#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.

[joelsrose]

A/N I'm so glad yall enjoyed part 1 ! made me so happy seeing all the comments, hope you enjoy this part x

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You adored Tommy and Maria. That was no secret. Their house felt like a second home—the door always open, the hearth always warm, baby Benji always giggling in your arms like he knew something the rest of the world had forgotten.

You were there often enough that your teacup had a place on the shelf, your name was a murmur in bedtime lullabies, and your laughter belonged to the walls.

But Joel? Joel was different.

Despite your closeness with his brother and Maria, you and Joel had never been anything more than… polite shadows crossing paths. A nod at the gates. A quiet "morning" when your boots passed on the trail. He never stayed long enough for more.

Everyone in Jackson knew it—felt it. He carried himself like a man built from silence and steel, like someone forged in grief and never fully cooled. Where Tommy was sunlight, Joel was shadow. And not the soft kind, either. The kind you noticed in your peripheral vision—unavoidable, unmoving.

You didn’t need to know his story to recognize the shape of it. You saw it in the way he moved: cautious, careful, like the earth beneath him might give way if he stepped wrong.

You saw it in the tension that never left his shoulders, the way he never lingered, never asked questions he didn’t need answered. His eyes held the look of someone who had loved and lost so deeply he’d buried the whole concept beside whatever grave he no longer visited.

And he was, quite plainly, the last man in Jackson you’d ever try to matchmake.

Not because he didn’t deserve love—but because he didn’t want it.

Your methods weren’t scientific, but you had instincts. You always asked yourself the same quiet questions before setting anyone up:

What are they seeking?

What do they need?

And are they open to love, truly open?

Joel Miller failed the last question before it could even be asked.

He didn’t strike you as someone waiting for anything.

He struck you as the kind of man who’d wake up before dawn just to be alone with his coffee and the sound of his own breath. The kind who preferred the ache of his joints to the vulnerability of comfort. The kind of man who built his world out of habit, routine, and distance—and kept it that way because it hurt less.

He didn’t smile at people. Didn’t linger in town square to chat. Didn’t extend kindness unless necessity forced it from him. He wasn’t polite. He wasn’t soft. He was older, rough-edged, and entirely uninterested in being understood.

That was the truth of it.

So when Tommy leaned back in his chair that day, voice teasing but eyes glinting with something deeper, and said, “Find Joel someone,”—you knew exactly what he was doing.

He wasn’t asking. He was testing you. He had picked the one man in Jackson who didn’t want to be chosen.

And maybe… maybe he thought you’d fail.

But something about that challenge stuck in your ribs.

Because while Joel wasn’t looking for love—while he’d built his life so carefully around the absence of it—you couldn’t help but wonder:

What if he used to believe in it? What if he still did, quietly, deep down, in a place too bruised to admit it out loud?

And worse—what if the only reason he didn’t believe anymore was because no one had looked at him like he was worth choosing?

Not until now.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The first time you tried to bring it up, he was in Tommy and Maria’s kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, stirring something that smelled like heaven and looked like effort.

The scent hit you before you saw him—garlic, thyme, maybe something smoked. It wrapped itself around the room like a warm quilt, rich and unexpected. Joel stood over the stove, jaw tight in concentration, a hand towel slung over one shoulder like it belonged there. His brow was furrowed, focused, almost peaceful in that gruff, guarded way of his.

You hovered in the doorway, heart thudding traitorously in your chest.

You were used to being approached by people who wanted your help—who smiled too wide, who leaned in eagerly, who whispered, “Do you think there’s someone out there for me?” Not… this.

Not trying to coax someone toward the idea of love like it was medicine he’d refuse to take.

He didn’t look up when you entered. Or if he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge you.

You lingered by the counter, clutching the edge like it might give you courage. The silence felt loud. You hated that it made you feel twelve years old.

He finally glanced over, barely. “You need somethin’?” His voice was flat, more gruff than unkind, but still edged like a warning. You were an interruption.

“Oh. No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Just—this smells amazing.”

He grunted. Actually grunted. Like a bear in a flannel.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and instead muttered something under your breath—something like “charming” or maybe just “Jesus Christ.”

You cleared your throat. “So… do you like cooking?”

He turned his head a fraction, enough to eye you sideways. “It’s food.”

You blinked. “That wasn’t really an answer.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I cook. So I can eat.”

You gave him a flat look, but he was already turning back to the pot, stirring like you hadn’t said anything at all.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Dinner at Tommy and Maria’s was always warm—familiar, comforting, threaded with laughter and the scent of something slow-cooked—but tonight, it buzzed with a quiet, unbearable tension.

Joel’s food was, of course, incredible.

Rich and rustic, seasoned to perfection, made with the kind of care he’d never admit out loud. But he ate like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t spent hours making it. He was already halfway through his plate by the time you’d taken your second bite, chewing in near silence, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a storm no one else could feel.

You sat across from him, napkin folded delicately in your lap, heart tapping anxiously against your ribs.

Tommy was loving this. His smirk was nearly unbearable—eyes flicking from your face to Joel’s with all the subtlety of a man watching live theatre. He knew exactly what you were trying to do. He could see the way you kept glancing down, folding and refolding your napkin, trying to find the perfect opening to ask a question you weren’t even sure Joel would let you finish.

You took a breath, then another.

Wiped your mouth—gently.

“This is delicious, Joel,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t betray how hard your palms were sweating. “Really. It’s… so good.”

He nodded once, without looking up. “Mm.”

That was all.

Tommy bit back a grin and reached for the bread.

You looked at him helplessly, and he looked about ready to combust from holding in his laughter.

You pressed your fingers to your water glass, steadying yourself. And then—“So,” you said, voice a little too bright, a little too casual, “do you cook often for other people? Or… someone in particular?”

Joel’s fork paused. Slowly, he looked up.

His brow furrowed, deep and unmistakable. That classic Joel Miller expression that hovered somewhere between mild confusion and why are you still talking to me?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You tried to smile, but it landed halfway between charm and panic. “Nothing. Just… this kind of meal seems like something you’d make for someone special.”

He blinked at you. Once. Twice.

Then, “This a dinner or a damn interview?”

The words landed sharp. Not cruel, but cutting in that quiet, measured way only Joel could manage. Dry. Dismissive. Final.

It shut you up.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

After that night, after the dinner table rejection that hummed in your chest like an ache you didn’t know how to name, you decided there was no use in subtlety.

You had tried soft. You had tried polite. You had tried slipping things in like compliments folded into napkins, but Joel Miller was not the kind of man who read between the lines.

So the next time you saw him—three days later, tightening fencing wire behind the stables, sleeves rolled and brows furrowed in that eternal expression of someone perpetually unimpressed—you walked right up, leaned against the gatepost, and said, “Hypothetically… if someone asked you out, would you even go?”

He didn’t stop working. Didn’t glance at you. Just muttered, “Not interested in hypotheticals.”

You huffed, pushed off the post, and walked away.

Two days after that, you caught him hauling firewood into the school kitchen, face flushed from the cold, jaw tight. You handed him a cloth to wipe his hands and asked, “Would it kill you to let someone care about you?”

He blinked at you, deadpan. “You tryna get yourself assigned latrine duty with all these damn questions?”

You rolled your eyes and let the door shut behind you.

It became a pattern—awkward, pointed, persistent.

You asked him at the tool shed while he was oiling his shotgun, the scent of steel and turpentine between you, your voice feather-light but your eyes fixed carefully on his profile.

“What’s your type, anyway? If you had to pick?”

He didn’t even glance up. “People who mind their business.”

You tried again during patrol prep, the morning still damp with frost, his belt heavy with knives and yours with hope.

“You ever get lonely, Joel?”

He grunted without missing a beat. “You ever stop talkin’?”

After that, you told yourself you’d stop.

That maybe Tommy was right, maybe Joel Miller was the one locked door even your heart couldn’t open. You weren’t built to beg, and love shouldn’t have to be pried loose from someone like a tooth. So you promised yourself: no more questions, no more attempts. He didn’t want to be known.

But the promise frayed faster than you'd expected.

It had been a soft evening—one of those rare Jackson nights where the world felt quiet and intact, where the sun dipped low and golden behind the trees and the sky blushed lilac at the edges, and everything smelled faintly of woodsmoke and the promise of spring.

He was sitting on the porch steps outside the meeting hall, arms resting on his knees, posture taut like he was keeping the world at bay even while it softened around him.

You hadn’t meant to approach—not really—but something about the hush in the air and the loneliness curling at your ankles pushed you forward before you could stop yourself.

“Joel?” you asked gently, your voice low and full of something raw you didn’t try to hide this time.

He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t walk away either.

You sat down a few steps above him, enough distance between you to feel it. Enough hope left to try again.

“You really don’t think there’s anyone out there for you?” you asked softly, the words slipping from your lips like petals dropped into water, barely a ripple, as if saying it gently enough might keep it from shattering between you.

The air had cooled into dusk, the kind of quiet evening that made the world feel suspended—trees swaying in slow rhythm, the scent of smoke clinging to your clothes, light from the porch lantern casting golden shadows that didn’t quite reach him.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

He exhaled, slow and sharp, and the sound of it felt like something snapping—not loudly, not dramatically, just the quiet, unmistakable give of something that had been holding too much weight for too long.

And then, with his eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his voice came low and flat and brutal.

“What I think,” he said, “is that you don’t know how to mind your own damn business.”

You blinked, lips parting just slightly, but he wasn’t finished. His gaze never touched yours, his jaw tight with the kind of bitterness that had lived in him too long to name.

“You wanna feel needed?” he continued, each word cut clean and cruel. “Go find someone who gives a damn. It ain’t me.”

And then—he looked away.

Not in shame. Not in regret. Just turned his head with the finality of someone who had decided you no longer existed.

Your breath caught in your throat, small and sharp like the echo of a sob that hadn’t made it out. You stood slowly, hands stiff at your sides, your body moving before your mind caught up, every inch of you suddenly aware of how foolish you must have looked—how fragile your hope had been.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, but the words felt like they belonged to someone else. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for—existing, maybe. Caring.

He didn’t look up.

You turned, your steps uncertain at first—just the gentle scrape of boots on wood—but soon they quickened, like maybe if you moved fast enough you could outrun the heat rising behind your eyes or the way your throat had gone tight and narrow, like your heart was trying to climb out of it. Your shoulders curled inward as you walked, a soft, instinctive folding—as if you could shrink yourself into something smaller, something less noticeable, something easier to leave behind.

By the time you reached the path, the sky had deepened to a bruised indigo, the sun swallowed whole behind the trees, and the wind that had once carried the scent of pine and firewood now felt sharp and cold against your skin, like it knew it had overstayed its welcome.

And Joel?

Joel just sat there.

Still. Silent. Staring at nothing like the world around him had gone quiet too.

He didn’t flinch when Ellie approached—her footsteps uneven, heavy with the kind of angry purpose only a teenager could carry—but he didn’t greet her either. Just kept his eyes on the dark horizon like it might tell him what he’d just done.

Ellie stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets, her brows drawn so tight they nearly met.

“That was mean,” she said flatly, her voice cutting through the air like the crack of a branch underfoot.

Joel blinked, slow and deliberate, then rubbed a hand over his jaw, the scrape of his calloused palm loud in the silence.

“Ellie,” he muttered, low and tired, “how many times do I gotta tell you—it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

She rolled her eyes so hard you could hear it in her exhale.

“Yeah?” she shot back. “You know what else is rude? Being a complete asshole to someone who’s literally just tryin’ to care about you.”

He didn’t answer, just shifted slightly in his seat, his shoulders tight and his mouth pressed into a hard, straight line, like he was holding something back but wasn’t sure if it was words or regret.

“She wasn’t asking to annoy you,” Ellie went on, climbing the first step now, her voice lower but no less sharp. “She was asking ’cause she sees somethin’ in you. Which, frankly, is a goddamn miracle.”

Joel turned to look at her then—just barely, just enough—and the soft light caught the edge of his face, carved in angles and shadows, every line telling the story of a man who had carried too much for too long, who had forgotten softness because it had stopped surviving in his hands.

Ellie’s voice came quieter now, stripped of its usual armor, her hands still buried in her jacket but her posture more uncertain than defiant.

“You know I never met my mom,” she said suddenly, her eyes fixed somewhere beyond him, like the words were too fragile to look directly at.

Joel blinked, the shift in conversation jarring, his brow tightening in the center like something had caught him off guard and he didn’t quite know how to hold it.

Ellie shrugged, quick and small, like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth. “I don’t know,” she added, voice softer now. “I guess I wouldn’t mind you… y’know. Finding someone.”

She said it like it was no big deal, like it hadn’t just cracked the air in two.

But Joel was still staring at her, still unmoving, still caught on that sentence—not the words themselves, but the space between them, the unspoken ache in her tone, the confession she hadn’t made outright but had wrapped in something lighter so it wouldn’t break the both of them.

“I mean,” she went on, her voice wobbling only slightly, “someone who’s good. Who could maybe… I don’t know. Be around. Help. Talk to me sometimes. If you weren’t. Not that I need it.” She swallowed. “Just… wouldn’t hate it, is all.”

The wind shifted again, cool and clean, brushing past them like it too was afraid to speak.

Joel looked at her like he hadn’t known—hadn’t let himself know—that there was a piece of her still searching for something she’d never had. Not just safety. Not just shelter. But softness. Guidance. A presence that could fill in the shape of something maternal, something gentle, something lasting.

Something like love.

And maybe, for the first time in a long while, Joel didn’t feel defensive. Didn’t feel the need to retreat behind some cold remark or hard silence.

He just sat there, staring at this kid—his kid—and realized with a slow, dawning ache that in all his effort to protect her from the world, he hadn’t stopped to think she might want more than just protection.

She might want family.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Tag List: (for future i think i will tag #cupidofwyoming for each chapter instead of a tag list because a lot of the time the tags dont work for some reason?! that way you guys can still find the chapters on my blog xx)

@joelmillerswife9 @meanderingcaptainswanmusings @mrfitzdarcyslover @noeeeeeeel @lostinthestreamofconsciousness

@fitzwlliamdarcy @mystickittytaco @millerdjarinn @missladym1981

@bardot49 @valkyreally @jeongiegram @fpsantiago @rattyfishrock

@wildthyng @quicax3 @alesomoza99 @sunfairyy @heartagram-vv

@4allthestars @vickie5446 @needz1nk @sadsydneystuff-blog @sunndroppp @kristinababy @cuteanimalmama @dailyobsession

@dulcebloodhnd @rigoler @brittmb115 @lizziesfirstwife @nandan11

@cinderblock24 @astroid-wanderer @ashleyfilm @lizzie-cakes

@sagexsenorita

[boy-eater11]

ℳ𝒶𝓀ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓉𝒾𝓇ℯ𝒹 ◦°⋆⋆°◦✬꧂

Volt x reader x Eddie- Smut

- You come to them late at night unable to sleep. The breaker box boys have a fun idea to fix that issue, and you're more than happy to participate.

CW: Polyamory, Nsfw, Praise, Threesome, Eiffel Tower, Oral M! receiving, Gn reader but AFAB anatomy, Hair pulling, insomnia,

It was late. Ridiculously late. But, you had already spent several hours laying in bed staring aimlessly at the ceiling, and you hadn't managed to make any more progress towards actually sleeping.

That's how you wound up nervously standing outside of the upstairs hallway closet, still wrapped in your blanket, anxiously debating whether or not your insomnia was troubling enough to bother your boyfriends.

You knew they would come to your aide, although Eddie would likely be reluctant, they would likely do whatever they could to comfort you. You also knew how important it was that both of them got plenty of time to relax. Running the breaker box was draining for both of them, and you had regularly been the one insisting that they needed to rest.

Sighing deeply, you opened the closet door, knocking on the small metal door of the breaker box and rubbing your eyes. Next thing you knew, you were in the empty club, two tired and concerned faces looking back at you.

"It's awfully late live wire." Volt said, placing a gentle arm around your shoulder. "Is something the matter?" He planted a soft kiss on your temple.

You shook your head slightly and sighed. "I'm alright... just couldn't sleep...' you said, frowning slightly.

"Aren't you the one who always tells us to get more sleep?" Eddie huffed out, although his voice was still soft and laced with concern.

"I am...I'm really sorry to bother you I just-" you mumbled out.

"I'm just teasing live wire...I'm glad you came to us." Eddie said, smiling softly and taking his place on the other side of you.

"What's keeping you up? Anxiety? Too much Caffeine? Stress? Lay it all on us my dear.' Volt said softly, rubbing gentle circles onto your lower back.

You shake your head softly, letting your shoulders relax and pulling the blanket draped across them tighter to your chest. "Too much energy I guess..."

Eddie chuckled, rustling your hair affectionately. "Well, you're welcome to cozy up with us for the night."

You could almost hear the slight smirk grow on Volt's face at the suggestion. He leaned down slightly, his lips hovering slightly above your ear. "We could always...make you tired..." His deep seductive voice sent shivers down your spine.

Your cheeks warmed as your mind quickly became flooded with less than holy imagery. The words loomed in the air for a moment, before you softly turned to meet Volt's suggestive gaze. "Do you....have anything in mind?"

The boys exchanged knowing looks before turning their attention back to you. Suddenly making you realize, they did in fact have something in mind.

"We've been wanting to try something new. We understand if you don't want to but...we were wondering if we could... Eiffel Tower you." Eddie mumbled out, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

Your jaw might as well have been on the floor. You had considered the idea before, although you had never expected the two of them to bring it up so plainly. "Are you serious?" You say, your eyes wide with shock.

Volt nodded, smiling sweetly. "We love you live wire, so if it's not something you want we will drop it immediately but-"

Without a second thought, you pulled his lips against yours. Eddie chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing himself up against your back. As you pulled away from Volt, you were greeted by the dazed but excited expression on his face.

"You sure about this live wire?" Eddie said softly, leaving a trail of gentle kisses across the side of your neck. You nodded limply, a dopey smile growing on your face. "Yes... absolutely..."

Volt smirked, slamming his lips back into you. He slotted his leg between yours, pushing you even further against Eddie, who gave a soft groan that vibrated against his neck.

Your eyes flutter shut, letting yourself fully melt into the feeling of the two men pressed against you. You felt Eddie's hands begin to wander, slowly pulling the blanket off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

As soon as it hit the floor, their hands were on you. Volt had one reassuring hand on your cheek and the other resting on your hip. Eddie's arms were wrapped around you, one slowly shaking it's way underneath the hem of your top and resting against your lower stomach.

You whined softly, causing Volt to pull himself off your lips and tilt your head up to meet his gaze. "Oh live wire... you're so needy aren't you?" His voice sent shivers through you.

Eddie chuckled at his words, finally pulling his lips from your neck and smirking proudly at the already visible dark blotches littering your skin. "So fucking gorgeous...makes it hard to contain myself." He muttered, his voice dropping slightly.

You whimpered softly, a shiver running down your spine as you felt his fingers gently hook into the waistband of your pajama pants. "You're still 100% sure about this right?" Volt said, his hand releasing from your hip to grip onto his belt.

"Mhm...god yes please." you whine, meeting his gaze with a desperate intensity. In response he kissed you again, and in one motion unbuckled and removed his belt, tossing it off to the side.

As he pulled away from the kiss, you made the next move. Very swiftly removing his pants and letting them drop to the floor. He groaned softly in response, and Eddie chuckled. "Oh damn, you're even more desperate than I thought."

Eddie slowly pulled at the hem of your pants and panties, teasingly slowly sliding them over your hips and letting them fall, leaving you exposed to the two men. You let out a soft moan as his fingers slipped between your thighs, teasing running over your lips before sliding his hand out again, revealing the thick coat of wetness coating them.

Volt chuckled deeply at the sight, palming himself softly through his boxers. "Fuck...this is going to be amazing..." His voice trailed. You then slid his boxers over his hips, letting his hard cock spring out proudly. You felt Eddie's hand push on your upper back, as he pulled your bare hips against him. Forcing you into position between them.

You wrapped a hand tentatively around Volt's cock, pulling him into your mouth. He gave a deep groan, letting his head roll back slightly. Eddie ground his hips against your bare ass, letting you feel his hard cock though his pants.

You let out a needy moan, sending vibrations through Volt that made him shiver, causing him to wrap his fingers into your hair. You heard Eddie undo his belt, letting his pants fall to the ground as he slid off his boxers. He pressed himself back up against you, letting his hardness press up against your exposed wetness.

You moaned again, and Volt tightened his grip on your hair, Guiding your head to take him deeper into your mouth. You gagged softly, which caused him to let out a rough growl. "Shit... Eddie please fuck her already. I don't know if I can take this much longer."

Without another word, Eddie slipped himself between your folds, plunging himself into you. You moaned again, and he did too. You whimpered softly at the feeling, but continued to suck on Volt's cock eagerly.

Eddie very quickly established a pace, rocking his hips against yours and grunting as he felt your insides clench around him. You, similarly matched his pace against Volt's cock, feeling the hard tip slam against the back of your throat with each thrust.

With every rough thrust from Eddie, you let out a desperate moan around Volt, who groaned in response. Eddie grunted softly with each movement, his grip on your hips tightening as he slammed himself deeper into you.

"F-fuck live wire....we would have done this sooner if we knew you were gonna be so fuckin good for us." Eddie grunted out, gripping even tighter onto your hips. Volt let out a shaky chuckle in responding, tugging softly at your hair.

"You're doing so so well for us." Volt said, his voice coarse and shaky. You took him even deeper into the back of your throat, gagging slightly around his cock. Eddie groaned, feeling you tighten around him as you gagged.

"Shit... you're gonna make us both cum if you keep that up" Eddie huffed out, his cock twitching slightly as he quickened his pace. You moaned again, unable to respond but feeling your undoing similarly approaching.

Volt's head rolled back again, biting down hard onto his lip. "S-shit I might not be able to go much longer..." He whined out as you continued to take him deep into your mouth, his cock slamming into the back of your throat with each thrust.

Eddie chuckled, pushing himself harder into you, chasing his own release. "Neither will I...and I don't think they're gonna make it much much longer either." He groaned, feeling you twitch around him.

You shuddered slightly, your core tightening more and more with each second. You felt so full, your entire body felt enveloped by pleasure. You could hardly think, your mind almost completely empty.

Volt moaned, tugging on your hair again. "Mhn...how bout we all release at once?" His voice sent shivers through you. "You can be good and cum with us right live wire?"

You tried to respond, although your response came out as another moan as your mouth was still completely full of Volt's now pulsing cock. Eddie grunted again, his fingers almost digging into your hips as he continued to fill you.

"F-fuck...I'm almost there..." Eddie grunted out, his cock twitching inside you, every thrust sending waves of pleasure through you that settled in your core. You felt yourself teetering over the edge, the knot in your stomach unbelievably tight.

Within seconds, you feel the knot inside you snap, accompanied by the two men filling you entirely. Volt pulled himself from your mouth, a trail of salvia and cum still leading from your now swollen lips to his cock. You swallowed eagerly, licking your lips to remove the last remnants of it as your body still shook.

Eddie's cum filled you, his cock twitching violently inside of you before slowly pulling out, leaving you suddenly feeling empty. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you back to rest against his chest and support you as you caught your breath. Volt wrapped his arms around the both of you, resting his head against Eddie's.

"Tired now?" Volt said, his voice strained and exhausted. You looked up, meeting the glazed over expressions of the two of them, no doubt matching your own.

"Completely exhausted." You remark, melting further against the two of them.

- (AN): thanks for reading! I'm working on a sub! Timothy timepiece fic rn, so check back soon if you want that! This is entirely unedited, so pls don't mind any spelling issues, I just wanted to get this out before too long.

[bluebnny]

Out of control

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

trafalgar law x reader

contents: just law being the biggest tease, suggestive, but no smut, established relationship, everything that happens is consentual

warnings: NSFW, MDNI, law feels up reader, a lot of teasing from law in general - reader is technically gender neutral (ie. no use of pronouns), but has a vagina

a/n: this was originally supposed to be more of a headcanons type of thing, but i kind of suck at writing those, so i've been fighting with it in my drafts for a week before deciding to just make it a one shot. Except it's not a one shot, and i was so focused on the build up that i didn't even get to the actual smut so... part 2 hopefully soon? Dividers made by me. Happy reading, and enjoy <3

word count: 1.761

The steady hum of the Polar Tang’s engine accompanies you as you make your way down one of the ship’s corridors. The sound being only punctuated by your soft steps echoing along the walls. You love the sound, even though it’s very monotone. There’s something calming about it that gives the metal submarine a very welcoming vibe. Once you get over the initial feeling of claustrophobia, that is. You remember the sensation of being trapped when you had first stepped foot onto the ship, hating that the icy, crushing ocean was just beyond those walls, enclosing you from all sides.

But the tough adjustment period was well worth it, as you soon discovered. You had never in your life slept as soundly and deeply as you did on the submarine, the faint drone of the ship lulling you to sleep every night. Together with the fact that you never wake up from harsh sunlight streaming through the windows, it creates the perfect environment to rest.

Plus, sharing a comfy bed with your boyfriend doesn’t hurt either, you think as you round the corner to his office.

“Hey Law, I was supposed to give you these earlier, I only just remembered.” Walking into the room, you don’t look up from the bundle of papers in your hands at first, his silence not out of the ordinary. What you had found intimidating at first, you now chalk up to a certain amount of social awkwardness.

But when you meet his eyes, you’re taken aback by the look on his face. You know that look. He has that ever so subtle smirk and dangerous glint in his eyes, making him seem like he’s about to pounce on you. Or maybe it’s just the lack of his usual scowl. Either way, it automatically makes the space between your legs burn hot in a way you’ve come to associate only with him.

Law’s hat is on the table, leaving his messy hair on full display, and it looks ruffled in that endearing way you like. His casual black shirt brings out his hair colour even more, and the neckline is just low enough to show his collar bones and the top of his chest tattoo. The sleeves, which are rolled up to his elbows, give you a perfect view of his toned forearms. And your eyes can’t help tracing the markings adorning them all the way down to his hands.

“E- everything ok?” You try to sound casual, like you haven’t noticed anything, giving him a light, innocent smile. But you already know the odds are not in your favour. You don’t stand a chance, already struggling not to ogle him too plainly.

“Everything’s ok.” He simply answers, the way his eyes narrow a little telling you he’s onto you. But he doesn’t address it, loving to toy with you. “Are those the inventory lists? It’s about time we plan out next restock, I assume.”

“Ehm- yes! We’ve already assessed our current food reserve and made a general list for things to stock up on. Of course, we always end up adding things last minute, so it’s not the final one.” You ramble on, blinking a little to clear your head and force yourself to look away from your boyfriend’s hands. Your gaze instead meets his, which you immediately regret. He’s wearing his reading glasses, and the way they frame his face paired with the darker skin around his eyes makes your knees a little weak. He has that smart, authoritative air around him, and you’re a little ashamed of how much you like it.

He obviously notices that, too, having taken note long ago of the way your eyes always stray to his hands when he gets you riled up. But still, he won’t break the tension, enjoying the uncertain look on your face. He loves making you nervous. Forcing you to lose your composure.

“Ok.” And after a short pause, “You can leave them on my desk.” As you had made no sign of stepping closer.

“Oh, yes of course.” Only now remembering you had stopped in your tracks a few steps from where he is sitting. You walk up to stand next to him, trying to find a good spot to place the papers without disorganizing all the stuff already cluttering up the space.

Law doesn’t let a lot of people touch his workspace. He doesn’t trust that others won’t disturb the carefully organised mess that only he can perfectly navigate. But he doesn’t help you clear a spot like he usually would. In fact, he’s not even looking at his desk, his eyes still fixed on you with that sly expression on his face.

You don’t notice at first, thankful to focus your hands and mind on something other than the way Law is affecting them. However, your relief is short-lived when you feel his hand gently snake around the back of your thigh, just above your knee. You try to ignore it, but your breath hitches when he keeps moving it, slowly running it further up the inside of your leg.

“Uhm, Law?” You can’t hold back the shakiness in your voice now, knowing he must be reeling in the way you so desperately try to cling to your composure.

“Hm?” Is all he says, voice sounding far too innocent for the situation, but his hand doesn’t stop.

“Uhm- I uhh.” You don’t dare glance at your boyfriend. “Where did you want them?”

“Just anywhere is fine, thank you.” His taunting is apparent only in the way his voice is way too casual for what he’s doing. He gives you a slight squeeze, hand almost at its destination between your legs.

“I’ll just put them wherever then.” You try to quickly end the exchange and leave, but before you can even place down the papers, Law’s hand reaches its target. The bump of his thumb pressing against your entrance, while his index pushes up against your clit. It makes you give an involuntary flinch at the delicious prickling feeling running up your body, feeling goosebumps forming under your boiler suit.

Your head whips around to glare at him, but he holds your gaze, his teasing smirk now a little more pronounced. The way his deep grey eyes pierce you from over the rim of his glasses, paired with a taunting raise of his eyebrow instantly has you blushing. His hand stays where it is.

“Is something the matter?” He simply can’t stop. There’s a deep, dark part of him that relishes in the feeling he gets from putting you in a helpless position. And it’s not because he doesn’t like you, on the contrary. He loves you. You are his partner, his favourite person in the world, the only one he wants, now and forever. And that’s precisely why he needs to knock you off the pedestal he alone has placed you on.

Law is heavily traumatized. Since childhood, he has been a victim of unbearable circumstances out of his influence, completely alone, his survival hinging only on his ability to show no weakness. As a result, Law’s biggest fear is being at the mercy of others, feeling vulnerable. He started to develop cruel and violent tendencies to cope, desperate to no longer live in fear, to stop being prey. Thinking, in his reckless scramble for control, that becoming the hunter is the only option.

Obviously, Law has changed since then, no longer walking into the headquarters of renowned criminals with grenades strapped to his chest. He learned to plan ahead, becoming more strategic and less erratic in his approach. And he also learned that strength lies in numbers more than ruthlessness. But a small part of him will always stay a terrified child whose only tactic is to attack at the first sign of danger.

And you have an unfortunate way of triggering that side of him.

“Law, you know I have work to do.” You frown, trying to hide how much he’s getting to you. A part of you wishes he would simply take you here and now, but you know he won’t. You learned long ago that Law likes to play with his food before eating it.

“I know you do. Is there something preventing you from attending to your duties?” That bastard.

Though he doesn’t show it, Law is terrified of the way you make him feel, of the way he completely forgets himself when you’re around. A part of him craves touching you, wanting you in his arms all night, closely watching your face while you’re taking what he’s giving you. To love you, fully, and to be loved back in the same way. But he simply doesn't believe it could happen to him, so used to neglecting his emotional needs he doesn’t know how to ask for love, sometimes forgetting he even needs it.

So, he has learned to take it. The index finger still applying pressure on your clit starts to slowly move back and forth. You flinch again, a slight moan escaping you this time.

You know you can’t win this. Not while he’s already thrown you off guard. Not while his hand is between your legs like it’s the most normal thing in the world, while you’re struggling to regain your composure.

“Uhh, no, there isn’t.” You respond, glad your voice is somewhat normal at least, since your cheeks are burning. “Sorry, captain, I’ll return to work now.” It takes everything in you to turn around and leave. He was making you feel so needy, almost wanting to give in to his teasing just to have him touch you a little longer.

Law raises his eyebrows again, this time in mild surprise. You have never managed to walk away like this, usually letting him touch you a little longer until you needed more, quickly starting to beg when he refuses to go further and instead sends you back to work. He never thought you would show such self-restraint, forcing yourself to leave despite almost shaking from the effort. And he loves it.

Unbeknownst to you, you have now given Law a new objective: to see how far he can push you before you finally crack, throwing yourself at him, pleading with him to take you as if your life depends on it. Oh, this is going to be very fun.

“See you at dinner.” He teases, but you don’t respond, too focused on leaving with what little dignity you still have and already coming up with a plan to get your revenge.

Thx so much for reading! :D (This is my fic, don't repost! Reblogs are always appreciated <3)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 3.6 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

six

tuesday, january 28th

you sat on your bed, legs crossed over eachother with your laptop on your lap. your philosphy teacher had given out this assignment friday and you'd been mulling it over the entire weekend.

you stared at the question asked.

what defines 'perfection"? is it a universal concept, or is it deeply personal and subjective? discuss how ideals shape our perceptions and actions.

you'd been staring at a blank page for five days now, unable to come up with anything. it was like writer block's mean older sister, academic block. anything you did come up with was stupid: a stupid attempt at dissecting society's perception of perfection which was boring, everyone was going to do that. another attempt would talk about how perfection didn't exist and though that was true, your writing quickly turned into the whole, 'nothing is real, nothing really matters mumbo jumbo.' so, you scrapped that too.

your thoughts were abruptly interrupted when you felt something being thrown against your head. you flinched and looked at rafe who was sitting there, innocently with his bowl of jellybeans.

"do you know how lucky you are that i've allowed you to eat in my room? and here you are, just taking my kindness for granted," you say and he laughs and waves his notebook up.

it's messy, full of scribbles where he scratches out his mistakes instead of using an eraser. the corners are littered with little things he doodles like footballs and small animals. by now, you could read it all perfectly though, could understand what he meant even when he didn't even remember his own thought process or was unable to read through all the scribbles on his page. "i'm done." he sings and you glance at the time, "23 minutes, record time." you praise as he stands to stretch his legs.

"we're approaching it."

"what are we approaching?"

"the moment when student becomes teacher." he says plainly and you roll your eyes with a stupid grin. "yeah, can't wait." you mutter, eyes flicking back to your screen.

"if i eat anymore of these, i might actually go up a weight group and coach will chop my balls off so i'm gonna go give your brother a sugar rush. be right back." he says and it only dawns on you after a couple of minutes of him being gone that you didn't even flinch at him just meshing in with your family, casually going down to your brother and you could just imagine the smile on your brother's face when he saw rafe, partly because of the jellybeans in his bowl but also because of how much he'd grown to enjoy rafe's presence.

you didn't know whether to be scared or happy.

you glanced at his sweater on your desk, all frumpled up right next to yours, neatly folded.

you looked back at your screen and started typing.

the concept of the ideal: a personal reflection

the concept of the ideal is elusive but also compelling, isn't it?

philosophically, ideals are often framed as unattainable benchmarks, guiding us but forever out of reach. plato’s theory of forms suggests that ideals exist in a realm beyond our physical world, serving as pure, perfect templates against which our imperfect reality is measured. yet, in our daily lives, ideals often take on a more tangible form—not abstract but embodied in people, moments, or emotions.

for me, the ideal feels deeply personal. it's not static or universal but shifts with my experiences and perceptions. i've always thought of 'perfection" as something distant, unreachable, and theoretical, yet recently, i've found myself reconsidering this definition. sometimes, the ideal isn't flawless but deeply flawed in ways that make it real and irresistible.

take, for instance, the idea of the ideal person. philosophers like aristotle argue that virtue and reason define the 'ideal human' but our hearts rarely follow reason. we find ourselves captivated by individuals who challenge our ideals and force us to question whether perfection lies in symmetry or in the cracks and contradictions.

my own life is a perfect example. i used to imagine the ideal as someone who fit a checklist—organized, predictable, and safe. yet lately, i've been drawn to the unpredictable, the messy, the human. there's someone i know who doesn't fit my old definition of perfection, but somehow, they embody something more profound. their laugh is loud and uncontainable, their honesty is sharp and unpolished, but it's real, they're restless and noticeably want more from life, there's a chaos to them that should be maddening but instead, feels like freedom.

perhaps the ideal isn't a fixed destination but a reflection of what we value in the moment. it's fluid, shaped by context, emotion, and the stories we tell ourselves. this realization doesn't make the ideal any less compelling or desirable. if anything, it makes it more so, because it feels within reach—even if only for a fleeting second.

in the end, the concept of the ideal may not be about finding something flawless but about recognizing the beauty in imperfection. it's about the moments, people, or ideas that briefly make us pause and wonder if we've just had a glimpse at something divine.

rafe walks into your room, your little brother in his arms. "that's not what i meant when i said you need a study buddy." you tell him as you close your laptop and rafe pauses from blowing raspberries in his stomach. "you're my study buddy," he says to you before holding your brother up real high and making him giggle up a storm. "this little rascal is our mascotte!" and your mouth hurts from smiling so you turn away from them and start tidying up your room.

"you wanna go somewhere with me?" yes. always, every day, any time. literally anywhere.

"depends on where you want to go." you say and go to pick up your brother who is now waddling to your book shelve and is bound to drop a couple of books on his own head.

"my friends are pestering me about this bonfire." rafe explains as he's putting his hoodie back on. "i kinda stood them up when i went to the retirement home with you last week so they're on my case now. it's close to your house but i can drop you off at home afterwards if you want?"

did he want you to meet his friends? you weren't sure you really wanted that. you had friends that you wouldn't trade for a thing in the world but maybe this was him trying to show you that he did want you in his life for longer than the next four months.

his friends were different than you, liked different things, had different priorities and different interest but ultimately, rafe was one of them and you really liked rafe so who says you wouldn't like them?

"how many people are going?" you ask even though you're already thinking about what you're going to wear and which perfume screams, 'i may be a little bit of a nerd and at times too studious but i know how to have fun when in the right mood.'

he takes your brother from your arms and goes to lie on your bed with him. "i'm actually not sure. hopefully not too many cause all this algebra has me pretty beat."

you're hesitating. you don't know anyone but him and he wasn't even sure if this was a bonfire which would turn into a beach party or a bonfire that would stay just that: a cute little bonfire with less than fifteen people which was totally your vibe. beach party with fifty plus people? not so much.

"but i'll be there," he says like he can feel your hesitation from across the room. you fiddle with the blouse in your hand. "and i won't abandon you." it sounds like a promise and you're a sucker for those.

you turn and nod, "okay, yeah, let's go."

"you're not invited." he says to your little brother, a sad little look on his face. you smile and turn back to your closet to pick an outfit.

you do your best at hiding how nervous you are on the car ride there and rafe doesn't seem to really notice which is good. you want him to think you're normal. just a normal girl who maybe doesn't ever go to parties but isn't about to shit her pants at the thought of one right now.

you look down at your outfit. a little unusual for you and your sister did give you a look when you were leaving but when you hid in the bathroom to search "bonfire outfits" on pinterest, this was what everyone was wearing. the pictures had lots of loose clothing, loose pants and big hoodies which you didn't have much of. the most casual thing you owned were these leggings and your dad's old university hoodie. a pair of sneakers that you bought for the gym membership you never used. they were almost brand new and a tote bag with some essentials. it wasn't that bad, right? you felt that maybe it was too sporty because it was missing those damn loose pants but you didn't have those in your closet.

when you arrived and took a look around, you realised, rafe looked perfect—always—but specifically for the occasion. he blended in seamlessly and what did you see? atleast twenty girls in either bikini's or skirts. you were ready to scream into your pillow. they were wearing sandals which you didn't understand because the sand would get all over them? and bikini's? it was january. that's like one of the coldest months of the year.

either way, whatever you thought made sense didn't matter because you were the one who stood out like a sore thumb, walking over with one of the most stared at people in this town.

the bonfire’s glow grew brighter as you and rafe walked down the sandy path, the muffled sounds of laughter and music getting louder with every step. the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and burning wood, and the horizon was painted in deep oranges and reds from the flames licking the sky.

as soon as the two of you stepped into the circle of firelight, it was like a switch flipped. people called out rafe’s name from all directions.

“rafe, my man!” one guy shouted, jogging over with a grin that could rival the flames. a group of girls nearby waved enthusiastically, their voices blending in a chorus of greetings.

“hey, you made it!” a tall blonde clapped rafe on the shoulder, already pressing a cold beer into his hand. “and who’s this?” he asked, eyebrows raised as his gaze shifted to you.

“this is—” rafe started, but you jumped in with your name and a polite smile.

“right, right, the tutor!” the guy said, giving a quick nod before motioning toward the group gathered near the fire. “come on, everyone’s over here. there’s drinks and snacks if you want.”

as you approached, more introductions followed.

"guys, look who's graced us with his presence!" the guy who was obviously already drunk said to the group sitting around together.

"rafe!"

"what's up, cameron."

"and you brought a friend.."

the girl who said that didn't seem too pleased but before you could let it simmer in your mind too long, rafe started talking. "i'm gonna do a very quick round of introductions, just try to keep up and remember no one expects you to really remember these names." he says and the guy cuts in, "except my name, i fully expect to be remembered." he grins making the group laugh. you smile when rafe starts, "this pestering moron that has been attached to my hip since elementary school is topper," rafe introduces him first and topper does a little bow.

"then we have, kelce, cleo, adriana, jj, pope, kiara, john b and cora." he points at each person and you recognize most of them from school and almost all the boys seem to be on the soccer team. you knew without a doubt that adriana and cora were cheerleaders because of the pep rallies.

"so, you're the girl who's been keeping rafe so busy." so busy? you saw him twice a week. they got him for five, that sounded like a really sweet deal to you.

"honestly, it's the opposite. she's got better shit to do then tutor me." rafe says before you can and you feel a wave of relief come over you that you aren't totally being put on the spot here.

"right because you're student body president, right?" one of the girls, cleo, you think, says. for some reason, it excites you that she knows you, that these people know anything about you. you never cared before but you wanted rafe's friends to like you or at least, not hate you.

"yes, that's me." you smile and tuck your hands into the pockets of your hoodie when you feel a sudden breeze. "shit, you're number 1, aren't you?" one of the other guys suddenly says and you tilt your head, frowning in confusion. "your class rank." he clarifies and it dawns on you what he means, you nod and hope they don't feel like you're bragging.

"she's also number 1 for grade rank." rafe says it proudly and your heart warms at the thought of him even remembering that. "wait, what's class rank? what's grade rank?" you think his name is kelce but you aren't sure.

"you know that number right in the corner of your report card that says 'rank: 410'? with her it says 'rank: 1" because she performed the best in our grade. you can try to guess what yours means." kiara explained while the others were already laughing at kelce's rank number.

"i've been trying to beat you since sophomore year." the same guy who pointed out that you were number one speaks again.

"pope is number two." jj says before putting a joint between his lips and your eyes go wide, "wait, so," you pause and turn to rafe. "this whole time, pope could have been helping you with algebra!?" you're happy he didn't but still, the idea didn't dawn on them?

"he didn't want to help me!" rafe laughs and looks at pope who's quick to defend himself, "woah, woah! i tried to help him! he's the worst student!"

"false accusations, you just don't explain it the way she does."

"what? she's better than me?" pope laughs astonishedly.

"well, we know she's better than you. you're number two." topper says mockingly as he wraps an arm around rafe's shoulder.

pope's eyes briefly close as if it actually pained him but he's smiling so you know it didn't. "low blow, thornton."

"okay, how about another round!" one of the cheerleaders said and opened the cooler to distribute more beers.

they handed rafe another one almost immediately, while kiara held out a cup toward you.

“drink?” she asked, her smile warm.

“oh, no thanks. i don’t drink,” you said casually, shaking your head.

the reaction was instantaneous. every conversation in your immediate vicinity paused as heads turned toward you. “wait, what?” john b asked incredulously, and cora chimed in, “not at all?”

kiara blinked at you, still holding the cup as if you’d suddenly sprouted a second head. “you don’t drink? like, ever?”

you laughed nervously, feeling the weight of their stares. “yeah, um, i just don’t. it’s a personal choice, but also, i’ve read a lot about what alcohol does to the brain. it slows down neurotransmitters, messes with your decision-making, and—” you paused when you realized they were all still staring at you like you were speaking another language. “anyway, it’s just not my thing.”

an awkward silence settled over the group for half a second too long. then, rafe cleared his throat, stepping in smoothly. “she’s got a point,” he said, holding up his beer. “matter of fact…” without hesitation, he set it down on a nearby log. “guess i’m not drinking tonight either.”

a few eyebrows rose at that, but no one questioned it. instead, someone cracked a joke about who was going to give rafe a hard time for being sober, and just like that, the conversation shifted seamlessly to the music playing in the background. the tension evaporated as the group resumed their chatter, and the attention shifted away from you.

"you don't have to do that." you tell rafe and he's shaking his head, moving to sit on a log near the fire. "it's all good. i'm very worried about my..neuro..things.." he says slowly as if he's trying to guess the world. you giggle, "neurotransmitters." you correct and he nods, "that, and i'm driving you home so i shouldn't drink anyway." he did have a point.

rafe stayed with you for a while but then more and more people showed up and the music only got louder and topper forced rafe up to his feet and they were gone, disappearing in the crowd with big smiles on their faces.

"so, if you don't drink, i'm assuming, you don't smoke either?" kiara was suddenly asking and you smiled small, shaking your head. "then what's your poison?" cora asks and you guess you don't really have one.

"i.. don't think i have one.." you say and see adriana's brows go up. "how bland." she says flatly. you weren't sure when it became uncool to not be addicted to substances but for some reason, your lips wouldn't move to defend yourself. "shut up, adriana. no one asked." cleo tells her and adriana's rolling her eyes and walking away. cora follows her. "she's not usually like that. she's been in a mood for a while." john b suddenly says before he's shrugging and facing the sky again, joint between his lips.

"it’s perfectly normal. pope is the same way. the only thing pope can’t get enough of is…" kiara trails off, gesturing somewhere far behind them.

you follow her gaze, squinting into the distance until you just barely make out pope and jj—practically attached at the lips.

“oh, i didn’t even realize they were—”

“they’re not,” john b interrupts, cutting a glance toward the scene with a faint grimace. “jj’s a freak about commitment.”

kiara smiles sadly, but you can’t help the way your brain immediately starts connecting the dots. “well, that actually makes sense,” you blurt out, drawing their attention. “there’s a 2017 study in personality and social psychology bulletin that suggests people who have commitment issues often have a stronger sensitivity to rejection. it’s not that they don’t want connection—it’s more like they’re wired to perceive potential threats in intimate relationships, so they avoid them altogether.”

cleo, john b and kiara blink at you, a mix of disbelief and faint amusement in their expressions.

"why does that sound like something pope would say?" cleo gasped with a smile.

"i was about to say!" kiara laughs and john b perks up, “god, you and pope really are a match made in nerd heaven,” he says, rolling his eyes.

kiara shoves his arm and tells him to be quiet before turning back to you. “so what’s the science on why you’re always blurting out facts?”

“probably an overactive prefrontal cortex,” you joke, earning a laugh from kiara who shakes her head, "we have no idea what that means!"

you have to admit, the bonfire is fun and apart from adriana, you felt okay about everyone. rafe popped in and out a couple of times but you didn't expect him to stay by your side the entire time either. everyone here seemed to want to talk to him so you stayed with kiara and cleo and even danced a little. it was fun but you were ready to go. it was still a school night. you only gave yourself this much time because you were having fun and you finished your essay.

you had briefly seen rafe with cora and she was standing by the makeshift bar, opening a can of beer. you lightly tap on her shoulder and she whips around, "oh..hey." she says and you ignore her complete disinterest in you. "hi, i'm looking for rafe. i saw him with you a couple of minutes ago but then i lost him again."

"oh..he's.." her voice trails off and she's quiet for a moment, eyes almost examining you. "over there." she points behind some wooden beach bar that was closed. however, you could see people surrounding it so you thanked her and walked over to beach bar, grateful to be standing on some solid land.

you didn't see him immediately and started to wonder if cora hadn't sent you here just to get you out of her sight. you sigh, pulling out your phone as you walk to dial his phone number even though the chances of him hearing his phone were slim.

that’s when you saw him—or them. rafe was leaning casually against the ledge, adriana tucked between his legs like she belonged there. they weren’t kissing, but somehow, it felt worse. their faces were so close, lips barely grazing as they exchanged soft words and easy laughter. the way they smiled at each other made it clear: they were flirting, and neither of them cared who saw it.

you couldn’t stop staring. for a split second, your mind flashed back to all the times rafe had said something to you—his teasing comments, the way his smile lingered just a little too long. you’d wondered if he was flirting with you, or if you were just reading too much into it.

but now you were sure. because the way he was looking at her? it was the same way he’d looked at you.

your stomach twisted, an ache blooming in your chest that you didn’t want to name. you turned quickly, forcing yourself to walk back toward the party, your footsteps heavy and unsteady. that’s when you saw cora, standing there like she’d been waiting for you.

her smile wasn’t kind. it was small and pitying, laced with something sharper. “don’t worry, they’re just friends,” she said, her tone light but somehow cutting.

your lips parted to respond, but she wasn’t done. her next words hit you like a slap. “it’s a different girl every day with him. but hey, maybe next time it’ll be you.”

for some ridiculous, stupid reason, there were tears threatening to spill from your eyes. you blinked them back furiously, refusing to let them fall. you weren’t about to cry over a guy who, a month ago, barely knew your name. no way.

without another word to cora—or anyone—you kept walking. past the party, past the noise, past the place that suddenly felt suffocating. the whole way home, you blinked those tears away, again and again, the lump in your throat tightening with every step.

by the time you reached your door, the ache in your chest had dulled, but it hadn’t disappeared. you let out a shaky breath, swearing silently to yourself that this would be the last time you let rafe cameron get to you.

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[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.

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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.

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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! 🫶

[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.

[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.

[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?”

[littlerosetrove]

I've made a post similar to this I'm sure, but I'm going to say it again that Tommy is my favorite partner Buck has ever had. To be clear, this has nothing to do with Tommy being a man. Let me explain.

While Abby was definitely a big milestone and someone transformative for Buck, if you look at it plainly, Abby saw Buck as a nice distraction, a play thing, from her life and not much more. Don't get me wrong, I don't think Abby is a bad person, but she did make some shitty decisions. I think even when it became clear to Abby that Buck wanted more, saw more between them than apparently Abby ever did, well she still ghosted him. The whole relationship was lopsided.

Ali was barely around, in more ways than one, for there to be anything significant said about her. In the end she couldn't handle Bucks job, so she left.

Some folks find entertainment in mess, and I do sometimes as well, but I found zero enjoyment in the mess that was Taylor and Buck. A big reason why is because I love Buck as a character, and all I've ever wanted for him is happiness and for Buck to be comfortable in himself, two things we didn't really get to see when he was with Taylor. It was rather miserable to watch Buck be in an, overall, unhealthy relationship. It was clear from early on they would never last, and still we had to watch their unhappy relationship be dragged around for an entire season. While I'm sure Buck had some happy moments with Taylor, it was never a consistent thing at all. As well, you cannot look my in the eyes and tell me Buck ever felt comfortable to be fully himself in that relationship. I did not find watching two people be generally miserable together interesting.

Natalia was an underwritten character. For me at least, we got so little from her that I could never understand her motivations for things. All I knew was that she was mostly interested in Buck dying, she was uncomfortable with Bucks personal life and background, and so I never understood why she decided to stick around. And then of course we had Buck say in season 7 that he broke up with her because she was really only interested in death, and I think his death specifically. Mm.

When it comes to Tommy, we've never seen such joy, excitement, contentment, ease, and happiness from Buck. We've never seen Buck feel so comfortable to be himself with a partner before Tommy. Tommy accepts Buck for who he is, and loves him anyway. He supports Buck and always comes when Buck needs him. They're playful with each other and clearly just genuinely enjoy each others company. In Bucks previous relationships, so many aspects felt conditional.

Plus, I like Tommy as a character separate from Buck. He's funny, sarcastic (which Buck loves), generous, kind, loyal, caring, smart, brave, scared, patient, gentle, realistic, a dork, empathetic, and I could go on.

Buck and Tommy may be currently broken up, but the show has made it clear that they both still care deeply about each other (hello, Buck is still baking months after the breakup). They're in a "will they, won't they" situation, and I'm choosing to believe they will get back together in season 9. Their biggest issue is miscommunication, which is not an insurmountable hurdle to cross.

[faun-writes]

[GERRY SOUNDS SO DEEPLY, PLAINLY HAPPY.]

Gerry Keay <3333

(close ups under cut!!)

he's the love of my life and i would gnaw through wood for him

[jimmyscanongf]

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.

[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.

[obsidianpen]

Dear Almighty Pen, our lord and saviour,

The final chapters were a tough yet deeply moving read. It was exacting. A kind of grief I didn’t expect to feel for this ship, and yet- something about the way you structured this story, the long, slow entangling of these two lives, made it feel closer to lived memory than to plot. I fell so deeply in love with them both and it gutted me in the most delicious and unputdownable way.

These final few chapters from 70-77 strikes you with a heartrending, gut-wrenching lyricism. Some lines here will haunt me forever. There’s a knowing, intimate feeling written into each of these characters that reads like a mirror – I know you; your cruelty and obsession; your deep-seated need for admiration; your guilt and shame and longing. It made me hope against hope for these two eggs, whose demise was writ into each other’s fates.

I loved your Hermione from the get-go – and her arc devastated me in the most exquisite way. Her loneliness, the longing – the grave acceptance to take up the mantle of martyrdom, with echoes of great epics and terrible Greek tragedies. Then, later, her clarity; her boundaries; her refusal to let herself be rewritten. It was a powerful final act of self-possession: she leaves him, and remains herself.

The final chapter is one of the most assured and brilliant closings I’ve read. Tom sees Hermione in her new life. She does not remember: she is radiant, untouched by war. And she sees him as a boy –Tom, finally free of his monstrous identity; Hermione, finally free of her role as savior. The war never happened - because someone made sure it didn’t. Our girl wins; she changes history; she heals the scar that ran the Wizarding world. And no one remembers. Not even her….. (yet? hehehe)

What you’ve done here (emotionally, structurally, and narratively) is astonishing. I don’t think I’ve ever read a fic where obsession was rendered so honestly - where the love story was so clearly about power, and yet still allowed to be intimate, delicate – even beautiful. And never once does it lie to us about who Tom is. You didn’t soften him. His sharp edges; his cruelty; his delusion was plainly present, then you showed us what it costs to touch someone like that and survive.

This is the part that undid me – the emotional maturity of the ending. I always like the ones where they get away with it. Another story may have centred Hermione’s happiness, the reunion, her reward. We were offered something far more true. Our Hermione gets to have peace :))

And the recurring lines (something the brilliant @hichmigozarand picked up in the discord!) – “He is so good to me…” she said over and over, mirrored by “I’d be so upset….” he remembered over & over, absolutely floored me. The tragedy wasn’t in what happened - it was in almost did. They circled each other like myths - and what I especially love is that the dream-rebirth cycle isn’t fanservice: it’s tragic recursion. So the final question isn’t:

“Will they be together?”

It’s:

“Will he repeat the same story again?”

Or:

“Can love, if given a second beginning, grow clean?”

Void of prophecy, no orchestral swelling, no grand plots for fate and forever love. You gave us the architecture of someone learning to live without being seen, and someone else learning to love too late. And somehow, he became the version of the future where he believes her when she says he’s capable of more than this. I was GAGGED 💜

This is a deeply literate, psychologically exact, emotionally devastating work of fiction. I’ve been sick with longing for something like this for a long time. Thank you for writing something that has genuinely changed the way I look at this pairing, and the medium

<3

wow this actually made me tear up a little bit. Thank you for writing this, it really, really means a lot. It wasn’t easy to write the story I knew I wanted to with so many people already angry that I wasn’t writing the perfectly happy, everything is perfect traditional HEA. So thank you for championing what I did write, because there was a lot of thought that went into it, and it’s so satisfying now to see how many people not only grasped it but appreciated it (even while being a little devastated… I am one of those people too!).

thank you, thank you, thank you.