#AND HOLLOWS HAIR I'M NOT NORMAL ABOUT IT

[webism]

Virgin!Nanami is hesitant the first time you go down on him, because as he's nearing his (blinding, world shattering) orgasm, you aren't pulling off of him.

He's played the scene a million times in his head before, late at night as he palmed his cock through his boxers and tried to will his mind away from such lewd thoughts of you. In every fantasy he had of you on your knees like you are now, you serve him with your mouth until he's close, and then pull off to stroke him through his orgasm.

But your lips are still wrapped around him. His ragged breath, the gentle buck of his hips up into your mouth... is it not indication enough that he's about to unravel? Kento has to lick his lips to try and save his dry mouth before he speaks, though it comes out as more of a broken moan. "Sweetheart, I'm... so close."

And you hum around his cock, send a vibration up his spine that has his eyes rolling back. You hollow out your cheeks and increase your pace, desperate for a taste.

It's too much, he's never felt so boneless. His vision is already going, he's right on the edge of the strongest orgasm he's had in his life when he gently tugs back on your hair. "Stop, stop."

Of course, you're off of him instantly, wiping your spit-sheened lips dry and watching Kento wide eyes. "Are you okay? Too much?"

Kento is breathless, his cresting orgasm quickly fading out of reach. "You didn't pull away. I was going to..."

"I know," you nod, a gentle hand on his knee something soothing. "What, you don't want to cum?"

He blinks. "No, I... not in your mouth. I respect you, and I don't want you to sacrifice your comfort for me."

And you can't help but grin at the serious look strewn across his face. You lean down and press a kiss to his knee, and then higher up on his thigh, and another just above the patch of hair that bases his leaky cock.

"Kento Nanami," you look up at him, and press a feather-light kiss to his tip. "If you don't cum in my mouth, I will cry. I wanna taste more of you."

Your words alone are enough to relight that fire licking at his insides. He watches you for a moment, tries to discern whether or not you're speaking only to please him, but ultimately nods.

When you take him back into your mouth, all the way down to the base, Kento swears he must've been a saint in his previous life to deserve such pleasure in this one. You trace the vein that runs under his length with your tongue, and then suck on his cock as if you're trying to milk him dry.

When he cums, it's with a loud and uncharacteristically whiney moan that makes you wonder how he sounds begging. You taste his cum on your tongue, feel as he shoots it into your mouth, his dick throbbing and balls tightening in the same regard.

He's already overstimulated, panicking a little at the new subtle pain of more, and although he thinks he likes it, you know it'll be too much for his first time. You pull off of him, careful to spill as little of his release as possible, and sit back on your heels.

And Kento is a mess, lips parted as he watches your pull into a greedy smile. He's eager to watch you spit him out, perhaps a testament to the fact he was inside of you. But you meet his eyes, let him sit on your tongue a moment longer, and then swallow.

He's hard all over again, he wonders how he'll ever lead a normal life again after a sight like that. His mouth is dry, cock still wet with your spit, heart beating near out of his chest.

Still, he manages to stop you when you move to get up and start on his aftercare. "Wait," his voice is small, he's nervous.

You raise your eyebrows, "yes, Ken?"

"I want to taste you, too."

hi @angxlsatvrn

[moonstruckme]

fae!Sirius asks for your name and you give it to him immediately because he's just so pretty wtf and he feels too bad to steal it from you because you're looking at him like he's a god and sure, it's not uncommon for his 'victims' to think he's beautiful but something about *you* just makes his little fae heart race-

I'm so normal about him I promise <3

Babe you have no idea how this has sat in my brain since you sent it all those months ago. I am not normal about him. Thank you! <3

fae!Sirius x whimsical!reader ♡ 804 words

Sometimes, when you leave your gifts in the forest, you’ll think you hear movement behind you. A soft crunch of the leafbed, or a rustling in the trees overhead. You’ll catch the rich scent of soil after a storm, though it hasn’t rained for days and the sky is blue and cloudless. Sirius will watch as your head lifts, noticing these things, but then you’ll simply carry on with what you’re doing, stand up, and go home. 

One day, you stand up to go home and find him waiting for you. 

“Hello, lovely,” he says, watching in amusement as your human face stills with awe. Your lips part. 

You know instantly what he is. No human carries themselves like the fae do, like Sirius could melt into the foliage at whim and you’d never find a trace of him. None of your kind have features quite so fine, or hair so dark it eats the sun. Or eyes like his, ever changing, shifting colors like a fish’s scales. No, you recognize him with one look. 

To your credit, you recover quickly. “Hello,” you say back. 

Sirius smiles with his too-white teeth. “What have you brought me this time?” 

You look behind you, to the tree hollow where you leave your gifts, as though you’ve already forgotten. “Oh. It’s a new cheese I found. Sea salt and honey.” 

Sirius cocks his head, intrigued. “I’ve not had that before.” 

“I thought you might not have.” Your initial surprise is wearing off, giving way to a sweet airiness. Your smile is soft as fresh snow. “I try to bring new things for you to try. I didn’t realize how small the portions would be, though; you’re bigger than I thought.” 

Sirius looks at you, making his eyes flash. He expects you to flinch, but you gasp softly, leaning in as if to see better. Strange. 

“You think that because I’m this size now, I must always be,” he says. 

“Aren’t you?” 

He tsks, teasing. “Best not to make presumptions.” 

Once again, curiosity rules your expression. Your eyes squint and your brows twitch towards each other, but before you can ask more questions Sirius goes on. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a simple truth. He wonders if you know he can’t lie. “If you’d let me repay your generosity, I’d like to give you a gift in return.” 

Again, your lips part, but you hesitate. Such pretty lips, Sirius thinks. So expressive. 

“That’s alright,” you say after a moment. “I don’t need anything. They were for you.” 

Sirius hides a smile. Clever thing, not to accept gifts from the fae. 

“If that’s what you want.” He asks, in a voice like spidersilk, “But what should I call the beautiful girl who’s left me so many gifts?” 

You smile and give him your name without reservation. Perhaps not so clever after all. 

Sirius says it back to you, rolling it around in his mouth. It leaves a sweet aftertaste on his tongue. You nod in clueless confirmation. 

“Can I ask yours?” 

“No,” says Sirius, “you may not.” 

You don’t appear offended. Your eyes are placid and trusting. Maybe it’s that look that makes him hesitate. Sirius knows what he’s meant to do now, what he’s done to others before you, but he finds himself tempted to wait. To see what you do next. 

“Well,” you say after a long silence, “I hope you like the cheese. If you want more, I can bring you some next time, but I should probably be getting home now.” 

“So soon?” Sirius asks. Though the breeze is cooling, and the sun’s dying rays tangle in your hair. 

You smile, almost apologetic. “Yeah, but—oh. Here, I forgot.” You reach into your bag, drawing out a long feather. It’s onyx black and shines like oil in the fading sunlight. “I found this at a friend’s house a few days ago, I meant to leave it with the cheese.” You look at him, shameless in your appraisal. “It sort of looks like your hair.” 

Sirius smiles, feeling the stretch of his lips with an odd sort of amusement. “It does,” he agrees. He lets you place the feather in his hand and feels the warmth of your fingertips on his skin with something like awe. A human has never been so bold as to touch him before. 

“I’ll visit soon,” you say, granting him one last, serene smile as you turn to go. “I hope you come out and say hello.” 

He thinks that he might. As you walk away, feet padding softly on grass and the shadows of trees falling over you like loving touches, he considers stealing the name you gave him so freely. 

But you’re lovely, and Sirius is a hedonist. He wants a taste of those lips given of your own free will. 

[dreamsteddie]

Enamored with an Eddie who comes back from the Upside Down completely changed and turns to writing as his only solace, eventually turning it into a successful career.

When Eddie realized that the grate wasn't closed properly and the bats started swarming, when he saw the fear in Dustin's eyes as they quickly lost control of the situation, he had been well and truly prepared to die. Part of him, privately, was hoping to die.

The town was out for his blood, his friends hadn't even come to the trailer park to check on him, and despite what he said, he knew 86' was not going to be his year. Not even close. At least if he died in the Upside Down, he died as a hero. Not a failed rockstar, or a high school dropout, or another victim of Hawkin's endless bloodthirst for anyone outside of their preconceived ideas of "normal". Not a mirror image of Al Munson.

So when he wakes up in the hospital, bedridden and dehydrated, it doesn't feel like a victory.

When Dustin comes in to see him, positively bursting at the seams with excitement at Eddie's long-awaited return to consciousness, Eddie can't say a word. He has to watch as the light in his too-wise eyes dims as Eddie just stares. He's trying, he's trying so fucking hard, to say anything, but the words have dried up.

All Eddie can think about is the lack of anything worthwhile waiting for him out in the big, scary world. He's missing the pinky on his left hand, and the corresponding elbow has been chewed to bits. Even through the opioids, he's aware of an odd, sharp tingling that screams nerve damage. He knows that he'll never play again, and if he does it will never be worth anything to anyone. He's not going to graduate, which is the one thing Wayne always wanted for him. The one thing that has always kept him going despite how much the world has tried to bury his head in the sand has been taken from him, his excitement to get out into the world.

When Eddie looks out the window in his hospital room, all he can think about is how badly it wants to swallow him up and spit him back out.

Dustin has to be dragged out of the room by Steve and Robin as Eddie's silence seems to make him hysterical. He's screaming at Eddie, mad and desperate and sad.

Eddie doesn't see him for a week. When he comes back he's sheepish but determined, carrying a load of books under his arm. Eddie still won't say a word, but Dustin sits by his bedside and reads out loud until his voice is hoarse. Tolkien, Le Guin, Pratchett. He ends every visit by taking his hand, squeezing it tight, and telling him he's glad he's alive. Eddie can't agree with him, but he's grateful that doesn't stop him from saying it.

Wayne is faithfully by his bedside. He doesn't say much, content in Eddie's silence the same way he was in the midst of his endless chatter. He holds his hand, brushes his hair, turns the TV to all his favorite channels, and settles in for the long haul the same way he always has. Eddie doesn't know what he would do without him.

The rest of the monster fighting crew are in and out. Steve is there the most, standing in a corner with his arms crossed near the door during Dustin's visits. He never says much, but Eddie thinks Steve might understand him the best. He thinks back to those moments in the Upside Down.

"Don't be cute"

"Please be safe"

"we are noooot heroes"

"We'll try our best"

"Steve...make him pay"

"I'm scared, but I'll keep him safe"

When Steve looks his way, it feels like someone is hearing him, hearing how loudly he's screaming in his head.

He's in the hospital for five months and not once during that time does he breathe a single word. He feels hollowed out in a way that's foreign to him, like a great void has taken the place of organs, veins, and muscles and left him cold and stiff.

When he gets home, a new but almost identical trailer sitting in the same plot as the last one, he's far from better. He's weak, and sore, and tired to the bone. Wayne has to go back to work, no two ways about it, so Eddie spends his days wasting away on the couch. Dustin is back at school, leaving long stretches of time where Eddie is alone with his void and the sound of him screaming into it, so he turns to his books.

Except there are only so many books in his possession and even if he wanted to leave his house, a feat that seems insurmountable in his current condition, he still can't walk more than the length of the trailer without feeling like he's going to collapse. So, he turns to his notebooks.

At first, it's just reems and reems of sloppy-looking screams. He tries to make them as loud and angry looking as the voice in his head. His hand aches, weak from damage and disuse, but when he's done his throat feels just a little looser. Like maybe that void just got a little smaller.

That's how Steve finds him, sitting on the couch huffing like he just ran a marathon, surrounded by pages and pages of frantic writing. He's been coming by once a day, usually for an hour or two after work, to sit with Eddie and hang out. Eddie is pretty sure Wayne asked him to, but he honestly doesn't care. Steve is a little more chatty in the confines of the trailer when it's just the two of them, and Eddie craves the presence of someone who gets it. Gets him.

Steve takes in the scene, gives a low whistle, and asks if Eddie feels a little better getting that all out. Eddie still can't talk, kind of hoped for a moment there that he would, but when all he does is nod Steve still gives him that annoyingly charming smile and a firm pat on the back with a wide, warm hand.

And, well, Eddie doesn't think he's ok, but for the first time in a long time, he thinks maybe he will be.

After that, it's like something is unlocked. He spends almost all day every day writing away in his notebooks. They used to be for songs and campaigns, but even the thought of music and DnD makes him feel like he's going to be sick, so instead he writes stories.

Eddie has always loved to spin a tale. As a child, his mom would make up stories of knights and princesses, bards and bakers, peasants and children, love and life. When she died, Eddie wrote as many as he could remember in a book that sits proudly on his shelf. He can't bring himself to crack it open, crack himself open, when he's already so vulnerable, but the act of building a narrative makes him feel closer to her.

He writes stories about a young alchemist falling in love in a foreign land. A scribe reluctantly taking up with a rouge knight until she reaches a more accepting kingdom. A princess working to expose the ugly underbelly of her village.

A handsome prince abdicating the throne to fight on the side of the rebels.

A disgraced bard finding his way home.

Day by day, page by page, the void gets smaller.

The first person he shares his writing with is Dustin. The younger boy spends all Saturday at the trailer with Eddie, chattering away about Suzey, the Party, school, and all the things a kid his age should be worried about. He never asks what he's writing, which probably means Steve warned him not to, which Eddie can't help but appreciate.

Eddie wordlessly hands him a notebook. The one he's been filling for the better part of the last two weeks. Dustin takes it with eager hands, flipping through pages until his eyes are clouded with tears and he's flinging himself into Eddie's side.

It's about two brothers, separated at birth but brought together by a mutual cause. They adventure across the kingdom, seeking the knowledge that will end the brutal war ravaging their homeland. In the end, the eldest must sacrifice himself for the other, but the youngest defies fate to save him. It ends with the eldest, unable to live the life he once thought he would lead, thanking his brother for fighting for him when he wasn't brave enough to do it himself.

He lets Dustin take that one home with him.

Ultimately, it's Steve that gets him to speak.

He doesn't try, never seems bothered by Eddie's lack of voice, content to pass notes and relish in the silent company.

Eddie hands him their story, the one about a handsome prince and a voiceless bard, and for the first time since he woke up is met with that terrible smile. The one that isn't a smile at all, but an apology. While Eddie and Max may have come out the worst, no one came out of the years of interdimensional terror unscathed, especially not Steve.

He explains that since last summer, his ability to read has deteriorated steadily. The doctors aren't sure exactly what the cause is, but they assume the continued damage to his head has damaged the centers of the brain dedicated to reading and writing.

But Edddie needs him to read this, needs him to know this. Because this is the only way Eddie can think to confess. Writing has become so much of who he is since he left that hospital bed, and he wants more than anything to offer it to Steve.

When he speaks, it's rough. Scratchy and almost incomprehensible but when he chances a look up Steve is giving him his undivided attention. It takes him all day, stopping and starting and getting water and fighting off the pull of the void. The only thing that keeps him going is the stars he sees in Steve's eyes.

When he's done, there's no room for the silence to build back up because Steve is cupping his face in his wide, warm palms and telling him how much he loves him, too.

In the end, Eddie never regains his voice entirely. He goes days, sometimes weeks without saying a word. A year in, when they've all accepted that Eddie will never be the same as he was, Robin invests in a handful of ASL books and drills them all in sign language until their fingers cramp.

Two years in, Steve and Eddie watch as the kids walk across the stage, all six of them flipping Principle Higgins the bird as they accept their diplomas. Eddie cheers so loud his throat aches the next day, telling them how proud he is of them even as their parents tell them off.

The year after that, Nancy confiscates one of his books and sends it to her friend in publishing, mailing him a generous publishing offer and a heartfelt letter that makes him cry. Steve holds him tight as they call Nancy to work out the details, his boyfriend talking into the phone for him as Eddie signs frantically.

Five and a half years after Eddie survived, Eddie's first book opens like this:

To the love of my life

Who hears me in my silence

And to myself

For filling the void with words

[sturnsdarling]

I can make you feel better

Chris has been in a mood all day, and theres only one thing that will get him out of it

vibe check: giving moody!chris head (somebody sedate me), angst?, fluff

1.5k words

A/N: this fic won the poll so this is my gift to you guys. moody!chris is my sweetie baby and i love him, okay love u bye

love and cigs, merc

Chris had been in a terrible mood all day, from the moment he woke up to now as he huffed his way around the house, storming down the stairs and slamming his door shut, startling you as you laid mindlessly scrolling in his bed.

He pushed his boots off and headed straight for the bathroom, doing nothing more than shooting you a forced smile as he walked past you sprawled out on his bed. The shower turned on, and you stared at the white wooden door, the skin of the inside of your mouth locked between your teeth. you hated it when Chris got in a mood like this, not because of anything other than the fact that you knew he hated the feeling of being miserable, especially if there wasn't a specific reason.

He'd barely spoken a word to you since he woke up, telling you he was going to be filming all day and that if you wanted to hang around you could. you practically lived at his by this point so, you being there wasn't a hinderance to anyone, and you knew that when he got home, he'd need you. so you stayed.

The shower water shut off and after a moment he padded out the bathroom, slightly wet with his hair hanging over his face and a towel round his waist. He walked over to his dresser, aggressively opening the drawer and pulling a pair of calvins out just before putting them on. He used his towel to dry his hair slightly, rubbing it over his head with a flat palm and a scrunched face. you couldn't help but watch him, his energy so hollow he was almost unrecognisable.

you shifted to your side of the bed slightly as you watched him pad over to the bed, preparing to slump down into his sheets. he hit the bed with a huff, laying face down in his pillow as he let out a long, deep groan. your hand came to his back, and you started to trace small circles around the freckles littered across his skin.

"you okay, my love?" you said softly.

he said nothing, only hummed.

"do you wanna talk about it?" you pressed, moving your hand up to his hair to twirl his wet curls around your finger

he shook his head into his pillow, shifting into your touch slightly.

you continued peppering gentle touches all over his skin, his body visibly relaxing under your presence. he scooted over slightly, taking his long arm and wrapping it round your waist, using his grip on you to pull you under him, burying his face in your stomach.

you complied with his silent instructions and let him manoeuvre you under him, "whats up, Chris, you're so quiet"

"I said I don't wanna talk about it" Chris snapped, talking into your skin

you recoiled, "I'm just trying to help" you said, defensively

"well, don't" he said, still putting his full weight down on you, his actions needy but his tone annoyed.

you huffed, not bothering to reply, knowing you'll only get shut down again.

Chris let out a deep sigh into your skin, shifting slightly to hold himself up, looking at your offended features.

"i'm sorry, baby" he said, placing his large, soft hand to your cheek, "I'm just having a really shit day"

"so then talk to me, tell me whats wrong" you cooed, pressing your cheek into his hand.

"theres nothing to talk about" he shook his head, "It's just one of those days" he shrugged, dropping his gaze from yours, tone still flat and somewhat annoyed.

you furrowed your brows, watching as he sunk back into you.

your slight annoyance at him quickly faded, being replaced by sympathy. it was rare Chris got into a mood he couldn’t get himself out of, so him being so visibly wound up was agonising to watch. Normally you’d let him talk it out or leave him alone until he felt better but, neither of those felt like viable options tonight so, you settled for a different method to make his bad day a little better.

"I can make you feel better, if you want me to?" you said, tracing slightly firmer touches up and down his back as you did.

"how?" he mumbled into your skin, after a brief pause

you smiled, shifting out from under him and telling him to lay on his back. He complied with a huff, laying his head down into his pillow with a deadpan face that quickly changed when you crawled on top of him.

"I'm not in the mood for sex right now, baby" he said, almost speaking into your mouth as you went to kiss him

"who said anything about sex, moody boy?" you hummed before placing a tender kiss on his pouty lips.

he kissed you back on reflex, only for you to break the kiss as you began to litter pecks over his cheeks, down his jaw to his neck. he let out a small sigh that sounded like relief, relaxing into the bed as you worked your way down his body, back arched, giving him a view of your ass as you kissed down his neck, over his chest and down his stomach.

his breathing got heavier as you began to place open mouth kisses along the line of his boxers, his head falling back slightly as your fingers dipped under the band, tugging them down to kiss around the base of his stiffening cock. you hummed at the sight of his dick slapping against his stomach, a twinge of pride in your chest at how easy it was for you to get him hard.

you helped him out his boxers, leaving him bare as you threw them across the room. you placed small pecks up his shaft, kissing his tip with a press of your tongue when you reached it. Chris' stomach tensed at the feeling, a small whimper leaving his throat as he locked eyes with you from your low position on his bed.

"I'm gonna make you feel all better, okay, Chris?" you said, your voice low and seductive as you began to pump his hard cock in your hand.

Chris nodded, his moodiness being replaced by an ere of desperation as you tore your gaze from his, looking down to his cock with a small smile just before licking a long stripe up the shaft.

a long, breathy moan left Chris' mouth, his head fully resting back into the pillow as you wrapped your lips around his tip, collecting the pre-cum on your tongue, using it as extra lubrication to push him down into your throat slowly.

you began bobbing your head, using one hand to pump him slightly as you worked his tip, lapping at it in your warm, hollow mouth. Chris was already a mess, his hand tangled in your hair as he moaned and groaned, his stomach tensing at the feeling of your mouth wrapped around him.

"you're so good to me, ma" he whimpered, "what did I do to deserve you?"

you took him all the way down your throat, locking eyes with him as you did, pushing him as far down as you could take it. the feeling of your throat constricting around his tip ripped a guttural moan from him, using your hair as a squeeze toy as you began to fuck your own throat with his cock.

"oh, fuck" he groaned, his grip still tight in your hair but letting you control the pace.

you began to bob your head up and down once more, bringing a soft hand to his constricting balls, cupping them in your palm and caressing them with gentle touches.

Chris couldn't control the noises that were leaving his throat, and it was making you feel crazy. you loved having him like his, pleasing him just how you knew he liked, making all his worries wash away with nothing but your gentle care and warm mouth. you set a steady pace, working his cock with your hollowed mouth and soft touches. you felt his balls tighten in your hand, listening to his murmured praises as they slipped from his mouth effortlessly.

"you're so good, baby, so good to me" he cooed, "you're gonna make me - gonna make me cum"

you hummed around his cock, keeping your steady pace for a moment just before picking it up, taking a brief pause to collect your spit, letting it drop down onto his tip before wrapping your mouth back around him.

"fuuuck" he drew out, his hips involuntarily bucking up into your mouth as he chased his high

"can I cum in y’mouth, please ma, let me cum in your perfect mouth" he wined, hips still bucking up into your throat as you locked eyes, nodding around his cock.

with a tight stomach and a loud, uncontrollable moan of your name, he unloaded his cum into your mouth, fucking his load into your throat as he stuttered and shivered at the feeling. you kept your mouth around him until you felt his balls relax, pushing your head down to his pelvis once more before pulling off him completely, swallowing his warm cum with a smile.

Chris returned your smile, shaking his head with a low groan at the sight of you happily swallowing his load, any semblence of a bad mood suddenly gone from his being. he held out a hand to you, welcoming you onto his chest. you complied, crawling back up to him before tucking yourself under his arm. Chris tutted, grabbing your face with a strong hand and making you kiss him. it was passionate and caring, his way of saying thank you.

you hummed into the kiss, only pulling away when Chris did.

"do you feel better?" you smiled, batting your lashes at him.

Chris nodded, "so much better, baby" he said, just before placing another short kiss on your upturned lips, “thankyou”

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch @chriscorqutte @elizasturn @ribread03 @st7rnioioss @maggieflms

[pillow-coded]

To Have and to Hold — Chapter 1

Summary: finding a lost toddler's mother in the library wasn’t how Spencer expected to spend his afternoon. Later, when her mother arrives—panicked, breathless, and beautiful—Spencer starts to forget how to breathe. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Brief depiction of a lost child, mild panic from a parent, emotional vulnerability word count: 5.3k

A/N: This is the first work I had the guts to post (genuinely scared lol), slow updates! (so sorry, but uni is killing me), and lastly, English isn't my native language, so please do let me know if i got any grammar mistakes! (also not proofread cause i'm too embarrassed to show any of my friends)

Series Masterlist

Libraries have always been a great comfort for me. It’s a place full of knowledge, warmth, peace. Maybe it’s the smell of old books and how I can easily link that smell to the amiable parts of my childhood.

Those Autumn nights when everything was fine, where my wires were still intact. Mom was doing well back then. She’d read to me those old books she collected from all her years of teaching. That’s how I saw them back then... Old, decrepit books that contained the most fun stories... At least, I found them fun. Like Shakespeare’s Tales Retold – child-friendly versions of Shakespeare’s works.

Nowadays, they’re more than just fond stories or old books. Those books are relics and a memory of when my mother was... well, more lucid.

What I loved most about libraries was the quietness of it all. I spent a couple of hours of my day when I could, basking in the quiet. It was nice not to have to hear the gruesome details of some innocent woman murdered in cold blood.

Days like these only made the quietness feel even better. Soft Autumn day, nearing Winter already. We had just come back from a tough case, children were involved. Thankfully, we managed to get on time.

I had watched that boy while JJ tried to talk to him, trying to understand what had happened to him. He was barefoot, his hair disheveled, and he looked achingly thin. We later found that the boy’s parents held a “discipline ring.” According to his parents, it was a “behavior modification” experiment—one they claimed was “research-backed,” designed to “train” their child into being the perfect prodigy. The boy was denied food, affection, and even basic care when he disobeyed. But worse? The parents live-streamed it all on private forums for a group of like-minded “disciplinarians.”

It didn’t matter that we caught his parents. That the live-stream was shut down. That the others in that so-called “discipline ring” were going to prison. None of it mattered when he looked up at me with those eyes—hollow but obedient. Like love was something he still thought he had to earn.

I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more than I hated those people.

I’ve done a lot of pretending in my life. Pretended I wasn’t scared. Pretended I wasn’t lonely. Pretended I didn’t want a family of my own. But that boy—he didn’t know how to pretend. He didn’t know how to fake normal. He just waited patiently in that hospital bed for someone to love him back.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it, which is why I had decided to come to the library instead of resting after the case like a normal person. I needed a moment of peace, a moment of quiet.

That moment of quietness was rudely interrupted—torn apart by high-pitched, desperate sobbing. I turn to my left, and there's a girl at the end of the long corridor full of bookcases. A tiny one at that, since the whole corridor looked gigantic compared to her.

She couldn’t have been more than five, barely tall enough to brush the second shelf. A statistical outlier in this ocean of silence, suddenly very, very loud. There was something unsettling about how her tiny fists rubbed at her eyes. Children cried in a language everyone understood.

“Are you lost?” I ask hesitantly, not moving from my spot in the corridor. The little girl stops crying for a brief moment. Well, not stop, but slowed down. Her big eyes are still so full of fear and tears, but they open wide to look at me as if she hadn’t been expecting someone to help.

She doesn’t say anything.

Just looks at me—eyes still shimmering, lips trembling, chest stuttering around hiccuped sobs. She’s scared. That much is obvious. But it’s the way she clutches the fabric of her little coat that really gets me. Like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth right now.

I walk towards her. I'm not close—just close enough to show I’m not a threat. A non-threatening stranger in a cardigan and tie, kneeling among the books like I’m part of the furniture.

She stares, still trembling, still silent.

“It’s okay,” I murmur gently. “I’m not going to come closer unless you want me to. I just want to help.”

Her little hand scrubs clumsily at her cheek. She sniffles, her shoulders curling inward. Still holding it in. Still trying to be brave.

Then, finally—after a moment that feels like something unspooling—she shakes her head. And her voice, when it comes, is a soft, crumpled thing:

“I can’t find my mommy.”

I nod, matching her quietness. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

A pause.

“I’ll help you find her, alright? No rush. We can check the kiddie section together. That’s probably where she’ll look first.”

I didn’t offer my hand. It felt like too much for both of us. Instead, I walked beside her, slow and steady, letting the silence settle between us like soft dust. She kept sniffling quietly the whole walk down.

I desperately needed a way to make the little cries stop.

“What's your name, sweetheart?” I asked softly.

She tilted her head back to look up at me—really look this time. She was so small she had to crane her neck to find my eyes. Her expression still carried that flicker of uncertainty, her trust not quite earned yet.

“I’m Spencer.”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Just stares for a second, like she’s still deciding whether I’m safe. Then, in the tiniest voice—barely above a whisper—she says:

“...Maddie.”

Maddie.

I nod, repeating it once under my breath to make it real.

“That’s a beautiful name, Maddie.”

She says nothing, but her fingers curl tighter around the hem of her coat. She’s still scared, but she’s not looking away anymore.

Progress.

I scan the rows of shelves ahead. The kiddie section’s not far now—colorful bean bags, tiny chairs, picture books splayed on wide tables.

“Do you like magic tricks, Maddie?”

She nods her tiny head, her eyes warming up to me at the thought.

I felt something in my stomach… I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe yearning?

She nods—just once—and I see it. That flicker of trust, like a light turning on behind her eyes. Not quite safety, but something near it.

And something stirs in my stomach.

I don’t know what to call it. It’s not adrenaline, and it’s not fear. Maybe it’s yearning. Not for her, necessarily—but for what she has. What she’s lost. What she’s looking for.

For someone to come back for her.

For someone to call her name.

“Okay… how about I show you some magic tricks while we wait for your mommy to get here? that sound fun, Maddie?”

This time she nods enthusiastically. Her big eyes excited to see what sorcery I had planned to show her.

I dig the pocket of my pants, my movements slow and deliberate. I pull out a simple quarter. It’s nothing special. Just a plain, shiny quarter that for some reason, I’ve held on to for way longer than I should’ve.

“Behold,” I announce, holding it up between two fingers like it’s enchanted. “A perfectly ordinary quarter.”

She leans in, captivated—eyes locked on the coin like it’s something rare. A small smile starts to tug at her cheeks.

“It’s your everyday quarter,” I say, twirling the tiny thing between my fingers, doing my best to keep this unfamiliar girl comforted—as if her calm is the only thing keeping me steady.

“Watch closely.”

I place the coin on my open palm and slowly close my fingers around it. Then, with my free hand, I give the air above my fist a little wave—like I’m stirring something invisible.

“And now… it’s gone.”

I open my hand. Empty.

She gasps.

I see it—the way her mouth falls open, the way her eyes light up like I’ve just rewritten the rules of the universe.

I lean in, just a little. Not too close.

“Huh. That’s strange…” I murmur, pretending to look around her, behind her, above her. “Where could it have gone…?”

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I reach behind her ear, and pull the coin free like I just plucked a star from the sky.

Her breath catches. She stares at the quarter in my fingers like it’s a miracle.

“It was behind your ear this whole time,” I whisper, grinning.

She beams at me, her fear momentarily forgotten. Her laughter is soft but real, bright and bubbly and innocent in a way that makes something sharp tug behind my ribs.

“Are you a sorcerer?” She asks, her big, curious eyes staring into my soul, trying to get answers out of me.

I blink, “A sorcerer?”

She nods, completely serious, “like the ones in Harry Potter.”

I chuckle fondly at her question, “Well… I don’t have a broom. Or a wand. Or an Owl.”

“But you made the coin vanish…” She pouts slightly, and although the sight of her minor pout was adorable, I would’ve given anything to see her smile again.

I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the case that had me feeling so fond of a child I just met. Maybe it got all the loose wires within me, all frayed and sparking from things I still hadn’t worked through. But there was something about this moment—this tiny human with tear-streaked cheeks and a Harry Potter reference—that made something ache deep in my chest.

I felt it so sharply it almost hurt.

This... this mattered.

And I hated how much I wanted it—interactions like this. Not just the comfort or the connection but the permanence. The possibility of something that was mine.

Kids of my own.

I glance down at her, still wide-eyed, still waiting for more magic. Her little hands twitch with excitement like she’s ready to believe anything I say.

“Yeah, but it’s only a magic trick, sweetheart,” I murmur, trying to offer the truth gently, without breaking the illusion. Without hurting her feelings.

But maybe I shouldn’t.

Maybe I should let her believe in it a little longer. Let her live in the dream. Give her what I wish someone had given me at that age—a reason to believe in wonder.

So I sigh, dramatically, like I’m about to confess something world-altering.

“Okay… you got me. But you can’t tell anyone, alright?”

She leans in, eyes shining.

“I’m actually a wizard.”

She gasps, delighted. A smile blooms across her face so fast it nearly knocks the air out of me.

“I knew it!” she squeals.

“Yeah, you did,” I grin back. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

She looks like she’s about to burst with thousands of questions. Eyes wide and shining with a special curiosity. I just hope her parent doesn’t murder me for fueling these wizard dreams that she has.

“Are you friends with Harry?”

I try my best to suppress a warm chuckle, but I can’t help the smile that shines through.

“Harry Potter?” She nodded so hard at my response that I worried her head might pop off. “Well… I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s mostly busy these days. But yes, we’ve met.”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, and this time, I couldn’t subdue the fond chuckles that her reactions got out of me.

“Can you show me more magic?”

I smile, helpless to deny her. “Alright. One more, but you gotta sit down for this one.” I say, holding up a finger like I’m laying down a rule neither of us will actually follow.

She hurries to a small chair in the kid tables. Wiggles in place, hands clasped in front of her like she’s bracing for something incredible.

I reach into my pocket again, fingers brushing against the familiar coolness of the coin.

“But you have to pay very close attention, okay? This one’s advanced wizardry.”

She nods like she’s preparing for a test at Hogwarts.

“We have, the very same coin from earlier,” I move the coin to the center of my palm, “But if I place it right here… and you keep your eyes on it…”

I curl my fingers over it, give them a little dramatic wiggle.

“This simple quarter will just…”

Disappear. Or—it’s supposed to.

Everything was going fine. The coin’s in my palm. My fingers close around it. I make the usual gesture—slight misdirection, a practiced flick of the wrist, the classic illusion.

Except this time… something goes wrong. There’s a soft metallic clink followed by—

“Ow!”

Not me. Behind me.

The little girl’s eyes go wide, delighted at first by the trick. But then her head snaps toward the voice—the one behind me, the one that just yelped in surprise.

And just like that… the magic disappears.

“Mommy!” She takes off running.

I stand and turn instinctively, ready to reassure the parent—let her know her daughter’s safe, that I was only trying to help. Maybe even apologize for the quarter that, somehow, made impact.

But then I see her.

And for a moment… I forget what I was about to say.

She’s standing there, breathless, eyes wide with relief, and the softest kind of panic still clinging to her expression. The kind that says she’s been searching—not just through the aisles, but through every possible worst-case scenario in her head.

And yet, despite the tension in her posture, despite the flurry of emotion on her face...

She’s—God, she’s beautiful.

Like something from another lifetime. Light catching in her hair. Autumn caught in her breath.

An angel.

I’ve always thrived on routine. Wake up, brush teeth, get dressed, go fulfill today’s duties… It wasn’t anything exciting, but it was dependable. Familiar.

That all changed when I had her.

My Madelyn.

Now, my mornings depend on a dozen unpredictable factors. Maybe Maddie wakes up before I do and cuts my desperately needed seven hours of sleep short. Maybe she had a nightmare. Maybe she wet the bed. Or—more often than not—she’s just too excited for the day and bursts out of sleep like it’s a celebration.

It’s exhausting.

But she’s my entire world. My sun. My moon. And I’d sacrifice every ounce of sleep or peace of mind a thousand times over if it meant making her life feel safe and full of joy.

Still, we do have one day of the week that rarely breaks pattern.

Saturdays.

Every Saturday, for as long as I can remember, I wake up early, make pancakes, get dressed, and head to the library—the one place where time slows down, where stories open like doorways and the world feels just a little quieter.

Bringing Maddie into that routine was surprisingly easy. I started taking her when she was just a month old. I would’ve done it sooner, but I was still figuring things out—how to be a single mother to a newborn. Just surviving those first few days was its own kind of story.

She loves our Saturdays.

Every Saturday morning, once the pancakes are ready, I head to her room—and without fail, she wakes up with the biggest smile.

She always knows it’s Saturday because of the smell. Like clockwork, the scent of warm batter reaches her tiny nose, and her whole body just springs to life. She throws off her covers, races into the kitchen barefoot and beaming, already asking for her syrup before I can even plate the first stack.

This Saturday morning was different.

I should’ve known things would go wrong the moment I decided to step even slightly out of routine.

“Good morning, princess,” I sing, beaming as I step into her bedroom—blueberry pancakes in hand. “Brought you breakfast in bed. Aren’t you a spoiled little princess today?”

Her face lights up like it always does. “Good morning, Mommy!”

She spots the pancakes, and her eyes sparkle. She bounces a little beneath her blankets, already reaching for the plate. “Blueberry?”

I nod, smiling. “Well, I know how much you like them, so I decided to change things up,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Alright, eat up. The library’s waiting for us.”

She hummed as she ate, little legs swinging off the edge of the bed, syrup smeared near the corner of her mouth. It was such a small thing, but I remember thinking—this is what happiness feels like. A plate of blueberry pancakes and a five-year-old who thinks I hung the stars.

We left a little later than usual.

Just ten minutes. That’s all.

She insisted on picking out her own outfit—a striped shirt and a pink coat—and I let her. Another tiny detour from routine. Nothing dramatic. Nothing dangerous.

The nearest library, which we were used to visiting, was a three-story building. It was old, but they kept it clean. The library had a huge variety of books, from Children’s books to cookbooks.

It was just as it always was. Quiet. Warm. A kind of sacred.

We walked in together. I remember holding the door open while she skipped inside.

I remember telling her—“Stay close, baby.”

she nodding.

And then…Then I blinked. I looked up from the shelves. And she was gone.

I’ve never lost my Maddie before. She’s a curious child, and she loves to wander off on adventures. She probably inherited that from me. This need to find whatever’s glowing. I understand it. We’re moths, both of us. Fragile, flitting things, always blinded by the glow, unaware that it might hurt us.

But I’ve gotten better at spotting the danger.

At least… when it comes to her.

I watch everything. Every step she takes. Every handrail she climbs. Every crack in the sidewalk I gently guide her around. Not even the tiniest fruit fly gets near her without me noticing. I make sure of it. I always make sure.

So how did I miss this?

how did I lose her?

“Maddie?” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. “Maddie, where are you, sweetheart?”

No reply.

Just silence. Just shelves. Just the sound of someone flipping a page somewhere far away.

I couldn’t see her.

I couldn’t hear her.

Panic bloomed in my chest, sharp and fast. I started moving—too quickly to think, too slowly to matter. I scanned every row, every corner of the first floor, spinning in half-circles, eyes darting, throat dry.

Think. You have to think. Breathe.

I forced myself to stop. Just for a second. Inhaled. Shaky. Exhaled. Useless.

That’s when I saw it.

A sign hanging above the staircase in soft, colorful letters:

Children’s Section – Second Floor.

I don’t think I’ve ever taken stairs that fast in my life.

I practically leapt two steps at a time, nearly tripping—twice—but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. My heart was pounding too hard, my breath caught somewhere between a prayer and a scream.

As soon as I reached the top, I heard it. Laughter. Soft, bubbling giggles echoing from the back corner of the floor.

Maddie. My sun.

I followed the sound like it was oxygen, rounding the shelves toward the children’s section—and there she was. She was fine. Smiling. Whole. Lit up with joy I hadn’t seen since breakfast.

I was so blinded by the sight of her—so completely caught in the gravity of that relief—that I didn’t see the small, shiny object flying straight at my face.

Thunk.

“Ow!” I yelped, instinctively pressing a hand to my forehead where the coin made impact.

“Mommy!” I blinked, still holding my forehead, and finally looked up to see my daughter running full speed to me.

I dropped my hand and opened my arms just in time, catching her as she flung herself into me.

The force of her little body nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs—and I didn’t care. I clutched her to my chest, my hands smoothing over her hair, her back, her arms—like I needed to physically confirm every part of her was still here.

Still mine.

“I was looking for you,” she mumbled into my shoulder.

“I know, baby,” I whispered. “I know. I’m here.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and only then—only then—did I let myself breathe. Let myself relax and look around with a clear mind.

And that’s when I saw him.

A man—tall, gangly, cardigan-ed, and completely mortified. His wide brown eyes darted from the coin in the floor, to my face and back again like he wasn’t sure which deserved more immediate attention.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t—I mean, the coin wasn’t… is your forehead okay?” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence. He reached down and took the quarter in his hands.

He was nervous. The poor thing couldn’t even get a full thought out without stuttering or switching pitch. He looked like a deer caught in headlights—in the most endearing way possible.

I adjusted Maddie in my arms and slowly rose to my feet, brushing a hand over the spot where the coin had hit.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m okay.”

“Mommy, that’s Spencer. He’s a wizard, but you can’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.” Maddie’s little voice cut in, muffled by my shoulder. Her tiny hands clung to my shirt like this secret was sacred. Like this moment mattered.

“Is he now?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

The poor man looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink, and he kept shifting like he wanted to disappear behind the nearest bookshelf. He was clearly mortified for making my daughter believe he was an actual wizard.

Meanwhile, Maddie looked like she might explode from sheer joy.

“He did magic, Mommy!” she beamed. “He made the coin disappear! And he’s friends with Harry Potter!”

I looked at him again—this tall, blushing stranger in a cardigan, holding a rogue quarter like it was evidence from a crime scene—and for the first time since the panic hit…

I smiled. No, not just that. I giggled.

“He’s friends with Harry Potter, sweetheart?”

“Yeah!” Maddie chirped, her little head nodding furiously against my shoulder. “He told me so!”

I glanced down at Maddie, still glowing with excitement in my arms, then back at him—this stranger with a guilty expression and a coin pinched nervously between his fingers.

“So you’ve met the famous Harry Potter?” I asked softly, more amused than anything else.

His mouth opened… then closed again. He looked completely out of his depth, like he wasn’t sure whether to defend himself or disappear behind the nearest bookcase.

“I… may have implied we’d met,” he said, almost apologetically. “In a—fictional sense.”

“Fictional,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, eyes flicking anywhere but at me. “She asked if I knew him, and I just couldn’t say no. Plus, it calmed her down.”

My heart twisted, gently. Of course it did.

I crouched to set Maddie down, brushing a hand over her curls. “Don’t wander off, sweetheart.”

She nodded seriously—too seriously for someone who just believed she’d befriended a wizard—but she stayed put, her wide eyes still bouncing between me and the man standing awkwardly by the bookshelves.

When I stood, he was watching me. Not in a weird way. Just… watching. Like he wasn’t sure if he should say something, or leave before he embarrassed himself further.

I finally broke the silence.

“Thank you,” I said. “For keeping her calm. And for the magic tricks. Even if one of them involved hitting a complete stranger in the face.”

His eyes widened. “Oh my god—yes. I’m really sorry about that. That was not part of the trick. I swear it usually disappears. Like, away from people.”

I smiled again, gentler this time. “I believe you.”

A beat passed.

“You’ve got a very brave little girl.”

My chest squeezed.

“Yeah,” I whispered, looking over at Maddie, who was now spinning slowly in place, humming to herself like nothing had happened.

“She really is.”

I looked back again, and of course—despite being told not to wander—she had already drifted toward the toy shelf, her tiny fingers trailing along the edge of a plastic castle.

Moth. Always drawn to whatever glows.

He hadn’t stopped staring.

He kept looking at me like he wanted to tear me open—not in a violent way, but in that quiet, curious way. Like he needed to understand what made me me. Like he was trying to read my soul the way other people read books.

I hadn’t even noticed—Not until I turned my gaze back to him, and when I did, I nearly forgot how to breathe.

There was something behind his eyes—something searching. Gentle, but sharp. Not the kind of stare meant to intimidate. No, it was worse. It was the kind that saw. Saw too much.

The kind of look that made you feel like maybe you weren’t a collection of masks and moments. Like maybe you were a story he’d just opened to the first page.

It made my skin warm.

I looked away first. Not because it was uncomfortable—But because it wasn’t.

Because I didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at me like that. Like I was worth reading.

“So… she read the Harry Potter series?” he asked, breaking the silence.

His voice jolted me back to reality. I blinked a couple times, trying to shake myself free from whatever trance those hazel eyes had pulled me into.

“Has she read—? No, no. She still struggles a bit with reading. The only books she’s managed on her own so far are Frog and Toad Are Friends and The Tales of Oliver Pig.”

His lips twitched at that, like he was trying not to smile too hard.

“Do you mind me asking… how old is she?”

“She’s turning five in a couple weeks.”

He blinked. “And she’s reading at a first-grade level? That’s impressive.”

I smiled, soft and proud. “She’s always been a quick learner. Loves stories. I think it’s how she makes sense of the world.”

He nodded, like he understood that. Like maybe he did the same.

“So I take it she’s only seen the Harry Potter movies then?” he asked, circling back to his original question.

“Oh—no. I read to her a lot. We actually went through the entire Harry Potter series last summer.”

His eyebrows lifted, impressed. “All seven?”

“All seven,” I nodded. “It took us a few months, but she was completely obsessed. She didn’t want me to put the books down, not even to sleep. Had a million questions. Wanted to know why Harry had to live in the cupboard, how the time-turner worked, what butterbeer tastes like.”

He chuckled softly. “She sounds like someone I would’ve been friends with at her age.”

“You read a lot as a kid?”

He hesitated—not because he didn’t want to answer, but because he seemed to be sorting through too many memories at once.

“Pretty much all I did,” he said eventually. “Books were easier. Made more sense than people did.”

There was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t just a fun fact, but a truth he’d learned the hard way.

I didn’t push. I just nodded, quietly understanding.

“Maddie’s the same,” I offered. “She talks to books like they talk back.”

He smiled at that. “That’s the best kind of kid.”

I was about to reply—to agree with the praise of my daughter, to maybe say something more—but then she came barreling back toward us, beaming.

“Mommy, Mommy! Look!” She held up a Rapunzel doll.

“Can I have her? Please? She has real brushable hair!” Maddie clutched the box to her chest like she’d just been entrusted with state secrets.

I chuckle, “That’s yarn, sweetie. You can’t brush it.”

“Can I have her? Please, Mommy?”

I looked at him, then at my daughter’s wide, pleading eyes. The panic from earlier was still fading in my bones, but the joy on her face grounded me again.

“Fine,” I said with a knowing smile. “Let’s check her out and ask if she’s ready for a new home.”

Maddie squealed and ran ahead toward the counter.

He straightened, glancing at me with the softest grin.

“She’s something else,” he said.

I met his eyes, the warmth still lingering between us.

“She really is.”

He smiled—soft, sheepish. A little unsure.

There was a pause.

My eyes flicked between him, the floor, and Maddie standing at the counter, rocking on her heels with the raggedy doll held up against her chest.

I didn’t know what it was about him. Maybe it was the way he spoke to her, so tender.

Maybe it was the way he panicked when I first approached them—all flustered and apologetic, tripping over his words like he hadn’t spoken out loud in days.

Maybe it was his eyes—big, toffee-colored, and far too curious. The way he kept looking at me like I was a puzzle he genuinely wanted to solve.

Despite everything in me that usually resisted introducing new people into our lives, I felt it—that pull.

I wanted to know him.

“I should get going,” he said, his voice low, like he didn’t really want to.

I nodded, even though something in me quietly hoped he’d stay just a little longer.

“Of course. Thank you again. For everything.”

He looked down, then back at me, like he was still trying to memorize something.

“It was… nice meeting you. Both of you.”

“It was nice meeting you too.”

He took a step back, then paused.

“I hope she keeps believing in magic,” he said, glancing toward Maddie with something almost wistful in his eyes.

“She will,” I said, smiling. “She has a good reason to.”

He didn’t say anything after that. Just smiled once more—brighter this time—before turning and walking away.

And even though I knew I’d just met him… I wanted to call out after him. Maybe invite him to eat with us, I had the pretense of him keeping my daughter safe. It would be so easy, just go, “hey wait!”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Because despite having every reason to call out to him, to try and integrate him into my life, the fear in me always ended up eating my intentions up.

Still. I had a feeling that wouldn’t be the last time I saw him..

I stayed still for a moment, just watching him leave.

It wasn’t until he disappeared from view that I finally moved—walking to the counter where my daughter was waiting, still cradling her new doll like a prize.

“Where did Spencer go?” she asked, as soon as I appeared beside her.

Spencer. So that's his name.

It fit him, somehow. A little old-fashioned, a little too soft around the edges for someone who carried so much weight in his eyes. But now that she’d said it out loud, I couldn’t imagine him being called anything else.

“He had to leave, sweetheart.”

Her little face fell just slightly. “Will we see him again? I want to see more magic.”

I crouched beside her, brushing her hair back behind one ear as I pulled her into my arms. The weight of the day finally caught up to me—settling in my chest like something too big to name.

“Who knows, Maddie,” I murmured, holding her tight. “Maybe someday.”

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“I need you to promise me something, okay?”

She blinked up at me, her Rapunzel doll dangling loosely from one arm.

“Don’t ever wander off like that again. Spencer was kind, and he kept you safe. But not everyone is like him. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

She nodded, serious now. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“I know, baby,” I whispered, holding her again. “I just need you safe.”

“I promise, Mommy.” She murmured.

“Thank you, honey.” I kissed her temple. “Now… let’s buy you this doll and go get something to eat.”

She grinned, her earlier worry forgotten, clutching Rapunzel to her chest like she’d just made a new friend.

We walked out hand-in-hand, the late morning sun spilling through the library doors as they shut behind us.

And even though I told myself it was just another Saturday…

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had quietly begun.

Next Chapter

[yazzwrites6962]

Please more niragi

Warmth ♡ Suguru Niragi

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Suguru Niragi x Fem!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Author's Note: UNEDITED! I don't own any characters or images!

Genre: Smut

Summary: After surviving a brutal game, you and Niragi take shelter in an abandoned building on a cold night. Light banter and teasing leads to more intimate moments between you two.

Word Count: 2170

Warnings: OOC Niragi, language, mentions of death, sexual content, penetration, biting, name calling, masochism, degradation, fingering, praise, begging, and some hair pulling.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It wasn't meant to turn out this way. You and Niragi had barely made it out of the game alive. Now, instead of driving back to the Beach in victory, you were journeying through the empty city on foot because, of course the keys had been left on a dead player and were too risky to retrieve.

"Remind me again, why I let you talk me into switching to your group?" You grumbled, glancing at Niragi as you trekked through the dimly lit streets.

"Because you're hopeless without me." He shot back, smirking despite the exhaustion in his steps. You rolled your eyes, adjusting your grip on the backpack slung over your shoulder.

"Right, because you're the poster child for good decisions." You two had been walking for what felt like hours. The cold night air danced against your skin and your muscled ached from the demanding game earlier.

You weren't sure how much longer you could keep going. Niragi didn't seem too thrilled at the thought of continuing all the way back to the Beach either, although he would never admit it outright.

Eventually, you spotted an old, abandoned building up ahead. Unlike many other buildings, it seemed mostly intact. It looked like it must've been a shop or cafe, but now it was just another hollow shell in the Borderlands.

"Hey, that looks good enough." You say, motioning towards the building. "We can stop and rest there for tonight." You began making your way to your safe haven of the night without waiting for a response.

"Fine." Niragi sighed, catching up to you. For once, he didn't argue. He was definitely tired too. "Don't go falling asleep. There's not a chance I'm taking first watch."

Inside the building wasn't much different from the outside. It was dusty, cold, and lit only by the moonlight filtering through broken windows. Still, it was better than wandering aimlessly through the city at night. You found a pile of old blankets folded neatly on the counter. They were probably left by someone who had been camping there before.

"Toss me one." Niragi hollered to you, sitting against the wall with a grunt. Instead of gently handing it over, like a normal person, you balled up a blanket and threw it at his head.

"What the hell?!" He let out a muffled yell as the blanket hit him square in the face. He yanked it off, glaring at you with an irritated expression.

"Oops." You said, innocently, trying to hide the grin playing at your lips. "Sorry. My aim is shit when I'm feeling so tired." You picked up a blanket for yourself, wrapping it around your shoulders as you approached him.

"Your ass is lucky I'm too tired to get up and strangle you right now." He muttered, with no real threat in his voice. You sat down against the wall beside him. The air was freezing, and even with the added layer, you could feel the chill seeping in.

Glancing at Niragi, you notice him shivering slightly, despite his attempts to look unbothered. Without a word, you shuffled closer, throwing half your blanket over him.

"What are you doing?" He stiffened immediately, giving you a suspicious look.

"Relax. I'm not gonna bite. Not unless you want me to." You teased. "You just look like you're about to turn into an icicle or something." He stared at you incredulously.

"You... You're annoying. You know that?" He said, ultimately deciding not to push you away. His body relaxed as he shifted slightly closer to you. You raise an eyebrow, grinning at him. "Relax. I just don't feel like freezing tonight, okay?"

You hum in acknowledgement before a comfortable silence fills the air between you. The shared warmth made the cold of the night slightly more bearable. Every so often, you would catch Niragi glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

"Why aren't you scared of me?" He asked suddenly, his voice quieter than usual. You turned your head to look at him, slightly surprised by the question.

"I dunno." You answer honestly. It's true, you aren't scared of him, despite everything. "I mean, I know you're just as bad as everyone says, but not to me. Do I personally got a reason to be afraid of you? Should I sleep with an eye open tonight?"

He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it with a thoughtful expression. You wonder what he was going to say before he stopped himself.

"You're really annoying." He muttered after a moment. You chuckle, leaning your head against the wall. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn you saw a soft smile on his lips.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say." You scoff. "We both know you'd be painfully bored without me." You scoot closer to him, your body searching for warmth.

"You keep acting like you know me so well." He murmured. "You're not scared of what I could do?" There's practically no space between you, and it's almost like he's whispering in your ear.

"I just don't think you'd do anything to hurt me." You reply, your eyes meeting his.

"So, you've either got crazy guts, or you're just unbelievably stupid." You could feel his warm breath hitting your face, and you couldn't help but crave more of his heat.

"Maybe both." You leaned closer, your heart racing as you felt the tip of his nose brush against yours. "I guess that makes us a pretty good match, huh?"

Wordlessly, his hand reached up, brushing against your cheek in a way that was surprisingly gentle for someone like him. You shivered at his touch.

You weren't quite sure who moved first, but before you could overthink it, you found yourselves closing the distance. Your lips met in a rough, but strangely tender kiss.

His hand shift to your scalp, pulling you deeper into the kiss as his tongue slips into your mouth. You can feel the warmth building in your chest as his other hands reaches for the hem of your shirt.

He bites down lightly on your lower lip, earning a yelp to escape from your throat. He chuckled, pulling back for a moment to look at your face. There is a flash of possessiveness in his eyes as he crawls on top of you, carefully laying you beneath him.

Fortunately, the blankets are large enough to still cover both of your bodies. Yet, it somehow didn't matter. You already felt warm enough with his right hand acting as a cushion between your head and the ground, and his left hand snaking up your shirt.

"Cozy?" He asked with a grin. You'd heard the rumors of how rough Niragi could be. However, it felt as though you were seeing a slightly different side of him. Beneath it all, he cared about you. He cared about your comfort and your warmth.

You nod, a similar smile on your face. Niragi lowered his face to yours, peppering kisses along your jawline before reaching your neck. He wanted to mark you. He wanted everyone on the Beach to see you covered in hickies and bruises belonging to him. So, he did exactly that.

He kissed and licked at your neck and collarbone. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging it slightly as if begging to feel more of his body.

"Are you really so cold, princess?" He teased as he pinched at one of your nipples. You let out a gasp, and he began to pull your shirt higher and higher until your chest was exposed to him.

In his left hand, ne began kneading at your breast while his mouth worked on the other. You felt your arousal growing, and you wrapped your legs around his hips. He growled, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

"Fuck..." He whispered, pulling his mouth off you. You shivered; your cold wet skin exposed to the chilly air. "You're intoxicating." He grumbled, reaching for the hem of your pants. You quickly assisted him in removing your clothes, your heart racing with anticipation.

Niragi shifted his weight to one side, lifting two fingers to your lips expectantly. You opened your mouth, allowing him to push his fingers against your tongue.

"Suck, like a good girl." He commanded; his voice low with desire. You did exactly as you were told, sucking and likcing his fingers until they were properly lubricated. He pulled his fingers from your mouth, lowering them to the wet warmth between your legs.

"Please..." You whimpered, the word slipping from your lips. He paused, shutting his eyes and biting his lip as if trying to control himself.

"Fuck. Do you even know how hard you've made me?" He groans, shoving his fingers inside you. You yelp as they immediately curl against your sweet spot. "All the fucking time, with all your teasing. Fuck. You make me want you so bad."

His fingers pump in and out of you, stretching you out as his lips reattach to yours. Your whimpers and moans are silenced in his mouth. You grow lightheaded, and you can tell Niragi's composure is slowly eroding away.

Your hands reach down to his belt and you unbuckle it, pulling it from his pants. His breath hitches and he pulls away from your passionate kiss. A string of saliva still connects the two of you.

"Don't start something you can't finish." He growls, his fingers still curling inside you. You bite your lip, suppressing your sounds of pleasure for a moment.

"Oh, I'll m-make sure you finish." You tease, stuttering your way through your words. He huffs, pulling his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty.

He works his way through his own clothing as you strip your remaining garments and toss them aside. In a matter of seconds, you are both completely bare and vulnerable in front of each other.

He grips at your thigh, leaving nail marks in it as he hoists your leg over his shoulder. He positions himself at your entrance, his cock already leaking precum.

With the quick motion of his hips, he begins pushing into you, making you feel fuller than ever before. He bottoms out, suppressing a moan behind his thinly shut lips.

"Please, Niragi." You whine, rolling your hips. He inhales sharply, squeezing his nails so roughly against your skin that you believe it may bleed. "...Move."

"Yeah?" He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours as he pulls back, then thrusts forward. You squeak with pleasure as he repeats the action. "You want me to move? Alright, slut. I'll give you exactly what you're asking for."

The way he pounds into you is animalistic. Possessive. It's impossible to contain the moans flowing from your lips as you take him. Your nails dig into his back, leaving scratch marks which will remain in his skin for several days.

"You squeeze around m-me so good. F-Fuck." His voice quakes in your ear. "Like y-you're sucking me in. Such a fucking whore. So desperate f-for my cock."

His sweat drips onto you, but you couldn't care less. Your mind is swirling from the pleasure, and you're locked in on the sounds of your wet skin slapping against his. The warmth and passion are overwhelming.

"Niragi!" You whimper, breathlessly. "P-Please- I'm so close!" You beg as he drops your leg off his shoulder, allowing him to press his chest against yours. You lock your legs around his hips, as if pleading for him to keep going.

"Shit." He gasps, wrapping his arms around you. "Me too, princess." His thrusts grow sloppy and his breaths shorter. "Beg for it, my good girl."

"P-Please!" You can feel the pressure building as you beg for your release. "Fuck- Please Niragi! Please let me cum- Please! I n-need to c-cum, please!"

"A-Ah-" His thrusts stutter as he twitches inside you. "Fuck- Cum for me, baby." He huffs before pressing his lips against yours.

He continues messily thrusting into you as you both ride out your highs, his seed spilling inside you. He moans in your mouth, pulling away from the kiss as he pulls out of you, combined liquids spilling out of your body.

His trembling body slumped beside you. Never before had you seen Niragi so drained of energy. Slowly, your heart calmed, and your breathing slowed back to normal.

You rested against his side, enveloped up in the warmth of shared blankets and lingering closeness. Niragi didn't have much to say, but he wrapped his arm firmly around you, holding you in an oddly comforting way.

"You're still annoying." He exhaled, but there was no malice in his tone. Only exhaustion and playful teasing. You chuckle, nestling closer to him.

"You're still pretending like you don't like me." You shoot back, but the comment falls on deaf ears. Niragi has already drifted into a rare, but peaceful sleep.

Maybe the Borderlands was cold and cruel, but at least you had found some warmth in each other.

[tartarusknight]

Steve had this habit, a habit which most of the party were annoyed by. They understood it, God did they understand. But after everything was over and the Upside Down was gone for good, it kept happening. Months and months of daily calls. Just Steve checking in and asking them about their day.

Mike hadn't understood why he was on the list of names Steve would call, but if he didn't pick up the phone, there would be a knock on the door within the hour. And Steve, sometimes followed by Robin, would stop by like he was that important to them. Once, it had been on their way to work, and Steve had only locked eyes with him and raised an eyebrow. Mike just flipped him off and continued reading his comic.

Dustin had told him it was Steve's way of coping, and Lucas had turned the calls into workouts with the older teen. Will had just gone a little red and nodded along. El smiled and told Mike about the tips for hair care she got. Max just rolled her eyes and said that Steve had taken to stopping by with food most days.

Steve would be there. He was always there. It was annoying, but it was a constant. Maybe that's why Mike laid awake as the clock ticked closer and closer to midnight. Normally, he could fall asleep within minutes, a habit he had inherited from his dad. But he could bring himself to sleep as his phone didn't ring. As the walkie stayed silent. As the door remained untouched, no knock to be heard.

And it was stupid. Because Mike didn't want Steve to call him every day just to ask him if he was okay. It made him feel like a kid. It reminded Mike of his mom, but even his mom wasn't that bad. No, no one really did that for Mike. No one checked in day after day even as he remained uncaring towards them. No one but Steve.

Until now...

Mike watched the clock as it passed midnight, and his stomach twisted into knots. Fear bubbled up, and he pictured Steve getting into a fight he couldn't walk away from. He pictured a car crash so great that Steve was unable to reach for the walkie he carried with him everywhere. He pictured the worst- the Upside Down still around. The demogorgon coming up and dragging Steve into that hellpit.

Mike was up and pulling on a warm sweatshirt before those images were fully formed. He crawled out his window and down the roof, not too unlike the way Steve had done to visit Nancy. It left him already out of breath by the time he climbed on his bike. But that didn't stop him. He pushed off the ground, biking as fast as he could towards Loch Nora.

The cold air hot his face, and the road seemed to go on forever, but Mike didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until Steve's place was in view.

Mike tossed his bike uncarringly onto the pavement before slamming his fist into the Harrington's nice door. He didn't let up. He couldn't as an image of Steve dead in his own pool floated in his mind.

However, then the door was opening. Steve stood there, looking like he hadn't been asleep either. A smear of white powder on his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes. But still, something eased in Mike the same time Steve lost some of that weight in his shoulders as well. "You- you didn't-" Mike started, still out of breath. "Call. Why didn't you- call?" He gasped and Steve looked at him with a weird expression.

"You- What?" Steve questioned, sounding lost.

Mike crossed his arms, "I- you can't just stop!" He gasped out, and Steve's brow furrowed.

"But you don't like it when I do? I annoy you," he tries to point out, and Mike huffs.

"God, of course you annoy me! You track our days more intensly than my mom, and you always make dumb jokes, and I hate that I find them funny! You always call when I'm in the middle of something, and you make it easy to stay on the phone! You are always there like some weird older brother that I never asked for!" Mike shouts and Steve's eyes are wide.

"You don't have to stay around or call, but you do! You do, and you actually care. Like when you call and ask me if I'm okay, it feels like you care, and I don't understand why! I don't get you! I didn't ask you to care about me, but even when you were dating Nancy, you cared! You took Holly and me to get ice cream even though Nancy had to study! You give me and my friends rides everywhere! You care!" Mike throws his hands up in the air.

He glares at the older teen, "You care so much that I stupidly care about you! I care enough to come and check on you because when you didn't call, all I could think was that you were like dead or something," Mike snaps and takes a step back. "But you're obviously fine so-" and he wants to run suddenly. To run from the way Steve's eyes are filled with tears or the stupid words he just told the older teen.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. "Mike, I stopped because I didn't think you wanted me to. You always acted like I was your least favorite person in the world and I guess I just- I didn't feel like it was fair to force you to put up with me just because I can't handle not knowing if you were okay." Steve said, and it didn't sound like the normal Steve. He sounded tired and nervous. He sounded like someone had finally beaten him

Mike bites his lip and tastes salt like he had been crying. Or maybe he still was. He crosses his arms like he can shield himself from this conversation. "But now you don't care enough to keep calling?"

Steve rubbed his face, a sigh shaking his whole body as he did. "I still care, kid."

Mike scoffs, "You didn't call."

Steve drops his hands to his sides. "Just come inside. It's too late for you to bike home. I'll call your place and leave a message." Steve says, his voice sounding close to tears. Mike is stiff when he lets Steve pull him inside.

They are quiet as Steve guides him towards the kitchen. The kitchen that has music playing softly and smelling like a bake sale. He blinks as he steps into the room and spots cookies cooling on a rack and a pie stilling uncooked on the counter. The top crust is sitting on the counter next to it. There's a smell of something in the oven, and Mike states at all of it in confusion.

"I bake when I can't relax," Steve admits, and Mike glances over at him. "I still care, and I was trying to give you space. I was trying not to crowd you, so I just," and he waves his hand around the mess everywhere. The smear of white on his cheek now makes sense.

Mike hugged himself, "I don't- I don't mind the calls." He whispered, and it got a snort from Steve.

He looked over at Mike, "I kinda got that from your speech."

They stood there in silence for another moment before Steve moved to finish putting his pie together. "I know that we aren't close or anything. But I care, it's not just the Upside Down making me anxious, it's just that-" and Steve went quiet. "I went overboard, I get it. But now I just- I can't stop." He admits, and Mike hates how upset Steve sounds. How guilty he sounds.

"I fall asleep easier knowing that if someone wasn't okay, we'd know because of you. It's like you take all the stress from me just by being around." He says, and Steve's eyes are wide. "Maybe we just do a sound off every night so you don't have to play phone tag all day." He shrugs, and Steve wrinkles his nose.

"I don't really get how to use the walkie. Like Dustin tried to show me, but he got distracted and started talking about radio waves and well..." Steve mimed it going over his head.

Mike snorted to hide how much that terrified him. The thought of something bad happening and Steve not being able to respond. But he pushed it away as Steve looked at him as if waiting for Mike to tease him. "That's fair. We did modify them, so they worked better. It's not as simple as your average walkie. I can show you," he offered, and Steve's face split into a grin.

"Cool, want to help me finish this so I can put it in the fridge until tomorrow? Then you can teach me the ways," Steve says, going all dramatic, proving to Mike he'd been spending too much time with Eddie. Mike groaned but came over only for Steve to shove him to the sink to wash his hands.

Steve showed him what to do, and Mike was glad to have Steve around. Because sure Steve's habit was annoying, and sometimes it interfered with Mike's plans, but it was nice too. Steve was nice. And that was something Mike ever believed would happen. But as Steve joked that Mike should not become a baker, he was nice. Like the way Mike was nice to Holly or how Nancy was nice to him. He was part of the family, annoyingly nice habits and all.

[qwellterqustoinmark]

DC X DP

Dead on Main, Mad Scientist Danny Feton, bad reval, poor moewo mewos

Danny would call himself a guy. A dude, very chill if you must, and he was fine in his own little lab. Was it just the cramed basement of some abounded apartment complex that probably had more mold then wall? Yes, that did not matter. What did was the fact he could do everything he wanted! Not legally, but laws where made to be very vaguely followed, as his mother said.

Now, being know was good for business! Being the guy people went too when they wanted some shit was good! Was he happy that all (and by all he ment every single fucking one, even the kid he gave a healing pot too witch what the fuck?) of them where villains? No! He thinks he's aloud to be upset about that.

So Joker dragging in a new lab rat of his was not new. What was, was the fact the idotoc asshole kept comeing back. Kept dragging kids to Danny's feet like Danny was nothing but a senseless dog.

Danny's finger twitched of the gear of burner. The screaming was the worst part, that and the goofs cheery laugh.

"I won't take em asshole." Joker all but croons sadly. Still giggling over himself, "Yes- but this ones a ah! A favorite of you, mh, maddd types!" Danny paused. Shit this wasn't the normal gas test was it. God dammit.

Danny turns to look at the man. Ignoring the small voice in the back of his mind singing of a curuis cruletly. The voice of Phantom, ones hes tried so hard to squish. "Do tell," Danny urges comeing to stand infrot of the wooden box.

Joker smiles impossiblely larger. Hands clasped together as his shoulders shake with mirth. "Well! I know you live under a rock dear Docter, so let me say!" The clown dances around the box. Drumming on it before he leans over it. Hands on his chin, smirk on his face. "It's the dead Robin." Chackles Joker.

It dosnt smell dead. No, not more then anyone else in Gotham for that fact. Still Danny knocks on the box, not hollow though due to its size there lots of empty space. The nails are hammers down sloppily, and the holes are drilled as a after though. Usesly air holes mean their alive, or they want him to think they are.

"I'm no god Joker." Danny scolds. He'll have to decontimate now, witch is awful becuses if death has gotten into test AEA7 it would ruin the-

"Oh no, it came back."

What?

Danny stares at the mad man. The morth still wrote on the man's face and if he focuses he can hear the muted heart beat of something side the creat, drowned by Jokers erratically flailing one.

"What." Joker smiles at him, wiggling his finger at Danny like he had caught him. "I knew you Docters love something new!" Joker claims clapping to himself. "What the fuck do you mean?" Joker frowns at haveing been cut off by Danny but dosnt repermand him.

"It came back! It defined everything we know, and we'll, I ah, I know you Tinkiters love something that stays, well, hm, fixxed." Dear Acienects. Danny stated at that wooden box sering it for what ot was, a cheap cage. Something to keep them down till you found something better, or they gave in.

Something Danny's can imagen himself in. Can imagen Dani in. Fuck even Dan. Something he swore he'd never let in. Something he promised he'd keep others safe from.

He failed. Something he so obviously failed, and all he can feel is the numbness of his fingers as his nails dig into his palm.

"Get out." His voice croaks. That same weak voice he'd cry to be louder, cry to stop everything. The voice he shredded for nothing.

Joker pouts. Twirling a finger in his hair like a school girl. "I'm helping!" He plays. Plays, like a humors fiddle life is. Like it's something one man can mold and shape. Like it's his to control.

He dosnt know how he ends up punching the bastred he jist know he dosnt stop. Claws dig into his face but this is no mortal man. This is a monster, more so then Phantom, more so then Danny.

His father always said monsters got braver the longer you let them linger. Danny knows now that he was right, and dosnt let this one return.

Guns are not typical lab equipment.

Guns dosnt usely have no safety, guns don't usely have a last name stickerd on it. Guns dosnt usely shatter a skull in one shot.

Danny whipes his nose. The body is still warm and Jokers chest rises and falls mindlessly. He's dead. Danny shoots him once more, and the body converses with the motion. Very dead.

The kid. The kid, fuck the kid.

Danny whipes the blood onto his coat, shoveing the gun as far as he can, he can, he jist killed their captor. Okay this could go very bad, or very good.

"Hey kid- your, shit, your okay now-" That is a grown ass man. That is a very awake, very drugged grown man.

Captive looks up twords him, head lulled slightly, and stares at him. Danny stares back. He's tempted to close the lid again, just wait till it's out of him, and he can leave. Yeah that might be the best plan of action.

"Is he gone?" The very adult man says. Voice a horseh whisper. Danny stops shutting the crate. Looking to stre back at the adult man (kid, he's a kid, mabye bot forever but right now he is).

"Uh." Shit what did Jazz said calmed kids? Danny slowly puts his hand in the box, "He is. Big Goof didn't start a chance against good old.. um.." he didn't really have the most hero nickname.

It didn't seem to matter, becuses the red helmeted man grabs Danny's hand. Nearly dragging him into the creat aswell.

"Thank you, thank you- thank you-" Danny just sat still. Red helmet dude clearly needed this.

Manye it could be okay for him too.

"Yeah, it'll be okay.."

[ssvbse]

Suit & Tie

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x F!Reader | 1.2k

Summary: Attempting to impress you, Logan gets tangled in a suit.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, Logan's self conscious, reader works in some kind of a prestigious environment

"Logan?" you called, announcing yourself. You brushed your knuckles across the cracked door. "Are you almost ready?"

Audibly bristling in frustration, he halted your probing with a strike to the door. Wood to wood, the door rattled within its frame, a hairline fracture sprouting from the fitted handle.

His voice was muffled by a screwed jaw: "Don't come in."

You frowned, trying the loosened handle only to feel a countering weight keeping the door closed.

"Do you need help with anything?" you asked.

"No!" he snarled, a second thud shuddering the entirety of the door. The metallic handle promptly fell from its compromised cavity, just missing your foot as it dented the cheap wood flooring. "No, I don't need your help."

You pursed your lips. "Do you want me to call Wade? I know he's not great at helping with..." You thought for a moment. "...anything I s'pose, but maybe–"

"No!" he repeated. "No, I don't need help. Just—just give me a damn second–"

The door dipped beneath his weight, and he growled out of frustration, the crack webbing out along the strain.

"Logan," you murmured, sliding your finger along the splitting wood. "Why don't you open up."

He sighed, exasperation tearing a whine from his throat and the dent in the door lifted. You gently insisted it open, his tower shadow consuming you.

"Now, don't tell me you're getting cold feet about this–" you murmured lightly, only to struggle to complete the humorous attempt as your mouth dried.

Burned by a razor, hair slicked back to his skull, and a tie wound around his suit collar like a noose, Logan looked like he had been banished to Hell.

"'Picture would last longer," he grunted, crossing his arms. The poorly tailored fabric strained around the mass of his muscle, the taunt stitches wrinkling the sleeves.

"Logan..." you said, approaching him.

"Don't 'Logan' me," he snapped, turning away as his neck flushed red. "I look like an idiot."

"You don't look like an idiot," you said, struggling to fight off the smile crinkling your eyes as you smoothed your hand down his jacket. The blazer struggled to stretch over the expanse of his chest, hugging tight to the cups of his shoulders and surely digging into the hollows of his arms.

You flicked the tie knotted around his neck, eyes flitting up to his.

"Were you trying to hang yourself?"

The blush crept up to his cheeks, and he grunted.

"Funny," he bit, looking away as you untangled the fabric from his irritated throat. "'Soundin' better and better by the second."

"I must've gotten here just in time then," you said, watching the hair along his neck raise as you freed him of the constriction. He swallowed, defined Apple bobbing around a thick wad of embarrassment.

You smoothed your thumb over the tie, straightening the wrinkles. "'Wade put you up to this?"

You received only a stiff nod in response as you tossed the tie back around his neck.

"I'm assuming the hair is his handy-work, too?"

His heavy eyes bore into yours.

"You're teasing me."

"No," you said, the tips of your lips riding the apples of your cheeks. "Just curious of what he thought when he saw you like this."

He watched your fingers artfully braid the tie.

"'Doesn't matter what he thinks," Logan said, looking away again. "Wasn't tryin' to do it for him."

You straightened the flaps of his blazer and tucked the tie behind them. "All this suffering just for me then, huh?"

"'m not sufferin'," he murmured, though the stutter in his exhale said differently. "'Just wanted to–" He swallowed "–look normal..." his eyes found yours, "for you," and they flickered away, "for once."

Your lips rounded around an expression of surprise and collapsed a moment later.

"Oh," you said. "Did Wade say something?"

"'Course he fucking did," he huffed as he rolled his shoulders back. His imposing posture nearly split the seam along his bulging delts. "'Moron can't keep his damn mouth shut. 'Just lookin' to piss me off."

You followed the fold of his coat, straightening the flaps and adjusting his twisted, undershirt collar.

"Little brothers tend to do that," you said, smoothing your hand over the tense line of his shoulders. His nostrils flared as he warmed your face with a heated exhale. "Especially when they know they'll get a big reaction."

His chin jutted out in stubbornness.

"'Not that big of a reaction."

You caught his arm as he drew them to his chest in an attempt to shield your subtle prying, slipping your hot thumb beneath the cuff of his undershirt and pressing the pad to his pulse point.

"You're in a suit, Logan," you said, a smile blessing your face as you slid your hand along his smooth cheek, caressing the fresh skin. "You shaved. What did that poor man say to you?"

Firm lines marred his reluctant expression, his messily trimmed brows knitting together with a tangle of sheepish wrinkles.

"'s nothin'," he murmured, brushing you off. "'Just mentioned one of your coworker's 's all."

Your brows brushed your hairline.

"'Said you'd—" relaying the words seemed to pain him, "been... showing interest lately." He inhaled sharply, rolling his jaw. "'Said you deserved a proper man," he said, gesturing to the invisible foe, "like one of them."

His frown dug deep into his cheeks as his arm fell back to his side. "Not a hairy, sweaty beast," he said, finally meeting your eyes, "like me."

You studied his face, watching the way his jaw jumped to the rhythm of his bouncing lip.

"So you... borrowed Wade's suit and..." you gently insisted his chin up, studying the damage the razor had done to the line of his jaw, "and shaved?"

"If you want a proper man, I'll give you a proper man."

You pursed your lips, finally taking in the entirety of what this was.

A mask—a facade of peer-induced self loathing.

Gently, you insisted the front of his blazer open, undoing the top buttons of his undershirt. Under the restricting white fabric was the expanse of his freed, sun-kissed skin. A grove of soft, curly black hair rolled over the golden fields of his chest.

You leaned in closer, nose prickly at the comforting, woodsy smell of Logan, his musk no longer suffocated by the artificial smell Wade had surely lent him.

You dragged your nose up, pressing a sweet kiss to the pit of his collarbone, humming at the way his breath hitched.

"It's a good thing I don't want a proper man then," you murmured, raking your hand through his hair and breaking up the greasy mess, "isn't it?"

He blinked, taut expression finally giving some slack. Where once lay doubt, now settled resolve, and a relieved smile tugged at his lips.

"Yeah," he murmured, barely biting back his grin, "'spose that's good."

"Good," you said, ensuring the top buttons of his dress shirt remained undone and making quick work of undoing the tie.

"Shave again, and I'll kill you, Howlett, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

[meo-eiru]

heyy!! here I am with some more thoughts, this time about Elias.

honestly, for some reason, he seems like a very lonely person to me. you mentioned his will to change himself (and go to extreme lengths in that); also his almost paranoid fear of darling leaving him, (delete all of your contacts except for him, etc) – usually such level of jealousy is a sign of very low self-esteem. dunno if it's true, I just had a feeling that he's super insecure deep down. (he's afraid to look bad in our eyes, remember? to an unhealthy extent.)

and he's so empty. so beautiful on the outside, but so so empty. he loves you, he exists for you, isn't that enough? it isn't. you can't feel genuine affection for someone just because they look good. and Elias knows that! he's actually self conscious (unlike some elf with big tatas), but he can't offer you anything else, which must make him feel even more insecure, because deep down he knows that he won't be able to keep you by his side forever.

actually that will of his to go to extreme lengths for us is pretty frightening. how toxic it can be? depends on the darling! because if you are a normal person, you'd be patient with him, change him, and have a happy ever after and all those boring things. but what if Elias happens to fall in love with an unreasonable and possessive monster?

I feel like he'd go very well with a darling who's yandere for him too. and a stereotypical one at that, who'd want to keep him by their side like a pretty doll. get it? not a life partner, not even a human. a doll, a pretty thing to take care of. they would choose pretty clothes for him, brush his hair, but at the end of the day, he's nothing more but a pretty thing, an object.

I really like the doll metaphor for Elias. (I'm a huge doll lover, I ever have one of that super expensive bjd) dolls are beautiful, but aren't alive. they can't be someone you'd open your heart to; under their shiny porcelain skin, they're hollow.

unlike Silas, Elias is a more tragic character in my eyes. he's willing to carve his bones to whatever shape you desire, because if he isn't validated and noticed by you, he has no value. and you (if you are a normal person) will grow tired and bored of him, sooner or later. he wants to be loved, when there's pretty much nothing to love in him.

unlike Silas, his love can ruin only himself.

(I swear it's not like I want to see him suffer in particular. I'm open to all kinds of despair, pain and sadness, whether it yan's or darling's!)

(also I tried to find his colour scheme, but all I found was you mention his hair, so it's just how I think he looks like.)

DHDKDHDKYS NOT ONLY IS YOUR ANALYZES AMAZING YOU ALSO DREW ELIAS??? AND HOW DID YOU GET HIS COLOR SCHEME SO RIGHT???

I love you thank you god I love asks like yours.

You’re very on point, Elias is like a pretty doll. Beautiful on the outside but completely empty inside, and that beauty is the only thing that gives him any kind of worth. He’s aware of this more than anyone.

He’s not rich, he doesn’t have an amazingly successful career, no hobbies, no specialities, no interests. He’s extremely pathetic and all he can do is pitifully attempt to pull you down to his level.

That’s why committing self harm comes so easily to him even if he doesn’t yearn for it. Endangering himself, his only value, his body, is the only way he can keep you with him. He doesn’t have any power over you he can use against you. He only has this disgustingly and pathetically beautiful body.

He wants to be loved by you, he wants you to be obsessed with him as much as he is with you, but deep down he knows he doesn’t have any qualities that could deserve such love. That is why he leans into his appearance so hard, since the moment he was born that face of his was the only thing that gave him any sort of value.

If you find any part of him ugly he’ll have no choice but to try to fix it even if it completely ruins him. Because he thinks that’s the only way for him to keep your eyes on him. He’s just through and through pathetic. Extremely pitiful.

He would indeed roll well with a yandere reader who treats him like a living doll. Because Elias wants to be values by you, even if it means getting stripped of the little sense of identity he had. He wants you to keep your eyes on him and see him as an object who exists for your satisfaction. Because at the end of the day that is what he is. An empty shell who was unfortunate enough to be born with the ability to love.

Elias’ existence can’t handle his own love. He’ll start breaking from inside out like a doll under pressure. That’s why he needs your reassurance, he needs you to reaffirm his worth. He can’t exist for himself so he needs to exist for you. He might be a beautiful shell of a human but he too can have some sort of value if he’s being used like a tool by you.

But watching you also makes him feel extremely jealous and frustrated. Because you have everything he doesn’t have. You have hobbies, things you enjoy, things you do for yourself, people who stay with you not for your outer shell but for who you are inside. Everything Elias never had and never will.

That’s why he tries so hard to ruin your relationships and threaten you to stay with him, to keep you at his level like a pathetic bug. Because you’re not like him. You can abandon him any day of the week and continue your life like you lost nothing, but Elias isn’t like that. If he loses you he truly will have nothing left.

So please love him, ruin him, break him, treat him right, use him, make him feel alive, give him some sort of value. Please be kind to Elias. He needs you more than anyone on this world

[imaginespazzi]

Part 5: The Answers We Wait For

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

I'd go back in time and change it (but I can't)

(In which a writer's busy schedule somehow still had time for her favorite obsession)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining

Words: 7.0K (it's very on-brand that my busiest week would produce the longest chapter)

TW: Swearing (I think that's it?)

A/N: Happy Monday lovelies :) How I managed to pull this off is between me and God at this point but here we are. I know it's been an interesting day to say the least, so I'm hoping me living up to my promises can be a silver lining. Quick note that I already fucked up the timeline at some point and Paige Olivia have actually been divorced for almost 3 years. I'll change that eventually. I actually didn't even try to really edit this chapter and in the choice between editing tomorrow and giving it to y'all today, I chose the latter. So please help a girl out and point out my typos/mistakes if you spot them and I will also eventually go back and edit. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked and anything you'd like to see going forwards. Have a lovely week my loves <3

December 2027

Marriage and weddings had never been at the forefront of Paige’s mind. To be completely honest, for most of her life, there wasn’t much occupying her brain other than the court under her feet and the basketball in her hands. But the couple of times she had let herself picture it, she’d always thought that she’d have a Fall wedding, probably in Minnesota, maybe even on a basketball court. An indoor winter wedding in Texas had never once crossed her mind. She’d imagined vibrant fun bouquets made of pink lilies and purple hydrangeas, not the elegant red and white roses arrangements that were currently being placed along a far too heavily decorated aisle. Instead of vintage wines and carefully constructed fancy cocktails, she’d thought it would be nice to have spiked shirley temples and maybe even blue and white jello shots. She had expected to have a quiet ceremony followed by a vivacious gathering of everyone she loved. It had never even occurred to her that her wedding would become a public spectacle with People's magazine in attendance.  She’d pictured a party, not an event. 

Most of all she’d dreamt of getting married to a girl with dark eyes that could see all of Paige’s flaws and a soft smile that promised she’d love Paige despite them all. 

But the thing about dreams is that they’re fleeting trains that travel through the tracks of your mind when you’re asleep, and when you wake up, reality is nothing but a devastating train crash. 

Paige sighs, forcing herself out of her own head, as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. She looks pretty. Brittany had found her a nice white wedding suit -fitted to perfection- matching it with dainty silver jewelry. Paige normally liked her outfits a little looser but Olivia loved it and Paige likes that Olivia loves it. Her hair is styled in a bun, with two straightened strands to highlight her face. She thinks she might have preferred to have them curled in the front but Olivia had sweetly insisted on them being straight because hers would be curly and they had to complement, not match. Paige doesn’t really understand the difference or the importance but she thinks if Olivia wants it like that then she's fine with it. She thinks the bold red lipstick heavily coating her mouth makes her look a little bit like a vampire out of a badly directed 90’s horror movie but Olivia had said it was necessary so that the lights and cameras didn’t wash her face out. 

Paige looks pretty. She just doesn’t really look like Paige. 

“What do you think Drewski?” she asks, twirling to face her stone-faced brother who’s sitting on the couch, with a bout of enthusiasm that rings hollow to her own ears, “do I look gorgeous or what?”

“You look weird,” Drews says stiffly and Paige sighs. 

“Dr-” Paige is cut off by her younger brother sauntering over. A confused expression spreads over her features as Drew takes her hand and places it on his forehead, “uh- what are you doing?”

“Paigey, doesn't my forehead feel hot? I feel so sick,” the little boy whines, letting out a series of overzealous dramatized coughs. 

“Your forehead feels fine,” Paige says, slowly removing her hand.

“Well of course you’d think that. You’re not a doctor who knows how to feel foreheads correctly. I think we need to go to the hospital to see a real doctor. Like right now,” Drew pulls at Paige’s hand as she begins to catch onto what he’s trying to make happen. 

“You’re fine Drew.”

“I’m NOT. I’m very, very, very sick. So we have to leave right now. I could be contagious. I could be a danger to all these people,” Drew’s animated hands start to fly everywhere, “you can’t get married when your little brother’s sick. It’s- it’s just wrong. Bad juju or something like that. Everybody will understand that you just had to call off the wedding. For family reasons.”

“Drew-” Paige tries again, a hard pit settling in her stomach. 

“Are you worried cause you didn’t bring your car? That’s okay I’m sure Ice or KK will drive us but you can’t get married today Paigey. You just can’t,” his bottom lip trembles as the façade of illness slips and Paige feels her own eyes start to get glossy, “it’s not right Paigey. This is all wrong. She’s all wrong.”

“It’s not like that Drew. You just haven’t gotten to know-”

“I don’t want to know her,” Drew yells, “you don’t even know her. How can you get married to someone you’ve barely dated for a year. How can you do this to Az-”

“That’s enough,” Paige’s voice is eerily calm, as she digs her fingernails into her palm, “watch how you talk to me-”

“You’re being stup-”

“Drew Thomas I am not going to repeat myself again. Behave yourself. You’re not nearly old enough to be questioning what I do with my life,” it takes every inch of self-control Paige has to not let her voice shake. 

Her younger brother’s words feel like acid rain pelting against her already wounded skin. They slip into the gashes, mixing into her bloodstreams to create an army with the battalion of her own thoughts that have been hacking away at her heart for god knows how long. Paige wonders how long it’ll be before she finally bleeds out. 

“Please don’t get married Paigey,” Drew pleads, gripping his sister’s hand, “please.”

There’s nothing but silence as Paige opens and closes her mouth. And she doesn’t know if she’s trying to get words out or breathe air in; all she knows is that Drew might be squeezing her hands, but it feels like someone is strangling her lungs. 

She’s saved from having to say anything by a hesitant knock on the door. As Drew begrudgingly goes to open it, Paige scrambles to put herself back together. She closes her eyes, taking in three deep breaths before-

Drew gasps and Paige’s eyes fly open. With her back turned to the door, she can’t see who it is and something like hope starts to bloom in her chest, vines of maybe it’s her weaving through her ribcage. And as she turns around, they turn to dust; dust that floats up to her eyes and makes them tear up again as she stares dumbfoundedly at the two people standing somewhat awkwardly in her doorway. 

Paige had grown up an independent child. It wasn’t that her parents were neglectful or that they hadn’t loved her enough because they had. But at first it was the constant fighting and then it was the nurturing of a brand new family with new children and Paige had slipped through the cracks of oh she’s so mature we don’t need to worry about her. She had always had her parents as cheerleaders in the stands; no one was prouder of Paige than they were. But no one had bothered to force her to drink terrible tasting immunity boosters. No had patiently dyed her hair purple and pinky promised to like it even if it turned out terrible. No one had yelled at her for being in the gym till one a.m or woken her up at an ungodly hour to run drills. Not until she’d met a girl at 15 and that girl’s parents had decided that Paige was just as much theirs as their own daughter. 

And suddenly there were more people added to her cheering squad for her wins. But that’s not when Paige fell in love with Tim and Katie Fudd. It was when she lost and there was a nagging finger followed by a full breakdown of what she could do better next time and finally, a bear hug promising they’d help her do it. They’d been there every step and she’d sent the invitation, scared they wouldn’t show up, that they wouldn’t be there for this step, a step that inadvertently took her further away from them. But here they are anyway. 

“Hi sweetheart,” Katie says softly, her own eyes moist as she takes in the sight of the bride, “you look- you look absolutely stunning Paige.”

“You came,” Paige whispers, “I didn’t- I didn’t know if you would.”

“Of course we came,” Tim exclaims but his normal boisterous voice doesn’t feel nearly as enthusiastic, “always told you we’d be front and center at your wedding.”

Because I was supposed to marry your daughter; I was supposed to become your daughter, officially. 

“I’m really glad you guys came,” Paige says, letting Katie wrap her into a warm hug. She only gets a second to let herself enjoy it before Drew’s asking a question that makes her stiffen. 

“Where’s Azzi?” 

It’s like there’s lightning wrapped in that one syllable and it strikes right through Paige’s heart, setting every inch of it ablaze with the flames of a name that used to feel like cotton candy on her tongue; now it feels like lava. 

“She couldn’t make it,” Tim says slowly and Paige knows she shouldn’t be surprised, let along disappointed that her ex wasn’t coming but there’s a string that snaps anyways. 

“Why not?” Drew asks petulantly. 

“The baby’s due next month,” Tim tells him gently, “she can’t fly.”

The air feels suffocating at the mention of the baby. She’d been scrolling mindlessly through her tiktok feed when the announcement had popped up. She still has it memorized. 

Golden State Valkyries superstar shooting guard Azzi Fudd announces pregnancy on Instagram; she’ll miss the upcoming WNBA season. 

For a moment the world had stopped as Paige had hurriedly switched apps to instagram. And there it was. A smiling picture of Azzi holding a sonogram. Paige doesn’t know how long she’d stared at the picture but she remembers that it was set against a white background and she remembers that Azzi was wearing a green top. And as she’d typed out a congrats! that blended in seamlessly with all the other felicitating comments on the post, Paige had wondered if Azzi had felt it too. She’d wondered if, when Azzi had left a similar congratulations <3 post on Paige’s engagement announcement, she’d felt something unravel too. She’d wondered if Azzi had felt this hollowness of and i guess this is us signing off on never getting forever with each other. 

“So Azzi’s not going to stop this wedding?” Drew’s voice is dangerously even as he rounds on Paige, “and you’re really going through with this?”

“Drew please” Paige says tiredly as Katie runs a soothing hand down her back. 

“You’re stupid. And she’s stupid. You’re all so freaking stupid,” Drew bursts out, stomping past the adults in the doorway, his anger palpable in every single word. 

“I got it,” Tim says, wrapping a wrist around Paige’s hand as she moves to follow her younger brother. He squeezes gently, a half-hearted smile on his face, “it’s gonna be okay kid. It always is.”

Paige wishes she could just believe him, turn off the voices in her head and just be a kid who could take an adult’s word as gospel. But Paige is the adult now and believing no longer comes so naturally. 

“Hey,” Katie says after Tim runs after Drew, pulling Paige to sit with her on the couch, “I have a little wedding gift for you.

“Katie you don’t have-” Paige begins, watching as the older woman pulls out a velvet box from her bag, placing her phone on the table next to her. 

“Oh hush. I told you I’d give this to you,” Katie chides as she hands the velvet box. Paige’s eyes glisten as she opens it to find a familiar purple amethyst necklace. She’s flooded with the vivid image of her and Azzi on a random day in lockdown helping Katie organize her minimal jewelry. Paige had fallen in love with this necklace and Azzi had her eyes set on a pink topaz. It was fitting to say the least and Katie had promised them, with a glint in her eyes, that she’d give it to them as their something old on their wedding day. They’d been in between something and everything but Paige and Azzi had shared a shy smile over it anyways. 

“I can’t accept this,” Paige shakes her head trying to hand the box back but Katie dodges it expertly. 

“Yes you can. It’s basically a family heirloom and you, Paige Bueckers, are family,” Katie says firmly. 

“Katie-”

The older woman presses a kiss to Paige’s forehead as she starts to head out, “you’re always gonna be family Paige. Always.”

Katie’s words act like a band-aid but they’re not enough- maybe nothing will be enough- to fully heal the wound of today i was supposed to officially become a Fudd. 

A ringing noise interrupts Paige’s pity party and she starts half-heartedly digging around for her phone. She’s confused when she finds it because no one’s calling her and the room is still vibrating with noise. Crinkling her eyebrows, Paige’s eyes finally land on the couch side table, where Katie’s phone, clearly forgotten, is buzzing. 

Azzi’s CallerID flashes on the screen. 

Paige stares at the phone, rooted in place. She knows she shouldn’t pick it up, knows she should go return it. Still without a decision, Paige slowly starts to reach for it. And then it stops ringing and Paige goes still again, unsure if she’s relieved or disappointed. Swallowing, she takes another step. The phone rings again. A myriad of thoughts dance through Paige’s mind, opposing thoughts clashing with each other and making her head hurt. She lies to herself that it’s out of concern; that Azzi’s pregnant and this could be important. She lies to herself as she hits the green answer button that it’s not because she’s desperate to hear Azzi’s voice. 

“Mom?” Azzi sounds distraught when she picks up but Paige thinks it’s still her favorite sound any way, “Mom? I think I did something wrong. I can’t do this Mom. You’ve been gone a day and I’ve already fucked up. I don’t know what and I don’t know when but I think I fucked up. Maybe I ate something I wasn’t supposed to. Maybe it’s because I lay on my back instead of my side but Mom she hasn’t kicked all day and I can’t get Dr. Myers on the phone and I-”

“It’s a girl?” Paige breathes out. And suddenly she’s 22, sitting in a UConn apartment living room, grinning foolishly as Jana points out an AI picture that looks like the perfect mixture of her and Azzi. Azzi, who’s having a daughter. 

The woman in question is quiet and for a second Paige thinks that Azzi might hang up. 

“It’s a girl Paige,” Azzi says finally. 

“Are you- are you okay?” Paige asks slowly, trying not to dwell on how much she’s missed the way Azzi says her name. It’s been Bueckers every time they’ve seen each other this year and she’s never hated the sound of her last name more. 

“Yeah, I just-” Azzi sighs, her voice still a little frazzled, “I’m just being paranoid cause my Mom’s not here and my doctor’s not answering and the stupid baby hasn’t kicked all day,” she pauses, “sorry. I-I don’t mean to dump on you. Not today at least.”

“Az-”

“Where’s my Mom?”

“She- she’s probably outside. Think she left her phone here by accident. I can go find her but can I-” Paige hesitates, chewing at her lips in a way she knows Olivia hates, “can I help?”

“I don’t think-”

Paige shocks herself with her next words, “put the phone to your stomach.”

“What? Paige, did you hit your head in the last two seconds or something?”

“Just- just trust me,” she’s not really sure what she’s saying but now that she’s said, might as well commit to the bit, “I’mma talk sense into her. I saw it in a movie.”

“You saw it in a-” Azzi sighs and Paige can practically picture her rolling her eyes.  “I don’t know who’s more insane. You for coming up with the idea or me because I’mma follow through it,” there’s a bunch of static noise on the other side as Azzi adjusts herself, putting the phone on speaker and pressing it to her belly, “alright Dr. Bueckers work your magic.”

Paige is nervous as she speaks, “hey there little bean. I’m your-” she stops because what is she, “I’m your Paige,” she decides softly, “and I think- I think you should stop stressing your Mama out. She’s a bit of an overthinker so if you could just help her out, I think she’d really appreciate it. Because if- if you don’t she isn’t gonna be able to sleep tonight and you don’t know this yet but when your Mama doesn’t get sleep, she’s kind of a bi-”

“Paige,” Azzi hisses.

“Big baby,” Paige corrects, “she’s a big baby. And then she cries and it’s not a pretty sight-”

“Hey!”

“Sshhh Azzi I’m working my magic,” Paige scolds, “where was I? Oh yeah. She cries and it’s not a pretty sight because,’ her voice softens, “seeing your Mama cry is the worst thing in the world. I hate it and I know- I know you’re gonna hate it too because when you finally come out little bean, the first thing you’re gonna see is your Mama’s smile. And you’re gonna think it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Just like I do,” a sob escapes on the other end of the line and Paige feels tears start to cascade down her own cheeks, “come on little bean, give us a little kick. Make your Mama smile.”

Time ticks by slowly and Paige closes her eyes, thinking maybe her desperate attempt to keep Azzi on the line had failed miserably. And then Azzi gasps, “she kicked. Oh my god Paige she kicked.”

Paige’s grin stretches her whole face and for a second it almost feels like she’s right there with Azzi, that instead of her ear being pressed to a phone, it’s pressed to Azzi’s belly. For a second she almost feels like she can feel the baby kicking. And then she opens her eyes. 

“Did it make you smile?” 

“Yeah, yeah it did,” Azzi admits and Paige can hear the relief in her voice. 

“I’m glad- I’m glad you have something that makes you smile.”

“Do you?” Azzi sucks in a sharp breath, “do you have someone that makes you smile?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” and it’s not a complete lie. Olivia does make Paige smile. And maybe it’s not quite as big or bright or real but at least Olivia’s here to try. 

“Good. I-I’m also really glad you have that.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am Paige,” Azzi says quietly, “I want you to smile. I just- I just want you to be happy. Are you happy Paige?”

“I’m getting married today,” Paige says in lieu of an answer and she can hear Azzi’s breath hitch. 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. It’s a yes or no question,” Azzi presses.

“Then you answer it Azzi,” Paige bites out, “are you happy?”

“I”m-,” the younger girl lets out a sigh, “I’m content.”

Her answer makes Paige’s skin itch with irritation and she can’t stop it from seeping into her next question, “so you have no regrets then?”

“I didn’t say that,” there’s a warning edge to Azzi’s voice. 

“Do you or do you not regret saying no to marrying me Azzi?” Paige asks, unable to hold it in any longer. 

“Paige-”

“What? You gonna say it’s not that simple? It’s a yes or no question Azzi,” Paige mocks. 

“That’s not it-”

“Then what is?”

“You’re getting married Paige,” Azzi yells, “you’re getting married,” she repeats again, softer this time, “to someone else. And so it doesn’t matter how I feel. It isn’t fair of you to ask and it wouldn’t- it wouldn’t be fair of me to answer. Not today. Maybe one day- one day it'll be the right time but not today.”

“And what if it’s never the right time?” 

“Then maybe it’s a question you were never meant to know the answer to.”

There’s something final in the quietness that follows, like they’re having a moment of silence at a funeral for what never even got to be. 

It’s Azzi who speaks first. 

“You’re gonna be a wonderful wife P.”

“You’re gonna be an amazing mom Az.”

They let it left unsaid that they were supposed to be wives to each other, that they were supposed to be moms together. 

***

March 2033 

Paige doesn’t know how long she stands outside, staring down the winding road that had taken Stephie and Azzi away from her. The neighborhood is slowly waking up and if the woman across the street opens her curtains and thinks it’s a little strange that her new neighbor is standing like a statue on her front porch, she only raises a slight eyebrow before going back to her day. It takes almost twenty minutes before her head finally convinces her heart that no matter how much she stands outside, they’re not coming back. 

There’s a part of her that can admit that maybe Azzi had a point and maybe she shouldn’t have asked her to stay over last night. But Paige has never been known for her common sense, especially not when it comes to Azzi. Because truth be told, asking Azzi to stay the night was perhaps the least ridiculous of the thoughts that had invaded her mind last night. It was easy- too easy- to fall right back into whatever with Azzi. She’d done a good job pretending that the nightly facetime calls had been for Stephie’s benefit but the truth is that they had become just as much a necessity for Paige. She’d fallen asleep with a smile on her face every night and the temptation to have that in person last night had been too hard to resist. And so she hadn’t. 

She makes it about three steps up the stairs, when the fort still set up in the living room catches her eye. And that’s when the first tear falls, and then the second and then the third until she thinks if she tried to swim in them, she’d probably drown. Paige abandons the idea of going up to her room and crawls back into the tent made of blankets. And she must be going insane because she swears she can still smell the faint scent of a toddler and Azzi’s lavender perfume on the pillow she cradles to her chest. It’s ridiculous to be so attached already. She knows that. Stephie isn’t hers but it feels like the little girl has crept underneath her skin, burrowing herself in a part of Paige’s heart that the blond didn’t even know was there. And Azzi- well no matter how long it’s been, no matter how much resentment Paige has held, the truth is that there’s a little patch of Paige’s soul  that will always belong to the younger woman. 

Paige barely registers herself falling asleep until there’s abrupt knocking on her door and she realizes she’s been cocooned in the fort for almost three hours. She hesitantly lets go of the pillow, groggily walking towards the door. It’s useless to pretend that she isn’t hoping it’s Azzi and Stephie on the other side, isn’t hoping that Azzi had realized her mistake, isn’t hoping to scoop both of them into her arms and fill the hollowness that’s been thrumming against her ribcage. God Paige has barely survived a month -a day if she’s completely honest- she doesn’t know how she’s going to survive this whole season. 

She crosses her fingers behind her back as she opens the door. 

“Hey,” Katie’s smiling face looks back at her, holding up a tray of coffee and a bag of something, “figured you haven’t eaten breakfast yet?”

Paige blinks stupidly as Katie lets herself in, moving through Paige’s house with ease and immediately locating the kitchen. She hands Paige a cup of coffee before ransacking through the bag and pulling out a glazed donut, “eat. I know you haven’t.”

“Does Azzi know you’re here?” Paige asks slowly before taking a bite out of her donut. 

Katie gives her pointed look, “who do you think gave me your address?”

“Is she- is she okay?” 

“You two are something you know,” Katie shakes her head, “you’re asking me if she’s okay and she sent me over here to make sure that you were okay.”

Paige feels her heart swell with after all this time, “she sent you?”

“I have breakfast with Azzi and Stephie every Sunday morning. Now imagine my surprise when I get there today and my oh so sweet and wonderful granddaughter isn’t talking to her mother. And so I forced the story out of Azzi and I barely understood a word she was saying through her tears-”

“She was crying?” Paige feels her lungs constrict. 

Katie shoots her an unimpressed look, “can I finish the story?”

“I don’t like this story. It has Azzi crying.”

“Yeah well the two of you seem to enjoy doing that to each other,” Katie cocks an unamused eyebrow and Paige flinches at the truth of it, “anyways I didn’t understand much of it but she was clear by the end. Seemed to think you needed someone, needed me and so here I am Paige.”

“Why is your daughter like this?” Paige demands, “how is she gonna make me cry and then send somebody else to wipe my tears.”

“Well I can leave-”

“Why couldn’t she just have stayed?” the blonde questions, “why does she always have to overthink things and make it more complicated? Why can’t she just listen to her heart once in her fucking life? Why can’t she just let herself live? Why is it always no with her and never just yes?”

Katie gives Paige a sad smile, reaching for her hand, “that’s why.”

“Please don’t speak in riddles. It’s 10 a.m and I’m sad,” Paige whines. She might be in her early thirties but there’s something about Katie Fudd that makes Paige feel like it’s okay to be a bit of a child.

“Why is it always no with her and never yes?” Katie repeats, “c’mon Paige you know that’s not about last night.”

“It is,” Paige argues stubbornly. 

“It’s not,” Katie says, gently squeezing Paige’s hand, “it’s about her saying no 8 years ago.”

“I’m ov-” Paige stops, withering under Katie’s glare, “okay maybe it’s a little bit about her saying no 8 years ago. But I’m allowed to still be upset about it. She broke my heart. I wanted forever and she walked away. I’m allowed to be mad about that.”

“Of course you’re allowed to be mad Paige but that’s exactly why Azzi had to go this morning. And it’s exactly why you shouldn’t have asked her to stay last night. You guys can’t just pretend none of it happened because it did. You’re still hurt Paige and ignoring that is gonna get you guys nowhere. Especially with Stephie involved.”

“So what are you saying? You’re saying me and Azzi should just be teammates? You’re saying I should just never see Stephie again,” even the thought of it makes Paige feel like she is laying down on a bed of thorns. 

“You’re so goddamn dramatic Bueckers,” Katie rolls her eyes, “I’m not saying any of that. I’m saying maybe you just need to take it slower, with both of them, instead of having a goddamn sleepover the literal first night you’re in the same city. Besides,” Katie gives her a knowing smirk, “my granddaughter is obsessed with her Miss Buecks. Pretty sure she’d find a way to see you again no matter what.”

“Good,” Paige lets out her first smile of the day, “because I’d find a way to see her again too. She just- she’s kinda great isn’t she? Azzi did a good job with that one. She’s- she’s perfect,” she looks at Katie who’s regarding Paige with a thoughtful expression, “what? Do I have donut glaze on my face?”

“No, no it just- I’ve seen that expression before.”

“What expression?”

“The one you just had on your face while talking about Stephie,” Katie laughs to herself, “it’s the same one Tim had when he first met Azzi.”

***

“Oh my god. It’s Paige Bueckers. Can I have your autograph?” Steph Curry winks at Paige as she walks into his office. The Golden State legend had started an after-school basketball camp for kids in the Bay Area and as soon as he’d heard the news of Paige coming over to the Valkyries, he’d messaged her if she’d be interested in helping him out in the off-season. Paige had been more than willing to be a part of it, always invested in giving back to her community. If she’d been excited by the idea before though, today, after the worst sleep of her night as she tossed and turned to the hopeless depression of not having spoken to Stephie and Azzi for far too long, Paige really needed this distraction. 

“Don’t think you can afford my autograph,” Paige smirks lazily as she basically droops into the seat opposite him. 

Steph laughs goodnaturedly, “welcome to the Bay Area kid.”

“I’m a little old to be called a kid don’t you think? I’m nearly 25,” Paige grins, wiggling her eyebrows.. 

Steph shakes his head, “nah you’re always gonna be a kid to me. You and Azzi both,” he chuckles to himself, “even though Azzi’s got her own kid now. Have you met her?”

Well that distraction lasted 30 seconds, Paige thinks to herself as she forces a smile onto her face, “yeah. I’ve seen her around.”

“She’s cute as hell right? And she knows it. Little miss bossy pants has everyone wrapped around her fingers. Kinda reminds me of Riley,” there’s a goofy expression as Steph thinks of his daughter and Paige wonders if the same one is reflected on her face as she thinks about Stephie, “and she’s a natural at basketball. Only five and her shot’s already pretty good. You’ll see it today when she comes to camp. And she’s pretty good at defense-”

“I’m sorry what?” Paige blinks rapidly. 

“I know. What defense can a 5 year old play but it’s just the way she moves you know?” Steph tries to explain and Paige shakes her head. 

“Not that. Stephie- Stephie’s coming to camp?”

Steph grins large and proud, “of course she is. She was the first camper I signed.”

“Right,” Paige nods, giving the man in front of her a tight smile, “can you- can you excuse me for one second.”

As soon as Paige is outside of Steph’s earshot, she’s calling Katie; Katie who had sat at her kitchen counter yesterday and listened with a smile as Paige told her all about Steph’s camp. Katie who hadn’t said one word about Stephie being a part of said camp. Katie who was maybe grinning just a little too hard at the idea. 

“Did you know Stephie goes to Curry Camp?” Paige asks as soon as the line connects. 

“Hi Katie. Hi Paige. How was your day? Oh mine was good Paige, thanks for asking, how was yours?” Katie replies sarcastically. 

“Katie,” Paige groans. 

“Did I know that my granddaughter goes to her godfather’s special camp for the sport that her mother plays and she’s obsessed with?” Katie says slowly and Paige can tell she’s holding back a laugh, “nope, didn’t have a clue. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And ruin the surprise?”

“What happened to telling me to take things slow?” Paige hisses. 

“Well if I left the two of you two to your own devices y’all wouldn’t go slow, you wouldn’t even move at all,” Katie defends. 

“So you’re meddling?”

“I am not,” Katie protests, “you were always gonna help with the camp and Stephie’s already been going to the camp. I just didn’t let you stress out about it. Really you should be thanking me.”

“Thank you Katie,” Paige bites out mockingly. 

“You’re so very welcome Paige,” Katie sing-songs, “by the way, come over for dinner soon okay sweetheart. Love you honey. See you later darling.”

She hangs up before Paige can say anything and the blonde saunters back into Steph’s office, trying to corral her facial expression into something more neutral. 

“All good?” Steph asks. 

“Just peachy,” Paige hums in response, “we gonna head over to the court soon? It’s almost 4.”

Steph nods, “yeah they’ll be done setting up for us. Azzi usually brings Stephie to say hi to me right before cause no favoritism in front of the other kids you know? But maybe she’s running la- oh no wait there they are!”

Paige freezes, heartbeat erratic, as Steph walks to the door in anticipation. 

“UNCLE TWIN,” Stephie screams and something in Paige’s heart starts to fix itself at the sound of the younger girl’s voice. She’s scared to turn around, unsure if she’s more scared to realize it’s a dream or find out that it’s reality. 

“TWIN NIECE,” Steph yells back with equal vigor and Paige can hear Azzi’s laugh now too, each giggle acting like a needle, stitching up the parts of Paige that had felt broken since yesterday morning. She turns around deliberately slowly. Stephie is cradled in Steph’s arms and Azzi’s watching them with a fond smile. And it’s ridiculous to be jealous of a happily married man who’s practically Azzi’s brother if not her uncle, but the sense of that should be me, weighs heavily on Paige’s lungs anyways. 

It’s Azzi who sees her first, smile slowly fading as dark brown eyes clash with light blue ones. 

“Paige,” she whispers softly and there’s a multitude of undecipherable emotions wrapped in that one syllable and Paige thinks she could spend forever just trying to uncover them. 

Stephie’s ear perks up at the mention of Paige’s name as her own little eyes finally land on the blonde, shuffling her feet nervously in the corner. Her bottom lip trembles, eyes watering as she forces herself down from Steph’s lap, racing to Paige. It’s instinct the way Paige falls to her knees, ready to catch the bundle of limps that practically falls into her waiting arms. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whimpers, “I missed you so much.”

Paige’s own eyes water as she buries her face in Stephie’s hair, “me too sweetheart. I missed you so, so, so much.”

In front of them, Steph looks beyond confused as to what's happening and Azzi’s determinedly looking away, even if there’s a lone tear waterfalling down her left cheek. 

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Stephie confesses, voice choked up as she tightens her grip on Paige’s neck, “and I begged and I begged Mama to let me call you but she said you were busy. And then I yelled at Mama and it made Mama cry too and I hate making Mama cry.”

“I know. I know sweetheart,” Paige soothes softly, running her hands down Stephie’s back as the little girl continues to babble. They stay like that for a long time and Paige thinks if she could ask the world for one thing that doesn’t belong to her, she’d ask for Stephie. 

Finally Steph coughs, looking apprehensively between the three girls in the room, “so um- I take it you’ve more than just seen Stephie around then Paige?”

Paige lets out a watery laugh, finally letting Stephie go and turning around but still keeping a hand on Stephie’s shoulder, “yeah I guess that’s true.”

“What are you doing here Miss Buecks,” Stephie asks, looking up at Paige. 

“I’m uh- well Mr. Steph-”

“Uncle Twin,” Stephie corrects immediately and Paige can’t help but grin at the nickname. 

“Right. Uncle Twin asked me to be a coach at his camp and I agreed,” Paige explains, trying to catch Azzi’s eyes but the shooting guard seems determined to focus on a picture of Steph and Ayesha on the wall instead. 

“You’re gonna be my coach,” Stephie squeals, turning around to hug Paige’s knees, “this is the best news of my life.”

Paige feels her heart soar into a sky of you’re the best new of my life Stephie as she bends down to kiss Stephie forehead, “let’s see if you say that when I make you run laps after you miss a shot.”

“You wouldn’t?” Stephie says, looking horrified at the idea. 

“I totally would,” Paige teases. 

Stephie is quiet for a second before a proud smirk blooms on her lips, “that’s okay ‘cause I don’t miss. I’m Azzi Fudd’s daughter. Right Mama?”

“Right baby,” Azzi says, finally letting herself meet Paige’s gaze. 

“Well Miss-I-Don’t-Miss, how about you walk over to the court and show us how you don’t miss,” Steph teases. 

Stephie waddles out of Paige’s grip and holds her arms up at Steph, a saccharine smile on her face,“I can’t be tired if I don’t wanna miss Uncle Twin, so can you please carry me over there?”

Steph rolls his eyes but it doesn’t stop him from hoisting Stephie onto his shoulders, “alright your highness, let’s go.”

Stephie’s giggles echoe down the hall as Steph runs towards the courts and Paige can’t help the fond laugh that escapes her. 

“She gets that from you, you know,” Paige says softly to Azzi. 

“Gets what?”

“Being a princess who gets everything she wants.”

“Not everything,” Azzi says wistfully, “not everything I want.”

She moves to start following but Paige wraps a hand around her wrist, “I didn’t know Stephie was a part of Curry Camp. I swear I- I didn’t do this on purpose.”

Azzi sighs, “I know. I know you wouldn’t Paige.”

“And I- I wanted to thank you for sending your Mom yesterday. I really- I really did need it even if I didn’t know it,” Paige’s thumb subconsciously rubs against Azzi’s skin, “but you- you always seem to know what I need.”

Azzi rips her hand out from Paige's grip, “you’re doing it again.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes you are. You keep saying things like that- things you shouldn’t say- things I can’t just listen to and be okay,” Azzi brushes her hand against her face, “I know the way I left yesterday was wrong and maybe I was projecting,” she admits in a whisper, “but you just- you make me feel too fucking much. And it's too quick and it’s scares me.”

“Scares you?” Paige scoffs, “I’m not the one who broke your heart Azzi.”

“You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I’ve lived with that guilt for the last 8 years? Jesus fucking christ Paige. I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of me,” tears stream down Azzi’s face as she paces the room, “I have never heard Stephie cry so fucking much in my life Paige. And you know who did that to her? Me, I did that. Apparently I’m really fucking good at making people cry but I don’t want to. I don’t want to break her heart, I don’t want to break your heart and I don’t want to break my own heart. Not again.”

“Azzi-”

“And so I’m stopping it before it happens. Before I ruin it again.”

Azzi tries to leave again but Paige is faster, wrapping her arms around the younger woman’s waist and pulling her flush against her chest so she can’t escape. It’s a terrible idea because now all of her senses are consumed by Azzi as they both become acutely aware of how close they are now. 

“Paige,” Azzi whispers weakly, one hand pressed right against Paige’s heart, “let me go.”

“I think today’s the right time,” Paige says softly, hands grazing Azzi’s waist, “I asked you a question once and you said one day, when the time was right, you’d give me an answer. It’s the right time.”

“I don’t think so-”

“Azzi please,” Paige begs, “do you regret saying no?”

“Paige let me go,” Azzi wriggles against her grip but it only makes Paige tighten her hold. 

“It’s a simple yes or no question.’

“Stephie’s probably wondering where we are-”

“Then answer the damn question and we can go to her-”

“Paige please.”

“Answer the fucking question Azzi.”

“What do you want me to say?” Azzi bursts out finally, “you want me to say that I’ve never regretted anything more in my life? You want me to say the minute I said no, I wanted to rip out my tongue? You want me to say that I almost called you several times in the last decade to tell you how stupid I was? You want me to say that I flew to Dallas once to tell you that I fucked up but then I saw you with Olivia and decided you deserved better than me-”

“What?”  Paige feels the air being snatched from her lungs. 

“The answer to your stupid fucking question,” Azzi’s voice breaks, “is yes. Yes I regret saying no to you Paige. But it doesn’t matter. Because I said no and you found someone else who’d say yes and now it’s too late.”

And Paige thinks that Katie was probably right, that she should probably take things slow. But when it comes to Azzi Fudd, Paige Bueckers has never been one to do what she should. 

“It’s never too late for us,” Paige whispers before crashing her lips against the woman, who’s always been the reason for her biggest, brightest, most real smile.

[gaypirate420]

Is it you? Have my prayers been answered?// Jayvik.

Au!Jayvik x gn!reader.

Summary: You're always my husband and I've been waiting.

A/N: I need stories with Old Man Viktor...

Angst/Fluff.

"Do you think he made it?" Viktor murmurs at the blank statue in front of him, his fingernails scratching his walking stick. The old man sighs, letting the stick fall to the ground, without much thinking he crawled in between those open arms, now accessible because of the hammer that had been burrowed by the last Jayce.

"I feel it here..." The zaunite whispers, pressing two fingers on the hollow chest of the statue. Of Jayce.

"...that maybe this time. Maybe once. It finally worked." He finished his sentence, his fingers traveling down to the necklace dangling from the hollow neck of his partner. His thumb caresses the jewels on it, cleaning off the arcane-like nature that grew around it, polishing back to their crystal glow.

"Voila! Now you carry me and Vik around with you all the time!" The sound of your voice echoes through his head, the image of you giving the necklace to Jayce, it sounds so vivid yet like a distant dream, but the soft laughter melts into a gut wrenching scream.

"Viktor!" He can see you again, vanishing in front of him as you desperately try to pull him away from the Hexcore before your body succumbs to its power and you vanish away.

Viktor shakes his head, taking a deep breath and nuzzling his face on the shoulder of the statue, trying to seek the warmth he once knew, but it's only a cold rock.

"I'm sorry, my love." The old man murmurs with a strained voice, a stray tear falling down his wrinkled face. He closes his eyes.

There's not much left for him, only time.

Viktor can feel something is different as he fell into a deep sleep. Something warm crept within him, and the night air hit his body, but he was so tired.

His multicolored eyes open, an unusual bright sunlight hits his face, covering his eyes with one hand, immediately he notices the lack of stone around him, he's laying down on a soft bedding of grass and flowers.

Viktor gives his all to stand up. The air feels so clean, the sun is warm, the flowers are fresh, bright and natural, there's no trace of the arcane patter in them, a white butterfly flies down to one of the flowers, the wings look normal, beautiful.

Is he dead? Is this heaven? No, with what he's done he's not getting a glimpse of the pearly gates.

His eyes scan the land, finding a small cottage meters away at the bottom of the mountain next to the river, smoke coming from the chimney.

As he walks a small frown comes creeping into his face, he thought he'd mastered time travel decades ago, what's this foolery of traveling while he slept? Unacceptable.

The old mage makes it down to the cottage, the sweet smell of home made bread hitting him, he hasn't felt hungry in a long time, but now he's suddenly starving. He follows the stone path to the door, some bunnies hopping around the garden.

His eyes stare at the door for a moment, it's adorned with a handpainted pattern, he knocks on the door. The wind chimes make a soft melody. Where is he? When is he?

The door opens slowly.

You were uncertain to open the door, you haven't seen anyone here, who could be knocking? You peeped your eyes on the small opening. But you gasp and quickly open it fully.

"Vikus..." You whispered, almost like a prayer. He was there, grey streaks on his hair and wrinkles around his face. The greying beard. The tired eyes, the dark circles under there. The soft remains of the hexcorized skin.

Viktor stares at you, your eyes as beautiful as he remembered, you also had some greying hairs of your own, the wrinkles around your mouth making him remember how much you laughed.

"Moje lásko..." He whispers back, his voice breaking, your hand reaches out a bit hesitantly but you cup his cheek. He gasps, it's been so long since anyone touched him.

And he realizes, you're warm, you're soft. You're real. And you realize the same about him. You sob but then burst into an excited laughter.

"it's you!" You shout, wrapping your arms around his slender frame, Viktor almost stumbles back, he gasps softly but wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face into your hair, breathing in your scent.

"it's you! It's really you!" You chuckled between tears, you cupped his face and pres an ungodly amount of kisses on his cheek. The old man feels dizzy from the sudden affection, the touch, but he doesn't pull you away, he doesn't want to be apart from you ever again. You locked your lips with his, a soft and slow kiss, he closed his eyes, feeling you, savoring you before you pulled away.

And when he thought this couldn't get any better.

"Jayce!" You shout, again that soft laughter between sobs.

"Jayce, darling, come downstairs!" You tugged Viktor inside the cottage, wrapping your hand around his bandaged arm, he doesn't resist you, just staring at you like a fawn.

His multicolored eyes widen as the sound of heavy steps make their way downstairs.

Jayce looks confused, a bit worried about your sudden call. But he freezes, his hazel eyes widen.

"Viktor." He whispers before running and wrapping his arms around Viktor's waist. Pulling him up into his arms. Oh it's warm, Jayce's big arms are warm and he can hear the pulse on his chest, it's not rock, it's not hollow.

"Jayce." He whines, holding tight on his shirt. The last thing he remembered with Jayce was...

"I'm so sorry...I hurt you, both of you-" He sobs against his shoulder, Jayce hushes him quickly, his fingers running down the gray strands of hair, his big hand cups his face, kissing him deeply.

"Is the water alright?" Jayce asked Viktor as he poured some water down his hair. The skinnier man nodded. It's nighttime now, the three of you stayed in the living room for quite a while, asking about Viktor's wellbeing, but mostly hugging each other and letting out all those years worth of tears.

Viktor looks up at Jayce as he joins him in the bathtub, for a small cottage you and Jayce figure out to have a bathtub big enough for three people and it made his chest feel weird.

You two thought of him, even when he wasn't there. You two were hoping for him to come back, to join you.

The old mage feels your hands running through his hair, starting to massage softly the shampoo into his scalp.

Jayce smiles as you admire Viktor's greying hair. Viktor's eyes fall on the taller man. Now he can admire the signs of age on him too. He allows himself to relax for the first time, a small smile creeping on his tired face. You wash the shampoo away and press a kiss on his shoulder, Jayce leans closer and presses one on between his eyebrows.

"We're real. You're not dreaming, V." Jayce murmurs against his skin, you nodded along and pres a trail of kisses up to his jaw, Viktor basked in the affection, gasping softly.

"We're together again." You whispered, your voice so closely made Viktor shiver, he forgot how responsive he was to you and Jayce's touch.

"... together." He murmurs quietly.

A/N: old times be upon ye! I hope y'all like this, I've been very busy with school but I had to write this down, I've been drafting some requests too, so don't feel like I'm ignoring y'all!!! (Divider) (Divider)

[devdozes]

Hiiii

If this isn't your normal request that fine, feel free to discard. If it is possible then please would you be able to do:

Platonic astral express x reader lile all of them comforting fem/gn partner after being broken up with their partner of like 4 years? That just happened and I wish I had the support of the astral express rn 😭 thank you!!

I'm sorry this happened to you :( but fear not! I and the astral express are here, hugs , strawberries and ice cream attack for you I'm sorry if the request turns out not to ur liking.. I'm not that good at breakups since I have never been in a relationship before

You sat in the corner of the Astral Express, curled up on the couch with your arms wrapped around your knees. Your chest felt hollow, as if the past four years of love and effort had been wiped away in a single, painful moment. The weight of the breakup still clung to you, suffocating and relentless.

March 7th burst into the room, her bright eyes scanning the space before landing on you. The second she saw your slumped posture and the sadness in your expression, she gasped dramatically.

"Okay, nope, nope—I am not letting you sit here all sad and alone!" she declared before sprinting toward you at full speed.

Before you could react, she leaped onto you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and squishing her cheek against yours. "Mission 'Cheer Up [Name]' is a go!"

"March—" you started, but she was already dragging you off the couch, pulling you toward her room like an overenthusiastic puppy.

"You need emergency best friend therapy," she said with determination. "And I just so happen to have the ultimate cure—ice cream AND your favorite show on laptop :3!"

The door to her room swung open, and she pushed you onto the bed before vanishing for a moment. When she returned, she held two spoons and a tub of ice cream like it was a sacred treasure. She plopped down beside you, shoving a spoon into your hand.

"Alright, spill it," she demanded, digging into the ice cream. "Tell me everything. We are so going to trash-talk your ex."

You let out a small, shaky laugh. It wasn’t much, but it was a real one.

Before you could even start, a soft knock came from the door, and Dan Heng stepped inside. He held a cup of warm tea, his expression calm but concerned. "I figured you might need this," he said, placing it on the nightstand.

"Thanks, Dan Heng," you murmured, touched by the gesture.

He nodded, then leaned against the wall, his presence solid and reassuring. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to," he said quietly. "Just know we're here for you."

The lump in your throat tightened. You were used to Dan Heng being the reserved one, but the way he showed his care in little gestures made it hit even harder.

Moments later, Himeko walked in, holding a fluffy blanket in her arms. She draped it over your shoulders and smoothed your hair like a mother comforting her child. "Heartbreak is painful, sweetheart," she said gently. "But you have people who love you here. And trust me, you will heal."

You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. "Thanks, guys," you whispered, voice raw.

Then, Welt entered, adjusting his glasses as he looked at you with quiet wisdom. "I know it might not feel like it now, but pain fades. And when it does, you'll find that you’ve become stronger for it."

March huffed. "Ugh, why do you have to be so poetic, Mr. Welt? Just say, 'Your ex sucks' like a normal person!"

Welt sighed. "Yes, well, that too." . . . . Just as you were about to take another bite of ice cream, the door to March’s room slammed open with the force of a cosmic explosion.

"WE HAVE ARRIVED!"

You barely had time to process the blur of motion before both Stelle and Caelus came barreling into the room—wild grins on their faces, pure chaotic energy radiating off them like a supernova. Caelus had a baseball bat slung over his shoulder, and Stelle was dramatically wielding a spoon like a dagger.

"We heard you got dumped," Stelle declared, eyes gleaming with dangerous intent.

"Which means," Caelus added, swinging the bat over his shoulder like a seasoned gangster (that loser is like 7 months old he ain't got no exp), "we are now legally obligated to wreck that guy’s entire existence."

You blinked. "Wha—"

"We can go beat him up and drag his body here," Stelle continued, nodding as if it was the most reasonable suggestion in the universe.

"Or," Caelus interjected, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, "we can unleash our raccoon army at his house."

March nearly choked on her ice cream. "Wait—when did we- I mean YOU BOTH get a raccoon army!?"

Caelus grinned. "You don't want to know."

Dan Heng, still leaning against the wall, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please don’t drag a body onto the Express."

"Or use wild animals as weapons of revenge," Welt added with a sigh, though he didn't look all that surprised.

Himeko simply took a sip of her bitter dark coffee, watching the chaos unfold with mild amusement.

Meanwhile, you were this close to breaking down—not from sadness this time, but from hysterical laughter. Your ex had shattered your heart, but here was your family, storming in with baseball bats, raccoons, and pure, unhinged energy, ready to wage war in your name.

Tears welled up in your eyes—not from grief, but from the overwhelming warmth you felt in your chest.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "You guys are insane."

"And yet, you're smiling," March pointed out, grinning.

Caelus nudged you with the bat. "So, what's the plan? Baseball bat or raccoons?"

You wiped your tears and giggled. "Neither."

"Aww," Stelle pouted, lowering her spoon-dagger.

"But," you continued, glancing around at everyone, "I think I’ll take more ice cream and…just hang out with you guys."

March immediately scooped another spoonful for you, while Caelus and Stelle dramatically slumped over in disappointment.

Dan Heng let out a soft breath of relief, and Himeko patted your head.

"Good choice," Welt said, finally sitting down beside you. "Though if you change your mind… the baseball bat option is still available."

Caelus gave him an approving nod. "Knew you had it in you, old man." Dan Heng lets out a chuckle and approaches you, stretches his hands out to you and wraps his arms around you, putting you in a gentle warm hug. "THIS IS A MOMENT IN HISTORY!! COLD DRAGON YOUNG SHOWING AFFECTION AND CARE?!" Both the grey-haired raccoons scream out, mimicking a camera shutter noise while making a fake camera with their hands. "That's not even how you take pictures with a camera!!" March says exasperatedly and puts her left hand on her temple. "Maybe we are just better photographers than you" . . . . .

Just as you were getting comfortable, savoring another bite of ice cream, March let out an excited gasp.

"Oh, oh! I almost forgot—Sticker therapy!"

Before you could react, March pounced on you, pulling out a small booklet of adorable pastel-colored stickers. You barely had time to protest before she slapped one right onto your forehead.

"March, what are you—?"

"Shh," she hushed you dramatically, sticking another heart-shaped one onto your cheek. "This is a proven method of emotional recovery. Trust me, I’m a professional!"

"You're not a professional," Dan Heng muttered, watching from the corner.

"She’s totally a professional," Caelus whispered to Stelle.

Within moments, your face was covered in stickers—sparkly stars, tiny bunnies, hearts, and even one that just said ‘Slay Queen’ in glittery letters.

You gave March a deadpan look. "I look ridiculous."

"You look adorable," she corrected, beaming with pride. "And most importantly, you look happy."

You opened your mouth to argue, but then Stelle took out her phone. "Hold on, let me just—"

Click.

"NO—DELETE THAT!" you yelped, reaching for the phone, but Stelle danced away, laughing.

The chaos was interrupted by the sound of small, rhythmic footsteps approaching.

"Pom-Pom is here with an important announcement!"

Everyone turned toward the entrance as the tiny conductor hopped into the room, puffing out their chest importantly.

"Pom-Pom heard what happened to you, [Name], and as the Express’s beloved passenger, you deserve a special surprise!" Pom-Pom declared.

March gasped. "Is it revenge?!"

Pom-Pom blinked. "No."

Caelus sighed. "Damn."

"It’s an increase in your monthly budget!" Pom-Pom announced proudly, holding up a small data pad. "Effective immediately, you have twice the amount of credits to spend while traveling with us!"

You blinked, stunned. "Wait, what?"

"That's Pom-Pom’s way of saying, 'Treat yourself,' " Himeko said, smiling warmly. "SHOPPING SPREE!!" March jumps out of the bed and joins the awfully goofy pose that Stelle and Caelus were doing. "Rappa taught you that pose, didn't she?" "Hell yeah she's sigma," Stelle says with a smug smirk on her face, leaving Welt's eyes furrowed and confused as he lets out a few words, leaving all express members, including you, wheezing. "Isn't sigma a chemistry term, which is the strongest type of covalent bond, formed by the head-on overlap of atomic orbitals?" "Mr Yang, don't act so wise, weren't you an idol in your home planet?" "March, where did you get that information?." "Hehe >:)"

Just as you were finishing up your ice cream, the door creaked open again—this time, much more gently. Unlike the chaotic entrances of Stelle, Caelus, and March, this one was quiet, almost hesitant.

You turned to see Sunday standing in the doorway, his usual serene expression in place. He wasn’t as loud as the others, nor did he throw himself into the center of attention. But even so, his presence was calming—steady, like a quiet star in the vast sky.

He stepped forward, clearing his throat softly. “I may not be that close to you,” he began, looking at you with his calm, golden eyes, “but I heard that you like fries…”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Sunday continued, holding out a carefully wrapped plate. “So, I attempted to make some. Hope you enjoy it.”

The room went dead silent.

March, Stelle, and Caelus all snapped their heads toward Sunday, mouths slightly open in absolute shock. Even Himeko raised an eyebrow.

“…You cooked?” Dan Heng asked, sounding genuinely baffled.

“I attempted to,” Sunday corrected, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his voice.

You stared at the plate, then back at him, then at the plate again. Slowly, you reached out and took it, peeling back the wrapping to reveal a pile of golden, crispy fries—some slightly uneven in shape, but otherwise looking surprisingly well-made.

Cautiously, you picked one up and took a bite.

Your eyes lit up, looking like a puppy. “Wait… these are really good?!”

March gasped. “NO WAY—”

Caelus leaned forward. “I call dibs on leftovers.”

“There won’t be any leftovers,” you shot back immediately, stuffing another fry into your mouth.

Sunday let out a small, quiet chuckle. “I’m glad you like them.”

You grinned up at him, feeling genuinely touched. Even someone you weren’t as close to had gone out of their way to do something for you.

But before you could thank him, he slowly lifted his hand to his shoulder—then carefully pulled something out from beneath his cloak.

A tiny bird sat perched in his palm, its feathers an almost identical color to your usual outfit. It chirped softly, tilting its head.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Sunday gently placed the little bird on top of your head, watching as it fluffed up, seemingly comfortable with you. A faint, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“It reminded me of you,” he murmured, stepping back slightly.

The entire room erupted into noise.

March practically screamed. “HE GAVE HER A BIRD—”

Stelle and Caelus lost it entirely.

“That’s it. That’s peak affection.” Stelle nodded seriously.

“He just outdid all of us in one move,” Caelus added.

Meanwhile, you just sat there, eyes wide, completely frozen as the tiny bird nestled into your hair.

Sunday gave a slight nod, hands now back at his sides. “Take good care of it.”

Then, without another word, he turned and calmly walked out of the room—leaving behind pure chaos in his wake.

March shook you dramatically. “DO YOU REALIZE WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!”

You blinked. Then, very softly, you whispered,

“…I have a bird.” "[NAME] DONT EAT IT" "I WONT ACTUALLY EAT THIS CUTIE OH MY GOD!" "Oh yeah [Name]!" March cheerfully looks at you with a glint in her eyes. Oh no..she has something on her mind— And then she continued. "WE CAN GET YOU MATCHING OUTFITS OF YOU AND YOUR BIRD WITH YOUR INCREASE IN BUDGET:DD" "YES OH MY GOD,!!" You cheerfully squealed with March

Caelus and Stelle, however, had other plans.

“Wait, wait, wait—hear me out,” Caelus whispered to Stelle.

Stelle’s eyes narrowed. “I’m listening.”

“We increase the raccoon army… using [Name]’s new budget.”

Dan Heng immediately cut in. “Absolutely not.”

"Okay, that's enough!! And someone please call Sunday back, we need to decide this cutie's name with everyone." You announce as the bird looks at you with the cutest smile and ruffles their feathers, leaving you absolutely melting, and you let the cuteness aggression take over you.

Caelus, Stelle, and March immediately started yelling name suggestions while Pom-Pom stomped out of the room, presumably to drag Sunday back into this chaos.

“Sir Beakington the Third!!” Caelus shouted.

“No, no, no—Captain Fluff!” Stelle countered.

March clapped her hands together dramatically. “Feather McFeatherson!!”

Dan Heng pinched the bridge of his nose. “These are all terrible.”

You, meanwhile, were barely paying attention because the tiny bird on your head had just ruffled its feathers again and let out the softest little chirp.

Your heart absolutely melted.

“OH MY GOD—” you squealed, grabbing the bird and cradling it in your hands. “It’s so cute. I’m gonna die. I love you—”

The bird blinked up at you and let out another small, happy chirp.

“AAAAAHHHHH—” You kicked your feet like a little kid, overcome with cuteness aggression.

“Okay, okay!!” March laughed. “Let’s actually think of a name before [Name] combusts from how adorable that thing is!”

Just then, the door opened again, and Sunday walked back in, looking completely unfazed—likely because Pom-Pom had dragged him back before he could escape.

“You called for me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“YES,” you said immediately, holding up the bird. “We need a name for my tiny child.”

Sunday blinked, glancing at the tiny fluffball that was now chirping in your hands. He was quiet for a moment before speaking.

“…Astrid.”

The room fell silent.

Then:

“WAIT—THAT’S ACTUALLY GOOD??” March gasped.

Himeko smiled. “It suits them.”

Caelus dramatically fell to his knees. “How does he keep one-upping us so effortlessly?”

You stared down at the tiny bird in your hands, testing the name out. “Astrid…”

The bird chirped in approval.

Your heart swelled. “They like it!!”

March immediately started clapping. “IT’S OFFICIAL!! WELCOME TO THE FAMILY, ASTRID!!”

Stelle fist-bumped the air. “Another W for the Astral Express.”

Dan Heng, for once, seemed content with this result, nodding slightly. “It’s a fitting name.”

Sunday gave a small hum of approval before reaching out and gently patting Astrid’s tiny head. “Then I suppose I’ll leave them in your care.”

You grinned, holding Astrid close to your chest. “You guys are the best.”

"MORE STICKERS!!"

Before you could protest against the impending sticker attack, March suddenly threw the stickers aside and flung herself at you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug.

“GROUP HUG!!!” she announced.

Before you could even process what was happening, Stelle and Caelus leaped in like absolute gremlins, tackling you and March into an even bigger hug.

“DOGPILE!!” Caelus cackled.

Stelle cheered, “FOR ASTRID!!!”

“FOR ME, ACTUALLY—” you tried to say, but you were already being squished under their combined weight.

Pom-Pom, despite being smaller, launched themself onto the pile next, their tiny paws smacking against everyone as they wriggled their way in.

“The Conductor joins in too!!” Pom-Pom declared proudly.

Dan Heng sighed heavily from the side, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

“Dan Heng,” March said in a dead serious tone. “If you don’t get in this hug, I’m putting even more stickers on you.”

Dan Heng stared at her. Then at you, who looked like you were barely surviving under the weight of the chaos pile. Then back at her.

“…Fine,” he muttered, before sitting down and reluctantly wrapping an arm around you. His warmth was calming, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding him.

That just left one last person.

Everyone turned their heads toward Sunday, who had been standing there, watching the scene unfold like an outsider to absolute madness.

He blinked slowly, as if debating whether or not to even entertain this.

“Come onnnn, Sunday!!” March whined. “Even Dan Heng joined! You’re the last one!”

Sunday exhaled softly before stepping forward, placing a single hand on top of the chaotic pile—like it was his version of joining.

March gasped. “UNACCEPTABLE!! FULL HUG!!”

Before Sunday could react, Stelle and Caelus grabbed him and yanked him into the hug, effectively trapping him in the mess.

“…I should have expected this,” he muttered, but there was no real irritation in his voice. If anything, there was the faintest hint of amusement.

And just like that, you were surrounded—by warmth, by comfort, by them.

HERE YOU GO I HOPE YOU LIKED IT, AND DONT BE SAD,, YOU WILL GET OVER IT AND FIND SOMEOEN FOR YOU WHO WILL ALWAYS BE THERE, FOR NOW WE ALL ARE HERE FOR U 🫂🫶

[inklore]

THE ANGST OF BEING IN AN AGEGAP-SHIP WITH JOEL.

I'm talking pre-outbreak here, but you can fully imagine post outbreak Joel because it still stands that the relationship would have so much angst to it!! 

The minute it starts happening, the minute Joel feels that pang in his heart or that twitch of want in his cock, he knows he’s fucked. It doesn't matter if you add a shared history into the mix (dad's best friend, neighbor, etc), Joel knows he needs to keep his distance. 

He doesn’t have time for the mess that could come from it. Doesn’t have time to think about how he hasn’t felt like this in god knows when—where he can’t get you off his mind even while he’s working, a song coming on the radio, and he wonders if it would be your thing (would you like it? would you dance to it? for him? with him?).

How do you take your coffee in the morning? Do you take it black like him, or do you like that iced coffee that he just can’t seem to get into? 

What do you smell like when you’ve just gotten out of the shower, and how can he make it linger for days so he can be even more consumed by you? Maybe it would stop his heart from squeezing in his chest every time he sees you. Every time you give him that sweet smile that makes him want to say fuck it and have you. 

He thinks he might be crazy. Maybe he’s been out of the dating pool, hasn’t felt this attraction in so long that maybe he just doesn’t know how to act. 

But then he catches your eyes lingering on him—the smile you bite away as you turn your head. The sheen that comes across your eyes when you’ve caught him staring. The way being in the same room as him makes you fidgety. The hard swallows, the tapping fingers, the pressing of your thigh—he knows he’s not crazy because you feel it too. 

And it’s even more reason for him to stay away. 

To just live with wrapping his hand around his cock at night, thinking about you. He doesn’t need the real thing. 

He doesn’t need to feel your lips around the head of his cock, where his palm twists and pulls. He doesn’t need to feel your body underneath him as he presses your legs to your chest, leaning down to claim your mouth—his tongue lapping up every weak noise you make. 

And he most certainly does not need to come inside of you. on you. down your throat. 

Coming on his stomach with your name bitten into his tongue is enough. Should be enough. 

But it’s not. It’s so far from being enough that when the dam breaks, you’re both flooded with every missed chance and opportunity, and what if that you spend hours in bed. 

Hours of Joel between your legs—his mouth pressed to your clit as he sucks and rolls his tongue, switching between strokes and presses of his fingers, trying to figure out what you like until he’s got it down. Until you’re coming against his mouth, your fingers pulling at strands of his hair. making him want to stay down there longer just to hear you come like that again. To feel it. 

Hours of Joel trying not to come down your throat as you let him buck his hips up into it. The underside of his cock rubbing against your tongue, the side of your hollowed cheeks, the tip hitting the back of your throat making you gag around him—and Joel never thought seeing your eyes full of tears could look so hot. 

Hours of Joel spreading you out on your back, legs open and pushed down against the mattress as he watches himself pump in and out of you. 

Hours of Joel pulling your back into his chest, cuddling you from behind—a respite the both of you think until he’s fucking you again. Wrapping a hand around your jaw to bring your mouth to his. 

Both of you losing track of how many times you’ve come. 

And after that first night, it’s constant. 

If Joel ever thought after having you he’d feel normal again, he was dead wrong.  

He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel normal again. 

Not when it comes to you. 

But then doubt sets in. After months, after hearts have fallen, and Joel really knows there’s no going back from this. From you. That he’s actually in love with you; he doesn’t know if he should be. 

If the two of you should keep sneaking around like this. He doesn’t care who knows. Couldn’t give a shit, really. But he’s not stupid. He knows what some people will say. How they will react. He can take it. 

It’s you he’s worried about. 

Not that you can’t hold your own, but it’s not something you deserve. A judgmental eye towards an amazing woman doesn’t sit right with him. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him, but you’re good. Too good for this world, he thinks sometimes when he’s watching you sleep. 

Thumb resting against your chin as he counts your breaths. 

And when he brings this up to you, when he tries to put an end to your relationship to give you an out, it blows up. It makes him feel that pain of heartbreak he thought he remembered but feels fucking debilitating now. The tears in your eyes now only making his chest ache. Only making him want to punch something, someone. 

"I won’t hold you back.”

“You deserve better.”

"Darlin', please understand.” 

“I'm sorry. I'm just tryna do what’s right.” 

"Fuck, I love you.” 

Your cheeks burn under his palms when he grabs them to bring your mouth to his. The kiss filled with more passion than Joel thinks he’s ever felt in his lifetime. The salty taste of your tears licked away by his tongue. Kissed away by his lips at your cheek as he murmurs, "I ain’t goin nowhere; I'm here. Come on, that’s it,” as he strips you bare and slips inside of you. 

The strokes of his cock slow and hard. Gazes held and filled with love. Moans, grunts, and whimpers bit and marked into skin—into Joel’s heart. 

"I'm all yours. You’re mine.” He whispers against your lips. The hand around your throat is gentler and softer than it usually is. Rubbing a soothing circle against your heartbeat as the other hand moves between you to pull your leg up. Opening you and pushing your pelvis up to have your clit rubbing against him at just the right angle, matched with how deep his cock fucks into you, makes you whine into his mouth as you come. 

“My girl, my girl,” Joel mumbles softly against your skin after you’ve both come down. His lips at the back of your neck. Arm keeping you flush against him, like he refuses to let go. Like he’s stupid for thinking it was ever possible he could. 

[cheolism-archive]

𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓬 𝓹𝓾𝓹

border-collie hybrid!kim mingyu x reader wc is approx 1.5k tags: mingyu's canon praise kink, oral (fem receiving) warning: relationship undefined, can make any insinuations abt the nature of their relationship note: if anyone has any thots abt pathetic puppy hybrid gyu pls stop by my inbox so we can chat abt it cause. i'm absolutely normal abt this concept. thank u @whipped-for-kpop-fics for the title, ty @lovetaroandtaemin and @yoonguurt for getting excited for me keke divider one credit ; divider two credit

whatever you do, don't think about your precious puppy hybrid kim mingyu. don't think about his overly large black ears, his eyes that shine with cleverness and adoration both, his tail and how it always seems to knock over the most delicate object in the room.

okay: you've thought about your kim mingyu. that can't be helped. but absolutely don't think about your pup when you come home after a day of work.

don't think about him.

don't think about how you can hear him whine as you fumble with your keys, trying to find the correct one to insert into the lock. you asked him once how he always seems to know it's you; he said he could smell you as soon as you stepped off of the elevator, your sweet perfume and natural fragrance a heavenly scent after he passed an entire day yearning for your return.

as soon as you open the door, mingyu's on you. he's pushing your bag down onto the floor, twisting the keys from the lock. he pulls you inside the apartment and shuts and locks the door, and then he's crowding close.

don't think about how mingyu molds his body to yours. he traps you against the door, his face burrowing into your neck. you can feel his inhales against your skin, can feel him drinking in your scent after a long day apart.

his hands are constantly grabbing at you. he feels your hips, feels your stomach. mingyu's large hands make their way over your torso, pushing at your tits, feeling the weight of them. he mouths at the skin of your neck, and when he presses his hips to yours you can feel just how excited he is to see you.

even through all the fabric of your clothes and his you can feel how erect he is, how his poor dick betrays how eager mingyu is to see you — as if the pup was ever able to keep himself from showing how excited he is.

don't think about how he whines so sweetly, a high thing in the back of his throat, when you settle your hands on his hips.

mingyu bucks into you, dick searching for relief. his nose presses against your ear lobe, slides along the curve of your jaw, and then he's biting you.

you can feel his teeth dig into the supple flesh of your neck, marking you. immediately you hiss, one of your hands flying to his shoulder and slapping.

"bad boy," you scold him, "no biting."

mingyu whines again. don't think about how beautifully he whines; don't think about how his eyes would look at you after you scold him, the sweet, deep brown color of them nearly eclipsed by the black of his pupils. his tail, half black and white, the tell-tale colors of his border collie-hybrid breeding, hangs between his legs in shame.

"i'm sorry, pretty," he says, lips pursed out in a pout. "just missed you. missed you so much while you were gone."

"you can't bite," you say again. "only bad puppies bite. are you a bad pup, gyu?"

mingyu shakes his head hurriedly. his eyes take on a slight watery look. "i'm not bad."

he licks at the path of skin he had bitten, tongue fat and warm. don't think about his tongue. don't think about how he licks and licks, his rush to reassure you of his good pup nature making his licks travel. he licks at your neck, at the little hollow of your throat. he sucks at the bit of collarbone poking out from your shirt, gently taking the skin between his teeth.

mingyu sucks at your skin, his head ducking. "tell me i'm a good pup," he begs, nuzzling into your tits. "please, pretty. tell me 'm good."

sighing, you reach up and tangle your hands into his hair. don't think about how soft it is, how the chocolate curls feel like silk. you settle your hands around the base of his black ears, thumbs gently pressing in. you can't help but grin a little as mingyu moans.

"i don't know," you say, nails lightly scratching at his scalp. mingyu's tail perks, wagging gently. "not very good of you to bite me."

"i can make it up to you," he says, eyes shining and mouth beginning to spread in an eager grin; eager to prove just how good he is to you; how he's your sweet pup, your good, sweet boy.

you lift your brows.

don't think about the image mingyu would make, his large canine teeth on display as he grins, brilliant and triumphant as he goes to his knees. mingyu nuzzles into you once his knees hit the hardwood floor of your apartment. he presses his face into the cloth that covers where your thigh meets your groin.

for a moment mingyu just sits there, nose pressed into the fabric. you can feel his heavy breath through your pants. don't think about what he smells; don't think about how long he sits there, enjoying the scent of you.

"'m a good boy," mingyu says, his eyes flicking up to yours.

and then he's pressing his face into your cunt.

mingyu presses his nose against the fabric, and you can feel his nose as he searches for your cunt, for where that sweet scent of you is thickest.

he whines, pulling away with a frown. mingyu reaches up, his fingers sinking into the waistband of your pants. "can i take your pants off? please?"

you nod. he skims his fingers over the waistband to press at the button, popping it through. he pulls your pants down. mingyu watches raptly as he pulls your pants, eyes taking in every inch of skin as if he had never seen it before, as if he didn't plead with you every night for you to walk around without pants so he could visually devour the plushness of your thighs.

you step out of your pants once they're around your ankles. mingyu takes them, hurriedly folding them before setting them next to him.

"see," he says, pointedly glancing down at the folded pants. "i'm a good boy."

you sigh.

mingyu shuffles forward, and then he's pressing his face into your panties. the seat of them is wet, of course, with your juices from having been excited as soon as mingyu cornered you against the door. mingyu presses his nose into that wetness, breathing it in and drowning in it.

you put your hands in his curls. you tug, gently. "just gonna smell?"

"can't help it," he says, honest. "you smell so good."

to prove himself, mingyu rolls his tongue out of his mouth and licks a stripe along the seat of your panties. immediately your cunt is clenching down around nothing, hips canting forward to try and search for further sensation.

"taste so good," mingyu moans. he licks another broad stripe along your pussy. he starts at your hole, dragging it along your folds to dig at your clit. mingyu whines a little, and then he's lifting a hand and moving your panties aside.

you can feel the drag of the elastic across your pussy, can feel it when the cool air of the apartment reaches your cunt. your cunt isn't left wanting for long, however.

mingyu surges back to your pussy. he sticks his tongue between the folds of your cunt, the tip dipping into your hole. for a moment mingyu just suckles at your juices, just laps them up like the good pup he is.

his tongue is constant against your hole, pushing against it before dipping inside. you can feel his nose against your clit, can feel the tip of it bumping against your bundle of nerves but never quite pressuring it enough.

mingyu pulls back. he grabs at one of your thighs, and then he's lifting your thigh up over his shoulder. don't think about how his tail beats down on the apartment floor eagerly, how happy he is to please you.

with your leg over his shoulder, mingyu is able to lick at your pussy better. he laps and licks, sloppy without much technique. he just wants to taste, wants to please.

you can't help but moan, your grip on his hair tight. mingyu's so eager that you can't do anything other than stand there and take it, can't do anything other than stand there and let him devour.

eventually mingyu decides to go further. he wiggles two of his fingers — fat and long and perfect — to your pussy hole. mingyu moves his head to lap at your clit, tongue sliding up your cunt.

his fingers stretch at your cunt. they're just shy of too big, spreading your pussy and making it ache in a sharp, pleasant way. he fucks your cunt with his fingers, wanting to prove to you he's good, he's your good boy.

and he won't move until you're sobbing it. he won't move until there's tears pouring down your cheeks and juices staining the inside of your thighs. mingyu won't move, won't relent, until you're weeping against the apartment door about how much of a good boy he is, about how sweet and good and perfect he is.

so yes: whatever you do, don't think about your sweet, pathetic, and eager puppy hybrid waiting at home.

[intrepidacious]

just fairer than death

summary: One night, you pull a dying sailor from the depths of the sea.

pairing: james norrington x siren!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: set right after james' canon departure; slight dubcon because sirens; brief blood licking; i think this qualifies as soft dark? please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: crawling out of my void with this fic that absolutely no one asked for 🫶🏼 i first wrote this in may so that's how i'm doing at the moment. @brandycranby and @scrumptious-delusion thank you for actually making me finish this story, i love you both so immensely x

masterlist | read on ao3

It was said, among your kind, that there was nothing more dangerous than a sailor; for you were destined to either love him or kill him.

That is, if he did not kill you first.

Your life had already been long, then, and you’d never even seen a human up close. You’d learned to understand how the seas would change when they had to carry a ship, how the waves would moan under its weight, and you’d taken great pains to avoid watchful eyes in the dark every single time. The odds were stacked against you, and you weren’t ready to risk your life for a notion as abstract as love.

Others, you knew, had been bolder than you. Several of your sisters liked to venture out to take a closer look at a passing vessel and its crew, and some of them had never made it back afterwards. You didn’t like to think what might have happened to them.

It was worse, though, when they did return. Blood on their gills and flesh still stuck between their sharp teeth, a mad, angry, horrified look in their eyes. See what they made me do, it seemed to say. See how they conjure violence from thin air.

Passion, you learned, was a dangerous current to get caught up in.

Night fell early that day, like the goddess herself wanted to hide what was about to happen underneath a shroud of darkness. The sea was quiet. The stars were hiding as you let yourself get carried by the waves with your face turned towards an empty sky, far enough from the cursed ship to stay out of sight. The Flying Dutchman made you shiver in your scales, no matter how many times you smelled her rotten wood from afar. There was nothing good on that ship; nothing good could ever come from it.

You never knew what strange tides carried you closer. These waters had their own sense of humour, sometimes, cruel and biting like medusa venom.

A shout cut through the night, clearly audible even from where you were floating at a distance. Normally, you would’ve taken this as your sign to leave, but for some reason, you hesitated. An icy chill went through you and stopped you from slipping away into the safety of the deep. Instead, you turned your head towards the source of the sound.

Something had plummeted into the water.

You squinted. Yes, you could see several figures, their heads just bobbing above the surface as they moved hastily away from the abominable ship.

Good, you thought. Not even humans deserved the likes of Davy Jones.

Then the wind picked up. It carried the coppery stench of blood and steel mixing with seawater, and the fine hairs covering your neck stood up in response. Every cell of your body was screaming at you to flee, and yet you were unable to move, the ocean gently pushing you closer still.

You couldn’t see anything else in this murky darkness, but a few minutes passed in tense silence before you heard a hollow, ghostly laugh followed by another splash. The sea tasted of iron, too, now; and of something else.

It was that other, undetermined thing that made you swim closer against your every instinct. You were still far enough from the Dutchman to be out of sight, the tides moving in your favour, when you saw the shape in the water.

It was drifting away from the vessel as well, but in a way much more uncoordinated than the ones you’d seen earlier, barely staying afloat for another moment before the ocean swallowed it whole.

You did not hesitate this time.

Underwater, it was much easier for your eyes to make out the shape, sinking heavily as the ship’s wake pushed it down, down towards the bottom of the ocean. A muscle strained in your tail, your gills protesting as you shot through the waters to get a proper look before it fell out of sight. You still didn’t understand why.

Goddess help you, you should’ve known.

For something as terrible as a sailor, he didn’t look all that intimidating. He only looked decidedly lifeless, his eyes closed, limbs floating loosely. Blood tinted the water around him, coming from a hole in his chest that probably wasn’t supposed to be there. Then again, what did you know about humans?

You wondered if all of them looked this beautiful.

Then, like a shockwave, you remembered that they needed air to breathe.

Before you could consciously decide on it, you had grabbed the sailor under his shoulders and dragged him back up. He was heavier than a grown reef shark, unresponsive dead weight, the ocean refusing to loosen her grip on him.

Finally, you burst through the surface again, a gasp of relief escaping you when you spotted a sandbank not that far away. The Dutchman, thankfully, was far off in the distance by now. No ghostly eye saw you taking off into the opposite direction with the lifeless sailor the ship had spat out.

You couldn’t help but glance at your charge every now and again as you struggled to keep him afloat. He had lost part of his hair to the currents, and the rest of it had another colour underneath, dark like sea weeds. You could only hope that he didn’t need the upper part.

But need it for what, exactly? This man was dead; or at least mostly so. He still smelled slightly alive, and his skin was warm against yours.

"What am I doing?" you whispered to yourself as you tightened your grasp around his shoulders.

Careful, sang the waves. Do not play with things you don’t understand.

But what a ridiculous warning that was. You knew this man was in no shape to harm you, so how could your curiosity be something terrible?

After what felt like hours, your hands touched rock and sand. With great effort, you managed to heave the sailor onto it. No matter how much you scowled at the waves, his head kept rolling back under water, until you lifted yourself up and carefully put it in your lap.

Your tail was aching with exhaustion and your uncomfortable position, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. Breathe, you thought, holding his face in your hands, breathe.

The sailor didn’t listen, but then again, he was mostly dead.

You could feel your heart racing as desperation started to rise. What had you done this for, then, if he refused to cling to life after all? It was as if something had possessed you, and now that you were halfway through the motions it dictated, you’d been once again left alone with your thoughts and the rush of the sea around you.

Something compelled you to push a strand of wet, dark hair away from his face. No; he didn’t look intimidating at all.

Love him or kill him.

You were a simple creature steered by fate as much as anyone, and right now, you were a helpless guppy between her fingers. You wondered what colour his eyes might be.

He was so heavy on you, like his weight was trying to remind you of the odd reality of this situation. You had no idea what to do, and so you kept staring at him.

Like small fish lured in by photophore, your fingers trailed inevitably downwards to that strange hole in his chest. Human blood smelled the same as yours, and it had the same colour, as far as you could tell; but it was warm.

Hesitantly, you pulled your hand back and licked it up.

An involuntary sigh left your lips.

Sweet. Maddeningly sweet. Even after just a few drops, you could see why your sisters would lose their minds over this. You could feel your mouth watering as you savoured the taste, your mind going blissfully blank.

This was like nothing you’d ever experienced.

Your heart was beating a frenzy as you heaved the sailor up in your lap and leaned over his chest, dipping your tongue against the hole. Each lick of blood intensified the gentle buzz in your head, a giddy lightness spreading through your limbs, your chest, your very core.

Just before you lost yourself entirely to this sensation, you heard a low rumbling noise. Gurgling, like stuck water. The sound faded again almost instantly.

Around you, the wind picked up, the waves rumbling menacingly, and you looked up to see the clouds darkening overhead. A storm was coming, after all.

You went to continue your meal and found that the hole had closed up.  Soft, reddened skin covered it like it had never been there in the first place. Only a small, shimmering scar remained, and you traced your fingers along it in wistful wonderment, blinking as you wiped your mouth and came to your senses again.

How strange, indeed.

Still, your appetite had been wet, now. You looked at the sailor’s face again, craving more of his sweetness. Maybe …

Slowly, you brushed your lips against his, breathing into him as you carefully nipped at his flesh. He tasted like the sea, here, salt and brine and something else entirely, something that made you press closer as you exhaled into him.

Perfect, you thought because you’d never felt anything so true, all things falling into place for the first time in your life. It sent a pleasant tingle up your spine.

A sound again; this time, it reverberated in your mouth. The sea lashed at you but you ignored it, pushing into the noise as if going to smother it, and then something moved in your lap and the mostly dead sailor grunted weakly against your lips.

You flinched backwards as he sputtered before you, his entire body convulsing as he coughed up seawater and blood. Each rattled breath ended with another fit of coughs until finally, he calmed, slumping back into his previous position in your lap.

It was then, for the first time, that he opened his eyes.

They were green, green like the deep sea on a particularly fine day, green like a palm leaf on the beach at Whitecap Bay, green like shards of smooth seaglass, polished and shimmering. Even in the darkness, they were bright, and they were looking up at you in confusion.

You were confused, too. Something very odd was happening, and so you leaned in and you did the only thing your mind could think of at that moment. You pressed your lips against his once more.

Again, you were filled with that feeling of rightness as you pressed closer, as his mouth gently moved against yours as if in an unheard question before answering you in equal. Yes, yes.

You didn’t understand but this was the way things should be, how they were always meant to go, how—

Cool hands pulled your face away and an involuntary whine escaped you. The sea green eyes had darkened, softened, and they blinked at you several times before the sailor asked, "Am I dead?"

"Not anymore," you said, making to move closer again. He didn’t let you, his hand solid against your cheek.

"I don’t—I’m not sure what happened." His voice was hoarse with the salt of the ocean. His thumb kept tracing your cheekbone like he wasn’t able to comprehend you were actually here. "I thought I was dead."

"Does it matter?" you asked. Your voice was gaining a sing-songy quality entirely of its own accord, and it made his seaglass eyes glaze over a little.

He made to sit up and even though some deep, primal instinct didn’t want him to withdraw even a little, you helped steady his shaking arms until he was upright. Still, your tail was relieved at the lifted weight, giving an involuntary spasm that splashed in the water.

The sailor barely seemed to notice, even as he looked around at his surroundings. The wind howled and dark waves kept lapping at his legs as he tried to get his bearings.

It was a long time before his eyes settled on you again.

"Who are you?" he said, and there was wonder in his voice, incredulity.

Beautiful, you thought again.

You told him your name, quickly, without even thinking about it. Your kind wasn’t usually supposed to share this information; names held power, after all. But this was different. He was different.

"What about you, sailor?" you asked softly. "What do they call you?"

"I … James," he said, his brow furrowed in concentration, like he wasn’t all that sure at all. "Admiral James Norrington of the EC … the EITC. I think."

"Don’t think," you said, putting a hand on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat in there, fast enough for it to sound as if he, like some creatures, had three of them. Unlikely, of course, but what did you know?

In time, he might spare one of them for you.

For some reason, that thought didn’t shock you.

"I should …" he said, his eyes half-shut again. You wanted to kiss away that frown. You wondered if his smile was as magnificent as you imagined, hidden somewhere beneath that stern face. "There was something … someone …"

It broke your heart, the way that worry weighed on him. You needed to take care of him. Take him somewhere safe, somewhere he could rest.

"Don’t worry, James Norrington," you said gently, slowly leaning in once more; he didn’t stop you. "It’s going to be all right."

This time, when your mouths connected, he sighed, like he was letting go of whatever burden his memory was trying to remind him of. This time, his arms came around you and wrapped tightly around your shoulders so that when you slipped into the water, he clung to you, your lips still moving in perfect tandem. He tasted divine.

Yes, you thought, maybe there was a point to these stories about sailors after all.

But this one … he was good. He was yours.

And you intended to keep him.

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