used to think it was just a stupid saying but, oh, was the feeling so real.

You and Vi had dated when the both of you were teenagers. You both used to once be inseparable until one day Vi disappeared without any trace. You were heartbroken and that's how you financially were impacted due to your emotional distress.

Since you were at a dire need of money, you didn't have much of a choice when you joined the brothel. It was a huge blow to your dignity and you hated how men would ogle and comment so inappropriately over your body, not to mention the horrid acts you had to perform simply to earn some cash.

Vi was so drunk when she paid to have you all to herself for the entire night. You entered the room, feeling slightly sweaty due to anticipation and nervousness.

The once teenager girl was now a very hot, muscle mommy and you felt like you had missed puberty compared to how much Vi'd changed.

"There you are," Vi cooed.

Her hand caressed the side of your face, tilting it to the side before she guided you to the bed where she gestured you to lay with a quiet command.

"Show me your cunt," she whispered.

Your legs slowly spread to expose your most sensitive part to Vi, you had hoped this would've happened differently. In a more fairytale-ish way, but life wasn't always rainbows and unicorns. You had to accept it.

Vi's breath was hot against your pussy, she licked up a bold stripe before steadying two slender fingers against your slit. She didn't wait for you to give her the go and she delved them inside causing your back to arch as you squeezed your eyes, throwing your head to the side.

"Too much?" Vi questioned.

"N-no, keep going," you responded.

Vi's fingers twisted in all angles possible making your toes curl and uncurl. Your eyes rolled back as you whined loudly from the pleasure. You never knew she was so skilled with her fingers.

Her touch was addictive, you wanted more in a concerning manner. You needed her. You needed her badly. Your hips rutted against her fingers needily as she added a third finger, pumping inside your pussy in a rough pace making wet squelching sounds echo in the bedroom.

"Vi," you moaned her name.

Vi paused for a second, "I never told you my name."

You paused as well, freezing in place with Vi's fingers deep in your cunt but before you could respond Vi aimed another deep thrust coercing a louder moan.

"Oh, my god! Oh! I'm gonna come!" You cried out.

Vi smirked slightly, her lip scar accentuated with the smirk. Her fingers only got faster making your legs instinctively try to close. Although, you had engaged in similar acts with your other clients, Vi doing this to you felt more personal.

It felt like love.

You liked sex for once in your life.

Your eyes widened with buildings tears as you finally came undone on her fingers, Vi rode out your orgasm before she slowly pulled her fingers out.

"You can take more, right, baby?" Vi sat up straight between your legs, holding your thighs with both hands.

You nodded.

"Yes, I can..."

"Good, I don't plan on giving you a breather," Vi chuckled.

The night stretched on and you had no idea when you had passed out while Vi was relentlessly fingering your pussy, as if determined to bring every single little string of orgasm out of your pussy.

You woke with a slight pain in your lower abdomen, where your womb was. Probably from the intense orgasms you had had. You turned to the sight and the view of Vi peacefully asleep beside you met your eyes.

She looked so small and vulnerable, her eyebrow slightly furrowed even in her sleep. Her arm was draped around your waist so damn protectively.

You didn't dare move, enjoying the moment you both had in the morning. Waiting for Vi to wake up, you decided to simply appreciate the beauty of the woman. She was naked under the sheets but that didn't bother you. The long lost love of your life was sleeping next to you.

That's what mattered.

Eventually, Vi stirred and woke.

Vi's blue eyes went wide seeing you and she rushed to sit up, wincing at the hangover headache but that was the least of her worries. She mumbled your name under her breath softly, reaching a hand to hold the side of your cheek.

"Am I hallucinating?" Vi whispered.

You shook your head, "No, this is very real."

"There's so much to say," Vi said after a pause, "I don't know where to begin."

"Maybe with an apology?" You crossed your arms as you leaned against the headboard of the bed, "Apology for flaking on me?"

"I'm sorry," Vi muttered, shifting closer, "Although, I know the expiry date on my words have passed years ago."

You laughed, bittersweet, "Yeah."

There was silence.

"There's been so much without you around," Vi mumbled under her breath, "Just so much, so damn much. And I wish I could undo all the stupid things I've done."

"To me? Or without me?" You looked at her.

"Both," Vi sighed.

After a pause, she spoke again, "I dated Caitlyn Kiramman. And before you say anything, she was pretty great actually. I know it goes against all your morals and stuff, but it meant a lot to me— the relationship."

"I'm guessing it fell apart? Or am I the sidechick?" You smirked faintly.

"Yeah, we broke off," Vi looked at the floor.

There was silence again, "I know I can't undo what I've already done but I want you to know I realised my faults in all of the past, I want to make it up to you if you're open to it. Of course, no rush, take your time deciding if you even wanna stick around."

"Vi..."

You saw Vi getting up, the mattress inflating slightly as she got off it. Vi picked her clothes up and started dressing up.

"I shouldn't stay," Vi shoved her hands in her jacket, "It was toxic enough I got drunk and had sex with you. I know it's work for you so... It's probably barely consented."

Vi turned away, "I'll get going."

You got up right before she grabbed the door handle, "Wait."

You pulled Vi by the wrist and pinned her to the wall, getting on your tippy toes to kiss her. Your lips were soft against her slightly chapped ones. Vi's eyes were wide for the first few seconds but then she melted in the kiss.

She craved you.

"I do want to stick around."

"Even after all the things I've done?" Vi looked at you with newfound affection.

"Yes," you affirmed.

Vi's hands encircled around your waist, gripping you closed to herself as if afraid you'd slip in through the gaps of her fingers.

"I'll never leave you again, I promise," Vi whispered.

"I know," you leaned your head against her chest, "I trust you."

[cameronsbabydoll]

TEXT BOOK — ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

WARNINGS: toxic relationship, daddy issues, themes of parental neglect

The first time you saw Rafe, you weren’t thinking about love.

You were thinking about your father.

It was stupid, really. The way your heart stuttered when you caught sight of him, the way something in your gut twisted like recognition. But it wasn’t recognition, not really. You didn’t know Rafe Cameron, not then. You only knew the way he stood—feet planted firm like he owned the ground beneath him, shoulders squared, eyes cool and unreadable.

Your father used to be like that.

And maybe that’s why you listened when Rafe spoke, why you nodded when he told you what to do, why you followed him without question when he held out his hand.

Because deep down, you wanted someone to lead you.

Someone to tell you where to go, what to say, what to be.

You wanted someone to make you feel small in the way that made you feel safe.

And Rafe made you feel that way.

Maybe that’s why, all these months later, you’re still here—wrapped in the passenger seat of his car, legs curled beneath you as the city lights blur past the window.

“You’ve got a Thunderbird, my daddy had one too.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, quiet and pensive.

Rafe glances at you, then back at the road, exhaling a slow breath through his nose. “That supposed to mean something?”

You shrug, watching the way his hands tighten on the wheel. “Just reminds me of him.”

He hums, unreadable. “Didn’t know you had daddy issues.”

You huff a soft laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Did you?

You think about it—about all the times you wanted him to look at you, to see you, to love you the way a father is supposed to. You think about the nights you spent waiting for him to come home, the way your mother’s face fell when he never did. You think about the times you asked him something, anything, just to hear him say your name.

And maybe that’s why you’re here now, chasing something you lost a long time ago.

“I was looking for the father I wanted back.”

You don’t say it out loud, but the words live in your head like a quiet confession.

Rafe never asks about your father again.

—

He doesn’t love you the way you want him to.

You know that now.

It’s in the way he orders for you at restaurants without asking what you want. The way he doesn’t look up from his phone when you speak, doesn’t touch you unless it’s casual, absent-minded.

It’s in the way he disappears for days, maybe weeks, and never explains where he’s been.

But then he comes back, and his voice is smooth like whiskey, like the scrape of money against silk, and you think—maybe he does love me.

Maybe this is just how love looks on him. Maybe it’s not soft, not sweet, not kind. Maybe love isn’t supposed to be like that at all.

“It wasn’t like the movies, it wasn’t like the songs.”

But you never wanted a movie kind of love. You only ever wanted to be seen.

And Rafe sees you.

Doesn’t he?

—

It takes months before you realize what you’ve done.

That you didn’t find a replacement. That you didn’t find the love you were missing.

You found something worse.

Because at least with your father, there was hope.

Hope that he could change, hope that he could love you like a father is supposed to.

With Rafe, there is no hope.

There’s only the way he tells you what to wear, what to say, what not to say. The way he doesn’t ask what you want—just assumes, just takes.

There’s only the way he disappears when he gets bored, then comes back like nothing ever happened. And you let him, because what else do you know?

Because Rafe keeps you close, but never with him.

Because Rafe feeds you just enough love to keep you starving.

And maybe, deep down, you knew it all along.

—

One night, you ask him the question.

“Do you think if I go blonde, we could get our old love back?”

You ask it softly, hesitantly, like a prayer.

Rafe shifts beside you in bed, his fingers ghosting over your arm before they still. He doesn’t answer right away. Just sighs, long and slow, before murmuring, “What old love?”

And that’s when you know.

There was never any love to begin with.

Not from your father. Not from Rafe.

Not from anyone.

You lie awake long after he falls asleep, staring at the ceiling, remembering what it felt like to be a child, sitting by the window, waiting for headlights that never came.

You turn your head, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Rafe’s chest, the peaceful way he sleeps beside you.

He won’t leave you.

Not like your father did.

No—he’ll keep you.

And somehow, that’s worse.

[1-800-local-slut]

You know after reading your Spencer x black bombshell reader fics, I’ve been thinking of a version where reader and Spencer meet and start dating and when he introduces her to the team, Derek (in a universe where he doesn’t know you) is like ‘pretty boy bagged a baddie?! Respect.’

Spencer Reid did good, and you can't help but agree

Spencer Reid x Black! Bombshell! Reader

Warnings: none, cute fluff, drinking, the bau being weird, reader isn't in the FBI in this universe because if she and Derek didn't meet as best friends I could see them hooking up once or twice before she started taking her relationships seriously

Thank you for this request! Please consider sending more request in the future. Comments, reblogs, and likes are really appreciated <3

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

Spencer was a smart man. But sometimes he could be a little stupid, and that explains a lot. Such as why he was nervous the entire drive to the bar. While you sat pretty, happily chatting with your friend Marie on the phone he was taking way more detail to driving than usual.

But seeing you happily chatting away with his entire team, dazzling the room the way you had when you first met him, he was struggling to recall why he was nervous. Yes, you were pretty and looked like you just stepped out of a 90s movie, but you were smart too.

The two doctorates under your belt and the partner title you earned at your law firm proved it. And becoming Valedictorian twice (high school and university) in a school in a different country was nothing to sneeze at. If anyone could get along with his team of well-educated peers, it was you.

"Do you speak Japanese?" Penelope asked, a little star struck. The moment you took off your coat and sat down at the booth she had fallen head over heels for you.

"Yes, my parents and I moved there when I was fifteen and I went to college there. I did transfer to Havard for my doctorate though."

A collective 'wow' from the table.

"I've never been to Japan. What's it like over there?" JJ asked, sipping from her glass and pushing a loose hair out of her face.

"I hear it's really nice, I've always wanted to go in Summer." Emily joined in, the two shared a momentary look. The moment that customary two-week vacation came they were gone.

"Oh it's beautiful! The scenery, the architecture, the people are so friendly too! And the speaking of the people, they are just as beautiful." You added with a little eyebrow raise and a laugh. Derek chuckled with a toothy grin. Things were going so well it felt like a dream.

In truth, he was more worried you wouldn't like them. You had your moods, and you have a small group of friends by your own choosing. You were the most social but anti-social person he'd ever met.

And a few more jokes and drinks passed with Spencer relaxing with each passing moment. What was he so scared about?

"If you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom." You announced, rising from your seat and sliding out in front of Hotch and Rossi as they were on the side closest to the womens room.

"Oh take your time!" Penelope called.

"Don't take too much though." Derek called in response, to which you laughed as you walked off and disappeared into the sea of people in the club. In truth, you'd be gone just long enough to give yourself a breather. You do that sometimes, disappear to give yourself a moments peace. Infact the minute you got home you'd be in your most comfortable night gown with your headphones secured on your head just listening to whatever video essay on youtube grabbed your attention before dosing off.

But the moment there were sure you were gone, like a group of school children the FBI's most productive team leaned in.

"Oh my god Spencer she's so cute!" Penelope squealed. JJ nodded in agreement. Her eyes were wide with joy for Spencer.

"Cultured, elegant but still approachable. You can't find those young women everywhere these days." Rossi had to share his elderly wisdom.

"She seems nice." Hotch added his approval. Truthfully, it was the highest compliment Hotch would give another man's girlfriend. You were 5/7 for approval right now, not that it mattered but it was nice to know the woman Spencer wanted to spend the rest of his days with could get along with people he spent so much time with.

"Where did you find this woman Spencer? And how dare you hog her for so long? And where can I find women like her?" Emily asked and JJ jokingly elbowed her in the side. She giggled and nudged JJ back as they settled back into the team's silence. Sometimes those two were in their own world.

"You know I met her at the bookstore. We both reached for a copy of Crime and Punishment in its original language, but it was the last one. I was just going to let her have it, but she was like 'you read it first, then you can loan it to me.' and gave me her number but I didn't get it at first, so we then ran into each other again two days later at a bakery and she asked me if I was done yet. So, I was because I finished it last night and I gave her the book and she told me she'd give it back and called me three days later and invited me to lunch."

"Ohhh she wears the pants?" Derek joked and Spencer opened his mouth in mock offence.

"Derek!" Penelope slapped Derek on his arm, and he pretended to beg for mercy.

With each word of approval from his closest friends, he smiled a little wider.

"But, good job man. Respect." He offered his fist to Spencer, who gleefully blew it up.

"I mean seriously good job. I don't mean to disrespect you but if you slip up, I'm right here."

"You have to get in line behind Emily." JJ snickered and stretched backwards.

"What'd he do a good job on?" You suddenly reappeared, lip gloss retouched and hair re-adjusted so it was perfectly back in place. Your arm leaned against the back of the booth, showing off the toned muscles under your dark skin with some specks of golden body glitter on it.

"Everything." Derek smiled, looking at you and you seemed to understand. Sliding back into your spot next to Spencer, who felt a warmth spread from his body starting from the side you were on.

Lifting your glass, looking over the rim and taking a sip. Placing down your glass, Spencer found himself hypnotized by your every movement.

"Well, I can't disagree on that."

༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༺༻༺

I lowkey hate this but I hope you can enjoy it </3

[aroselaine]

His Wings

Masterlist, AO3 Cas x AFAB!fem!Reader Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Castiel shows up at your motel room seeking help with his wings. However, when you discover just how sensitive angel wings are, you end up helping him with something else 🤭

Content: smut !! wink kink, grace kink, mutual pining, grinding, intense making out, body worship, p in v sex, cas is vocal ;), cowgirl, switch!castiel, no use of Y/N

A/N ahhhhh sorry this took so long I hope you guys enjoy and please lmk how we feel about the wing kink this was definitely self indulgent 🤭 Feel free to message me with any requests <3

The hunt had gone worse than any of you had expected. What was supposed to be a simple salt-and-burn had escalated into a full-blown demon expulsion, leaving you completely drained. Even with Castiel healing the worst of your injuries, the deep ache in your muscles could only be cured by a solid night’s sleep.

So when you finally made it back to the motel, you wasted no time saying goodnight to Sam and Dean before retreating to your room. Dropping your gear by the door, you headed straight for the shower, stripping as you went. The water was still ice-cold when you stepped in, but you were too impatient to wait for it to warm up. You rinsed off quickly and stepped out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a towel. With a tired sigh, you realized you’d forgotten to grab your pajamas. Too exhausted to think much of it, you walked out of the bathroom and headed straight for your suitcase, rummaging through it without a second thought.

“Hello.”

The unexpected voice made you freeze.

You let out a startled squeak, whipping around so fast your towel nearly slipped. Your heart pounded as your eyes darted toward the source of the voice—only to find Cas standing stiffly in the corner, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

“Oh my god, Cas! You scared me!” you exhaled, pressing a hand to your chest as you tried to steady your breathing.

“I apologize. That was not my intention,” he said, eyes dropping to the floor.

You sighed, your initial shock fading. “No, it’s okay,” you reassured him, your voice softer now. “It’s just been a long day. Let me change, and then we can talk, yeah?”

Cas gave a small nod, saying nothing.

Grabbing the first T-shirt and shorts you could find, you shuffled back into the bathroom to change. This wasn’t the first time he had come to your room at night to talk, but it still caught you off guard—especially so soon after a hunt. Usually, he disappeared for a while afterward, off on his own for reasons he never fully explained.

Which meant whatever he needed now was important.

After changing, you ran a brush through your hair, taking a few extra seconds to collect yourself. With a deep breath, you stepped back into the room.

Your brows furrowed as you took in the scene—Cas was still standing exactly where you had left him, unmoving in the corner. Something was definitely off.

Walking over to the couch, you sat down and patted the space beside you. “Cas, honey, please come sit,” you said gently, watching him carefully.

He nodded but didn’t speak, his stiff movements only adding to your growing concern. As he made his way over, you noticed the way his shoulders rolled uncomfortably, a slight wince flickering across his face as he perched on the edge of the couch, eyes fixed on the wall.

You sighed. “Look,” you started, leaning toward him, “I can tell something’s wrong. What is it?”

Cas finally turned his gaze to you, his expression tight with frustration.

“It’s my wings,” he admitted after a moment. “They were injured… and I can’t heal them like usual.”

Your chest tightened at thought he’d been in pain since the hunt. “Cas,” you said softly, turning to fully face him. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

He hesitated, his jaw clenching as he looked away. “Because I thought I could endure it,” he admitted. “I’ve fought through worse injuries before. I assumed my grace would eventually repair the damage.” His fingers curled slightly against his knee. “But it hasn’t.” He exhaled slowly, as if the admission itself was difficult. “I need assistance.” 

“What can I do?” you asked gently.

He looked nervous, his fingers twitching against his knee. “My wings…” He exhaled slowly, as if steeling himself. “They need tending to. When injured, angels usually rely on another to… preen.” He shifted uncomfortably.

You blinked, processing his words. “Preen?”

Cas gave a small nod. “The damage isn’t just to the bone or muscle—my feathers are in disarray. When they’re like this, my grace struggles to mend them.” He looked at you then, something vulnerable in his expression. “If you—if you comb through them, remove the damaged feathers and align the rest, it may help.”

Your heart stuttered at the weight of his request. You knew how personal, how sacred they were to him. “You’re sure?” you asked softly. “Cas, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I trust you,” he said simply.

That single sentence sent warmth flooding through you. You reached out, resting your hand lightly on his. “Okay,” you said, offering him a reassuring smile. “Then show me.”

“You need to close your eyes—I don’t want to blind you.”

Not needing to be told twice, you shut your eyes. The couch shifted as Cas stood, and a moment later, the air in the room grew heavy—charged, like the stillness before a storm. The energy pressed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You can look now,” Castiel said quietly.

You opened your eyes, and your breath caught in your throat.

His wings stretched far beyond the couch, their dark feathers gleaming under the dim motel light. They were massive, breathtaking—but not unscathed. Several feathers were bent at odd angles, some ruffled, others missing entirely. He held them tensely, careful with every movement, as if even the slightest shift brought him discomfort.

Slowly, you rose to your feet, taking in the sight before stepping closer. “Cas,” you whispered, awestruck. “You’re beautiful.”

He exhaled, almost as if he’d been holding his breath, and gave a small, almost bashful nod.

“Do you want to lie down on the bed?” you asked gently.

He nodded once before disappearing and reappearing shirtless and facedown on the bed. In any other situation, you might have laughed at how abrupt it was. Instead, you followed, climbing onto the bed and carefully straddling his back to position yourself over his wings.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly.

Cas hummed in response, his body still tense beneath you.

Taking a steadying breath, you reached out, running your fingers carefully through his feathers. They were impossibly soft, but beneath that softness, you could feel the damage—the uneven patches, the tangled barbs, the missing pieces where his wings should have been whole.

Gently, you smoothed the ruffled feathers, watching as the tension melted from Cas’s body. His quiet, breathy moans sent a flush of warmth to your cheeks, but you kept your focus steady. Moving outward, your fingers carefully combed through the silken plumes, untangling and aligning them with soft, deliberate strokes. The sensation was mesmerizing—each feather carrying a subtle pulse of energy that seeped into your fingertips, spreading a soothing calm through you.

As you reached the outer edges, Cas instinctively drew his wings inward, bringing them closer to you. The silent gesture sent a shiver down your spine—a wordless invitation, an unspoken trust. With newfound determination, you continued, your touch gentle but assured. 

Time slipped away as you worked, and before you knew it, you were nearly finished. The only place left was the base of his wings, where they connected to his body. Without thinking, your hands drifted lower, fingers pressing into the tense muscles at his shoulders just grazing his wings.

The reaction was immediate. Cas’s entire body tensed beneath you, a loud, unrestrained moan muffled against the pillow. Startled, you pulled your hands back, heat rushing to your face.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—” you stammered, but before you could finish, Cas turned his head, his breath heavy, eyes dark with something unreadable.

“No, please,” he murmured, his voice rough, raw. “Please don’t stop.”

Your breath caught at the desperation in his voice, the way his fingers curled into the sheets as he waited—hoped—for your touch to return. His wings trembled slightly, the dark feathers shifting with the steady rise and fall of his breath.

Swallowing hard, you hesitated only a moment before slowly placing your hands back on his shoulders. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, his muscles still taut with tension. You pressed gently at first, then deeper, kneading the knots where his wings met his body.

Cas let out a deep, shuddering breath, his head tilting slightly to the side, exposing the curve of his neck. You couldn't ignore the way his body reacted under your touch—the subtle twitches, the way his breath hitched with each careful movement of your hands. It was intoxicating, feeling him this vulnerable, this undone beneath you.

“Is this helping?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cas hummed in response, his wings giving the slightest flutter. “Yes,” he exhaled, his voice strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

Encouraged, you continued, your fingers working deeper, tracing the strong lines of his back, the sensitive connection between flesh and feather. With each movement, Cas’s breathing grew heavier, his body relaxing further, yet still holding an edge of tension that sent warmth curling low in your stomach.

“Cas…” you whispered, not even sure what you were asking.

His fingers flexed against the sheets, his wings twitching as he turned his head just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were darker now, filled with something deep, something needy.

“This is… different,” he admitted, voice husky. “Something is happening to me.”

You swallowed, your pulse quickening. “What do you mean?”

Cas inhaled sharply, his wings flexing beneath your touch. “Angel wings are…sensitive. ” His lashes fluttered as he exhaled slowly. “I’ve never had anyone touch me like this before.”

A shiver ran through you at his words, at the unspoken meaning behind them. The energy between you crackled, invisible but tangible, pressing against your skin like static in the air before a storm. You weren’t just helping him with his wings anymore.

You could stop. You should stop.

But you didn’t want to.

Instead, you let your hands drift lower, your fingers tracing slow, careful circles over the sensitive base of his wings. Cas groaned, his back arching ever so slightly, pressing into your touch rather than pulling away. The sound sent a bolt of heat through you, igniting something primal, something electric between you both.

The air around you thrummed with energy, his grace pressing against your skin, calling to you in ways you didn’t fully understand—but felt deep in your core.

Slowly, almost experimentally, you let your hands drift lower, tracing along his spine before skimming the base of his wings again. Cas let out a sharp gasp, his body tensing beneath you, and then, in a sudden burst of movement, he shifted, flipping onto his back beneath you.

Now straddling his waist, you were met with the full sight of him laid bare before you—his toned torso, his flushed skin, his lips slightly parted as he gazed up at you, eyes dark with something raw and unrestrained.—his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his lips slightly parted. 

You felt his need pressed against your thigh. His wings spread beneath him, stretching wide, dark and gleaming against the cheap motel sheets. They twitched slightly as you reached out, brushing your fingers along the silky feathers. Cas’s breath hitched, his grip tightening on the fabric beneath him. You experimentally rolled your hips, watching his head roll back onto the pillow.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, voice low and strained, his hands twitching at his sides as if restraining himself.

“Then show me,” you whispered, leaning down so your lips were just inches from his.

That was all the invitation he needed.

In a flash, his hands found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you down against him. His lips crashed into yours, urgent and desperate, years of restraint unraveling in an instant. A quiet moan escaped you as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding beneath your shirt, fingers exploring the bare skin of your back.

The heat between you grew unbearable, the friction intoxicating as your bodies moved together. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and Cas groaned into your mouth, his grip tightening on your hips. You gasped as he rolled his hips up against you, the hardness of him undeniable through the thin layers of clothing still between you.

“Cas…” you breathed, your forehead pressed to his, your body aching for more.

His eyes met yours, dark with something raw and unrestrained. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, but laced with reverence.

Instead of answering with words, you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head before tossing it aside. Cas’s breath caught as his gaze roamed over you, his hands following soon after, exploring every inch of newly exposed skin. His touch was warm, reverent, as if memorizing you with his fingertips.

There was no hesitation after that.

Your clothes disappeared piece by piece, the air between you thick with heat and longing. Lips never strayed far from each other, hands exploring, discovering every inch of bare skin. Every touch sent a shiver through you, every kiss deepening the ache that only he could satisfy.

When you finally sank down onto him, a deep, guttural moan rumbled from Cas’s throat, his fingers tightening around your hips like he was anchoring himself to you. The stretch was slow, deliberate, leaving you breathless as your bodies molded together perfectly.

Cas’s head fell back, his lips parted as he let you take control, his grip guiding you but never forcing. His hands roamed your body, memorizing every curve, every tremor of pleasure that rippled through you. The way he looked at you—reverent, awestruck—only made the fire in your veins burn hotter.

But soon, his control frayed.

With a low growl, he flipped you beneath him, his wings flaring wide as he settled between your legs. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips as he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts. Every inch of him filled you completely, each roll of his hips sending pleasure spiraling through you. He savored it, savoring you, his hands gripping your thighs as he buried himself deeper.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails raking down his back as the slow, controlled rhythm turned desperate. The soft moans and gasps between you blended into something raw and unrestrained, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he drove into you with a need that went beyond the physical.

His grace pulsed around you, through you, wrapping you in warmth and electricity, heightening every sensation. It felt like you were floating, like you were tethered to something far greater than yourself—tethered to him.

Cas’s lips found yours again as the pleasure built to something overwhelming. His thrusts grew erratic, his grip tightening as he lost himself completely in you. Your name spilled from his lips, rough and desperate.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured between ragged breaths.

You obeyed his order, pleasure pulsing through your body. Behind closed eyelids, a brilliant blue light flooded the room—his grace pulsing outward, washing over you like a wave. Your body arched, every nerve alight as you shattered beneath him, pulling him over the edge with you.

A low, broken moan escaped him as he buried himself deep one final time. You opened your eyes and watched as his entire body trembled above you. His wings twitched, feathers quivering as he exhaled a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your lips, lingering as if he never wanted to part from you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, still tangled in each other, your bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding in unison.

When Cas finally lifted his head, his gaze softened, fingers tracing over your cheek with something close to awe.

“You are… divine,” he murmured, his voice adoring.

You smiled, fingers trailing through his hair as you pulled him down beside you. “I could say the same about you.”

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his wings folding protectively around your bodies as the world outside faded away.

[captainuranium543]

Alright so Im just gonna run through some of the points here and hopefully i can explain this well enough

1. If Jellal Doesn’t Need Internal Redemption, Why Does He Need Erza’s Validation?

Because people still got hurt. Jellal might be redeemed now but the consequences of his actions still remain. my argument was that I would liked to see a little more from Erzas perspective because we know she was deeply traumatized by him and that isn't just gonna disappear overnight no matter how much she might want to forgive him immediately. Jellals redemption doesn't need her validation its not about that, its about how I would have liked to see her character develop from that point forward and why i think its important development for their relationship.

2. You Moved the Goalpost: Your Original Argument Was About Erza’s Feelings, Not Just “Perspective.”

what i meant was to see her feelings and her perspective on jellal. sorry if that was unclear ig but that's why i'm trying to elaborate. in anycase I dont think Erzas perspective is necessary to "validate" jellals redemption, I think its necessary for HER character because I want to actually see her grow past her trauma. I think it would make their relationship be beneficial to their relationship if we saw her come to forgive him on her own rather then just be alright with everything one day.

If Jellal’s redemption is truly about himself, why does it need to be filtered through Erza’s point of view for it to be valid?

so to answer your question, its valid regardless. I just think it would have added to the believability of their relationship if we'd been able to see erza's feelings develop overtime.

3. Why Does Erza’s Perspective Matter More Than Jellal’s Other Victims?

in the literal sense it doesn't, but like I said this is a story. narratively Erzas forgiveness is important because shes the one we've seen the direct consequences of his actions on the most, that and the fact he's supposed to be in a romantic relationship with her eventually means that her feelings specifically are important to the narrative.

Why does Erza’s forgiveness matter more than justice for the people who actually suffered from his crimes?

?it doesn't? I'm sorry I don't really understand how this is relevant to my point. are you arguing he should spend his whole life fighting crime? I don't think that's the case but I also fail to see your point, If you could explain to me what it is your arguing here that would be helpful.

4. You Excuse the Power Imbalance Between Them Without Addressing It.

? Im not really sure where to go with this one. my original point was that I think erzas side of things is underdeveloped and your kind of getting onto a different topic. If you want my honest answer as to why she doesn't correct him, as far as I'm aware she does? I can think of a couple instances if you want examples.

I also don't see how she benefits from him doing that at all, In fact I think it actually goes against her character arc because rather then loving her as a person he treats her more like an ideal. personally, Id prefer of it was treated as a character flaw and something that changes as Jellal develops into being more of his own person after so many years without that opportunity, but I also don't really see how this negates any of my original point?

5. You Contradict Yourself On How Their Arcs Should Be Handled.

ok let me be clear, I call it a redemption arc but that's kind of a misnomer since Jellal didn't have the change in mindset that characterizes a true redemption arc. I think that Jellals character arc should be focused on himself, however I think that Erzas character arc should continue because the consequences of what he did are still relevant to both of them. Jellal is, technically speaking, redeemed, he isn't evil anymore. but there is still consequences of what he did aren't just gonna go away because it technically wasn't his fault.

Im not saying jellals entire arc needs to be shown through erzas eyes, im just saying that I would have preferred to see more of her perspective. since they are going to be in a relationship eventually seeing erza deal with those consequences and come to terms with them is as important to him as it is to her because it makes the relationship feel more believable as a whole.

case and point: Im not saying jellals arc itself need to revolve around erza, im just saying I would have prefered if erza herself had been allowed to develop on her own post tenrou. erzas feelings arent necessary for validation of jellals arc, but they are necessary for developing their relationship.

Jellals arc should be focused on himself, stopping punishing himself and discovering what he wants out of life. meanwhile, erza continues to recover from the trauma and eventually comes to forgive him. from there they start to reconnect and rebuild their relationship as a team. seeing both these things happen makes the payoff of their relationship feel earned because it shows that both have truly moved on from their past.

TLDR; I dont think erzas feelings are necessary to validate jellals redemption, But they are necessary for developing the relationship. I think seeing them would also benefit Jellal because as erza comes to forgive so does the audience, but i don't think it needs to be jellals entire arc. Jellal is free to do what he wants but the consequences of his actions are still relevant to both of them and I think addressing them and how they are continuing to effect erza is important if they are going to eventually be in a relationship. My point wasnt that jellals arc needed more focus on erza, it was that the relationship as a whole would benefit from getting some more of her perspective.

again I hope I explained this ok, feel free to elaborate on any of the points I asked about. I hope I was able to explain my thoughts clearly enough but sorry if its confusing im not great with wording. If you still dont agree with me thats fine Im just trying to elaborate further because you seem to think im saying that more of jellals arc should have focused on erza when what im trying to say here is that i would have just liked to see more of her perspective on him

I think the biggest flaw in the jerza/ jellal redemption as a whole will always be the lack of focus that erza's feelings/perspective on that whole situation are given. I will probably rant about this someday but, for now, consider this me tossing my opinion out like a live grenade and then scurrying back to my hole in the wall to see what comes of it

[fifiistar]

Narcissa Malfoy (Queen of Subtly)

“I don’t plan to get in his way,” Harry said like a formality, something he wasn’t even sure she believed. Was that what she wanted to hear? That he’d tread lightly, that he’d keep his distance? He wasn’t here to uproot Malfoy’s life—just to make sure Malfoy still fucking had one two weeks from now.

“No?” Narcissa asked, her head tilting. There was a strange glint in her eyes.

“I don’t want to make him feel like I’m intruding on his space.”

Which was a lie.

Because fuck if Harry actually cared about that.

If it came down to it, he’d shove his way into Malfoy’s damaged little world, splintering doors off their hinges, tearing through whatever pathetic barricades he’d built, clawing him back from the ledge with his bare hands if he had to—nails digging into flesh, blood slicking his grip, bone grinding against bone as he wrestled him out of Death’s grip and forced him to stay put. If Malfoy wanted to disappear, then he’d have to do it with Harry’s teeth in his throat and his name torn from his lips like a curse.

Narcissa gave a polite, knowing nod, but the way she tapped a single finger against the rim of her cup told him she had already decided otherwise. "Of course. I don’t expect anything else."

There was something in her tone just a shade too neutral, too agreeable, and Harry narrowed his eyes. He had played this game before—with Malfoy, mostly, in classrooms and hallways. He exhaled through his nose, half-amused, half-wary. "You say that, but I feel like you mean something else entirely."

"Do I?"

“Don’t you?”

Narcissa let out a quiet, elegant hum that might have almost passed for agreement. "I am merely allowing you to do as you see fit, Mister Potter. If that means working quietly in the Manor, keeping to yourself, I certainly will not interfere."

“And if it doesn’t?"

Narcissa met his gaze with something like amusement, just shy of expectation. "Then I won’t interfere with that either."

Harry huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "You—” he shook his head, smiling. “I see where Malfoy gets it now. I always assumed it was Lucius.”

Narcissa only smiled against the rim of her teacup as she took another sip.

“Lucius,” she murmured fondly, “could not outmaneuver a strong breeze, let alone a conversation.” She set her cup down with the kind of grace that felt like a Renaissance painting come to life. “My husband was many things, Mister Potter. But subtle? No. That was never his gift.”

“That explains a lot, actually.”

“Yes, I imagine it does.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth lifted before he could stop himself. He liked this. Liked the subtle push-and-pull of it, the way Narcissa spoke in carefully layered meanings, each word an invitation rather than an answer, letting him piece things together on his own.

She could have accepted his offer with nothing more than a polite nod, kept their conversations clipped and perfunctory, a matter of repayment and nothing more. Instead, there was something considered in the way she engaged him, just shy of warmth as if she was offering him a seat at a table he hadnt realized he wanted to sit at.

Was it entirely absurd that Harry wanted that seat?

CONTINUE READING

[dailyriolu]

A silly guide on how I draw normal Riolu vs My sona

[moonchild-in-blue]

I know I'm pretty mia lately (life is kicking real hard), but WHERE TF IS ADAMROSS??

(his Instagram is just deactivated)

Snap Snap Boyfriend pls come back 🥺

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

So you mentioned how you leave Hawke in the fade, do you ever bring Varric with on that quest? (Maybe I'm just a sucker for angst ((which I totally am cuz for my canon warden I have her date a soft Alistair who is pissed and dumbs her when she makes him king and then she makes the ultimate sacrifice and Alistair is devastated he never got to talk it out with her)) so I always take Varric and Cassandra with cuz I think it's nuts that the game doesn't have him react in the fade to leaving Hawke. So I picture a dramatic speech like fuck this Hawke let someone else be the hero for once, you deserve to live. And Cassandra is there seeing someone she put on a pedestal and saw as an unstoppable hero met their end.)

I've brought a few different combos into the fade but my favorite combo is definitely Varric/Cassandra/Solas; Varric because of Hawke, Cassandra because of Divine Justinia, and Solas for the fade itself.

I love and hate the fade quest for a number of reasons, but the part of me that revels in angst just adores it, it's such a heartbreaking part of Inquisition's story. I keep Alistair a Grey Warden, so it becomes a final choice of either making him stay behind, or my Hawke, Ed... it's a brutal choice that ends with Ed staying behind.

The meta reason for making this choice is I love Alistair too much. I want him and my warden to remain together until the end so I'd leave nearly anyone in the fade just to save him. And I don't want to make him king just to avoid the hard choice; he never wanted it, and Rose wasn't ever going to force it onto him.

But from a story-telling standpoint, Ed staying behind hurts so much because that's literally his fear; if he had his own fear engraved tombstone in the fade, it'd say something like "Abandonment" or "Being Left Behind." It's one of the reasons he stays by Anders' side after the events of DA2 despite ending their romantic relationship, he can't abandon the man he's loved for years even when everyone tells him he should....until, of course, we get to the fade and he feels he no longer has a choice.

Ed never wanted to be some hero or champion, but it's so engrained in his identity now that he constantly feels the burden of sacrificing pieces of himself for others. He feels the guilt of every loss he's suffered, whether it was actually his fault or not. In his mind, no matter how much it hurts, or who it hurts, it's the "right" choice to leave him behind... he's read enough of Varric's tragedies to know how this goes.

I also headcanon that when Carver's made a warden, he goes back to Fereldan to serve under the Hero of Fereldan and becomes best friends with Alistair. So I imagine that's another reason Ed insists he be the one to cover them. He went to great lengths to keep his brother out of this mess [even though Carver protested every step of the way] and doesn't want Carver to lose his best friend, even though he would also be devastated to lose his brother, but y'know.... Ed's just like, "Tell Carver I'm sorry, and that I always thought the world of him."

Even as Alistair, who never got to know his brother and dreamed about meeting his sister only for her to reject him, argued back... it's no use. Ed made up his mind to face his greatest fear to save them, and Ash begrudgingly agrees with him.

As for Varric, it hurts to watch him ask happened to Hawke... and then to listen to him recount a story about the kind of person Hawke was... and to give him a comforting hug... it all hurts.

But... that being said, I have thought about possibly doing a run where I do leave Alistair behind in a worldstate where Rose made the ultimate sacrifice. Alistair lost her and became disillusioned with the Grey Wardens, only remaining because what else is there for him? When it comes to someone staying in the fade, he insists it be him. He faces the nightmare as Hawke and the Inquisitor escape, and mutters under his breath, "Wait for me a little longer, my love," before attacking.

...because why not break my own heart some more, y'know?

Whether I'll be brave enough to attempt that is yet to be seen.

[thetangibleghost]

Two years into my Truman show delusion and I've finally come up with a metaphor

Me wearing a giant silly hat: remember, the giant silly hat isn't real. You are NOT wearing a giant silly hat.

Someone: *coughs*

Me, still wearing a giant silly hat: fuck fuckfuck. This is all to much this is all happening so fast why is it so hard to be alive I just want to feel simple things and this is so much an- god wait I'm so selfish and self centered even if I was REALLY wearing a giant silly hat that doesn't mean that cough was about me. That's silly. Almost as silly as this giant fucking hat.

Caring friend: hey, is something the matter? You seem agitated.

Me, in my stupid fucking giant stupid silly hat: I just freaked my self out again about my silly hat haha.

Them, doing obvious mental math: ... That's alright.

Me, wearing a giant silly hat still: you know, I appreciate when you stare at me thinking for an entire minute before saying something vague and supportive, but I thought I should let you know, it just feels like your staring at my giant gaudy hat.

Them: it's just... I was always told that people who think they are wearing giant stupid ugly awful hats take them really seriously. So you have to be super careful.

Me, in my big hat: yeah, I guess. It's different for everyone but like... You keep treating me like I'm scary? Almost like I'm wearing a huge giant fucking stupid ass shitty hat that sucks and is really heavy.

Them: okay? How do I help?

Me, wearing a stupid hat but curious: do you see the hat?

Them: I'd rather not answer that question.

Me, in my hat: 😔

Guy who coughed: it's not a delusion if you know it isn't real :/

Fourth guy who literally no body asked: I'm pretty sure if you think your wearing a giant hat you should kill your self because that's so self centered. Like why would YOU have a giant silly hat? That so selfish to even think about. I can't even talk to you or really view you as a person cause I just think it's so childish.

Me, in a giant silly hat: what about this situation makes it seem like I'm pleased? Is it the hat?

[sonofsin]

I've felt off since showering. all I know is that a kid who had no awareness that it isn't the early 2000s fronted and had to be caught up to speed... I've been stuck with both persephone and steph nearby internally and am being affected by both of them. I want to just enjoy fallout and playing, but the ghosts feel very loud.