#This is going to come back later in the fic?

[bloggerspam]

So uh, hiya!

....I come back bearing another snippet because Naynay's children continue to amuse me.

This fic is still abandoned, for the most part--but when the muse strikes, it strikes i guess! I will be stopping tumblr updates, so if you would like to subscribe to the AO3, just in case there are more updates (no promises, honestly very unlikely) please head on over there!

(Please don't ask for more. there will also never be plot for this so, just FYI) Sorry, but theres no jon in this snippet either!

===

Marina isn't in class today, and Georgie isn't happy about it.

Georgie keeps calling for Marina, and Danny has to keep reminding him that Marina is out sick today, which makes Georgie terribly unhappy. He's been floating around listlessly and sniffling up a storm, which makes Luna unhappy, who of course decides to make it Jordan's problem, and Jon is always where Jordan is so—

The point is. Danny only has four children today, but it feels like the workload is doubled.

The classroom has little areas dedicated to certain themes with little pictures of the children doing thematically appropriate actions to illustrate what they're supposed to be doing where.

A little kitchen area with a picture of Jordan flipping a felt egg in a tiny pan.

A little dress up area with little costumes and soft props with a picture of Luna and Jon dressed up as a firefighter and a bat respectively.

The "STEM" area where the blocks and LEGOs and trucks magnets and all sorts of things with a picture of Marina stacking up a tower of blocks.

The locked cabinet full of art supplies has a picture of Georgie covered in paint trying to draw what looks like an abstract suggestion of Mr. Potato Head in green, but is supposed to be (according to Georgie) an accurate drawing of Danny.

Georgie has been staring forlornly as Marina's picture, as if to ask it when will Marina come back from the war?

Danny has been Going Through It, honestly.

But he survives, and that all that matters.

And then, two months later, when Georgie is out for a family matter, Danny only feels relieved and assured that Marina definitely won't act that way.

What Danny wasn't expecting, however, is for Marina to tromp her way to the art cabinet with Georgie's picture and immediately scream at it as if she's got a ten thousand year old Grade A Wagyu Beef with it.

Danny has to take the picture down, just so she will stop screaming at it.

He hid it in his desk, first, but Marina somehow finds it and lets him know by letting out a piercing scream.

He hides it inside his body for the rest of the day instead.

Thank Gods that Danny's Wail is unique to him, or they'd all be doomed.

Preschool teacher Danny au

Danny takes his class on a field trip to a local museum and makes sure the kids keep a hold of the safety rope. Well things go slightly wrong when one of his students starts floating so he rushes to get him back on the ground which does require a little floating on his part. He thinks no one saw him since they were in a blind spot for the security cameras until he makes eye contact with Clark Kent and is immediately trying to figure out how to bribe a country boy reporter while Clark is low key freaking out at seeing a whole potential class of metas with a meta teacher

.

[hedwig221b]

You are amazing ✨✨✨

Do you have any feral Derek fic recs?? Especially if he’s stuck as a wolf?? Bonus points if Stiles thinks he’s just a big friendly dog 🥹

Hi, love! Thank uuu! I absolutely love feral wolf Derek, it always delivers. Here's a very long rec list, enjoy!

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth. “Not too close, he bites.” Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting. “He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton. The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.” “Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek.

He looked extremely displeased.

You're My Sanctuary by lilmissdaydreamer

The Argent Wolf Sanctuary. It’s been Stiles’ dream since he was five years old to work with the wolves, ever since his mother took him up there to see the magnificent creatures on one of their ‘full moon runs’ that the Sanctuary does once a month. The wolves are beautiful and much larger than Stiles would’ve thought, or at least, the newest wolf is. The owner had said he’s a special breed. Stiles just didn’t realize quite how special he is.

Stuck in This in Between by calrissian18

“You’re not getting better, Derek.” And it was the first time he’d called him that since he’d realized he wasn’t really.

The Feral Alpha by halcyon1993

Derek has lived in a half-feral state in the wilderness ever since hunters killed his family. When the hunters return years later, he gets his revenge and finds his true mate in one of the boys they were holding captive. He claims him immediately.

Safe Mind by LadyDrace

Derek goes missing for a while and comes back full wolf. Only problem is that his mind has gone wolf too, and for some reason the only one he'll allow near him… is Stiles.

Of Blood and Feral Wolves by Flicker_Ash

After Stiles is hurt in a surprise attack, Derek's wolf takes over and won't let anyone near him. Doesn't matter if it's Scott or a paramedic, when there's blood and no sarcasm, no-one's touching Stiles.

Light at the end of the tunnel by Lesatha

“Careful, Stilinski. Don’t think you can go around telling me what to do, or coddling the werewolf.” “What does it matter to you?” “If the feral alpha kills you, it will be my fault, as your supervisor.” Stiles’ head whipped towards the werewolf. He couldn’t see much of him apart from his red eyes, always following Stiles. Crazy as it might sound, it comforted him. The werewolf wasn’t the rabid animal Elis seemed to picture. He was just… hurt.

Feral by melofttroll

Scott’s yelling now as the Jeep comes to a halt, and Stiles ignores him as he clambers from the seat. The skid turned the Jeep completely around, and his headlights are pointed at something that is decidedly not dog-ish, or bear-ish, but very, very human. And by the shuddering breaths coming from the man’s chest, very much alive. Feral!Derek, Sterek AU

Lessons in Humanity by exclamation

Fleeing from werewolves, Stiles comes face to face with Derek, a werewolf human in shape but animal in his mind. Stiles is terrified of being killed, but it seems Derek has decided Stiles would make a suitable mate. Unfortunately, his idea of a romantic gift is a dead animal on the doorstep. Stiles must help Derek remember what it is to be human… and figure out how to explain his new werewolf stalker to his dad.

Throw Away the Key by mommymuffin

Stiles knew it was stupid to go to the hunters’ headquarters all by himself, so when he finds himself caught, he can really only blame himself. It shouldn't surprise Stiles when the situation quickly goes from bad to worse as the hunters throw him to a feral werewolf waiting to tear him apart. Sucks that it's Derek, though.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist. Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope. He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles. “I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life. There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Hallowed Grounds by damnfancyscotch

Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college. Well, except for the fact that he's a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica's epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there's this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him. Oh, and the murders, of course. But other than that stuff… totally the same old BH.

There Are No Wolves in California (Werewolves on the Other Hand…) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella), KioFox

“I’m not calming down until you call animal control! I fucking saw it! There were fucking wolves!” “There are no wolves in California, Mr. Daehler,” the principal said, sounding exasperated, like this was the third time she’d said it to him. “Well clearly there are!” he shouted back, showing such a lack of respect for the woman, Stiles had to applaud her for her fortitude not to smack him in the face. “Perhaps you were mistaken,” she said calmly. “No I wasn’t fucking mistaken,” Matt insisted, sounding incensed. “No way these were dogs, they were massive!” For a second, Stiles felt like the world had slowed considerably as those words wormed their way into his brain. Because—he knew a dog that was massive. Honestly, he’d also brushed away the idea of the dog being a wolf because there were no wolves in California. But… what if there were? Holy shit, had Stiles literally spent his lunch break with a fucking wolf cuddled into his side while he pet it?! Good God, he was lucky to still have all his limbs!

Where the Real Beasts Are by kaistrex (weishen)

Crown Prince Stiles is gifted a direwolf on his eighteenth birthday by King Gerard I of Venatia. The only instruction? Never remove the collar. Stiles never has been one to do as he’s told.

The Soul Knows What the Heart Wants by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“Holy—shit,” Stiles breathed, Bacon stopping in what he was doing, still staring at him intently, as if begging him to understand, for someone to finally understand. Stiles felt like he’d been electrocuted and he leapt out of his chair, kneeling in front of Bacon and grabbing at his furry face. “Holy shit! Oh my God, are you—wait, holy—you’re not fucking with me, right?!” Bacon let out two quick barks, which Stiles chose to interpret as ‘no.’ "Oh my God, are you a real person in there?!” Stiles shouted in the wolf’s face, staring him right in the eye. He was still holding the wolf’s head with both hands, but Bacon dipped his muzzle in confirmation and Stiles officially lost his mind. “Oh my God!” he shouted again, releasing Bacon to clutch at his own hair. “Oh my God! Dude, for real?! You’re—holy shit! Holy shit!” He didn’t know how to react to this news. He had no fucking idea how to react. This was a person?! But how?! How was this a person?! People didn’t just turn into wolves!

Rabbit Hearted by secondstar, Tsuminoaru

Storytellers were known for their talented tongues, their ability to weave tales and enthrall the listener. Their stories held weight, taken as truth as they were passed down from generation to generation. A tale of a cursed pack of wolves was one such story that Stiles had known since he was a child. Never did he think that he would become part of that tale, or that its weight would be up upon his shoulders. A tale of curses, sacrifices, and acceptance of one's inner self.

Being Close to You by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Realization dawned and Derek cursed himself viciously. How could he be stupid enough to forget Scott was a Werewolf? He could fucking smell him! Scott knew it was him! “Stiles?” Scott asked uncertainly while Stiles started opening and closing various cabinets, looking for who knew what. “That’s not a d—” Derek snarled and let out a loud bark, eyes glowing blue in Scott’s direction since Stiles couldn’t see him from where he was standing. Scott scowled at him, moving closer to him and inhaling pointedly. “What are you doing here, Derek?” Scott asked, voice low enough that Stiles wouldn’t hear. He wasn’t listening anyway, still panicking and randomly opening things.

(You) Bring Out the Beast (In Me) by Ember

“Should I make out the wedding invitations?” Stiles swallowed his mouthful of soda.”What?” Lydia smirked. “Well, you and Derek have seemed awfully cozy lately. Just wanted to be supportive.” “Oh, yeah, because that’s exactly why I went into wildlife preservation.” He rolled his eyes. “Beastiality jokes.” +++ Aka the one where Derek is a wolf and Stiles is his trainer, and then magic and transformations and feelings happen.

A Boy’s Best Friend by KnottheWolf

Stiles was just having some ‘me time’ when things escalated with his dog, Wolf. Or at least, he thinks it’s a dog.

"good boy" by quackquackcey

Stiles doesn’t think his senior year can get any worse with his best friend turning rabid every full moon, until he finds himself stuck with a massive black wolf overnight that doesn’t even like jerky. But on the bright side, the hot guy with the half-dying sister he met at the gas station seems to be in town for a bit, so there’s still a chance that his senior year, his supposed best year of high school, isn’t a complete lost cause…right? That is, if he can manage to juggle the sassy wolf that he takes care of at night and the hot guy that asked him out on a date for some reason.~ 🐺🍕

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles

[feargach-exists]

Batman crack fic idea Janet Drake used to date Lady Shiva when she was in college, they break up when Janet marries Jack for social and money reasons.

Tim is born. When he's old enough the Drakes fuck off to do archeology and Janet hires a bunch of increasingly bizarre people who "owed her a favour ". There's a disgraced Russian ballerino, a mad chemist, the worlds best loclpicker, John Constantine, a black and white noire detective, some Welsh guy she found in the woods. Tim learns from all of them. Janet doesn't believe in public schools, so all of this is "homeschooling".

Flash forward, Tim is 11 Jack Drake dies on a dig in Australia, because a bird dropped a coconut on his head. Suddenly Tim has a new stepmum. Lady Shiva's nice, weirdly intense, but nothing he hasn't seen before. Janet takes over complete control of Drake industries, expands her business empire and destroyes her enemies with extreme prejudice. She teaches Tim all she knows about business. Shiva teaches him how to fight. Tim is happy he now has two mums who love and pay attention to him.

Stuff happens (I haven't figured out what yet) they find Cass and Tim gets a sister. Now, because this is DC and the children canonically yern for the streets (im thinking they're like 13 & 16 at this point), Cass and Tim become a new vigilante duo (I'm thinking Crows, one of tims nannies was an animal handler and he befriended all the crows in Gotham, they follow him around) and have perfected non verbal communication and creep out everybody with horror movie twin behaviour.

While sneaking around Gotham, they meet Steph, and she takes one look at them and decides that she likes Cass and that Tim needs to be bullied relentlessly. She is, of course, correct.

Meanwhile, Bruce is not having a good time, Jason is dead, and WE has competition for the first time in his life. He'd like to spiral into a pit of despair and find out who the new vigilantes are (and why are there so many birds?), but if he does that, Lucius will kill him or, worse, quit his job. So, instead, he and Dick are sent to therapy.

Jason comes back fully expecting to have to do a whole production out of this situation, takes one look at Bruce being forced to sit in a meeting with Janet and decides that he's fine actually, and why the fuck is Lady Shiva just hanging out at this gala with two kids hanging onto her?

By the time Damian is dropped off, everyone except for Bruce knows who the Crows are, Cass and Tim come over to hang out all the time. Damian is confused as to why The One Wo Sees All is in his father's house and how her brother manages to somehow be scarier than her. Damian does not like to be confused, so he still tries to kill Tim. This devolves into a roadrunner situation where Tim pulls out increasingly niche skills to get out of Damians traps. Later, this becomes enrichment for both of them.

When Tim is 15 and Cass 18, their mums decide they're old enough to be fine living with Bruce while they go off on their own adventures. Dick brings the Crows over to meet the Titans. He's told them about his cute baby siblings (Bruce is not the only one with an adoption problem). These children are not cute. They invoke fight or flight responses. Kon has one conversation with Tim, gets info dumped on, and falls in love immediately. He's finally found someone with an equal, if not greater, amount of weird, eclectic knowledge. Young Justice adventures are somehow even more bizarre than yj98. They are having the times of their lives.

Since Tim was never robin, Duke never started the We are Robin gang. But the Crows do have a cult, and he might be in it. His parents still get jokerised, and he starts living in Wayne manor proceeds to fit right in with the insanity (Bruce has given up on trying to control any of it).

The Justice League dreads whenever they have to meet with any of the younger Gotham vigilantes. Somehow, Jason ended up as the most almost well-adjusted one. He doesn't know how that happened either.

[annmariethrush]

Ugh I don’t have time to write the fic yet so here’s what keeps bonking around my brain

Jayce becomes Viktor’s internal monologue for taking care of himself and his chronic issues.

It takes months of observation before Jayce starts piping up when he knows Viktor is doing something that will cause him pain later.

First it’s just big things— moving him to the couch when he falls asleep on the desk. Getting him a rolling stool and then making him sit on it when he’s spent too long standing at the chalk board.

Then it becomes smaller things. When Viktor has his bad leg bent across his other knee, twisting his back and hip and leg all in the wrong direction, Jayce will come over with a chair and a pillow to prop it on. Jayce clears all of the top and bottom shelves in the lab, only having things that are within Viktor’s normal range of motion. He tuts when ever he hears Viktor get up to go across the lab briefly without his cane, not even looking up as he goes “nuh uh” until viktor sighs and picks the damn thing up. “It’s only 12 steps, Jayce, I can go 12 steps” “you make that walk 25 times a day. It’s adds up.” He’s even started setting an alarm for 2 pm every day where he makes them both stop and do stretches to combat the stiffness of sitting and writing for hours on end.

Slowly, viktor’s internal voice that tries to remind him that something he’s doing will make him hurt later shifts to sound like Jayce. “Be nice to yourself, V” “that’s gonna hurt later, don’t do that” “if you leave your leg like that you’ll have a hard time walking home.” Even things that Jayce has yet to see, like the correct configuration of pillows on his bed, the way that he has to lay his arms so that his back doesn’t tweak in his sleep, start getting corrected in his mind with a “nuh uh” instead of the usual “whatever”

By the first anniversary of their meeting, every thought he has that encourages him to be kind to himself comes in Jayce’s voice, Jayce being so synonymous in his mind with the desire to treat himself well and be mindful of his limits. Jayce has no idea how much of viktor’s routine now consists of choices fueled by the thought that Jayce would be disappointed if he knew he was doing something that would cause him pain later all because Jayce can’t help but love viktor until he loves himself.

[revelboo]

OMG! More Megatronus Prime pls (when u have time) I wanna see where this is going!

And more tiny Shockwave for your troubles (Ft TFP Vehicon, I love Vehicons and drones in TF they make me irrationally happy)

Sure! Honestly I was tempted to do a Vehicon reverse harem crack fic. All the Vehicons trying to collectively woo one very overwhelmed and unlucky reader with Steve as their spokesmech

Give It Up Pt 2

Megatronus Prime x Reader

• Fumbling and almost dropping the tiny, flailing organic in his hand, he tries to figure out where you’d come from. And how to get you to stop making that noise. “Here, little one. Stop. Please stop?” Awkwardly bouncing you like a sparkling as he tries to decide what to do with you, the screeching cuts off when you grab onto his servos. “There now. Can you speak?”

• Shuddering and convulsively swallowing, you’re afraid to make a peep in case the monster starts jostling you again. Because you’re probably going to hurl in your helmet if he does. And it’s talking at you. At least, you think the rough growling is language. Not knowing what it wants with you only that it’s not immediately eating you. That’s a good sign, right? Pushing at its big servos, you try to squirm loose. And are momentarily distracted by the glittering alien city you’re just noticing. Beautiful and impossible and are those buildings upside down?

• Servo cautiously nudging what he’s now certain is a helmet on your tiny head, he vents and carries you back inside. By some small bit of luck not running into any of the other Primes as he carries you to his habsuite. And avoiding their questions. Carefully setting you on his desk, he lets go of you and waits to see if you’re going to run off the edge. Relaxing when you only retreat to the side farthest from him and even though he can’t see through the helmet, he can feel your stare. “Alright,” he murmurs, pulling up the archives and all known organics. “How about we figure out what you are?”

• There’s no getting down without breaking something. The giant’s still grumbling nonsense at you as you try to get your anxiety in control. Okay, think. Reaching up to toggle your comm on, static squeals to make you wince into you cut it off. Well, that’s not a surprise. No signal, no communication. No rescue. Okay. How much oxygen do you have left? Water? Because sooner or later you’re going to run out of both and you have no idea if there’s air to breathe. Drinkable water. And you’re not quite ready to find out the hard way by taking the helmet off just to see if you suffocate. Oh, you’re terrified and spiraling. Because no one’s going to know what happened to you. Just gone. Can hear your own rough breathing, using up oxygen you don’t have to spare and unable to stop yourself.

• “You’re undocumented.” How are you an undocumented species? Glances down at you as you fiddle with a little lit up panel on your arm. You’re intelligent, obviously. But you don’t seem to understand him. “Can you understand me, little one?” Reaching out to nudge you, he vents when you stagger away chirping at him and swat at his servo. And then throw up your tiny hands, chirping and gesturing. What language is that? Laying his chin in his hand, he taps a servo against his mask. Well, you’ve got some fight. Being that tiny and still standing up to him. That fire is admirable. A little warrior.

Previous

[authorhjk1]

Hope this is ok to ask. If not, delete it please.

How would each member of Dreamcatcher or Red Velvet react to squirting? Whether it’s their first time, done it before, or your first time witnessing it. Love reading your fics. Keep up the awesome work!🤗

How does Red Velvet react to squirting?

Jiu

Jiu tries to push your hand away with all her might. She can feel it coming. A much harder orgasm than usual. She has orgasmed a couple of times before, while the two of you had sex, but today is something different.

No words leave her mouth when she tries to beg you to stop. Three of your fingers move in and out of her pussy at a constant pace. They're slightly curled upwards, which has them dragging across the rough patch on her walls. Jiu moans as her thighs shake. She can feel the heat rising inside her body. And something new. She can't tell what it is. But it feels like someone is pushing down on her stomach and trying to squeeze something out of her.

Jiu's toes curl and with a cry of pleasure, you finally make her cum. You feel her tight walls griping your fingers, not letting you go. At the same time, you feel something building up inside of her. Your fingers are already wet, but now it feels like they're getting drenched. Jiu's eyes roll back as the amount of her juices finally pushes your fingers out of her. She squirts all over your hand, arm and the sheets underneath her. Cute whines and loans leave her lips as her entire body shakes, while more of her juices leave her body.

When Jiu finally lies still again, you catch the bright red shade on her cheeks. You reach forward again, placing a finger on her glistening lips. Jiu's hips buck towards you on instinct as if her body is begging for more. But she desperately shakes her head, telling you she can't take another one.

"You look so beautiful when you cum."

An embarrassed whine leaves Jiu's lips as she sinks into the mattress, eyes closed.

SuA

"Do you feel my juices completely coating your cock, baby?"

You try to nod, which isn't easy when you lie down while SuA is riding your cock.

You would've loved to answer her properly, but you can't. Her panties are stuffed into your mouth and you don't dare to spit them out. SuA's hand around your throat doesn't really help either. You feel her squeeze it a little from time to time.

She gets off on being completely in control of your body and you can feel how her rhythm is slowly becoming a mess. You can't see her riding you, because she took her white top off earlier and put it over your head. Her smell is making you even hornier as SuA is getting closer and closer.

"I'm gonna drench your whole body in my squirt, baby. You like that, don't you?"

She gives your throat another squeeze. You can't answer, even if you wanted to.

SuA moans one last time and you can feel her pussy contracting around you. Her riding has stopped and you feel her quivering on top of you. Then, she lifts herself off of you just enough so your cock slips out of her cunt. A moment later you are being hit by her juices. Just like she promised, SuA is covering your whole body. Your cock, your abs, your chest, her top that is lying on your face.

Siyeon

Siyeon watches you as you keep stroking your cock. Her own fingers are deep inside of her pussy. She lets out moan after moan, but even when she becomes louder you can hear the sound of her fingers moving in and out of her wet cunt.

This was her idea. The two of you getting off individually, while facing each other. You don't mind though. Your girlfriend looks beautiful. Lying on her back in your bed, naked, facing you while she lets her fingers dip into her pussy again and again.

"Babe, I'm gonna cum."

Siyeon sighs, letting you know how close she is. Her hips slightly lift off the sheets. You see her thighs quiver and then she finally orgasms. To her own surprise, Siyeon squirts, making a mess of your sheets.

"Watching you jerking off is so hot."

She sighs once she's finally recovered.

If Siyeon squirts everytime the two of you do that, you're already looking forward to next session.

Handong

"Are you ready?"

Handong hesitates, before she finally nods. Your hand, which was resting on her thigh, is now moving towards her exposed pussy. Her breath hitches when you insert two fingers into

"Have you ever been that full?"

You ask her, knowing fully well what the answer is gonna be.

"No."

Handong whispers and as you start to fuck her with your fingers, you resume thrusting up into her ass. She moans and cries, her whole body leaning against yours, while you lean against the backrest of your chair. Your cock inside her ass and your fingers inside her pussy has Handong seeing stars.

Despite it being her idea, you can't say that you are not enjoying this. It has been Handong's fantasy for some time now. The two of you have tries several positions and techniques, but this might be the one.

You can already feel how her body is reacting to both her holes being stimulated like this. By now, you're knuckle deep inside your girlfriend's pussy, while you keep fucking her ass. Handong is slowly losing control as you continue to over stimulate her in almost every way.

Handong herself can finally feel it coming. Not just a normal climax. She can feel it tugging at her lower midriff. She can feel her whole body heating up

"Oh my god!"

The last words that come out of her mouth, before you make her squirt. Through all this pleasure, Handong feels relief washing through her. She always wanted to try it and here she is now, basically ruining your carpet with her juices.

Yoohyeon

Yoohyeon hides her face in the pillow.

"I'm so sorry."

You blink a couple of times, before looking at her. She's still kneeling above you, completely naked. You ate her out and she squirted all over your face a few seconds ago.

"You don't have to apologize."

You reach for the sheets and wipe your face clean.

"A warning would've been nice though."

"This usually doesn't happen."

She still hides behind the pillow, which you now take out of her hands.

"Did it feel good?"

Her eyes give you the answer before she even opens her mouth.

You place your hands on each of her butt cheeks and pull her closer Yoohyeon moans when you lick her folds once more. As she slowly get back into it, she stops holding back. She reaches for your hair, grinds against your face, throws her head back.

Eventually, Yoohyeon orgasms again. And once more you feel her squirting all over your face, leaving you gasping for air.

Dami

"Oh my god."

Dami whines, almost too desperate to think straight. Her hands are tied to the bed posts while you are lying between her legs. For her it feels like you've been eating her out for hours. She has been close to an orgasm a couple of times already, but you always stop touching her a second before she finally hits that sweet release.

"Please make cum."

Dami eventually starts to beg, her thighs quivering almost constantly by now.

You stop eating her out, which makes her sigh in disappointment. Her eyes follow you as you move closer. She gasps when you capture one of her nipples with your mouth. Her back arches and you hear her moan. Your hand moves to her pussy and you let two fingers slip inside of her.

Only moments later, Dami feels something break inside of her. You can feel it too, but this time you aren't stopping. As you keep sucking on her tits and play with her pussy, Dami reaches her long anticipated high. She moans and whines, the usually so confident and calm woman becoming a mess in your bed.

She lets out a surprised yelp when you finally make her squirt. Dami can only watch herself ruining your sheets, her whole body shaking. She feels so helpless, but protected and cared for at the same time. Once she finally calms down, you see her eyelids getting heavy. Seems like this was almost too much for her.

Gahyun

"Yes, do it!"

Gahyun moans, almost screams.

You can tell she's close. Her pussy is tightly hugging your cock, making it hard for you to fuck her at a steady pace. The two of you originally started with her lying on her back, but by now her shoulders are holding most of her weight. You've raised her lower body higher to fuck her as hard as she wants you to fuck her.

Gahyun can never have enough. Shee keeps begging for more while her legs hang over your shoulder and you do you best to pound that little pussy of hers as hard as you can.

"I'm gonna cum!"

She cries out and you can feel it building inside of her.

You know she's in the exact position she wants to be in. After thrusting into her a couple more times, you finally make her orgasm. Gahyun moans even louder than before. Her eyes roll back, her mouth is wide open. And just like several times before, you pull out if her snug pussy, just when she's about to squirt.

You lean back a little and hold her waist as you watch Gahyun squirt all over herself. Her juices drench her own body. Within seconds she looks like she just ran a marathon in the rain. But it's all just her squirting, coating her body.

Gahyun's heavy breaths make you reach forward and rub her clit. A jolt of pleasure washes through her and her eyes focus on you.

"Yes, make squirt all over myself. I want it all. Drown me in it."

Her last words leave her lips just before you make her squirt again. This time it's a little stronger, with most of the clear liquid hitting her gorgeous face and landing in her mouth as well. You watch Gahyun taste herself as she experiences her second of two orgasms within minutes.

[emsdevs]

saw you wanted luke hughes reqs, so ‼️

him coming back to your apartment after a game and just yapping to you because he needs to be close to feel better about how it went, but will never explicitly tell you that it helps him. you're just doing miscellaneous tasks, and he eventually starts whining about it, wanting to ay down and get head scratches/cuddles from you

(if this makes no sense, pretend i was never here 😭)

a/n: so so so sorry for the wait nonnie! i hope you still like it! i did in fact get carried away and wrote 1.6k words of mostly dialogue. is this a crack fic? possibly idk. anyway this was very much a lot of fun and my beautiful wonderful wife kirby helped inspire me

masterlist

Not-So-Silent Treatment

The Devils had an early game today, and although it was a Saturday, you had to this morning and couldn’t make it. That leads you to where you are now, finally home and in comfy clothes, cleaning as a way to pass the time until Luke gets home. Before you know it, you hear someone turn down the music you previously had blasting, whipping around to see who the intruder was after not hearing the door. When you turn, you’re met with your boyfriend, Luke, leaning against the doorway with a smirk on his face. He watched as you jumped, slapping your hand over your heart, hoping to somehow calm it down.

“You gotta turn the music down when you’re home alone, babe. What if I was a serial killer?” the smirk he’s still wearing tells you he’s not serious.

“Doesn’t mean you have to give me a heart attack,” you roll your eyes, walking over to give him a quick kiss. “How was the game, Lukey?”

“Oh my god. I have so much to tell you.”

“Yay! I’m gonna finish up the cleaning while you talk, okay?” you give him one last kiss before returning to your task of doing the dishes. In the background, you could hear Luke beginning his story of a crazy penalty that happened halfway through the first period. His favorite thing to do was talk. You weren’t sure why he likes to talk so much or how he always has so much to say, but it’s become sort of comforting to you. Instead of having some random song or podcast playing while you did something, you could have your boyfriend telling you everything about nothing. You suppose it’s so comforting because you enjoy hearing his voice, and it’s a nice reminder of the fact that he’s with you, even if you’re just talking on the phone while he’s on a roadie. Either way, no one will ever hear you complaining about your boyfriend’s talking habits.

Luke, on the other hand, knows exactly why he loves to talk so much. He enjoys talking in general, but when he talks to you, it’s just as comforting for him as it is for you. It’s a way for him to decompress after a long day, lay everything out, and get it off his chest. Then, he never has to think about it again. His favorite part of his day is talking to you, so he’s going to soak it up every chance he gets. Also, Luke is aware that he’s a clingy boyfriend. He’s not scared to admit that. Talking your ear off is just another way for him to feel close to you. It especially helps when he’s gone on roadies and can’t see you face-to-face. 

By the time you finish cleaning your apartment, Luke is on story number five. This one happened an hour or two before the game while the boys were messing around in the hallways, something about Luke almost getting taken out by a soccer ball while he was doing his pre-game run. You’re almost finished folding your last load of laundry when Luke starts whining behind you. 

“Baby, when are you gonna be done? You’ve been cleaning for hours,” he drags out half the words in the sentence.

“Luke, you’ve only been here one hour? Just let me finish this then I’ll come sit with you, okay?”

“Whatever,” there’s no real bite to his tone, and you know he’s just being dramatic. You finish up the last bit of your cleaning about twenty minutes later, not without some more whining on Luke’s end. Soon, you’re lying down on the couch, watching as Luke makes himself comfortable on top of you. He grunts a little bit when you don’t move, and you know that’s his way of asking you to run your fingers through his hair.

He lets out a big sigh before starting again, “So anyway…” You aren’t sure exactly how long you lay there with him, listening to him talk while you played with his hair. Soon, though, the sun has set, and you’re attempting to hold back yawns. “So Curtis decided to- oh? Are you sleepy, baby? We can go to bed.”

“Yeah, let's go to bed, hun,” the two of you make your way to your bedroom, immediately lying down and getting comfortable. Luke talked the whole way there. As you’re getting comfortable, you catch a glimpse of the time on your alarm clock. “Luke, baby, it’s after midnight… can you maybe finish your story in the morning?”

“Yeah… yeah, babe, don’t worry about it. Just don’t be mad when I forget important details,” he mumbles the last sentence before letting go of you and rolling over so that his back is facing you.

“Luke. Don’t pout. I’m just sleepy, okay?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not pouting,” you can feel him rolling his eyes even though you can’t see his face. “I’m just saying. You know I don’t remember stuff well after I’ve slept on it. All those important details will probably be gone from my mind. Oh well.” You sigh, deciding to let him pout in favor of getting some sleep. A few minutes later, he speaks up again, “Ya know, I thought you liked hearing me talk.” After getting no response, he tries again, “Dad always told me I’d never find a wife if I didn’t learn how to shut up sometimes. I guess he was right,” he let out a big sigh in between the two sentences. It goes on for you don’t even know how long after that.

“Jack and Quinn used to never let me talk. I’m starting to think you’re just like them.”

“I thought I was dating my best friend. Turns out you actually hate me.”

“There was a really funny part too. I guess you don’t want me to do my favorite thing. Make you laugh. I love your laugh, but you obviously don’t care.”

“I guess I just love you more than you love me. I would do anything for you, baby, even ruin my sleep schedule. Unlike some people.”

“I would never name names but some people like to tell me they love to hear me talk but they really only mean they like it when it’s convenient for them.”

That’s when the fake waterworks set in. Luke is a horrible fake cryer, but that doesn’t stop him. He’s slapping his hand over his mouth, shaking his shoulders, letting out the most unbelievable “boo hoo” you’ve ever heard. When he sees it’s not working, he changes his tactic again.

“Aren’t you gonna apologize? You made me cry!”

“It’s 2:00 AM, and you made me cry. Are you happy with yourself? This is the kind of relationship you want? The kind of relationship where I have to cry myself to sleep?”

“I bet if we got into an argument right now, you wouldn’t even let me plead my case. Because then I would be talking, and apparently, you don’t like that anymore.”

At this point, you know you’re not sleeping any time soon, so you let yourself answer, “Luke, you’ve been talking for the past six hours.”

He’s quick with his reply, “See! I just can’t do anything right.”

“Ya know, you always call me your baby, but is this what you would do to a baby? Let them cry themselves to sleep?”

“Yeah, Luke, it’s called self-soothing. It’s actually a really common soothing method these days.”

“Torture method, more like. Poor kids. Is this what you’re gonna do to our kids? Tell them to shut up because you aren’t in the mood for them to express their thoughts and feelings?”

“Luke, we’re both freshly twenty-one, and we aren’t having kids any time soon?”

“Oh so now you don’t see a future with me? I guess I should return the ring in my sock drawer then, huh?”

“You have a ring?” you nearly shout, shocked at his revelation.

“Nah, I just wanted you to feel bad.” You quiet down after that, relieved that you won’t have to turn him down because you’re not ready, not that he isn’t the one you want to marry. He very much is, just not right this second. The exhaustion is setting in, so you don’t say much for a while. Apparently, that makes Luke really nervous. “I’m so sorry, baby. You know I was just playing, right? I’ll buy you a ring one day. I’ll do all the research. I’ll even stalk your Pinterest if I have to. I’ll buy you the perfect ring. Then I’ll give you the perfect wedding. Then we can have the perfect kids… Do you hate me now?” You can hear how sad he is, knowing he’s probably tired, and it’s probably heightening his emotions and dramatics.

“I don’t hate you, Lukey. I could never. I’m just sleepy, baby. I need to sleep, and I think you do too. Besides, I don’t wanna get married right now anyway.”

“Oh, so you don’t wanna marry me?” it was his turn to almost shout, his dramatic side getting the better of him in his sleepy state.

Eventually, you manage to wrangle him into laying his head on your chest so you can softly drag your fingers through his curls just the way he likes. Soon, it gets him asleep, just like you knew it would. Finally, you’re able to get some much-needed sleep as well. The next morning you hear it from Luke. He won’t shut up about how he has to finish his story but can’t remember half of it because you made him sleep. He loves to get on your nerves, but you wouldn’t trade a single moment with your favorite drama queen.

taglist: @heartsforjh @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @one-sweet-gubler

join the taglist

[evilbirdy]

Hii, could you do a fic of Se-mi with reader, who’s Thanos’ little sister and is the total opposite of her brother? Se-mi adores her, has a soft spot for her, trusts her and kind of feels bad for her, since she’s like calm and quiet with a chaotic brother 😭 also unlike her brother reader never takes drugs, smokes, etc. maybe headcanons or just a one-shot can be in or outside of Squid game au idrc

That you were right in front of me

now playing~ infrunami by steve lacy

Se-mi x fem!reader

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omg guys, my writing is becoming shirt, is this what writers block feels like 😭

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanos is an…interesting person, he captivates the room, gets all the girls, loves the attention.

You are the other hand are nothing like that, you are reserved, you have barely held hands with someone, and you hate being put out on the spot.

You both are the two sides of the same coin, the same but so different.

When Se-mi met you, she didn’t believe you were Thanos’s younger sister until she came over to your house. She felt so into you, you were smart, kind, sweet. You were very shy until you both had gotten closer than you let down a wall only for her.

Likewise, she has a little spot in her heart for you, she felt bad, you kinda had to take care of your older brother since your parents weren’t around and Thanos was drowning himself in drugs and alcohol.

That’s why you never partake in said activities, you hated watching your brother destroy himself slowly, you always scolded him as you made him a meal to help his hangovers or highs.

“Really Su-bong you downed three bottles of soju, wh-what would our parents say, huh?” Min-su and Nam-gyu was carrying him into the living room onto the couch, Se-mi stood next to you the whole time, as much as she loved seeing Thanos in such an embarrassing state, she didn’t like you being in distress.

Thanos tried to explain himself but you held your hand making him cut himself off, you walked into the kitchen with Se-mi following you.

“ *sigh* I apologize for my brother’s antics…again,’ you laid your head on the counter before going to the fridge and grabbing a water.

“No worries, I would rather babysit Thanos for decades, if it means I get to be here with you,” you looked to her, smiling all giddy. You two had some silent attraction to each other. You knew she liked you and she knows you like her, it was all on who was gonna say what.

“Thanks for being here, Se-mi,” you walked up to her, kissing her cheek before going to give your brother his water. She touched the spot you just kissed, she looks down her face becoming red.

A couple of weeks later, your brother was out recording his little tracks, Se-mi came over to your house for the fifth time that week, she might as well sleep over at this point.

You were laying your legs across Se-mi’s lap, she traces her fingers on your legs, she smirks watching how you got all flustered.

“Hey umm (your nickname),” you looked up at her, titling your head. She leans her head back onto the headboard.

“I um I really really like you, like these past few months, I have never felt this way about someone, like come on, I have chosen to hang around Thanos of all people to be with you,” you giggled, you took her face into her hand, you kissed her cheek and looked to her.

“i like you too, Se-mi, I never though could love but…you made happen. Are you really sure you want to be with me though cause that also means committing to my brother in a way,” she sighs pulling you into her. “Like I said I would spend decades babysit that man-child if it means having you with me every day,” she kisses me all over your face as you laugh.

[scribeofmorpheus]

I hate how LLMs have made it very untrustworthy to regard what one comes across as genuine craft anymore. i know artists are struggling big time with scrapping. I even wrote a paper on how openai was scrapping ao3 based on their early story prompt structures reading like a lot of popular fanfics i'd read before.

i was actually so paranoid that i locked most of my fics on ao3. sometimes i roll back the lock when i work on a fic again, but i usually lock em back up again after a while. scrapping is abhorent and i hate how much ai has shifted digital art paradigms and is now seeping into fandom culture.

I will say that i do find the "nonsense description" portion of this post a bit hard to align with. I'll get into it below the cut. but this is purely discursive, I'm not condemning or abstaining (I'm on op's side here), I'm just pointing out some factoids of my own for perspective!

here it is:

""her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision" (ct. 1), "his grip firm but tender" (ct. 33), "her gown pooling around her like embers" (ct. 1)."

See, I write like this, becuase i was trained in poetry first and then moved on to prose later. i use imagery, i use atmospherics, i use sensation in place of actual telegraphed motion or action that one expects of an action alone--it flows better, sounds sweeter and sometimes, yes, nimble fingers can move with quiet precision (not quiet as in "sound" but as in "understated", as in "draws little attention to the movement"). Firm but tender is another of my favourites--juxtaposition, contrast between the outward seen and felt execution of the action and the internalised, more personal mode of emotion conveyed so as to angle how we broach the situation. "firm but tender" is assuring, it's safe. "firm and rough" is more edged, and since we're left with little assumption of the setting and intent of such action, we cannot tell if the action and the emotions align--if its sexual, is it also consensual? if it's violent, is it because of haste to act, fear, annoyance, etc, etc. now "pooling like embers" is odd. embers spark and bristle and fly and catch things on fire, they disperse and scatter, never hold a body of matter congealed enough to pool. pooling like unfurled flame from dragon's breath? yeah, now that works! especially if it's a magic setting.

all this to say, ai is making it exceeding harder to prove craft is genuine if you work outside structural modes one can fact check. if you try to be more experimental, there's high chance you'll end up like me, and chip away at rigid writing structure in order to form your own voice. repetition and favoured descriptions is also a known trait of writers. one of my fav fanfic writers back in the day used to love "hard" after a pause. like: "he slammed the door, hard." or "his kiss pressed deep into me, hard." and it was noticeable and i loved seeing they had a tell.

though, i do agree that one of the things that need the least repetition in fiction is hair colour. but even published books like to remind readers of physical traits id it's something the author is so beguiled by. poor writing, but writing none the less.

i did suspect something was off with TSATS because of how fast the updates rolled. because damn! 23k word update after a 13k word update with less than 48 hrs between? crazy if true. but alas, i don't think i have it in me to be disappointed if i go seeking and do indeed find a pattern that proves LLM usage.

but to all my fic writers that take like half a day to write 3 pages and the other half procrastinating, if you (like me) got notified of all the updates and wondered if you weren't "productive" enough, you are not making a product, these are labours of love, keep at it, at your own pace, with your own skill, the process is the process!

we need to talk about The Silence and The Song

as per my last post, i have received a lot of encouragement to go public with this, and the more disappointed people i have in my dms, the angrier i get. so i will.

the silence and the song is an ancient arlathan au DA fic on ao3 by luxannaslut, and it is partly, if not entirely, written by an ai. i have no wish to be involved in any kind of fandom drama or witch hunting or bullying, but as a writer myself there are few things that piss me off more than watching people steal the work of others because they can't be fucked to write. it's disrespectful to your fellow writers, it's disrespectful to your readers, and it's disrespectful to the authors of the works the ai is stealing from.

ai is a plague that has no business being in creative spaces and you must do better.

the writing pattern

there was something very odd and monotone about the sentence structure of tsats that i couldn't quite place, so i fed chatgpt a prompt along the lines of "two people in a fantasy novel hate each other, but they secretly desire one another, and they kiss", and the screenshots above are the results. the third one is an excerpt from chapter 40 of tsats. the writing pattern is identical and it doesn't seem like the "writer" has even bothered to pretend they wrote it. if you're going to use ai, at least be sneaky about it. you know, paraphrase a little.

nonsense descriptions

"her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision" (ct. 1), "his grip firm but tender" (ct. 33), "her gown pooling around her like embers" (ct. 1).

fingers don't make sound, so what does quiet precision mean? as opposed to what? her joints cracking with every movement? how is a grip firm but tender? what does that mean? since when do embers pool?

the entire fic is littered with these adjectives that contradict each other or just straight up do not make sense, because all an ai does is generate descriptive language with no understanding of what the words it's spitting out actually mean. i could spend hours picking out examples from the seven billion pages worth of text, but i quite frankly have better things to do and would simply challenge you to try getting through a chapter or two without noticing the pattern.

repetition at structure-level

all the scenes in this fic are described in pretty much the same way. they open with purple prose vomit of the surroundings; solas is standing somewhere looking "unreadable as ever"; ellana's fiery golden molten fire copper ember ginger red hair is flowing this and that way; there's some dialogue with whoever is present and it leaves ellana feeling different variations of "something she couldn't name". this is, once again, a blatantly obvious sign of ai. below is the result of me feeding chatgpt the line "write me a scene from a fantasy novel where a woman with red hair is sitting on the ground in a magical garden at night", and side by side with that is the opening scene of the fic. make your own judgement.

repetition at word-level

this one speaks for itself. we fucking get it. her dress is orange, her hair is red, mythal's presence is heavy in the room, solas looks unreadable, compassion is sitting on her head like a crown, solas' ears are betraying him and ellana's move with every thought she thinks. we get it. the issue here is that an ai remembers the info you feed it, but not necessarily the info it shits out. if it's being told to write scene after scene of an elven woman with a gown that looks like fire doing xyz, it's going to do so with no regard for how many times the reader has already been informed of these details.

lastly: the breakneck speed

359,6k words in four weeks by a person who allegedly is employed and married and hasn't pre-written anything? no. any writer will tell you that this simply isn't possible. it absolutely infuriates me to see how much praise this "writer" gets for posting up to three full chapters in a day without anyone calling bullshit. i am pulling out my hair, you guys.

why i'm not going to live and let live this one

perhaps i would be less angry if the fic was some silly bullshit court intrigue Y/A stuff, but this is a text that handles very heavy and triggering topics such as SA, coercion, domestic abuse, and other things of the same vein. to sit back and put your feet up while having a robot write these extremely sensitive and very real human experiences with words it has stolen from texts written by actual persons is fucking heinous. the "writer" should be deeply ashamed of themselves and i'm sick and tired of watching people eat up their bs.

and on that note: the amount of people in my dm's telling me that they feel stupid and naive for not clocking this has infuriated me more than anything else. you're not foolish for this. being fed ai-generated bullshit is not what is supposed to happen on any creative platform and much less a fandom-centred one, so of course no one approaches a fic through that lens. fandom and fic writing is supposed to be about passion and the only person in this situation who needs to do better and change their behaviour is luxannaslut. polluting our creative spaces, wasting the time of your readers, and minimising the effort of actual writers who are working hard to provide content for us all to share and enjoy is vile and so, so lazy. i beg of you: do better.

[myrrusstuff]

Streamer!Jinx Headcanons!

Just some basic ideas and drabbles pooled into one post. I see a lot of streamer!ellie and streamer!vi, but barely any jinx if any at all. I don’t know, I just think she’d be the funniest streamer ever.

CW: Cursing? bits of Jinx x f!reader. jokes about jinx being cancelled, homophobia mentions.

Streamer!Jinx who got surprised when she blew up pretty fast. For the wrong reasons, Ofcourse (controversy, because she can’t keep her mouth shut), but once it smoothed over she gained a lot of following

She has no filter. None. The second something pops into her head, she says it aloud. She deals with the consequences afterwards.

Her room is either really messy, or oddly tidy. On that note, Streamer!Jinx that decorated her whole setup and desk, plus her headphones. They’re all covered in scribbles and spraypaint.

Streamer!Jinx that sometimes manages to convince you to play on stream with her, addressing you as a close friend to keep you both comfortable and safe online.

She constantly says “chat” and “gang”, even when she’s not streaming. Vi and Ekko pick up on it and comment on it frequently, using it to tease her.

Rages at Minecraft. 100%. She joined MCC, just to ragequit half way through because her team was in dead last. Her chat watched her leave the server and walk out of her room on the webcam. She had to take a whole 15 minuet break and come back with a cup of coffee to calm down.

She would start a Minecraft hardcore series just to hide in a hole as soon as it turns night, before logging off and never returning.

"Guys this is my first episode of... MINECRAFT HARDCORE!

…

Chat this seems to be my first AND last episode."

Jinx who accidentally revealed your relationship on live. She slipped up and called you "darling" or "babe", and her chat never dropped it.

"BABE?!"

"Holy shit did she just call her babe?"

"Ladies, we have a chance!"

"DID WE HEAR THAT RIGHT"

She tried to change the topic, "We’re going to win this round!", to say she lost, and her chat didn’t drop the topic, would be an understatement.

She got cancelled for homophobia once, because she went on a 'just chill and talk' live about how she didn’t approve of Caitlyn and Vi being together. It got taken the wrong way and had to explain that she’s infact Queer with a girlfriend. She defended herself with "Guys, I’m literally dating.." after she revealed your relationship, and then went on a rant sesh about you. She’s the biggest yapper ever.

Her twitch account got banned or suspended once because she got so mad at a kid on Fortnite that she cursed him out and went overboard. (Again, she has no filter).

She mainly plays Minecraft and gun games. But sometimes she’ll do longer lives for charity where she’ll play the chat’s top pick.

She accidentally showed your face on stream once, forgetting to tell you her webcam was on. You didn’t realise until later that day there were edits of you on your own fyp or twitter TL. "Babe, you might wanna see this.."

Jinx still gets confused whenever she sees an edit of herself. Also, she has a public favourite folder of edits of you. She doesn’t know how to edit it to make it private.

Once you got comfortable showing your face on webcam, Jinx hosted a “do my hair and Q&A” stream where you braided and brushed her hair while you both answered questions. Any excuse to spend time with you at the same time as working.

Notes: first time ever writing jinx, so I thought I’d start with headcanons. Do we want a streamer!jinx fic? Like an actual fic? Pls give me ideas on what to write abt her. This was re uploaded from my old blog @myrruwrites.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 14: The End And The Beginning

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me that I wanna keep (please don't leave)

(In which an infrequently-updating writer finally didn't take a month to update)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff and I guess a little bit of Hurt/Comfort

Words: 9.2K

TW: Swearing (and I believe that's it)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 It's a little past 2 AM but y'all wanted a chapter at an ungodly hour so here it is. It's insane to think that there will only be one more chapter of this fic. In all honestly I did have ways to drag it out for a little longer but ultimately, this felt like the right path to take. I feel like some of this chapter is a little OOC (though my lovely friends have said maybe I'm just being paranoid) but whelp it was for the plot so! Like I said, ungodly hour chapters means barely any editing for now but I will go over and fix things later. In the meantime if y'all wanna point things out in terms of grammar and typos, please feel free. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see as this story comes to an end. Have a lovely rest of your day (night?) my loves <3

June 2033 

Azzi thinks she might have every detail of her rather uninteresting bedroom ceiling memorized by now. After all -for almost 3 weeks now-  instead of sleeping, all she’s done is stared up at it, her mind wandering off to a thousand places, all plagued with the same face. Azzi hadn’t thought it was possible for her heart to ache as much as it had the morning after the proposal, when the regret had hit and she’d rushed into Paige’s room, only to be told by KK that the older girl was gone. The days following had been torture, like enduring a heart attack over and over again, the pain crescendoing until she’d gone numb from it. 

But last time there had been no false notions, no open-ended goodbyes, just a clean break and somehow that had been easier to live with. These last few days -filled with the unbearable waiting of maybe today she’ll come back to me- have been worse. Perhaps it’s because of the innate hope flickering like a candle within her. And even though the flame of it seems to get smaller and dimmer every time she sees Paige and the older woman still can’t quite make the promise to stay, Azzi knows that until that hope of hers is either completely shattered or fulfilled, there is no moving on from this hurt. 

Sighing to herself, Azzi grabs for her phone. The screen lights up to countless notifications and she bites her lip when she notices the one from Clémence. Dinner had been uncannily awkward last night in a way that it had never been before when the French woman had been a much more frequent presence in her and her daughter’s life. But in between Azzi being completely lost in thoughts of her and Paige’s conversation in the locker room and Stephie somehow managing to find a way to relate every little detail back to Miss Buecks and her face-falling a little every time she did, well it was suffice to say even Clémence’s attempts as making the dinner more cheerful hadn’t been enough to make the evening less of a disaster. Azzi had almost let out a sigh of relief when she’d finally dropped the other woman off at the hotel, trying to not to wince when Clémence had leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek. But cleary she hadn’t been inconspicuous enough -and neither had Stephie, who’s voice had been rather devoid of her normal Clémence related cheer when she’d wished the Frenchwoman a goodnight- and the guilt from the way the other woman’s smile had faltered, still lingers in Azzi’s stomach. 

Chewing at her bottom lip, she swipes the text open. It’s a simple “it was good to see you two again.” and perhaps it doesn’t mean much -maybe Azzi’s doing that overthinking thing again- but there’s something about the formality of it, about the full stop at the end of the sentence feels rather definite. Azzi almost feels like she should apologize for something, perhaps for being so aloof last night or maybe even more. She knows that Clémence had wanted something else from her, had patiently waited for her to turn their relationship into something beyond just casual, something Azzi had never been ready to give to her. But it almost feels too late for any of that and so all she says is “it was good to see you too.” and she hopes that Clémence knows that despite everything, she means it. 

Throwing her phone back on the dresser and now feeling perhaps even worse than she had a couple minutes ago, Azzi pulls her blanket above her head, almost pleading with her brain to just shut off. She’s about to give into the impulsive urge to scream into her pillows, when instead her door creaks open and she immediately throws the comforter off of herself, reaching over to turn on her bedside lamp as she sits up straight on her bed. 

Stephie stands in the doorway, a fluffy teddy bear cuddled to her chest as she stares up at Azzi with big doey eyes and the older woman’s heart constricts when she sees the hint of sadness sitting heavily within them. Her little girl had been quiet all day -really since dinner last night. With today being a rare off day, the two of them had spent most of it lounging on the couch watching movies. But Azzi could tell something was off about Stephie. Her daughter, normally ever the commentator, had been dead silent, cuddling into her mother’s side and barely even chuckling at the comedy scenes. Truthfully, Stephie hadn’t been quite the same ever since they’d left Paige’s that morning -and with the amount of nights she’d snuck into Azzi’s room since, her mother had almost been expecting it tonight- but it seemed like something else had shifted last night. 

“C’mere baby girl,” Azzi says softly as she holds her arms open and Stephie dutifully climbs into them, burrowing her head into her mother’s chest, “what’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” comes the muffled response from her daughter as Azzi gently rubs the little girl’s back, “can I sleep here with you?”

Azzi smiles, pressing a gentle kiss against Stephie’s hair, “of course you can sweetheart,” she whispers, before falling back into her pillows with her daughter still securely wrapped in her arms. 

She continues to brush her hands through Stephie’s hair, listening to the sound of her little girl breathing as she hums a lullaby. 

“Mama,” Stephie says tentatively, after a while. 

“Yeah Stephie-bean?”

“Yes-er-day when we were at dinner-,” the little girl swallows nervously and Azzi’s squeezes her shoulders, hoping it conveys that she’s listening, ready to hear whatever it is that’s been bothering the little girl, “yes-er-day at one of the other tables, I saw- I saw a woman with gold hair and she- she had it in a bun like- like the one Miss Buecks usually has.”

Azzi’s breath hitches, “go on sweetheart.”

“And she- she was-,” Stephie drops her voice down to a whisper, “she was kissing someone who looked a lot like you Mama.”

“Oh,” Azzi manages to get out as she feels her lungs compress. 

“And there was a little girl too and they both gave her lots of kisses too,” Stephie’s voice is small as she says the fact and Azzi has to bite her lips hard to keep in the sob that’s threatening to escape her lips. And she remembers the exact people Stephie’s talking about, remembers the way her heart panged as she’d seen the way three of them -the two women and their little girl- were practically giddy around each other. They’d looked almost like an exact replica of Paige, Azzi and Stephie, not that long ago. Azzi had, had to tear her eyes away from the scene, not wanting to let the tears that were dangerously close to her waterline slip down her cheeks. She hadn’t looked in their direction again. But Azzi hadn’t even imagined that maybe Stephie would’ve noticed that too, that her daughter would’ve felt the sting of the happy picture the same way she had. 

“Oh sweetheart-”

“My friend Anya has a Mama and a Mommy,” Stephie rushes out before Azzi can console her any further, “and my other friend Lena didn’t understand how that was poss-ble cause she has a Mommy and a Daddy like most of my other friends but Anya said it’s poss-ble and that her Mama and Mommy love each other just like Lena’s Mommy and Daddy love each other.”

“Anya’s right,” Azzi says softly, smiling at how simple children make everything sound even though she’s not quite sure where Stephie’s getting at with this story, “I’m sure her Mama and Mommy love each other a lot.”

“Anya says they kiss on the lips- just like- just like the women at the restaurant and like Nana and Pops or like Uncle José and Aunty Tully,” Stephie scrunches her nose as she finally untucks herself from Azzi’s chest, “Anya says that’s what people in love do but I think it’s kinda gross cause kissing on the lips looks kinda yucky.”

Azzi laughs, booping the little girl’s nose, “it does look a little funny.”

“But Anya says her Mommy and Mama do other things too. Like her Mama takes care of her Mommy when she’s sick and when her Mama cries over a movie, her Mommy laughs but then gives her Mama a big hug. And Anya says that sometimes when Anya’s Mama isn’t looking, Anya sees her Mommy looking at her Mama with a big smile,” Stephie stretches out her arms for emphasis as she climbs off of Azzi’s lap to sit on the bed next to her. 

“That sounds sweet,” Azzi says wistfully, still a little confused why she’s being told everything about Anya’s two mothers. 

There’s a moment of silence before Stephie drags in a deep breath as she stares intently at her mother, “I never seen you and Miss Buecks kiss, Mama.”

Her words loom in the air as Azzi’s mouth falls open, everything suddenly beginning to click, “Steph-”

“But when Miss Buecks was sick, I saw you make her soup and make her eat her med-cines even though Miss Buecks said they tasted yucky. And when you cry over Mr. Olaf melting in Frozen, Miss Buecks always says ‘Az you’re so silly, you’ve seen this so many times. How can you still cry at it?’”Stephie recites, doing an almost perfect impression that has Azzi’s letting out something in between a sob and a laugh. 

“But then she gives you a big hug anyways. And Mama,” the little girl continues, “when you’re not looking, I see Miss Buecks looking at you with this big, big, big, smile all the time.” 

“Stephie,” Azzi chokes out, trying to hold herself together. 

Her daughter looks at her with something almost like wonder, “you and Miss Buecks- you were just- you were just like Anya’s Mama and Mommy?”

“Yeah,” Azzi whispers, as she grasps the little girl’s hands in her own, bracing herself for whatever Stephie might say next, “yeah I guess we were.”

But Stephie doesn’t say anything for a while, sitting all quiet and contemplative for a moment until she slowly climbs back into her mother’s arms, resting her head right against Azzi’s chest. 

“Mama,” her voice is small when she finally does speak, “I really miss Miss Buecks.”

Azzi feels her heart constrict, finally losing the battle against her tears as they drip down her cheeks, and she tightens her grip on her daughter, “I know baby. I really miss her too.”

*** 

April 2025

“What are you doing?” panic filters into Azzi’s tone as she watches Paige slowly get down on one knee, her heart pulsating as she slowly begins to understand why her girlfriend had set this whole thing up. Really she should’ve known as soon as KK and Ice had excitedly bound into her room, mischievous knowing smirks on their faces as they’d made her change into something nice before practically dragging her onto the roof. She should’ve known when she’d seen the candles and the pink roses and Paige just a little too dressed up in the midst of it all, that this was more than just one of the older girl’s lavishly planned date nights. 

Paige smiles up at her, either not hearing the distress in the brunette’s voice or perhaps not quite understanding the gravity of it. She reaches for Azzi’s hands, soft fingers entwining with the younger girl’s like their holding onto a lifeline. An unfamiliar sensation builds in Azzi’s stomach, one she doesn’t think she’s ever felt in Paige’s presence before.  

“Paige,” she whispers helplessly. 

“I’ve got you baby,” Paige squeezes her hands gently, mistaking whatever it is that Azzi’s feeling, for simple nerves. 

But it’s not that. Azzi knows this unsettling feeling that’s tornadoing around her isn’t just nerves or butterflies or whatever else it is that one normally feels before a proposal. It’s something much, much worse. Something almost like dread. And Azzi can feel all those suppressed emotions that have been building for the last couple of weeks-the whispers of thoughts that she’d brushed away as nothing serious- suddenly rushing through her body and settling like a large, immovable lump at the back of her throat. 

She remembers the first time she’d felt it, that unfamiliar twist in her stomach. It had been at a press conference after some easily won Big East game with UConn’s Big Three sitting diligently at the media-table. And it had suddenly occurred to Azzi, just as they’d finished their media availability, that she’d been asked exactly one question about her own performance -a respectable 24/4/3 statline- from the pool of reporters. Every other question of the four that had been directed her way, had been about Paige. She’d come to a stop outside the press room, letting herself sit with the thought for a second until her girlfriend -with her bright blue eyes and just-for-Azzi smile- had come bounding up to her. And suddenly, as it always seemed to be when it came to Paige, Azzi couldn’t think about anything else anymore. Not when the blonde was lacing their fingers together and putting her lips dangerously close to her ears, whispering all the sinful things they could get up to that night.

But then it happened again two games later. One question about her own performance followed by a cycle of questions about Paige during a presser where the blonde wasn’t even in attendance. This time Azzi had thought about it a little longer but then she’d chided herself for it, chalking it up to her brain doing that overthinking thing again. It was natural to be asked about teammates, especially superstar, generational, teammates who were likely to go #1 in the upcoming WNBA draft. 

And then it happened again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Until it was the Elite Eight and Azzi found herself, after a 28/5/4 statline and two clutch free throws to win it all, still somehow fielding more questions about Paige -and how the blonde had impacted Azzi’s game and recovery and their relationship as best friends- than about her own performance. 

That’s when she’d finally begun to understand what that twist in her stomach had been. She’d felt sick at the idea that it could be envy -how could she ever be jealous of her Paige’s success- but she’d understood then, almost gawking at the reporter who’d had the audacity to ask her, her fourth Paige-related question that night, that it wasn’t that. Maybe it would’ve been easier if it was. 

It was fear. 

The fear that her own identity in the basketball world was slowly withering away under the weight of her relationship. 

“Hey,” Paige’s voice feels like it’s coming from a distance even though she’s right in front of Azzi and the brunette swallows hard as she tries to pry herself away from her thoughts to focus on her girlfriend. 

“Paige,” she whispers back helplessly, as her eyes begin to water. 

Every time Azzi had imagined Paige proposing -the first time had been when she was 15 and she’d woken up from the dream, almost shaking but still filled with the serene calmness that came from knowing something was inevitable- she had always in fact pictured tears in her own eyes. 

But not like this. 

Because these little droplets cascading down her cheeks that Paige’s fingers diligently reach up to wipe away aren’t the tears of a girl whose dreams to marry her best friend -the love of her life- are coming true. They’re the tears of a girl who’s bracing herself for an inevitable fight when she puts her career before a relationship, when her head wins this fight against her heart. 

Blissfully unaware, Paige continues on, “I’ve um- I’ve thought of this a million times. Actually maybe a billion or a trillion or quadrillion. Point is I’ve been thinking about it pretty much ever since I met you.”

Stop, Azzi thinks but all that comes out is a whimper. 

“So you’d think, considering I’ve thought about it that many times, I’d have an actual speech prepared or something. And I did you know. I uh- I wrote one and then I hated it so I deleted it all and then I wrote another and then I deleted that one too,” Paige laughs and the sound of it, that had once felt like a warm blanket shrouding all of Azzi’s senses, now feels a lot like a wintry chill settling around her body. 

“And what I realized,” there’s moisture pooling in the blonde’s own eyes now, “is that I don’t need a speech. I don’t need hundreds of words. I just need three. I love you,” Paige presses a kiss against Azzi’s knuckles and the other girl shudders, “I love you so fucking much Azzi Fudd. And I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

She lets go of the brunette’s hands to retrieve a black velvet box from her pockets and Azzi bites her lip so hard, the metallic taste of blood overwhelms her taste buds. 

“Azzi Jazlyn Fudd,” Paige says softly, flicking open the box to reveal a heart-cut diamond ring, “will you marry me?”

“No,” it comes out so soft, almost blending with the wind, that for a second even Azzi doubts she’d said it. 

“”What?”

Azzi clears her throat, “no.”

“No?” Paige repeats, blinking up at her with a mixture of confusion and anticipatory dread. 

“No,” Azzi says again, her voice much stronger now as she takes a step back, the tears freely falling from her cheeks. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” Paige, still on one knee, stumbles a little as she tries to formulate the right words, “you- you don’- no?,” her eyebrows furrow in confusion, “you don’t want to marry me?”

I do, Azzi wants to scream. 

“I can’t,” she says. 

Paige stares up at her, something akin to disbelief etched across her beautiful features, “what does that even fucking mean you can’t?”

“I just-” Azzi struggles against the jumble of thoughts in head as she tries to piece together a coherent sentence, “I can’t.”

“Bullshit,” Paige snarls. 

“Paige-”

“Do not Paige me,” the older girl seethes, her expression darkening, “you better fucking explain yourself.”

“I- I will,” Azzi stutters, trying to make herself small as she wraps her arms around herself, “can you- just,” she eyes Paige, who’s still kneeling one one knee, “can you please- please just stand up.”

Paige flinches, like Azzi has asked her to shoot an arrow into her own soul. And maybe she had. But she does as asked. The blonde’s movements are reluctant, almost like it pains her to stand up and when she does, the distance she puts between her and Azzi can’t be more than a few meters, but it feels like it stretches the length of an ocean. 

“Explain,” Paige says scathingly.

“I just-” Azzi takes in a deep breath, barely able to meet her girlfriend’s eyes as she forces out the next words, “I don’t want to be known as just your wife.”

Paige lets out an expected noise of protest, “you wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know that,” Azzi cuts her off with a pointed look, “because right now- right now sometimes it feels like all I am is just Paige Bueckers’ best friend. It doesn't matter how many points I score or how many defensive moves I make on the court or whatever else I do on the court, somehow it all leads back to you. And it makes me feel-,” she chokes on the next words, the acidity of them leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, “I feel invisible.”

“Azzi-”

The brunette holds up a hand, needing to finish what she’s saying before she fully succumbs to her emotions, “sometimes- sometimes my entire career at UConn so far feels like- like it’s just an extension of yours. Paige you- you get to be Paige. Just Paige. The superstar. You get to go to entire pressers not having to answer a single question about me or our friendship. You get to have entire articles written about you that have just a throwaway line about me and not have half of it be dedicated to how I’m the driving force behind your success. And that’s how it should be because- because as much as we rely on each other, your success is still yours. But sometimes it feels like mine isn’t mine.”

“I’m sor-”

“No!” Azzi cuts Paige off loudly when the older girl tries to apologize, guilt flashing in her eyes, “it’s not your fault Paige. You- you’re my biggest cheerleader. You always have been. But I just- I need to have my own identity. And that’s already been so hard being known as just your best friend. It’s only going to get worse if I-” she stops, unable to say the rest but even unspoken, it lingers in the air. 

If I become your fiancé. 

 “I need next year to be different,” Azzi says instead, “I need it to be my year. Just mine. Just for once, I just want to be known as Azzi.”

“It will be,” there’s a newfound conviction replacing the previous anger in the blonde’s voice as she takes a deliberate step towards Azzi. Bolstered when the other girl doesn’t instinctively move back, she takes another one and then another and another, until the seemingly never-ending distance between them disappears. 

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Paige says softly as she gently holds one of Azzi’s hands between her own, “and I hate- I hate that you feel this way. But it’ll be different next year when we’re not on the same team anymore right? Out of sight out of mind type shit? They won’t- they won’t ask you about me or make everything you do about me anymore-”

“You don’t know that-”

The older girl continues like she didn’t hear the interruption, “I just- I just don’t understand why you can be known as my girlfriend but not my-” she swallows, “but not my wife? Because Az- when we come out-,” the girl in questions flinches and Paige pauses, her expression falters at the movement. 

A deadly silence clouds the air and it’s April in Connecticut and the spring breeze is just the right temperature. But as Paige slowly lets go of her hands, realization dawning on her face, Azzi thinks she’s never felt colder in her life. 

“You- you don’t-” the blonde looks at her almost accusingly as she takes a step back, “you don’t want to come out?”

“Paige-”

“Answer the fucking question Azzi.”

Azzi casts her eyes downwards, digging her fingers as deeply into her palms as possible, “no, no I don’t.”

“I see,” Paige says slowly, her tone dangerously low, “and how long have you felt this way Az?”

“I-I-” the brunette stutters nervously, “I made- I made the decision after the Elite Eight.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Paige says calmly. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand-”

“How long Azzi?” the blonde sneers, “how long have you had all the fucking doubts about your identity and our relationship? How long have you been questioning everything about us? How long have you bee going through this whole fucking decision-making process about our future?”

“That’s not-”

“Oh no,” Paige interrupts harshly, “that’s exactly it. That’s exactly what you were doing. So tell me. How. Long?”

Azzi gulps nervously, “since the game at home versus Nova.”

Paige blinks at her, “three months? Three fucking months Azzi. You’ve been feeling this way for three months and you didn’t once think that maybe you should tell me? That maybe we should talk about it?”

“I didn’t know,” Azzi says helplessly, “I didn’t even understand it myself Paige. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I didn’t even know there was something to discuss.”

“But clearly you did figure it out, Azzi. Because I know you and I know you didn’t make this decision without figuring your emotions out, so why not come to me then? Why not tell me as soon as possible. God fucking hell Azzi- when even were you gonna tell me?” Paige yells, all pretence of calm gone from her body, “if I- if tonight hadn’t happened, when would you have even told me?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything and Paige shakes her head, starting to pace around the rooftop. 

“We had a plan Azzi. We’ve had a plan for four years. As soon as one or both of us was out of UConn, that was it. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just you and and me and we weren’t gonna care who the fuck knew about it,” the blonde pinches the bridge of her nose, “and you’re telling me that for three month- three fucking months- you’ve been questioning that whole fucking plan while I remained oblivious as fuck? Azzi all I’ve done these past few months is tell you how fucking excited I was about being able to call you my girl in front ov everyone. How excited I was to hold you in public and for us to just be us without giving a fuck who could see. And you just,” Paige’s voice breaks, “you let me. You let me do all of that- feel all of that. You let me be hopeful for a future that you weren’t even sure you could see for us.”

Azzi looks away, that rock of guilt settled in her stomach starting to get heavier and heavier with each word that leaves Paige’s mouth, “I’m just asking for a little bit more time Paige.”

“And what happens if that time doesn’t go the way you want it to Az?” Paige asks sadly, “what if we survive the next year but you decide that you can’t be attached to me to start your W career?”

“That won’t happen-”

“You don’t know that,” a sardonic smile appears on the blonde’s face, “I can’t keep hiding forever Azzi. All I’ve done is love you in secret. I can’t- I don’t- I won’t do that forever.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Azzi bursts out, her defensiveness suddenly translating into a burst of anger, “I am asking you for a little bit of time. Not even a whole year anymore. Just a little bit of time for me to establish my own identity and honestly Paige if you can’t even give me that- if you can’t understand why I need this time- then maybe-” she stops herself, eyes widening at the words -word she’d never even expected herself to think of - that are now sitting, like burning embers, on the tip of her tongue. 

“Then maybe what?” Paige asks slowly, but there’s an almost resigned tinge to her tone that suggests she already knows. 

“No,” Azzi shakes her head, turning away from the older girl’s piercing gaze. She looks down at the ground, still covered in rose petals. The wax of the glittering candles littered between them has melted onto them, causing their pink hue to turn into a darker shade of red. And it’s like there’s blood scattered on the remnants of Paige’s perfect proposal. 

“Say it Azzi-”

“No-”

“Say it.”

“I don’t want to,” Azzi covers her ears and she wishes this were a nightmare, wishes she could open her eyes and find herself waking up in Paige’s arms. Warm and soft and loved. 

“Godfuckingdammit Azzi,” Paige yells, “just say it. If I can’t understand why you need time then maybe we should what?” she repeats, waiting for the brunette to finish her own sentence. 

Azzi whimpers, continuing to shake her head, “Paige please.”

“Just. Fucking. Say. It.”

The younger girl swallows, “then maybe we should end it.”

Another beat of silence. 

“Maybe we should,” Paige’s voice is gravelly and Azzi doesn’t dare turn around, not ready to see the heartbroken expression -or worse, perhaps the nonchalant one- on the older girl’s face, “if after all we’ve been through, if it’s so easy for you to think those words. Then maybe we should- maybe we should end it.”

And Azzi thinks for the rest of her life she will wonder what she should have done next. If she should’ve said something or if -when she hears those retreating footsteps- if she should’ve run after her. She thinks, for the rest of her life, she will look back on this moment and dissect every single second of it, that she will wish for the time machine to go back and stop herself from doing and saying so many of the things she had on the rooftop that night. 

But Paige walks away. 

And Azzi doesn’t do anything to stop her. 

It isn’t until the morning after -when her head does finally catch up to her heart and all she can feel is that unfamiliar sting of regret- and she races into the apartment downstairs and Ice’s expression is filled with sadness and KK’s glare is filled with accusation, that she finds out just how far Paige had gone away from her and Azzi realizes, she’s just a little too late. 

*** 

June 2033 

There’s a redhead and a brunette, holding hands and chatting quietly as they wait outside the school. The two women are clearly entrenched in their own world -sharing those warm gazes and bright smiles that Azzi’s just a little too familiar with- blissfully unaware that they are currently being stared at. Actually, perhaps glared at is a more accurate statement because there’s a clear tinge of envy running down Azzi’s spine as her eyes remain laser-focused on the scene in front of her. She hadn’t meant to be doing this of course -nobody really plans to come to pick up their daughter from school and somehow end up stink-eying said daughter’s friends parents for being too in love. But as fate would have it, somehow from where she’s parked, Azzi has a perfect view of Anya, infamous Mommy and Mama. 

They’re sickeningly cute.

And Azzi fucking hates them.  

It’s unfair of her to feel this way; she knows that. But watching them lead the life she’d always imagined for herself, is more difficult now than it ever has been when Azzi had seen them before in passing. Back then, it was just a dull ache of something she craved but knew she’d turned away herself. But now- now she’s had a taste of that life; had gotten to live it out -even if just for a second- with the girl she’d always dreamed of living it with. Until one night and a series of revelations had snatched it all away, and now Azzi’s left with nothing but the bitter feeling of waiting to see if she’ll get that back forever or if it had really only ever been meant to be a fleeting moment in her life. 

A sigh of longing escapes her as she watches Anya go rushing into her mothers’ arms, the two of them catching her in perfect sync. She has the resentful urge to scoff at the scene. It’s all so goddamn dramatic for three people who see each other every day. Except Azzi’s mind is filled with memories that are almost exact replicas of the scene in front of her; just with different faces. 

“Hi Mama,” it isn’t until the backdoor opens and Stephie’s voice fills the car that Azzi finally tears her eyes away from Anya’s family. 

“Hey baby,” she choruses back, turning around in her seat to make sure her daughter is buckling herself in correctly, “how was your day?”

“It was okay,” Stephie shrugs and Azzi feels her heart plummet at how nonchalant the little girl sounds. She misses the sound of her daughter ranting about just how booooring school is, and thinks she wouldn’t even try to reprimand her if Stephie deemed school useless like she used to. Azzi just wants her ball of sunshine, talks-a-mile-per-minute child back because this meek, quiet little girl in the back feels like a shell of who Stephie used to be. 

“You excited for Mama’s game tonight?” Azzi presses as she starts to back out of the parking lot, almost relieved when it seems to cause Stephie to sit up a little straighter. 

“You’re- you’re playing the Liberty right?” the little girl asks quietly, “that’s- that’s where Miss Buecks wanna go? New York?”

Azzi freezes at the question, trying to keep her hands steady on the wheel as she hums in agreement. 

“They’re a good team right? Lots of champ-ships and stuff?” Stephie continues. 

“Yeah,” Azzi clears her throat, “it’s uh- it’s definitely gonna be a good game.”

“Anya’s Grammy and Grandpa live in New York. Not the city-city but close to it,” Stephie says after a moment, “Anya says New York’s really nice. She’s been there lots and lots of times to see her Grammy and Grandpa forChristmas. And she- she says when she went, it snowed lots and lots.”

Despite herself Azzi smiles as her mind drifts to memories of cold Northeast winters. For the most part, they had been filled with dreary chills and darky rainy days. But then amidst it all, there had been a couple rare days of snow and when she’d been at UConn, her teammates had taken full advantage. And just like most of her memories of those years, Paige is front and center of these ones too. The blonde had never been nearly as enamored with the snow as Azzi was, and she definitely wasn’t enamored by it at seven in the morning when the brunette would wake her up squealing that it had in fact snowed and the world around them was white. Despite her grumbling, Paige had still let Azzi bundle the both of them up in winter clothes and drag her outside. And her faux irritated expression hds slowly morphed into one of admiration as she’d flicked the snow off the younger girl’s eyelashes, pulling her closer by her scarf because Azzi I’m so cold, you have to kiss me to keep me warm baby. 

“We don’t get snow here,” Stephie says thoughtfully, unaware of the path down memory lane her mother had just taken. 

“No, no we don’t,” Azzi says, almost wistfully. 

“It would- it would be nice to live somewhere with lots of snow,” Stephie ponders out loud and her mother’s eyes widen as she starts to understand where this is going, “like- like in New York.”

“We could- we could have snowball fight and make snowmen like Mr. Olaf and snow angels and everything else you do in snow,” the little girl’s voice gets increasingly more and more high-pitched in excitement, “it would be so fun Mama.”

“Steph-”

“And Anya said that- that- that- she’d even visit me like she visits her Grammy and Grandpa. She promised Mama, she promised she’d come see me if I lived in New York-”

“Honey no,” Azzi cuts her daughter off heartbrokenly, “we are not going to live in New York. 

“But Mama, Miss Buecks-”

“Stephie stop-”

“No Mama listen,” Stephie protests indignantly, “Mama what if- what if Miss Buecks really needs to be in New York. What if it’s impo-tant. And that’s- that’s why she can’t stay here. With us. Not cause she doesn’t want to but cause she can’t. But Mama just because Miss Buecks can’t say doesn’t mean we can’t go Mama.”

“Sweetheart-”

“And you- you just said the Liberty is a good team and you’re such a good player Mama. I think you’d be good on their team too. And I- I really, really like the Valk-ries and I would really miss Aunty J and Aunty Tessie and Aunty Joy but if you- if you and Miss Buecks played for the Liberty- I know I’d like them too. And I’m sure Nana and Pops and Uncle Jon and Uncle Jose and Aunty Tully would come visit us lots and lots and I wouldn’t even miss them lots cause they’d visit so much. I just know it. It could work Mama- I know it could.”

“Stephanie,” Azzi's voice is louder than she’d meant it to be as she pulls onto their street, “sweetheart, we are not moving to New York.”

“But Mama-” the little girl whines. 

“No Stephie. That’s just-” Azzi swallows the sob stuck in her throat, “that’s now how the world works.”

“But what if I want it to work that way?” Stephie asks softly with all the innocence of a five-year old as she meets her mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Oh baby,” Azzi’s so caught up in her daughter’s earnest wishful thinking that she doesn’t even notice there’s another oh-so-familiar car parked in her driveway until she almost crashes into it. 

“That’s Miss Buecks car,” Stephie whispers softly, craning her neck to get a better view. Her eyes widen in tandem with her mother’s as they both catch sight of the same thing at the same time. 

It’s Paige. 

Paige, whose eyes are sunken in and red-rimmed. Paige, whose hair is tossed back into a messy bun -looking like it’s been in that same one for days- with little loose strands falling out of it. Paige, whose entire body is hunched over as she sits on their front porch, holding a grey hoodie close to her chest. Paige, whose hands are fidgeting with themselves because she can never sit still, especially when she’s nervous. Paige, who looks up just as Azzi parks her car -whose staring at the both of them like they’re still her everything. Paige, who despite it all, still looks like the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Paige, who’s here. 

It’s Stephie who recovers from the shock of seeing Paige first, the click of her seatbelt being unclasped pulling Azzi out of her own trance. The little girl pushes her door open, getting out of her car seat with quickness as she stumbles out of the car. 

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out immediately but Stephie isn't listening, already rushing up the pathway as Paige -her expression hopeful- stands up at the sight of the child running towards. 

It isn’t until Stephie hesitates, coming to a halt just a couple of meters away from Paige, that Azzi draws in a deep breath and gets out of the car herself. Unlike her daughter, her steps are much slower, her movement hesitant and guarded. She knows this is it; knows that this is when all that waiting she’s done in the past few weeks will finally be over, that Paige is either here to fulfill a dream or to start a nightmare. 

Azzi walks up the pathway until she’s right behind Stephie, one of her hands instinctively reaching out to hold her daughter’s shoulder, conveying two messages. One to Stephie, a promise that no matter what happens now, she’ll still always have Azzi. The other to Paige is an unspoken message from a protective mother, silently begging her that if she is here to break their hearts, to break Stephie’s gently. 

“Hi,” Paige’s voice is croaky when she speaks, her eyes flickering nervously between the mother and daughter in front of her. 

Azzi clears her throat, willing herself to reply, “hey,” she pauses, continuing only when the older woman keeps her own mouth shut, shuffling her feet nervously, “do you- do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” Paige says, her cheeks reddening at how quickly the word leaves her mouth and that almost makes Azzi smile. 

She nods at the older woman, her hand travelling from Stephie’s shoulder to instead hold her hand as they walk up the steps together. Azzi’s shoulder brushes against Paige’s as she moves past the blonde to open her door and electricity courses through her veins. From the way Paige gasps, the brunette is sure she must’ve felt it too. It crackles in the air as Azzi unlocks the door, her brain feeling foggy at the mere feeling of having Paige so close after so long. 

The three of them walk quietly towards the living room, Stephie’s hands still clasped in Azzi’s and Paige following closely behind them. The little girl’s grip is tight and despite how young she is, Azzi knows just how perceptive Stephie is. She’s just as aware of this moment as the adults are, realizes it just as much as they do, that they’ve reached a crossroad and the path they take -a path determined by whatever Paige chooses- will shape their future together or apart. 

“I um- I- well- the thing is- I-,” Paige breaks the silence first, stuttering over her words before letting out a soft sigh She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them, there are little droplets of water on the edges of her eyelashes. 

“I really missed you guys,” she confesses in a whisper, her voice breaking throughout. 

There’s a second of silence as her words linger in the air and Azzi feels Stephie’s hand slip away from her own and the little girl almost stumbles over her own feet as she races towards Paige, the older woman’s arms immediately opening to catch her and as she kneels down to pull Stephie into her her chest. It’s like the blonde’s confession had broken a dam, and the water that came rushing through it, had washed away the last little bit of pretence of nonchalance that Stephie had been holding onto. 

For the last few weeks, every time Azzi’s little girl had seen Paige, be it when she accompanied her mother to a practice or when she was on the sidelines at a game, Stephie had ignored the blonde, maintaining the same angry façade as the one she’d had the morning after that night. But Azzi had seen that resolve weaken over time; had seen Stephie’s eyes linger just a little bit longer on Miss Buecks with that familiar look of yearning. And Azzi had known that resolve was almost completely gone, in the car, when Stephie had all but begged her to consider moving to New York if that was the only way they were going to be able to keep Paige in their lives. 

She feels her own set of tears prickling in her eyes as she takes in the scene in front of her. Stephie’s face is pressed into Paige’s neck, the blonde has one arm wrapped around the little girl’s waist and the other other gently brushing through her hair. Their grip on each other is tight with barely any space for air between them, tears freely streaming down both of their faces. 

“I missed you too Miss Buecks,” Stephie sobs and Azzi notices the way Paige’s hold on her tightens at the familiar nickname, “missed you so much.”

“Me too Stephie-bean,” Paige affirms as she coaxes the little girl’s face out of her neck, cupping it in her hands, “I’m so sorry sweetheart. So, so, sorry. I missed you so, so, so, so much,” she says, punctuating each word with a kiss to Stephie’s face in between. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie looks down nervously, her fingers playing with the collar of Paige’s t-shirt, “can me and Mama come to New York with you?”

“Stephie!” Azzi exclaims as Paige’s eyes widen. 

“Wh-what?” the blonde asks softly as she searches the little girl’s face in confusion.

“I don’t want you to go,” Stephie says quietly, “but if you have to- then can we come with you?”

“Oh sweetheart,” there’s disbelief in Paige’s tone, something almost akin to awe as she tilts Stephie’s chin to make the little girl look back at her. 

“My friend Anya says New York’s nice,” Stephie rambles, repeating what she’d been telling her mother in the car, “and-and-and she says there’s lots and lots of snow and I told Mama that I think it will be nice to live in lots and lots of snow. Mama hasn’t said yest,” the little girl briefly looks back at Azzi with a sheepish look on her face before turning back to Paige, “but I know- I know we could cov-ince her because Miss Buecks, Mama’s missed you so, so, so much too.”

“Has she?” Paige asks, her eyes flickering to Azzi who’s trying desperately to keep her face neutral as she keeps her own gaze firmly fixated on a picture of her daughter on top of the mantle. 

“She has,” Stephie confirms, before using a finger against the older woman’s cheek to get her to return her attention back to her, “so can we come with you? Please.”

Paige slowly tucks a strand of hair behind the child’s ears as she shakes her head, “no.”

“N-no?” Stephie’s bottom lip trembles at the rejection, “why not? Why can’t we go to New York with you?”

“Because nobody’s going to New York, Stephie-bean,” Paige says firmly and Azzi’s eyes shoot towards the blonde, her lips parting slightly as she processes the meaning behind her words, her heart beginning to race with anticipation. 

“Nobody?” Stephie repeats as a question, her little voice filled with hope. 

Instead of answering, Paige grabs the grey hoodie she’d brought with her that had fallen to the ground. She gently un-scrunches it, holding out the sleeve of it for Stephie to look at. Azzi cranes her head curiously to get a better look of it, squinting her eyes when she notices something written in washed-out black ink. 

“You probably don’t remember this because you were a lot littler when it happened,” there’s a teasing smile of Paige’s face as she uses the incorrect word, “but the first time you ever spoke to me properly, you told me, that your Mama says that one day, you’re gonna be an even better basketball player than she is.”

Stephie beams, “Mama says I’m gonna be the best in the world today.”

Paige chuckles, “I believe it and I believed it then too. That’s why,” she points down at the hoodie, her fingers brushing over the material so delicately, like it’s one of her most treasured possessions, “that’s why I had you sign my hoodie.”

“You asked for my auto-graph?” Stephie’s eyes glint and perhaps she doesn’t quite remember what Paige is talking about exactly, but Azzi can tell that it’s stirred up recollections of something. 

“Yeah- yeah I did. And you said, ‘silly Miss Buecks, I’m not famous’ and I said, ‘but if you’re as good at basketball as you say you are, then one day, you will be. Just like me and your Mama.’ And I meant it. You’re gonna be so- so great one day sweetheart. I know you are,” Paige says with conviction as her thumbs lightly caressing Stephie’s cheeks, “and I- I wanna be right here every step of the way, I wanna be right here to watch you grow up and become the great player -the great woman- that you’re destined to be.”

“You mean it?” Stephie asks, her eyes shining with a fresh new set of tears.

Paige nods, delicately wiping her thumbs under the little girl’s lower eyelid, “I do. I wanna be here, with you and- and your Mama,” she raises her head toward Azzi, mustering a watery smile, “I want to stay. Forever. If you’ll have me.”

Azzi lets out a staggered breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as her eyes remain locked with Paige’s. And suddenly, after eight years spent feeling unfulfilled -eight years spent with this constant sense of being incomplete-, hearing Paige finally say she wants to stay forever, feels a little bit like as if that missing part of Azzi has finally returned back to where it rightfully belongs. 

A loud squeal echoes throughout the living room as Stephie leaps back into Paige’s arms, a large smile stretching the length of her whole face as she buries her face back into the crevice between the blonde’s shoulder and her neck. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” the little girl chirps excitedly, “of course we’ll have you. Of course, of course, of course,” Stephie says in delight before she turns herself slightly in Paige’s grapes, arms still around the other woman’s neck as she looks imploringly at Azzi, “right Mama?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, pursing her lips as she tears her gaze away from the two people in front of her. 

“Mama?” Stephie presses. 

“Give me a second Stephie-bean,” Paige whispers to the little girl, bumping her head against her temple. 

From the corner of her eyes, Azzi watches as the blonde disentangles herself from Stephie, before slowly getting to her feet and walking towards the younger woman. 

“Az-”

“It’s been almost three weeks-”

“It’s been two weeks, six days, five hours and around fourteen minutes,” Paige shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her face, “give or take a few minutes.

Azzi continues to look away from her, trying to keep her face devoid of emotion, “still took you a really long time to decide you were gonna stay.”

“Well I’m an idiot,” Paige says matter-of-factly and Stephie snickers behind her, “you know me Az. Sometimes these things- they take me a little while to understand.”

“I told you we wouldn’t wait forever,” Azzi says softly. 

“I didn’t make you wait forever,” Paige reaches out to gently grab her chin between her thumb and index, turning the brunette’s face towards her, “just needed a little bit of time.”

“You didn’t give me time,” Azzi accuses and the blonde flinches. 

“I know. I- I should’ve. Should’ve don’t a lot of things differently when it comes to us but I didn’t and I- I can’t change that but Azzi, I promise, I promise I’ll do everything right this time,” keeping one hand cupped around Azzi’s cheek, Paige uses the other to guide one of the brunette’s hands to rest against her chest, “I swear.”

Azzi swallows, feeling the quick rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat under her fingertips, “how do I know you won’t run away again?”

“Because I trust you,” the blonde whispers, “I trust you to stay and I trust you not to break my heart again. And that- that doesn’t mean that I’m not scared anymore- cause I am. Not a lot but definitely still a little bit. But someone once told me that, trusting is really scary but that maybe- maybe it would be a lot less scary, if we did together.”

“They sound like a really smart person,” Azzi bites her lip, “you should probably listen to them more often.”

Paige chuckles, “well if uh- if they give me the chance, I think I’d listen to them for the rest of my life.”

Azzi shudders and she doesn’t know if it’s from the earnestness of the words spoken or the strength of the emotions in the blonde’s gaze that’s still completely transfixed on her. 

“What about New York?” she asks finally. 

“I called the whole thing off,” Paige states nonchalantly,“I had Talia call Jonathan Kolb last night and I explained everything to Ohemaa this morning. Everyone’s on the same page. There is no deal anymore.”

“You-” Azzi gapes at the girl in front of her, “you- you already called the whole thing off?”

“I did,” Paige confirms, not a hint of regret in her voice, “I don’t need an escape plan.”

“You called it off before even talking to me?” Azzi asks, knitting her eyebrows together, “you didn’t even know how this was gonna go.”

“I already told you. I trust you,” Paige says simply, “I believe in us Az and I really hope you still believe in us too.”

The words are barely out of Paige’s mouth before Azzi’s crashing into her, the weight of her body sending the blonde staggering back a few steps before her hands steadily secure themselves around the younger woman’s waist. A slightly surprised gasp escapes Paige until the sound of it is stolen by Azzi pressing her lips against the older woman’s. Despite her initial surprise, Paige kisses Azzi back with equal fervor, both of them pouring the myriad of suppressed emotions between them the last few weeks into it. And it feels like a cliché, like coming home. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Paige breaks away first, eyes widening as she slowly turns around to look at Stephie who’s practically vibrating with happiness as she watches the two of them, “Stephie-”

“She already knows,” Azzi says with a slight grin, shaking her head fondly at just how joyful her little girl looks. 

  “You told her?” Paige looks between the mother and daughter. 

Stephie smirks triumphantly, “I figured it out myself Miss Buecks.”

“Of course you did smarty pants,” Paige smiles at the little girl but Azzi knows her well enough -is still so in tune with every little bit of Paige despite the time apart- to see the small hint of disappointment behind it. 

“I would’ve told her myself if she hadn’t,” Azzi says quietly and Paige turns back around to face her. 

“What?”

“I love you,” Azzi says and she swears no three words have ever sounded as right on her lips, as those three do, “I love you,” she repeats again and she can feel Paige’s hands shaking as they instinctively tighten their grip on her waist, “I love you so much Paige Madison Bueckers and I want everybody to know it. Stephie, our families, our friends, our teammates, the whole world. I love you and I never wanna hide that. I want everybody to know that you’re mine and I’m yours. Forever.”

A strangled sob escapes Paige’s mouth as she presses her forehead against Azzi’s, “I love you too. I love you, so, so, so much. I’ve loved you since the beginning and I’m gonna love you till the very end. Forever.”

Their lips meet in a searing kiss and it’s unclear if they’re both crying more or giggling more, as they hold each other as tightly as possible. And this isn’t their first kiss, far from it- far closer to being their millionth or so- but still it feels like a fresh new start, a brand new love story but with that same old special, all-consuming, forevermore love that has always connected them to each other. The one that had never gone away, no matter how long they’d been apart. 

“Ahem, ahem,” an exaggerated cough breaks them apart and the two of them turn their heads at the same time to see Stephie looking dramatically at them, her hands on her hips. 

  “So, Mama loves Miss Buecks and Miss Buecks loves Mama. What about Stephie?” she pouts, exaggeratedly stomping her foot. 

Paige and Azzi both laugh, removing themselves from each other just enough to crouch down and open their arms out for Stephie, beckoning for her to join their embrace. The little girl’s attempt at a sour expression is immediately replaced by a cheerful grin as she runs into their arms, tiny hands somehow managing to wrap around both of their necks. 

“You know we love you the most Stephie,” Paige whispers into the little girl’s hair, who lets out a content sigh as she burrows herself further into the two women’s arms. 

Azzi hums in agreement, closing her eyes as she leans her head against her daughter’s, feeling Paige’s fingers intertwine with her behind Stephie’s back. And then it’s quiet for a while, nothing but the sound of the three of them breathing and their hearts beating together in sync. Azzi feels at peace, her mind completely calm, no longer overthinking anything. 

Because now she finally has everything. 

Paige, Stephie, and the promise of a world the three of them can build together, it’s everything. 

[cherubimcore]

golden bars, fragile hearts

pairing: caracalla x reader

author's note: i have been working on this fic for a while but lately everything i write i kind of hate, i'm editing this so much i'm getting insane (also college doesn't help) so i decided to finally post it or this fic would stay on my drafts forever 😭

this is part 1!

the sun blazed down on the colosseum, the bloodstained sand reflecting its golden light making

the day feel more heated than anticipated, you remembered hearing on your way to the amphitheater that this was one of the hottest days of the year, that statement felt quite right as you walked the busy streets, sweat dripping from your nose wishing you had drank a glass of water before leaving your house, but your thoughts were elsewhere completely when you stepped outside. you would think that the heat would be a hindrance for the festivities that the people of rome looked forward to, but somehow that didn’t mattered, it didn't mattered for the bloodthirsty emperors, caracalla and geta, the infamous twins, that loved violence and brutality more than the people they should rule and it also didn't mattered for the crowd, the thought of seeing a gladiator fight was worth passing out from heat stroke, apparently.

you could hear their roar, a mix of jeers and cheers that echoed off the stone walls, from your seat you stood frozen hearing their excitement, your heart pounding against your ribs waiting for the moment your father would step into the arena.

you had promised yourself you wouldn’t go, your father made you promise when the praetorian guards came at your door saying the emperors demanded that the man that had won his freedom many years ago would fight again one last time to prove his worth.

when they utter those words you were the one that wanted to fight, fight the guards, fight the emperors and protect the only family you had left, but before you could deliver any profanity, your father lowered his head and expressed how honorable he was to entertain the people of rome once again.

he looked back at you with teary eyes, taking in the simple yet comforting house he was living in even before you were born, the one he worked so hard to build after he bought his freedom killing others just like him, spoils of war, it was poetic really, he thought, his life began as a gladiator and would end as a gladiator, a little chuckle left his lips, the gods really did worked in mysterious ways.

while you tried to come to terms with his decision, your father kissed your forehead lovingly and made you promise you wouldn’t watch before being taken by the praetorian guards.

and you agreed.

but now you were going against your dad’s dying wish.

your jaw tightened as you stood among the roaring crowd, people chanting and cheering for the gladiators, cheers that were as empty as the promises of rome’s twin emperors.

caracalla and geta ruled not through love or respect, but through terror and empty entertainment. the streets of rome were restless, simmering with rebellion that never seemed to fade completely. just weeks ago, riots had broken out in the forum, citizens torching statues of the emperors while shouting for justice. but now, here they were, packed into the colosseum, their rage momentarily silenced by the lure for bloodshed.

‘panem et circenses’ you thought bitterly, watching how easily the crowd forgot their oppression, the chants growing louder as a gladiator fell to his knees ‘bread and circuses are all it takes to dull their anger for a few hours’

but when the games ended and the blood was washed from the sand, the discontent would return. the people would rebel again - you were sure of it - because no amount of free grain or violent spectacles could suppress the desperation in their hearts.

you hoped the emperors were afraid for their heads because sooner or later the act of depredating their statues won’t be enough.

rome was a city on the edge, and your father was about to become its next distraction.

that was the first thought that crossed your mind while you saw your father walk towards the middle of the coliseum.

his gait was uneven, his shoulders hunched - not from cowardice but from the toll of age. the once-celebrated gladiator, who had won his freedom fairly, was now back at being paraded as nothing more than a relic for the crowd’s amusement.

he held his sword steady while raising it to salute the emperor’s box, but you could see the way his hand trembled. your father’s movements were slower than they once had been, but his pride remained unbroken.

your heart clenched. this wasn’t a fight - it was a death sentence.

the announcer’s voice boomed across the arena “behold! a veteran of rome’s might, returning for one last dance with death! will he rise as a lion, or fall as prey?”

the gates on the opposite side of the arena open, and a younger, stronger gladiator stepped forward, his muscles gleaming with sweat, his expression cold and unyielding.

you couldn’t let this happen.

you ran from your seating, hearing people behind you screaming to take your place closer to the bloodshed, pushing past every guard that standed if front of you especially the guards who blocked the lower level of the arena, you ignored their shouts and protests, they couldn’t catch you, too surprised to see someone run towards the arena of the colosseum, instead of run from it. every step felt heavier than the last as your decision bore down on you.

but you didn’t stop.

the sand was hot under your feet and your clothes were sticking on your skin as you stumbled onto the arena floor, drawing the collective gasp of the audience.

your father dropped his sword as his head snapped toward you, his eyes wide with panic.

“get out of here!” he shouted.

but you didn’t listen. you ran to him, your heart hammering in your chest, and threw yourself in front of him, spreading your arms wide as a shield.

the younger gladiator paused mid-step, his brow furrowing in confusion.

the crowd erupted in chaos, excited with something they had never seen before, someone willing to protect a gladiator from their deathbed.

high above, the emperor’s box stirred. you felt their gazes on you, your breath quickening showing your nervousness for having the attention of the infamous rulers of rome on you, but you didn’t back down and stared right back at them in defiance.

caracalla, one of the twin emperors, rose from his seat, the ornate red fabric of his toga trailing behind him as he stepped to the edge of the balcony.

“what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut through the noise.

you almost didn’t listen to his words because of your own heart pounding heavily on your rib cage making you nauseous, for a moment you were sure you would pass out.

you ignored the nausea building up and the tremors in your limbs, looking up to the emperors with a steady voice, despite the fear you were feeling, you managed to say “i’m here… to take his place!”

a murmur rippled through the crowd. your father grabbed your arm, his grip strong despite his weakened state. “what are you doing?” he hissed.

without turning to him, you said loud enough for everyone in the colosseum to hear. “i won’t let them kill you!”

caracalla’s piercing gaze locked onto yours seeing determination on them, his expression went from furious to amused in a matter of seconds. “this is… unexpected,” he said, his tone laced with mockery “tell me then, what makes you think you’re in a position to bargain with me?”

“i’m not here to bargain,” you said, raising your chin, your voice cracking a little when you heard your father behind you, pleading with the other gladiator to get you out of there “i’m here… to offer myself. you want a spectacle, don’t you? my father is an old man - he’s no longer fit to fight. there’s no honor in his death. but me?” you gestured to yourself, your voice rising. “i’m young, untrained and foolish enough to face whatever fate you decide, i’m sure that’s far more entertaining than this.”

emperor geta, seated beside caracalla, chuckled “they have a point, brother, he doesn’t look like the legend we heard so much about” his fingers tapped the rim of his wine cup. “besides… they have spirit. i’ll give them that”

caracalla’s eyes narrowed as he studied you, his expression unreadable. the silence stretched, the weight of his decision hanging over the arena, like a storm cloud.

“bring them to me,” he commanded.

the guards dragged you up the steps to the emperor’s box, their grip firm on your arms to the point of bruising. you stumbled to your knees before caracalla, his imposing frame over you as he stepped closer.

you had heard so much about both emperors, how cruel and unhinged they were, how their reign would be marked in history by decadence, cruelty and chaos, a spectacle of blood and tyranny.

geta was the one everyone thought about when the matter was diplomacy, for he had a talent for weaving words as deftly as a spider spins its web. his voice, always calm and measured, could diffuse tensions or spark them, depending on what suited his ambitions.

geta could be terrible, but to you caracalla was far worse.

a man consumed by his appetites - for control, for blood, for the fleeting thrill of domination. his wrath was as unpredictable as it was unrelenting, unlike his brother, caracalla acted impulsively, driven by bursts of rage, if he felt insulted in the slightest- the emperor would order a village razed.

or several.

you considered him a monster.

a beast.

and nothing could change that.

“you would trade your life for his?” caracalla asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“yes,” you said without hesitation, lifting your gaze to meet his. “my father has served rome for long enough, let him go and take me instead”

“and what makes you think your life is worth more than his?”

“it isn’t” you answered honestly “but i’m still young enough to be at your service, i’ll do anything if you leave him alone”

“anything, you say?” caracalla’s lips curled into a faint smirk “even entertaining me?”

you shivered with the implied meaning of his question, but remained silent.

geta leaned forward, his interest piqued.

“perhaps we should keep them, they're a bold one, brother”

caracalla regarded you for a moment longer, his cold calculating eyes searching yours. then with a sharp nod, he gestured to the guards.

“release the old man, you are going to stay”

your father’s protests echoed beneath you as he was dragged from the arena, but you didn’t look back.

“welcome to your new life,” caracalla said, his voice dripping with mockery. “let’s see if your spirit lasts as long as your courage.”

the emperor barely had finished his sentence when you felt the guard’s ironclad hands gripping your arms once again with a force that left no room for argument, you could feel caracalla’s cold eyes following your every move as you were dragged from the arena, his lips curving into a smirk as though he has claimed a prize rather than a person.

please leave a like or a comment about what you guys are thinking about this fic! i'm kind of insecure with this one :(

[amourquinn]

𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ; quinn hughes ( short fic )

pairing : quinn x fem!reader wc. 1.2k

genre : fluff no warnings

summary : a weekend at the lake house with friends takes an unexpected turn when a nightmare brings you and quinn closer

the lake house was quinn’s idea—a perfect place to escape and unwind. for someone as busy as him, weekends like these were rare, and he was excited to spend it surrounded by his family and closest friends, including you.

you and quinn had been friends for years, the kind of friendship built on quiet understanding and mutual trust. it wasn’t flashy or loud, but it was solid. he’d been there for you during tough times, always offering support in his own quiet way, and you’d done the same for him. you were one of the few people he could truly be himself around—no expectations, no pressure, just quinn.

there had always been an unspoken connection between you, but nothing more than friendship had ever been explored. you weren’t sure why. maybe it was fear of ruining what you already had, or maybe it was just the timing never being quite right. either way, you valued the bond you shared and wouldn’t trade it for anything.

that weekend at the lake house had been a long time coming. the two of you, along with quinn’s brothers, some family friends, and a couple of his teammates, had spent the day making the most of the gorgeous weather.

the morning began with a big breakfast prepared by quinn’s mom, followed by a hike that left everyone a little out of breath but in good spirits. in the afternoon, the lake became the center of activity. you and quinn had spent hours on the water, racing kayaks, teasing each other relentlessly, and soaking up the sun. he’d even pushed you off the dock at one point, laughing as you sputtered and promised revenge.

later, as the sun began to set, everyone gathered for a barbecue dinner. the smell of grilled burgers and hot dogs filled the air, accompanied by the sound of quinn’s brothers bickering good-naturedly. when night fell, the group sat around the fire pit, roasting marshmallows and telling stories. it was one of those perfect days where everything felt easy and carefree.

by the time you finally retreated to bed, your body ached pleasantly from the day’s activities. you’d fallen asleep quickly, but your rest was short-lived.

the nightmare came out of nowhere, vivid and unsettling. you woke up with a start, your heart pounding and your breaths shallow. the images refused to leave your mind, clinging to you like a dark cloud. you tried to calm yourself, telling yourself it was just a dream, but the unease wouldn’t go away. every creak of the old house seemed amplified, every shadow in the room more menacing.

you sat up in bed, wrapping your arms around your knees. you didn’t want to stay in the room alone any longer, but you weren’t sure what to do. then, you thought of quinn. he was only down the hall, and if anyone could make you feel safe, it was him.

grabbing your phone, you hesitated. was it weird to text him this late? but then again, quinn was quinn. he wouldn’t mind. taking a deep breath, you typed out a message.

y/n : hey, are you awake?

the reply came almost instantly.

quinn : yeah, what’s up?

your fingers hovered over the screen as you debated what to say. finally, you decided to just be honest.

y/n : i had a nightmare. i can’t fall back asleep. can i come to your room?

the three dots indicating he was typing appeared almost immediately.

quinn : of course. door’s unlocked.

the hallway was quiet as you slipped out of your room and padded down to his. you cracked the door open to find him sitting up in bed, his phone still in his hand. the soft glow of the screen illuminated his face, and when he saw you, he set it aside, his expression softening.

“hey,” he said quietly. “you okay?”

you stepped inside, closing the door behind you. “not really,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “i couldn’t stay in there alone.”

quinn nodded and shifted over, patting the empty space beside him. “come here. you can stay.”

you hesitated for only a moment before climbing into bed, keeping a bit of distance between you. the mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and the faint scent of his cologne—fresh and familiar—immediately soothed some of your nerves.

quinn pulled the blanket over you, his voice gentle as he asked, “do you want to talk about it?”

you shook your head, your gaze fixed on your hands. “it was just… bad. i don’t even remember all of it, but it left me feeling weird. i couldn’t fall back asleep.”

his brow furrowed in concern, and he leaned back against the headboard. “i get that. sometimes i get those dreams too.”

his tone was steady, calming, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. you weren’t used to letting people see you like this—vulnerable and scared—but quinn made it feel okay.

“you don’t have to talk about it,” he added. “just stay here. you’re safe.”

“thanks, quinn,” you murmured, settling into the pillow.

“anytime,” he replied softly, lying back down beside you.

at first, you kept to your side of the bed, still feeling a little awkward. but as the minutes ticked by, the quiet steadiness of his presence started to chip away at your unease. his breathing was slow and even, and the warmth radiating from his side of the bed was strangely comforting.

⋆˙⟡

the morning sunlight streaming through the blinds woke you. blinking groggily, you realized two things: quinn’s arm was wrapped around you, and your head was resting on his chest. sometime during the night, you’d both shifted closer, his body curled protectively around yours.

the door creaked open, and you turned your head just in time to see trevor step inside.

“hey, quinn, breakfast is—” he stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he took in the scene.

“well, well, well,” trevor said, his voice laced with amusement. “what do we have here?”

your cheeks flushed as you instinctively tried to pull away, but quinn groaned, pulling you closer.

“too early,” he mumbled into your hair, his voice heavy with sleep.

“breakfast is ready,” trevor said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “but i can see you two need… a little more time.”

“trev,” quinn muttered, his voice muffled, “shut the door.”

trevor chuckled, retreating and closing the door behind him.

you sighed, finally managing to tilt your head back to look at quinn. his hair was a mess, and his eyes barely open, but there was a small, sleepy smile on his face.

“five more minutes?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he shrugged, his arm still loosely around you. “we deserve more than just five minutes of sleep.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile forming on your lips. “you’re impossible.”

“maybe,” he murmured, his voice soft and raspy. “but you’re comfy.”

the honesty in his tone made your breath catch, and for a moment, neither of you moved. the morning sunlight bathed the room in a golden glow, and the world outside seemed to fade away.

“okay,” you finally said, settling back into his embrace. “ten more minutes.”

quinn’s smile widened as he pulled you closer, and the two of you drifted off again, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment before breakfast.

© amourquinn

[revelboo]

Aaahhh I'm so glad I came across this blog!!! I recently watched TFA for the first time and was worried I wouldn't find much reader insert fics for it with how old the show is until I found your works! Genuinely, this is making my day! ✨️

Thank you!

Done!

The Devil You Know Pt 2

TFA Megatron x Reader

• There’s not a lot to do during the day, but wait. Answer Sumdac’s questions and plan. Hope that your kind heart means that you’ll come back to him. That he can manipulate you into doing what Sumdac is too cautious to do. And you’d seemed to buy his story when he’d painted Sumdac the villain holding him against his will. All too happy to believe him.

• Sumdac always works late, so you work later. Filing paperwork and typing up notes. Waiting for him to wear himself out and go home. And as soon as he does, you go investigate around the shelf. It takes longer than you’d imagined to find the mechanism that releases the lock on the shelf and allows you to swing it out of the way. Heart racing, you head down into the hidden lab.

• Hears your steps before you come into sight, your tread so much lighter than the Prof’s. “I knew you wouldn’t abandon me to Sumdac’s cruelty,” he says as soon as he sees you coming down the stairs, smiling slowly. “My dear, new friend.” And you offer him a timid, little smile as you come closer to him to press a small hand against his holding tank. Wants to immediately put you to work repairing his body, but has to remind himself to be patient. To coax, because he can’t risk spooking you off. Needs you too much for that. “Your day went well?” He asks instead.

• Staring up at those red optics watching you, you can’t help but imagine how lonely it must be to be trapped down here. Alone except for when Sumdac comes to torture him. He’d told you all about it the night before, laying out all the horrors visited upon him in a calm, matter of fact tone. Something about that deep voice making you want to trust him, to believe his soft, dignified words. And your heart aches for him. “Not much to talk about. Sumdac doesn’t trust me with anything important,” you say, suspecting he, Megatron he’d introduced himself as, is the reason why Sumdac is so secretive. Not wanting his wrongs to come to light. “Tell me what to do to help you.”

• “Talk first,” he insists and your little hand slides against his tank when you just shake your head. “Do you know how much a kind voice means to me?” He lies, venting softly when you just wait. “Can we at least talk as we work?” And you smile up at him, caving. Such a good little pet you are, so eager to please. To help him. He may just let you live once he’s fully repaired as a reward.

Previous

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

I've been working on this fic on and off since I saw season 7 and at last I got it finished!! The idea has been haunting me since I saw the finale... what if Callum actually completed the spell that trapped Aaravos in the coin?

“The second it’s done, he’ll kill me. You won’t have anywhere to go. No ‘vessel’ to control. You’ll be trapped again… forever. That’s the destiny I choose. The one I write for myself!”

Callum squeezed his eyes shut, and when they opened, they locked on Rayla. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away, not wanting to miss an instant of seeing his face. Not wanting a single second where he couldn’t see the plea in her gaze.

“I would have stayed with you forever.” His voice was a whisper now, only for her. “I would have spent thousands of peaceful days with you, and it would have been the greatest joy I could ask for.” He drew a shuddering breath and managed a smile. “But this way, you’ll still get thousands of peaceful days. And that makes me happy enough. I love you, Rayla. Be brave.”

“Callum!”

Her scream was drowned out by the sound of his voice as it rose with the words to the spell. A purple beam poured from the staff in his hands, and as soon as it touched Aaravos, he began to dissolve. Wisps of green melted from his body, stretching his form, pulling him apart until he was nothing but smoke.

As the last of Aaravos was absorbed into the coin, there was another bust of light— but not from Callum. In a streak of energy in every color of the rainbow, Ezran appeared on Zym’s back, a blade in his hand.

That blade, Rayla thought wildly, it looks like—

“Ezran?”

Rayla’s eyes snapped to Callum just in time to see him fall to his knees, the black in his eyes receding— only to be replaced a second later by searing white.

“Runaan,” Callum gasped as the white faded again. “Do it— do it now—" He doubled over, convulsing in time to the flickers of light in his eyes.

Panic seized Rayla, forcing her half out of her saddle with absolutely no plan for what to do after she fell. Could she throw her own body in the path of Runaan’s arrow? Could she help Callum fight the possession back?

“Runaan, please,” Callum wheezed.

Runaan’s eyes flicked from Callum to Rayla before coming to rest on Ezran. A tear fell from his eye.

“I’m so sorry,” he told Callum, his voice breaking. “I can’t.” And then, in a tone so quiet Rayla almost wondered if she imagined it: “Not again.”

Callum let out a piercing yell that distorted halfway through, deepening into Aaravos’s cry of triumph as light beamed from his eyes once more. Callum— Aaravos— laughed with enough unbridled, malicious delight that it took him two tries to get to his feet and grab Viren’s staff.

“Oh, this is too good! I thought your soft heart was all your own, Rayla, but it turns out it’s a family trait!” All at once, the glee dropped from his face. “Your parents would have done well to raise you better. In this world, all a soft heart is good for is getting you killed.”

He moved the staff so quickly that Rayla didn’t realize he was drawing a rune until its blast was speeding towards her. She leapt on instinct, pain shooting up her ankles as her feet made contact with the ground. It was nothing compared to the ache in her chest when she turned around. Her mount hadn’t been as lucky as she was.

Runaan sent an arrow shooting at Aaravos’s shoulder, but he dodged neatly, drawing one of Stella’s portals in the air with his staff and leaping through it. It deposited him directly in front of Rayla, who barely dodged the stream of fire he conjured. Pressing a hand to her singed hair, she rolled to her feet and whirled around to face him.

“You’re stronger than him, Callum, I know you are!” she cried. “Fight him off! Please!”

Aaravos laughed, bolts of lightning splitting from his staff. “Foolish child. Your beloved was warned of the consequences of performing my magic again.” A fork of electricity struck Rayla’s leg, and she fell to the ground with a scream. “He! Is! Mine!”

“Callum, come back to me!” Rayla barely recognized her voice, the words high and fractured. “You said you’d do anything for me!”

Aaravos inclined his head. “Did he? How sweet. You know, I can’t feel any stirrings of his will inside me at all. What do you think— should we give him some proper motivation? Venus frigoris!”

Cold, burning cold, blinding, agonizing cold. Rayla’s spine convulsed, her body contorting as a scream ripped from her throat. Other screams reached her ears, Ezran, and Runaan, but they were so far away—

The relief came all at once, her muscles relaxing, the cold fleeing, and she collapsed into sobs.

“Hmmm… no. I still can’t feel any resistance from him. Do you believe me now, assassin?”

Last time, Callum had screamed for her, had run for her, had held her face while her blood froze and taken on Finnegrin with nothing but his bare hands to make it stop. Now he stood over her with his lips curled in amusement.

There was nothing left of Callum anymore. He would never have hurt her if he had any power to stop it.

Assassin. Aaravos had formed the word carefully, mockery infused into every syllable. He would never expect her to go through with it. She could take him by surprise. She could end this.

She would never be able to live with herself. But the world would live on.

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut, curling her hands around her blades behind her back.

“My heart for Xadia,” she whispered.

Aaravos inclined his head. “You’ll have to speak up if you want your final words to be remembered. Go on; I’m listening.”

Rayla flicked open her blades— and the tip of a sword appeared in Aaravos’s chest.

In Callum’s chest.

The white light in his eyes receded, leaving the beautiful green Rayla loved so well. They locked on hers for a second before fluttering closed as he dropped to the ground, sliding free of the sword to reveal Ezran with his hands on its hilt.

There was an eternity within a second in which everyone stood frozen. Rayla, paralyzed on the ground. Callum, dead at her feet. Ezran, a horror in his eyes that defied description or comprehension.

Then the blade fell from his hands, clattering against the stone, and the world woke up.

“I’m sorry.” The words were almost unintelligible through Ezran’s sobs as he fell to his knees. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry— I’m so— I’m sorry, I’m so—"

At last, Rayla managed a single breath, one that rattled in her broken chest, and managed a single, hoarse word. “Why?”

Ezran raised his ravaged face to hers. “Rayla, I’m sorry, I’m so—“

“Why didn’t you let me do it? I was going to do it. He’s your brother, and I’m—"

“You’re not a killer, Rayla.”

The words lacked the hysteria of his apologies. But Rayla had never imagined hearing that kind of absolute despair in the voice of a child.

“Neither are you!”

“No. But I am a king. And my first duty is to my people.” Finally, his voice broke again. “All but one.”

Rayla took his hot, soaked face in one hand and Callum’s stiff, cool hand in the other. She pulled both of them close, holding the three of them together one last time, even as they shattered.

…

“I’m going to kill you!” Callum roared.

He lunged for Aaravos, who was too stunned by his sudden movement to dodge his punch in time. Callum drove another fist into his jaw, and another, before Aaravos recovered enough to kick him in the stomach, sending him sprawling backwards. Callum drew a breath, then another, heedless of the pain, and forced himself back to his feet—

Only to find himself paralyzed, mid-lunge.

“That is enough, human.”

Callum screamed through his locked teeth as a head appeared in the stars above him— one whose nose was roughly the size of Callum’s whole body, and who glowed so brightly that it hurt to look at him.

What the…?

Frozen as he was, Callum was able to take in his surroundings for the first time. Both he and Aaravos stood on a transparent platform that floated in an endless night sky.

The head in front of him disappeared, and another appeared to his left. “You have accomplished many impossible feats,” she told him. “But even you cannot kill one who is already dead.”

Aaravos scoffed. “You can’t kill me. No one can. I will merely return to the stars, where I will bide my time for a paltry seven years.”

“No, Aaravos.” That came from a head on Callum’s right. “Had you been fatally wounded in a vessel, you would merely have returned to your true form. Had your true form been pierced by the fangs of an archdragon or the blade the humans call Nova, you would have returned to the stars. But you were mortally wounded by the Novablade in a mortal form. As such, you have forfeited your immortality.”

For the first time, Callum saw true fear in Aaravos’s eyes.

“No— no! That is not possible!”

“It does not matter whether or not you believe it,” the first head who had spoken told him. “You will know the truth of it soon enough.”

“But we are prepared to offer a compromise.” This came from the head to Callum’s left. “We will return you to the stars, if you return your key.”

“Key?”

Callum hadn’t realized he was able to move again until the word fell from his lips.

“Indeed, human. A key to all the magical secrets of the Startouch elves. It was given to Aaravos for safekeeping, long ago, but he has hidden it from us for millennia.”

“With good reason.” Aaravos locked eyes with Callum, his terror replaced by an equally unimaginable expression: pleading. “They call themselves dealers of cosmic justice, but they are little more than tyrants. They killed my daughter— a little girl with only the best of intentions— for giving magic to humans. The order they want to protect would leave your race powerless! If they have access to the knowledge they seek, the whole world will feel the consequences!”

“That is our offer, Aaravos,” the first head said, his voice emotionless. “Give us the key and return to the stars. Or keep it, and be erased along with it.”

“He doesn’t have it. As I do.”

As one, the full attention of the heads turned to Callum. It was… disconcerting.

Callum pulled the Key of Aaravos from his belt and held it out to them.

“That does not belong with you,” a head that had not yet spoken said sharply. “Return it to us, human.”

“I want the same deal you offered to Aaravos. I’ll give it to you if you return me to life.”

From beside Callum, Aaravos actually growled. “Are you really so selfish, mage? Would you allow these despots to strip you of everything just to buy yourself a few more years?”

“Not for me. For Rayla.” Callum closed her eyes, but her devastated face remained. Her screams still rang in his ears. “She’s lost enough. I won’t let her lose me too. I won’t let her suffer any more.”

“You fool!”

Callum opened his eyes again, looking past Aaravos and up to the heads once more. “Do we have a deal?”

They were silent, seeming to have some kind of mental debate. Then the first head spoke.

“We accept your terms. Give us the key, and we will return you to life.”

“But do not think you can escape cosmic justice,” said the head on his right. “You have not bought yourself a life. Merely extra time.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Callum tried to sound respectful, contrite. Inside, he burned. Whatever time he’d borrowed would be enough— he’d make it so. After all, as one of the judges herself had said, he’d done many impossible things. What was one more?

He released the key, and it floated up to the head above him, where it disappeared into light.

“It is done,” the head announced. “You will be returned to your mortal form. And you—” he turned to Aaravos— “will be reunited with your daughter at last.”

Aaravos rose into the air as if yanked by invisible strings, writing all the while. “You have no idea what you’ve done!” he screamed at Callum. “No idea what I’ve sacrificed to save you from this future! You have doomed—“

But he didn’t get to finish before he burst into light.

When the searing glow receded, the stars and the heads and Aaravos were all gone. In their place was the most beautiful face Callum had ever laid eyes on, even as it was swollen and tearstained in a way that drove spikes of pain through his chest.

“Rayla,” he rasped.

The word was almost inaudible by the time he pushed it past the emotion choking his throat, but her eyes still snapped to his.

“Callum!” she shrieked, throwing herself at him with enough force to send him sprawling back against the ground. He could only manage a wheeze as he hugged her back, and she pulled away quickly.

“Your wound— did I make it worse? How are you even— you got stabbed— you were dead—"

“Yeah. I know. Luckily, even the cosmic judges couldn’t resist my charms.”

Ezran appeared beside Rayla, his eyes as red as his tunic. “You talked them into letting you come back?”

“More or less.” Callum’s fingers brushed the pouch in his belt where he had kept the Key of Aaravos, now decidedly empty. “Turns out I still had a bargaining chip they wanted.”

“What…?” Rayla started, but Callum shook his head.

“I’ll explain later.”

“Callum…” Twin tears squeezed their way out of Ezran’s swollen eyes. “I’m sorry— I’m so sorry—"

“Hey, hey, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Callum reached out, wiping the tears from his brother’s cheeks. “You did the right thing. I’m so proud of you.”

Ezran managed a wet laugh. “That’s so messed up.”

“Yeah, well, so are we.” Callum reached for Rayla’s hand with his free one, and she entwined her fingers with his. “But you know what else we are? Still here. We’re here, and Aaravos isn’t.”

“We saw a shooting star,” Rayla rasped. “Janai said it crashed in the Midnight Desert. Does that mean… is Aaravos…”

“Aaravos isn’t a threat anymore. Not now, not ever. Apparently, the Novablade was enough to kill him if he was bound to a mortal form.” Callum glanced at Ezran. “You see what I mean? You did it!”

Ezran wiped his eyes with shaking hands and managed a small laugh. “We did it. The three of us.”

“Oh, not this again. I know I spent part of our first trip as an egg, but I still counted. And who do you think flew Ezran here in time to kill Callum? The four of us made a difference. Actually, the six of us, since Bait and Stella deserve just as much credit—"

Callum leapt into Rayla’s lap and Ezran ducked behind them, all three of them whirling to face Zym. He stared back at them, perfectly straight-faced.

“Zym,” Ezran said slowly, “did you just…”

“Talk? Yeah. I figured it out a while ago, but I was just… waiting for the right moment. Was that not it?”

“Since you were bragging about how you helped kill me, I’m going to go with no,” Callum said drily.

“Come on, Callum.” Rayla dropped a kiss on his head, then beamed at Zym. “There’s no time like the present.”

“All right, all right.” Callum held out an arm to Zym. “Come here, you.”

Somewhere among the stars was an all-powerful, immortal race of elves with the knowledge they needed to force their will upon all of humanity. Somewhere in the future was a day when Callum would face the end of the time he’d borrowed. Somewhere beyond this tower were cities that needed to rebuilt, bodies that needed to be buried, alliances that needed to be made.

But there was no time like the present. And right here, right now, was the last of the dragonguard and the king of Katolis, the prince of the dragons and the first human primal mage, all clustered together in a knot of limbs and tears and laughter, holding each other together with their love.

And it was all they needed to make a difference, come what may.

[lululambv]

I would love to write a fic where Will and Clarice are siblings adopted or otherwise, or they just don't know each other, separated at birth or infancy? But Hannibal gets so infatuated with Clarice because she looks like Will only to find out that they are siblings later. Who would be older? Twins? Hannibal could probably smell that they are related though. Possible way they could've fit her into the series if Byran Fuller had gotten her character rights: After Hannibal is incarcerated in season 3, Clarice graduates from the FBI academy and is assigned to interview Hannibal by Jack. They can't get Will back so maybe the only way that they allow a freshly graduated FBI agent/ FBI trainee to interview a prolific serial killer is because she looks like Will. Everyone is telling Jack how dangerous this is. Hannibal having a constant reminder of Will, how Clarice is too unexperienced to be letting Hannibal Lecter of all serial killers talk to her. What happens? Does Clarice eventually help Hannibal escape, or does it come to the point where they need Will again and Clarice is temporarily pulled from interviews and interactions with Hannibal? Do Will and Clarice meet and have a spider-man meme moment? This has given me the urge to start another WIP I'm going to be buried in them soon...

Season 4 Hannibal crack AU that starts exactly like Silence of the Lambs. Clarice shows up to have Hannibal help with Buffalo Bill. Cue him prying about her life and lingering glances, and Clarice is wondering whether this guy likes her— or maybe just her looks and that she’s something new. Meanwhile Hannibal is tearing his hair out trying to puzzle out WHO Will finally had a bio kid with while he was in jail (for like the fifth time now) and waiting for him to break him out (again).

Anyways. I just came to the realization that they look suspiciously similar…. Do you think Bryan Fuller did this maybe a little bit on purpose. Just to make it all even fruitier after giving Will all of Clarice’s most romantic lines in S2 & 3 cause that would be hilarious