#hes deeply plainly happy

[flowermoomin]

I am. FERAL rn

[seaglassdinosaur]

God, Victor being scared to see his dad, not just because it’s a massive, rattling change, but because he knows his dad is going to be looking for the little boy who went missing, and will be disappointed with the man he finds. That Victor doesn’t want to be the reason his dad is in more pain, and he doesn’t want to be less than the boy he was.

[entitled-fangirl]

Unknown.

Jace Velaryon x wife!reader

Summary: the maester revealed news to Jace of his wife. Jace is the first to tell her.

Warnings: pregnancy, worries, talks of death, labor, etc

A/n: Guys the angst won't stop 😭

Masterlist

..............................................

"I have spoken to the maester," Jace began. 

"And?" She asked hurriedly. "Am I well? Is death at my doorstep?"

He couldn't help the small smile that rose to his lips. "No," he confirmed as he brushed her hair from her face. "Quite the opposite, in fact. You're the very picture of health."

"But the-"

He moved his index finger over her lips. "Death is not at your doorstep. Life is."

She was puzzled at his words and pulled his hand down. "Speak plainly."

"Don't you see?" He grinned. His free hand moved to her stomach, lightly caressing it. "You're carrying our heir."

Her mouth went dry. Her eyes glazed over with confusion. "What?"

That made his smile only grow. "A babe." His hand moved to her waist and pulled her to him. She could feel his breath on her face as he spoke. "The maester said a few months will pass, and we shall have a child." He hesitated a moment, "If that's something you want."

He really couldn't read her expression. 

She simply stared up at him as a million thoughts ran through her head. 

"I understand your hesitation. I was too at first. The war is only starting and there is a lot of unknowns. But listen to me, wife." He gripped both of her hands in his. "I know that I want this. I do. Desperately. You and I, and a child. Is that not what we've discussed for so long?"

"It's just not what I expected," she finally spoke.

"That's alright," he reasoned. "As long as you are not going to force yourself to do this against your own happiness." He studied her face. "I want to venture the unknown with you."

She nodded. "I want that as well," she whispered. "Only with you and the babe."

"You do?" He asked incredulously. "You truly mean so? You're not just staying it to please me?"

"I will admit I am scared, but not scared enough to not want this." She placed his hand back on her stomach. "I want to venture the unknown with you as well."

A joyous laugh came from his throat and he picked her up, spinning her around, then setting her feet on the ground. "We shall be a mother and father."

"Lucky child," she grinned, "to have you as a father."

"And you? You are a vision. Motherhood already suits you."

"Only because I am so well cared for."

He kissed her deeply. "Death is far from our doorstep, my love."

Her hands on his chest moved up to caress his face. "Indeed it is."

…

Only months later, she laid in agony. The news of her husband's death had sent her into an early labor.

She had told him not to go. She had said it was a bad idea. She had said…

It didn't matter anymore.

Death had busted the door down, taking any that were in the house. Wife and son were soon lost, their souls believed to have joined Jace's in the afterlife. 

................................................

A/n: why is it that every time my little fingers type for this dude, the saddest shit shows up

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Stay with me || D. Targaryen x Hightower!reader

GIF by @beaconofthehightower DIVIDERS by @straywords

summary: In which you have been forced into marriage with the Rogue Prince by the King. However, it has been well over a year and the two of you yet to see eye to eye, mostly because of Daemon's dislike towards your father. When you find out that you're expecting, things seem to take a drastic turn.

a/n: no way this was sitting in my drafts since i first opened this acc end of last year🥹

“The bath is ready for you, my Lady.” The handmaiden bowed at your direction as you finish taking off your jewellery. “Thank you, you may go,” You bid her off, “But my Lady-“ She protested, “I am quite capable of bathing myself, thank you.” Meeting the maidens eyes through the mirror, you didn’t mean to sound rude and snap at the poor women—your pent up emotions needed releasing, hence why you called for a bath.

Without uttering another word, you watch as she closes the door with a loud thud. Throwing your necklace across the room to release the built up tension, you inhale deeply whilst leaning your hand against the bed post. Tears threatening to escape, you look up towards the ceiling so that they would not fall.

Finding out that you were with child was a rollercoaster of emotions. You were saddened at the thought of bringing a child into this cruel word. How could you try to make your child’s life happy when both of his/her parents were not with each other?

You thought that you could some how find times in your marriage that you would be happy, but you didn’t, the past 12 months were a nightmare. You barely got to see Daemon, and when you did, he’d be drunk and fall asleep without saying a word to you.

And the whispers and talks of people seeing him visit brothels in silk street were unbearable. You tried ignoring the best you could, but how could you when people didn’t even put any effort into quietening down when walking past you?

Brushing your lingering thoughts away, you walk to the bath that was bearably hot. Removing your thin night gown and letting it pile in a corner, you couldn’t help but stare at your still-flat stomach in the mirror. The thought of a babe growing inside was both amazing and terrifying.

Slipping your body in, a sigh leaves your mouth at the sensation of the hot water against your skin. After nearly 30 minutes, the door to your chambers opened.

There was only ever one person to open that door without bothering to knock, and that was your Husband. Eyes closed, you heard his footsteps until it came to a halt, slowly opening your eyes and sitting up, you turn your head to find Daemon watching you from outside the door that led to the bathroom.

“Husband.” You greeted turning your head back and closing them once again. “Wife.” He replied, taking off his clothes and changing. You were surprised he did not sound drunk like he usually did most nights. The two of you not uttering a single word until you got out of the bath.

You flinch once you realised Daemon was sat on a one of the sofas that faced your bath tub, not that the two of you were foreign to seeing each other naked. After drying up, you slip your night gown on once again before making your way to your dresser.

“Ao nektogon aōha ōghar, nyke ūndegon” His voice made you pause your actions, looking at his sat figure through the mirror. “2 two months ago Daemon.” You reply annoyed as you brush through your hair. “But you would know if you saw me more often.” Muttering under your breath, Daemon replied, “ȳdragon plainly.”(You cut your hair, I see) (Speak plainly)

Closing you eyes and taking a sharp inhale, you turn your body towards him, a cup with what you presume was alcohol in his hand. “What I mean, husband, is if you were here more often instead of spending your nights at the brothel, that you would notice the little things!” Your voice escalates in volume. Daemon throws his head back with a loud sigh. “Are we really doing this?”

“Where do your loyalties reside, husband? It is most certainly not with me! Whom you swore under the seven Gods that you would be there for me!” You were now standing up as you watch Daemon with an unreadable face.

“Ivestragon mirros!”You yell, “Skoro syt issi ao sir mentioning bisa?” He calmly asked. With furrowed eyebrows, you study his face, his gaze set to candles on the table. “Skoros?”(Say something) (Why are you now mentioning this) (What)

“Don’t act stupid y/n,” He scoffed, finally meeting your eyes, “Emi issare married syt mirri jēda, sir ao decide naejot elēni aōha concerns?” (We have been married for some time, now you decide to voice your concerns)

“Ivestragon nyke, skoro syt?” His deep voice questioned. Searching his eyes, and opening your mouth, no words seemed to come out. (Tell me, why)

“Cat got your tongue, my love?” Daemon smirked as you gulped, tears slowly but surely welling up. You found yourself pathetic, truth being the fact that you couldn’t even tell your own husband you were carrying his child.

Without saying another word, you turned around, blowed out all the candles except for the ones beside Daemon’s side of the bed, and slipped under the covers of your bed.

A loud sigh leaves the Prince’s mouth. Deep down, you wanted him to come to bed and engulf you in a hug. Instead, you hear the sound of the doors opening and closing, he left. You cried yourself to sleep that night.

~

Waking up to a cold and empty bed, you felt it slowly but surely making its way up your throat as you place the back of your hand to your mouth. Luckily, Eva, your closest handmaiden, had walked in just in time as you puked into the bucket.

“Perhaps having breakfast will be good for you, my Lady” She kindly smiles at you as you look up at her with a disgusted face at the thought of food at that moment. “I think not” You grumbled before getting up and getting ready.

“Has my husband returned yet?” Your eyes meet with the handmaidens’ through the mirror as you put earrings on. “No, my Lady” She looks down. “Should I even tell him?” You contemplate, fidgeting with your rings.

Before you could get a response, a loud knock comes from your door as you give a confused look to Eva as she quickly opens the door. “My lady, it’s your father.” She calls out before curtsying and leaving the room.

“Father,” You kiss his cheek to greet him. “I think it is best you go to the throne room now” He gives you a blank look. An awkward chuckle leaves your lips, “But why? What’s happening?” Concern spread through your body as Otto doesn’t say anything.

You quickly brush past him and make a beeline to the throne room. Upon entering, you were stopped by a kingsguard. “Who is in there” You question. “I cannot tell you that Lady-“ “I’m only going to ask you once, brother, who is in there?” You send daggers to your younger brother’s way.

“His Grace, Daemon, and-“ Before he could finish his sentence, you push past him and open the door. There sat Viserys on the iron throne with Daemon standing e of him, his back to you. What perplexed you even more was the women on her knees beside Daemon. A handmaiden to be precise. Viserys gives you a pitiful look, It was only when both Daemon and the handmaiden look back to you when you realise.

“I-“ You couldn’t even properly speak as you choked back tears. You felt like screaming at that moment. “Y/n-“ You didn’t even let Daemon utter another word before you closed the door—Gwayne giving you a concerned look—and sped off back to your room.

“Pack my things. I am leaving” You order your handmaidens as tears continuously roll down your cheeks. You were shaking, you felt like you were suffocating. “Are you all right my lady?” Eva places ger hand on your shoulder as you breathe heavily. “I-I need to get out of this dress- a-and breathe for gods sake!” You shout angrily as hands were already untying your dress.

You had about enough of Daemon’s behaviour. You needed to leave. After being dressed in something more comfortable, the doors open as your father walks in. “I assume you’re going back to Old town?” Your father places his hands behind his back as he watches you gather your jewelry.

“I am. If you expect me to stay here any longer with that-that horrid man then-“ “I don’t expect you to, daughter. He was caught in bed with her this morning. I assure you, that handmaiden will get what she deserves. Sleeping with her Lady’s husband, what was she thinking” Otto scoffs as tears blur your eyes.

“Have you even told him yet?” His question catches you off-guard. “No. After what I just found out I don’t think I will. He can find out later on after I’ve left” You say through greeted teeth as the last of your things were packed up.

“The carriage is already out there waiting for you, my Lady” Eva mentions as you nod at her. “Goodbye father, I hope you do come visit” You sadly smile before embracing him in a hug, his hands caressing your hair before you pull back and walk off.

It was pouring outside. You held your skirt up so it wouldn’t get dirty. “Y/n!” His voice booms over the rain as you pause. You quicken your pace but before you could even fully step into the carriage, a rough hand pulls you back.

Before you know it, your hand makes contact with his cheek with a loud slap. The few handmaidens gasp before they look down. He rolls his tongue against his cheek before chuckling, “I deserve that, don’t I?” “Oh you deserve so much worse Daemon.” You darkly chuckle at the man.

“I can’t believed you stooped that low- and with one of my handmaidens? How pathetic can you get, Husband. I have done nothing but been patient with you every day but this? That was the final straw. I’m leaving and you cannot stop me” You say the last bit through greeted teeth. “Were you going to tell me?”

You stop dead in your tracks. You breathe out from your nose, “Tell you what exactly?” Your head turns to him. “That you’re carrying my child. Was I ever going to find out? Or was I going to when I’m on my deathbed.” He shouts angrily as you keep your composure.

“And bring him up with a father who can’t even keep his loyalties to his wife? You’re delusional, truly.” A loud scoff emits your mouth. Not a second later, Daemon drops to his knees infront of you. People around whispering to each other at the sight of the Rogue Prince on his knees to his wife. You gulp as he looked so vulnerable. He looks up to you as he takes ahold of your hands. “Stay with me. Please. That is all I ask of you y/n” He pleads.

“Stay with you? I have stayed with you every day Daemon while you fucked your way through the brothels. I’ve had enough of hoping that you would finally see me as your wife!” Tears were once again pouring down your cheeks as you sniffle. “I can’t stay with you.” Your voice cracks before you pull away from Daemon’s touch and enter the carriage without looking back.

The carriage starts to move as you start sobbing harder. Daemon was still there kneeling as he watched his wife leave. He watched his entire future leave.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Llama, could you share any datemate Fae!Dream you may have please 🥺

What a lovely, silly, complicated guy.

We know he's got... issues. His whole life he's been surrounded by yes-men and people who think the sun shines out of his ass. He really, genuinely believes that his worth as a person is directly tied to how 'good' of a King he is; hence his habit of hyper-focusing on a new partner, then gradually drifting away from them as his need to continually prove his 'goodness' begins to rear its head again.

I think Dream, deep down, really wants someone who doesn't think he's all that. Someone who doesn't admire him, or get swept up in his power and prestige. Someone who actually sees him.

He would really like someone blunt. Someone who sees through him. Someone who will say "Dream, I feel really abandoned, you're being a shitty partner." or "I'm hurt that you keep sending gifts as apologies for not spending time with me, it feels like you don't care enough to actually come apologise."

He wants someone who'll talk with him for hours. But if not more, he wants someone who will stay even when he's silent. Someone who'll sit with him by the lakeside, his head in their lap, doing nothing. Saying nothing. Reading together is one of his favourite activities.

He wants someone who won't rush to 'fix' that he isn't happy.

Someone who doesn't need a performance.

Being with Dream means understanding that he's the King of a massive, sprawling realm. He will be busy. You won't always have his time.

He's much more perceptive than he lets on. He'll remember if you expressed interest in something.

He has taken many lovers to the most beautiful areas of the Summer realm. But he has a place that's 'his', where no one else is allowed to go. It has a small pond, not as pretty as the big lakes. A tree, old and wizened but still bearing fruit. A tiny garden with flowers he planted himself.

He'll take you there. He wants you to see it.

You'd probably constantly be surprised that he keeps coming back to you. Everyone else in his life says exactly what he wants to hear, why does he always refuse to dismiss you from his side, even though you're the only one who dares to tell him what you really think? All the other fae look at you like you're insane when you plainly tell him your thoughts. Yet he still brings you everywhere.

He deeply craves that kind of reality check. You're always calling him out, but never in a malicious way. It's just honesty. And even when you do tell him he'd being a (pardon my British coming through) massive git, you still treat him with kindness and stay by his side. You see his flaws but remain anyway.

He's surprisingly not overly physically affectionate. He shows physical love in more restrained ways - taking off his gloves to help you down from a horse, seeing you for the first time in a while and spinning you when you jump into his arms, quietly resting his head on your shoulder when he's so tired but the day isn't over yet, letting the kiss on your hand linger that fraction longer.

When it's just the two of you, he doesn't smile as much. You come to realise just how much that means he loves you.

[the-odd-shu]

Fluffy scenarios for clear skin

Another Lab Illustrator Reader installation!

Masterlist

Previous:

Characters: Jayce, Viktor, Gender Neutral Reader (Reader uses they/them pronouns)

Established: Jayce/Viktor/Reader (POLYCULLLEEE)

Reader to Jayce: Do you ever look at Viktor when he's thinking and want to kiss every inch of his face?

Jayce taking a slow sip from his hot drink: No. I think he would bite me if I tried.

Reader: Maybe. But whenever he pouts, his eyes go all thoughtful and distant, and I can hardly control myself.

Jayce: Please continue to control yourself. I don't want to have to write an accident report because you lost a nose.

Reader sighs again: Would you bite my nose off if I kissed every inch of your face instead?

Jayce no-rizz Talis then proceeds to choke and nearly perish on his drink.

In summary, Reader's partners sometimes give them cuteness aggression.

Just the image of Viktor doing that adorable pouting face, and Reader calmly setting down their pen, getting up, crossing over to Jayce's desk to get rid of their cuteness aggression via kisses on poor Jayce instead.

I kind of like the idea of them doing this instead of crowding Viktor when he's clearly trying to think. Whereas Jayce is just constantly on the look out for touch and validation, so it works out great for him. He melts under the attention, more than happy to put his notes aside for a moment in favour of a rather lovely excuse for a break.

They're quiet about it, but sometimes the movement will pull Viktor out of his musings regardless, and he'll just frown at the pair of them acting like idiots.

And if he insinuates he's feeling a little left out, you bet Reader is going to calmly drag him close and touch temples with him - a deeply personal Zaunite display of affection - which would have a whole new adorable expression appearing on Viktor's face and would send Reader IMMEDIATELY into going back to attack Jayce instead of smothering to poor, overwhelmed man.

In a similar vein of thinking, it would definitely be manadatory for Reader to give into it, just once.

Maybe Jayce is conveniently out of the room, and maybe Viktor is just RIGHT THERE, PLAINLY in sight. And maybe, just this once they SIMPLY CANNOT contain themselves. Viktor is right there and they're not getting any work done because they can't tear their eyes off him.

So they give in, and pepper Viktor's adorable pout with kisses. And the man is just BAFFLED! It takes him a moment to understand what is happening, and then he's letting out flustered strings of words in both his mother's tongue and Piltovern Common, and he's shoving them away by their cheeks.

Reader of course isn't deterred, and just ends up grabbing the hand to kiss his knuckles. Viktor glares down at them with a look of resignation and burning red ears.

Jayce comes in like: what did I miss.

Reader: Turns out he doesn't bite.

Viktor: Not yet. Don't tempt me.

Jayce is rewarded with a forehead touch for simply existing that time round - the significance is not lost on him and he feels touched.

Viktor's that choatic boyfriend that hears you complaining about a colleague one too many times, and then proceeds to inconvenience them in the most subtle and irritating way known to man, all whilst giving you a shit-eating little smirk as he sits back and watches the world burn.

"That fucker giving you trouble Darling? No worries, I stole all of his left socks and buried them in the staff room plant pot after hours."

"They said what about Jayce?" A beat of silence.

"Viktor?! Where are you going with that washing up liquid."

"Nowhere." Very obviously makes his way to the kitchen.

Said co-worker that was talking shit then begins complaining that every cup of coffee they make tastes like soap!

Someone talks shit about their partners:

Jayce 'can we talk about this' Talis: "here is a thirty page essay as to why you're wrong, and I have a PowerPoint slide prepared with additional evidence if you will please take a seat and allow me to reeducate you."

Viktor who will resort to psychological warfare to get his point across correcting them, whilst also blatantly gaslighting them into believing that Jayce and Reader can do no wrong, and they were in fact crazy for insinuating such cruel things about either of them to begin with.

Reader who stabs first with their artist-grade scalpel, and asks questions when they're incapacitated and bleeding out on their floor: "Say that again, to my face this time. Go on, I dare you."

(There is a reason why Jayce and Viktor ((the pacifists)) do not teach Reader how to use any of the hextech devices. They will commit murder and refuse to regret it whilst Jayce sweats bullets and Viktor stares on, mouth aghast by the sheer brutality of said murder).

"He deserved it," Reader will explain simply.

And Viktor will go, "perhaps, BUT YOU COULD HAVE LEFT HIS HEAD ATTACHED!"

Jayce who's trauma raises its head when his partners are cold. Blankets. Warm drinks. Heating on full blast. That snow storm did a number on him and he HATES the winter because of it.

Are you shivering? Is Viktor? No stress, he shall simply have to BECOME the blanket to keep you both alive and well. It is as sweet as it is heartbreaking.

Viktor who's upbringing in Zaun sometimes makes him precious with food. Not because he was starving, but because sometimes he couldn't have as much food as he wanted, simply because money was tight growing up.

Maybe he has a sweet treat, and ends up breaking it into threes to share with you and Jayce.

Maybe there's only one tea bag left, so he settles for water, despite having REALLY wanted that cup of warm tea.

Maybe he's waiting for seconds for dinner, but there's only enough left for two more portions, so he says he's not hungry anymore.

Viktor who will sometimes feel the gnaw of hunger but make a hot drink to soothe his stomach instead of actually eating something, because its only so far into the day, and if he doesn't eat now, then he won't be as hungry later-

Safe to say, his partners notice. And Jayce keeps the kitchenette well stocked with drinks and snacks alike, whilst Reader will stop by a bakery or cafe in the morning to bring him a proper breakfast, as well as breakfast for themselves and Jayce so he doesn't feel like he HAS to share.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Bucky x hydra reader

Reader was tortured by hydra and the whole time reader was there, she wasn't allowed to speak or even make a noise, but after reader got rescued by the avengers, she kept silent for a while and eventually came outta her shell! And spoke constantly but the avengers didn't mind because it made her happy and then bucky moved into the compound and when you met him your whole body started to get goosebumps and heart eyes and you found yourself attached to bucky and constantly talking his ear off about random things and questions about the 40s but he answered plainly and basic answers to your questions, you grew on him but he never told you that, just kept acting. One day steve and buck were in the Kitchen and steve mentioned about bucky warming up to you and Bucky shot back instantly that he isn't, he doesn't understand why you talk so much and why him, little did they know reader was making her way to the super soldier to show him a cat video on her phone and she overheard him, and she felt all the torture coming back from hydra, and she decided not to speak to him or anyone again in fear of annoying them. Days passed and reader still hadn't said a word and bucky kept trying to get you to speak but he kept failing. He eventually asked steve why you stopped and he explained about the hydra torture and the not allowed to speak. And bucky felt instant regret because he secretly loved your voice. And that night he found you sitting in the compound garden and kept pestering you to speak and he says "doll I need to hear your voice" "the silence from you is driving him crazy" and he admits his feelings and how he just said that so steve wouldn't figure out that he likes you.

Idk how to end it but, that's the basis of the idea👀

The Voice that was Gone

Warnings: Language. Mentions of conditioning. Angst.

The Avengers Compound was more like a sanctuary than a home for her. Y/N had been brought there not long after her rescue from Hydra’s cold, lifeless grip. The halls were wide and bright, the complete opposite of the sterile cells and dark corridors she had endured. At first, silence was her only language—a deeply ingrained reflex from the years Hydra had stolen from her. They hadn’t just stolen her freedom; they’d stripped her of her voice, her autonomy, her right to express even the smallest whimper of pain or protest.

In the beginning, no one pushed her to speak. Steve and Natasha were the first to meet her at the compound, their eyes kind but not pitying. Tony had cracked a joke to ease the tension, but she’d only offered him a faint smile, one she wasn’t sure he saw. They understood that healing wasn’t linear.

They gave her space, and, for that, she was grateful.

Gradually, the silence cracked.

It started with small things—a muttered “thank you” when Sam passed her a glass of water, or a quiet laugh when Wanda demonstrated her magic tricks to cheer her up. With every word, the weight on her chest eased. By the time a month had passed, the words were spilling out in torrents. She would ramble about anything—ask Clint endless questions about archery, debate with Steve about music from the 40s, and share random tidbits about the books she was devouring from the compound’s extensive library.

The team never minded. They smiled when her chatter filled the room, indulging her curiosity and taking comfort in the way her laughter brightened the once-silent corners of the compound. It was her healing, and they were all proud to see her come into her own.

But then Bucky moved in.

He arrived quietly, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, shadowed by Steve as they walked into the compound. Y/N had been in the common room, curled up on the couch with Wanda and Nat. Her eyes had flicked up from the TV to the door, and the moment she saw him, her breath hitched. The faintest trace of goosebumps prickled her arms, and she couldn’t look away.

Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. He was everything she didn’t expect and everything she couldn’t explain. His presence was heavy yet quiet, his shoulders tense and his face guarded. She was drawn to him, almost instinctively, like a moth to a flame. It wasn’t just his striking looks, though those were hard to ignore—it was something deeper, something unspoken.

And just like that, Bucky became the new focus of her endless chatter.

“Bucky,” she’d call out when she saw him in the kitchen, “did they really have ration cards in the 40s? Or is that just a myth?”

“Bucky, what was the best movie you saw back then? Were the cinemas as grand as they look in pictures?”

“Bucky, did you ever try dancing the jitterbug?”

He answered, but always briefly. “Yeah, we had ration cards,” or “It was nice enough,” or “Didn’t dance much.” His clipped replies didn’t deter her, though. She followed him from room to room, her voice animated, peppering him with questions that he always answered but never elaborated on. The rest of the team noticed, too, hiding their smirks as Y/N latched onto Bucky like he was her new favorite book.

What Y/N didn’t know was that she’d gotten under his skin. Not in a bad way—not at all. At first, he was baffled by her. How could someone who had gone through the horrors she had still find it in herself to speak so freely, to laugh so openly? He wasn’t annoyed by her questions or her stories, but he didn’t know how to show her that. He didn’t know how to let her in. So, he kept his answers short, his tone neutral. He pretended her constant chatter didn’t make his chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand.

One day, as Bucky sat at the counter with Steve, sipping a cup of coffee, Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, you’ve been warming up to Y/N,” Steve said casually, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Bucky bristled. “I’m not,” he shot back almost immediately, his voice sharper than he intended. “I don’t get why she talks so much. And why me?”

Neither of them realized Y/N had wandered into the kitchen, her phone in hand, ready to show Bucky a funny cat video she’d found. The second she heard his words, though, she froze. It was like a switch flipped in her mind, Hydra’s cold grip clawing its way back to her chest.

Her fingers tightened around her phone, her breathing shallow as Bucky’s words echoed in her mind. Why me?

Her voice - her freedom to speak - suddenly felt like a burden.

She slipped away unnoticed, her appetite for laughter and conversation swallowed by the weight of his rejection. That night, she decided she wouldn’t make anyone endure her voice again.

If speaking annoyed him, then she wouldn’t speak at all.

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

The silence wrapped around the compound like a suffocating fog.

At first, the team thought Y/N was just having an off day—everyone did sometimes. But as the hours stretched into days, her withdrawal became glaringly obvious. The once lively spark of her voice, her endless questions, her infectious laughter—all of it was gone. The common spaces that had brimmed with her chatter now echoed with nothingness, an eerie reminder of the energy she’d brought with her.

Steve was the first to notice something was wrong. During their morning briefing, he asked her opinion on a potential mission route, expecting her usual inquisitive response. But instead of answering, she merely nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. He frowned, exchanging a concerned glance with Natasha, who also noticed the shift.

Natasha approached her later that day, finding Y/N tucked away in the library. “Hey, what’s going on?” Nat asked gently, sitting beside her on the couch.

Y/N only shook her head, her eyes fixed on the open book in her lap. She didn’t even look up.

Nat frowned but didn’t push. Instead, she gave Y/N’s hand a comforting squeeze before leaving her to her silence. She brought it up later with Steve and Clint, both of whom admitted they’d seen the same change. Clint mentioned how Y/N used to pepper him with endless questions about his arrows during training, but now she only gave quiet nods when he tried to engage her.

Even Tony, who thrived on teasing her, found himself missing the banter. He cornered her in the kitchen one evening, holding up a gadget he’d been tinkering with. “Hey, kid, this thing shoots out tiny flaming marshmallows. Doesn’t exactly confirm to the safety regulations, but tell me that isn’t cool.”

Normally, she would’ve lit up at his antics, bombarding him with questions about how it worked or laughing at the absurdity of it. This time, she offered only a faint smile before leaving the room.

Tony stared after her, a strange pang of guilt settling in his chest. He brought it up to Bruce later that night. “She’s not laughing at my jokes, Banner. Either I’ve lost my touch, or something’s seriously wrong.”

But for Bucky, her silence was a visceral ache, something he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. At first, he told himself it didn’t matter. After all, hadn’t he said to Steve that her talking too much annoyed him? Shouldn’t this be easier for him now? But the quiet wasn’t the relief he’d imagined - it was suffocating.

He found himself noticing things he’d taken for granted before. The absence of her light footsteps trailing after him. The way she used to linger in the doorway, launching into a story before he could excuse himself. The questions about the 40s that had once felt intrusive now felt like a gaping void.

It wasn’t just her voice he missed. It was her.

When days turned into a week and still, not a word, Bucky’s frustration boiled over. He cornered Steve one night in the kitchen, his tone sharper than usual. “Why isn’t she talking anymore?” he demanded, his blue eyes narrowing as Steve looked up from his coffee.

Steve’s brows furrowed, the lines on his face deepening. “I was wondering the same thing. She hasn’t said a word to anyone, not even Nat.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Bucky pressed, running a hand through his hair. “One minute she’s talking my ear off about everything, and the next, nothing. It’s like she’s disappeared.”

“It’s like she’s back to the day we found her…” Steve muttered.

Bucky just raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Steve tilted his head, his expression softening as something clicked in his mind. “You really don’t know?” he asked gently.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his frustration mounting. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”

Steve set his mug down carefully, folding his arms across his chest. “Hydra didn’t just hurt her physically, Buck. They broke her down. Part of their method was taking away her voice—literally. She wasn’t allowed to speak, to make a sound, for years. They conditioned her into silence.”

The words hit Bucky like a punch to the gut. He stared at Steve, his throat tightening as the implications sank in. Y/N’s voice—the one thing that had grated on his nerves when they first met—wasn’t just chatter. It was her defiance. Her freedom. And he had thrown it back in her face.

“Why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me that before?” he asked, his voice low, almost hoarse. He didn’t wait for Steve’s answer. His mind was already reeling, piecing together every moment he’d spent with her, every question he’d dismissed, every smile he’d ignored.

Regret churned in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. And for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt something dangerously close to fear. Not the kind Hydra had instilled in him, but a deeper, more personal fear—that he’d hurt someone he cared about more than he could admit.

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

That fear gnawed at Bucky long into the night, keeping him wide awake in his room. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Y/N’s face—her animated expressions, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something that excited her, and the quiet smile she gave when he offered even the shortest response. Now, all he could see was her downcast gaze, her shoulders slumped as if she was shrinking in on herself.

By the time morning came, he’d made up his mind. He couldn’t let it stay this way. He couldn’t let her think she was anything less than appreciated. But how to fix it? That part left him at a loss.

He spent the day lurking around the common areas, hoping for a chance to talk to her. Each time he caught sight of her—curled up on the couch, wandering the compound halls, or sitting by the window—he faltered. She wasn’t just quiet; she was distant. The life and warmth she usually carried with her seemed muted, and every time he got close enough to approach her, she slipped away without a word.

Bucky was no stranger to guilt—it had been his constant companion for decades. But this guilt felt sharper, more immediate. He wasn’t sure how to face it. Not until he had to.

That evening, he found her in the garden. It was late, the moon casting a silvery glow over the compound grounds. Y/N sat on a bench near the edge of the garden, her knees pulled to her chest as she stared out at the rows of flowers swaying gently in the breeze. She looked small, her figure framed by the vastness of the night, and Bucky felt his chest tighten.

He took a steadying breath, his boots crunching softly on the gravel path as he approached. She didn’t look up, even when he stopped a few feet away.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. No response. “Mind if I sit?”

She shrugged, the movement barely noticeable. Taking that as permission, Bucky eased onto the bench beside her. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, searching for any sign she might speak, but her gaze remained fixed on the flowers.

“You’re really good at this,” he finally said, trying for levity. “The silent treatment, I mean. You’re putting Natasha to shame.”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of amusement. Bucky sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Okay, I deserved that. I deserve… a lot worse, honestly.”

Still, she didn’t look at him, and his heart sank further. He scrubbed a hand over his face, frustration mingling with his regret. “Y/N, I—” He stopped, the words choking him. Apologies weren’t his strong suit, but he needed her to hear this. “I messed up. I didn’t mean what I said to Steve. Not the way it sounded. I didn’t realize you—” He hesitated, his voice dropping. “I didn’t know what Hydra did to you. And I should’ve known. I should’ve understood that your voice isn’t just… noise.”

Her head turned slightly, her brows knitting together in a faint frown, but she didn’t say anything. Bucky pushed forward, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“You make this place better. Hell, you make me better. Every question, every random story—it’s like you bring this light with you, and I didn’t see it for what it was. I didn’t realize how much I relied on it until it was gone.”

He shifted, leaning closer to catch her gaze. “Doll, I need to hear your voice again. This silence—it’s driving me crazy.” His tone softened, almost pleading. “You don’t annoy me. You never did. I was just… too messed up to admit how much I like having you around. How much I like you.”

Her eyes finally met his, wide and uncertain. For a moment, he thought she might still pull away, retreat further into herself. But then her lips parted, and in the quietest voice, barely above a whisper, she asked, “You mean that?”

Bucky’s chest loosened, relief flooding through him. He nodded, his expression earnest. “Every word, Y/N. I’m sorry it took me this long to say it, but I mean it.”

Her gaze dropped, her hands fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “I thought… maybe you hated me. That I was just annoying you.”

“No,” he said firmly, his hand reaching out to cover hers. “You’re not annoying. You’re—” He broke off, his voice thick. “You’re incredible.”

Her lips quirked in the faintest of smiles, and Bucky felt the tension in his chest finally ease. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger, carrying the familiar warmth he’d missed so much. “So, you don’t mind if I keep talking? About, you know, everything?”

Bucky chuckled, a soft, genuine sound. “Not at all, doll. In fact, I’d be a little heartbroken if you didn’t…”

And for the first time in days, the silence broke, replaced by the soft murmur of her voice as she began to talk, and Bucky knew he’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.

——————————————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed it, Hun. It was fun to write! 🫶

[orinfucker]

cravings

summary: your desperation to learn about your past has led you to the door of the one and only enver gortash, and he is more then happy to refresh your memory.

warnings: fem!reader, durge!reader, blood, slight manipulation (gortash), suggestive, making out, finger sucking, pet names, dom!gortash

note: small drabble of durge x gortash because i am sooo normal about them! might write a part two to this but i’m not sure yet.

you knew this was wrong; sneaking out of camp in the midst of the night to meet with a man you had no knowledge of. but, who could blame you? everything he said about your urges wasn’t wrong, only someone who experienced them first hand would have the information he possessed.

so here you are, blindly trudging your aching legs up the staircase towards enver gortash’s office. you had your doubts about the man obviously, the way karlach had described him made your blood boil with anger; how dare he hurt one of your companions so badly. you knew this was a carelessly bad decision, but you needed to know more about this ‘past life’ of yours, and gortash seemed to have answers you craved.

“second door on the right.” you whispered aloud, reminding yourself of the steel watcher’s directions to the lord’s office. once you reached the polished door of his quarters, your body froze for just a second. was this really your only option? could you live knowing nothing of who you truly were? with a shaky breath, you curled your hand into a fist and knocked onto the wood of the door.

“ah, come in please.” a heavy voice spoke, the sounds of paper rustling echoing filling your senses. you fiddled with handle before finally opening the entrance to reveal the man you’d sought out: lord enver gortash. his presence was overwhelming to say the least, he held himself with such confidence it made the depths of your body ache. “i’m shocked to see you here, my dear. have you had a change of heart since the last we spoke?” you swallowed nervously, trying to search for the words to say, but nothing came up.

“perhaps we should make ourselves comfortable, to speak plainly with one another, yes?” gortash spoke, his eyes seeming to pierce right into your mind. a simple nod was your response before descending into his office, taking a seat at one of the chairs placed in front of his desk. “i, well, wanted to speak with you about my past.” gortash glanced towards you, and then a smirk plastered itself onto his face. “of course dear, ask me anything you would like.” the sultry tone of his voice sent a jolt of arousal through your body, one that felt oddly familiar to you.

“you’ve told me of my urges, something that is deeply personal to me,” you took a breath before continuing, “but i want, no, i need to know more about us.” gortash’s face twisted into a more sinister one before an amused laugh exited his throat. “you’ve been thinking about me then, is that it?” he began, leaning back into his chair as his eyes bore into your own. you shifted in your seat before shyly nodding in response. “when i heard your voice, it held such a familiarity, yet i have no clue who you are.”

gortash stood in his chair, circling around towards you own before kneeling to match your height. “that’s because we were something much more than business partners, my dear.” your face flushed over with red, immediately understanding the intent behind his words. “that.. can’t be right. i would never sleep with the likes of you.” you spat out in denial, refusing to believe you’d stoop to that level. “yet here you are, sitting in my office, begging to know about us. it seems to me that you want to indulge in our old ways.”

one of gortash’s hands began to trail over your knee, slowly edging up towards the clothed flesh of your thigh. you peered down at him for a moment, a feeling of lust clouding over your mind as the ministrations of his hand continued. “your body craves my touch, it aches to be used by me again.” you so badly wanted to refuse him, to feel repulsed at the feeling of his touch upon you, but every part of yourself cried out towards him.

gortash observed the way your face contorted from one of disgust, to one of desire. you felt an insatiable hunger rise within you, and without thought you leaned down to capture his lips in a messy kiss. the man below you groaned at the feeling, his teeth brushing against the flesh of your mouth before biting into your bottom lip, letting pecks of blood slip through them. you felt his tongue lick away the metallic substance before finally pushing away, heavy sighs leaving the both of you.

“my love, how i’ve missed you.” gortash breathed out as he stood from his knees, letting one of his hands come down to caress the side of your cheek. his thumb brushed against the fat of your bottom lip, wiping away the blood that was left from your raunchy kiss. “open.” your body could no longer resist; it obeyed every word, every breath that left gortash’s mouth. the flesh of your lips parted as his calloused thumb entered the cavern of your mouth, pressing down on the slimy organ inside before reaching for the back of your throat.

“you always were a nasty little thing.” his words sent chills throughout your body, a gag leaving your throat as his finger sunk deeper into you. “good girl.” gortash slowly removed his finger from you, wiping the spit and saliva away on the sides of your face. you looked up at him with doe eyes, practically begging the man to do anything he wanted to you. gortash took your hand between his own, helping you raise to your feet before guiding your body to lean against the edge of his desk.

“now, we have lots of catching up to do, don’t we pet?”

[veilkeeper]

Emmrich's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Fear of Death

spoilers ahead! this is about the conversation with emmrich right after When Plans Align if you're romancing him.

(edit: please click this link for the extended version of this meta)

so that argument, huh? there's something so amazing, effervescent, and spectacular about a writer who knows there's something left on the table and they come back to it in a big way.

i talked about this in part one of my sacrifice of souls meta; about how while a decision re: emmrich's mortality had been made (one way or another), nothing had actually been done about his fear of death. and this is truly the perfect time for it to come back—it is the eve of battle against gods, and the likelihood of everyone making it back unscathed is low, to say the least. it absolutely makes sense that emmrich's fear of death is rearing its head now.

what's fascinating, of course, is that depending on which path he chose, the precise fear that he brings up changes. if he's human, he's afraid of his death. if he's a lich, he's afraid of yours.

big thanks to @/maxwellhousebrandcoffeefilter for providing me a clip of the argument when emmrich is still human, so that i can talk about both sides!! let's get into it.

Such Years Between Us

Even under the best circumstances, you will outlive me, Rook. You've... grown to mean much to me and... I care for you, Rook! Deeply. But there are such years between us, I shouldn't heap you with that burden.

this side of the argument is so interesting, because it actually has very little to do with the upcoming battle and is basically entirely about emmrich having to actually reckon with the fact that he's significantly older than rook for the first time. for so long in this romance i think he saw the lichdom as this like, beacon on the horizon. he didn't really think about the reality of getting involved with someone younger than him because he always had the option to become a lich. no getting older, no slowing down, no dying.

and now that it's no longer an option, he's stuck with it. he has to think about it. he loves rook, and as he says, there are realities to the circumstances of their relationship that need to be considered! the only difference is that... rook already did. at the beginning. which is when these types of concerns are usually addressed.

which of course is why this turns into a full argument when emmrich insinuates that it's rook who couldn't possibly understand his concerns about fairness "at their age."

i'm so, so, so happy that rook gets to call him out on this path, because frankly, it is wildly unfair to them, just not for the reason emmrich thinks. he's so concerned that it's unfair because they're going to have to mourn them, but he doesn't consider that maybe rook has already considered that, and bringing it up now is a dick move. they can point-blank ask if they're having this conversation "because you're worried about me, or insecure about you?" and it's so good.

Like a Thread of Diamond Flame

I can see the life course through you, my love. Like a thread of diamond flame. Yet... I will lose you to time, Rook. What if I can't bear that for eternity?

the argument with lich!emmrich actually is partially about the battle ahead.... because he opens with asking rook to stay back and not throw themselves head first into the fight. he's concerned for their safety, and seems to have forgotten that in a fight against gods, no one can afford to hold back.

man, i love it when i'm right. i knew he hadn't properly considered the consequences of lichdom, and i knew he wasn't prepared for rook to die. but seeing it said so plainly? absolutely delicious.

this answers my question of why he'd been "moping" around, as harding said. because he's been overthinking things and imagining the future where rook gets old and dies and he has to live on afterwards. i think the full impact of mourning manfred has hit him and he's realized that the depths of his feelings for rook are such that it will be so much worse when it's them. "I'm afraid I'll mourn you forever." not remember them, not love them. those were a given, guarantees he made before he ever even did his rites. but he's afraid he will mourn them forever, too. and that's... unimaginably heavy. a weight he hadn't considered, but should have.

the way this argument ends varies, including a path where you call him on overthinking and sabotaging his own happiness. but my favourite? when you tell him he can't act like this every time danger looms, and rook says "I'm not going to be afraid of dying just because you are." there's something so powerful in just that one line—it cuts right to the heart of the issue. this is about emmrich and his fears. nothing else.

my only complaint with this scene is there's no opportunity to call emmrich out on the fact that he should have thought about this before becoming a lich. of course, i knew that he hadn't—it was obvious he was rushing things so that he didn't have time to get cold feet, but i wish rook could say so. especially since it's been all my rook could think about since the jump.

[xyfanficarchive]

here, have some incredibly personal laios x reader hurt/comfort, written as therapy in the form of reader insert bcos i was sad today, might be a bit ooc idk man :)

————————————

“You know, I actually love when you ask me for things, when you tell me you’re feeling down, or if I’ve upset you.”

You raised your red-rimmed, apprehensive gaze to meet Laios’ eyes, clear and completely earnest as he smiled at you. Weakly, you tried to return the expression. It didn’t feel very convincing.

“It makes me feel like you love me and trust me. That you trust me enough to be honest - that you trust me to comfort you, to do better by you, that you believe in me and my ability to meet your needs, that you believe I can be there for you in a way that makes you happy,” he elaborated, reaching his hands out and taking yours. “I feel valued.”

You flitted from golden eye to golden eye, searching his expression desperately for any inconsistency, any unfinished edge, any loose thread that would unravel his perfect honesty and found none. Your frail smile faltered. He was like the life-giving sun, but you felt as though you were in the desert being beat down by his radiance. You wanted to shrink away, and your shoulders hunched. Oh that sentiment was so nice, and certainly he meant it. But that just meant it would hurt exponentially more when he was done with you, when he finally realized-

“What’s going on? What are you thinking?” He stooped his head closer to yours, and tears welled up in your eyes, your lips parted in a wince as you shook your head. Laios’ brow furrowed. “No, something’s wrong. This is what I mean: I want to help you, you want me to help you, but I can’t unless you tell me what’s going on! So please just tell me what you’re thinking!” The urgency in his voice struck you like an arrow through the heart.

It wasn’t like you could be much more humiliated than you already were. It felt like it was already over, it was going to blow to pieces either way. Your thoughts felt slippery as you gathered them as best you could, your vision starting to blur. You turned your gaze downwards, you couldn’t even look Laios in the eye as you drew a shaky breath in.

“You say that, but,” your voice was quiet, “you don’t understand - we’ll both regret it when you realize…” The words caught, you couldn’t say it.

“When I realize what?” He insisted.

The few seconds of silence felt like an hour. Then, quiet as a whisper, you admitted, with much difficulty: “My needs… my feelings… I’m really hard to deal with… I'm too much... You’ll realize I’m a huge fucking burden, and then you won’t want me anymore!!” You sobbed, and before the tears could fall you covered your face with your hands and hung your head, feeling two inches tall, feeling so deeply embarrassed and ashamed to the core of your being. You wished you could just disappear.

"You think I don't already know you're a burden?"

The words shocked and pained you so deeply you stopped crying, eyes shot up in gape-mouthed, grief stricken disbelief as you recoiled. He was fast with it. All these years, nobody had ever affirmed your belief so directly, nobody had ever stated it so plainly. You'd heard many empty platitudes that were hard to believe, precisely because in the end they had always proved you right - whatever you needed the most, whenever you needed it the most, you were always left in the dust, alone and despairing, and feeling like the biggest idiot in the world for your blind hope.

You saw his face change - he cringed, looking extremely pained, and with panic started to explain: "D-Don't get me wrong! Agh..." For a moment he held his brow in his palm, then took a deep breath, composing himself before he continued. He grabbed you by the shoulders.

"Everyone's a burden, aren't they? Just thinking of my friends - Marcille is really picky and particular. Chilchuck is way too proud and secretive, and he drinks a lot. Falin is my little sister, so I have to be there for her, look out for her. And Senshi... Well, Senshi seems to have a lot figured out already." He paused, and broke eye contact for a moment to look at the floor. "And we all know how I am..." His tone was incredibly loaded, and your heart broke because he was the brightest and most vibrant being you had ever met, having faced a lifetime of hardship and betrayal and still coming out the other side so true to himself.

He leaned in closer to your face. "The point is, though, they all have needs - and they know how to ask for help when they need it! You only ask for help when it becomes an emergency. If even then." His expression softened. "I know you have lots of needs. I know because I've worked really hard to meet them, without embarrassing or scaring you by asking. And it meant a lot of thinking, constant planning, lying awake at night wondering, asking everyone for advice... It's tiring work." He went down the list and you broke his gaze, looking downwards. You felt low, ashamed at all the trouble you've caused him, all because you tried to be no trouble at all. What a right mess you've made.

"Hey, look at me," his hand came up, fingers resting so gently on your jaw, and your watery eyes obliged. "I did it because I wanted to! It makes me happy to see you happy, or fulfilled, or relieved, and to know that it's because of me! I did all of that because I love you! But I can’t keep up with all that hard work all the time. I don’t think it’s fair.” You had been fending off the tears as you listened but now the dam broke again, hot as they rolled down your face, and you sniffled as your nose clogged up. “So can you please help me help you easier? Would you please help me love you like that?” His eyes were glassy now as he looked down at you.

The cry came out of your throat as a whine as Laios took you in his arms, embracing you tight while you sobbed into his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt around his back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorryyy,” you repeated through the tears and he shushed you, holding you while you cried it out until your gasping, hiccuping breaths slowed and calmed.

It was hard to say what you needed to say next, because you had to admit you were wrong about something you had believed so deeply for most of your life. It wasn’t easy to fully give up the idea that had kept you safe for so long. “I’ll try to be more honest about my feelings… and to ask for help before it’s too late…” Still in his embrace you lifted your head to look up at him, and stared into his eyes with intensity. “It’s terrifying, I won’t lie. But… I trust you.” How couldn’t you trust someone who was so deeply genuine as he was?

He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead between your brows, and your eyes rolled closed. When he pulled away you turned your head and pressed your ear to his chest. “I want you to be happy. I want this to work. I love you so much,” he said, and you felt the words rumble against your cheek.

“I love you too,” you murmured, lulled by the sound of his breath and heartbeat.

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ DUMB & POETIC ♡·˚

— [♡] ; you sprouted love like flowers, growing a garden in your mind and watering the petals with every unshed tear. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: hanahaki disease, fem!reader, fluff, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional growth, vulnerable gojo satoru, recovered feelings, love after trauma, reconciliation, slow healing, happy ending, chapter four of four!

wc. 3.2K

↳ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

The beach house had settled into a rhythm. Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi had kept the energy alive with beach games, bad jokes, and playful arguments. Even you had begun to relax, finding moments of peace between the tension that still occasionally surfaced between you and Gojo. But for the most part, the trip was turning out to be just what you needed—a break from everything that had happened, a chance to breathe.

It wasn’t until the third day, when the sun was high in the sky and the others were down by the shore, that Gojo’s phone rang. He was lounging on the deck, sipping something cold, when the shrill sound of his ringtone broke the lazy quiet. He glanced at the screen, surprised to see Shoko’s name flash across it.

He raised an eyebrow but answered, casually leaning back in his chair. “Hey, Shoko. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Shoko’s voice came through sharp and annoyed, a tone Gojo didn’t often hear from her. “Are you out of your mind, Gojo?”

Gojo blinked, sitting up straighter at the edge in her voice. “What’s this about?”

There was a pause on the other end, and then Shoko sighed, her frustration palpable even through the phone. “You know what this is about. You dragged them— her —to your beach house? For spring break?”

Gojo frowned, confused. “Yeah, we needed a break. So what?”

“So what? Gojo, are you seriously that oblivious?” Shoko snapped. “Or are you really trying to make her fall in love with you all over again?”

Gojo froze, the words hitting him like a bucket of cold water. “What? No! That’s not—” He trailed off, suddenly unsure. Was that what he was doing? Was that why he’d invited everyone here? Why he’d made sure you came along?

Shoko’s silence on the other end was damning. She let out a frustrated huff before continuing. “Gojo, you might be the strongest sorcerer in the world, but when it comes to this, you’re clueless. Do you even realize what you’re doing? You’re putting her in the same position she was in before the surgery.”

Gojo stood up, moving to the edge of the deck, his hand running through his hair. “That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he insisted, though even as he said it, doubt began creeping in. “I just… I wanted to figure things out. With her. With all of this.”

“Figure things out?” Shoko’s voice was laced with disbelief. “You don’t get it, do you? She almost died because of how deeply she loved you. And now, after all that, you’re bringing her here, spending time with her like this… What do you think is going to happen, Gojo? She’ll just magically fall in love with you again? And this time it’ll be fine because you’re paying attention?”

Gojo clenched his jaw, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He hadn’t been trying to manipulate anything—he hadn’t meant for this trip to turn into some kind of emotional trap. But now, hearing Shoko lay it out so plainly, he couldn’t ignore the truth.

Was that what he was doing? Trying to pull you back into his orbit, hoping that maybe—just maybe—you’d fall for him again? He hadn’t even realized it, but now that Shoko had said it out loud, it was impossible to ignore.

“I didn’t…” He trailed off, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“No, you didn’t,” Shoko said, her voice softer but still firm. “You’ve never been good at thinking about the emotional fallout, Gojo. And I get it—you’re used to being able to fix things with power or clever words. But this isn’t something you can just fix by inviting her to a beach house.”

Gojo leaned against the railing, staring out at the ocean, his mind racing. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, hadn’t realized how deeply he was still entangled in everything that had happened between the two of you. But now, with Shoko’s words ringing in his ears, he couldn’t deny the truth. Somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, he had started wanting you to love him again.

He didn’t even know when it had started—maybe it was when he had seen you for the first time after the surgery, standing there with the weight of your love for him gone. Or maybe it was when you had told him, with fear in your voice, that you were afraid of falling for him again. Either way, it was there now, lingering in the back of his mind, in every look, every word.

Shoko’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Look, Gojo… I know you care about her. But you need to be careful. If you really want to help her, if you really care about her, you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about what’s best for her.”

Gojo let out a slow breath, his grip tightening on the railing. “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to hurt her, Shoko.”

“I know you weren’t,” Shoko replied, her tone softer now. “But just be honest with yourself, Gojo. Are you really ready to face what happens if she does love you again? Or are you going to make the same mistake and push her away when things get complicated?”

Gojo didn’t answer right away, his mind spinning with everything Shoko had said. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. But now, standing here, he realized that maybe—just maybe—he had been hoping for something. Something he hadn’t even been able to admit to himself until now.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said finally, his voice quieter, more serious than before. “I don’t want to hurt her again.”

“Good,” Shoko replied, her voice gentle but firm. “Because if you do, Gojo… this time, it might be too late to fix.”

They said their goodbyes, but Gojo didn’t move from his spot on the deck. The weight of Shoko’s words hung heavy over him, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what to do.

He wasn’t used to this—feeling unsure, feeling vulnerable. He wasn’t used to caring this much about someone. But when it came to you, everything felt different. Messy. Complicated. And now, standing here in the soft light of the evening, he couldn’t help but wonder: What was this? What was he doing?

And more importantly: What did he want?

Because whether he liked it or not, Shoko was right. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to make the same mistake all over again.

And this time, there wouldn’t be a second chance.

Gojo stood there, the ocean stretching endlessly before him, but his mind was elsewhere—caught in the tangled mess of emotions and half-formed thoughts that had been brewing since the moment Shoko’s words hit him. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to questioning himself, to feeling so unsure about what he wanted or what to do next. But now, he couldn’t avoid it.

What do you want, Gojo?

That question had been lingering in the back of his mind for days, ever since this whole beach trip started. He had thought, at first, that it was about giving you a break, giving all of you some time away to reset. But if he was being honest with himself—and maybe for the first time, he really was—this trip had never just been about a vacation. It had been an excuse. An excuse to be near you, to figure out what this thing between you two was. He had wanted to get closer, to understand why you still lingered in his mind, even after the surgery had erased the love you once felt for him.

But now, after Shoko’s call, after that blunt, almost painful clarity she had given him, he couldn’t pretend anymore. It wasn’t about curiosity. It wasn’t about guilt or responsibility, either.

He cared about you. Not just as a student, not just because of what had happened. It was something more. Something deeper that he hadn’t realized until now, until the idea of you falling for him again was no longer a distant possibility but something that could happen. Something that he wanted to happen.

Gojo exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he watched the waves roll in, his thoughts swirling like the tide. He had never been one to care about these kinds of things. Feelings, relationships, love—it had always seemed messy, complicated, something he wasn’t built for. He was Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, someone who lived on the edge of power and responsibility, always just a step removed from everyone else.

But with you… it felt different. He wasn’t standing on the edge anymore, wasn’t watching from afar. He was right in the middle of it, tangled up in something that he couldn’t just ignore or brush off.

Shoko had been right. If you fell in love with him again—and he knew it was possible, even probable—it would be different this time. Because now, it wasn’t just about your feelings. It was about his.

He hadn’t noticed it before. He hadn’t wanted to. But now, with the question staring him in the face, he couldn’t deny it anymore.

Gojo wanted you.

Not in the simple, surface-level way that he sometimes joked about with others. This wasn’t about charm or attraction, or the way he could so easily draw people in with his confidence and smile. This was deeper. He wanted you in his life, in a way that felt grounding, like maybe for the first time, he wasn’t floating above everything but was anchored to something real.

He wanted to be there, for you and with you—not just as your teacher or some distant figure in the background, but as someone who mattered. Someone who could be a part of your life, not just someone you admired from afar.

And if you fell in love with him again?

He wasn’t going to push you away this time. He wasn’t going to let fear or uncertainty stop him from trying. Because now, he understood that he had been waiting for something like this—for someone like you. Someone who made him feel… human, in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Gojo smiled softly to himself, feeling the weight of his decision settle over him. It wasn’t a grand revelation or some huge, life-altering moment. It was quiet. Simple. But it was real.

He wanted you. And for the first time in his life, Gojo wasn’t afraid of what that meant.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Yuji and Nobara had managed to drag Megumi back to the house, exhausted from the day’s activities, and the house was filled with the usual banter and noise that came from having them around. You had retreated to the kitchen, helping yourself to a glass of water, when you felt his presence behind you.

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice was light, but there was something different in his tone—something more grounded, more focused.

You turned to face him, surprised to find him standing closer than you expected, his usual easy grin absent, replaced by a more serious expression. His eyes, usually hidden behind his blindfold, were uncovered, bright and intense as they met yours.

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly feeling nervous, like there was something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Gojo leaned against the counter, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative. “About everything. About us.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the word us, and you swallowed hard, unsure of where this conversation was going. “What about us?”

Gojo was quiet for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “I know things have been complicated,” he began slowly. “And I know I haven’t exactly been great at… dealing with all of this. But I want to be honest with you.”

You stared at him, your pulse quickening. “Honest about what?”

He took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he spoke. “About what I want. About what’s been going on in my head since all of this started. And the truth is… I want you around. Not just as one of my students, but… more than that.”

You blinked, his words sinking in slowly. Your heart was racing, and you could barely breathe. “More than that?”

Gojo smiled, a small, genuine smile. “Yeah. I’ve realized that… I don’t want to push you away. I don’t want to pretend like none of this matters. It does. You matter. And I want to figure it out—whatever this is, whatever it could be—together.”

You stared at him, your mind reeling. Gojo—Satoru Gojo—was standing in front of you, telling you that he wanted you, that he wanted to figure out whatever was between you. The fear that had been gnawing at you since the surgery, the uncertainty of what would happen if you let yourself care for him again, all of it seemed to melt away in the face of his quiet sincerity.

For the first time since everything had changed, you felt something new. Something fragile, but real.

Hope.

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “What if I fall for you again?” you asked, your voice trembling but steady.

Gojo stepped closer, his smile widening, his eyes soft but full of that familiar spark. “Then it’s all good.”

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid of what came next.

A few months had passed since that conversation at the beach house, and everything had settled into something new—something real. The fear, the uncertainty that had once weighed heavily between you and Gojo, had slowly faded, replaced by something more stable, more grounded. Life had moved forward, but now, it did so with a quiet ease that you hadn’t expected.

Your relationship with Gojo had evolved, and though it hadn’t been without its bumps and awkward moments, it had become something solid. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic, like you might have once imagined. There were no grand declarations of love, no sweeping romantic gestures. Instead, it was quiet and slow, built on the foundation of friendship, trust, and mutual understanding.

It felt like you had both found your footing, like you were learning how to be in each other’s lives without the fear of repeating the mistakes of the past.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the weather was warm, the sun shining down as you and Gojo walked through the school grounds. Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi were off training somewhere, and the two of you had decided to take advantage of the quiet. Gojo had a bag of snacks slung over his shoulder, and you had your hands tucked into your pockets, enjoying the comfortable silence between you.

“What’s the plan for today, sensei?” you asked, giving him a teasing smile. It had become a running joke between you—calling him "sensei" even though the dynamic between you had changed so much over the past few months.

Gojo grinned, his usual playful energy still very much intact. “Oh, you know, the usual. Thought we could go somewhere quiet and you watch me be awesome.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “You mean watch you eat snacks and avoid responsibility?”

“Exactly,” Gojo said with a wink, falling into step beside you. “See, you’re catching on.”

The banter between you had always been there, but now it was different. There was a lightness to it that hadn’t existed before. You weren’t constantly second-guessing yourself, wondering if Gojo was thinking about the past or the surgery or the complicated feelings that had once consumed both of you. Now, things just… were.

You weren’t in a rush to define the relationship, to label it. The love you had once felt for him had changed—it wasn’t the same overwhelming, suffocating force that had bloomed inside of you like the flowers that had nearly killed you. Instead, it had grown into something healthier, something that didn’t demand all of you but existed alongside you.

And Gojo? He had changed, too. He wasn’t the same distant, untouchable figure he had once been. He still had that easy confidence, that charm that made everyone around him smile, but there was something softer about him now—something more vulnerable. He had let you in, and though it hadn’t been easy for him, he hadn’t pulled away. He hadn’t run.

You found a quiet spot under a tree near the edge of the training grounds, and Gojo flopped down onto the grass, pulling a snack out of his bag with a dramatic flourish. You sat beside him, leaning back against the tree and closing your eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face.

“So,” Gojo said after a while, his tone more serious than usual. “How’s it going? You know… with everything.”

You opened your eyes, glancing over at him. It wasn’t like Gojo to ask questions like that—he wasn’t one for deep conversations unless they happened naturally, but when he did ask, you knew it mattered.

“It’s going,” you replied honestly, offering him a small smile. “Better than I expected.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly interested. “Better how?”

You sighed, resting your head back against the tree as you thought about your answer. “I’m not afraid anymore. Of being around you. Of falling for you again.” You turned your head to look at him, and his expression softened. “And I think… I already did.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. He didn’t tense up or act surprised. Instead, he smiled, his gaze warm as he looked at you. “I know.”

It wasn’t a grand moment, but it didn’t need to be. You had fallen for him again, slowly, gradually, and this time it felt right. It felt safe. It wasn’t the kind of love that demanded too much or threatened to swallow you whole. It was something that grew between you, steady and unforced.

And Gojo? He was right there with you.

You hadn’t talked much about what your relationship was in specific terms. You didn’t need to. What mattered was that you were both here, both willing to figure it out together. There was no rush, no urgency. Just… time. Time to grow, to understand each other, to learn how to love in a way that wasn’t destructive.

Gojo reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he gave you that easy, lopsided grin you had come to know so well. “I’m not going anywhere, you know,” he said softly. “No matter what happens. We’ll figure it out.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle over you. “I know.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves overhead and the distant laughter of the others in the background. It was peaceful, quiet, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe—like you had found something worth holding onto, not because you needed it to survive, but because it made life better.

And that was enough.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the grass, Gojo shifted beside you, his gaze thoughtful. “You know, we never did figure out what this is,” he said, gesturing between the two of you with a lazy wave of his hand. “Maybe we should give it a name.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Does it need a name?”

He grinned, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the sky. “Nah. I guess not.”

And in that moment, you realized that it didn’t matter what you called it. What mattered was that you were here, together, and that the love between you—whatever form it took—was real.

And that was more than enough.

notes: now everyone says "thank you shoko ieiri"! writing this was so much fun, thank you so much!

tag list: @lily-of-my-dreams @sunnyx07 @3zae-zae3 @sashisuslover @kingshitonly @bvuckleybby @laviefantasie @r0ckst4rjk @minkyungseokie @tw0fvced @f1sheeee @laviefantasie @f1sheeee @spindyl @itsjustnikkixoxo @springsoltice

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[loveriotss]

I have a special request if you’re up for it

imagine the reader is Shoto’s best friend and has a very powerful Quirk, so Endeavor tries to arrange a quirk marriage, but the reader’s parents refuse. Skip to years later, Shoto and the reader are in a queer-platonic marriage and do have kids, but they’re all adopted.

please, and thank you

OUR HAPPY ENDING ⸻ shoto todoroki

SYNOPSIS — after endeavor tries to arrange a quirk marriage for his son shoto with you, a powerful quirk user, your parents refuse the union. years later, shoto and you are now happily married and have built a family through adoption, finding happiness and fulfillment on your own terms. INCLUDES — gn! reader, slight angst, fluff, one-shot, 2.2k words WARNINGS — endeavor being a bitch

main masterlist — mha masterlist ༊*·˚

the mahogany door creaked open, revealing the vast expanse of endeavor’s opulent office. his desk gleamed under the high ceiling lights. the light filtering through the high windows cast long shadows, adding an air of formality to the surroundings. the room was a monument to his relentless pursuit of perfection and determination to become number one: polished wood panels, black leather couches surrounding a table in between the room, framed certificates and trophies, each a symbol of his relentless pursuit to excellence.

with your parents by your side, you entered the room feeling tense. behind his desk stood endeavor, a towering figure of authority in a spotless uniform. his gaze was a mix of expectancy and sternness. standing beside him was shoto, who’s eyes met yours. you couldn’t discern what he was thinking but you didn’t have the time to figure it out either as shoto shot his eyes to the ground, almost as if he were guilty of something.

endeavor motioned for you and your parents to take a seat, his gesture seeming more as a command than an invitation as he and shoto took their seats across from you all. you looked at your best friend again, hoping to read his eyes once more but he seemed to keep his eyes purposely glued to the table in between the two of you instead. said table had cups of coffee, a few snacks and an ominous looking document on the side. you peered at it slightly, trying to figure out the contents of it before your mother nudged you slightly, making you quickly regain your posture.

“thank you for coming,” endeavor began, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “i appreciate your time today.”

endeavor’s sharp eyes moved from one person to the next before finally resting on you. your body felt rigid and your heartbeat quickened but you made sure to not break eye contact.

“what is this about, endeavor?” your father asked, his voice steady but edged with cautious anticipation. his posture was firm, hands clasped tightly in his lap.

endeavor leaned forward slightly. “it concerns your child and mine, shoto. as you know, shoto’s quirk is incredibly powerful, but its full potential could be enhanced through a strategic partnership.”

his eyes shot to you once more, “and your child..has an equally exceptional quirk. both theirs and shoto’s quirk together could produce remarkable results.” 

you felt your heart plummet all the way down to your gut. you glance over to shoto, who has realized it too, his eyes widened at his father’s words in disbelief. surely he couldn't be suggesting...

your mother’s eyes narrowed, her expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. “partnership? what exactly are you proposing?”

“a quirk marriage,” endeavor said plainly. “your child’s abilities complement shoto’s in ways that could be highly advantageous. think of the possibilities — a union that could benefit both families and the society.”

you shifted in your seat, feeling a wave of discomfort. so you were right, he did want to propose a quirk marriage. the air around you felt suffocating, the idea alone of being arranged into a marriage based solely on quirk compatibility felt deeply intrusive. how heartless could endeavor be? you were certainly not in the dark of how he treated his kids based on their quirks and the horrible things that the entire family had to go through because of his selfishness. and now he wants you and shoto to go through the same thing? 

you stared ahead and shoto didn’t look any better than you did. his face was broken out in cold sweat, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at the side of his father’s face. 

“i’m not sure i understand. are you suggesting that we should get married simply because our quirks are compatible? could you remind me what era we are currently in?” you snarl at endeavor. 

endeavor’s expression was unwavering. “this isn’t merely about personal preference or romantic inclinations. it is about creating the strongest possible legacy. your quirk is powerful, and with shoto’s, the potential for impact is significant. your bloodline could create extraordinary quirks along with ours.”

fury boiled from the depths of your body, you opened your mouth angrily to speak back but your father beat you to it. 

“we refuse. you must be out of your mind if you think we would force our child into this business contract of a marriage.” your father’s expression remained stoic, but his eyes were fiercely sharp. 

endeavor’s demeanor hardened slightly, though he maintained his composure. “refusal is..unwise. i strongly advise you to reconsider. think about the long-term benefits for everyone involved. this isn’t just a matter of personal choice but of contributing to the greater good. the potential benefits are too significant to overlook.”

shoto, who seemed to have regained his composure, finally spoke up. his voice was firm, though mixed with a hint of unease. “i don’t want this. i don't want the things that happened between you and mom to happen between me and y/n and i definitely do not want what happened to big brother touya to repeat. i want to be able to make my own choices about my future.”

endeavor’s gaze shifted to his son, his brows knitting together in frustration. “shoto, you must understand. this is about forging a path that will leave a lasting mark on the world. think about the legacy you two could build together.”

you took a deep breath, drawing strength from the support of your parents and the determination radiating from shoto. “shoto’s right. our lives aren’t pawns in some grand scheme. we both deserve the freedom to make our own choices and to shape our futures.”

your mother places her hand over yours, squeezing it reassuringly. “our choice is final, we will not agree to this arrangement. our child’s future is not to be dictated by silly things such as quirk compatibility. we will not allow it.” she says, her voice firm and unyielding.

the room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of the decision hanging heavy in the air. endeavor’s expression hardened, his eyes flashing with irritation. “i see. very well. i trust you will reconsider, but for now, we’ll end this discussion.”

and with that, you and your parents stood up to leave. shoto’s gaze met yours. there was a mix of gratitude and uncertainty in his eyes, but his stance was resolute. you give him a weak smile which he manages to return.

as you leave the office, the tension of the meeting slowly began to lift. your father placed an arm on your shoulder, offering you a smile as you all walked towards the exit.

years had passed since that tense meeting with endeavor. the memory of his proposal, so forceful and impersonal, had faded into the background of your life. the pressure and expectations from the past had given way to a different kind of relationship with you and your best friend shoto — one that was meaningful and uniquely yours.

shoto and you had formed a queer-platonic marriage, the bond you two had defied traditional definitions yet perfectly suited your needs and desires. it was a relationship built on deep emotional connection, mutual respect and an understanding that transcended conventional romance.

the decision to marry took a lot of thought and consideration. you both did not want to have a marriage that would please endeavor and his cruel ideas. you both knew that if you two had children of your own, no doubt the child would have an extraordinary combination of both quirks. 

if this would have happened, endeavor would have surely gone and done something that would’ve ruined your peaceful lives. so you two had decided to adopt instead, and that was the best decision of your lives.

your home was a cozy and bustling space, filled with warmth and signs of daily life. the walls were adorned with family photos and colorful artwork created by your children. the entire place was a mix of comfort and creativity, a testament to the hard work and determination you and shoto had to build the life you have now. 

the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the soft hum of a lullaby playing in the background. the melody was soothing, a calming presence in the midst of the household. you were busy preparing a late lunch for everyone, your movements practiced and fluid as you chopped vegetables and arranged sandwiches on a platter.

between your legs was you and shoto’s two year old daughter, hana, who you two had adopted just a few months ago. she had the most gorgeous brown locks paired with charming black eyes. she held onto the hem of your clothes, peering curiously at your actions, the lollipop in her hand practically forgotten. 

you smile, looking down at her. “hi hana, wanna help me with lunch?” you ask her, patting her head softly. she nodded her head furiously as she held out both her hands for you. you pick her up, placing her on the counter and carefully keeping the lollipop away before she drops it. she looked at the food plattered, a sparkle in her eyes. you grin to yourself, happy to see that she’s finally out of her shell. 

meanwhile in the living room, your three older kids were sprawled on the floor, focused on a particular task. there were building blocks scattered across the carpet with shoto in the corner who was engaged in an intricate game with them. they all were together, creating a structure with the blocks. a sprawling castle complete with towers and walls was taking shape under shoto’s patient guidance. his face was lit with a warm smile, a rare and treasured sight.

you watched from the kitchen, a smile appearing on your face too. you carefully placed hana on the floor again as you began laying out plates, glasses and utensils on the table. 

you set it with the sandwiches, salads, a batch of cookies and two pitchers of juice and water. “lunch is ready!” you called out. the kids scrambled from the floor, excitement bubbling over as they eagerly took their seats. your seven year old twin boys are the first to plop down on the seats beside you, mouths practically watering at the sight of the lunch you had prepared for them. “did you two wash your hands before sitting down?” retorted your ten year old daughter as she raises her eyebrows at her little brothers who flash her a toothy grin before racing off to the bathroom.

“thank you mimiko” you say, gently caressing her hair as you place a few sandwiches on her plate. hana on the other hand was in shoto’s arms, babbling in broken language as he gently places her on a baby seat. 

the boys, whose hands were now clean, sat on their chairs as they held out their plates for some of your sandwiches too. you serve them before finally placing sandwiches with a side of salad on you and your husband's plates. shoto busied himself by pouring cups of water and juices for everyone and cutting up pieces of bread for hana to enjoy. 

now that all the kids had food on their plates, you and shoto finally sat down, your hands brushed against each other, a simple, affectionate gesture. you give each other a small smile before beginning your meal and starting up a light conversation. 

“i can’t believe how fast they’re growing up,” you remarked, looking at your kids. they were a diverse group, each with their own background and story, but they were united by the love and care that you and shoto had given them. “it feels like just yesterday we were bringing them home for the first time.”

shoto nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at the children. “i know. they’ve brought so much joy into our lives. it’s hard to imagine what life was like before them.” 

as lunch winded up, you and shoto decided to take the kids to the park, a favorite family outing. the sun cast a glow over the playground as the children ran ahead, their laughter ringing through the air, while you and shoto followed at a more leisurely pace, pushing hana's stroller along. 

you both sat at a bench nearby, keeping an eye on the kids while also relaxing together, fingers interlocked. little hana had also seemed to wriggle her body out of the stroller and waddled off to play with her older siblings. 

as the sun began to set and the park started to empty, you gathered the kids and walked back home, the day coming to a close.

the house was now silent, only a few shuffles and snores heard as you and shoto sat together in the balcony, the cool night breeze hitting your faces.

in the stillness, you turned to shoto, a smile playing on your lips. “you know, despite everything, i wouldn’t change a thing. this life we’ve built together—it’s exactly what i’ve always wanted.”

shoto’s gaze softened and he returned your smile. “i feel the same way y/n. we’ve created something truly special. it’s more than i could have ever imagined.” he gently grabs your hand, placing a small kiss on your knuckles before whispering. “this is our happy ending.”

NOTE — this was a longg fic to write but honestly i really enjoyed it! went a bit overboard with the timeskip but i think it's really sweet! i didn't give names to the boys so you guys can decide that! also can you guys tell i suck at giving titles 🧍.

©loveriotss — all rights reserved to me. please don’t try to copy/steal my work. please do not use any of my ideas/translate my work without my permission.

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

Cigarettes after sex

Summary: Friends with benefits. One night stand. Hookup buddy. All these names were thrown in the table and yet you didn’t know what exactly to call your relationship with Leon.

Warning: angst. hurt/no comfort. older Leon x younger reader (21+). established relationships. mentions of sex but no smut.

Word count: 1,500

A/N: someone requested an angst fic so I shall deliver :3

“It's leading me on, every time we touch. Leading me on, every time it hurts. Feeling so lonely, 'cause it's not enough” - Touch, Cigarettes After Sex

Six months ago you were living a different life. Destined by the gods to struggle on your own as trekked through the roads of life at every hardship places upon you.

Until you met Leon.

He was older, wiser, mature. He was everything you weren’t. You unconsciously compared yourself to him. He seemed aloof and cold but deep down you knew he had a heart.

But you? You were happy and free but how was your heart inside? You often questioned yourself whether if you were naive and young or if you really had terrible attachment issues.

The first night you shared with Leon was purely without strings attached. He’s made it very plainly that all he wanted was basically a fuck buddy and you in your best mind said yes.

But behind every tender touch, every gaze under his icy azure ice really helped you keep your feelings away?

No.

It didn’t.

There were nights where he didn’t even call or text. He would go MIA and come back as if nothing happened. But he also made that clear, right?

He was a do or don’t type of person. You either do or someone else will.

Wrapped around bedsheets, clothes discarded on the floor, the lights down; everything was sensual. He held you strong in his arms as he released his frustrations through your body. But his arms were hollow. He wasn’t holding you because he loved you, he was holding you because he had to.

He wasn’t a total asshole, he’d clean you up and tell you to go to sleep while he’d get dressed and leave in the middle of the night. Not knowing if he’ll ever come back.

It was draining. This push and pull situation. You wanted more, you always did and yet, with what you have, could he even spare you a drop of love?

“Doll, you know I can’t.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not that type of guy.”

“Darling, you deserve better than some old guy like me.”

It was weird, really. He says he can’t love you but one night after you two had sex, he cradled you in his arms and refused to lessen his firm grip. His hands wrapped around your upper body as he held you close to his chest, almost to confirm that you were alive. He nuzzled his face into your hair and breathed deeply as he held you close.

But that was just once. One ounce of love and affection that you craved so much. And he never did it again.

You knew he hooked up with other girls. He never got over his true love.

He only ever visits you to pretend you are the woman he wishes were in your place.

And it hurt like bitch. He never kissed you on the lips. He never moaned your name when he came. Just a fuck and leave.

It ached and churned your heart, you tried so hard to prove to him that you could be the very thing that was missing in his hellish life. Only for him to be blind and choose someone else.

So when you saw him sit up on the bed and take out a pack of unfamiliar cigarettes, you knew your time with him was done. Someone else had got to him and took him away from you.

The pack had a red lipstick print on it and you could only assume that it was from the woman his heart craved.

“Who is she?” You asked quietly as you propped yourself on your elbow and stared at his broad back.

He didn’t bother to turn around, putting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it, “Someone you don’t need your pretty little head to worry about,” he muttered before he took an inhale of the tobacco before he blew it out of his parted lips.

“I’ll worry about it. What will this mean to us?” You asked and this time, he finally gave you his attention. He turned his head over his shoulders to look at you.

“There is no ‘us’,” he answered quietly.

“So that’s it?” You whispered, “it took you half a year and someone random bitch to realize how you truly feel?”

“She’s not a random bitch,” he quickly retaliated gruffly, “And you knew perfectly well about our arrangement. No strings attached, this was all just for sex. Don’t tell me you started to catch feelings because I did not sign up for that.”

You could only remain quiet. And he could only stare at him, his eyebrows raising and his jaw slightly going slack. A hand ran through his hair as he sighed, “Jesus Christ…”

“Are you fucking serious?” He asked rhetorically in a whisper as he got up from the bed to look down at you.

“I’m sorry—“

“The one thing I told you not to do and you go ahead and do it.”

“I couldn’t control it, what I feel it’s—is nothing I can do about!” You explained.

He narrowed his eyes at you, “There is something you can do about it. Ever tried to move on like every person on this fucking planet when they know they have no chance with someone? Are you that naive?”

Ouch.

Tears stung at your eyes at his words. They were harsh but they right like every other thing he’s ever said, “It’s not easy,” you whispered, your voice quivering as you tried to contain your emotions.

“It’s not easy,” he repeats, “Of course it’s not but that doesn’t mean you should have any hope about anything happening between us. I can’t love you and I can’t be the person you want me to be. I am not the person you think I am and once you get through your head, you’ll realize that I was right.”

“I love you,” you whispered as slow tears fell down your cheeks.

He shook his head and cupped your face in his hands, “You don’t love me. You think you do but you don’t. If you love someone, you would understand what they do to you and you wouldn’t let them treat you like shit. If you love someone, you let them go,” he whispered back.

Your fingers curled around his wrists as he held your face, tears blurring your vision, “I can’t—“

“Yes you can,” he whispered firmly, “you’re strong, Y/n, you’ve dealt with shit that I don’t know about and you will keep dealing with shit the more you grow. But you’re young. Too young to understand what love is.”

“You don’t get it—“

“Yes I do,” he narrowed his eyes and wiped your tears with his thumbs. An act so tender and affectionate, were it not for the current situation, “I’ve been in your position before and I’m telling you to give me up. It’s pointless and you’ll only get hurt.”

You shook your head as best as you could, trying to speak through tears while his face softened slightly at the sight.

“But I love you,” you whispered defiantly, “I love you and I can’t explain this feeling, it can’t be put into words. Please…”

“Baby,” he whispered and let go of your face, “You’ll get hurt and I only tried to mean well. I don’t love you but I care for you. And trust me when I say that this, this ‘us’ as you call it, can’t work anymore. I can’t be with someone who gets attached to me with emotions. I’m doing this for you.”

You could only cry. How is it that you messed up everything? Would things be better if you had kept shut about your emotions and keep having meaningless sex with him or was it better to let out your emotions on a silver platter where Leon had the choice of accepting or not?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. You brought a hand to his cheek and pulled yourself towards him, your lips connecting with his.

But he didn’t kiss back.

He let you kiss him, knowing you probably were aching and heartbroken. He wasn’t a total jackass but he knew he couldn’t be with you.

His hands gently pulled you back, a look of remorse and regret on his face before he stood up and dressed into his jeans and shirt. Before he could leave your room, he spared you one last glance.

And that was the last time you’ve ever seen him.

No calls and no text, it was as if the cord has finally been cut and there was no way back to him. You tried calling but only to be sent to voicemail.

Some say it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. But is that all just bullshit when you know that losing the person you love is worse than not loving at all?

The pack of cigarettes remained sitting on your nightstand, the lipstick a reminder of the woman he loves. Of someone you wished you were in her place.

[feasibilities]

Sight and Smell - Tom x Married!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: Tom has feelings for you and won't let anyone stop him from telling you how he feels. Warnings: Drug Use, Infidelity, Allusions to Cuckolding, Sex as Punishment, Choking, Pining, etc. Author's Note: Readers need love too! I did some research on luxury hotels in Dublin as well (because I want a late-night rendezvous with Cillian in one of them). Also, thank you @mothhball for tagging me in the prompt that spawned this insane story. I hope you enjoy it!

The sight of your beautiful smile and the smell of your redolent perfume were mainstays of Tom’s psyche. He knew your husband, Seán, since they were kids. You came along during secondary school. He knew it was wrong to lust for any woman who wasn’t Marianne, but you were different. For the first time, he felt a deep-seated jealousy toward his friend. Knocking on the front door, Tom was finally prepared to tell you how he really felt. This party would go down in history. 

“Hey, Tom. Seán will be here soon. Won’t you come in?” You smiled sweetly. You noticed that he looked disheveled and restless. 

“Of course.” Tom replied. While you led him to the kitchen, he admired how your black dress hugged your figure. He hated that Seán got to see the treasures that lie underneath. 

“Where’s Marianne?” You inquired, going back to cleaning the champagne flutes. 

“U-um, she wasn’t feeling well so she stayed back.” Tom faltered, taking quick peeks at your cleavage. 

“Ah. Well, I hope she feels better soon. How have you been?” You asked.

“Fine.” Tom answered plainly

Walking toward him, you placed the back of your hand on his forehead. 

“Are you feeling okay, hun?” You asked innocently. 

Taking your hand away, Tom hurried to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. You heard him lock it shut shortly after. You stood there stunned before continuing to prepare for the party. 

After separating the thin white powder into lines, he gummed what was left over on his fingers. Snorting each line was like a hard reset for his body. His heart felt like it was clawing its way out of his chest. Collapsing near the bathroom sink, he trembled and cursed himself. He sat himself up in a corner and breathed deeply. The palpitations of his heart subsided. 

Hearing offbeat jazz come from the living area, Tom jumped up and gathered himself. He had to get this out of his system before guests arrived. It was now or never. 

“I need to talk to you.” Tom blurted out, watching you arrange hors d'oeuvres on multiple platters. 

“Fucking hell, Tom. You scared me half to death.” You jumped. 

“Listen, it’s very important-“ Tom started.

“Can it wait until after the party, hun?” You corrected.

“It can’t.” Tom said, growing irritated by the second. 

“Fine. What is it?” You said, exasperated. 

“I have loved you since I met you all those years ago. I think about you all the time. I hate that Seán got to you first.” Tom confessed, staring into your eyes. 

You stayed silent and stared back at him. You felt a mix of panic and curiosity. Seán would kill Tom with his bare hands if he heard this conversation. Tom’s advances made sense—especially since you felt the same way. You loved your husband with all of your heart, but you can’t say you never thought about leaving. He was away for work way too much. When he was here, he wasn’t present emotionally. Intimacy was poorer than it had ever been. You yearned for something different—rather, something electrifying. Tom was the closest you could get.

“We can’t do it here, Tom. I can meet you in a hotel after the party. Now, take these platters into the dining room. Be careful to not let anything fall.” You ordered. 

Tom’s eyes widened at your proposal. You’ve never seen him move so fast in the time that you knew him. Guests, including Seán, began to arrive. He kissed you deeply and gave you an embarrassingly hard smack on your ass. It felt like he was putting on the show of a happy couple in front of everyone. Tom was left to brood angrily as you gave him sympathetic glances throughout the party. Shortly after everyone’s departure, you got a text from Tom about your impending rendezvous.

Room 427 at The Westbury. Hope you’re still up for the challenge. 

“Challenge?” You murmured as you applied your makeup at your vanity.

“Where are you headed, love?” Seàn slurred, toying with your hair. He was too drunk to notice you flipping your phone over. 

“Out with friends. I’ll be back late.” You replied. 

“You know, I want to spend more time with you. I miss you.” He said, kissing your shoulder and starting to untie your house robe. This was another empty promise. You politely moved his hands and went back to finishing your makeup. 

“We can spend time together when I get back, Seán. I need some time to myself, ’s all.” You said. Finally getting the message, he stumbled to the bed and fell asleep.

— 

“Fuck, right there…” You moaned as Tom thrusted into you at steady pace. You raked your nails down his back—marking your territory for the time being. He stared down at you with the same admiration earlier. He loved the way your breasts moved with each thrust. He loved the resplendent noises you made when he bottomed out. You clenched around him as your legs began to shake.  Your eyes fluttered shut before you felt his hand grab your throat. He squeezed enough to limit your blood flow. You were lightheaded, but still conscious.

“Open your fucking eyes. This is what you wanted, right?” Tom hissed, speeding up his movements. This time was much more brutal.

“Yes.” You whimpered, feeling like you were about to break in half. 

Tom kissed you harshly and watched as you fell apart. Unintelligible praises came from you as he pounded you into the plush mattress. Your walls spasmed frenetically as you came. He wanted to make sure that you thought of him every time you fucked Seán. To his own perverse wish, this was payback for not choosing the better man.  Flipping you on your stomach, Tom yanked your hips backward and started taking you from behind. He put a pillow underneath you to soften the blows, but to no avail. He was reaching depths that your husband dreamed of. You weeped quietly and 

“Would be fucking sick if Seán came in and saw me nailing his wife, eh?” Tom teased, panting in your ear. A cruel part of you got off on the thought of him listening in on you two. Maybe he would give you the attention you deserve. A faint “Mhmm” emitted from you in response. 

“Cum inside me.” You cooed, looking back at him with heavy eyes. You bit your lip and clenched around him once more. His thrusts staggered as he came with a loud groan. You sung his praises as he came down from his high. Pulling out, he saw his seed beginning to spill out of you. He caught some with his fingers and pushed it back inside.  He pumped himself mindlessly before laying next to you. His stark blue eyes studied your features. He traced his fingertips along your back. You looked back at him lovingly before drifting off to sleep. 

Grabbing your lace underwear from the floor, Tom huffed them desperately. Similar to cocaine, he felt a sense of euphoria. He took in the sweet, earthy scent as he grew hard again. He didn't want to disturb you, so he walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He finally got what he wanted. 

[plant-ago]

An Open Letter to Dan and Phil

Dear beloved nerds,

This was originally going to be an (even longer) actual letter that I was going to give to you at the tour, but my nonprofit-employed ass can’t afford a meet and greet, so we’re doing this instead. I promise it’s not just trauma dumping— mostly, it’s about saying thank you and trying to cultivate some hope for all of us.

I’ve been a big fan since around 2014, when I was a mentally ill neurotic deeply repressed loner egg (average phannie, let's be honest). Now I’m a whole adult who got therapy and HRT and has joined the legions of transmascs with the Dan Howell haircut! What a legacy.

I’m making jokes because the thing I actually want to talk about, and the reason I decided to make this an open letter, is kind of serious. But in light of the election, I feel like I need to share this, both with you and with all the other queers in this little corner of the internet.

Here’s the gist: I’m a paralegal at a non-profit organization that works to help queer migrants get asylum. Mostly what I do is sit them down in our nasty sterile office and try to be kind, and help them get through telling me all the most terrible things that have happened to them, and then turn around and pare it all down into legalese that is digestible to the government to make the case they should get asylum.

It’s a horrible job, really, and one that shouldn’t have to exist. Some parts are plainly wonderful, like meeting so many queer people from all walks of life. But it’s also heartrending and difficult, and burnout is always looming. My horrible banal work is often literally a matter of life and death for the client, and I’m fighting a broken system for a chance at giving them the happiness and safety is owed to them by international law and, really, by any decent human standard, should never have been in question.

The thing is—and this is reason to hope—queer people really do exist everywhere, no matter how much repression and violence we face. In a tiny village in Colombia, there's a kid who’s all spit and vinegar, dresses like a boy and plays football and fights anyone who says that they can’t, who grows up wiry and gets black eyes because men still can’t handle getting their asses handed to them on the soccer field by a dyke. This client texts me at my work number sometimes to ask if I’ve eaten that day, because they wanted to check in on me. He asked me to call him by a boy’s name, recently. I don’t know that he’s told anyone else. I open every message I send him with "Hola, James."

Then there’s the sweet, babyfaced college freshman who got death threats when he was outed to his classmates back home, and whose parents kicked him out when he refused to marry a girl to protect the family's reputation, leaving him alone in a foreign country. He was couch surfing and just trying not to miss class so he could keep his student status and he was so conscientious I wanted to cry— he’s eighteen, guys. Eighteen. I’ll get him his papers or so help me fucking God I will kill for him. You know? You know. After that meeting I had to sit at my desk with my notebook and fill an entire blank page with the phrase “he’s just a kid,” over and over again, until I felt like I could breathe.

On a Friday morning recently I get up and open my laptop to interpret on a call with a soft-spoken older trans woman who's sat in the bleak phone room of the ICE detention facility because her immigration judge didn’t believe that she was really transgender. “An odor of mendacity pervades everything the respondent says,” the judge wrote in her ruling, where she determined the client wasn't "credible." To this day I’m still floored that she straight up ripped off Tennessee Williams—new frontiers in bigotry, truly. She didn’t even cite. In our meeting now, the client quietly tells us how hard it was when she came out but how happy she was the first time she wore makeup, and she'd rather stay in detention here for indeterminate years as proceedings spiral on than go back to Guatemala, where they'll kill her—boys, if I ever get within spitting distance of this fuckass judge, it is on SIGHT. Absolutely fucking ON SIGHT. For legal purposes, that was a JOKE.

So I finish the call and get up to get a snack. It’s only ten am but feel tired already because I’m angry, which is not unusual but also not something I want to hold onto, because it doesn't help anything. So I make some toast and look at my phone— two texts, which I ignore, a spam email, and, wouldn't you know it, a YouTube notification from Dan and Phil games! Jarring! That’s just sort of how life is though, isn’t it? Deathly serious and lighthearted in the same breath.

But regardless, seeing the notification makes me feel warm, so I have my toast and watch a little video of you two playing Roblox or dress up or whatever it is you do on that channel these days. I have a good giggle and I finish my toast and go back to my desk. It’s a crucial part of my diet really— the giggles, not the toast. I’m not angry anymore. I’ll be angry again, but for now my cortisol levels are manageable and I can put my head back into emails or whatever the fuck. Do you ever think about how plants make food for free out of sunlight but we sit around writing emails all day? And that’s if we’re lucky. Capitalism is hell.

Anyway, there is a point I am trying to make, and it’s not really about the banal horrors of neoliberal nation-state or capitalism or even homophobia. It’s to say thank you for coming back to make silly videos together, because I love them, and you never fail to make me happy. And yeah, maybe something about the story of that scared eighteen-year-old kid at the front of my mind makes it particularly sweet to watch you two goofing off and being openly queer. It reminds me why I’m doing what I’m doing, and it gives me the strength to send another fucking email because sometimes doing “important work that I value and believe in deeply” means having to send another fucking email. And sometimes I’ll rewatch your older videos, and then come back to the more recent ones, and my heart bruises, because you remind me what I’m fighting for and why. It’s nothing grandiose, it’s just— for queer people to get to have the ability to grow into themselves and be outrageous and silly and make mistakes and to love and be loved for who they are. To have the safety and support and security that no one should ever go without. That’s all.

So I am being dead serious when I say thank you for making top-tier light entertainment, and for coming back to a job that wasn’t always kind to you, and that it does actually matter. All this talk about terrible influences and legacies has made me think that sometimes you doubt whether you do good in the world, so let me be clear: you really, really do. I kind of get the sense that in order to accept sincerity Dan needs to be beat over the head with it, so if that’s the case, consider yourself coerced, you dickhead. You matter to me, and especially in times like these, I think I speak for all of us when I say that the joy you share is a precious and treasured gift. So please accept my gratitude in return.

All my love,

Jules

(I removed or changed all identifying information in this letter to protect privacy, but the stories are real).

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch 10

A/N: HI. SURPRISE CHAPTER RELEASE, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! If you're still here, I love you and kiss you passionately with tongue. Or hug you. Whichever you prefer.

Rating: Mature Word count: 6.1k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, a lot of fucking angst, anxiety depictions, blood mention, some tame descriptions of sexual acts Summary: Having been retrieved from the courtyard by Astarion, Tav and Astarion have a long, overdue discussion.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

Her heart hammers in her chest as they tear through the crowd, barely missing a step. Astarion sets the pace, his hand gripped tightly over her forearm. It’s all her feet can do to keep up lest she trip and ruin her gown further.

Tav’s mind races as she mulls over her conversation with Gale. As far as the wizard is concerned, Astarion has a right to know about her delicate condition. Fear strikes deep at the thought – she’d rather curl up and perish than face a reality where Astarion finds out.

Bleeding black lines of mascara brand her cheeks, makeup half removed after the events in the courtyard. Eyes linger over them as Astarion drags her through the ballroom, a few guests dipping their heads to chatter quietly to one another. Tav meets Marceline's questioning gaze for a moment, though their interaction is brief as Astarion catches on. He roughly jerks Tav’s arm forward, urging her to move faster.

“H-hey!” Tav shouts in protest, “I’m not an animal, Astarion! Easy!” She rips her arm from his hold, earning her an annoyed groan from Astarion. The delicate skin of her forearm tears on one of Astarion's nails and she winces. Blood blooms on the surface of the tiny wound and Tav is quick to put it to her mouth before the scent reaches Astarion's nose. “Where are you taking me, anyhow?” she asks, eyes fluttering as the blood reaches her tongue. Tav practically moans into her arm at the taste; it may be her own blood, but it still tastes exquisite.

“The office,” growls the vampire, void of much emotion.

Ah. The office. Where he fucked then nearly killed her a couple nights ago. Perhaps tonight will be when he finishes the job? Make her well and truly his? Her stomach churns at the idea.

“Why?” Tav inquires with a huff, still trying to match Astarion's immortal pace. “Why can't we just speak here?” The office is too secluded. Should Astarion try anything, she'd much prefer there to be witnesses.

The vampire lord stops without warning, Tav almost crashing into his back. He turns slowly; Tav instinctively takes a step back. Leaning toward her, Astarion says, “Do you need a play-by-play of every single thought running through my mind, dearest?” His face is wound tight with tension, muscles quivering over his jaw. Tav can see he's fighting the urge to bare his fangs at her. When Astarion realizes how unsettled she is, he softens his expression. “I’d like our conversation to be private.” He lifts his head then to survey the room. “Away from prying ears.”

Tav raises a brow in question. Following the vampire's line of sight, she catches Wyll's gaze upon them from across the ballroom. Concern is written plainly across the Duke's face. The thought of giving him a signal for help crosses her mind, but Tav only gives him a reassuring smile and a nod of her head. 

It’s Wyll that concerns Astarion. Perhaps he fears that the Duke will intervene, should they remain here? He wouldn't be wrong – if Wyll were to witness any cruelty by Astarion’s hand, he wouldn’t hesitate to step forward. Tav has no doubts regarding that. But as she turns her attention to Astarion again, she finds him scowling deeply at her. As if he'd been privy to her own private thoughts.

Despite Astarion's visage, a strange feeling of comfort consoles her. At least someone will know her last whereabouts should things go awry.

“I see,” Tav manages to say. “Let’s be on our way, then.” It's taking everything she has not to turn and run from Astarion. The urge is tearing into her gut as she resumes her trail behind him. Astarion says nothing. Tav wonders if she's just given the green light to resume her own personal death march. 

They cross the threshold into the foyer and Astarion stops again near the foot of the grand staircase. Lifting a hand, he rests it atop the newel post. The foyer is vacant save for the servants, rushing in and out of the ballroom, who are likely too preoccupied to notice their presence. Astarion turns again in Tav’s direction, furrowing his brow. Heat crawls up Tav’s neck as he studies her intently. 

“Do you fear me, now?” the vampire asks. His voice is soft–barely above a whisper. He almost sounds… concerned?

Her mind blanks. “I…” A chill shoots down the length of her spine. Glass clinks in the background. All Tav can do is blink absently in response. Can he hear her thoughts? 

Astarion tilts his head slightly to the left, eyes still glued to her form. 

Impossible, she thinks. There's no way he's in my head.

…Is he?

Astarion suddenly pulls back. “I'll take your silence as a, ‘yes,’” he infers with a quick chuckle. He turns back in the direction toward the office. “Wonderful,” he sneers. Tav sprints behind to catch up, shaking her head. 

Unsure as to exactly why, she finds herself mulling over Astarion’s question. Does she fear him? Why would he ever ask her something like that? Would the answer even matter? All good points to make, but the one thing that baffles her most is just how much she finds herself caring.

“You barely gave me enough time to give you an answer!” declares Tav. She looks down to her arm and brings the small cut to her mouth again. She needs something – anything – to help distract her from the rapid beating of her heart. From the edges now cut into the corners of her vision. Her body is preparing itself for a fight, to run. Pressure builds in her chest; the taste of blood on her tongue again is a soothing balm to her overexcited nerves.

“Well, you had to think about it!” the vampire exclaims. Astarion deftly grabs for the handles of the heavy office doors. Their latches disengage with a distinct click. “That's an answer in and of itself.”

Tav halts a few paces behind. She looks around the dimly lit foyer – they're still the only two occupants. “Must you jump to such catastrophic conclusions?” she asks, lowering her arm back to her side. As her attention returns to Astarion, she can't help but notice how the flickering light of the candelabras acts like shimmering waves over his platinum hair. Like the light of the moon over a restless sea.

“Are they catastrophic if they happen to be true?” questions Astarion, throwing the wooden doors open. He steps through the threshold and into the office. “Besides,” he says over his shoulder, “that's the most effective way to learn how to weather all the shit life throws at you.”

Tav scowls before following him inside. She closes the doors gently behind them. “Forever anticipating the end? Sounds horribly exhausting, to me.” She watches Astarion make his way to the small bar cart located to the left of his desk. On her own, Tav decides to follow.

“Such is life, darling,” he says wistfully, picking up a decanter filled with wine. Astarion pulls off the glass stopper and pours a generous amount into a glass, putting it to his lips near immediately.

“Your life, perhaps,” Tav chides. A craft of water stands next to the wine, and she pours some into a glass. She then dips a corner of a napkin into the glass, sweeping it under her eyes. “That's not reality for everyone else, Astarion.” Tav scowls as she inspects the black smeared into the napkin, performing the same act again until no mascara remains.

A roll of Astarion's eyes is all the answer she gets as he takes a long sip of wine. Tav then gracefully pulls the wine glass out of the vampire’s hand, firmly placing it on the bar cart. She looks at him as she lifts her head. “It doesn't have to be yours anymore, either,” says Tav, softly.

His eyes shift quickly between hers and the wine glass, his now vacant hand dropping unceremoniously to his side. “What are you doing?” Astarion asks, slightly annoyed.

“You drink more than you used to.” She speaks plain, neutral; careful not to impose bias of any sort.

The vampire scowls, mouth twisting into a hard line. “Oh? And does that bother you, mother dearest?” There's venom laced in his words – a clear indication that Tav has touched upon a particularly sensitive nerve. Offending him was something she wished to avoid, but she soon recognizes this as the perfect opportunity to push forward.

“I'm not going to sit back and watch you turn into some miserable wino.”

Astarion scoffs. “Oh, my sweet, I appreciate the concern. But I'd have to drink an entire cellar for any of this to even touch me.” In sheer defiance, he picks up the glass, bringing it again to his lips. “What does it matter, anyhow?” he says with a feigned lit, “Perhaps it'll make me less terrifying!”

At this point, Tav knows he's trying to goad her into a reactionary response. To give him anything that gives him higher ground. Shows him she's just as bothered by all of this as he is. “If we're going to have any sort of serious conversation, I need you here, Astarion,” she responds, calmly. She refuses to fall into his trap. They will speak plainly about this, even if she has to demand it.

“Darling,” says Astarion, his lips turning into a smirk, “have you been touched by fever? I'm standing right in front of you.”

Stubborn. He's so godsdamned stubborn.

Anger cuts through her core like a hot knife; her patience wears thin. “Do you want me to leave? Or will you finally agree to cut the bullshit?”

“Fine, fine,” Astarion sneers in defiance, tipping his head back as he downs the remainder of his wine. He slams the empty glass down on the bar cart. “I'll behave.”

Tav draws in a breath and lets a moment pass between them. Silence. Only the sound of their breathing fills the office. Tav's eyes wander to Astarion's hands as he begins playing with the ring on his left hand. Her gaze shifts to the wooden desk in the middle of the room. The ring case that was present days ago is missing.

It hits her then, that the ring Astarion fidgets with is the very same she gave him – True Love's Caress – his half of the lovers’ rings she found in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. A declaration of the vow she swore to protect him, always. 

Astarion knows the weight that ring holds just as well as she does. Her stomach drops to the floor. “Wyll.” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, though she knows Astarion can still hear. “You had Wyll reveal the truth? Are you trying to push me into his arms?”

His eyes dart instantly to her, ears twitching. Astarion's face contorts. Tav thinks she hears the rumble of a growl rise from the back of his throat, but as quickly as his anger rises, it fades. The only audible noise to come from him is a simple laugh. The vampire then treks to the other side of the room, taking a seat upon the chaise lounge. The sun has fully set by now – nothing but black is beyond the large frosted window behind him.

“Have you ever confessed your sins to someone you care about?” Astarion speaks to the floor, as if too ashamed to look at her. “I couldn't bear to see the look of disappointment on your face. Of disgust.” He rolls the ring again around his finger, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers. His ruby eyes gleam in the dim light of the office. “I'd already lost you once. Can you blame me for not wanting to risk it again?”

Frustrated, Tav yells, “You had a chance to be honest with me!” Despite the tension that now hangs heavy in the air, Astarion’s admission isn’t lost on her. Losing her is what he fears. What lies at the heart of his dishonesty, and he's all but admitted doing whatever it takes to prevent that. Is it the declaration of love she’s been hoping for? Not quite, but it’s evidence that the shell is cracking, allowing for a look within. And if she continues pressing him, perhaps she’ll uncover even more. “You had a chance to be honest, and yet you still chose yourself. Your image, above us!”

The vampire abruptly throws up his hands. He lets out a laugh of disbelief, elbows coming to rest on the tops of his knees as he leans forward. His head hangs in his hands. “What else am I to do, Tavaria?” Astarion asks, muffled by the position of his hands over his mouth. A rhetorical question born of frustration, by the sound of it.

“So, that’s it? This is what you are now?” She weighs the weight of her next statement carefully, ultimately deciding to continue. “A coward?”

To the Hells with it. If there’s a chance she will die tonight, she may as well go out on her terms.

Astarion stands. “I beg your pardon?” he says, stalking toward her. He's practically growling, now. Rage simmers hot beneath his cool countenance. 

Tavaria stares the vampire lord dead in the face. “You’re a coward, Astarion Ancunín,” she states. There's hardly any inflection to her voice; confidence saturates her tone. As he stops before her, she notices how much taller he is. How he seems to tower over her. Tav lifts her face and catches his jaw working, clenching tight. Astarion sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “It seems you have lost your manners,” he sneers.

Tav is quick to shoot back, “Have I? Or have I seen through you?” She knows him too well – how he adores playing with the truth.

Astarion’s fists clench rapidly at his sides. Yet, instead of erupting… he laughs. Quietly at first, gradually growing louder. Tav raises a brow, confused and also concerned by the scene unfolding before her, but stays silent.

“What am I doing?” Astarion ponders aloud. He lifts his hands to his face and rubs, digging his palms into his eyes. “The Gods must be having a field day seeing what I've been reduced to.”

“Reduced to what, exactly?” Tav asks with a slight tilt of her head. A handful of emotions wash over her – anger, confusion, fear, doubt. She isn’t sure which one she should listen to first. She isn’t sure if she should listen to any of them. “I'm not quite sure I appreciate your tone, Astarion.”

Astarion lifts his head near immediately, shouting, “A blabbering, lovesick fool!” He gestures wildly before her. “Look at me, Tavaria! I'm too godsdamned afraid to speak to you unless I have a few drinks in me!” He runs a slender hand through the silver locks atop his head, grabbing a fist full of curls as he pulls forward. “I'm a fucking mess!” the vampire admits with nervous laughter.

She stares blankly at him, an audible gasp falling from her lips. “Love..?” She reiterates, quietly. The word nearly saps all moisture from her mouth. She knows she heard him, but her brain is too shaken to properly receive the message. “You didn't tell me because you're lovesick?”

“Gods, Tavaria, again with this? We've already had this discussion!” Astarion yells back. “You can’t possibly be this obtuse.” 

Deflection again. One of his favorite tactics. 

The layers he's built around himself are quickly melting away. Astarion is grasping for control. Trying to push her out so as to not see his shame. His vulnerability. His heart. But Tav has already planted one foot within his walls, unwilling to give up the ground she's gained. She remains resilient.

“Is that what I’m to do, Astarion? Piece everything together and just assume how you feel? Like a dog that waits patiently for scraps at the dinner table?” She hardly recognizes her own voice. The ground feels unstable beneath her, as if it’ll crack and she’ll fall right through. She continues pushing forward in defiance. “This is the first inkling of a confession I’ve gotten from you in months–” Tav leans in toward Astarion, “–months! Do you realize that? Of course we're going to talk about this!”

The vampire growls, low and gruff within his chest. He places his hands over his hips and taps one foot against the ground. “What do you think all of this is, then?” Astarion then hums in question. “Do you think it's a game to me?”

“I don't know what you think it is,” Tav shoots back almost immediately. “I hardly even know who you are, at this point.”

“I really wish you would stop fucking saying that,” Astarion sneers. He places his hands over his hips, shifting his weight to one side.

“Should I take a page out of your book then, and lie to your face?” Tav realizes she's playing with fire the more she pushes, but she can't help herself. The smell of raw, open wounds fills her; she finally has him cornered. “Would you rather I fall to my knees and swear fealty to you, all while brandishing a dagger behind my back? Is that in more of a language you understand?”

Silence befalls the room. Astarion's gaze sits heavy on her, but Tav stands still. She watches as he shudders, turning away from her. Pain grips her chest.

For a brief moment, she questions if she's perhaps gone too far.

“I'm not going to harm you, Astarion,” Tav says, breaking the silence. She feels her heart sink further as Astarion drags a hand over his face. The vampire then pulls in a shaky breath. 

“You already have.” 

His words are an instant punch to the gut. Tav chokes.

“But so have I,” continues Astarion. “The first time I ever lay with you… It was under false pretenses.” The hand on his face raises to his hair, combing through. Astarion lifts his face with a half-empty smile. “We’ve been hurting one another, haven't we?”

That's it. The horrid realization of what their relationship boils down to. Tit for tat, bit by bit. Two steps forward and three back. Both too afraid to show their real faces. Pulling themselves back before they ever truly begin. The rare moments of a lull is where their love resides. When the masks finally slip off. The beautiful garden they ignore until it sets aflame. Drowning it in water, they have no choice but to hope for the best. Hoping they survive.

That is the reality of their love. That has been their love. Neither too eager to maintain it out of fear of being seen by the other. But when they do manage to put those feelings aside, their garden thrives.

“Do you love me?”

The question echoes within the depths of her mind, chilling her body to its core. She can hardly believe she asked it – and so boldly – but it doesn't make the inquiry any less honest. For once, she allows herself to speak from her heart.

“If you truly want to end this game between us, Astarion,” Tav states sternly, “then I ask you again: Do you love me?” He has no place to hide, this time. Nowhere to run, and she will use this to her full advantage. “Because if you don't, I will leave.” With growing confidence, she dares to stand before him. “Forever.”

And there it is–her ultimatum. Her declaration of being through with this charade. That she will take no more from him. And despite how her heart crumbles at the thought, Tav knows it would ultimately be for the best. She needs this from him, and she refuses to continue going with less than what she deserves.

Astarion's silver tongue moves along the inside of his cheek as he stares her down. A tongue so saturated in deceit, unhesitating to strike even her, should he demand it. His eyes narrow into thin slits and he draws a deep breath through his nose. “Do I desire you?” Astarion asks, tauntingly. He snickers as he leans forward, mouth hovering over hers. “Every corner of my mind is consumed by thoughts of you. Of us.” Astarion's eyes drop to her lips. “Thoughts of you in my arms. The smell of your hair filling my senses.” He lifts his gaze, eyes hooded. “The warmth of your body against mine.”

The air suddenly evaporates from her lungs, and Tav nearly chokes.

“Everything I do… I do it with us in mind. Because I love you,” he grounds out. “That's what you've been waiting to hear, isn't it?”

A shiver passes over her. “Not if it isn't true,” Tav says, weakly. Her head is spinning. Is he really saying this? Is this another one of his tricks?

Astarion reaches for her face and Tav flinches, still not used to his body heat. “Well, that's really too bad, because it is. And it nearly drives me out of my mind how much I love you. How often I think of you.” Tears threaten the corners of his eyes. She hasn't seen him cry since the night he learned the true nature of the poem carved into his back.

Tav goes slack within his embrace and her eyes flit closed. An odd sense of calm washes over her the panic gripping her heart seems to fade, replaced by warmth and longing. Desire, she realizes. True, unbridled desire for him. Another feeling she's tried to stifle out of shame, out of fear of being unrequited. And as she opens her eyes, she meets the shimmering ruby red of Astarion's irises. A lone tear streaks down his porcelain skin.

Tav throws her arms over the vampire's shoulders, settling closer to him. Astarion's arms then drop to her waist. He pulls her close, burying his face within the crook of her neck. She pants gently against the side of his face as his lips connect with the tender flesh of her neck, weaving her fingers through his hair.

“I love you, too. So much that I hate this,” Tav admits breathlessly. She feels Astarion freeze under her, but he doesn't pull away. “I have craved this for so long, Astarion. To be like this with you.” Her heart thuds loudly within her chest, ready to punch through the confines of her ribcage. “And I hate that you've made me wait this long for it.”

The arms around her waist tighten, one moving up to splay across her back. “You've any idea how nervous I was when I sought you out again?” Astarion says, voice quivering. “I was so sure you'd tell me to leave and never come back.”

Tav sucks in a sharp breath. Truth be told, she wanted to. Had convinced herself that she should have, and has been looking through that perspective ever since. But a deep, deep part of her was still hopelessly bonded to Astarion. The man she knew he was – not the creature that had replaced him. And when he laid her down so gently the first night of his return, carrying her into the bath after, it was reassurance enough that the same man was still in there. That this was still worth fighting for.

Tav’s stomach clenches as Astarion's hand continues to travel up, settling on the back of her neck. Heat pools within her lower belly as she melts further into his form. “Astarion,” she moans, the vampire now nipping at the shell of her ear. There’s a pulling sensation below her navel and her hand flies instinctively to her stomach. Gale's words suddenly echo within her mind; she sighs. There is no better time to tell him than now.

“I wish to tell you something,” Tav says, breathless.

Astarion simply hums his reply, not bothering to lift his face. His fingers dance along the small hairs at the base of her neck before cradling her head.

Tav peels herself gently from him, a shiver running through her. “Astarion,” she calls again to him. He finally meets her eyes. Curiosity colors his expression, but he watches patiently as Tav removes his hand from the small of her back, placing it over her abdomen. “Feel,” she instructs. Her heart hammers in her chest.

Astarion lifts a brow, one corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk. “What exactly am I feeling for, love?” he laughs, “If you mean to tell me you're hungry, we can have–”

Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. Color drains from his face as he slowly turns his head, looking down at his hand. Astarion then kneels before her, placing his ear against her stomach. A near-silent gasp falls from the vampire’s lips. Tav grasps for his shoulders as the room around her spins. She feels faint, as if there isn't enough oxygen to breathe anywhere in Faerûn, let alone this room. That there is no corner of the world she can go to in order to escape this feeling.

Doubt creeps in. This was a mistake, she thinks. Selfish and impulsive. What was she thinking? How could she ever think this was a good idea? He wasn't supposed to find out, she should have never–

“Tavaria…” Astarion’s face settles into a scowl as he rises to his feet. “Is this some kind of joke?”

The world snaps back into focus. She suddenly realizes that she is alone with the most powerful vampire lord to have ever existed, who now thinks her greatest vulnerability is a crude trick. Her worst fear nearly confirmed. Tav’s stomach falls to the floor. The small hairs on her arms raise. Bile burns at the back of her throat.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, desperately.

“You get me to a point where I let you see my heart–” Astarion pauses, screwing his eyes shut, but continues, “I give you my back, only for you to do this?”

Anger. So much anger bleeds from him. Hurt, betrayal. Tav can hardly piece together all she's hearing. Her body begins shaking violently; adrenaline kicking in as she readies herself to flee, should need be. “I don't understand,” she manages to tell him. The truth, really. She hasn't a clue where he's going with this line of questioning.

The vampire scoffs, turning his head away from her. He shifts his weight to one side as his hands settle on his hips. “Do you really take me for that much of a fool?” accuses Astarion. “That I would accept you passing off someone else's child as ours?”

Her head spins as her mind quickly works through the events of the last three months. “There has only ever been you, Astarion,” Tav declares, fiercely. She should be the one asking him that same question. Is this how little he thinks of her? Even if she had a rotating parade of lovers each night in her bed, what business of his is that? They've made no promises to one another. No bond, no vows. Tav balls her hands into fists. How dare he insult her in such a way.

As if sensing her offense, Astarion sighs. “Forgive my skepticism, love, but I'm having a hard time believing this is true.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I feel like this would have happened already.” He snickers before adding, “We weren't exactly celibate, back then.”

The tension in her chest begins to unfurl. She realizes he has a point – not unlike the same conclusion she initially came to upon finding out. “I thought the same,” she admits. “I never thought twice about laying with you for that reason. I’m still not certain of how this happened, but I know this as truth, Astarion.”

Astarion shakes his head. “‘All the appetites of man will be returned to you,’” he recites, giving a short chuckle. “I guess that also extends to other things.” He raises his hands to hold hers, grimacing at how Tav flinches at the contact. “I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to paint you as ill-willed. I've done enough horrid things to you, including this. Had I known… I would have been more careful. I hope you don't believe I was planning this.”

Tav snickers. “You? Plan?” Despite her light tone, the urge to make him suffer tugs at her. She should be madder, demand more from him, make him feel even a sliver of the pain and anguish she's felt for weeks, now. Force him down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness, to worship her, to vow never to betray her again. Her bones sing for it, blood clawing at the need for revenge. To make right all he's wronged against her.

But he's not that different from her, is he? Lost in his own darkness. A slave, no longer by physical means, but now to his own selfish desires. The new body he inhabits, the quickened mind; every thought and feeling amplified. It doesn't excuse his cruelty, but it gives strong reason. And she can tell he's beginning to understand the line between the two. He's trying rather than excusing his actions. That surely implies insight, does it not?

Tav decides that this will suffice, swallowing her own darkness back down. She will help bear the torch to aid him on his journey toward understanding. A way to pay him back for his patience during their quest against the Absolute. She'd nearly killed him, more than once, yet still he returned to her tent night after night to hold her through every breakdown. Every rotten urge that dared to swallow her whole. He gave her the unwavering support she needed, even if it wasn't what she deserved. And he never so much as asked for anything aside from her love in return.

The raw vulnerability Astarion is finally presenting to her… This is all she's wanted from the beginning. 

Him.

The side of him that was and is hers. The man she fell in love with. And as if coming to a clearing in the middle of a lush meadow, he finally, finally, stands before her. Tav can't help but smile.

“I’ve been known to have some good ideas,” Astarion says in jest, returning her smile. A few moments pass before he gathers her hands within his, bringing each to his mouth. “So… what comes now?” He kisses over her knuckles, then leans forward to kiss between her brows. Tav gives him a puzzled look, and he quickly clarifies, “Vampiric children are rare, but I would completely understand if this isn't what you want.”

Choice. He's giving her choice.

Tav’s eyes widen with surprise. “Oh, no, I'm…” Her voice trails off as her gaze falls to the side. She can feel the faint blush rising to her cheeks. “I'm almost beyond that point, now. I think.” Numbers fly through her mind. Just how long has it been, she wonders? Perhaps another visit to Jaheira wouldn't hurt.

“So you're keeping it?” Astarion asks, raising a brow.

Tav is quick to nod. “Y-yes,” she stammers, “I don't expect anything from you.” She dares herself to meet his gaze. “Unless you want to.” Her heart is lodged in her throat as she waits for his reply. It’s only fair that she gives him, too, the chance to choose.

Astarion's eyes wander over her face. He's still holding her hands, but he moves now to intertwine their fingers. “Do you?”

A searing pain shoots through her chest. He's deflecting? Why? “That's not what I asked you, Astarion.” Tav’s voice trembles as she blinks at him. She feels herself fading. Splitting from herself. She begins to shake again, fear bubbling over. 

It was stupid to think he'd want this. He hates children; do you not remember his first reaction to Yenna? The disgust? Why would your child be any different? This is a mistake, this is wrong, you ignorant little–

“I want to,” Astarion declares, wrapping his arms around her waist. He speaks against her ear, “So, tell me, darling: Do you?”

She returns to herself at the first sound of his reply, and Tav nods her head wildly in agreement. Her throat tightens suddenly, heat curling up her face. The familiar sting of tears prickle the corners of her eyes. “Yes,” she states emphatically, throwing her arms around his neck. She kisses the side of his face. “Yes, Astarion!”

“Then it’s settled,” says the vampire lord. He pulls his head back from her to observe her face, a smile tugging on his mouth. “We… are expecting.”

She's overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions that wash over her. Happiness, frustration, relief. Happy and relieved by this outcome, but also frustrated that it’s taken so long to get here. It’s easy for her to identify those feelings, but there's another whose identity is foreign to her. It nags at her subconscious, itching to be let out of its cage. It lashes wildly against her mental restraints.

Their eyes meet. Tavaria’s gaze shifts momentarily to his lips and then back again. Astarion does the same. He lingers over her mouth a bit too long before lazily dragging his eyes back up her face. Heat dances under her skin. The room suddenly feels too warm. Scorching.

“Love,” Astarion whispers quietly against her lips. He drops his forehead against hers, hands settling on the curve of her hips. They lightly fist the fabric of her emerald gown.

Her head spins as her senses are flooded. The thick smell of food trailing down the hall and the faintest hint of pipe smoke that clings to his clothes, mixing with his cologne. The delightful pressure of Astarion’s hands on her body. The warmth radiating off his body, so close to hers.

Safe.

She feels safe within his embrace.

A rhythmic pulsing starts at the apex of her thighs, desire pooling low in her belly. Astarion's chest rises and falls in shorter intervals. The scent of his cologne sits heavy within her nose, a smell so entirely him, and her eyes fall closed, instinctively rolling back into her head. The flames of arousal lick pleasantly over her core.

“Tavaria…”

And as quickly as her name drops from his lips, she ignites.

She rushes forward, capturing Astarion’s lips in a searing kiss. He groans in surprise against her mouth, a hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. Tav’s jaw goes slack and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. She winds her hands through his hair, grabbing desperately at fistfuls of silver as Astarion nips at her lower lip. Pulling her closer, Tav hisses as she feels the outline of him stirring to life against her center. She sneaks a hand down between them to cup him through his clothes.

Astarion groans, pulling her head roughly to the side before delving into the nape of her neck. He traces the faint scars along her skin with his tongue before closing his mouth over them, sucking hard. “Mine,” he hisses against her neck, the hand still on her hip tightening.

She wants to reply, to tell him yes, she’s his, has always been his, but all she manages is a wanton moan as he sucks feverishly at her neck again. Tav scrambles for the zipper on the back of her dress, desperate for the touch of his hands along her heated flesh.

“No,” Astarion grumbles, holding her hands steady.

“Astarion, please,” Tav begs.

“Not here.”

The sting of rejection ghosts along her heart. Tav pulls back from him as she gives him a questioning glance, panting heavily. The room around them comes back into focus, the fire of her arousal being doused.

As if sensing her hurt, Astarion says, “Upstairs. I would like to do this properly.” A blush sits across the vampire’s face, his eyes glazed over with lust. His chest heaves. He means not to reject her; he wants to take her to bed.

Her heart swells once again. “Take me,” Tav coos, resting her head against his. Her eyes fall closed as she kisses him. Every fiber of her being sings to him. Calls to him, wants him to devour her. She craves the feel of strong hands along her sore breasts, like a soothing balm. Those hands then diving down to explore the ripening expanse of her stomach. Further still, until those fingers delve deep, deep within her. Tav aches for him, she realizes. Stronger than ever before. “Please,” she begs, near silently. The fire within her burns near out of control. If he doesn’t act soon, she will be lost. 

Astarion pulls away again, groaning at the loss of contact. Tav can hardly keep herself from looking between his legs. His cock strains heavily against the confines of his trousers and she bites her lower lip in anticipation. Astarion laughs as he catches her gaze, but he grabs her hand and leads them both toward the exit. “Come then, my love,” he coos as he throws open the door, leading them both out into the foyer.