#and for a while she WAS okay with that. sort of.

[pedge-page]

Will hubby be jelly beans if wifey accidentally meets her ex/ some guy hit on her ????

Joel dealing with Wifey: The Ex

When you had come home with Sarah from a grocery trip, Joel could immediately sense something was … off.

You seemed a little distracted.

“How was the store?” He asks curiously, helping to unload.

You were staring off into the living room, a faint smile still stained on your lips.

“Baby?”

“Huh?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You shake your head. “Was good!”

He nods, unconvinced. He continues digging in the bags, unloading the meats and cheeses, veggies, all while you fiddled with the wrapping of a bag.

And then you had the audacity to giggle. Out of no where. And NOT from something he said or did.

That was never a good sign.

“Forgot the potato salad,” he says quietly.

“Oh!” You check the bags again. “Shoot, sorry. I got… carried away at the store.”

He nods again, looking down. Shitshitshit. He needs to know what happened at the store!

When you go upstairs, Joel waits for you to close the bathroom door before fishing in his garage drawer for a sparkly pink device with princesses all over its square body: a walkie talkie set.

“Big Bird to Little Bird. Report in—over."

Sarah, still in her room, rushes to her toy chest, tossing things out until she gets the matching talkie. She flip on her receiver. “oh--Hi Daddy!"

"It’s Big Bird, remember? Code names only on this channel—over."

"Oh sorry. Big Bird."

"Its ok babygirl, tell me—“

"Code names!"

"Right, Little BIrd. I need ya to report on what happened at the grocery store today. Did something happen to Mommy? Over.”

Her voice comes over muffled. “Mmmm. I don’t remember I was playing with my barbie—Over.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Remember we talked about being observant? Over.”

“Yeah. Um… let’s see…” she puts her finger on her chin. “Oh she met someone!”

Joel narrows his eyes. “Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy!”

Oh crap. Joel puts his hands on his hips, glancing back up the stairwell. What guy could possibly get you so easily out of sorts like this? “What he look like?”

“Uhhhhh. Tall. He was like. Big. But not too big. But like. Bigger than me? Over.”

“So an adult?”

“Yeah!”

Christ she’s not good at this, he shakes his head.

“What did they talk about? Did he say his name?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I don’t remember what they said. But I think his name was John?”

“John? Repeat.”

“No was it Chris? Uhhh maybe it was uhhhh—“

Joel just stood there, palm on his forehead, waiting for her to settle on that very short memory.

“Oh! Marcus!”

“Marcus,” he repeats. Have you ever mentioned a Marcus? He would remember. right? And it couldn’t have been some distant friend at work either. You wouldn’t be this giddy over someone Joel doesn’t already know.

“Little Bird, I’ve got a new assignment for you--over.”

-

Sarah creeps over to the entrance of the master bathroom, perching herself at the cracked door. “I’m here—Over,” she whispers into the receiver.

“Ok good.” Joel cups his hand over the mic, safely standing at his work bench. “Now Momma’s gonna hop on a call with Auntie Maria pretty soon. Need ya to listen closely. She’ll tell her about what happened today.”

Sarah nods. “Got it. over.”

You’re busy sorting your makeup into your drawers, oblivious to the spying plot outside the room. 

Joel knew you were more likely to share gossip with Maria, especially if it’s something you wouldn’t immediately tell him. But he had to ensure you would feel alone so that he wasn’t going to accidentally eaves drop, and his big clunky shoes trotting up the stairs would have given him away.

So he settled for lighter, smaller steps in the form of the biggest nosey queen: Sarah.

On cue, your phone buzzes on the countertop.

“Hey! Oh my god guess who I ran into today??” You whisper excitedly.

Sarah couldn’t hear Maria’s responses on the other end, but she tries her best to make out your words.

“Marcus!” You exclaim. 

“Dad—Big Bird,” Sarah whispers.

“Yeah? What ya got?”

“His name was definitely Marcus.”

He rolls his eyes. “Ok ok, anything else? Who is he?”

“I’m listening. Over.”

You pace around the room, continuing your chat with Maria. “You didn’t know him at this point. I mean this was a long time ago. Do you remember I told you about him?”

There’s some muffled noise on the other end.

Then, you answer. “You know…”you voice gets as low as possible as you tell her…

Sarah gasps loudly into the walkie talkie receiver.

“What? What is it?” Joel asks fearfully.

"She said Marcus was her—wait can I say a bad word?”

“What? No--yes! go ahead just say—“

“You won’t get mad?”

“I won’t get mad Sarah just tell Daddy what Mommy said.”

“Mommy's...first BOYFRIEND.”

He should feel a little relieved that Sarah has learned “boyfriend” to be a banned word in the house, but the frozen chill that travels from his ear all throughout his nervous system sets him on reset mode.

“Hello? Daddy?”

But he doesn’t reply. 

You go on to tell  Maria: “He looks really good now. All those pimples completely cleared up.  Anyway he asked—“

Sarah whispers urgently over the receiver : “She said he asked to go out to lunch with her!”

You listen to Maria for a second, and Joel can hear your voice carry over faintly:

 “I don’t know. I didn’t tell him. I’m worried. You know how he gets. I don’t know how to tell Joel…”

 The last part came in fuzzy. “Sarah, what’s going on?”

She crackles in. “Oh she’s hanging up now!”

Joel shakes himself. “Abort. Get out of there now!”

Sarah closes the talkie, tucking it into her belt and does a cartwheel out the bedroom door just as you step out the bathroom, none the wiser.

When the little girl rushes down the stairs, she goes straight to the garage, closing the door behind her with heavy breathing.

“Were you seen?” He asks urgently.

She shakes her head, still panting.

Joel just sighs. 

Well. Shit.

-

 His fist clenched the steering wheel even tighter than before. Jaw set in his best attempt to look normal. And failing miserably.

“You okay baby?”

Joel just swallows the bile in his throat. “Everything’s great,” he grunts with a frown.

You nod. He definitely seemed a bit…off—

NO FUCKING SHIT HE’S OFF, he’s saying in his head. 

See, you eventually did approach Joel about the man at the grocery store. But what scared him a little was that you had said, “Marcus, my old friend.”

Friend.

Not ‘first boyfriend.’

not even 'ex boyfriend.'

Friend.

You specifically only told Joel he was your friend. Who invited you both for lunch. As a friend.

So yes, he’s filled with rage and confusion and fear and protectiveness and vulnerability and—

“He’d totally love you. I could see you two being friends.”

Oh Joel’s gonna make sure this Marcus never sees the light of day when he’s through with him.

You arrive at the spot: a little cafe in town. Chipper and bright. Perfect for a lunch date.

Date.

You brought your husband to your date. With another man.

He glances at you, your smiling face looking around, unaware of the bull at your grasp.

He closes his hand around yours tighter.

Then, his heart strains as you call out and wave: “Marcus!”

He’s exactly as Joel pictured: tall and slender, wearing tight and navy washed jeans, clean shoes, a plain top, a good looking but slightly rustic leather jacket, smooth faced and a neatly trimmed haircut. He stood up tall and with a great warm welcoming smile, with great teeth as he spotted you.

The man screamed office worker.

The exact opposite of Joel.

You rush up to him and go for a hug. 

Joel has to remember to not blow out his jaw yet. At least, not in public. He did spot a dumpster around the corner of the previous alleyway. Perhaps if Joel just asked Marcus to help him with his truck there…

“And this is my husband, Joel!”

The high pitched siren ringing in his ears suddenly desist, as he realizes you’re both staring at him expectedly.

“Joel,” he repeats his name with a nod.

You give him a slight confused look, smile faltering only slightly. 

Ever the gentleman, Marcus extends his large meaty hand (ugh shit maybe you do have a type) to Joel. That big smug—what Joel thinks is smug but is genuinely a kind smile—grin waiting on him.

Joel cracks his arm to life, freeing it from its stiffened place at his side and clasping Marcus’s hand—very very very firmly.

“Nice to meet the guy that finally made this one happy,” he teases nicely before slapping a hand on his biceps.

Joel’s eyelid flickered for a moment, a twinge of rage surfacing briefly. He surprises it with an extremely strained smirk. “And you are? Sorry. M’wife never mentioned ya before.”

You giggle, embarrassed. “Joel I totally did.”

“Ya didn’t.”

“I—I did.”

He shakes his head, staring at Marcus. “No, no, think I’d remember someone like this.”

You take a deep breath through your nose. What is with you? You’re shouting through your eyeballs.

He narrows his eyes at you.

Marcus can sense the awkward tension before speaking up. “I have a table if you’d both like to sit down?”

You order some water to start off. Joel a beer.

His hand squeezes yours, buried in his lap. He’d even hooked the legs of your chair so that it scraped a little closer to him, practically sitting on top of him rather than in an even 3 point circular table.

Marcus pressed his lips together. Oh boy…

“So uh…where ya from, Max?”

“It’s Marcus, Joel,” you remind him sternly.

“Sorry baby. Forgive me, Marc, new faces get blurred together when ya never hear bout them.”

He ignores the way you stomp your foot over his boot.

“Um…Yeah I’m from California actually.”

He leans back in his chair a little to cavalier, taking a sip of his bottle. “Yeah? Seems like it.”

You and Marcus turn your heads on Joel.

“Accent. Can’t ya hear it?” He coughs, clearing his name.

“Texas, born and raised, am I right?” Marcus quips. Clearly no longer pretending to fall for Joel’s fake attempts at a kind tone.

“S’right. This town right here. Whole life.”

“Yeah I bet. Let me guess… plumber?”

“Construction, actually,” Joel corrects him with a matter-of-fact snarl. “Huh let me think… college? Got a masters in … business finance?”

“Criminology.”

“Oh sure. Crying’ need for that.”

“Does a good job at keeping family’s safe in the city. Women especially.”

“I Keep mine just fine.”

“Yeah? Bet a hammer works real good in defense—“

“You bet it does, want a personal demonstration?” They’re practically standing over the table, faces a mere inches at one another.

“Joel,” you snap loudly. 

He turns down to you, only to instantly get cold feet. Ears burning red, he wipes his nose, breaking the tension and setting back into his chair softly like a scolded puppy. 

-

Joel sits in the passenger seat of the truck, slumped down. He knows he messed up. Looking outside, he sees you talking to Marcus, who’s got his arms folded over his chest. You’re clearly apologizing, cleaning up Joel’s mess. He feels awful that you’ve gotten used to doing that so often. You were right to be worried with Maria. 

You can’t trust him to behave. 

He looks away when Marcus hugs you, his soft smile returning. Something does bubble in Joel’s stomach as he watches him cup your cheek, wiping a stray treat that had fallen. 

It aches in his chest unlike anything he’s ever experienced. 

With a very small kiss to your cheek, you hug him again and wave goodbye, walking back to the truck.

Joel tries to look busy, fiddling with the loose button on his flannel as you slam the creaky door closed, the two of you sitting in silence for a moment.

“I’m…” he clears his throat. “I’m really sorry, baby.”

You just close your eyes. “What did Sarah tell you?”

Joel’s eyes go wide. “I don’t—“

“I know she’s your little sidekick. What did she say.”

“Said…said he was ya first boyfriend…”

Before you could even respond, Joel starts rambling: “I hate it, the way he looks at ya and how clean and good mannered he looks, and ya inviting me to meet your ‘friend’ when you damn well know he’s an ex? do you know how that makes me feel, angel? I’d do anything for ya, but this? I couldn’t keep my head on straight just thinkin’… wonderin’ what else you… you might be hiding from me, behind my back, n I—“

You let out a strained snort, barely contained. When he stops to look at you, you finally cackle.

“This ain’t funny, I—“ he protests.

You silence him by grabbing the back of his head and bringing him close to seal your lips over his.

He breathes in your scent, melting at the soft vanilla taste of your lip moisturizer he just bought you.

When you break, he blinks hazily. “That…I…I’m--“

You put your finger over his plush lips, humming shhhh.

Joel’s puppy eyes, the ones you’ve fallen head over heels in love with since day one, glance back at you expectedly.

“Rule number one: no more asking Sarah to play spy on me.”

He grumbles but nods.

“Rule number two: you ask me directly what’s on your mind.”

“Still don’t explain why ya called him a friend and didn’t tell me we were meetin your ex—“

“Joel.”

“Baby.”

“Joel.”

“Honey.”

“Joel.”

He sighs, his shoulders sagging. “Yes?”

“First of all, I did tell you about Marcus.”

He furls his brows. “Wh--no. No ya didn’t.”

"I did. And you didn’t remember, because you had already dismissed him from being a threat. Yeah. Yeah I know how you assess each guy I’ve ever mentioned.”

He sits back a bit in his chair. “So… Remind me again… Marcus…?”

“Yeah, I told Maria that he was technically my first boyfriend. But I wouldn’t even go as far to call him that, let alone an ex.”

“Oh hell, baby are you about to tell me you been seein’ him this whole time—!?”

You put your finger to his lips again. “As incredible of a husband you are, you’re really bad at listening.”

He nods. “M’sorry. Ya yap a lot. Go on.”

You give him a very warning look before continuing: “Marcus and I were boyfriend and girlfriend for about 8 days in the 3rd grade before he said he’d give me his fruit snacks, but then ditched me to go give them to Lilly instead.”

Joel blinks. “What?”

“You definitely know the Lilly story. Fuckin’ Lilly,” you spat venomously at the mention.

“Fuckin’ Lilly,” he repeated, because yes he absolutely did remember this story, and your life long vendetta against her.

“Maria jokes that he was my ‘first boyfriend’ because I cried in the bathroom until my mom had to pick me up in the middle of the day. I told her this story and she busted out laughing. Said I was a sensitive little bitch back then."

Right. 'Back then', he thinks silently.

“So—“ he doesn’t even know how to process— “So—“

“So… Marcus is genuinely an old friend. We went to 8th grade homecoming together where he gave me crackers and we laughed about it. I haven’t seen him in literal in decades, baby.”

He falls back in his seat completely, looking out the windshield. “Why don’t I remember this?”

“I told you: you didn’t think he was ever gonna be competition, so you didn’t commit this to memory. You just do what a good husband does: nods, rubs my feet, and says ‘girl that’s crazy’ like 5 times.”

“I…I…” his head slams back to the headrest. “I feel like a complete fool.”

“Yeah. You looked like one.”

“He… he was just…”

“Just wanted to get to know you. See the guy who makes me smile every day and has never made me cry.” You caress his gray and brown whiskers on his cheek with a soft smile. “Well, aside from tears of joy. Or hunger.”

He giggles, feeling a little better. You take his fist and press it to your lips, then unfold his burly fingers and kiss his thick palm too.

“Besides, he’s nothing like my type,” you whisper sensually, eye fucking him up and down with your lower lip bit under your teeth.

“Yeah. What’s those city hands gonna do, anyway? Type ya up a report about the new kitchen ya want?” He smirks proudly to himself. Joel always took pride in his handy worked.

Taking a deep breath, he clasps his hand over yours. “I’m sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to let it get out of hand like that.”

You raise your brow.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry for overreacting an bein’ a jealous bastard.”

God, those puppy eyes. He gets ya real good. “Thank you, bubba. Now you gotta go apologize to him.”

Joel cocks his head incredulously. “No I think I’m good. ‘nough embarrassment from me today—“

You’re reaching over his lap and opening the door handle, shoving his body out the truck and closing the door behind him.

You give him two thumbs up.

Joel grunts, rolling his eyes. Marcus is thanking the waiter and gathering his keys when Joel intercepts him.

“Listen I—I uh…”

Marcus folds his arms across his chest, standing up tall to listen to him.

He clears his throat. “I just—look I’m not—she’s…when I’m with…”

But the other man just smirks before putting his hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it. She’s worth defending.”

Joel and him both look back to you in the truck: you’re currently unraveling a snickers bar from the glove compartment and swaying your body to the blasting music, using the bar as a mic as you sing along.

The two men gaze upon you fondly. 

But Joel’s head snaps back, eyes narrow. “S’that supposed to mean—“

“Hey man, Its alright. I meant, she’s a good friend. I’ve got nothin goin with her. All good.” 

The two stand there quietly for a moment, and Joel’s about to take his leave when Marcus adds:

“She…used to be shy.”

Joel pauses, thinking hard about it.

Marcus continues, “Like didn’t feel comfortable in her skin when we were still kids. I think she was kinda like a lost puppy. So its—its nice to see her so comfortable with you. Like, genuinely her. Happy. Loved. Cared. She deserves that. I think you’re…I can tell: you’re good for her. In a way I don’t think she’s ever had with someone else. I mean, just look—“

They both look again at you, your tongue swiping chocolate over your lips like a messy toddler.

Joel can feel his heart swoon again. That’s my girl, he thinks warmly.

“Well uh, listen, thank you for meeting up with her again. Meant a lot. If ya wanted…you could come over the house any time. She… we’d love to have you for dinner.”

“I’d like that. Would love to see your home especially. I’m not very handy with … building stuff so…that’d be cool to learn something.”

Joel is absolutely beaming at that. “You got a deal.” 

They shake hands and depart.

You turn down the music as he slides back into the truck. There’s a little bit of a glow to Joel that’s beaming off him, something that had been missing all day.

“I’m so proud of you my little puppy!” You exclaim, ruffling his hair like a dog.

He just stares at you. All of you. Inside and out. He almost forgot, but there was a brief time when he knew you, and you were a bit like Marcus described. Today? You’ve still got chocolate on your cheek as you smile with the biggest teeth, so touchy and loud, unafraid to voice yourself and stand your ground, never take no for an answer, defend and protect, but love and follow dearly.

Did he… do that?

“Come on, cowboy. Let’s go home.” You turn the key in the ignition and back out of the spot.

“Home,” he repeats. But his home is right here, holdin’ your hand in his lap like it’s the most precious piece of him.

Because you are.

- - - -

Taglist:

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[bernardsbendystraws]

ೃ࿔*:･ Snow .ᐟ Reader x FWB.ᐟ Matt

Matt can’t sleep without you, but Chris can’t sleep without Matt.

⚠︎ mentions of sleep paralysis and troubles sleep, use of baby, slight angst and fluff

[ See Part 1 or read this as a standalone ]

“Hmph,” Matt huffs, his light snores tickling against the side of your neck as you slowly squint your eyes open. 

It’s dark. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you remember Matt attaching himself to you like a koala—needy and desperate, trying to hold you as close as possible. 

The calm pattern of your heartbeat intensifies as you feel his eyelashes flutter against the skin beneath your ear. Your relaxed face adjusts, the corner of your lips pulling upwards as you let your fingers softly trace on his back.

“Mmmm,” you sigh, the air feeling incredibly crisp from the gentle breeze flowing from the slight crack he left in his window. He does it for you—well, for himself, really. You get overheated easily, the cold winds allow for more cuddling. And cuddling is Matt’s favorite. 

You’re both on your sides, facing towards each other, your face buried in his chest as he hugs his arms around you with his leg thrown across yours. This is even closer than Matt typically initiates, but you haven’t been complaining—not when you saw how sunken and tired his eyes were.

A subtle knock on his bedroom door makes your senses stir. You shift in Matt’s hold, letting out a huff of air as he squeezes you tighter. 

Another knock erupts. This time, Matt lets out some sort of frustrated sigh, huffing into the side of your neck as he hugs you flush against him. You grumble underneath your breath as you try to move your limbs slightly, rolling your eyes as he cradles you with his grip becoming more firm. 

“Matt?” 

It’s Chris. Although your conscious thoughts are still fuzzy, you remember Chris’ recent struggles with sleep paralysis that Matt had told you about—the reason why Matt was so exhausted in the first place—the reason why he begged for you to come cuddle him so he’d finally be able to sleep. 

Matt slowly pulls his head out of the crook of your neck, his eyes barely squinted open as he stares down at you with a dazed expression. 

Sighing, he licks over his lips. “Come in,” Matt says, his voice rough with sleep.

The door creaks open. Matt adjusts, scooting your tangled bodies further towards one side of the bed as the mattress dips with an added weight. 

“You okay?” Matt gruffs, nuzzling his nose in your hair as he tries to keep his focus on staying awake to make sure Chris is alright. 

“I…yeah, I think I am now,” Chris huffs, his voice a bit shaky. “Is she—is that—”

“Mhm,” Matt hums, sighing against you as he lets Chris be aware of your presence. “-you’re fine though, I let her know you might come in.” 

“Okay.” Chris says, relaxing as he finally feels the peace of Matt’s company.

Your eyes are barely pried open. Matt’s awake enough to let his arm that’s falling numb underneath your waist to move in order to massage your back, his other hand is cradling your head into his chest while his fingers tangle through your hair gently. 

It’s odd. You’re in bed with two men—neither of which are your boyfriend.

The miscellaneous thoughts of how weird this situation is makes you feel more awake. Matt feels you subtly shift in his hold, hugging you tighter with a slight groan of disapproval.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” he grumbles. 

Baby.

He’s not supposed to call you that, but he does. Usually you’ll call him out for it, but right now you can’t help but feel your heart clench in your chest from how tired he sounds. 

“Do you want me to go to the couch—” 

“Mmph,” he huffs, interrupting your offer, “-no, just…need sleep…please?” he asks, semi delusion from how reluctant his mind is to truly wake up and comprehend everything. 

“Okay…” you huff, letting your limbs melt in his hold as he starts to snore softly into your hair.

A/N: Baby??? BABY?!!!????

·˚ ༘ ʚ 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒔, 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆 𖧧

꒰ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ๑ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ๑ 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ꒱

[suuuupernovaaa]

soft

summary: joel takes care of you after an unexpectedly long, hard day - based on this request

no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft and sentimental like a stranger in the park

warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of violence, jackson joel, caring joel, protective joel

MASTERLIST

Joel’s screwdriver clatters to the ground as he’s startled by the front door bursting open with force, letting in a burst of cold and snow.

“What the hell,” he says, turning from here he sits at his dining room table, to see you standing the doorway, back from patrol.

He stands up to cross the room and greet you, and what’s what he notices it.

Blood. Blood on your hood, your jacket, your pants. A lot of it. A panic seizes his mind for a moment, until you start rushing towards him, your steps sure and steady. You can’t be gravely injured, not if you’re moving like that.

“What - whose blood is that?”

You’re shedding layers, throwing them on the ground. Your eyes are wild, and he can see you working to form words but it’s hard. They aren’t coming.

He helps you take off your coat and snow pants. Your soiled shoes, hat, sweaters. God, he bundles you in too many layers before patrol, especially if you’re going without him. Can’t stand the thought of you being cold.

“It was an accident. No clickers or anything,” you say. “The new kid, he got spooked. He thought… I don’t fucking know, I mean, what the fuck he thought!” Your voice rises in volume as you talk. “He shot Marlene! Shot her! Just went fucking insane, said he thought something was coming through the trees, and shot her. I didn’t even know he was allowed to have a gun yet.”

“She alive?” Joel asks.

You nod, swallowing. “Barely made it back, had to carry her myself, but she’s gonna be okay.”

“The kid?”

“Gave him to Tommy, but I sort of… beat the shit out of him first.”

Joel nods, his way of telling you he did the right thing. You’re down to underwear and a tshirt now, and he gathers up all your bloodied clothes. You follow him into the bedroom where he deposits them in a hamper, and before he can turn, your arms are wrapped around his torso, your cheek pressed to his back.

He can feel how ragged your breathing is as he wraps his arms over yours, and eventually, turns around to hold you to his chest.

He knows Marlene means a lot to you. You see her as a maternal figure, and he wonders just what kind of shape the new kid must be in now.

He’ll be in worse shape next time Joel comes across him.

Your breathing steadies as Joel holds you, brushing soft circles into your back.

“I need you, Joel,” you whisper into his shirt.

“I’m here,” he replies.

You look up and him, and he knows what you mean. The way you sometimes need him to remind you that you’re both alive, you’re healthy, you’re here and together.

So he brings his mouth to yours and instantly, you respond to him, tangling your fingers in his hair and leading him to the bed.

He knows what you need, so he lifts you up and throws you into the bed, then flips you over onto your front, staring down at you while he removes his belt and pants.

He climbs on the bed, hovering over top of you, listening to you pant with need.

“I’ll make you feel good, baby,” he says into your ear, and you moan as he reaches down, kneading the muscles of your thigh and ass. When his hand dips down, he feels how wet the material covering you is already, and he groans into your ear.

Your arch your hips, lifting them up to give him access, and he slips his fingers beneath the thin material of your underwear.

There’s no teasing when you’re like this. You won’t stand for it. So he thrusts to fingers into you, and you moan into the mattress.

“God, Joel,” you say, your words muffled, and he feels the satisfaction he always feels when you show him how good he makes you feel.

He works two fingers, in and out, while you writhe and mewl on the bed, coming undone so quickly for him.

Without warning, he removes his hand, and you whimper, already a mess beneath him.

He pulls your underwear down and off, then pulls your hips up, getting a good view of you, of how ready you are for him.

“Just breathe, baby,” he says, and slams into you.

“Fuck!” you scream, and he knows it’s just what you needed. You need a little pain to appreciate the pleasure, you need him to punish you and make you feel alive.

“So tight,” he mutters as he pulls out and slams in again, over and over, and nothing has ever felt as good as this. His head rolls back as he pounds into you, listening to you moan with every thrust. Your hips are pushing back into him, making him go insane, relentless.

He reaches a hand around you, and pinches your clit - once, twice, and that’s all it takes.

He feels you cum around him, gripping him so tight, and he cums too, moaning with you.

Afterward, he lays next to you and pulls you into his warm arms, still covered with his flannel. He pulls the blanket from the end of the bed over the both of you, and presses feather-light kisses to your forehead, cheeks, and neck.

He just wants you to feel safe. Sated, safe and happy.

“I’ll never let anything happen to ya, ya know that?” he asks quietly, and you press your face into his neck.

“I know, honey,” you say. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

He holds you so tight he fears you may not be able to breathe, but you don’t protest. You never do.

You’re asleep moments later, and he holds you for a couple hours before getting out of bed to wash your laundry and make you dinner.

He’d do anything for you.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (24 - The Last Day)

Chapter Summary: “Promise me,” you murmured between kisses, your hands roaming over her bare back. “Promise me that when you’re backed into a wall, you don’t think twice. You run. Run back to me. Don’t be a hero.”

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5.1k+ | Chapter Tags: angst, smut

A/N: Infinity War > Endgame, honestly. There won't be an update next Wednesday as it's already finals week for me :) // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Wakanda was a fortress. 

From where you stood, gazing at the seemingly endless plains and lush forests that cloaked the hidden nation, you could almost believe you were safe. The sight of the golden African sun spilling over the landscape had a sort of hypnotic effect—like it was trying to convince you there was no danger beyond these borders. 

Of course, you knew better. Nowhere was safe with Thanos out there, collecting the Infinity Stones one by one. 

You tore your gaze away from the sweeping view, letting out a heavy sigh before turning to Wanda. She stood beside you on the balcony, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face etched with quiet worry as she stared into the distance. With Vision gravely wounded and the impossible task of removing the Mind Stone without ending his life looming over everyone, she’d been on edge. You didn’t blame her. Vision was her friend and she cared about him. 

You slid closer, pressing a comforting hand to her back. “You okay?”

Wanda nodded, though she didn’t take her eyes off the horizon. “I will be,” she murmured, her Sokovian accent thickening with anxiety. You didn’t even realize it was still there. “It’s just… I hate waiting like this.”

You remembered the feeling of helplessness in Scotland: Vision had been pinned down, helpless, and you and Wanda had been forced to watch as he was nearly killed for the stone in his head. You closed your eyes, shoved the memory down, deep into that place where unwelcome things go to rot. You were both seconds away from the same fate—until Steve and Natasha arrived, pulling you all back from the brink. Just in time. Always just in time.

“They’re good people here,” you assured her. “They’ll find a way.”

“I know. I just…” Wanda swallowed thickly, her words catching in the process. “I… we were naive to think this was just another assignment. We’ve lost so much already.”

She didn’t have to say who else she was referring to. You knew about her parents, her brother, everything she had endured. And now, this war was threatening to take more. You gently pulled her into a side embrace, resting your forehead against hers for a moment.

“We’ll do whatever it takes,” you promised, and you meant it.

—

You left Wanda alone with her thoughts and headed to the lab. It was a pressure cooker—hissing, ready to blow—filled with people moving like they were on rails, locked into some critical task. Everyone had a job, a purpose and no task felt too small when the goal was stopping Thanos. 

You came here because you needed to know your place in all of this—what you could do, how you could help. You couldn’t stand the idea of just waiting around while everyone else carried the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Bruce Banner stood at a console, studying Vision’s neural scans. He didn’t look happy. You worried he’d start turning green from all the stress of figuring out the impossible task of separating the Mind Stone from Vision without reducing him to something less of a being and more like his former iteration. 

“How’s he doing?” you asked.

Bruce didn’t glance up. “Stable, for now,” he said. “Shuri’s stasis is the only thing keeping him that way.” He finally met your eyes. “If we remove the stone and botch it, we lose him completely. We don’t have a margin for error.”

Shuri spun around, sweeping a hologram to the side. “Banner, look here,” she said, pointing to a tangle of code. “If we sever this pathway first, we won’t risk a chain reaction in the cerebral cortex.”

Bruce studied it. “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” Shuri replied, not missing a beat. “But I’ll need time to reroute all these connections.” Her face tightened. “If Thanos shows up in the middle of that, or if anyone so much as unplugs the wrong cable, Vision’s done.”

Across the lab, T’Challa and Okoye conferred with Natasha Romanoff over a holographic map showing Wakanda’s borders. Multiple defensive lines lit up around the perimeter, funneling any possible attackers into one choke point.

Okoye pointed at the display. “We force them here,” she said. “We strike from both sides, and the rest of our forces remain mobile—ready to reinforce wherever the line thins.”

Natasha didn’t look away from the map. “Works for me. If Thanos wants what’s in Vision’s head, he’ll have to go through an army of Wakandans first.”

You caught T’Challa’s eye. “Where do you need me?”

T’Challa broke away from the map and leveled his gaze on you. “I need you with Shuri,” he said, “I hear you’ve been trained by Barton and Romanoff—made a habit of picking up new skills fast. My sister needs the best at her side.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. You understood what he meant without him spelling it out. If Shuri’s lab got breached, there wouldn’t be much left to protect outside.

“Tell Wanda I want to speak with her.” T’Challa added.

It wasn’t your place to ask, but you needed to know. “Where do you need her?”

He let his gaze drift to the massive layout of Wakanda’s borders. “The front lines.”

You’d been afraid he’d say that. You knew Wanda could handle herself, but the thought of her out there—exposed to whatever Thanos threw their way—turned your blood cold. Still, there was only one answer to give.

“Understood,” you said.

—

You stepped out of the lab, feeling a strain behind your eyes you couldn’t shake. Down the hall’s half-light, you spotted Steve and Natasha talking in low voices. Whatever it was, you could tell right away it wasn’t a happy conversation—probably the number of casualties from other places, other worlds, an entire universe. 

Steve caught sight of you first. His eyes dipped to your hand. “That a ring?” he asked. Then, without waiting for your answer, he offered a soft smile. “Congratulations. And… I’m sorry.” You understood exactly what he meant—sorry that a moment like marriage had to happen with a crisis looming.

“Thanks,” you said, offering him a timid smile. “For that and for coming to help me and Wanda in Scotland. I owe you.”

Steve shook his head. “No debts among friends.”

You cleared your throat again, forcing your nerves down. “Mind if I talk to Natasha alone?”

He glanced at her, then nodded. “Sure,” he said, stepping aside. “I’ll go see how Shuri’s doing.”

With that, Steve gave you a pat on the shoulder and slipped away, leaving you alone with Nat.

Natasha folded her arms across her chest and gave you a once-over. Her eyes landed on the ring before she spoke. “So,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “You got married, and I didn’t even get an invite?”

You fumbled for a response. “It wasn’t exactly a ceremony—”

She waved you off. “Relax, I know the details. Wanda and I caught up already.”

“Oh.”

Natasha’ss lips twitched into a half-smile. “So you married your assignment. I guess you really like to go above and beyond.”

A laugh escaped you, along with some relief. “We both know you only gave me that job so I’d have a valid excuse to chase after her.”

Natasha merely smiled, letting you know she was waiting for what you really came here for.

“Listen, Natasha. About the messages you sent…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “Look, I’m sorry about that. Things… they got complicated, and I just—” You trailed off, not sure how to put it all into words.

Natasha gave a slight shrug, like she’d seen all this coming. “I get it now,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. If I thought we couldn’t do without you, trust me, I’d have found a way to drag you back.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t need me, then?”

“Of course we do,” she shot back, “but it also means if you’d walked away, I’d understand.”

You exhaled slowly, guilt chewing at you. “I walked out on Steve, you know.”

A corner of Natasha’s mouth tugged up. “Steve told me he couldn’t find you.”

You looked down, your foot scraping the floor. Natasha took a step closer to you, her entire posture becoming a little rigid.

“This Thanos thing isn’t just another mission. It’s everything—our lives, the lives of everyone in this universe. Mine, yours, Wanda’s. I promise I’ll fight to the end for all of us. For this team. And I hope you’ll do the same,” she said.

You felt an odd calm settle over you. “I promise. For Wanda, for you, for all of them.”

Natasha’s face softened, and she clapped you gently on the shoulder. “I’m glad to have you back, Y/N.”

—

You found her in the small quarters Wakanda had assigned the two of you, sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing pajamas you recognized from your old drawer in Scotland. The cotton was a bit wrinkled—made sense, given you’d both only had ten minutes to pack what you could before leaving the life you’d built together.

Wanda looked up when you entered, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Hey,” she said.

You set your jacket on a nearby chair, letting out a long breath. “Hey yourself.”

You crossed to the bed, and for a moment, all you wanted was to sink into her warmth, forget the day, and pretend tomorrow didn’t exist. But the world wouldn’t let you off that easily.

“Natasha filled me in,” you said. “I’ll be posted in the lab with Shuri. Make sure no one interferes with her while she works on Vision.”

Wanda’s eyes lit up in quiet relief. “I’m glad,” she whispered. “Someone has to watch out for him.” She set aside whatever she had been distracting herself with. “You’re the best person for that job.”

You blew out a breath. “Doesn’t mean I’m thrilled you’ll be out there on the front lines, Maximoff.”

Wanda giggled and tapped the spot beside her. With an exaggerated sigh, you flopped onto it, resting your head comfortably in her lap. “You worry about me?”

You closed your eyes and she started massaging your scalp, making you mewl in appreciation. “Of course, I do. I’m your wife.”

Wanda laughed. “Wife,” she repeated fondly. Then she sighed and said, “I need to be where the fight is. All this power… what good is it if I’m not going to use it to protect the people I love?”

You opened your mouth, but no argument came out. You wanted to tell her to stay safe, to keep her away from Thanos’s reach, but you knew there was no talking her out of a fight she believed in. She had never backed down.

“Just… be careful,” you whispered, voicing the same plea you’d made countless times, even though you both knew Wanda could handle herself as well as anyone.

Wanda huffed softly, her hand smoothing over your hair. “I’m always careful,” she murmured, eyes softening with concern. “But I also have to do what I can out there. You know that.”

“I do,” you admitted, shifting so you could look up at her. 

The bed dipped as she scooted beside you, the cotton of her pajamas brushing your arm. Wanda leaned down, her hand settling at the side of your face. Your hand slid around Wanda’s waist, pulling her closer until she was nearly on top of you, your lips parting against hers in a  tentative kiss.

“Wanda…” you breathed, voice catching on the edge of desperation.  You had missed her. It felt like an eternity had passed in the single day you couldn’t be alone together. She didn’t answer, only kissed you deeper, pouring a day’s worth of tension into the press of her body against yours.

You rose from your position and tugged her with you onto the bed fully, your fingers curling into her shirt. She helped you yank it off, and then she was pulling at yours, too, the scent of her hair flooding your senses. You helped each other strip away clothes that felt suddenly cumbersome, until there was nothing left but skin on skin. You found yourself pressed into the bed, Wanda’s body above yours, her hair falling like a curtain around your face.

In that moment, you could no longer stop yourself from being selfish.

“Promise me,” you murmured between kisses, your hands roaming over her bare back. “Promise me that when you’re backed into a wall, you don’t think twice. You run. Run back to me. Don’t be a hero.”

She froze, her mouth curved into that coy smile at hearing your repetitive plea. You could see the flicker of mild annoyance at your overprotectiveness—like she thought you were being adorably childish. But then you felt your throat tighten, tears suddenly burning in your eyes at the thought of losing her.

“Please,” you choked out, a tear slipping free. “Please, Wanda… I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

The teasing smile she wore vanished instantly. “Oh, love,” she whispered, pulling you into her arms. You let yourself cry silently into her shoulder for a few moments, feeling a little pathetic for breaking down like this. You knew asking Wanda to run was an absurd request, but you had to say it. Deep down, you knew it would absolutely destroy you to lose her in any way.

Wanda’s own voice cracked as she cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back to hers. “I’ll come back to you,” she promised. “I promise—if there’s nowhere else to go, I’ll run. I’ll run straight to you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered, brushing away your tears with the back of your hand.

Wanda kissed you again, and this time, her hands slid lower, her hips shifting against yours. You surged up to meet her, your palms sliding over her ribs as she gasped into your mouth. The slow, careful strokes turned into something more insistent: hungry, messy, a collision of lips and muffled pleas.

“Y/N, please…” Wanda mumbled almost incoherently as she moved down your jaw. The huskiness in her voice sent a thrill through you, and you pecked her inviting mouth one more time before moving behind her and circling your arm around her waist, as she braced herself on all fours. Her skin was warm under your touch, her back arching instinctively as she pressed her hips back against you.

Leaning forward, you pressed a line of kisses down her spine, your lips lingering at the base where her back dipped. She shivered, her breath hitching as your other hand trailed down her side, fingertips grazing her hip before settling between her thighs.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” you murmured roughly as you watched her body respond to your touch.

Her only response was a soft moan, her hands gripping the sheets as your fingers found her wetness. You teased her entrance, sliding two fingers slowly inside, feeling her walls tighten around you as you filled her. Wanda gasped, her head dropping forward as her thighs trembled, trying to adjust to the sensation.

“God, you’re always so tight,” you groaned, curling your fingers slightly to press against her sweet spot. “And so fucking wet for me…”

She whimpered, her hips instinctively rocking back against your hand. You set a slow rhythm, pulling your fingers out before pushing them back in, deeper each time. The sound of her arousal, slick and wet, only made your hand work harder, your body pressed closer, your clit brushing against the soft curve of her buttocks. The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but let out a shaky moan. You adjusted slightly, angling your hips so your clit slid more deliberately against her with each thrust of your fingers.

Wanda’s moans grew louder, and with every motion of your hand, you felt her body tense, her back arching against you. She pushed her hips back more insistently, searching for the friction she needed. “Y/N… I’m so close,” she whimpered, her thighs trembling under your hands, her walls fluttering around your fingers.

But you weren’t ready to let her go over that edge yet. You slowed your pace deliberately, still lazily pressing your clit against her slippery skin. “Not yet, baby,” you murmured, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Just hold out a little longer for me…”

A frustrated moan escaped her lips, and she tilted her hips back more aggressively, trying to coax you into giving her the release she craved. But you held your pace, savoring the way her body trembled under your control.

“I want to come,” she whimpered, her hands clutching the sheets so tightly her knuckles whitened.

“Patience, baby,” you said, dragging your fingers almost completely out of her before easing them back in, slow and deliberate.

The friction of her skin against your clit, her soft gasps, the way she was so pliant beneath you—it was all driving you dangerously close to the edge. But you held back, biting your lip as you drew out the moment, not wanting it to end too quickly.

Your free hand, which had been holding her steadily against you, slid lower, fingers brushing over her swollen clit. The second you started rubbing her there, your own body jolted with need. Your hips snapped forward, rubbing yourself against her shamelessly.

“I’m close,” you ground out, fingers working Wanda’s slick flesh at a fast, demanding pace. “C-Come with me…”

Her body tensed, her walls clenching around your fingers as a broken sob of your name fell from her lips. You didn’t stop, didn’t ease up as your own orgasm hit, your hips grinding harder against her as you rode the waves of pleasure together.

Wanda’s cries blended with your moans, the two of you lost in each other as you shuddered and gasped. Your hand stayed on her clit, guiding her through every aftershock until her body went limp beneath you, her breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to her shoulder as you both came down, your bodies still trembling. “You’re so perfect,” you murmured softly, kissing the damp skin of her neck. “So fucking perfect.”

Wanda let out a soft, tired laugh, her hand reaching back to thread through your hair. You collapsed beside your wife, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. A shaky breath left your lips as you rolled onto your back, exhaustion settling into your bones like a warm, heavy blanket.

Wanda was quick to shift position, sliding over to curl around you. She coaxed you onto your side, gathering you in her arms as though you weighed nothing. 

“Come here,” she murmured, pressing soft kisses to your forehead. You sighed contentedly, letting yourself sink into her embrace. It felt so safe—like no matter what happened outside this room, no matter what the world threw your way, you could face anything.

“You love me,” you murmured, already drifting toward sleep. You felt her smile against your skin—amused by this little ritual of yours, saying the other’s love out loud first.

“You love me too,” she whispered back.

Wanda’s fingers moved in slow, soothing patterns across your back—until they stopped. She let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “For making you cry earlier. For—”

You cut her off with a soft shake of your head, your arms tightening around her waist. “Just promise me,” you said.

“I promise,” she whispered, her own eyes shining. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

—

It’s twenty-three days later, and Wanda’s promise never came true.

People wandered around in dazed confusion, half of them gone, the other half trying to make sense of what remained. You barely recognized the place. You barely recognized what was left of your team—or even yourself.

You had no idea where the motivation to wake up each morning came from. Maybe it was the faint ember of hope burning inside you, the belief that whatever the stones had done could somehow be undone. That if Thanos had caused this, he could reverse it. You just had to find him. As long as he was out there, there was a chance to bring everyone—and Wanda—back.

It tore at you to see Wanda’s location still pinned on your phone, only to realize it led to the bedroom you had shared in Wakanda. She had left it there that morning, tucked under her pillow on her side of the bed before joining Natasha on the frontlines. It killed you to know her true location was nowhere. And yet, in moments of weakness, you found yourself checking her GPS as if it would somehow change. Old habits die hard—and you couldn’t seem to escape this one no matter how much it amplified the Wanda-shaped hole in your heart. 

This morning, you found yourself at the old Avengers compound. The halls felt cavernous and too quiet. You checked in, as usual, with Natasha, Bruce, Steve—whoever was around. Most folks you ran into had that same thousand-yard stare, the same one that greeted you in the mirror every time you looked.

You spent hours in front of the massive digital map that dwarfed the main operations room, searching for any scrap that might lead you to Thanos. Where’d he gone? How had he disappeared so thoroughly? You chewed on the question day after day, ignoring exhaustion, heartbreak, and even hunger. If there was a lead, you’d chase it. If there was a whisper of information, you’d hunt it down.

Steve approached as you stood at the console, looking weary in a way you had never seen before. He was usually so determined and motivated, but now, for once, he seemed human—no longer everyone’s constant beacon of hope. He rested a hand on your shoulder, a gesture he’d been making with everyone lately. You figured it was his way of reassuring himself that you were still there, after watching the people he cared about turn to nothing but particles in the air.

“You’ve gotta give yourself a break,” he murmured. “You look like you’re running on fumes.”

You pulled away gently, shrugging him off. “I can rest after we find him,” you said, voice clipped. You tried to keep the desperation under control, and so far, it was working. 

Steve exhaled, resting his hands on his hips. “We’re working on it,” he said. “As soon as we locate Tony—”

“That’s one of my concerns, actually,” you cut him off, rounding the center table to put distance between you. “We don’t know if he’s even still alive, Steve. It’s been three weeks since—”

Steve’s posture stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. “Finding Tony is the top priority,” he said, voice low and taut, like he’d repeated it a hundred times already. “If Banner’s right—if the people we lost can be brought back somehow—anyone we lose now might be gone for good.”

You let out a scoff and almost regretted it immediately, knowing how apathetic it must have sounded. “It’s been three weeks, Steve. If he’s out there, do you honestly believe he’s got enough air, water, or food to survive? We’re gambling on a possibility that shrinks every day.”

“Those are the orders,” Steve fired back, his jaw set. “We focus on finding Tony.”

“Orders?” Your laugh came out harsh. “Whose orders, exactly?”

“Mine,” Steve said, squaring his shoulders. “And I’m not asking.”

You felt your pulse surge. “So that’s it? We chase a ghost ship with no sign of life, no backup plan—while the rest of the universe dangles by a thread?”

Steve’s hand slammed down on the table. “We don’t abandon our own!”

You closed the distance between you, anger flaring. “Don’t talk to me about abandoning anyone! I’m trying to be realistic—”

“That’s enough.” His voice was ice. “You’re out of line.”

“Am I?” You leaned in, practically nose-to-nose. “We all want Tony back, but it’s time we—”

Natasha, who had just arrived, slipped between you. She pressed a firm hand against your chest. “Both of you, stop. We don’t have time for this.”

Steve backed off first, turning away with a muttered oath. You stayed put, adrenaline coursing, hands balled into fists.

Natasha grabbed your arm and steered you out of the room. Once in the hall, she spun you around, eyes blazing. “Hit me.”

You blinked, breath catching. “What?”

She dropped into a ready stance. “I said hit me. Clearly you need to let it out.”

You didn’t move. “No.”

She shook her head. “If you don’t acknowledge what you’ve lost, it’s gonna eat you alive.”

“There’s nothing to grieve,” you said evenly, willing yourself to believe your own words with every fiber of your being.  By now, Natasha understood that no matter what she said, it wouldn’t get through to you. She knew Wanda meant the world to you, and you were driven by a personal mission. In her opinion, you were still handling it better than Clint, who had lost his entire family.

“Look, Steve needs you,” she said after a moment. “And I—”

Her sentence was cut short by a sudden commotion from outside. You both froze, exchanged a quick glance, and then ran for the exit. 

People were already gathered on the makeshift runway by the compound’s wide hangar doors. You elbowed your way through the small crowd—Bruce, Rhodey, Steve, and a handful of others—until you reached the front.

And there, at the heart of it all, Carol Danvers was bringing Tony Stark home.

—

It figured that the missing piece to finding Thanos was his own daughter, Nebula.  A snap-like energy signature had been detected across the galaxy just two days earlier, and with the new information she provided, Steve gave the team only a few hours to prepare before setting a course for Planet 0259-S.

If you had been a little apprehensive about the plan to find Thanos, the actual act of locating him—now the biggest hurdle solved—allowed you to fully lean into the expectation that it was only a matter of time before everyone was back, and everything returned to how it was supposed to be. The Avengers had never lost to anyone, not even gods. There was no doubt in your mind that you could all overcome a mere Titan.

So you and the remaining team boarded the modified Benatar—Nebula insisted it was the only ship fast enough to reach the planet in time. You still remembered the moment the engines roared to life, and you caught yourself thinking about Wanda. She would’ve stood at the viewport, eyes wide, taking in the stars with that sense of wonder she always had. But you also reminded yourself that you wouldn’t even be here if Wanda—and trillions of others—hadn’t vanished into dust. 

It was your first trip beyond Earth’s orbit, but it felt like mere minutes before Nebula’s voice crackled through the comms: “Entering the atmosphere now. We’ll touch down in thirty seconds.” Below stretched a battered field of half-dead crops under a sky like stale ash. You and the others fanned out once the ramp lowered—Steve, Banner, Rhodes, Thor, Carol, Natasha, Rocket, and Nebula. Even with the thinning hope in your veins, you still felt a faint thrill of certainty that you’d see that monster face to face and force him to undo this nightmare.

Thanos appeared in your line of sight, sitting on a makeshift stoop in front of a tumbledown shack, his left arm twisted and scarred from the energy of the Gauntlet. He looked worn, as if using the Stones had left him a husk of what he’d been. 

From this point on, it was an ambush—the most ruthless attack Steve had ever sanctioned for the team. You were surprised to see he had it in him. You wanted to strike Thanos yourself, but Natasha held you back, letting the superpowered members and those equipped with advanced suits handle the dirty work. Thor didn’t hesitate to hack off the Titan’s hand, and you actually smiled at Thanos’s screams as you, Natasha, and Steve closed in on the shack.

Rocket rolled over Thanos’s severed hand, the gauntlet still attached. What you all saw next pushed you further into madness:

Every single stone was missing.

Blood had rushed to your head, but you could still hear Steve very calmly inquire where the stones were, despite the ringing that had started in your ears. 

“...after that, the stones served no purpose beyond temptation…” Thanos uttered.

“Where are the stones?” Natasha repeated, her patience slipping in a rare moment of unease in front of an enemy.

“Gone,” Thanos uttered. “Reduced to atoms.”

“You used them two days ago!” Banner yelled.

“I destroyed the stones… using the stones.”

Everything turned to static the moment you heard the word destroyed. You’d pinned your hope on the Stones—on using them to bring her back. Now there was nothing. It was like the ground gave out beneath you, your entire center of gravity tilting around one brutal truth: Thanos hadn’t just wiped out half the universe—he’d taken your only way of undoing it.

The blood pounding in your ears muffled the exchanges. You saw Nebula’s lips move. You heard Thanos’ bullshit about realizing too late how he mistreated his own daughter. But it was like you were trapped in an echo chamber, drowning out the present.

Gone. Reduced to atoms.

He’d destroyed the Stones. You would never see Wanda again.

It was over.

You were quick to draw your pistols and fire a shot straight into his eye, but Thor was quicker—his axe already swinging, aimed directly for the head.

There should have been relief, or maybe some triumph in exacting revenge on the monster who’d purged half the universe. But there wasn’t. Only emptiness. The final blow had landed, and it changed nothing. Wanda was still gone, along with the rest.

A sick sense of finality wrapped around you, the suffocating knowledge that the Snap was permanent.

A few seconds later, Natasha laid a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t bother looking at her. You could feel her gaze, searching your face for any sign of composure. She’d find none. Nebula stood at a distance, staring at the father who had never been a father.

Someone—Carol maybe—muttered, “Let’s go.” And so you did. You stumbled away, feet dragging as if the scorched earth itself was holding you back.

It wasn't a victory. Not by a long shot. It was just the end of one more impossible avenue, closing shut.

The crushing grief welled up inside you, too much to contain. Finally, a scream ripped free from your throat, raw and guttural. It didn’t make you feel any better. It didn’t make it hurt any less. 

But for a fleeting moment, it was all you could do to keep from drowning.

[makis-eyebrows]

Request: ♧

Paddock Walks

George Russell's very adventurous and curious daughter goes too far from home but makes friends with someone new.

The paddock at Imola was buzzing.

Cameras clicked, engines hummed in the background, and crew members scurried around with laptops, tire warmers, and espressos in hand. Amongst the chaos, one small human was on a top-secret mission — one that involved invisible maps, snack recon, and a grand sense of purpose.

Her name was Y/n Russell.

Three years old.

Full-time explorer.

Part-time snack thief.

And currently... completely, utterly lost.

It had all started innocently enough. George had brought her along early that morning, while Carmen was busy sorting out some last-minute ideas to keep the small girl busy. Y/n, ever the curious soul, had been holding George’s hand — until a glittery, spinning wheel cap caught her eye.

She followed it.

Then a butterfly.

And by the time she realized her tiny feet had wandered a little too far, the tall white garage walls all looked the same… and Papa was nowhere to be seen.

Instead of crying, Y/n did what any tiny adventurer would do: she adjusted her sunhat, hugged her bunny plush tight, and kept walking.

That was when she heard it.

“Leo, come on! Not into the McLaren motorhome again—!”

Around the corner, a short-legged dachshund came barreling toward her, ears flapping like flags. Behind him, a very breathless and mildly distressed Charles Leclerc jogged after him, sunglasses pushed up on his head, a leash flailing in his hand.

Leo screeched to a halt in front of her, sniffed her shoes with great enthusiasm, and promptly plopped down beside her like they'd been best friends for years.

“Uh…” Charles blinked. “Bonjour?”

Y/n looked up at him, blinked once, then declared with complete confidence:

“I like your dog. He’s sausagey.”

Charles stared. Then laughed. “Merci. I think he likes you too. Are you... alone?”

Y/n nodded cheerfully. “I’m lost. But it’s okay. I was finding snacks.”

Charles crouched down. “Ah… and where did Papa go?”

“Dunno. But I think he’s tall. Like, really tall. With big hair.”

Charles snorted. “Okay, that narrows it down to... one person. You must be George’s little one.”

Y/n gasped. “You know my Papa?!”

“I do. And I think he’s probably looking for you right now.” Charles gently took her hand. “Shall we go find him together?”

Leo barked in agreement.

So, the new trio — Charles, Y/n, and the now nicknamed “Sausagey” — began their slow parade through the paddock. Charles waved off every confused look from team personnel as they passed.

“Leclerc, you okay?” asked Lando, watching him shuffle past with a toddler and a sausage dog.

“Saving a Russell,” Charles replied like it was a military op.

Y/n waved proudly. “I’m the Russell!”

Soon, they turned a corner and spotted George frantically speaking with a staff member, Carmen close by with wide, worried eyes.

George turned just as he heard, “PAPA!”

A small rocket of pink crocs and energy launched at his legs.

“Y/n!” George dropped to his knees, scooping her up into the safest hug imaginable. “Where on Earth did you go? We were so worried!”

“I was with Sausagey and Cha Cha. We were looking for you!” she said brightly, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Carmen reached over and pulled them both in. “Oh, sweetheart. You gave us a heart attack.”

Charles smiled. “She’s a very capable co-pilot. We went on quite the adventure.”

Y/n wiggled in George’s arms and pointed at the dachshund. “Can we get a Sausagey too?”

Leo barked once, like he agreed.

George groaned. “Don’t start with her, Charles.”

“I didn’t,” Charles said innocently. “She named the dog.”

Later that day, a candid photo would surface online of Charles carrying Leo under one arm, holding Y/n’s tiny hand with the other, the three of them mid-laugh as they walked through the paddock.

The caption?

“Charles, Sausagey & their newest teammate.”

George reposted it with:

“The Great Russell Rescue: Thank you, @charles_leclerc — and Sausagey.”

And from then on, Charles never corrected anyone when they called Leo “Sausagey.”

Because as far as one tiny Russell was concerned… that was his name.

And just like that, my work is done.

I need to lock in and do my work. School's back in session on Monday. I LOVE BUT HATE SOUTH AFRICAAAA.

That's Gang Gang out!!!♡

[guilty-ff]

𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐭.𝟐

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧!𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐱 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Dante agrees to help a friend study anatomy, nothing serious, just muscle names and touch. But with every brush of her fingers, keeping it together gets harder.

Pairing: Dante x Fem!Reader

Genre: Friends-to-lovers, slow burn, virgin!Dante, Oneshot

Rating: Mature, MDNI

Warnings: NSFW (18+), teasing, oral (male receiving), vaginal, dry humping, consensual power play, Dante whimpering, soft dom!reader, flustered Dante, slight angst

He didn’t answer with words. He just leaned in: slow, scared, shaking and let his forehead rest against hers. The kiss didn’t come yet. But it could. It was there, waiting. And maybe, if she leaned in a little more...

Not all at once. Just enough.

Close enough that her lips barely brushed his. A whisper of contact, feather light and then she paused, sitting there. Giving him one last moment to pull back. To say no. To end it before it began.

But he didn’t.

The kiss was soft and uncertain, like something fragile had finally cracked open. He kissed her back with a quiet sort of desperation, like he was trying not to shatter under it.

And when she pulled back, smiling faintly, he looked dazed.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

Dante nodded, throat dry. “Yeah. Just… processing.”

She laughed softly, brushing a hand down his chest. “It’s not that complex. I kissed you, you didn’t combust, and your vitals appear to be stable.”

“Debatable,” he muttered, cheeks redder than they had any right to be.

She smirked and settled herself on his lap again, fingers teasing the hem of his shirt. “Call it clinical curiosity.”

“You’re still thinking medically?”

“Absolutely,” she said sweetly. “I mean, I did say I needed a live model...”

Her hips rocked against him, slow, precise, just enough to make him shudder beneath her. “And I haven’t finished my field study.”

He let out a shaky breath as her movements became deliberate, steady, teasing.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re really gonna make me lose it.”

“Not yet,” she said, shifting her weight and grinding again. He gasped, and she leaned in close, lips at his ear. “You still haven’t given a full physiological response.”

“Sweetheart-” His hands grabbed at her waist, like he couldn’t decide whether to stop her or pull her closer.

Then she glanced down between them.

“...Is that thing still growing?” she asked casually, rolling her hips again and feeling his cock twitch through his jeans.

His eyes shot wide open, utterly flustered.

She blinked serious. “Wait... Is that your Devil Trigger activating?”

Dante made a choked noise and covered his face with a hand, groaning in humiliation.

“God, please stop talking,” he begged, ears bright red.

She giggled against his jaw. “Sorry. Just trying to judge if I should expect horns.”

“You keep talking like that and I’m gonna black out.”

She kissed him slowly again, hand sliding down between them. “Then let’s take care of that tension.”

He let her guide him back against the cushions, exhaling shakily as her mouth trailed from his jaw to his prominent Adam´s apple. Her fingers dragged with practiced care over the muscles of his abdomen, down to the line of his waistband, undoing his belt with soft clicks that made his breath stutter.

Dante tensed as her hand brushed over him through the fabric of his jeans, already hard, already straining. He swallowed a sound as she cupped him lightly, thumb pressing along the line where heat pulsed just under skin and denim.

“You always run this warm?” she murmured. "Or should I start checking for glowing eyes and fangs?"

“God,” he rasped, half-laughing, half-dying. “You’re a menace.”

She smiled faintly, then sat up on her knees between his thighs as he looked up at her, dazed and flushed, pupils wide. She kept eye contact while slowly easing his jeans and boxers down, letting them hang just past his hips. His cock sprang free, pre cum leaking and flushed, and she paused, admiring without shame.

Her brows lifted. “...Anatomically exceptional.”

“Please don’t say that,” Dante muttered, dragging a hand over his face, clearly trying to keep some pretence of dignity.

“No, really,” she continued, fingers circling the base with careful curiosity. “Length, size, vascular presentation… it’s genuinely impressive. If demon physiology is responsible for this, I’d like to submit a research grant.”

He let out a breathy, incredulous noise. “You are way too calm and curious for someone about to-”

She cut him off by leaning in and pressing a slow, wet kiss to the tip.

Dante shuddered. His hips jerked slightly, and he bit his lip hard, stifling a sound.

“That bad?” she murmured against him, mouth ghosting along the underside.

“Bad?” he choked out. “Try dangerously close to losing my mind.”

She smiled.

Then she wrapped her mouth around him. Slow and calculated, taking him in inch by inch, until the tension in his thighs turned to trembles and his head hit the back of the couch with a soft thud.

He groaned low, hands hovering again. Not grabbing her, not guiding, just torn between restraint and need.

“Holy shit…” he muttered. “You… you’re not playing fair.”

She hummed around him, the vibration making him twitch, and then she pulled back just slightly, her hand taking over the rhythm. She licked him again, slow and hot, then let her lips drag down the side, her other hand resting on his stomach, feeling every clench of muscle beneath.

The way he reacted, the twitch in his abs, the flushed look of awe in his eyes... it was adorable.

And completely undoing him.

Every time she sank back down on him, his breath hitched, his thighs quivered, and his mouth spilled soft curses into the air like prayers he didn’t know how to finish.

“I- fuck-I’m not gonna last,” he warned, voice wrecked. “You gotta stop or I-”

She pulled back with a small pop, her lips slick and curved into a smirk.

“Mm,” she said, climbing slowly back into his lap. “Then maybe it’s time for phase two of the study.”

She eased herself back into his lap, hands planted on either side of his shoulders as she hovered just above him. Dante was breathing hard, chest rising and falling like he’d just stumbled out of battle but the nervousness in his eyes wasn’t adrenaline. It was all her.

“Still with me?” she asked softly, brushing her nose against his.

He nodded. Barely.

“Tell me,” she whispered. “I want to hear it.”

“I’m with you,” he rasped, voice thick and hoarse. “God, I’ve never been more with anyone.”

That was all she needed.

One hand slipped between them to guide him, and with a slow, aching roll of her hips, she sank down onto him.

Dante let out a loud moan, hands flying to her thighs, gripping tight, like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

“Fuck-” He choked on the word, jaw going slack. “You’re… fuck, you’re tight.”

She exhaled through her nose, forehead pressed to his. “You’re big,” she said simply, voice low and honest.

He whimpered at that. Actually whimpered.

They stayed still for a moment, her seated fully on him, his hands gripping her like a lifeline. The warmth between them was thick, tense, humming with a pressure neither of them had the words to break.

Then she began to move.

Slow, rolling motions. Measured. Confident. Like she was savoring every inch of him, every twitch in his muscles, every fractured breath he gave her.

Dante’s eyes fluttered closed, lips parting as he leaned his head back against the couch. “You feel unreal,” he said softly, reverently. “I don’t even know how to- shit.”

She leaned forward, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Just feel me.”

He did.

He let her lead, let her ride him at her own pace, hands exploring her hips, her waist, her thighs. Every time she clenched around him, he groaned. Every time she kissed his throat or rolled her hips faster, he gasped and bucked up into her. Trying not to burst, to keep quiet.

She grinned. “Still stable?” she murmured against his jaw.

“You’re-fuck...you’re evil,” he moaned.

“Still might be your Devil Trigger kicking in,” she teased, clenching again.

His whole body shuddered.

“I’m gonna die,” he whispered, near-broken. “I’m literally gonna die right here.”

“Don’t you dare,” she laughed breathlessly, fingers tangling in his hair. “You owe me a few more sessions.”

He opened his eyes just long enough to meet hers: lushed, dazed, completely overwhelmed. And then he kissed her. Hard. Desperate. Like he needed her breath to survive.

Their rhythm grew more frantic, more raw- her thighs trembling from effort, his hands gripping her tighter, deeper, until her breath caught and her body seized, warmth coiling through her spine.

He felt it. The way she tightened, the shudder in her limbs and it brought him straight into the edge with her. His moan was a deep, aching thing, spilled right against her throat as he buried himself in her and held her through it.

The silence after was deep, not awkward, just thick. Heavy with everything that had been said without words.

Dante lay back against the cushions, still catching his breath, his hair damp with sweat at the temples. She was curled beside him, her hand tracing quiet patterns over his stomach, grounding him without a single word. He’d gone quiet, really quiet, in a way that didn’t match his cocky personality at all.

After a while, she tilted her head. “You okay?”

He hesitated. Just enough that she looked up.

Dante exhaled hard through his nose. “Yeah. I just…”

His voice trailed off. His brows furrowed like he hated himself for whatever was caught behind his teeth.

She didn’t push. She just waited.

“I didn’t think you’d have to do all the work,” he said finally, voice quiet, eyes still on the ceiling. “I thought I’d… know what I was doing. Or at least feel like I knew.”

He looked over at her, then quickly away. “That wasn’t how I pictured it going. You being the one leading everything.”

She blinked. “You’re allowed to be new at something, Dante.”

“I know,” he muttered. “I just didn’t think I’d freeze up like that. And then once things started, all I could think about was… if I lost control. If I let that part of me out.”

He glanced down, jaw tense. “You don’t get it. I’m not just worried about being awkward in bed. I’m worried I’ll lose it, that I’ll hurt you. By accident. If something shifts, if something triggers, it doesn’t take much sometimes.”

She went quiet. And then, quietly, she added: “Hey… about earlier. The jokes. The heat, the trigger stuff, I wasn’t trying to push you. I didn’t realize how close that line really was. I’m sorry.”

His head turned sharply toward her, not out of anger, just surprise. His brows lifted, like he couldn’t believe she thought she needed to say that.

“I’m not mad,” he said quickly, quietly. “Not even a little. You didn’t go too far. You made me laugh. You made it feel normal. Human.”

She searched his face, unsure.

He reached for her hand. “You didn’t make me feel weak or uncomfortable. You made me feel safe, don't worry about such thing.”

Her throat tightened. And for a second, she didn’t know what to say.

Then she shifted, slowly, until she was lying half on top of him, her hands cradling either side of his face.

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“I could have.”

“But you didn’t,” she said again, firm but calm. “You didn’t lose control. You didn’t break anything. You let someone touch you, and you didn’t run.”

She kissed the space between his brows.

“And if anything ever did happen, if you ever started to slip, I’d stop you. You’re not the only one in the room, Dante.”

He closed his eyes. Swallowed. And for a moment, he just breathed.

When he opened them again, something in him had shifted. Not fully settled. But softer.

“…I really like you,” he muttered.

“I know.” She grinned. “It was kind of obvious once you stopped breathing every time I got near you.”

That made him laugh, weak but real.

She traced a lazy circle on his stomach with her fingertip, smirking just enough for him to notice.

“You know you whimpered, right?”

Dante blinked. “What? No I didn’t.”

She tilted her head, all mock innocence. “Oh? So that little sound you made when I-” Her hand dipped a bit lower, “...was what? A battle cry?”

He flushed instantly, scowling. “It was a reaction. That’s not the same thing.”

“Mhm. A very soft, needy, definitely-not-a-whimper reaction.”

“I hate you,” he muttered.

She grinned, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You loved it.”

His silence said everything.

They stayed there for a while, her laying across his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist, just listening to the way the world kept spinning even after everything changed between them.

Eventually, her stomach growled. Loudly.

Dante tilted his head. “Was that a threat?”

She smirked. “It was a warning.”

He rolled his eyes and groaned as he sat up. “Fine. Let’s see what kind of disaster I can scrape together.”

But all he found was a sad box of half-frozen pizza shoved in the back of the freezer like a long-forgotten relic.

He held it up. “Well?”

“…I’ve fought demons with less regret.”

He tossed it in the oven anyway, unevenly sliced, slightly freezer-burned and sat on the couch while it baked, wrapped in one blanket, legs tangled lazily together.

Dante leaned his head on her shoulder, quiet.

“You’re staying tonight, right?”

She kissed his hair. “You just shared your freezer pizza. That’s basically a proposal.”

He laughed again, full-bodied this time, and so warm she could feel it in her bones.

[rafescolors]

you don't have to go home.

𖹭 pairing: rafe cameron x reader.

𖹭 summary: a visit to your parents house shows rafe something you've never told him about.

𖹭 tags: angst, hurt/comfort.

! warnings: allusions to past abuse, non-consensual touch (not from rafe). this one's sad and- well, heavy. be careful reading it pls<3

𖹭 other: she/her reader.

for the sake of the plot rafe has way better control on his violent impulses. this is 100% self indulgent.

Rafe has always known that your relationship with your father was strained at best.

But he had never seen how bad it was.

Your mom had insisted on inviting him to dinner, and at first you refused, and refused, and refused, because you didn't want your father anywhere near Rafe. Rafe was your safe place, your comfort, and you felt breathless just thinking of them in the same room. You didn't want your light anywhere near the darkness that consumed your life.

But eventually, you gave up, because your mom really wanted to get to know your boyfriend, and there was no way she'd agree to have dinner without your father.

So there you are, in Rafe's room, looking at him dress up for the occasion while you had one of his hoodies on and a pair of jeans. He had questioned you before, but the moment you shrugged him off, expression closed off and distant, he frowned and tried to distract you.

"Hey, baby," he says softly. You look up, startled. With a simple raise of your eyebrows, you encourage him to keep going. "Are you okay?"

He knows you aren't. But he still asks.

You shrug.

"Just don't feel like talking, sorry, Rafe."

He walks toward you and kneels before you, his hands gently laying on your thighs. You jump a bit but quickly relax.

"You've been like this since you came here. Do you wanna talk about it?"

His voice, soft and low and all sorts of comforting, makes your heart clench.

You shake your head.

"No, I don't want to."

You scratch his head, the feeling of the buzzcut still a bit foreign to you. He smiles, eyes doubtful.

"Okay. Well, I need your help looking good. I see you're not trying to impress anyone," he pinches the fabric of his hoodie, "but I am. You did say your brother was kind of overprotective for a little guy."

You giggle.

"Yeah, he is." The smile on your lips is the first you had since you woke up. "He thinks that 'cause he's a boy, he has to approve of my boyfriend." Tapping his nose gently, you snicker.

Rafe grabs your offending finger, giving a chaste kiss to the pad of it. You blush.

"Hmm, kinda like Wheez. You're lucky she adores you, baby, because if she didn't? She'd try to run you off."

With a snort, you roll your eyes.

"Oh, I know. She's told me all sort of stories about girls your dad tried to set you up with."

Rafe laughs, soft and rough.

"Yeah, they never came back here. Good for me, though, because I didn't like any of them."

You hum, eyes going a little distant, like you're lost in a memory. You straighten up before he can worry.

"Get this off, then." You grab his pastel pink polo shirt. "The jeans look good. But he'll think you're a snobby rich asshole if you use this."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you kinda are, but you don't wanna look it with him." You scrunch your nose and giggle.

He kisses the tip of your nose.

"What should I wear then?"

"Hm... That linen white button up, not snobby, a bit formal, but casual enough. And put on that brown leather jacket, mkay?"

He smirks.

"Oh, the one you made me buy?"

Blushing, you shove him lightly. "Shut up."

He grabs you by the jaw and gives you a soft, chaste kiss before standing up and changing his shirt. You simply look at him, all the love you feel shining through your eyes.

He smiles softly at you.

"You sure you wanna keep the hoodie?"

"Yeah, 's warm, and comfy and makes me feel safe." You don't say why you need to feel safe.

He doesn't question it, and as soon as he's done, he grabs your hand and you both walk out of his house, climbing on his truck.

The ride to your house is quiet, soft music playing lowly through the speakers, but you don't pay attention to it. You twist your hands and play with the string of Rafe's hoodie, looking out the window.

He's concerned. He really is. But he won't say a thing, not wanting to make you feel worse.

You swallow the moment you're in front of your parents house, a look in your eyes that makes you seem far away.

Rafe gently grabs your hand.

"We can still back out, go home. Get take out. Snuggle and watch one of those cheesy romcoms you love."

A small smile appears at his words, but it's still distant, still not completely honest. You squeeze his hand.

"We can't."

Opening your door, you jump out of his truck, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down, until they cover both your hands. He sneaks one of his inside a sleeve, wrapping his hand around yours, once you're both side by side.

When you're in front of your door, he knocks.

In a few seconds, your mom appears, hands straightening her button down, smile bright and eager.

Rafe looks at you, and it's like a switch has been flipped off –because it has. You have a bright, seemingly sincere smile on your face, and you let your mom hug you, a soft hi leaving your lips.

Once you both separate, she looks at him. You reach out and take his hand, tugging him closer to both of you.

"Mom, this is Rafe. Rafe, this is my mom."

He smiles, all charm, and shakes your mom's hand.

"Good evening, ma'am. Thank you for having me."

You face palm, trying to hide your laugh. He's never been so polite, gosh.

Your mom, though, seems charmed.

"Hi, Rafe. I've been dying to meet the boy my daughter is practically living with."

Your face falls.

It's a not so subtle jab at the fact you've been avoiding going home.

Rafe, though, doesn't seem fazed. He either is being a pro at faking or didn't notice. You bet it's the first.

"Ah, so sorry, that's on me," he smiles apologetically. He slides his arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer, and you let yourself fall on him. "It's just that, well, community college is close to the university I attend. And I live closer to her job. I offered her to stay with me since it'd take her less time all those trips."

Your mom's smile softens.

"What a nice boy," she coos a bit.

You make a face. Rafe tugs softly on a strand of your hair, chuckling lowly. You pinch his arm over your shoulder.

Your mom's eyes catch it all, and she gives you a look. You try to ignore it, focusing on Rafe.

Your kind of peace doesn't last long, heavy footsteps making you stiffen and tense under Rafe's embrace, trying to hide in his hold.

He gives you a confused, concerned look. You ignore him.

Then he appears.

Your father is by no means a big man, barely taller than you are, way shorter and smaller than Rafe, yet you can't help but feel like vulnerable prey, his eyes zeroing on you with their usual intensity, making you shiver and your pulse quicken in fear.

Rafe's hand brushes gently against your arm, comfortingly, his eyes and mouth downturned in worry.

Your father's eyebrows furrow when he sees you two, a hardness and anger in his gaze that makes you swallow and make yourself smaller in Rafe's hold.

He pastes a fake small on his face, loudly saying something, but your ears buzz and you feel like you're underwater, not able to hear a thing, only seeing as if from out of your body how he grabs Rafe and harshly slaps his back before he turns to you, now Rafe a small distance away, not within touching distance anymore, your father between you two.

Frozen, you see him approach you with eyes open, and you clench your jaw when he wraps them around you, stiff and unmoving. He hugs you way too tightly, his hands brush way too intimately against your back, and you can already feel your eyes glaze over while you go somewhere far away inside your mind. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest and you hunch your shoulders, trying to push away from him, but he only tightens his arms, making you feel as if trapped by a boa, with no way out until it crushes the life out of you.

Your breath's shallow, panicked, and you can only hear your heartbeat loud in your ears.

Suddenly, you feel someone pull you out of his constricting hold, as if being pulled from underwater, and you breathe in relief, tears pickling your eyes. You lean into Rafe, his hands on both your arms, gently holding them, and his chest against your back. Instinctively, he seems to know you need space.

You look up at him, trying to ignore everything else. His eyes are cold, pinched at the corners, mouth a thin, serious line, and you can feel the way he's two seconds away from springing forward, muscles tense and ready to jump.

You feel dread fill your lungs and struggle to breathe.

He notices, his eyes lowering to you and softening, his body relaxing, and he slowly wraps his arms around your crossed ones, giving you the chance to break free, but you only hug yourself tighter and lean more into him.

You see the hurt in them, the way they're burning with the need to protect you. He's always been a bit protective over you, but you know this is nowhere near all the times before.

You don't hear a thing, only see the way he glares at your father, not glancing yourself in his direction for your own good, but when his eyes look a bit more apologetic, you see his gaze drifting towards your mother, who's completely oblivious to everything that just happened, her eyes only confused. Your eyes meet, but you quickly glance away from her, down at Rafe's hands wrapped around your elbows.

You know to the outside world, you're just serious, quiet, as you've always been, only Rafe noticing the subtle, hidden changes. So you don't worry about her noticing.

You've never done.

You catch Rafe looking at his phone, feigning surprise, and you start paying attention at the words leaving his moving lips. You catch the end.

"-so sorry, ma'am. My baby sister- she needs me, we really have to go. Oh, no, she can't stay. My sister adores her, asked specifically for her, you see."

He keeps talking, fake apologetic, making some excuse to get you out of diner. You look over your mom's shoulder and see your younger brother, a genuine smile appearing on your face, and you wave at him.

He waves back.

Rafe sees it all, and smiles at him, genuine too, before he turns around with you in his arms, his body a wall around you, protecting you from your father's touch and his gaze.

You've never been so fucking grateful for his height and broadness.

Without wasting a second, he slowly unwraps his arms from around you and grabs your upper arms, thumbs brushing against you, softly pushing you forward and guiding you towards his truck, all the way hiding you with his body.

He opens the passenger door, letting you climb before he shuts the door as gently as he can, careful to not startle you.

He waves at your house, climbing to the driver seat and quickly starting the truck, driving for a few streets before he parks, his arms and hands tense on the steering wheel, veins showing from how hard he's holding back.

You're quiet, still a bit out of it, arms crossed and body as small as you can make it, hiding underneath his hoodie.

He exhales, harshly, hands twitching over the wheel, before he relaxes with a huff, harshly rubbing his hands over his face.

His voice is soft when he speaks.

"You never said it. Why didn't you tell me?" The hurt is evident in his voice, but you know it's not about being hurt because you didn't tell him.

It's another kind of hurt.

You shrug.

"Nothing ever happened," you say, voice monotone, emotionless.

He turns to you sharply, brows furrowed in concern and confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Another shrug.

"Exactly what it means. I've never been alone with him since I can remember. I can't say anything about any year before I was twelve, though. I can't remember most of my childhood."

His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring in what seems to be restraint.

"That doesn't make me feel better." His tone is serious, one second away from enraged. But you know it's not at you.

You shrug.

You know you'll shrug a lot during this conversation.

You're closed off. You're distant. Like everything happened to someone else.

It's not on purpose.

You know he knows it.

"It's the truth. I didn't say anything because nothing ever happened that I remember."

"Baby, the fact you keep saying remember makes me think there's more," he whispers, voice strained but soft.

You gulp.

"What's the point of saying stuff I suspect but I'm not sure it's real?," you ask in a small, broken voice.

His hands cup your cheeks, guiding you to look at him, his eyes so sad and hurt.

"What do you mean?," he asks, afraid.

Lips trembling, you blink rapidly to not cry.

"He's always looked at me weird. I've- I've seen him look at girls weird. He dated someone close to my age when him and my mom were broken up for a while. When he touches me, I want to fucking tear my skin off. After, I can't even look at myself in a mirror." Your voice breaks, tears escaping your eyes and trailing down your cheeks. He swiftly brushes his thumbs against them, but they just keep coming.

He looks at you, a hurricane of emotions going through his mind. But he has to keep it together. For you.

"Why are you so sure it's not real?"

Shrugging, you sniffle.

"'Cause I don't remember anything actually happening. They always tell me a lot of stuff is in my head. What would make this different?"

There's storms in his eyes.

"Everything?," he whispers lowly.

"They say I exaggerate. He's not so mean. He's not so violent. He's not this villain I made him in my head."

His nostrils flare.

"Who?"

"Him. My mom. My brother used to too."

He grits his teeth, hissing.

"Fuck them, baby. Fuck them," he growls. "You've never behaved like that. I've never seen you like that. That's not nothing." His voice is softer by the end. Full of tenderness and hurt for you.

You sniffle, tears making your vision blurry.

Scrambling, you jump into him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck and face hidden on his shoulder. You sob quietly, all those years of silence and feeling crazy falling over you. He shushes you gently, hugging you and tucking his nose in your hair, whispering comforting nonsense, sweet nothings that make you cry harder but feel better too.

It feels like hours passed before you slowly calm down, soft sniffles and hiccups the only thing left for you to give, face sticky with dried tears and nose runny.

He softly parts from you, cupping your face before grabbing your bag, taking a tissue and gently cleaning your face. You grab another one and blow your nose, cleaning afterwards.

"You're moving in with me," he says with finality.

You blink at him, shocked.

"What?"

"You're moving in with me. When the house's empty, we're taking all your shit. You'll never go back there. You'll never see him again."

You feel your heart flutter in your chest, hope flaring like crazy, unable to tame it down.

But for the first time in your life, you don't feel like you have to tame it down.

Swallowing, you nod. "Okay," you whisper in a small, hopeful voice.

He smiles gently at you, his hand reaching for your cheek and his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Good."

He kisses you softly, as if sealing the deal, and you sigh against his lips, relaxing for what feels like the first time in all your years lived.

You feel free.

[cantpickyourgenre]

doooo we think Hen is going to be a little bit miffed under all her grief? Because yes, I think her big hangup and issue with the dead/aliveBobby is going to be that she missed that he was sick, but I also think there's room for her to be like, "Chim got a speech, Ravi got a heart-to-heart, Buck got a goodbye" and she got....him doing surgery on her while she wasn't even awake for it. However unintentional or intentional, this follows the forgetting of her birthday where that episode sort of pointed out that sometimes Hen can feel on the periphery, especially during the scene where the boys didn't recognize that unlucky man. She was literally watching them as they stood together and she was opposite them. I think she's going to feel a mimicked reaction to the whole "this is silly, and it's silly that I care about it, but I DO" but it'll be that she didn't get some last goodbye with him. Even if Chim and Ravi didn't know that's what it was, they got a moment with him when he knew he was dying and I think he very intentionally planned out their last conversations knowing that's what they were. But Hen didn't really get that. She didn't even get to tell Karen, something that's so cathartic sometimes. Something to make it feel real, because Hen didn't get to say goodbye, didn't get to hear a last word of wisdom, didn't get to cement it real so she could process by telling her wife (not blaming Ravi at ALL) but Chimney getting to tell Maddie allowed for him to just blurt out what he needs to. Hen sort of got robbed of that by circumstance. And her and Eddie could have a moment where he says, "I feel like I got cheated out of saying goodbye" and Hen is like, "me too." and Eddie feels guilty because in his head he was deprived of that by himself, and Hen feels confused because she feels like there's no one to blame except for maybe Bobby who knew and didn't tell her or hint or give her a Captain Nash Speech. And then when Bobby is alive again (because naturally) that could be Hen's biggest obstacle. She's happy Bobby is alive, but she also wants to press on the bruise and be like "what about our last interactions felt significant enough to be the last ones? you knew you were dying and you gave people what you thought they needed most to find peace about it eventually, but what exactly did you give to me besides the surgery I don't remember?" and she's not mad, could never REALLY feel mad because the man is flesh and blood in front of her again, but she will be hurt. And Bobby will say something along the lines about how he worries about her the least, and that'll hurt too, because Hen really wasn't okay with Bobby dying and he should KNOW that. He should know that there was never going to be a scenario where Hen was just...fine with how that all went down. Once again Bobby will have to face that this sacrifice and his last attempt to become a martyr deeply, deeply impacted the people he loves most in ways he didn't fully understand.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Okay so this ask was inspired by @emiliens ‘s REM au (Raccoon Emma-May)

So Cat Stan au where Stan cursed to be a Cat but on his way to Gravity Falls he meets….a crazy smart raccoon? Turns out the Raccoon was Emma-May who got cursed by a creature that got mad her trying to take its dna.

And Raccoon Emma-May hasn’t been able to get in contact with her husband and Tate, so she accompanies Stan until they can find her family.

God this is a super funny scenario, because it's the one way I can see Stan and emma-may becoming close friends. The main reason they don't interact a lot in my fics is they don't have a lot in common, and she's more interested in the pursuit of science then befriending Fords brother. Since Stan's not very scientifically inclined except as a subject of study, they don't tend to hang out outside of designated family bonding times. Emma-May does dabble in crime, but hers is a higher caliber of breaking into-

Actually hold that thought. I've decided just now that they get into heist shenanigans occasionally where she'll seek him out to help her steal from the goverment. It's a beautiful dynamic that I somehow missed, but now exists. Emma-May wants that secret specialized government equipment and their secrets, Stan does it for the love of the game. No one else knows they do this, which is very important.

Anyway-

But now we're vering into buddy cop territory here, except it's a cat with more experience in harassment and a racoon with eerily human like hands. Stan stumbles on her when he's zooming around the country, and Emma-Mays out in the middle of nowhere because she was in the field gathering samples and is now a racoon. Stan agrees to help her get to California to find her husband and get help, and the two of them go on an animal road trip. Like homeward bound, but a cat and racoon. They bond over various crimes, Stan likes her becaue she reminds him of Ford, Emma-May thinks Stan's somewhat charming in his criminal ways and pries his secrets out of him with her racoon hands then shames his dad for kicking him out young. Stan helps reignite her passion for pettiness and always taking the low road.

They get to Cali, and fiddlefords gone. Since they are a cat and racoon they can't ask anyone where he went, so they have to snoop around to find out he's gone to Oregon with his son after his wife disappeared and left him in the lurch as he's still working out of his garage and didn't have a stable form of income. Took a job as an assistant while the police are looking for her to support them.

So now it's road trip part 2, going to Oregon to find her husband so he can hopefully fix this. Depending on where in the timeline this falls they either save him from starting his cult era, or come right when everything's gone terrible. Carla's still there with Stan's car and taking care of Tate while fiddleford is in peek cult leader mania, and it's up to them to bust it (which they do, using Emma-Mays little racoon hands to turn the dial and blast people) then it's off to save Ford from Bill, and the awkward 'oh man your college buddy is my twin brother' conversation and Ford staring in shock as this racoon and cat lead the charge in breaking down his house and tie him up or something.

If I was one to write romance, this would be a sort of hilarious emmastan set up. Emma-Mays marriage is rocky and she doesn't know what's up with her husband, then they roll up to Oregon to find Fiddleford cheating on her with his college buddy. Then the hilarity of falling for Stan as a cat because of his personality, only for it to he revealed he's the guy her husband's been cheating on her with twin brother. No one's happy here.

[eddtherippr]

pls write some Dom!lottie and sub!nat I think they're the most perfect pairing to ever exist

smacks you over the head with this untitled from my drafts

warnings: car sex, fingers in mouth, praise kink? etc etc. you know the drill. probably slightly ooc dialogue in the name of porn honestly

w/c: 652

mdni, 18+

“Are you gonna say something,” Nat mutters, “or just keep staring at me?”

Lottie leans forward and plucks the cigarette from her lips, takes a drag herself, then stubs it out on the car ashtray with deliberate calm.

“You talk too much when you’re nervous,” she says.

“I was smoking—” Natalie’s protest gets cut off by Lottie’s fingers, slipping into her mouth and hooking behind her bottom teeth like reins.

“Shh,” Lottie murmurs, thumb brushing her cheek. “Let me.”

Nat freezes, lips parted, pupils blown wide in the dim light. The leather seats creak as Lottie climbs into her lap, straddling her with an air of casual confidence that makes Natalie’s head spin.

“Open for me,” Lottie says gently, fingers sliding free only to tap Natalie’s jaw. “Tongue out.”

Natalie blinks fast. Says nothing, because her body’s already moving, mouth parting, tongue lolling like someone’s stupid golden retriever, dumb and obedient.

Lottie’s thumb presses down, firm on the center of her tongue, and Nat gives a soft, choked sound. Not quite a gag, but adjacent.

Lottie’s smile is pure radiance, like this is some sort of private miracle. Her fingers are warm and sure and worshipful, and the praise comes quiet, velvet-soft.

“Good, Nat,” she murmurs.

Just the name in her voice sends a thrill ripping up Natalie’s spine, hot and electric, like lightning through a soaked wire. And beneath it, a heavier ache, molten and sinking low in her belly, settling like lava pooling in her hips.

Lottie’s other hand moves lower, skimming past belt loops, brushing the bare skin of her stomach with fingers that feel far too soft for how fucked Natalie already is.

They watch each other.

“Is this—”

“Uh huh,” Natalie gasps around her thumb, barely able to speak. “Mhm. S’okay.”

Lottie hums, satisfied. “You want me to?”

Natalie nods frantically.

Her belt falls open with a clink, jeans shoved halfway down her thighs, the cool air of the car licking against fever-warm skin and forcing a shiver. Lottie shifts lower, slipping her hand between them, fingers skating down and in, no teasing this time, just sliding past rough curls and into Natalie’s slick, messy heat.

Nat moans around her thumb, eyes fluttering, hips arching like her body wants more before her brain can even catch up.

“You’re soaked,” Lottie says, voice lilting, half a laugh, like she’s delighted by it. Not cruel– the opposite. Absolutely enamored. “Were you like this the whole time? Back at the party?”

Natalie gives a strangled noise, muffled around the finger still resting on her tongue.

Lottie slides two fingers in deep, curling just right, palm snug against her clit. Natalie bucks, wild and helpless, and Lottie just keeps watching her, enthralled.

"Aw,” she whispers. “You could’ve told me.”

Her fingers pick up speed, fucking her harder now, rhythmic and sure, the sound of it slick and obscene in the close heat of the car. Natalie’s eyes roll, thighs trembling, her voice just wet noises around Lottie’s thumb.

Lottie leans in, breath hot on her cheek. “Are you close?”

A twitchy nod is earned in response.

“Gonna be good for me?” Lottie asks as she curls her fingers again– shit. Natalie shatters. It hits her so hard she almost bites down on Lottie’s finger, mouth falling open on a cry, body locking up and then collapsing, legs twitching uncontrollably.

Lottie holds her through it, murmuring soft, sweet praise while her fingers work her through every aftershock.

When it’s over, she finally pulls her hand back, wipes it delicately on the inside of Natalie’s ruined shirt, and slips her thumb from Nat’s mouth with a wet pop.

“You were so good,” she says, brushing damp hair from her face. “You okay?”

Natalie can’t speak. Just nods, eyes glassy, lips swollen.

Lottie presses a kiss to her cheek. “Let me clean you up.”

God help her.

[shalfeis]

I really like your hsr character as a cat can you do the other way around?

Like reader as their cat 👀?

cat!reader x astral express

possible ooc

The Astral Express often travels to a variety of places and planets, and it's no secret that the crew finds interesting curiosities, things, and so on from time to time. Or the residents themselves bring unusual items as a thank you.

Actually, this time you and the other crew members helped one merchant, and he showered you with thanks and gave you a whole box of various cool things.

Some were very ordinary and nondescript, others were a little more interesting. But what caught your attention the most was an amulet with a blue gemstone. Surprisingly, it perfectly matched your image, as if it was originally made especially for you.

You calmly walked with him all day and at some point began to feel strange. The last thing you remember is going to your room. You woke up on the floor, fumbling with your paws and meowing, instead of talking normally.

What happened next?

March 7 was the first to discover that you were missing. Although, like, she was just walking towards you, as you had agreed to spend the night, and found you. At first she didn't understand where the cat was coming from on board the train, but from your desperate attempts to explain and reactions, she guessed what was what.

She thinks you're charming. She didn't stop chirping about how cute you were and took a whole bunch of photos non-stop. You're afraid that the camera might run out of memory. And when she heard you meowing and purring softly from her caresses, that's it, March grabbed the blow. It's too charming.

Caelus didn't help either. He flew into March's room, saying something about trash and a recently released game along the way, and fell silent when he saw you. After a moment of hesitation, he joined March. Caelus wouldn't be Caelus if he didn't tease you and act like you're really a cat instead of a human in a cat's body.

Of course, it was fun with these two, but this situation started to bother you. I would like to get my original body back. But you couldn't not take advantage of your situation. So while March and Caelus were distracted by an argument about some nonsense, you slipped through the door and headed for the only sane person on the express.

To whom? That's right, to Dan Heng. Since Himeko and Welt were away because they were away on business, you could only count on him.

You prayed to find him in the archive, and fortunately, the eons heard you. He was sorting through the data when you snuck into his room. You gently touched his hand, and he was surprised to find a cat in his room.

- Hmm? Hmm, I don't remember that we took animals on an express train - Dany picked you up and began to examine you.

It didn't take him long to put two and two together and realize that you were in front of him.

Before he could come up with a plan of action, Caelus and March 7 came to him with a very guilty look, crying that they had lost you. However, they quickly calmed down when they saw you in Dan Heng's arms.

- Y/n, that's not fair! We almost had a heart attack! - Caelus looked offended and relieved at the same time.

- Exactly! You need to warn us before you go anywhere in this state! - March was indignant, although she gradually calmed down that you were okay.

You, as is typical of a cat, turned away from them, wagging your tail. I also made myself more comfortable at Dan Heng's. The three of you started a playful altercation, which caused the archivist to smile slightly. He was definitely enjoying this situation.

After calming down, they began to discuss what to do. Having made the most reasonable decision, Dan Heng contacted that merchant and began to ask about this amulet. As it turned out, he did not think that there was still energy in the amulet, so he gave it as a gift. Fortunately, the amulet's effect doesn't last longer than a day, so all you have to do is wait.

Although, sitting back and doing nothing is too boring, isn't it? That's what you thought, and you decided to have a pajama party in Dan Heng's room (not that he was against it). After a few hours, you were completely exhausted and fell asleep.

Upon returning to the train, Himeko and Welt found the four of you sleeping with your arms around each other. They giggled and decided not to wake you up, quietly going to another place to discuss a recent trip.

a/n: I thought it would be a bit boring to write as reader is a cat of the characters, as I did before, only the other way around, so this came out.

[thedreamflarealchemist]

Pluto, coins, and The Ferryman.

So I haven't really seen any posts talking about this (if you've seen any, please share them with me!), but I recently came up with a sort of theory? Really just a collection of observations I wanted to talk about.

(There will be a part 2 in the reblogs because I won't be able to fit all the screenshots I want on mobile.)

After reading Nevermore, I got really hung up on the repeated theme of coins/the coin that kept being brought up.

We see it here for the first time and, while Duke is the one to produce it and show off a trick with it, we immediately see Pluto associated with it and snatching it at the end of Duke's trick.

After that, we don't see the coin until it's brought up again while Pluto and company are trying to locate Duke. There seems to be a lot of relevance placed on the coin here. They spend an entire conversation discussing it and while I've seen a few people talking about the coin in relation to the different time periods for Pluto, Duke, and Eulalie, I've noticed that the episode seems to place a lot of focus on the coin specifically. We spend a large piece of the episode talking about/showing the coin, and they make a point to show Eulalie giving it back to Pluto at the end of their discussion.

Now other than this, there are a couple of other notable times the coin/coins are brought up, and they're nearly always in association with Pluto in some way.

These last two screen shots are just conjecture on my end, but Duke doesn't appear to have any other pockets here. I assume, after teasing Pluto about having his coin, he must have put the coin back into Pluto’s jacket pocket and most likely left it there when it was returned to Pluto in later episodes. Theoretically, Pluto still has the coin in his pocket, but either way, it's not really relevant to the rest of the theory.

Now, the next time coins are referenced, it's during Eulalie's lesson on stories of pilgrimages to the afterlife. I'm going to talk about the boats being mentioned in the reblog, BUT here Eulalie talks about the Greeks and their practices/beliefs for souls after death. You might be thinking "well this has nothing to do with Pluto, just coins," but wait!

Here he appears again! Immediately after coins were brought up, Pluto interjected into the conversation. We're going to dive into what Pluto says in this screenshot and his next words in the reblog, so stay with me, but I want to focus specifically on what Berenice says here. She says, "What good are coins when you're dead?" I feel like this is a specific piece of foreshadowing. Coins seem to be very relevant, and she's certainly asking the right question. Okay, let's discuss why coins might be important when you're dead...

[luvendiary]

five years later / h. haddock

hiccup haddock x reader

summary: the last thing you expected after five years of having left berk was to see the very boy you missed the most in your sanctuary contents: pure angst word count: 1.6k

You couldn’t believe it. Not after all these years. Not after having left an entire life behind. But still, as if a ghost had risen from its grave, here he was. Standing in front of you. He had changed so much, and yet, nothing at all. What had once been soft curves and unblemished skin, was now much sharper and beautifully marked with all sorts of scars. 

The ringing in your ear and your tunnel vision prevented you from focusing on their conversation. The mask covering your face did not help in enhancing your senses. It wasn’t until you made the mistake of stepping on a dry branch that his head snapped up to your perched figure. 

In a brief moment of panic you lunged at him, knocking him to the ground and keeping him there as you pressed the end of your staff to his throat. Your dragon seemed to share the sentiment as they stood behind you menacingly. 

You could see his mouth moving, probably blubbering and pleading. His breathing was heavy, matching yours, along with the pounding in your chest. Blood was rushing in your ears, and you could hear Valka’s voice faintly coming from behind you.

The moment her hand landed on your shoulder it all came crashing down. You could hear and see everything more clearly now. The soothing sound of water and the critteering of the baby dragons grounding you. 

“It’s alright,” she soothed you.

With a bit of hesitation you removed your staff from his neck and took a step back.

“Uh, t-thanks…” Hiccup said as he stood up with the help of his dragon - a Night Fury. Your breath hitched. 

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Valka said, her voice full of glee. You took a break from examining your intruder to see what exactly she was talking about. You couldn’t help but feel a flush spread in your cheeks.

You saw her slowly approaching the Night Fury. She outstretched her hand but quickly retracted it. “Oh. Can I?” 

Hiccup, who had been occupied with examining you, nodded, gesturing toward his dragon vaguely. 

That was all it took for her to swoon all over the dragon. Her hand slowly caressing his head, as slight praises escaped her lips. 

“He might very well be the last of his kind!” she noted as the Night Fury wrapped itself around her as if he was a feline. “And look!” she exclaimed. “He’s your age! No wonder you get along so well.”

“I found him in the woods,” Hiccup said after a while. “He was…shot down and wounded.”

You could see Valka’s shoulders tensing. You both had been witnesses to the apathy of humans towards dragons. A wound that tied you together. 

She stood up and slowly moved to a Snapple Fang, explaining to him how he had lost one of its legs to one of Drago Bludvist’s iron traps. Then to a Rain Cutter who’s wing had been sliced, and next to a HobbleGrunt who was blinded by a tree snare.

You could see Hiccup was getting progressively more nervous. You crossed your arms, trying to guard yourself from him. 

“And what of this?” Valka asked as she carefully held on to the Night Fury’s artificial tail. “Did Drago or his trappers do this too?”

Hiccup laughed nervously. “Yeah…! Well, funny story. It was…it was me who actually shot him down,” as if sensing his discomfort the dragon stood by his side and caressed his hand. “But it’s okay. Right bud? You couldn’t save all of me. You just had to make it even. So…peg leg!” 

They both seemed to laugh at this. You, on the other hand, didn’t find it half as funny. 

Valka seemed skeptical at this revelation. “What did your father think of your Night Fury friend?”

“Ah, he didn’t take it all that well. But then… he changed. Everyone at home did. Pretty soon everyone back home had dragons of their own.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. He must surely be lying. Not in Berk.

“Impossible,” you spoke up for the first time. 

Hiccup glanced back at you, his features showed brief recognition. It didn’t last long though. “No, really-”

“People are not capable of change. Not like that,” you interrupted him. 

“You’re Berkian?” he asked tilting his head, as if he would be capable of seeing through your mask.

“I was once. But I haven’t been in a long time,” you said in reply.

He tried to move on past it, but you could see the conflict in his face. How his features scrunched up, in confusion. “I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”

You stayed silent. Valka, nodded at you from behind, vaguely gesturing towards her son. 

“I’m Hiccup-”

“I know who you are.”

His face was a mixture of confusion and sorrow. In it you could see reflected your inner turmoil as well. You could see his struggle, as if his brain was at war with itself. Trying to convince itself that what he already knew was not true. You saw the moment he recognized your voice. How anger at the uncertainty of it all settled within him. 

“Do we know each other,” he repeated. Angrier this time. More as a command than as a question. 

“We used to.” Your voice came out more brittle than you intended, like ice cracking under too much weight.

He took a step toward you, and instinctively you took a step back. Your eyes flickered to Valka. Trying to find an escape out of this situation. She gave you nothing but a knowing look. No escape this time.

You sighed and slowly, with trembling fingers, took off the mask that had been protecting you from facing your past. You didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Just let him see. Let him try to put it together.

His face crumbled. You saw how emotions passed through his eyes. Anger, sadness, betrayal, relief. 

“I thought you were dead.” His voice was small, hoarse. “We all did. We searched for weeks—months even—”

“I couldn’t stay anymore,” you offered in answer after a moment of silence. “You knew that.”

He wanted to reply, but he swallowed his words, biting his fist in frustration. “So what? You just allowed us to believe you were dead?”

“You would have come looking for me otherwise.”

“Of course I would have!” he yelled out in anger. 

Tears were forming in your eyes, but your expression remained unchanging. Unfazed.

“I mourned you. You were my best friend,” he whispered, poison laced his voice. 

The words hit harder than any blade. But you didn’t let it show. You couldn’t. If you did, you’d crumble.

“I didn’t ask you to mourn me,” you said quietly.

“You didn’t give me a choice!” Hiccup’s voice cracked as he shouted. “You disappeared. You vanished without a trace! I was fifteen, I didn’t know how to lose someone like that. None of us did. Gobber, Astrid, Fishlegs, even Snotlout... They all took turns watching the cliffs at night, thinking you’d come flying home. Like it was just a bad dream. Like you'd walk back through the village gates any moment and act like nothing happened.”

Your throat was dry, but you said nothing. Your silence only seemed to provoke him further.

“Gothi still leaves a candle in her window,” he snapped, his jaw clenched. “Every night. Says it’s for your spirit, or your shadow, or whatever shred of you might find its way back. And I let her do it. I let her believe it. I let myself believe it! Because even when everyone else gave up, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

You had to look away then, the sting behind your eyes growing unbearable. But he wasn’t done.

“You say people can’t change?” he barked. “Well maybe you didn’t. Maybe you’re still the same girl who runs from everything that gets too real. But the rest of us? We did. Berk did. Because we had to. Because we didn’t have you.”

Your dragon growled lowly beside you, sensing the sharp edge of his words. But you reached out and touched its scaled shoulder, calming it.

“I didn’t know how to go back,” you finally admitted. “After everything I learned… everything I saw… I couldn’t walk into Berk and pretend I still belonged.”

He scoffed. “So you just let us rot in not knowing? You let us grieve something that wasn’t even true?”

“I didn’t belong there anymore, Hiccup,” you said, voice strained. “I belonged here. With Valka. With the dragons. The life I had back in Berk... it ended the moment that dragon took me.”

“That’s a lie,” he spat. “You chose to let it end. You chose to leave us behind.”

“I chose to survive!” you snapped.

That stunned silence again.

The water in the cavern trickled somewhere behind you. Baby dragons chirped from the shadows, oblivious to the weight of what lingered in the air.

You took a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself back together. “You think I haven’t looked at the stars every night and wondered if you were out there? If I’d made the wrong choice? But the truth is, I found something here that made me feel like I mattered. Like I had a purpose.”

“You mattered there,” he whispered. “To me.”

Your heart stilled. He wasn’t shouting anymore. And somehow, that was worse.

But it was too late now.

“I’m not the same person you knew,” you said, quieter now, more controlled. “And you’re not the boy I left behind.”

“No,” he agreed. “I’m not. But I never stopped being the one who would’ve gone to the ends of the earth to bring you home.”

You didn’t answer.

And maybe you didn’t need to.

Because even as the silence stretched between you like a chasm, the past hung there—raw and unforgiving.

And neither of you knew how to take it back.

[kendrysaneela]

Sorry that I’m replying to this again I’ve just been thinking about it a lot and been thinking about your words a lot and would like rephrase my thoughts and ask more about your thoughts if that’s alright? Feel free to ignore if you’re not interested in responding.

Okay so I’m gonna say how I interpreted the scene and maybe you can tell me if I’m on your same wavelength? Okay. So to me her scene where she apologized to Irving at the end for deceiving him and pretending to be Helly seemed genuine. I think it’s a bit complicated because I don’t think she really had a choice they seemed to have forced her back down there after the OTC so impersonating Helly wasn’t entirely her choice but she did seem to understand on some level impersonating Helly and tricking them all was wrong that’s why she apologized and didn’t really try very hard to deny it when Irving calls her out. I think that Helena does indeed view Helly as an extension of herself at that point in time (though I do think after the ORTBO she started to think of her more separately maybe? But also at the same time she doesn’t because she doesn’t really agree with Natalie on the whole “It won’t be you it’ll be your innie it’s very complicated) that’s why she thought she could steal Helly’s relationship she didn’t really understand that the affection Mark was giving her wasn’t for her it was for Helly who she thought he was. That’s why she called out for Mark’s help at the waterfall she thought he would help her cause she thought he liked her and didn’t understand the affection he gave her was for Helly. And I think Helena’s apology at the restaurant for the OTC was sort of a veiled apology for deceiving him without outright saying it. (Cause she said other night when it had been at least a week if not more) but that’s just my interpretation. And I do think Helena did understand on some level she had power over Mark and she was using it (she tried to use her power against Irving forgetting she was Helly for a second probably) the “Irving” seemed like a scold. I don’t think she fully thought about it because she was raised to use her power to get what she wants. She tries the same thing with her “I’m like head of the company” lie to Mark, (Helena you know you’re not) I think the language she speaks is power. But then also with her insulting Irving she just automatically as a defense mechanism and not thinking consciously but then realizing later “That was mean of me to say that to Irving” she did something bad and didn’t realize it was bad until afterwards cause doing morally wrong things without thinking about the people she’s affecting is just her upbringing. I do think Helena is learning but she has a very fucked up moral compass and idea of right and wrong because of her upbringing. Tl;dr I think Helena had an idea that impersonating Helly was wrong and sleeping with Mark was wrong but I don’t think she really understood why it was wrong (that they’re fully formed humans who deserve agency and she has power over them as both an outie and an Eagan) i also think she may have known it would come to an end if she was found out that’s why she ripped off his clothes so desperately and quickly after he kissed her (that and she’s legit starving for any kind of affection) does that fit with your idea of things? Or am I on a totally different wavelength.

And then may I ask why you think she still at that point views Mark as property or as cattle? genuine question i mean no hostility I’m just interested in your point of view.

Because while I do agree I don’t think Helena viewed Mark as a fully formed human yet takes a while to undo 30 years of cult conditioning. I do think she had started to realize after watching the kiss over and over again that innies do indeed have their own lives and their own feelings and wants and not that they’re just subhuman creatures who exist to do Lumon’s bidding as she was most likely raised to believe. Not that they’re fully formed people yet at that moment….but that they’re not as subhuman as she thought before. Like if she still viewed innies as fully subhuman I don’t think she would’ve regretted being mean to Irving or even acknowledged she had been mean or even have thought of that as mean. I think she was more in an existential crisis trying to figure out what they were she hadn’t landed anywhere yet besides just envy over Helly getting to experience something she never had and the desire to have it herself. I absolutely think Helena at that point still thought of Helly’s body as her own she refers Helly as I or me still up to that point when talking to people about her. I do think she has fondness for Mark (not love yet just fondness) that’s what the whole stroking of his face was about and she wants to replicate that with Outie Mark but it’s also so complicated because of her conflict on how she views the innies. I also think she views Mark Scout sort of as an extension of Mark S which is also a whole other can of worms.

And there’s the whole “I didn’t like who I was out there. I was ashamed” I think she is ashamed of who she is and what’s she’s done and she told Mark because she wanted to be vulnerable and she was being fully genuine in that scene and she felt safe being vulnerable but also because she was testing the water trying to see if he might still like her if he found out who she truly was and that she’s ashamed of herself and the life she’s led and the things she’s done and maybe even being an Eagan.

yes the ortbo tent scene was rape by deception but some of y’all just wanted a reason to not have to engage with her character in good faith (why would she as a character do that? why did the media make this narrative choice?) like just say you hate women

[duskcowboy]

oh my- okay what is chapter 21 about. people are saying its the valkyries and others are saying its elain. WHATS HAPPENING???

Anon, buckle up, cause we’re going deep into the lore and I hope I can cover everything!

So, a bit of recent backstory, for the acotar 10 year anniversary, there have been giant displays of the first acotar book popping up at various bookstores. They are all bookmarked on Chapter 21, which is when Feyre and Rhys first met, so initially it was not very surprising.

Then, the buzz today is because someone posted a video showing that SJM signed one of the displays in Miami with a quote from Chapter 21 of acomaf. It’s also important to note many people close to SJM (I believe even her husband) liked the post and/or commented 👀👀 They even called it a “clue” and the caption on the post isn’t about the anniversary, but the next acotar book!

So lots of speculation.

When we noticed the repeat of 21, people went digging and turns out some elriels have been theorizing about the importance of Chapter 21/the number 21 for a while now. @blaircmorgan has a post regarding the importance of 21 in acotar. And here are a few other instances it came up:

Even in an interview, the narrator for the new audiobook recordings specifically mentions the pivotal scene with Elain in Chapter 21 of acosf.

The Valkyries come into play because Nesta opens to Chapter 21 in “their book”:

Nesta opened the brown paper and beheld a stack of pages filled with writing. At the top of the first page, it merely said, Chapter Twenty-One. She read the first few lines beneath it, then nearly dropped the pages. "This-this is about us."

This confirms how there may be specific meaning to Chapter 21s for SJM. A lot of emotional/impactful/transitional scenes happen in these chapters (sort of reminding me of how Taylor Swift has her most vulnerable songs as track 5s). And it’s highlighted and emphasized here in this line in acosf. And you know what’s in Chapter 21 of acosf itself?

“Find me when you wish to begin”

This scene has always stuck with me as the biggest foreshadowing of Elain’s journey to come. It hints at her powers, her potential, her determination to help, and “growing some claws”.

NOW,

Since it’s obvious 21 is being repeated, many are now convinced it’s a clue that the new book announcement is coming on May 21st. It’s a Wednesday (a common day for bb to announce/post things) and right before another one of their meetings, so it makes sense for an announcement.

If next week there is another display signed by SJM with a quote from acowar, it will solidify the pattern for me.

That would mean, the last quote would be from Chapter 21 of acosf on the 21st, and it could potentially be an Elain quote which would be perfect to announce her book 😩😩💗💗

I hope I covered it all, and people feel free to add anything I missed!

[dw-flagler]

Consider: Case 53 Ashley

how the tables have turned! You've really thrown me a curveball. I was asking because my idea was for me to do my own personal take on case 53 undersiders, but I'd never really considered C53 ashley before!

EXTREMELY LONG POST BELOW

My biggest problem is that, while I am an Ashley Liker, I decidedly am not an Ashley Understander. I think she's super cool (and also some other things) but I don't really feel like I have a good grasp on her character.

I suppose I'll have to show my work. So okay, what is Ashley's trigger & trigger trauma? Her interludes in Eclipse kind of skim over it. Because she triggered so early in her life, and so long ago, it feels like it's, well, not healed, but at least papered over by new stuff.

I've always compared triggers and resultant powers to stereotypical cruel genies: they grant a wish (solve a problem) but deliberately misinterpret it in an ironic fashion, exacerbating the underlying issues and eventually creating a problem they can't solve.

So Ashley's trigger event? Ashley and her mother were abused by her father, a cruel and egotistical man. Ashley tried to fight back, failed (because he was a fully grown man and she was thirteen-at-most, see shakertwelve's dallon age speculation post, and gained a ~striker/blaster power that allowed her to basically kill anyone who threatened her, no matter how strong they may be (quite literally, she's one of vanishingly few capes theoretically capable of straight up killing alexandria, the endbringers and even scion*). The mental aspect basically forces her into becoming a mirror of her father: egotistical to a fault and inclined towards massive retribution for even minor percieved slights. Her power basically is built to punch up, to destroy bullies (like her father) but it makes her into a bully herself (also like her father).

The control aspect, though: that's the part I can't quite grasp (get it?) It's cruel, sure, but how is it ironic? My best guess is that it plays into a sort of superiority/inferiority complex and also her bipolar disorder (technically not entirely canon but heavily implied), where it basically forces her to feel useless and incompetent whenever it misfires, which it's especially prone to do when she's feeling anxious, stressed, or depressive. It makes a self-perpetuating loop. Feeds into a superiority/inferiority complex? Forces higher highs, lower lows? I told you, I'm not an Ashley Understander**.

So, we come to what I think she'd look like and how her powers would function as a Case 53.

My personal idea is that she'd be, like, a statue of a greek goddess, a real athena type. Sharp features, severe expression, but still, you know, a greek goddess. But the statue is made out of metal of the same kind as the leftovers of her power: it would be twisted, scorched, and irregular, looking like it was once larger but other pieces were torn off (especially around areas like the shoulders and elbows, giving the impression she used to or should have more than 4 limbs). Deceptively light, though.

Deceptively light, because her statue form would be mostly hollow, like the statue of liberty or something. And inside it would be a wanton-style telekinetic storm, made out of her power. Basically, the idea is that her physical body is just a shell, and her "real" form would be the storm, which could move itself to move the shell in-turn.

Her power would be actively expressed through blasts (and I know ashley's supposed to be the moon in the starsong dichotomy but) I imagine as being visually similar to a solar flare. I also like the idea that using her power more actively destroys her statue form (it quickly rebuilds itself, within less than a second in most cases). Additionally, if her statue form is injured the storm leaks out like blood, though that would only last for a little while because it would rebuild itself (though much slower than if she intentionally used her power). Oh, and she can theoretically blast her self (because remember her body is made out of her power now, so a punch is basically her extending her more malleable self out in a direction, rather than projecting a thing) out in every direction, completely destroying her body, and it won't kill her, but there's not much utility to this.

I really like the idea of this version of Ashley still having to eat, sleep, and breathe, but that would make literally zero sense on account of her not having any biology at all. But actually I think that's a point in its favor?

She has a similar but not identical mental situation as canon ashley. She has a mental illness which is exacerbated by her power (and the fact that she's a case 53 means she'll literally never be diagnosed), but it's taken in a very slightly different direction: Canon Ashley is primarily "compelled" to dominate or command others around her, she always wants to be in charge of the situation. She has a secondary focus on always being the best at everything and never losing (or losing face). This version of ashley has that be flipped on its head. So now the never losing part is the main thing and the being in charge is the secondary thing. Ultimately, this is pretty much the same as canon.

Oh, and basically her voice is like, made out of the noises her power makes, so it sounds really fucking scary to hear once, but if she uses it a lot it is just irritating. As a byproduct of this, she doesn't actually need to move her "mouth" to speak.

My idea for this is basically that her power as a case 53 is similar to your idea for lily's--it's Ashley if she literally were her power. Her body being this fake shell is supposed to be a literal expression of her superiority/inferiority complex caused by her power, disorder, and persona, where she's this perfect statue but it completely falls apart when you take a closer look. This is part of why I like the "still has to eat and breathe" thing because it makes no sense at all but she still has to do it: her perfect image is revealed to be a lie. Like, she takes medication for bipolar disorder and needs to drink water to swallow it: where the fuck is it going? She would still have her control issues with her power (of a slightly different fashion, her power would "leak" out more as a loss of concentration rather than her moving her hand wrong), leading to a concerning tendency for her to blow her body apart at complete random.

Since her actual body is made out of her power, using her blasts doesn't cause any recoil (unless it hits something it somehow can't destroy) because you don't get blown across the room when you wave your arm, do you?

This actually plays into how I'm imagining her trigger: basically, she's from an alternate earth (this could very easily be a wildly different earth, as opposed to your imagining of sabah or lily's triggers. domestic violence is common even in the middle ages or whatever), and she suffers something almost exactly the same as her canon trigger event, but without the part where she triggered. Her dad beat her with a fire poker until she almost died, but cauldron steps in and gives her a vial shortly before death (thus the brute aspect rather than the mover aspect!) and dumps her on bet as part of the nemesis program (though she's not edict or licit's nemesis), weirdly enough in the middle of the white mountains, where she terrorized several small towns for a few months.

I'm not sure what would happen after. She probably would get inducted into the wards, but she could also follow a similar trajectory to canon ashley as well.

So that's my idea for case 53 Ashley. I'm not totally satisfied with it (honestly it kind of feels more like "breaker ashley" rather than "case 53 ashley"), but I think it's a neat concept at least.

tl;dr: i'm not smart enough for this, ask kaoinim.