#but now i can just SEE it hovering there on the horizon as a thing they're probably going to have to deal with at some point

[egophiliac]

I love the idea of teenage Malleus hating his new baby brother Silver but slowly falling for him

words cannot express how much I adore that Mal's reaction to seeing a human baby for the first time was "the fuck is this. why does it look like that. gross." (then he immediately got stuck on babysitting duty and the rest is history)

I am SUCH a sucker for that trope of "non-humans being fascinated by normal human behavior", so between that and all the delicious angst going on I was eating VERY well. >:) Malleus being so impressed that two-year-old Silver can walk, because it took him twenty years to stand on two legs! Lilia barging in on the Zigvolts at 2 AM being like "he won't stop crying what do I do"! Lilia trying to feed Silver rats and Malleus being like "...please just stick with what the books say to feed it"! it is all so. chef's kiss.

[soaln]

i read ur op jealous hcs and they were so cute ! i also saw that you mentioned your inbox was open, so can i request zoro x reader who’s the completely opposite of him? reader who’s sweet and kind to everyone, and very gentle unlike their mosshead bf.. i love him lol

𝓞𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓

𓏵 ﹒ ┈ warnings : pure fluff, gender isn't mentioned. I realized I have a lot Sanji and Zoro request 😭😭 anyw req open I changed few things｡— ◟ 𖦹

The sun was setting low on the horizon, casting warm light across the deck of the Thousand Sunny like it was made of gold. The ocean stretched out endlessly, a sparkling blue as the ship drifted smoothly over the waves. You were sitting on the railing, your outline lit up by the fading light, your fingers busy making a crown out of flowers. Each petal brought a splash of color—soft pinks, creamy whites, and bright yellows—showing off your easy-going vibe and the simple happiness you found in little things.

Zoro was standing across the deck, looking like a statue made of stone as he pumped some weights with serious determination. His brow was furrowed, jaw tight, and his green hair—which everyone joked looked like messy moss—was shining with sweat under the setting sun. He was the definition of strength and toughness, rarely saying much and showing even less weakness. But every now and then, his sharp eyes would wander over to you, pulled in by the warmth of your presence.

You two were totally different. While you were all about warmth and sunshine, he had this tough vibe that felt shady and intense. Your kindness shone like a beacon, making people feel good, while Zoro’s rough edge seemed to push folks away. Still, there was this cool connection between you that neither of you could fully put into words, but you both respected it a lot.

“Oi,” he said, his voice deep and rough as he walked up to you, a towel tossed over his shoulder. “What’s up? Just hanging out here alone?”

You turned to him, your smile as radiant as daylight. In your hands, you held the finished flower crown, its delicate magnificence a stark contrast to the man before you. “I made this for you,” you told, your voice a melody that seemed to soften even the edges of his hardened demeanor

Zoro’s brow arched, his expression a mix of skepticism and amusement. “Flowers? Seriously?”

You laughed, the sound like wind chimes dancing in a gentle breeze. Rising to your feet, you placed the crown atop his head, your fingers brushing lightly against his green hair. “There,” you declared, your tone teasing yet tender. “Now you look like a silly warrior ruler.”

A faint blush crept across his cheeks, and he reached up to remove the crown, but your hand caught his wrist, stopping him. “Leave it on,” you pleaded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just for a little while, Please?”

He hesitated, his hand hovering in the air, before he let out a resigned sigh. “Fine,” he grumbled, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly. “But if anyone sees me like this, I’m blaming thus on you.”

Your heart swelled with affection, and you leaned up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Zoro,” you murmured, your voice warm filled gratitude. “You’re the best.”

He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, but the faint blush that wiped his cheeks betrayed his true feelings. Beneath his gruff exterior, Zoro sheltered a deep appreciation for your gentle nature, even if he would never admit it aloud.

As the crew began to gather for dinner, the deck came alive with the sounds of laughter and camaraderie. Luffy’s wild voice echoed across the ship as he demanded more meat, while Sanji moved with practiced grace, setting the table with his usual flair. Nami and Robin conversed in calm tones, their laughter like music, while Usopp and Chopper animatedly recited one of their many adventures.

Zoro glanced at you, his expression softening in a way that was reserved only for you. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go eat before Luffy devours everything.”

You nodded, slipping your hand into his, your fingers intertwining as if they were always meant to fit together. “Okay,” you smiled, your smile as bright as the stars beginning to appear in the night sky. “But you’re keeping the flower crown on, right?” You grinned.

He rolled his eyes at you, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his actual feelings. “Yeah, yeah,” he stated, his tone gruff but affectionate. “Whatever makes you happy.”

After that, the two of you joined the rest of the crew, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment settle over you like a warm blanket. Despite your differences, you and Zoro were a perfect match—a symphony of opposites that created a harmony all your own. And in that moment, you knew that your gentle heart and his rugged soul were forever intertwined

[cumironi]

hi I see you want a request! hb some angst to comfort !drunkgojoxreader where he always shows up drunk confessing his feelings but then acts normal when he’s sobered up. Reader is tired of mixed signals and ends up going on a date with someone when gojo happens to visit sobered up

you can do whatever you want if u happen to be inspired! Hope this helps you get out of your funk

“OH, MY LOVER IS DRUNK” : GOJO SATORU

you and him, you were supposed to be best friends— supposed to. but neither you nor gojo can't keep the feeling of falling. he tries to deny the feeling so hard that he has to drown himself with alcohol, the thing he loves the least, just to forget the feeling, only to come back to you every time he is drunk.

w/c 4.5k

warning : drunk! gojo satoru, non-sorcerer gojo!, angst.

p.s thank you for giving me a chance to write you something, and I'm sorry it took me long enough to write this :'), but i hope you enjoy it! (i don't think i make this angst enough for my liking)

fanart credit to the owner.

it was a tranquil night, the moon casting a soft, ethereal glow through your apartment windows, bathing the room in a gentle light. though the clock read 3:00 AM, sleep eluded you, your mind too restless to find peace. lying on your cold bed, you stared at the ceiling, each pattern and shadow playing tricks on your eyes in the dim light. the blanket was draped neatly up to your stomach, its weight a comforting presence against the chill of the night.

your hands lay flat on top of the blanket, fingers nervously tapping the back of the other hand in a slow, rhythmic cadence. the silence of the night seemed to amplify every tiny sound: the soft rustle of the sheets, the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the apartment, the almost imperceptible hum of the city outside. despite the stillness, a storm of thoughts churned within you, each one keeping you wide awake and alert, as if anticipating something just beyond the horizon.

you were anticipating something, no— more likely, someone. that someone, neither your boyfriend nor your anything, he just likely is a more sinister thing, disguised as a best friend, unfortunately. sinister thing, you describe him, where a silver thread lies between you and him— a bright and bold, tale of your love, gojo satoru.

he is, my sinister thing’ you thought.

you were adrift, suspended in the air, with no destination, no specific place to call home. you existed in a state of limbo, neither firmly standing nor lying down, hovering in a liminal space. your presence was neither filled with love nor marked by the experience of being in love.

you were perpetually caught in a paradox, always existing in a state of “neither,” but never fully reaching a place of clarity or resolution. your existence was defined by an absence of definitive states or emotions, perpetually undefined and drifting, forever caught between the edges of presence and absence.

it was always waiting, waiting, and waiting.

just like how the night before, and before, and right now, waiting in your bed for him to knock— and when he does, you, mindlessly, like you're in ecstasy running a little by little in the middle of the night to open your door, without realizing there's another door you open— your heart.

stumbling, drowning in a sea of alcohol he hates, gojo satoru walks in. and you, like the idiot you are, guide him to your barely-fits-for-his-over-six-feet -ass couch, comfortably lying him there.

“careful,” you whisper through the night.

your warm hands meet with his cold ones, gripping you as if he's holding on for his dear life. you drape his body with a blanket, big enough for you to shield not only his physical form but also the emotions he holds for you, hidden beneath the warmth, hide his love for you, not that you need to know. gojo‘s blue eyes are warm, and dull as they indulge softly in the moonlight and gentle glow from your little lamp on the cover of your living room, appear soft and subdued.

you find yourself seated on the cold, hard floor, while gojo stretches out on your couch, facing you with a look of serene contentment. his handsome face is illuminated by a crooked yet mesmerizing smile, a testament to his charm even in his inebriated state. his hands, chilled and seeking, grip yours with a familiar desperation, yearning for the warmth you effortlessly provide.

this nightly ritual has become a part of your routine—gojo, drinking away his soul, stumbles through your door, his steps wavering yet purposeful. he collapses onto the couch, and you remain on the floor, the quiet observer of his vulnerable confessions. as he speaks of his love for you with a fervor that seems to swell with each passing moment, it’s as if he fears losing you with the break of dawn.

he loves like you’re the very essence of his existence, the heartbeat of his every moment. his affection is a force that shapes his world, a flame that burns eternally in his soul. to him, you are the embodiment of all his dreams and desires, the one who makes every day brighter and every night more meaningful. his love for you is not just a feeling but a profound truth that defines his very being.

when the alcohol fades and his clarity returns, he resumes his usual demeanor, leaving behind only the tender echo of his heartfelt declarations and the gentle imprint of his touch on your hands. he pretends, gojo satoru likes to pretend.

“always so beautiful,” he whispered, his smile fading as his eyes wandered over every contour of your face. he traced the delicate path of each freckle, every mole, and the subtle lines that marked the passage of time, memorizing every exquisite detail in his heart. his cold hand gently cupped your cheek, sending a chill across your skin that mingled with the warmth of his gaze, as if he were imprinting the essence of your beauty into his soul.

he draws your entwined hands closer to his chest, where his heart, in truth, has always belonged to you. from the very first moment you met, it was never his alone; it has been yours from the start. as your palm rests against his chest, you can feel the soft, steady beat of his yours heart, buried beneath his flesh—an intimate rhythm that pulses with calm and a tender, unselfish devotion.

a small smile graces your lips as you rest your chin on the couch, gazing deeply into his eyes and letting yourself be enveloped by their depth. “i’m in love with you,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with intoxicated. “so in love that i can’t remember a time when i wasn’t, as if my soul has adored you since the dawn of everything,” you listen to his heartfelt confession, witnessing the gradual collapse of his defenses, and your eyes shimmer, heart-shaped.

gojo chuckled softly, his voice thick with intoxication. “do you recall the first and last time we made love? your lips on my neck, since that day, your mouth has been nothing but heaven,” his words tumbled out in a drowsy, slurred cadence.

you, too, remember that day with crystal clarity; it is etched deeply in your mind, an indelible memory that clings to your thoughts like a cherished, haunting presence. each detail, every sensation, has become a permanent part of you, woven into the very fabric of your being. the memory of his touch and the sweetness of his kiss linger, a profound and enduring echo that remains with you always.

you still can feel his touch on your skin.

“of course you don’t know,” he whispered, his voice heavy with the weight of intoxication, as his thumb traced gentle patterns across your cheek. “and i’ll gladly take the blame for that,” he continued, his words slurred with inebriation, “i-i kissed your hair while you slept in the morning,” his giggle, light and childlike, bubbled up with a carefree delight. “i wonder if you ever knew.”

you shake your head gently, a small, small smile touching your lips, just a little. you wouldn't dare to open your mouth, oh, you wouldn't dare. to speak would risk breaking the spell of his drunken state, causing him to sober up and retract the love he has so freely and vulnerably shared. the thought of him withdrawing those tender confessions and retreating into the safety of his guarded heart is a fear too profound to bear. because at that time, it's all you have, his drunkenly confession.

so you remain silent, savoring the warmth of his affection as it envelops you, clinging to this fleeting intimacy as if it were a precious secret. afraid that when the dawn’s approach looms, threatening to sweep away the ephemeral beauty of his heartfelt revelations, leaving only the ghost of his love behind.

it's a frightening, haunting, spine-chilling sensation that grips you, filling you with an aching dread, so you remain silent. because maybe, in those three am confessions are your only salvation. just like a dark mirror to cinderella’s tale, your reality is sinking down from the ceiling, swallowing you whole when he sobers up when the sun hits your cheeks warm.

“oh, god, i love you so much. . .” he whispered, his voice laden with vulnerability as he clutched your hand tightly, pressing it against his chest. “this love i feel—it terrifies me. i'm scared for the love i have for you, it seems so powerful, like it could burn me alive or utterly ruin me. even so, i know that i’ll let it be, but fuck. . . i'm so scared.” his breath was uneven and strained, each gasp revealing the depth of his fear.

his eyes, gleaming with the weight of his emotions, flickered with a poignant brilliance before finally closing. as he drifted into unconsciousness, the full embrace of the alcohol took hold, and the tender confessions of his heart were swallowed by the enveloping darkness.

you remain in quiet contemplation, letting his heartfelt words gently seep into your thoughts. you extend your arm along the edge of the couch, laying your cheek softly against it as you gaze at gojo’s tranquil, slumbering face. his lips, tender and slightly swollen, and his cheeks, flushed a soft, rosy hue reminiscent of crushed cherries from the effects of the alcohol, form a serene portrait of vulnerability.

in the gentle light, his features are softened by the peacefulness of sleep, creating a stark contrast to the emotional intensity of his earlier confessions. the calmness of his face, so vulnerable and exposed in repose, contrasts beautifully with the passionate turmoil of his words.

as you watch him, the room seems to hold its breath, enveloping you both in a tender silence that honors the depth of the moment. the delicate interplay of light and shadow highlights the serene beauty of his sleep, allowing you to cherish the profound intimacy of this quiet, shared space.

when the morning comes, he'll sober up, and the alcohol will have faded from his system, washed away by the sunlight along with his love for you. he'll blame the alcohol in case he said anything foolish, and you? oh, you would find yourself blaming the moon, even the sun, because it's breath away the day for night to come, for casting hope into your soul, into your heart, and also crushing it at the same time in the harsh light of dawn. leaving you to grapple with the fragile hope that was both a blessing and a burden.

it was cruel, worse than cannibalism. you could have borne the agony of having your flesh consumed, but not the ravaging of your soul and heart, oh please, not my heart’ you would plead into the darkness as night falls. you were scared too, not because of loving gojo satoru, loving him is as natural as breathing, but because of the depth of your devotion— you are scared your devotion would turn violent. your devotion would make you believe him like a god, and he'll betray you like a man.

yet, despite the pain, you find yourself eternally awaiting the arrival of night, longing for those confessions whispered at 3:00 AM, even knowing they will leave you shattered by morning’s light. each dawn brings the same heartache, and today is no different.

you awaken to the insistent chime of your notification, your eyes fluttering open to the stark emptiness of your apartment. the couch where gojo once lay is now vacant, the space where he slept cold and unwelcoming. the blanket he used before now wrapped around you, carries no trace of his warmth. the comfort it once offered has dissipated, leaving behind only a hollow chill and the echo of his absence.

your grip tightens on your phone, the pressure biting into your hands, but it’s a mere shadow of the pain coursing through your heart. suddenly, the dam within you gives way, and a torrent of tears spills down your cheeks, cascading like a relentless river. the exhaustion of navigating gojo’s endless emotional games weighs heavily upon you, a suffocating burden that leaves you breathless.

you don't want anything, the only thing you want can't be bought with money. if i ask for your heart will you give it to me?’ you mock yourself. what a fucking loser.

“oh god. . .” you whisper, forehead touching the floor as you wailing in silence.

you feel foolish for clinging to the hope that, perhaps this time, he might remember, that he might repeat the tender words of the night before. yet, as each morning dawns with the same emptiness, your heart aches with the weary realization that your hopes have been in vain, leaving you to grapple with the sorrow of unfulfilled dreams.

the evening was settling into a serene quiet, your apartment softly illuminated by the warm glow of your lights. you were almost ready for your date, anticipation mingling with a sense of hope as you made final adjustments to your outfit. watching yourself in the mirror, you realize how dull your eyes are, losing their spark. after everything, you decided to bury your feelings beneath your flesh until only you know your love for gojo satoru.

a knock at the door disrupted your preparations, and when you opened it, gojo stood there, sober and uncharacteristically subdued. his eyes, usually brimming with playful energy, now reflected a deep, almost mournful sadness.

“hey,” he said, his voice softer just like always. he glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the subtle details of your evening preparations—the carefully chosen attire, the delicate scent of perfume, and your eyes, those bright, beautiful eyes.

you moved through your bedroom, selecting accessories and adjusting your outfit, each motion a quiet ritual in the evening’s anticipation. gojo watched from the doorway, his gaze fixed on you with a deep, almost reverent intensity. his silence spoke volumes, a contrast to the usual banter that characterized your interactions.

gojo’s voice, tinged with an unexpected vulnerability, broke the silence. “where are you going?” he asked softly, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of concern and hurt.

you hesitated, caught between the desire to protect both his feelings and the truth. his gaze, usually so playful and intense, now bore a raw, wounded quality. the gravity of the question hung heavy in the air, and you could feel the weight of the decision you had to make.

“i’m—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. you could see the hope flickering in his eyes, mingled with the pain of realization. you knew that this was more than just a casual question; it was a plea for understanding, for clarity amid his confusion.

he took a step closer, his usual nonchalance replaced by a genuine yearning to grasp the reality of the situation. “i just want to know,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “where you’re going. what’s tonight for you?”

you looked at him, your heart aching with the weight of his unspoken fears. the room felt charged with the intensity of the moment, every detail amplified by the quiet desperation in his voice.

“i’m going out with someone,” you finally admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “tonight is… it’s meant for someone else.”

the words hung in the air, their impact palpable. gojo’s face fell, the light in his eyes dimming as he took in the truth of your plans. he nodded slowly, the understanding settling over him with a heavy sadness.

“i see,” he said quietly, a bitter edge to his tone as he took a step back, giving you space. “i didn’t realize…” the finality of his words and the desolate look on his face were almost too much to bear.

you hesitated, unsure of how to respond, but before you could answer, his gaze wandered over you with a mixture of admiration and sadness. “you look…” he started, his voice faltering slightly as he struggled to find the right words. “you look really beautiful tonight.”

his eyes roamed over your outfit, the careful details you had chosen, and the way the light caught in your hair. there was a softness in his gaze that spoke of more than just physical appreciation— it was as though he was trying to hold onto every fleeting moment, every detail of this evening as if to etch it into his memory.

“you always look beautiful,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “but tonight. . .. tonight it’s different. you’re. . . breathtaking.” the sincerity in his words was palpable, mingling with the unspoken sadness in his eyes. he didn’t move, didn’t retreat from the moment. instead, he stood there, quietly observing, letting his admiration and affection fill the space between you.

“i didn’t mean to intrude,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving you. “i just wanted to see you one more time. before you go.”

the room felt heavy with the weight of his gaze, the emotional intensity of his words. you could feel the ache in his eyes, a mixture of admiration and longing, as he took in every detail of your appearance. the compliment, so genuine and heartfelt, seemed to hang in the air, a poignant reminder of the affection he still held for you.

“it's okay,” you nodded softly, gazing at him from your mirror with a little smile, kissing your lips. the date was meant to be an escape, a chance to move forward, but it felt like an endurance exercise.

your date was polite and engaged in conversation, but there was an undeniable disconnect. every word spoken seemed to drift past you, a mere backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts that consumed your mind. the laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the casual chatter all felt hollow, lacking the vibrancy you had hoped for.

as the evening progressed, the sparkle of the city lights and the charm of the venue did little to lift the weight on your shoulders. the conversations felt superficial, the moments fleeting and unremarkable. you smiled and nodded in response, but your thoughts were miles away, tangled in the memories and the lingering presence of gojo.

you couldn’t help but replay the images of that earlier moment—gojo’s earnest eyes, the softness of his compliments, and the way his gaze had followed you with such unspoken longing. his presence had imprinted on your heart so deeply that everything else seemed to fade in comparison. the way he had watched you, the tenderness in his voice, and the painful silence after he had left all resurfaced in your mind, casting a shadow over every interaction of the evening.

the date dragged on, each passing minute feeling like an eternity. you forced yourself to remain engaged, but the thought of gojo’s unspoken words and the gentle way he had looked at you overshadowed everything. you were caught in a cycle of longing and regret, unable to escape the grip of your own emotions.

as you stepped out of the restaurant, the cool night air was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the evening. your mind was still heavy with the weight of the date's emptiness, and the city lights seemed dimmer as you walked towards your car.

just outside, by the entrance of the restaurant, you noticed a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost. gojo stood there, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the crowd with a determined focus. as your gaze met his, his face softened, revealing a mix of relief and something deeper.

there you are, beautiful, mellow you. walking alone looking pretty in that silk dress that you should be wearing for him, not the other man, him. seeing you so breathtakingly beautiful makes gojo satoru want to crash into every piece of you, and fuck, he swears to god, that's how stars are born.

“hey,” he said softly, pushing himself off the lamppost and walking towards you. the usually playful tone in his voice was replaced by a sincere warmth. “i thought i might catch you before you left.” you stopped in your tracks, a flutter of surprise and emotion rising within you. “satoru, what are you doing here?”

you're in front of him, eyes glimmering under the lamppost and the moon. gojo wants to run, to bury himself under the ground, or just tell you to stop looking at him with those eyes. stop touching me with your eyes’ he thought.

“i-i. . .”

even so, his eyes never leave yours, shaken as he tries to swim into your orbs. how its color slightly changes under the lamppost makes it even harder for gojo to speak as if the ground is a new language for him, and suddenly, he forgets everything he knows about gravity.

“please love me. .” he whispered, throat dry.

for a brief, electrifying moment, your eyes widened in astonishment. your heart is pounded with a frantic rhythm, faster than the fall of distant stars, yearning to escape its confines and find its way into gojo’s hands. it ached with a longing so intense that it felt almost unbearable.

the pain of desiring something so profoundly—something you’ve never truly known—made you question why your heart should yearn for a home it has never experienced. yet, despite never having been there, it cried out with an ineffable need to be held by him.

it was always his and never been yours since day one, but he already holds onto your soul with an unrelenting grip and your heart— your only refuge, is all you ever had to keep living. you can't live your life if all you ever had is just merely flesh and bone.

“satoru, are you drunk?”

“no—” he shook his head, fast enough to hold both your hands and bring them closer against his chest, where his heart was beating faster, also begging to be handed to you. “i'm in love with you, y/n. i'm sorry i always pretend like i don't remember in the morning, but please. . . i don't dare to, maybe if i love you less it would be easier for me to talk, but fuck—”

he paused for a moment, and in that suspended breath, your only fear was the possibility of him retracting his heartfelt confession. the weight of his unspoken words hung in the air, and you found yourself dreading the loss of such a precious revelation. the thought of him pulling back, of his feelings fading into silence, was the only shadow that cast fear over your heart.

so you shook your head, “no, don't stop,” you plea.

gojo swallows his pride, he feels pathetic. but he would bear the life long of feeling pathetic if it is meant to have your eyes on him, to have your skins and bones knit with his then so be it. “i love you—oh god, i fucking love you, in the purest, chaste, most victorian sense,” he says, laughing softly. “even a mere glimpse of your ankle might be enough to drive me mad.” you can’t help but chuckle along with him.

his hands enveloped yours with a desperate intensity, holding them as if they were the very essence of his longing. “i love you,” he breathed softly, his voice mingling with the whisper of the night breeze. “i want every single one of your tomorrows.”

he guided your hands closer to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to your wrist, his touch both tender and reverent. his eyes locked with yours, revealing a depth of emotion that seemed to illuminate the darkness around you. the moment his lips left your skin, the faintest trace of coldness lingered, as if the warmth of his affection had left an indelible mark.

with a gentle but purposeful motion, his hands slid to your waist, drawing you nearer. his touch was both firm and delicate as he turned you around, guiding you until your back was nearly pressed against the lamppost. the soft glow of the streetlight bathed you both in a halo of light, casting long shadows and highlighting the closeness of your bodies.

in this intimate cocoon, the world seemed to fade away. the chill of the night, the warmth of his breath, and the quiet intensity of his gaze created a fragile moment of connection. his presence enveloped you, a promise whispered in the night air, as if he were claiming every future moment with you, even as the night deepened around you.

“please. . ..” he beg.

he leaned in, his face inches from yours, until his lips lightly brushed against your own. “please, love me,” he whispered once more, his voice tender and pleading. his warm breath caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

the proximity of his lips, the softness of his words, and the gentle warmth of his breath all combined to create a moment of intimate vulnerability. his plea hung in the air, laden with the depth of his emotions, as he sought to bridge the gap between your hearts.

as the world around you seemed to slow, gojo’s gaze lingered on your lips with an intensity that made your heart race. his fingers, still resting on your waist, drew you even closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. the soft glow of the streetlight cast a gentle halo around the two of you, accentuating the intimacy of the moment.

with a deliberate tenderness, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the anticipation built like a quiet storm as his lips inched closer, brushing against yours with a delicate, almost reverent touch. the kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration that spoke of deep longing and unspoken desires.

his lips moved with a slow, deliberate grace as if savoring every second of the connection. the initial softness gave way to a deeper intensity, his kiss growing more passionate as he pulled you even closer. the world outside seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his lips pressed firmly against yours. his hands cradled your face, his touch gentle yet insistent, guiding the kiss with a blend of affection and need.

the warmth of his kiss seemed to infuse every part of you, a melding of hearts and souls that transcended words. when he finally pulled away, his eyes still locked onto yours, there was a look of profound contentment and vulnerability. the kiss lingered in the air between you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the fragile, beautiful connection that bound you together.

as you slowly pull away from the kiss, your lips linger near his, you meet his gaze with a fierce resolve. “if you ever mock me or play with me,” you say, your voice steady yet charged with intensity, “i swear to god, satoru, i’ll fucking hunt you down.” the words hang between you, your breath mingling with his, a silent promise of the depth of your commitment.

gojo’s eyes spark with a playful glint as he hears your words. with a mischievous smile, he leans in, giving your lips a series of soft, teasing pecks. “i won’t,” he replies, his tone light and teasing, but with an undercurrent of sincerity. “i promise.” his playful demeanor contrasts with the intensity of your threat, yet his gentle touches and warm gaze convey a deeper assurance.

[bueckets]

Prophecy | Finale

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Parts: Part One | Two | Three (you're here)

Description: Following the viral video of Paige and Azzi, you spend the next three months redefining what perfect means. Each shot becomes a statement, each swish echoing with something colder than precision. Your teammates watch you stay late every night, turning heartbreak into headlines, until even UConn's dynasty seems breakable.

The game approaches like destiny. Harvard versus UConn in the Final Four, a collision course that ESPN calls "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For." Twenty thousand tickets sell out in minutes. The whole sport holds its breath.

You haven't spoken to Paige since that night in the snow. Haven't read her texts or opened her letter. Instead, you let your game speak - 47 against Princeton, 51 against Yale, perfect shooting in both. They call it The Revenge Tour, though you never bother correcting them.

Now Dallas looms like a storm on the horizon. One game to prove that some things break you, and some things make you unbreakable.

This is the story of which one you become.

WC: 11k

WEEK ONE

After that night in the gym, you don’t miss. Not once.

Every shot is a calculation, a release, a fury of physics and heartbreak. Each arc is perfect, each swish feels like vengeance. The ball obeys because it has to. Because it’s the only thing left that makes sense.

Paige’s texts come in like a storm. Desperate, raw, and relentless:

Monday (3:47 AM): please just let me explain.

Monday (4:15 AM): it wasn't what it looked like.

Monday (4:22 AM): i miss you.

Monday (4:45 AM): please answer.

You sit on your bed staring at the ceiling, the blue glow of your phone lighting the room like a taunt. Sierra grabs it from your hands and sets it face down on your desk. “Nope.”

By Tuesday, the messages get sharper, more frantic

Tuesday (2:13 AM): i know you’re mad. i’d be mad too.

Tuesday (3:01 AM): rocket, please. you mean everything to me.

Tuesday (3:45 AM): i never meant to hurt you. i’d do anything to take it back.

By Wednesday, she calls. Seventeen times. Sierra’s thumb hovers over the block button. Jasmine glances at you, but you just lace up your shoes and head for the gym.

Thursday, the texts shift to something softer, almost pleading:

"i know you're reading these."

"just tell me you're okay."

"god, i miss you."

"please just talk to me"

Sierra and Jasmine take turns deleting the messages before you can see them, but you know. You always know.

“She’s hurting,” Jasmine says carefully one night, her voice soft like she’s walking a tightrope.

"Good," you respond, and sink another three.

WEEK TWO

The texts get longer, more rambling.

"i know i screwed up. i don’t even know how to start fixing it. all i know is that i want to."

"i miss how you made me feel like the best version of myself. like i could do anything."

"i miss you solving equations while watching film. i miss your voice. i miss you."

"rocket, i love you. i don’t care if you don’t believe me right now, but it’s the truth. i love you."

"please just tell me to fuck off or something. anything is better than this silence."

You don’t read them, but Sierra does. She updates you with clipped summaries: “She’s still apologizing. Still desperate.” You just nod, focusing on your form. Release. Swish.

“She says she loves you,” Sierra says one day, her voice careful.

“Doesn’t matter,” you reply, grabbing another ball.

WEEK THREE

Thursday evening, it snows. Heavy, wet flakes that stick to the ground and blanket campus in white. You’re in the gym, as always, the only sound the steady rhythm of the ball hitting the floor, then the net.

Sierra bursts in, out of breath, snowflakes clinging to her jacket.

“She’s here,” she says, voice strained.

You pause mid-shot, the ball resting heavy in your hands. “What?”

“Paige,” Sierra says. “She’s outside. Just standing there. She’s not leaving until you talk to her.”

You blink, your pulse quickening. “In the snow?”

“Yes. In the snow,” Sierra snaps. “Want me to handle it?”

You glance at the door, at the faint glow of the snowstorm through the windows. Your chest feels tight.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly.

Sierra looks surprised but doesn’t argue. “You sure?”

You nod, dropping the ball onto the rack. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

You push open the gym door, and the cold hits you like a slap. The snow is coming down hard now, heavy flakes swirling in the wind and catching in your hair, on your lashes, melting instantly on your skin. The air bites at your face, sharp and unforgiving, and you pull your sweatshirt tighter around you as you step into the storm.

Paige is there.

She’s standing under the dim glow of the parking lot light, a lone figure against the blanketed white. Her coat is too thin for this weather, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if that could keep the cold out. Snowflakes dust her hair, her shoulders, even her lashes, sticking there like delicate glass. Her nose and cheeks are red, raw from the wind, and her breath comes out in uneven clouds that catch the faint light before disappearing.

Your heart pounds as you take her in. It’s not fair, how seeing her still makes your chest tighten, how her very presence feels like it could knock you off balance. You feel your feet ache against the frozen pavement, the sting of cold air in your lungs, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in your chest.

She looks up as you approach, her eyes locking onto yours immediately. They’re red, glassy, the unmistakable sheen of unshed tears making them glisten. She uncrosses her arms, her hands trembling, and takes a single step forward.

“Rocket,” she says, and her voice cracks. Just that one word, and it’s enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

You stop a few feet away, planting your sneakers firmly into the snow to keep steady. Your throat feels tight, your tongue heavy. For a moment, you can’t speak. You just stare at her, the silence between you as thick as the snow falling all around.

“What are you doing here?” you manage finally. Your voice is sharper than you intended, but the lump in your throat makes it hard to sound anything but cold.

She shifts, wiping her hands on her coat as if that’ll stop them from shaking. “I—I had to see you,” she stammers. “You weren’t answering, and I just—” Her voice breaks again, and she swallows hard, trying to steady herself. “I just needed to try.”

The words hang in the air, weighty and raw. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay grounded, to not let your emotions spiral. The wind picks up, whipping snowflakes against your face, and you blink hard against the sting.

“You’ve said enough,” you say, your voice flat.

“I know,” she says quickly, stepping forward again. Her boots crunch against the snow, and the sound feels deafening in the quiet. “I know I’ve said everything wrong. I don’t even know if there’s anything left to say. I just—” She takes a shaky breath, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I need you to know how sorry I am. How I got into my head leading up to it. I was scared. I’m sorry. For everything. For ruining us.”

Your breath catches at that, and your chest tightens even more. Her words hit like a weight, heavy and suffocating, and for a moment, you don’t trust yourself to respond. You feel the sting in your fingers, the way the cold air pinches your ears, the dull ache in your feet from standing still too long.

“It wasn’t just a mistake, Paige,” you say finally, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound steady. “It was trust. It was everything we had.”

She nods quickly, tears finally spilling over. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, trying to hide it, but her hands are shaking too much. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind. “I know I broke it. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for hurting you.”

The tears keep falling, streaking down her red cheeks, and she doesn’t bother wiping them anymore. Her shoulders shake, but she doesn’t look away from you. You want to turn away, to stop seeing her like this, but you can’t. Your eyes burn, your throat feels raw, and the weight in your chest only grows heavier.

“I loved you,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Her breath catches audibly, and you see her shoulders slump further, like the words are knives she’s been bracing for.

“I love you,” she says, her voice breaking entirely. “I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

The snow falls harder now, coating everything in a thick, suffocating white. You feel it collect on your shoulders, your hair, melting down your neck. Paige shivers, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, her breaths coming out in ragged clouds.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you as you stare at Paige. The snow falls heavier now, landing on her lashes and melting against her flushed cheeks. Her nose is red, her hands trembling as they clench at her sides. The cold bites at your skin, your ears pinching, your feet aching, but none of it feels as sharp as the weight in your chest.

“Go home,” you say, your voice cracking slightly despite your attempt to sound firm.

Paige doesn’t move. Her wide, red-rimmed eyes stay locked on yours, brimming with fresh tears. Her lips part, but no words come, just a soft, shaky breath. Then:

“Please,” she whispers, barely audible over the wind. Her voice is raw, broken, and it hits you like a punch. She takes a step closer, her boots crunching in the snow, her hands twitching at her sides like she wants to reach for you but knows she can’t. “Please,” she says again, the word shaking with everything she’s trying to say but can’t.

You inhale sharply, your chest tightening as you force yourself to stand your ground. “Paige,” you say, softer now, almost pleading yourself. “Go home.”

She flinches, like the words physically hurt, but she doesn’t argue this time. She nods slowly, blinking hard against the tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders slump as she turns away, her steps hesitant, dragging in the snow like she’s leaving pieces of herself behind with every step.

You watch her walk toward the far end of the parking lot, her figure blurry through the curtain of falling snow. She stops once, just for a moment, her back to you. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, but the motion is weak, almost futile. Then she moves again, trudging toward the lone car parked under the faint glow of a streetlamp.

The driver’s side window rolls down as Paige approaches, and you see KK leaning out, her face a mix of concern and frustration. KK says something—low and sharp, the words lost in the wind—and Paige shakes her head, opening the passenger door and climbing in without another glance in your direction.

The car idles for a moment, exhaust puffing into the frozen air, and you catch a glimpse of KK glancing your way, her gaze hard but questioning, like she’s debating whether to come out and say something. But she doesn’t.

The brake lights flare as the car shifts into gear, and then they’re gone, disappearing down the snow-covered road.

You stay rooted to the spot, the cold seeping through your clothes, the sound of their departure fading into silence. You don’t move for a long time, staring at the empty space where they’d been, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

You stand there long after the car disappears into the swirling snow, the cold seeping into your bones. Your feet ache from standing still, your fingers sting from the frost, and your chest feels like it’s caving in on itself. You force yourself to turn, your legs heavy as you walk back toward the gym, the door looming like a safe haven you don’t feel like you deserve.

The moment you push it open, the heat rushes out to meet you, thick and suffocating. It hits your face like a wall, and suddenly, you realize how cold you were—how raw your skin feels, how your ears throb with the warmth sinking in. You blink against the hot air, your vision blurring, and that’s when you feel it. The damp streaks on your cheeks, the burning in your eyes.

You were crying.

The thought stuns you for a moment, but there’s no time to process it. Your feet move automatically, carrying you deeper into the gym. The echo of your footsteps bounces off the empty court, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness. You make your way to the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber hitting you like a memory you didn’t ask for.

Inside, Sierra and Jasmine are waiting. They’re sitting on one of the benches, their expressions tight and unsure, like they don’t know what to say—or if they should say anything at all.

Your eyes meet Sierra’s first, and the look she gives you is soft, pitying, like she’s trying to hold you together with just her gaze. Jasmine looks away quickly, her hands fiddling with the strings of her hoodie, her shoulders tense with unspoken guilt.

Neither of them says a word.

You don’t either. You don’t have the energy.

You walk past them, your legs threatening to give out, and sink onto the bench in front of your locker. The cold from outside is still in your body, lingering in your muscles, making everything ache. You press your hands to your knees, trying to ground yourself, but the weight in your chest is too much.

It breaks.

You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as the sobs finally come. They tear out of you, raw and uncontrollable, and you can’t stop them even if you wanted to. The locker room fills with the sound of your crying—ugly, unfiltered, and nothing like The Prophecy at all.

Sierra shifts behind you, and for a moment, you think she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. Neither of them does. They just sit there, giving you space to break apart, their quiet presence the only thing holding you from completely falling apart.

Your tears soak into your palms, your breath coming in gasps, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel the full weight of it all. The cold, the betrayal, the way her voice cracked when she said, “I love you.” It crashes over you, relentless and unrelenting.

And you let it.

Because in this moment, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to calculate the pain away or turn it into fuel.

For now, you just let yourself break.

WEEK SIX

Her last attempt comes in the form of a letter. Handwritten. Twelve pages. Sierra finds it slipped under your door one gray morning, the paper just slightly bent, as though it had been clenched tightly before being left there.

“Want me to burn it?” Sierra asks, holding it up like it’s fragile, like even touching it too long might do damage.

You don’t answer at first, your eyes fixed on the envelope. Your name is written in Paige’s handwriting, unmistakably hers—soft, looping, careful. It looks like she spent a long time on just that one word. The ink is smudged in places, faint blotches where you know she must have paused, maybe wiped her eyes.

“Rocket?” Sierra asks again, her voice gentler this time.

You reach out, hesitating before your fingers brush the paper. The weight of it feels heavier than it should, like it’s holding every unsaid word she couldn’t force into those desperate texts, every plea she couldn’t voice the last time she saw you.

“No,” you say quietly, your voice firm despite the knot in your chest. “Don’t burn it.”

Sierra doesn’t press. “What should I do with it?”

You swallow hard, still staring at the envelope like it might crack open on its own. “Keep it,” you murmur finally. “For after March.”

The corner of her mouth twitches in a faint, understanding nod. She tucks the letter carefully into her bag without another word.

Because that’s what this has all been about, hasn’t it? Every ignored call, every perfect shot, every breath you’ve taken since that night in the gym has been leading to one thing: March.

Two weeks later, the bracket drops.

Harvard vs. UConn. Sweet Sixteen.

You hear whispers everywhere—teammates speculating, reporters asking veiled questions about how you feel about the matchup. You stay quiet, dodging the noise with an unshakable focus that keeps the world at bay.

Paige doesn’t text. She doesn’t call. But one night, you see it.

It’s subtle, so subtle you almost miss it: a photo on her Instagram story.

She’s sitting on the floor of her dorm, the soft golden light of a bedside lamp pooling around her. Her knees are drawn to her chest, her head resting on her arms. There’s no caption, no obvious sign of you. But in the corner of the frame, hanging off the back of a chair, is your Harvard hoodie.

The air leaves your lungs.

It’s so small, so quiet, but it feels loud in your chest.

Sierra notices you staring at your phone and gives you a sharp look. “Don’t,” she warns.

“I’m not,” you reply, locking your phone and sliding it across the table.

And you aren’t.

Instead, you lace up your sneakers and head to the gym.

30 DAYS TO MARCH MADNESS

The bracket predictions start rolling in. Every analyst has the same storyline: Harvard and UConn are destined to meet in the championship.

ESPN calls it "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For."

You don’t watch their coverage. You don’t need to. You just shoot.

Paige’s last text comes at 2 AM:

“i still miss you.”

You delete it without reading. (Sierra tells you about it later anyway.)

25 DAYS

“Did you hear?” Jasmine says as she slides into the locker room after practice, her voice quieter than usual.

You don’t look up. “Hear what?”

“Paige was at some party last night. Someone saw her with... someone.”

You pause mid-lace, your fingers tightening. “And?”

“She’s... moving on. Or trying to.”

Later, Sierra shows you the photo: Paige with her arm around a tall blonde, both laughing like the world doesn’t hurt them.

You close your phone, drop it in your bag, and hit the gym for 200 straight shots. Each one lands, clean and precise, but your chest tightens with every swish.

At midnight, Sierra finds you still there. “She’s doing this on purpose,” she says softly.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to make you feel what she’s feeling.”

You grab another ball, square your shoulders. “Bold of her to assume I still care.”

(You do. God, you do.)

20 DAYS

Your game is evolving. Whatever limits you thought existed don’t anymore. You’re not just making shots—you’re erasing boundaries.

Reporters ask Coach about it after Harvard crushes Penn by 30 points. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

She shakes her head, her voice filled with awe. “She’s playing like someone who has nothing left to lose.”

Because you don’t.

15 DAYS

Another photo surfaces: Paige dancing at a club, the same blonde close enough to blur the line between friendly and intimate. The image spreads through whispers, not headlines, but it’s enough to reach you.

The next morning, Jasmine deletes all your social media apps. “Focus on what matters,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.

So you do:

47 points against Princeton.

51 against Yale.

Perfect shooting in both games.

The whispers around you grow louder. People call it The Revenge Tour, though you don’t bother correcting them.

You let your game speak for itself.

10 DAYS

Harvard enters March Madness ranked #1 for the first time in school history. UConn is #2.

The narrative writes itself:

Ice vs Fire.

You hear the buzz but tune it out. Paige posts a hype video for the tournament. There’s no sign of you in her clips, but you don’t need to be.

That night, you shoot until your arms shake. The sound of each swish reverberates through the gym, the echoes cutting through your chest like heartbreak.

5 DAYS

The tournament begins, and you burn through the first two rounds like wildfire:

45 points against Florida State.

52 against Tennessee.

You still haven’t missed.

UConn advances too. Paige plays like she’s on fire, dropping 38 against Duke and 41 against LSU. But she misses. She stumbles. She’s human. She’s flawed.

You tell yourself that’s why she couldn’t keep you. Because perfection is lonely.

2 DAYS

The Final Four is set: Harvard vs. UConn. The matchup everyone’s been waiting for.

Your teammates feel the weight of it, the buzz of history swirling around them, but you stay quiet. Focused.

“Are you ready?” Coach asks after practice.

You glance at her, your expression steady. “Always.”

1 DAY

The press conference is brutal. Every question is a thinly veiled attempt to dig into the drama. Paige. The rumors. 

You give them nothing.

“I’m here to play basketball,” you say flatly. “Nothing else matters.”

Later that night, alone in your hotel room, you stare at the letter Sierra saved weeks ago. It sits on the desk like it’s daring you to open it.

Your hands shake as you unfold the pages.

The first three lines hit harder than you expect:

"I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know I broke something perfect. I know I lost the best thing that ever happened to me."

You stop reading. You don’t need to see the rest.

The paper burns easily in the sink, the edges curling in on themselves like the words are folding into ash.

Tomorrow isn’t about forgiveness.

It’s about proving that some things break you.

And some things make you unbreakable.

Time to show her which one you are.

THE FINAL FOUR: HARVARD VS UCONN

The arena in Dallas feels alive, like it has a pulse of its own. Twenty thousand fans pack the stands, and the roar of the crowd is more than sound—it’s energy, crackling in the air, vibrating through the floor. You can feel it in your chest, in the way your heart beats a little faster as you stand in the tunnel, waiting.

This is the game. The one people will talk about for decades.

“Harvard vs. UConn,” ESPN’s voices echo faintly from the screens overhead, carrying over the din “The Game Women’s Basketball Has Been Waiting For.”

“Harvard’s perfect season against UConn’s dynasty.”

“Two programs. Two stars. One unmissable collision course.”

You don’t look at the screens. Don’t let the noise creep in. You focus instead on the rhythm of your breathing, the weight of the ball in your hands, the perfect arcs playing out in your mind. Force vectors, trajectories, momentum. The physics of what’s about to happen.

Sierra steps up beside you, her face all business, her game face as sharp as you’ve ever seen it. “You good?”

You nod once. She doesn’t ask if you’re sure. She’s seen you these past weeks—seen the extra hours, the obsession, the way you’ve turned heartbreak into something almost unrecognizable. She’s seen you rewrite what’s possible when perfect turns to steel.

“They’re out there,” Jasmine says quietly, stepping up on your other side.

Your stomach tightens, but you don’t let it show. 

“You’re sure you’re good?” Sierra presses, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m perfect,” you say flatly, the word cold and sharp.

The crowd’s roar deepens, and you know UConn must be taking the court for warmups. You can picture it without looking: Paige leading them out, her stride confident, her expression poised. She feeds off this energy, always has, like she was built for these moments.

You think about everything—every ignored text, every late-night practice, every time Paige’s name appeared on your phone screen and you turned away. You think about the letter, folded and burned, its words turned to ash: "I know I broke something perfect."

“I’m ready,” you say, voice steady.

Coach nods. “Good.” She turns to the team. “Ladies, listen up. Everything we’ve worked for comes down to tonight. They’re bigger, they’re stronger, and they’ve got more banners in their gym than we’ll ever see. But we’ve got something they don’t.”

She looks at you, and there's something fierce in her eyes.

"We've got perfect."

The team huddles up, hands in. But before they can do their usual chant, you speak. It's the first time you've addressed them all day.

"When we take that court," your voice is quiet but carries weight, "you're going to hear a lot of noise. They're going to talk about everything except basketball. But that's not why we're here."

Your teammates lean in closer.

"We're here because I made you all a promise three years ago. That we'd make history. That we'd show the world what Harvard basketball really is. That we'd be perfect when it matters most."

You look each of them in the eye.

"Tonight, we keep that promise."

The tunnel erupts in fierce agreement. Your teammates are ready for war.

"One minute!" calls the official.

You close your eyes for a moment, center yourself. Think about all the shots that led here. All the nights in empty gyms. All the physics problems solved between free throws. All the moments that built The Prophecy.

And yes, you think about her. About early mornings in her dorm. Late nights watching film. The way she said your name like it was something precious. The way she looked at someone else the same way.

The anger rises, cold and precise. You use it, let it sharpen your focus until everything else falls away.

The tunnel lights flicker as the official signals. It’s time.

"Ready?" Sierra asks one last time.

You step toward the light of the arena, toward the noise, toward destiny.

"Perfect," you say.

And then you emerge into madness.

The sound hits you like a wave the second you step onto the court. It’s not just noise; it’s a force, a physical thing that presses against you, vibrating in your chest.

"THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY!"

The chant rolls through the arena like thunder, swelling as the crowd rises to their feet. Signs wave above the sea of faces:

"PERFECTION WEARS CRIMSON"

"847-2: THE PROPHECY SPEAKS"

Your entrance stops UConn's warmups cold. Every player freezes mid-drill, even the legendary Geno Auriemma turns to watch. You catch Paige's reaction in your peripheral vision—the way she stumbles slightly, ball slipping from her fingers. But you don't look at her. Won't give her that.

The Harvard section is delirious, but it's more than that. The neutral fans, the media, even some UConn supporters are on their feet. This is what happens when you spend three months turning heartbreak into headlines, when you take "perfect" and make it look easy.

Your teammates hit the court, their warmups sharper, fueled by the energy of the crowd. But your routine is different. Quieter. Singular.

You start at the three-point line, the ball resting in your hands. The noise fades as you focus, your heartbeat steadying. One shot.

Swish.

The explosion of noise is deafening. You don't react. Just catch, shoot, swish. Again. Again. Again.

On the other end, UConn's trying to maintain their composure, but you can feel their eyes on you. Feel the way their usual swagger has been replaced by something else. Something that looks like doubt.

Your teammates are feeding off the energy now. Sierra drills a corner three, the ball cutting through the net with a satisfying snap. Jasmine blocks one of Taylor’s layups in a mock defensive drill, both of them grinning fiercely.

"Focus on our game!" Geno barks, but even he keeps glancing your way.

The media's having a field day. Every camera in the building is trained on you, catching every perfect shot, every ice-cold expression. ESPN's commentary carries over the speakers:

"We're watching something unprecedented here, Rebecca. The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she's transcendent. Look at the way UConn's players are watching her. They're supposed to be the dynasty, the standard-bearers, but right now they look shook—"

And still, you don’t look at Paige.

The crowd's volume keeps building, impossibly louder with each perfect shot you make. NBA players sitting courtside are shaking their heads in disbelief. Olympic champions in the stands are filming on their phones. This isn't just a warmup anymore—it's a statement.

Finally, mercifully for UConn, the buzzer sounds to clear the court for final preparations. As the teams head to their benches, you allow yourself one glance at their side. Just one.

Paige is standing near the sideline, her hands resting on her hips, her gaze fixed on you. For a split second, your eyes meet. Her expression shifts—shock, pain, something that might be regret.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer, then turn away, your face unreadable.

You turn away, face impassive. But inside, the cold fire burns hotter.

Because this isn’t about her anymore.

This isn’t about heartbreak or revenge.

This is about showing the world what happens when perfect stops trying to be loved.

And starts trying to be legendary.

The starting lineups are about to be announced, and the arena hums with anticipation, the kind of energy that makes the hair on your arms stand on end. It’s not just loud—it’s electric, like the walls themselves are holding their breath. Every cheer, every chant, every flash of a camera feels sharper, brighter, heavier. History is about to be made.

The announcer’s voice booms, reverberating through the cavernous space, calling out names that blur into the roar of the crowd. You barely hear them—don’t need to. You’re locked in. You can feel the ball’s weight in your hand even though you’re not holding it, the phantom rhythm of your dribble steadying your pulse.

The Prophecy is about to speak.

And everyone—Paige, UConn, the world—is about to listen.

Sierra wins the tip with authority, the ball snapping to Maria like it’s been rehearsed a thousand times. Harvard’s ball. The crowd leans forward collectively, the sound dropping to an expectant hum as you cross half court, their energy feeding into the moment.

UConn’s defense is already set. You see it as soon as you step over the timeline: box-and-one. Four players sagging into a tight zone, leaving Paige on you.

Of course they’d make her guard you. Of course.

She’s close, closer than you expected, the kind of tight defense that borders on personal. Her eyes flicker for a moment, uncertainty bleeding through her usual focus.

“Please…” she whispers, so quiet it almost gets lost in the noise. “Can we just—”

You don’t let her finish.

A crossover—quick, precise, lethal—cuts her off mid-sentence. The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath, as Paige stumbles, her footing faltering for just a second. But a second is all you need.

You rise up from 25 feet, the motion as natural as breathing. Perfect form. Perfect rotation.

Swish.

The crowd detonates.

3-0 Harvard.

"THE PROPHECY STRIKES FIRST!" The announcer can barely contain himself. "ICE COLD FROM DEEP!"

UConn pushes the ball upcourt fast, their transition game as polished as ever. Paige has that look now—the one that used to make your chest tighten, the one that once made you believe she could do anything. Now, it’s just data to process, another variable in the equation you’ve already solved.

She drives hard to the right, her speed and body control flawless. She’s counting on you to back off, to avoid contact, to give her just enough room for the pull-up jumper she’s perfected.

But you don’t.

Your body stays with hers, every step mirrored, every shift anticipated. When she rises for the shot, your hand is already there, contesting at the perfect angle. The ball leaves her hands, spinning slightly off-axis.

Clank.

The sound of the ball hitting the rim feels louder than it should, the miss reverberating through the arena like a misstep in a symphony.

“REJECTION!” The crowd erupts again, their voices rising to a fever pitch. “THE PROPHECY WITH THE PERFECT DEFENSE ON THE PRINCE!”

Maria grabs the rebound and pushes the break. You trail deliberately, your movements fluid, waiting for the play to unfold. The ball swings to you on the wing. Another catch. Another perfect release.

Swish.

6-0 Harvard.

Geno Auriemma doesn’t hesitate. Timeout, 47 seconds in. His voice carries across the court, sharp and commanding as he pulls his players in, trying to steady a ship that’s already rocking.

The ESPN commentators are incredulous. “I’ve never seen anything like this! The Prophecy isn’t just scoring—she’s controlling the entire game. And having Paige Bueckers guard her it’s psychological warfare at its finest.”

In the huddle, Coach Matthews stays calm, her voice steady amidst the chaos. “Keep executing. They’re rattled.”

Your teammates nod, feeding off her composure. You don’t say anything, don’t need to. The look in your eyes says enough.

Back on the court, UConn shifts their defense. KK Arnold takes over guarding you, her physicality immediately apparent. Paige shifts to Jasmine, but you feel her eyes on you anyway, like a weight pressing against your back.

You make her pay for it.

A quick backdoor cut—sharp, timed to perfection—leaves her a step behind. Maria sees it instantly, the lob arcing perfectly into your hands. You lay it in cleanly, barely breaking stride.

8-0 Harvard.

The UConn section is restless now, the nervous energy rippling through their chants.

From the crowd you hear, “She's not that special! Lock her up!"

The next time down, you catch the ball at the top of the key, KK’s hand pressing into your hip. You rise anyway, unfazed. The ball barely brushes the net on its way through.

11-0 Harvard.

Geno is furious, calling out defensive adjustments. But there's something different about UConn's energy—they're not just trailing, they're shook.

Paige tries to take over, driving hard to the rim with an intensity that feels more desperate than controlled. Her first step is sharp, her movements calculated, but there’s something frantic in the way she moves—like she’s trying to match you shot for shot, trying to prove something to herself as much as to the crowd.

Her floater arcs high but catches the back iron and rolls out.

The crowd groans, the sound rippling through the UConn section like a wave of disbelief. Paige’s jaw tightens as she sprints back on defense, but you’ve already moved on, focused, untouchable.

On the next possession, she pulls up for a three. It’s a clean look, her form textbook, but the ball rims out again, drawing a gasp from the fans and a loud clank that echoes through the arena.

Then she drives again, barreling into the paint, trying to force her way through Sierra’s perfect positioning. The ball pops loose, Sierra’s quick hands stripping it clean, and the Harvard section explodes in cheers.

Meanwhile, you’re somewhere else entirely.

Athletes talk about it, but few ever get there: the space where time slows, where the game feels less like competition and more like art. The roar of the crowd fades into a low hum, the edges of the court softening as everything sharpens around the ball in your hands.

It’s not just instinct—it’s control, precision, the physics of perfection in every step. Each shot feels inevitable, each movement unfolding like an equation you’ve already solved.

On defense, you can feel the tension radiating from UConn, their movements tighter, their communication louder. When Emma finally scores off a put-back—muscling through a sea of Harvard defenders—the UConn section celebrates like it’s a game-winner.

11-2 Harvard.

You glance at the scoreboard, then at your teammates, your calm focus unshaken. They know what’s coming next.

You show UConn what victory really looks like.

KK Arnold presses into you as you bring the ball up the court, her hands swiping aggressively, trying to throw you off balance. You shift your weight left, plant your foot, and cross over so quickly it sends her stumbling, her arms flailing for balance as the crowd gasps.

You take one step back, rising effortlessly over Caroline’s outstretched arms as she contests, her fingertips barely brushing the air beneath the ball.

Swish.

16-2 Harvard.

The Harvard bench leaps to their feet, arms raised, while the UConn section sits frozen, unsure of how to react. Geno is pacing now, barking orders to his team, his sharp voice cutting through the tension.

"We're watching history," the announcer's voice trembles with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just winning—she's rewriting what's possible in this sport."

Paige is pressing harder, trying to shoulder the burden of momentum, but it’s slipping through her fingers. She forces another drive, this time straight into Sierra, who holds her ground like a wall. The whistle doesn’t blow, and Paige stumbles as the ball goes loose again, Maria scooping it up and feeding you on the wing.

The moment your hands touch the ball, you already know what’s going to happen.

Perfect rhythm. Perfect form. Perfect swish.

UConn tries everything: double teams, traps, full-court pressure. Nothing works. You split defenders like they're standing still, find teammates for open shots when they sell out to stop you, and when they give you any space at all.

The quarter ends with one final dagger. UConn tries to hold for the last shot, but you read Paige's eyes—you always could read her eyes—and jump the passing lane. The steal leads to a breakaway with three seconds left.

Most players would lay it in. Safe. Smart.

But The Prophecy isn't most players.

You take off from just inside the free-throw line, rising up as the buzzer sounds. The ball leaves your hands at the perfect angle, with the perfect spin, following the perfect arc.

Swish. As time expires.

29-10 Harvard.

The arena absolutely detonates. Your teammates mob you as you walk calmly to the bench. Even Coach Matthews cracks a smile.

In their huddle, you can see Geno gesturing frantically, see Paige's head hanging.

But none of that matters.

Because this isn't about them anymore.

This is about perfect.

And perfect is just getting started.

The second quarter opens with UConn desperate to change the momentum. Their energy is sharp, frantic, the kind that comes from a team not used to being punched first. Geno has abandoned the box-and-one, switching to a triangle-and-two defense. It’s designed to suffocate you—two defenders shadowing your every step, cutting off your air, daring the rest of your team to beat them.

You glance at Paige and KK as they close in, their feet shuffling in sync. Paige’s jaw is tight, her expression unreadable, but there’s tension in her shoulders, the kind you’ve seen in every film session this week. KK is louder, her movements brash, barking orders at the rest of the defense.

The first possession, you take the ball at the top of the key, waiting for the defense to swarm. KK gets there first, her hands low and active, trying to force you left. Paige closes in immediately after, her presence suffocating.

You don’t flinch. You shift just enough to pull both defenders with you, then flick a no-look pass to Sierra cutting baseline. The ball drops into her hands, and she lays it in cleanly, untouched.

31-10 Harvard.

"The Prophecy showing she can dominate without scoring!" ESPN's excitement builds. "This is basketball genius at its finest!"

Then it happens.

Four minutes into the quarter. Harvard up 37-15. You shake loose from the double team, slicing through the defense like a knife through fabric. Sierra's screen creating the perfect angle of separation (47 degrees, optimal for catch-and-shoot scenarios), your feet set precisely shoulder-width apart, knees bent at the textbook 110-degree angle.

The ball feels good leaving your hands—perfect, even. The rotation is clean, the arc flawless, the trajectory straight out of a physics textbook. It’s the kind of shot you’ve made thousands of times. The kind of shot you don’t even need to watch to know it’s good.

But sometimes, the universe has other plans.

The ball hits the back rim, bouncing straight up, a little too high, a little too slow. It hovers for an agonizing second.

The entire arena holds its breath. Twenty thousand people frozen, watching the impossible happen. The ball hangs there, defying gravity for one more precious second, before falling away.

You’ve missed.

The UConn bench explodes, their cheers wild and unfiltered, like they’ve just won the championship. Their fans echo the celebration, chants swelling and overlapping.

"SHE’S HUMAN! SHE’S HUMAN!”

Paige takes a step toward you, instinct guiding her more than logic. It’s the same look you’ve seen in practices, in dorm rooms, in quiet moments when her guard was down. She wants to reach out, to say something, to bridge the gap between who you were to each other and who you are now.

But she stops herself. Her foot hovers for half a second before she steps back, her hand falling limp at her side. She remembers where she is. Who she’s supposed to be to you now.

And still, everyone waits.

Your teammates glance at you nervously. They’ve seen what happens when you miss. They know the last time you broke. They know why.

But you're not the same person who broke in that dark gym.

Instead of shattering, you do something no one expects.

You smile.

It’s small, controlled, more ice than warmth, but it’s enough to send a ripple through the arena. The silence shifts into something sharper, heavier.

The message is clear: Missing doesn’t break me anymore.

Nothing does.

"Oh my," the ESPN announcer’s voice is barely above a whisper. "That might be the scariest smile I’ve ever seen in basketball."

Next possession.

You take the ball at half court, KK and Paige closing in again. Their energy is different now—more cautious, less certain. They’re waiting for you to pass, waiting for you to hesitate, waiting for the doubt to creep in.

But it doesn’t.

You glance at the defense sagging just slightly, expecting hesitation, and then you do the thing no one else would.

You rise from the logo, the shot pure and effortless, the ball spinning through the air like it was destined to fall.

Swish.

40-15 Harvard.

The arena erupts.

Your teammates are screaming, their hands raised in disbelief. Coach Matthews stands for the first time all game, clipboard forgotten, her face a rare mix of awe and pride.

"THAT'S HOW YOU RESPOND TO ADVERSITY!" ESPN's voice cracks with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she’s unstoppable!"

UConn calls timeout, but it's too late. They've lost whatever psychological edge they thought they'd gained. The rest of the quarter becomes a masterclass:

You hit threes over double teams.

Thread passes through impossible angles.

Turn their defense into a highlight reel of broken ankles and shattered hopes.

By halftime, the score is 52-27 Harvard. You've got 31 points, 8 assists, and a message that's louder than any perfect streak:

Some things break you.

Some things make you unbreakable.

And sometimes, becoming unbreakable is better than being perfect.

The teams head to their locker rooms, but the story of the second quarter isn't the score. It's the smile after the miss. The logo three that followed. The moment when The Prophecy proved that she's not just a perfect player.

HALFTIME

The locker room feels like it’s vibrating, the energy practically bouncing off the walls. Your teammates are loud, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of disbelief and celebration. Sierra’s pacing, too hyped to sit, while Jasmine reenacts your logo three for the tenth time, miming your shooting form with exaggerated flair.

"DID YOU SEE THEIR FACES?" Sierra's practically dancing. "When you smiled after that miss? I thought they were gonna pass out!"

"That logo three was DISGUSTING," Jasmine adds, mimicking your shooting form. "The disrespect!"

You let their voices wash over you, grounding yourself in the chaos without joining it. Sitting on the bench, you pull a water bottle to your lips, its coolness a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your skin.

But Coach Matthews raises her hand for quiet. "They're going to come out desperate. Geno's never been down this much in a Final Four. Expect everything."

You nod slightly, her words steadying you. She’s right. The storm is coming. You can feel it brewing beyond the walls, the hum of the arena like distant thunder.

Through the locker room door, the halftime show filters in faintly. ESPN’s voices carry over the noise of the crowd:

“Harvard leads UConn 52-27 in the most lopsided first half of a Final Four in recent history…”

“31 points, 8 assists, 12-of-13 shooting, 5 steals. These aren’t just numbers; they’re history in the making…”

“And it’s not just the stats. That smile after the miss? That was the moment The Prophecy stopped being perfect and became something more. Something immortal.”

Sierra catches you listening and grins, holding up her phone. “You’re trending worldwide. Again.”

You wave her off. You don’t care about that. You’ve never cared about that.

But then Jasmine nudges you, her expression shifting from playful to serious as she shows you another text. This one’s from KK.

Paige is crying in the bathroom. Whole team’s shook. 

Good.

THIRD QUARTER

The second you see UConn retake the court, you can tell they’ve changed. There’s a new energy to them—sharper, more desperate. Paige’s eyes are slightly red, a telltale glint betraying her earlier tears. But there’s also something dangerous in her expression, the kind of desperation that makes even the best players reckless.

Geno’s thrown everything at the wall. UConn opens with a full-court press, their defenders swarming like bees, aggressive and chaotic.

It’s laughable.

You slice through them on the first possession like they’re standing still. A quick pass to Maria in the corner. Perfect release.

55-27 Harvard.

Paige tries to respond immediately, driving hard to the basket with her head down. The play is pure determination, her shoulders hunched as she barrels into the lane, but you’re ready.

Sliding over, you plant yourself perfectly, your feet set, your body immovable. When she crashes into you, the impact reverberates through your chest, but you don’t budge.

The whistle blows. Offensive foul.

Paige hits the floor hard, her hands slapping against the hardwood. For a split second, instinct kicks in—the memory of a hundred practices where you’d help her up, offer her a hand, a joke, a smile.

But that was then.

Now, you simply turn and walk away, your expression colder than the ice under her feet.

“Ice. Cold,” the announcer breathes, the disbelief palpable.

On the next possession, Paige picks you up full court, her body language bristling with frustration. She presses in close, practically stepping on your toes, her voice low and cracking.

“Please,” she whispers. “Just look at me. Just once.”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you hit her with a combination that feels less like basketball and more like poetry:

Crossover right.

Behind the back left.

Through the legs.

Step-back three.

The crowd doesn’t even wait for the ball to hit the net. The moment Paige stumbles backward, they’re on their feet, screaming.

The shot, of course, is perfect.

58-27 Harvard.

The UConn section is dead silent now. Even Geno has stopped pacing, his arms folded as he stares helplessly at the court. Paige glances toward their bench, her eyes briefly meeting Geno’s, but he has no answers either

Next possession, you wave off the screen, motioning for everyone to clear out. The court feels impossibly wide as Paige crouches in her defensive stance, her body coiled with tension. You can see the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes, the way her breathing hitches as she exhales.

Time slows.

Can see the tears threatening at the corners of Paige's eyes.

Can feel twenty thousand people holding their breath.

Perfect isn't about not missing anymore.

Perfect is about what you do next.

The move is pure poetry.

Crossover so quick the cameras barely catch it.

Through the legs at half speed, letting her think she's got you.

Then the acceleration – zero to legendary in a heartbeat.

Paige lunges, trying to stay in front.

The crowd rises as one.

But they don't matter.

Nothing matters except the physics of this moment.

You rise up from 30 feet, Paige's hand right in your face.

Time stops.

The ball arcs through the air like destiny.

Swish.

The arena detonates.

Your teammates mob you as you jog back, their faces alight with disbelief. Even the referees exchange glances, one shaking his head like he’s just witnessed the impossible.

61-33 Harvard.

Paige doesn’t move. She stays rooted to the spot where you left her, her head bowed, her hands on her knees. The weight of the game—of the moment—presses her into the hardwood.

The UConn bench looks like a graveyard.

Perfect breaks back.

The quarter ends with Harvard up 73-41. You've got 45 points on a shot chart that looks like abstract art. Each bucket more impossible than the last. Each move designed to teach them all the same lesson.

FOURTH QUARTER

Ten minutes left in the biggest game in women’s college basketball history. Harvard up 73-41. The crowd buzzes with anticipation, sensing the inevitable.

Paige opens the quarter like someone with nothing left to lose. Her movements are sharper now, more fluid, like she’s untethered from the weight of expectation. There’s desperation in her eyes, but also glimpses of what made her special.

What made her yours, once upon a time.

She hits a deep three. Then another. Her teammates respond, pressing full court, fighting for every inch, clawing for one last stand.

On the next possession, UConn doubles you at half court, but you see the opening before they do. A quick bounce pass threads the needle, hitting Sierra in stride for an uncontested layup.

75-44 Harvard.

The press comes hard again, but you stay poised, letting it collapse around you before sending a no-look pass over your shoulder to Maria in the corner. She drains the three, and the crowd explodes.

78-44 Harvard.

Paige tries to answer with a contested jumper at the other end, and it rattles in. She’s pressing now, forcing every play, trying to drag her team back into a game that’s already slipping away.

Back on offense, you hesitate near the arc, drawing in the defense before flipping a behind-the-back pass to Jasmine cutting baseline. The ball barely touches her hands before it’s in the net.

80-46 Harvard.

Coach Matthews calls timeout to sub you out with 1:32 left. The ovation is deafening—every single person in the arena on their feet, cheering until their voices crack. You’ve got 34 points, 15 assists, and 7 steals, but the numbers barely scratch the surface of what just happened.

You jog to the bench, your teammates mobbing you, their hands slapping your back, their voices a chaotic blur of celebration.

As you pass Paige one last time, there are no words. No need.

You both know what this moment is.

The final buzzer sounds: Harvard 89, UConn 51.

Confetti falls, a blizzard of crimson and gold, as your teammates tackle you in a storm of laughter and tears. Cameras flash everywhere, their lenses capturing history in real time.

You stand at center court, calm amidst the chaos, the weight of the moment settling over you.

Because you did it. You won.

The locker room is a storm of joy, the kind that only comes from rewriting history. Music blasts from a speaker in the corner. Sierra’s leading a conga line with the championship trophy hoisted high. Jasmine and Maria are filming every second, screaming into their phones about being “FINAL FOUR CHAMPIONS, BABY!”

You should be reveling in it. You are, to an extent—smiling as Sierra shoves a bottle of sparkling cider into your hands, laughing as Jasmine accidentally sprays half the team with the foam.

But deep down, there’s an itch you can’t scratch.

You made the statement. You dominated the game. You won the war.

But the battle inside you—the one that started long before tonight—is still unresolved.

Later, when the celebration starts to wind down, you find yourself leaning against a corner of the locker room, still clutching the now-empty bottle of cider. The room feels quieter, though the energy still hums faintly in the air. Your teammates are scattered—some FaceTiming family, others sprawled on benches in blissful exhaustion.

Sierra catches your eye from across the room. She doesn’t say anything, just tilts her head slightly, a silent question.

You shake your head. Not yet.

An hour later, you’re back in your hotel room, the championship hat still perched on your head, your phone buzzing endlessly with texts and notifications. Most are from reporters, friends, family. A few from Jasmine and Sierra, who are probably still partying somewhere downstairs.

You scroll through them aimlessly, not sure what you’re looking for until you see her name.

Paige.

She hasn't texted. Not since before the game. Her name sits there like a ghost in your messages, daring you to make the first move. To break the silence that's grown between you like a wall.

For a while, you just sit there, staring at the empty message thread. You replay every moment of the game in your mind—the way her voice cracked when she guarded you, the way she pressed harder and harder as the score slipped further out of reach. The way she nodded, warrior to warrior, as if she knew what you’d just written into history.

And yet, it doesn’t feel complete. Not entirely.

Before you can overthink it, you start typing.

you can come by if you want

The message is simple. No explanations, no context. You don’t even wait to see if she reads it before tossing your phone onto the bed and heading to the bathroom to wash off the night.

When you come back, the screen is lit with her reply:

where?

Your heart stumbles over itself as you type the room number. You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers playing with the hem of your sweatshirt, trying to ignore how your pulse picks up with each passing minute.

The knock, when it comes, is so soft you almost miss it.

For a second, you just stare at the door, your pulse thudding in your ears. The part of you that has spent months building walls tells you not to answer, not to let her in.

But tonight isn’t about walls.

You open the door.

She’s standing there, still in her UConn travel gear, hair tucked under a beanie. Her eyes are tired, rimmed with dark circles, but there’s something in them—something vulnerable, tentative—that catches you off guard.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi.”

You step aside to let her in. She moves hesitantly, as if unsure whether she belongs here.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room feels heavy with unspoken words, with everything the game couldn’t settle.

“You played…” Paige starts, then stops, biting her lip. “You were unbelievable.”

“Thanks.” You cross your arms, leaning against the desk. “You weren’t bad yourself.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, the sound awkward and raw. “I tried.”

Silence stretches between you again. The words you want to say stick to the back of your throat, stubborn and heavy. You watch her hands fidget with the strings of her hoodie, a nervous tell you used to find endearing. Now it just makes your chest ache.

Finally, it’s Paige who breaks the tension.

“I thought it would feel better,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly. “Losing, I mean. Seeing you win. It’s like I needed you to win. I needed you to be okay without me. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

Her honesty feels like a gut punch. You unfold your arms, suddenly unable to stay distant. “Paige…”

“I’m sorry,” she rushes out, words tumbling over themselves.“For all of it. For hurting you, for not fighting harder, for—”

“I know,” you cut her off gently, your voice quieter now. “I know.”

She looks at you, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Do you?”

You nod, stepping closer. “Yeah. I do. And I…” You take a shaky breath. “I’m tired of being angry. I don’t want to carry it anymore.”

Her shoulders slump, the tension leaving her body all at once. “I don’t either.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the weight of everything unsaid filling the room.

And then, slowly, you reach out, your hand brushing hers. She looks down at the contact, her lips trembling, and you feel something shift.

Forgiveness isn’t instant. It’s not easy. But it starts here, in this quiet room, with the two of you trying to find your way back to something that feels whole.

“Sit,” you say softly, gesturing to the bed.

She hesitates, then sits down, and for the first time in months, the space between you feels less like a chasm and more like a bridge.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to cross it.

She sits on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her shoulders hunched like she’s bracing for something. You grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge, needing something to do with your hands.

“Want one?” you ask, holding it up.

Paige glances at you, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You hand it to her, and your fingers brush—just for a second. It’s such a small, fleeting touch, but it makes the air between you feel charged, like something fragile and important is hanging there.

She twists the cap off the bottle but doesn’t drink, just stares at it like it holds answers. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually let me in,” she says softly.

“Neither was I,” you admit, sitting down beside her. The bed dips slightly under your weight, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of the small space between you.

Her lips curve into a faint, rueful smile. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken things. You look at her out of the corner of your eye—the way her hands tremble slightly as she holds the water bottle, the way her hair falls messily over her shoulders, the way her shoulders rise and fall with each shallow breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Paige murmurs, breaking the silence. “You were… unbelievable tonight. I mean, you always are, but tonight…” She trails off, shaking her head like she can’t find the words.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“I wasn’t just talking about the game,” she adds, her voice quieter now. “The way you handled everything—the pressure, the expectations, even me. It was like watching someone I didn’t even know existed.”

You glance at her sharply, caught off guard by the rawness in her voice. “You know me better than anyone.”

“I thought I did,” she says, her lips twitching into something that’s not quite a smile. “But I think I only knew the parts of you that let me in. And I don’t think I earned the rest.”

Her words hit something deep inside you, something you’ve been trying to bury. You look down at your hands, twisting the cap on your water bottle. “You didn’t need to earn it,” you say quietly. “It was always yours.”

She turns her head to look at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and you can feel her staring, feel her trying to read between the lines of your words.

“I should’ve fought harder,” Paige whispers. Her voice cracks, and she drops her gaze back to her lap. “For us. For you. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” you interrupt gently, surprising even yourself with the softness in your tone. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’ve already forgiven you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping like a weight has just been lifted. “Really?”

You nod, your throat tightening. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sound of her breathing fills the room, slow and uneven, and the faint hum of the city outside filters in through the window.

“It’s weird,” you say after a while, breaking the silence. “I thought beating you tonight would feel like closure. Like I could finally move on. But it didn’t.”

Paige looks up at you, her brows furrowed. “What did it feel like?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “Like I was still waiting for something.”

She doesn’t ask what, doesn’t press, but the way she looks at you tells you she knows.

The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different—like the space between you is slowly shrinking, like the air is shifting.

You shift slightly on the bed, your knee brushing hers. The touch is small, accidental, but neither of you pulls away.

“Do you want to stay?” you ask suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them.

Paige blinks, her eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“Stay,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. “Just for tonight.”

She looks at you, searching your face for something—hesitation, doubt, anything that might make her say no. But she doesn’t find it.

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, standing up and grabbing a spare blanket from the closet. “You can take the bed. I’ll—”

“No,” she interrupts quickly, shaking her head. “I mean, we can… share. If that’s okay.”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod again. “Yeah. Okay.”

The bed feels impossibly small as you both lie down, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. You’re on your back, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about how close she is. Paige shifts slightly, the mattress dipping under her weight, and you catch the faint scent of her shampoo.

You try to focus on anything else—the faint hum of the city outside, the muffled sound of someone laughing in the hallway, the rhythm of your own breathing. But your mind keeps circling back to her.

“Hey,” Paige whispers after a while, her voice tentative in the dark.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…?” She trails off, and you turn your head to look at her. Her eyes are wide, uncertain, the soft light from the window catching the gold flecks in them. “Can I hold you?”

The question catches you off guard, but only for a second. Then you nod, shifting onto your side to face her.

She hesitates, like she’s still waiting for you to pull away, and then she closes the space between you. Her arms wrap around you carefully, like she’s afraid you’ll break, and you feel the warmth of her body settle against yours.

You exhale slowly, your head resting against her shoulder, your hand curling slightly against her chest. Her heartbeat is steady, grounding, and for the first time all night, you feel your own racing pulse start to calm.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, her breath warm against your hair.

“Yeah,” you murmur, letting your eyes close. “It’s okay.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The quiet hum of the room wraps around you like a cocoon, the world outside fading into the background. You focus on the small details—the way her fingers trace absent patterns against your back, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way her cheek brushes against your temple.

“I missed this,” she whispers, the words barely audible.

You don’t answer right away, your throat tightening with emotions you’re not ready to name. Instead, you shift closer, tucking your face into the crook of her neck. “Me too.”

Her arms tighten slightly around you, and you feel the faintest press of her lips against your hair. It’s not a kiss, not really—just a gentle, fleeting touch, like she’s afraid to ask for more.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. But for now, it’s enough. Enough to share the silence, to let yourselves be close again, to let the cracks start to heal.

“I don’t want this to be the end,” she says quietly, breaking the silence.

You open your eyes, your gaze meeting hers in the dim light. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

The faintest smile tugs at her lips, hopeful and tentative, and you let yourself smile back.

For now, it’s enough.

For tonight, it’s everything.

The End

A Note from the Me

Thank you for following The Prophecy's story through these three parts. Your comments, messages, and support have meant the world to me. You've helped shape this story of what happens when perfect meets human, when physics equations meet matters of the heart, when being unbreakable becomes more important than being flawless.

Thank you for being part of this journey (cornball moment lol). If enough people want I can do a 6 year time jump as a short story where they're married.

[mintyys-blog]

Can you do a scenario for Dante!Reader from Devil May Cry and how would she fight against the Mark variants in the Invincible war? (Also did you see the new Devil May Cry series on netflix? I would definetly recommed to watch.)

LOCK & LOAD, LOVERBOY — mark grayson x dante! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: fighting, character death

a/n: I did watch some of it however I didn’t get the chance to finish the series, apologies if her powers aren’t exactly the same as Dante— but I tried my best

The battlefield was chaos—cracked earth, blood in the air, smoke and fire swallowing the horizon. Bodies fell, and Viltrumites soared like bullets in the sky. But she stood dead center, unbothered, twirling one of her pistols around her finger like she was waiting for something better to do.

One of the weaker variants lunged at her, screaming like a madman. She sidestepped without even looking, tripping him with a lazy kick and blasting him in the back with a charged round. He went flying into a pile of rubble.

“Yawn,” she muttered, popping her gum as three more swarmed in. She grinned this time, drawing Rebellion from her back. “Okay. Maybe you’ll last ten seconds.”

They didn’t.

Blades sliced through muscle and bone with the ease of a hot knife through butter. One tried to fly away. She shot him in the leg mid-flight and dropkicked him into the ground, then leaned on her sword like she was waiting for a ride. “Anyone else? No? Boring.”

Eventually, the sounds of fists clashing and buildings collapsing led her to him—her Mark. His body was bruised, suit torn, lip bleeding. A small limp in his step. Not bad, but not good either.

She tilted her head and made a face as she walked up. “Oof. That looks like it hurts.”

He gave a tired sigh through a small smile. “I’m just glad you’re okay—”

“Of course I am!” She cut him off with a wide grin, poking the bruise on his cheek with a gloved finger. “You think I’d let a bunch of flying rage dorks take me down?”

He winced at the poke but chuckled. “You know, a normal girlfriend might check if I was still alive first.”

“Yeah? Well, lucky for you I’m not normal.” She winked, slinging her arm around his neck and pulling him in for a quick, cocky kiss. “Now come on, baby. Let’s go finish this. I’m just getting warmed up.”

Mark smirked through the ache. “God, I love you.”

She grabbed her sword again and cracked her neck. “I know you do.” And together, they launched back into the sky—one Viltrumite, one half-demon, ripping through the war like a force of nature.

Blood still clung to her boots as she launched into the sky beside him, the wind tearing past her face, her coat whipping wildly behind her like a red flag of war. Mark flew just ahead, slower than usual—she could tell. He didn’t say anything about it, but she saw the way he winced when he pushed too hard, how he favored one side.

“You sure you’re good?” she called, flying backward just to look him over again.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just… a few too many hits to the ribs. Might’ve been from a version of me with a thing for uppercuts.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s what happens when you fight yourself. Self-love’s important, but damn.”

They crested over a collapsing skyscraper—what was left of it anyway—when five more Viltrumite variants broke through the smoke below them. Their eyes locked onto Mark first, thinking he was vulnerable. One of them sneered, “You’re tired. You won’t survive round two.”

She hovered between them, cocking her gun, spinning Rebellion once before gripping it with one hand. Her smile was damn near electric. “Oh, he’s not gonna fight you.”

They paused.

She raised her blade, eyes glowing faintly with demonic energy. “I am.”

She didn’t give them time to blink. The sky cracked as she blurred forward, grabbing one by the collar and slamming him into another mid-air. Ebony barked, three shots straight into a third’s face before she spin-kicked him into a nearby building. The remaining two tried to surround her—wrong move. With a wave of her hand, her devil trigger sparked again, turning her form into something beautiful and terrifying. Wings. Horns. Crimson fire dancing around her fingertips.

The first one got a blade through the gut. The second got a shotgun shell to the chest—point blank.

By the time the dust settled, she hovered in the sky alone. Mark stared from a distance, jaw slightly slack. “You… really don’t hold back.”

She floated over to him, brushing a bit of blood off her cheek like it was nothing. “They were asking for it. You know how I feel about people ganging up on my man.”

He smiled—genuine, despite the pain—and floated closer. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

She leaned in, noses almost touching. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

His fingers brushed against hers mid-air. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Please,” she smirked. “We’re a damn apocalypse.”

They turned back to the horizon—more silhouettes approaching. More twisted versions of him, of others. The war wasn’t over.

But with her beside him? She was unstoppable.

[aspenmissing]

I’m so glad your requests are back open I LOVE your writing! Can I request like arcane characters reacting to a super cute pregnancy announcement? For viktor specifically I was thinking like him finding the baby clothes in a drawer before reader can actually do the announcement. Have a great day! 🫶

ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɢʀᴏᴡꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 6373 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ. ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ, ᴏʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ, ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ (ɢɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴍᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ). ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ!!! ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ

JAYCE

It was Jayce's birthday, and the whole day had been perfect. He had spent the morning working in his lab, but Y/N had insisted on keeping him away from his usual duties for the rest of the day. After all, it was his special day. They had a quiet lunch at a cozy café near the lab, shared laughs, and just enjoyed each other’s company—just the two of them.

Later in the evening, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting soft hues of orange and pink across the sky, Y/N smiled to themselves. They had been planning the evening for weeks, and now it was time to give Jayce his last present.

“Jayce, there’s one more thing,” Y/N said, a playful glint in their eyes.

Jayce raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You’ve already spoiled me enough today,” he said with a grin, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Seriously, you’ve gone above and beyond.”

Y/N’s smile grew wider. “Not quite. This one’s... extra special.”

With a flourish, Y/N grabbed a neatly wrapped box from the table. The ribbon was a soft gold, matching the candles lit around the room. Jayce raised his eyebrows again, his curiosity piqued. He gently peeled away the wrapping paper, his fingers brushing against the smooth, delicate material of the box. As he opened it, his eyes fell on the soft fabric inside.

He pulled out a shirt, simple but bold in its design. The shirt read:

"World’s Best Dad… In Training."

Jayce blinked, and then, after a beat, a low laugh bubbled up from his chest. His head tilted as he looked at Y/N, trying to make sense of it.

“This is... a joke, right?” he asked, the humour in his voice blending with confusion.

Y/N walked over to him, their hands hovering over their stomach, still warm with excitement. They leaned in a little, their gaze softening. “I’m serious, Jayce. You’re going to be a dad.”

For a moment, the words didn’t fully register. Jayce’s expression froze, and his hand instinctively found its way to Y/N’s waist. He stared at them, looking for some sign that this was a prank, a trick—some joke they’d been planning all along. But then, he saw it in their eyes. The warmth. The joy.

Slowly, Jayce’s gaze moved down to Y/N’s stomach, and it hit him. The subtle changes over the past few weeks, the way they’d been glowing, the way they’d been just a little more protective and affectionate. His breath caught in his throat.

“You—” he stammered, trying to wrap his mind around it. “You’re—”

Y/N nodded, their hands now gently resting on their stomach. They smiled warmly. “Yep. We’re having a baby.”

The words hung in the air, and then Jayce’s face broke into the most radiant smile Y/N had ever seen. His eyes shone with joy, and he pulled them into a tight embrace. The sound of his laughter filled the room, genuine and full of love.

“I... I can’t believe this,” he whispered, holding them so tightly as if to make sure this moment wasn’t some dream. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N replied softly, their voice full of affection. “I can’t wait to see you as a dad, Jayce. I know you’re going to be amazing.”

Jayce paused for a moment, pulling back just enough to look them in the eye. His hand cupped their cheek as if trying to make sense of it all, and he gave a little laugh again, shaking his head. “I mean... wow. This is incredible. You—you’re going to make me a dad. I never thought I’d hear those words, but now that I have, I couldn’t be more excited.”

Y/N smiled and gave him a small nod. “You’re already an amazing man, Jayce. A brilliant inventor, a loving husband… and soon, you’ll be a great father too.”

He looked down at the shirt again, still processing what had just happened. “Okay, okay, I have to wear this every day now,” he said with a grin, holding it up and admiring the print. “You’re really going to hold me to this ‘Dad’ thing, huh?”

Y/N chuckled and walked over to him, wrapping their arms around his neck. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Now you get to add ‘Dad’ to your list of accomplishments, alongside ‘Inventor of the Hextech Capacitor’ and ‘Husband.’”

Jayce laughed again, his hands resting on their waist, pulling them closer. “You’re right,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “This is the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten. Thank you, Y/N.”

They shared a soft, tender kiss, the kind that spoke of a future full of promise. For the first time in a while, Jayce felt like he could breathe, like everything was falling into place. His mind raced with excitement for the baby—his baby—and for the family they were about to start.

As they pulled away from the kiss, Jayce’s eyes softened, and his hand instinctively moved to rest on Y/N’s stomach, his fingers gently brushing the fabric of their clothes. He smiled warmly, almost in awe.

“I can’t wait,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to meet this little one. You’re going to make a great mother, Y/N. I just... I feel like the luckiest guy in the world right now.”

Y/N smiled, pressing their forehead to his. “And I feel like the luckiest person on the planet to have you by my side. This is just the beginning, Jayce.”

They stood there in the quiet warmth of their home, the world outside fading into nothingness as they savoured the moment. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear—they were ready for whatever came next, together.

VIKTOR

Viktor had been in his lab for hours, hunched over a pile of blueprints, his mind deep in thought. His cane was propped against his desk, the only sound the soft clicking of his mechanical fingers on the metal surface. Despite his focus, his thoughts kept wandering—mostly to the growing warmth in his heart every time he thought of you, his wife.

You had always been the light in his world, even before you became his partner in life and love. There were still days where he couldn't quite believe that you were there, by his side, and you loved him for who he was, imperfections and all. Now, there was something new in the air, something he couldn’t quite place.

It was a certain softness in your smile when you looked at him, a secret in your eyes that you hadn’t shared yet. Viktor had no idea what it was, but he had his suspicions. You were a master of subtlety, after all. He wasn’t exactly blind to the tiny changes in your behaviour—how you kept your distance just enough to keep him curious, how your fingers hovered protectively over your stomach when you thought he wasn’t looking.

His heart fluttered at the thought. Could it be? Was it possible?

As he sifted through some papers, his fingers brushed against something soft. A small, folded piece of fabric caught his eye. Curious, he picked it up, his brow furrowing. It was a tiny onesie, soft and pastel yellow, with a little white bunny on it. Viktor’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked, staring at the clothes in his hand. Was this a…?

He glanced around the drawer, noticing more small clothes stacked neatly inside—socks, hats, and blankets. His stomach twisted with a mix of confusion and excitement. He set the onesie down, his breath catching in his chest as his mind raced. You had been acting strangely, and he wondered if... No, it couldn’t be. But then again, what else could it be?

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the baby clothes, his hands trembling slightly. His mind whirled with a thousand questions, but there was one certainty that stood out among the confusion: you had been hiding something, and now he knew what it was.

Just then, the door to his lab creaked open, and you stepped in, smiling softly. Your eyes sparkled with a secret that only you seemed to understand.

“Viktor?” you asked, your voice warm and gentle, as always.

Viktor’s gaze lifted from the drawer, his eyes locking onto yours. His mouth opened, but no words came out for a moment. His mind was still reeling. You were standing in the doorway, looking at him with a playful, yet knowing expression, as if you could read every thought crossing his mind.

You raised an eyebrow, noting his stunned expression. “Is something wrong?” you asked, a playful note in your voice. But Viktor wasn’t fooled. There was a softness to your tone that made his heart race.

Slowly, Viktor stood, his cane clicking against the floor as he took a few cautious steps toward you. He held up the onesie, his voice barely above a whisper. “This... this was in the drawer.”

You watched his face closely, noting the way his expression shifted from surprise to realization to pure joy. His eyes softened, and his lips curled into a tender smile. You could feel your heart flutter in your chest as you took a deep breath.

“I was going to wait for the right moment to tell you,” you began, your voice slightly trembling with excitement, but also a hint of mischief. “But I suppose the cat’s out of the bag.”

Viktor’s eyes widened as he looked down at the onesie in his hands, then back at you. “Wait... are you saying...?” His voice cracked with emotion, his heart pounding in his chest. It felt surreal.

You nodded, a bright, loving smile spreading across your face. “Yes, Viktor. We’re going to be parents.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and beautiful. Viktor’s knees felt weak, but he steadied himself with his cane, his heart struggling to keep pace with the rush of emotions flooding him. His mind raced, but all he could hear was the soft thrum of his pulse in his ears. A baby. His baby. Your baby.

He stared at you, his eyes wide and full of wonder. His breath caught in his throat as tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away quickly, but the smile on his face betrayed the wave of joy and disbelief he felt.

“I…” Viktor started, his voice cracking with awe. “I don’t even know what to say. I—this is… this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

You stepped closer to him, your hand gently resting over his, and he felt the warmth of your touch seep into him, calming the overwhelming rush of emotions. He was trembling now, but not with fear—rather with a deep, reverent happiness.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you said softly, “but I think you beat me to it.” Your voice was playful, but there was an underlying tenderness there.

Viktor chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. He gently placed the onesie down on the desk and cupped your face with both hands. “I’ll never be able to surprise you again, will I?” He leaned in close, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so grateful, miláček.” (Darling)

The moment hung in the air like a dream—this was real. You were going to have a family. Together.

You rested your forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “We’re in this together, Viktor,” you whispered, your voice filled with quiet certainty. “And I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”

Viktor smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek as he pulled you closer. “Neither would I,” he whispered, his breath shaky with emotion.

The lab, filled with the faint hum of machinery, suddenly felt smaller, more intimate. All the noise of the outside world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment. The tiny clothes in the drawer, the onesie still in his hand, were more than just fabric—they were the symbols of a new chapter in your lives, one that Viktor couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams.

As he held you, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your breath, Viktor knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful. And, with you by his side, he would be ready for anything the future held—for both of you and for the little one who would soon join your world.

JAYVIK

The soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the windows of the shared apartment, casting a warm, golden light across the room. Y/N sat comfortably on the couch, a gentle smile on their lips as they cradled their growing belly. The apartment, filled with books, papers, and the faint hum of machinery from Viktor’s experiments, felt like home. She was in the midst of sorting through some papers when she heard the door open, followed by the familiar sound of Viktor’s cane tapping gently against the floor, and Jayce’s cheerful voice.

“Guess who’s home?” Jayce called out, his voice always carrying that infectious energy.

Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she looked up, meeting Viktor’s intense yet soft gaze as he stepped through the door, leaning on his cane for support. Jayce followed close behind, his face lighting up at the sight of her. Viktor’s eyes softened, and he smiled, his usual stoic expression replaced with one of gentle affection.

“Hey, láska,” Viktor greeted, his voice low and warm. He set his cane against the wall before walking over to the couch. He leaned down to give her a soft kiss on the cheek, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her hand resting on her stomach. (Love)

“Hi, you two. How was work?” Y/N asked, her tone light, almost teasing. She had been looking forward to seeing them both after a long day.

Jayce was already bustling around, his curiosity piqued by the smell coming from the kitchen. “Something smells amazing,” he said, grinning. “What’s for dinner?”

Y/N glanced at the oven and then back at Jayce, her smile growing a little more mischievous. “Oh, you’ll see,” she said, her voice filled with playful secrecy.

Jayce gave her a puzzled look, but Viktor, always the more observant one, tilted his head slightly as he noticed the little glint in her eyes. “What’s going on, Y/N?” Viktor asked, his voice steady but a touch of curiosity in his tone. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

Y/N grinned, gesturing toward the oven. “Actually, could you two do me a favour?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. “One of you grab the thing out of the oven, please.”

Jayce, ever eager to help, nodded enthusiastically. “Sure thing!” He quickly made his way over to the oven and opened it, expecting to find the usual meal she had been preparing. But when he pulled the door open, his eyes widened, and his hands froze mid-motion.

Inside, nestled on the middle rack of the oven, was a single golden-brown bun, resting on a baking sheet. But this was no ordinary bun. There was a small piece of parchment paper nestled inside it, folded with neat handwriting that read:

"We’re baking a little one!"

Jayce blinked, his eyes flitting between the bun and the paper, his mind slowly catching up with the situation. He turned to Y/N, mouth opening and closing in shock. “Wait… what? Are you saying—” His voice trembled, confusion and excitement mixing in a whirlwind on his face.

Y/N’s smile widened, and she gently placed a hand on her stomach, eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m pregnant,” she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and happiness.

The words hung in the air for a moment before Jayce let out a choked laugh, his eyes welling with sudden tears. He blinked rapidly, struggling to process the news, and without another word, he stepped forward, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh my god,” he whispered, a sob breaking through as his hands moved to cover his face. “A baby? You’re having a baby? Oh my god…”

Viktor stood frozen in the doorway, his expression unreadable at first, and for a brief moment, Y/N wondered if he was overwhelmed by the same emotions that were clouding Jayce’s face. But then Viktor’s stoic mask cracked, his eyes growing soft with disbelief. He took a step forward, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze flickered from the bun to Y/N, his mind working through the revelation. He stepped closer, his cane clicking softly against the floor with each careful step, his gaze never leaving her.

“You’re… you’re serious?” Viktor asked, his voice hoarse, betraying the emotions he had kept buried under his usual calm demeanor.

Y/N nodded, her eyes never leaving him. “Yes, Viktor. We’re going to have a baby.”

Jayce, still crying softly, moved toward her, his arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace. “I'm going to be a dad,” he choked out between tears, his voice cracking. “Holy shit…We're going to be parents”

At those words, Viktor’s gaze shifted to Jayce, the two men locking eyes for a brief moment. They shared an unspoken understanding, the weight of the moment hanging between them. A realization passed over Viktor’s face as his emotions softened further, and he stepped closer, reaching out to take Y/N’s hand gently.

“This is… this is the greatest gift,” he murmured, his voice full of emotion. He squeezed her hand softly, the joy and disbelief still settling in his chest. “I… I can’t believe this.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with affection as she moved to wrap her arms around Viktor’s neck. She looked at Jayce, still standing with tears in his eyes, and smiled warmly at both of them. “I thought it would be a fun way to tell you both,” she said, her voice filled with a mix of happiness and affection.

Jayce sniffled and wiped his eyes, still grinning ear to ear. “It’s the best way. Honestly, I’m just so happy! We’re going to be parents!” He stepped closer, pulling them both into a group hug, the three of them standing together in a tight embrace.

Viktor’s hand gently cupped Y/N’s cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin in a tender, almost reverent gesture. His lips curled into a soft, loving smile. “This will be an adventure,” he said quietly. “But with you two by my side, I know we can face anything.”

Y/N squeezed both of them tighter, feeling the warmth and love radiating from the two men she adored. She knew, as they all stood together, that while only one of them was the biological father, their little family was already bound by something even stronger than blood—something built on love, care, and the shared joy of this new chapter. For a moment, there was nothing but the simple joy of being together—her family, her home, already complete and yet on the brink of something even more beautiful.

VANDER

The evening had settled quietly over the Lanes, casting a soft amber glow through the dusty windows of the upper level above the Last Drop. Down below, the bar had finally quieted after the usual bustle of patrons and noise, leaving only the faint scent of spilt ale and old wood behind. Vander rolled up his sleeves, humming lowly as he cleaned up the living space. The kids were already tucked away, and the air felt unusually calm — a rare, peaceful pocket in the chaos of the Undercity.

He glanced over at the armchair in the corner, the one Y/N always curled into with her latest knitting project. A soft, half-finished blanket draped over one armrest, and a small basket sat beside it, needles nestled inside like sleeping tools. Something small and soft caught his eye — a pair of tiny, knitted things sitting on top of the yarn.

He walked over, curious, and picked one up in his large hand, turning it over with a puzzled expression.

"Now what's this,?" he muttered to himself, brow furrowed. "New kind of hand warmer?"

As if summoned by the mystery, Powder peeked around the corner, rubbing her eyes. “Those don’t look like hand warmers. They look like… tiny shoes.”

Vander stilled.

Tiny shoes.

His gaze dropped back to the booties in his palm. Soft grey wool. A little wooden button on the side. Definitely not for anyone with grown fingers. His heart gave a strange little thump.

“Shoes,” he echoed, voice quieter now. He glanced back toward the bedroom door, where the light had been dimmed for Y/N’s evening nap.

A slow, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

No…

Could it be?

He set the booties back down carefully, almost reverently, and padded softly toward the bedroom. The door creaked slightly as he eased it open, revealing Y/N curled on her side under the quilt, the soft rise and fall of her breathing the only sound in the room.

Vander crossed to the bed and lowered himself gently beside her, mindful not to wake her too quickly. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, heart hammering in his chest, and rested a broad, calloused hand over her stomach.

She stirred at the touch, brow scrunching slightly as she blinked herself into awareness. “Vander…? What is it?” she asked sleepily, her voice thick with drowsiness. “Something wrong?”

“No, no,” he whispered, smiling softly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

She shifted onto her back, still groggy, trying to read his face in the dim light. His eyes were wide and glassy, shining with something gentle and awestruck. Her confusion deepened.

“Then… why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer right away — just looked down at where his hand rested low on her stomach, thumb brushing slow, thoughtful circles against the fabric of her sleep shirt.

Y/N’s heart skipped.

And then it clicked.

Her eyes flicked down to his hand — then back up to his face — and she went utterly still. “You found them,” she breathed.

Vander gave a quiet laugh, half-broken, half-dazed. “Yeah. Powder helped, too. Called me out on thinking they were hand warmers.”

Y/N groaned softly and covered her face with both hands, laughing through her embarrassment. “It wasn’t supposed to be that easy! I was going to tell you properly. I had this whole idea—”

He gently tugged her hands down, cradling them in his. “Hey,” he murmured. “Doesn’t matter how I found out. What matters is what I found out.”

His eyes searched hers, brimming with unspoken emotion. “You’re really…?”

She nodded, eyes misty now too. “I’m really. Just a few weeks.”

Vander let out a breath, low and reverent, and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “A new little one,” he whispered against her skin. “Ours.”

She nodded again, blinking away tears as she smiled. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I’ve been waiting for the right moment… I just—”

“You gave me the perfect moment, sweetheart,” he said, curling his body around hers, one hand still resting protectively over her stomach. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

She pressed her face into his chest, letting the warmth of him soak into her like sunlight.

“I don’t know what kind of world we’re bringing them into,” she murmured after a beat, her voice soft and uncertain.

Vander exhaled, his embrace tightening just a little. “Neither do I. But they’ll have us. That’s a damn good start.”

They lay like that in the quiet for a while, wrapped in quilt and candlelight, the promise of something small and beautiful growing between them. A new kind of future. A new kind of love.

And all of it started with a pair of tiny, perfect booties.

SILCO

It had been a long day. Silco had spent hours in his office, working through piles of paperwork, dealing with the ongoing struggles in Zaun, and trying to find a way to expand his influence. The usual tension was in the air, the hum of Zaun’s constant unrest making even the quietest moments feel charged. But Silco didn’t mind. He was used to it, and the noise of the city outside was a constant reminder that he was in control.

He was tired, but not tired enough to ignore the soft, comforting warmth of his wife’s presence in the house. Y/N had always been a grounding force in his life, a steady and unyielding presence in the chaos he’d cultivated around him. Her ability to move through their shared home with grace, her calm voice that always seemed to reassure him, and the quiet smile that never failed to make him feel seen—even when the world felt too overwhelming—had become his sanctuary.

But lately, something about her had changed, and it was impossible for him not to notice. Y/N had been quieter than usual, a soft glow about her that made him curious, yet he found himself hesitant to press. He didn’t want to pry—she would tell him when she was ready. But Silco had always been attuned to subtle shifts in the people around him. Maybe it was the way she moved, a little slower than usual, or the way her smile seemed to stretch a bit more when she looked at him. There was something in her eyes—something that made her seem like she was carrying a secret, a joyful one.

Still, he kept his focus on the task at hand, pushing his concerns to the back of his mind. There was no room for distractions in the world he had built. Or so he thought.

As the evening wore on, the thick silence of his office felt almost oppressive. Papers lay strewn across his desk in front of him—notes, plans, lists of names, contacts, and every other detail that came with being the leader of Zaun. Each piece of information was important in its own right, but none of it held the weight of what was coming.

The door creaked open, and the familiar sound of her presence filled the space. Y/N stepped inside, her silhouette framed by the soft, golden light spilling from the hallway. She held something small in her hand—a box wrapped in simple, soft paper. The kind of paper that looked fragile, yet carried a sense of significance, like it was something too precious to be in the hands of anyone else but him.

Silco looked up from his desk, raising an eyebrow at the sight of her. "What is this?" His voice was calm, though there was an undercurrent of curiosity in it.

Y/N’s soft smile widened slightly, the one she always wore when she had something special to share with him. "A gift," she said, her voice light but holding a certain weight to it, like she was trying to keep a secret, her excitement barely contained.

He looked at the box, then back at her, eyes narrowing slightly. "What’s in it?"

Y/N stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with warmth. "Something that’s going to change everything," she whispered softly, as if sharing the beginning of a new chapter in their lives.

Silco reached out, accepting the box from her with his usual calm demeanour, though a spark of curiosity flickered in his eyes. He carefully untied the string and unwrapped the paper, revealing a small wooden box. He opened it, expecting something insignificant—perhaps a trinket or a piece of jewellery—but instead, his gaze was met with something that made his heart skip a beat. It was a pregnancy test.

His gaze flickered up to Y/N’s face, trying to process what he was seeing. She was standing there before him, the soft curve of her belly unmistakable beneath her clothing. She had been glowing, but now that glow took on a new meaning. Her expression was tender, filled with a mixture of joy, excitement, and a hint of nervousness. It was clear what she was saying, yet he needed to hear it from her—needed to confirm what the test had already said.

"Darling…" His voice was softer than usual, cracking just a bit as he tried to make sense of the weight of the moment. His usually stoic demeanour faltered slightly, and for the first time in a long while, he was unsure of how to respond.

"I’m pregnant, Silco," she whispered, her words full of warmth and truth, yet she watched him intently, waiting for him to process the information, waiting for his reaction.

The room felt as though it had frozen around him. Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy with expectation. His heart began to beat faster, and his mind raced, not knowing what to do with the overwhelming rush of emotions flooding him. This was a new reality—a reality he hadn’t expected, not in the least.

Before he could find the words, something inside him snapped. It wasn’t just the surprise, the shock of it, or even the overwhelming joy he now felt—it was an instinct, deep and primal, a need to protect what was his, what they had created together. Without thinking, Silco stood from his desk, his hands shaking just slightly. His eyes never left hers, as if trying to anchor himself to her. When he reached her, he didn’t pause. He dropped to his knees in front of her, an action so foreign to him that even he was surprised.

It was the last thing anyone would ever expect from Silco, the man who had never knelt before anyone. But in that moment, with the weight of their future looming in the air, he pressed his forehead gently against her stomach, as though he were already trying to connect with the life growing inside her.

Y/N’s hand trembled as she placed it on his head, her fingers running through his hair, her heart swelling with tenderness. This man, the ruthless leader of Zaun, the one who had commanded fear and respect, was now kneeling before her. Before them.

His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. "I will protect you both. Always."

Those words, spoken with such conviction, held a power that none of his enemies would ever understand. In that simple vow, he was giving everything to her, to the life they were about to bring into the world. He wasn’t just the leader of a fractured city anymore. In that moment, he was a man with a family, a protector. And no one, not even the darkest corners of Zaun, could take that from him. "I’ll fight, I’ll bleed—whatever it takes, I’ll make sure you’re safe. Both of you."

Y/N felt her heart flutter in her chest as she looked down at him. His vulnerability, his devotion, and his promise struck her in ways words never could. The future was uncertain, yes. But for the first time, she didn’t fear it. She felt an overwhelming sense of peace. With Silco at her side, nothing could break them.

With trembling hands, she reached down and gently cupped his face, lifting his head to meet her eyes. "I know you will, my love."

Silco’s gaze softened, his eyes dark with affection and something more—something that had always been there but was now revealed in its fullest form. He leaned into her touch, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his palm, and he realized that in this life, he had finally found what he had been searching for all along: a purpose greater than power, a love greater than anything he had ever known.

For a long moment, they simply held each other, the world outside forgotten. In the quiet of their shared space, surrounded by the weight of his promise, Silco finally understood what it meant to be truly vulnerable. And he knew, deep in his soul, that whatever came next—no matter the battles they would face or the enemies who would try to tear them apart—he would protect Y/N and their unborn child with every breath in his body.

In that still, quiet moment, surrounded by the weight of his vow, Silco found something that had eluded him for years: true peace.

AU!CLAGGOR

It started like any other morning in your little apartment above the workshop—quiet, cozy, with just the right amount of dust motes dancing in the golden sunlight pouring through the cracked window. The gentle hum of Zaun life rose from below: the distant rattle of tram cars, someone hawking warm meat buns down the block, and the rhythmic clink of tools from the neighbours.

You were already up, wrapped in one of Claggor’s well-worn work shirts, the fabric falling halfway down your thighs. The scent of roasted coffee beans filled the small kitchen—rich, nutty, comforting. You’d gotten good at making it just the way he liked: two sugars, no cream, just enough heat to warm his hands when he held the mug in the morning.

You were barefoot, pacing a little more than usual. Your nerves were fluttering in your belly—not the bad kind, though. The kind that came with secret joy and the knowledge that something life-changing was about to happen.

Today was the day.

You’d spent the last week planning it all out—debating between funny, sentimental, over-the-top, or subtle. But in the end, you chose something simple. Something that would speak to Claggor’s heart in the best way. It sat innocently now on the table next to his breakfast plate: a little wooden box with a ribbon tied in a messy bow that you’d redone four times already.

You heard his boots on the stairs before you saw him—slow, sleepy steps that got quicker once he caught the smell of breakfast. Claggor came in with his usual sleepy grin, goggles perched on his forehead and hair sticking up slightly in the back. He looked every bit like the boy you’d fallen in love with—now the man you’d married—and something in your chest swelled.

“Smells like a good day already,” he said, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pressed a warm kiss to your cheek, his stubble scratching lightly against your skin.

You leaned into him, heart thudding. “Sit down, I made you something.”

Claggor gave you a look like you’d just handed him a treasure. “You’re spoiling me,” he said as he slid into his seat at the table, eyeing the spread. Eggs, toast, those little sausage links he liked, and his favourite kind of jam—imported from Piltover when you could afford it.

“Damn,” he said, chuckling. “You really love me, huh?”

“You’re not wrong.”

As he reached for his mug, you held your breath. His eyes landed on the box before he could take a sip. His hand paused. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” you said, trying and failing to play it cool. Your voice was pitched just a little too high with nerves.

He raised a brow at you—then smiled like he already suspected it was something special.

Claggor untied the bow and popped open the box.

Inside, nestled on a soft bed of cotton, was a tiny pair of goggles—crafted with careful attention to every detail, down to the miniature straps and scratched lenses. You’d stayed up late making them in secret, working under the soft light of your desk lamp. Next to the goggles was a note, a little wrinkled from how often you'd unfolded and re-folded it:

Coming soon: our littlest adventure. ETA: 9 months. Hope they get your smile.

There was silence. The kind that felt charged and electric.

Claggor stared at the box, then the note. His eyes blinked once. Twice.

“Wait…” His voice was soft, almost afraid to hope. “You’re—? Are you serious?”

You nodded, eyes stinging with tears. “I’m really serious.”

He stood so fast his chair scraped back across the floor, nearly tipping over. His hands were on your cheeks in the next second, warm and trembling. “You’re pregnant? You’re pregnant?”

You laughed through your own tears. “Claggor, yes. I promise it’s real.”

He let out something between a breathless laugh and a strangled sob, wrapping his arms around you so tightly you were momentarily lifted off the floor. “I’m gonna be a dad,” he murmured against your neck. “I’m gonna be a dad.”

His voice cracked at the end.

“I didn’t even know I could be this happy,” he said when he finally pulled back. His hands cradled your face like you might disappear if he let go. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And now—gods, we’re gonna have a kid? Together?”

“Well, unless I’ve been carrying someone else’s baby this whole time,” you teased.

He laughed wetly and kissed you again, slower this time. Sweeter.

You felt him glance back toward the table, toward the tiny goggles. He stepped over, picking them up like they were made of crystal. “I didn’t even think baby goggles existed.”

“They don’t. I made them.”

Claggor looked at you like you’d just given him the moon. “Okay, now I’m definitely crying.”

You walked over and leaned against him, placing his hand gently on your belly—even though there was no real bump yet. Just a little swell, a promise of what was to come.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” he whispered. “I want to build them a toy box. And—oh, wait! What if I put little lights inside their crib so it glows like a star field? Oh, and we’ll need a bookshelf. I’ll read them all the old stories Vander used to tell. And I’ll teach them how to weld. But, like, only when they’re not a baby anymore. Safety first.”

You couldn’t stop laughing. “Claggor, they’re not even the size of your palm yet.”

“I know,” he grinned. “But I’m already obsessed.”

You smiled, heart full. “Same.”

Then he suddenly gasped. “Wait, what if they inherit my nose?”

You paused. “Then they’ll be adorable and unmissable in a crowd.”

“Oh thank gods. I was worried they’d get my feet too.”

[mangooes]

A cat rescue mission with the dragon

The wind hummed through the ancient forest, rustling golden leaves beneath the twilight sky. The village on the horizon glowed faintly, but deep in the heart of the wilderness, a small cave nestled among the trees—a home that belonged to (Name) and Sylus.

Or rather, a wandering witch and the fearsome fiend dragon she had freed.

Sylus, the fiend dragon, lounged lazily on a large, sun-warmed boulder near their home. His usual massive, clawed wings were tucked against his back, his long white hair falling into his crimson eyes as he flicked an ember between his fingers.

He had been enjoying the peaceful evening—until a high-pitched cry reached his ears.

“SYLUS!!”

She came running out of the woods, her curly hair bouncing, eyes wide with urgency.

Sylus sighed, barely lifting his head. “What now, human?"

She grabbed his scaled arm, tugging him insistently. “Come quick! There’s a cat! It’s stuck! We have to save it!”

Sylus blinked at her. “…A what?”

“A CAT, SYLUS!” she all but yelled, flailing her hands for emphasis. “An adorable little creature! It’s stuck high up in the tree and can’t come down! It’s scared! We have to do something!”

Sylus flicked his gaze toward the pathetic little furball, its tiny form trembling as it clung to a dangerously thin branch.

The dragon sighed. "Let it fall."

She gasped dramatically. "Sylus!"

He smirked. "What? If it has nine lives, it can afford to lose one."

She stomped her foot. "You heartless lizard!"

Sylus snorted. "I’m a dragon, sweetheart."

"A dragon who is going to help me save that cat!"

Sylus narrowed his eyes, waiting for her to say one wrong thing.

Then she did.

She clasped her hands together, her bottom lip trembling just enough to be dangerous.

"Please, Sylus?" she whispered sweetly.

…Damn it.

He could feel his resolve crumbling like a weak fortress. She knew exactly how to break him.

With an exaggerated groan, the mighty fiend dragon lowered his head to her level. "Fine. But I’m not just getting the cat."

She blinked. "Huh?"

Without another word, he lifted her off the ground, placing her effortlessly on his broad, scaled shoulder.

She squeaked, grabbing onto his sharp horns. "Sylus—!"

"You wanted the cat?" His deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated beneath her hands. "Then we’re getting it together."

And with that, he launched into the sky.

Wind rushed past them as Sylus carried her effortlessly, his massive wings cutting through the air with ease.

From this height, the forest below looked like a sea of endless green, the sky stretching into a vast infinity.

She clung to his shoulder, her heart pounding with excitement. "Sylus! This is amazing!"

Sylus smirked. "You act as if I haven’t flown you before, little witch."

"Not while on a rescue mission!"

With a powerful wingbeat, Sylus hovered beside the tree where the frightened cat still clung for dear life.

She reached out carefully, her voice gentle and reassuring. "Shh, little one, it's okay..."

The cat meowed pitifully, its fur bristling, but (Name)’s warmth had a way of soothing all creatures.

As soon as she secured the cat in her arms, Sylus pulled away from the tree, descending gracefully.

But instead of landing immediately, he spiraled playfully through the air, dipping and turning just to hear her delighted laughter.

"Sylus! Stop playing around!"

"Why?" he purred, his deep voice dripping amusement. "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

She huffed, but he felt the way she buried her face into his scales, her warmth sinking into him.

He could fly with her forever.

When they finally landed, Sylus gently lowered her to the grass, his massive wings curling around her protectively.

She cradled the cat in her arms, beaming up at him.

"See?" she said, her smile bright. "You do have a heart."

Sylus arched a brow. "Don’t start rumors, kitten."

She laughed, pressing her face into the cat’s fur. "Thank you, Sylus."

He stared at her, completely, utterly enchanted.

Then, with a huff, he tugged the tail of his around her waist, tugging her closer to him.

"Don’t thank me," he murmured, his voice low and fond. "Just promise you won’t ask me to save a squirrel next."

(Name) giggled, satisfied with her adventure today.

But Sylus wasn’t really worried about that.

He was too busy wondering how a little witch had managed to tame a dragon’s heart.

I PROMISED A DRAGON SYLUS FLUFF DRAFT AND HERE IT IS!!! anywayss ill publish the part 2 of the cat series tomorrow since i still have to edit some stuff and i dont think im gonna include the other lis (sorry) anywayss MYTH SYLUS'S STORY LINE CAN STAB ME

[bohemianblasphemy]

Comfortable?

Billy Butcher x fem!reader

A massive thank you to @enchantedflameandflower for the inspo <3

Contains: one bed trope, butcher and reader being dumb and liking each other, reader wearing Butchers Hawaiian shirt to bed,unprotected sex, poorly written smut!!!

The latest mission had been a major bust.

Infiltrating Vought Tower was either going to end in success or failure, unfortunately the latter being the result.

An alarm had been tripped, all thanks to Hughie losing his footing trying to be quiet. The Boys barely got away as Homelander was hot on their trail, but ultimately losing them as the group split up in hiding.

Butcher and yourself managed to disappear, taking the Cadillac and running off to the rural outskirts of town.

The car ride was silent- trying to find somewhere to lay low for God knows how long.

“You alright?” Butcher asked lowly, breaking the silence gazing at you as you came down from your adrenaline rush. You gave him a quick nod before peering out of the car window- keeping a lookout for any danger that could approach us.

He eyeballed you, seeing the anxiety in your fidgety behaviour as he reached out to tentatively pat your shoulder. “Don’t have to be on alert, we’re okay yeah?” He reassured you, giving it a slight squeeze.

His touch- however innocent it was- made your skin prick up in goosebumps.

…..

“Sweetie we all see it, it’s not a bad thing! You both like each other… you should do something about it.” Annie nudged you with her elbow as you shared a bottle of liquor together.

“I’ve seen the way Butcher looks at you, he doesn’t look at anyone else like that.”

You just scoffed, taking another swig of the burning liquid. “Fuck no, Annie- I don’t like him like that, absolutely not, nuh uh.”

It was as if Annie was talking to a brick wall, but she’s not one to back down easily as she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t say I didn’t tell you so… you both will see it eventually.”

……

As you looked back at him- he gave a half hearted smile, before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the road, his hand on your shoulder moving back to the steering wheel.

“What’re we gonna do now?” You broke the silence once again.

“Next motel we come across, we’ll set up in there. I have a feelin’ we will be there for a few days.”

A few days.

Another nod of acknowledgment from you and the car fell silent again, the heavy sense of unknown tension hovering over you both.

The evening sky started to show, the horizon sporting its warm glow as the sun began to set over the picturesque landscape as the Cadillac pulled into the motel car park.

The building was outdated - broken bricks that had been painted over with chipped white paint and graffiti, broken glass and lost items on the concrete.

“This is-“ you tried to say a positive thing about the place.

“A shithole. But it’s better than nothin’. Let’s see if we can get some rooms.” Butcher shut his car door and carried himself over to reception, you quickly following behind him.

The reception desk was furnished with ripped up pamphlets about activities and tours, all of which were dating back to the 80s as you read them.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist was far from enthusiastic, not bothering to look up from the computer from her online shopping session.

“Two rooms please… best ya got in the place.” He requested, giving his signature smirk.

“Only have one room available.” She replied, their gaze falling on the two of you.

Your eyes widened, the blood rushed to your cheeks.

“Nah that ain’t gonna work-“

“It’s the one room or fuck off.” The lady pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag, exhaling the smoke into the stale air.

Butcher took a deep breath, scrunching his eyes closed in frustration before turning to you. Your flushed cheeks were obvious to him, but he didn’t bring attention to them.

“You right with sharin’, love?” He grumbled, sending a tight lipped smile your way.

“Y-yeah, fine- it’s fine.” You nodded, swaying back and forth on the balls of your feet.

The receptionist slammed the key on the counter.

“I hope you enjoy your stay.” She mumbled sarcastically, Billy taking the keys and muttering ‘Cunt’ under his breath before gesturing you to follow him to when you will both be staying.

Billy’s hand fumbled with the keys, opening the creaky wooden door to reveal the plain, cigarette smoke stained walls with paintings hung crookedly, a brown two seater couch with faded leather and another door leading to the bathroom- but it was clean and simple, all that you both needed.

That was until you both realised there was only one bed.

“I’m on the couch, you take the bed.” He pushed past you and placed his things on an arm chair in the corner.

“No, don’t worry I’ll do the couch-“

“Don’t be fuckin’ daft, I ain’t lettin’ ya sleep on the couch. I’ll be right.”

You wouldn’t back down, looking at the bed- it was big enough for the both of you, and you weren’t gonna let him have an uncomfortable nights sleep on an old couch with broken springs in it.

“We can share…” you offered quietly, which caused Billy to freeze as he unpacked. His brown eyes flickered between the bed and you. Something stirred in his gut about sharing with you that he couldn’t put his finger on.

“Alright, just don’t think any funny business yeah?” He teased, thinking it would ease the tension between them but it made the air even thicker around the room.

“Ha, wouldn’t dream of it!” You replied, mentally facepalming at how cringeworthy you sounded- the room becoming quiet and awkward.

“I’m… gonna shower, I’ll be back in a moment.” You went to your pack, trying to find a shirt that you had kept spare - to no avail.

“Shit- fucking shit.” You muttered, sighing frustratedly. “I haven’t got anything to change into…”

Billy chuckled, going through his bag and pulling out one of his spare Hawaiian shirts he always kept on him, adorned with tropical flowers.

“Have this love, just don’t be gettin’ shit all over it.” He joked.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna-“

“Don’t be an idiot, just take the fuckin shirt.”

He was final in his words, raising his brows as he waiting for you to take the it from his hand- which you did, muttering a quick thank you and bee lining to the bathroom.

His eyes followed you, the thoughts of how you’d look in his shirt when you’d come out of that room made him anxious, excited even- thinking of your wet hair draped on your shoulders, the material of his shirt hanging off your shoulders, barely covering your-

Get it together Butcher…

He mentally chastised himself, not allowing himself to think like that about you- but it was so fucking hard not to as he started to wind down for the evening, kicking off his shoes and removing his jeans, leaving him in his boxer shorts and shirt- moving to lay on one side of the bed; trying to distract his mind with whatever was playing on the TV.

The feel of the hot soapy water on your skin was what you needed after the long day, feeling the dirt and stress melt off your body as the shower cascaded down.

You couldn’t help but this of the man in that room next to you, imagining the possibilities of what the night could bring- thinking of his strong hands gripping you-

No. No.

As you finished up in the shower and dried yourself off, you draped butchers shirt over your torso and buttoned it up, pulling up your underwear and turning to check yourself out in the mirror.

It was soft, the length of it falling just below your ass- it smelt distinctly like him and it drove you insane.

Your hand reached the handle, the door squeaking open to see Billy laying on the bed as his head swung to the sound of the door hinges.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he muttered, his eyes running over your form, drinking in how you looked in his shirt.

god it was gonna be hard for him to keep his hands off you.

You looked at him from across the way, feeling that same tension from before starting to thicken the air again.

“Thank you again…” you muttered, making your way to the bed and lying down next to him.

He grumbled in response, trying not let his eyes linger over you for too long.

The two of you sat in awkward silence, your eyes glued to the tv as you both tried to squash down the ringing desire that overrode your thoughts.

His eyes however kept glancing at you, completely mesmerised by how you looked in his clothes.

“You comfortable?” He remarked quietly, a different contrast to what you were used to with him. You nodded, smiling at him as you turned to acknowledge him as he returned a soft smile.

You couldn’t take it, the weird tension was too much to have it continue like this.

You moved your leg to touch his just that little bit- to feel his warmth, to let him know that you felt how he did. His body tensed up, exhaling a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

Billy relaxed as he felt the warmth of your thigh, his large palm hesitantly hovering over your skin before placing it gently on you- his calloused hand a stark contrast to your soft skin. His touch caused your skin to prickle, goosebumps raising up as he started to slowly move it along your thigh, a shaky breath escaping his lips as he glanced at you.

“Y/N…” he breathed out, causing you to swivel your head up to see his eyes at the sound of your name.

“Yeah?”

The distance between you both was agonising, so close yet so far; your hunger for each other was too strong as the string of restraint began to break.

His eyes averted to your plush lips, watching you mirror his actions.

“Fuck…” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Fuck indeed…” you replied, your lips just ghosting over his- making him breathe out in a fluster.

“We shouldn’t be doing this-“ you whispered back, feeling his hot breath on your face.

“But if we don’t I’m going to go crazy…” Billy cut you off, bringing his hand from your thigh to your face.

A few moments passed of just staring at each other with unbearable lust, before that string of restraint snapped- Billy muttering “fuck it” under his breath before pressing his lips on yours, pulling you toward him so he could hold you in his lap.

Pulling you up so you could straddle his hips, the kiss never broke- your tongues and teeth clashing in a fiery embrace.

Soft moans filling the room as his hands roamed your thighs, moving them up to grip and spanking your ass, the sound echoing off the walls.

“Fuck Billy…” you moaned into his mouth from his hands impact, causing him to chuckle.

“Oh you liked that didn’t ya?” He bit your bottom lip playfully before doing it again, coaxing the same reaction from you.

Your hands pulled at his hair as you slowly grinned against his hardened clothed cock, earning a groan from him.

“Bloody hell sweetheart, if I don’t fuck ya now I’m gonna explode…” he chuckled lowly, pressing his lips against your neck- sucking down on yours sensitive skin.

“God please- please fuck me…” you whined desperately, going to remove his shirt off of your body.

“Nuh uh- leave that on.” He protested, pushing you on your back, splayed out on the mattress beneath him as he moved to sit on his knees above you.

He looked at you below him- your kiss bitten lips and hair splayed on the mattress beneath you.

“You are a sight for sore eyes love…” he smirked, hooking his fingers to pull down your underwear- flinging them to the floor as he took in the sight of your glistening core. Billy licked his lips in anticipation, dragging his fingers along your cunt.

“Billy… please I need to feel you.” you whispered breathlessly, your hips rocking against his digits. “So desperate huh?” He grinned, pulling his fingers away from you and sucking your wetness off of them.

“So sweet… and all mine.” He growled, pulling his boxers down to reveal his hard cock, spitting in his palm and pumping his hand along his length, grunting at the pleasure.

Your mouth fell open at the sight and his possessive words, watching as he spread your thighs further apart, shuffling in closer to drag his length along your sopping cunt, enlisting a moan from your lips.

“Can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy…” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, hearing your whiney moans as he teases your entrance before filling you up deliciously, pushing himself inside you with a groan.

“Oh fuck Billy!” You moaned, gripping onto his shoulders as you adjusted to the sensation. Billy slowly moves his hips against yours, listening as he heard your soft gasps, little whimpers as he picked up the pace of his thrusts.

“God you feel fuckin’ incredible…” he praised, watching your face contort in pleasured expressions.

One of your hands grappled onto his back, digging your nails into the blades of his shoulders- your other hand reaching down to rub your swollen clit, making the sensation all the more satisfying as he continued his unfaltering pace, the slapping of skin and the sinful moans bounced off the walls. “D-don’t stop- oh my god…”

He groaned at how good you felt, looked and sounded - his senses in overdrive as he came close to his peak, his cock twitching inside you, feeling your silky walls pulsating around him.

“G-gonna cum- fuck…”

After a few final thrusts, his head fell forward and his face screwed up as he came deep inside your cunt, a deep growl erupting deep from his chest.

Your orgasm washed over you, crying out his name and digging your nails further into his skin, your thighs quivering as you came down from your high.

Billy looked down at your flustered, perfectly flustered features- leaning down to kiss your pouted lips.

“You have-“ he took a breath, chuckling softly. “No idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that… with ya.”

You looked up at him, letting out a quiet giggle. “Me too, shit I’ve been missing out on that?” You smiled at him, making his heart flutter.

“That is just the tip of the iceberg love, and we have all night to make up for it…” he teased, placing another kiss to your lips- knowing that it was going to be an eventful evening.

[alluringwaves]

why couldn’t you be ready too? luke castellan ೃ࿔*:

luke castellan x fem!reader

why couldn't you be ready, too? / i was ready, ready to be happy / ready for that long look that never ends / and, now, i don't know what to do

song: jonny (reprise) – faye webster

You never asked Luke to be perfect.

You knew what he carried—more than most. You saw the fury behind his jokes, the fracture behind his charm, the weight of a boy who’d been passed around like an afterthought, too clever to be pitied and too angry to be saved. You never looked away from that.

You looked through it.

You saw the boy who knew every shortcut through the forest and used them to smuggle fresh strawberries for the younger campers. The boy who trained until his hands bled, then wrapped them in silence. The boy who lit up when you laughed, but never quite believed he deserved to be the reason.

You loved him the way still water holds the sky—quietly, entirely, without needing to be seen.

And you waited. Gods, you waited. Through the half-explanations and long silences, the way he kissed you like a promise but never followed it with words. You filled the gaps with hope, wove his absences into something noble. Told yourself his distance was protection, not fear.

You were ready. To be chosen. To be seen. To share something real in a world that so rarely gave you anything solid to hold.

But Luke—Luke was always looking past you.

At Olympus. At betrayal. At the future he thought had been stolen from him before he ever got the chance to live it.

You kept hoping he’d stop. That just once, he’d stop running and look at you—really look at you. That he’d see someone not trying to fix him or change him or worship him, just someone who loved him anyway.

But he never did.

Not in the way you needed him to.

There’s a kind of grief no one prepares you for: the grief of loving someone who wasn’t ready to be loved. Who couldn’t hold what you offered without twisting it into another burden. Who saw your devotion and only felt the weight of another thing he might one day lose.

You remember the last time you saw him before everything changed.

He stood under the trees with his hands in his pockets, eyes on the horizon, like the sky had an answer he hadn’t found yet. You asked him—softly, stupidly—if he was coming back. And he looked at you like he wanted to lie. Like he almost did.

But instead, he just smiled that tired, crooked smile and said, “Don’t wait for me.”

You wanted to say I already have.

You wanted to scream, I was ready. Ready to be happy. Ready for you.

But you didn’t.

Because even then, you knew it wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t leaving you. Not really. He was leaving everything. You were just collateral.

Now, it’s quiet. He’s gone. The war’s over—or close enough. And you’re left with the strange ache of an almost-life. A love that hovered at the edge of becoming but never arrived.

You think about that white wall sometimes. The one in that quote neither of you can quite place. “A white wall may seem empty, but it’s ready to be filled. And, in its readiness, needs nothing. It stands complete.”

Maybe that’s you now.

Still. Waiting. Complete, not because you got what you wanted, but because you learned to want what you already have.

Yourself.

It doesn’t make the silence hurt less. But it makes it yours.

And somewhere, out there, Luke is still chasing something.

You just hope, one day, he stops long enough to wonder why he couldn’t be ready, too.

[cxnfucius]

Pathetic Fallacy

Tags: Hurt and comfort, Fluff, Jason Todd X GN Reader, slight OOC Jason

— — —

The city breathes beneath you, slow and indifferent. Lights blink in windows like tired eyes. Somewhere, far away, someone laughs. Someone is loved. It’s a noise you can’t reach.

You sit with your arms wrapped tight around your knees, a blanket draped over your shoulders like armor. Not for the cold. You aren’t sure what for.

Jason does not speak when he sits. He is quiet the way storms are before they break. Still, but watching. You feel him before you hear him. Like gravity, quietly insisting.

Minutes pass. The silence between you stretches, soft as thread.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

You don’t look at him. “Fine.”

He doesn’t press. Of course he doesn’t.

But something loosens in your chest. Enough that when the words come, you don’t stop them.

“It’s stupid,” you say. “I just… sometimes it feels like everyone else has it figured out. Love. Belonging. Like it’s something handed to other people and withheld from me. Like the universe decided I wouldn’t need it.”

He’s silent. But not distant.

And then, gently: “It’s not stupid.”

You glance at him.

He’s not looking at you, not fully. His gaze is somewhere just beyond, on the horizon, the lights, a thought he hasn’t named. His hands are braced on his knees, still, and tight-fisted.

“I used to think that too,” he says. “That it was for other people. That maybe I was born wrong. Too rough. Too much.”

Your throat aches. You don’t know what to say.

“Do you think it’s selfish,” you whisper, “to want someone who chooses you and stays?”

“No,” he says. “I think it’s the most human thing there is.”

There is a long, trembling pause.

The brush of his knuckles is not quite a touch. Not quite nothing.

It is the smallest thing he can give you, and it is everything.

You lower your eyes to the place where your hands almost meet.

“I hope,” he says, low like a prayer, “that when it comes, it doesn’t ask you to shrink to be loved. That it sees you as you are and calls you home.”

You don’t respond.

You can’t.

But you let your pinky curl against his. Just for a moment. Just enough.

And in that breath of closeness, something in him shatters quietly. Not loud enough for you to hear. But you feel the echo of it in your bones.

—

The days after that moment pass like pages turned in a book you cannot put down and yet cannot bear to read too quickly.

Nothing is said about the night on the fire escape. No grand confessions. No declarations. But something has shifted.

You feel it in the way he watches you now—more deliberate. As if he is memorizing the shape of you each time you turn away.

He walks with you in silence more often than he speaks. He lingers in doorways longer than necessary. His presence is not loud, it’s loyal. Steady. Like a shadow that never leaves, no matter how bright the light.

You think: if I turned around quickly enough, I’d catch him looking.

You never do. He is careful.

One evening, it rains. Not the kind of rain that lashes the windows or floods the streets, but the soft kind. The kind that feels like sorrow with no name. You are both caught in it, too far from shelter to outrun it. So you walk side by side, soaked to the bone.

Jason doesn’t offer his jacket. He simply moves closer—not touching, never touching—but you feel his warmth like a hearthfire beside you.

When thunder rolls distantly, you flinch, just slightly. It’s nothing, really. A reflex from some older hurt. But he notices.

He always notices.

His voice cuts gently through the rain. “You alright?”

You nod too quickly.

A beat. Then his hand hovers at your back, uncertain.

You stop walking.

And that’s when he looks at you. Fully, this time. No veiled glances, no glancing away. His eyes are storm-heavy. Unspoken things crash behind them like waves.

“I don’t want to overstep,” he says quietly, hoarsely, “but I need you to know… I see you.”

And you can’t answer.

Instead, you shift just enough that your shoulder brushes his. That’s all. The smallest of acknowledgments.

But for Jason, it is everything.

Because in this slow, fragile orbit you’ve built between each other, that small touch feels like a vow.

—

It doesn’t happen on a rooftop.

Not in the aftermath of a fight, or in the haze of pain, or while bleeding under a city that doesn’t know how to stop demanding things from him.

It happens on a morning so still it feels like a held breath.

You’re both in the kitchen. The sun is just beginning to pour through the windows, soft and golden, catching on the steam from the kettle. You’re barefoot. He’s wearing a threadbare shirt you think might once have belonged to someone else. It smells like smoke and soap and him.

The quiet between you is easy. You’re stirring honey into your tea when he says it.

Not loudly.

Not even while looking at you.

“I’m in love with you.”

The spoon pauses in your cup. Just for a second.

And when you glance up, he’s still watching the window. His shoulders tense, bracing for the world to break beneath his feet.

You don’t speak. You watch the light spill across his face.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says. “Didn’t plan it. I tried not to.” A soft laugh escapes him, bitter and breathless. “God, I really tried.”

He looks at you then. Really looks.

“And I know it’s not fair. I know I don’t have the right to ask for anything. I’ve got blood on my hands and too many ghosts behind me. I’m not clean. I’m not… safe. But every time I’m near you, I feel like… like maybe I was wrong about the kind of life I’m allowed to have.”

You set the spoon down.

He’s quiet again. The confession spent. Like he’s given away a part of himself he’ll never get back.

And still, he doesn’t ask.

He doesn’t beg for an answer.

Just stands there, the silence around him thick with a love too old for his years.

You move slowly. One step, then another, until you’re close enough to touch him. You don’t.

Instead, you say with a reverence of a truth you’ve only just discovered, “You always make the tea just the way I like it. Even when you pretend not to remember.”

His mouth quirks into something that might be a smile. But his eyes are cautious, searching. Like he’s trying not to hope.

You reach for him.

Your fingers graze his own, tender, open. And his hand turns toward yours like he’s been waiting for it.

“I love you too,” you whisper. “Quietly. Carefully. Probably longer than I realized.”

And something in him breaks. Like a window thrown wide to let the spring air in.

He doesn’t pull you into his arms.

He doesn’t need to.

He just stands there, breathing the same air as you, his eyes soft and stunned and full of something that finally—finally—doesn’t look like grief.

This is the moment the world tilts with its stillness. The ache in your chest does not vanish, but it shifts, it becomes something golden-edged, something you can hold.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe: perhaps this is the beginning. Perhaps you are allowed to want.

[srue-on-fire]

Everything Comes Back To You

2. LIGHT IN THE DARK

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader Rating: General Audiences Title: Niall Horan's Flicker Summary: After Shannon leaves, surrendering custody of Christopher, Eddie is left to raise him alone under the weight of guilt and his parents’ judgment. You try to hold everything together, but love, frustration, and a bitter argument leave you both fractured and silent. Tags: childhood friends, temporarily unrequited love, angst, emotional hurt. Word Count: 1300

read on ao3 ~ part one | tumblr

🐟

The days slipped by in strange shapes. Some were heavy, dragging behind you like wet laundry. Others passed so fast you didn’t remember what you ate or said or did, only that it had been one more day without them.

No Christopher. No tiny sneakers on the welcome mat. No Eddie. No worn jacket tossed over your couch.

After the first week, it felt like holding onto numbers was a way to keep the pain alive —like checking the wound every morning to see if it still bled. And it always did. You’d wake up and your heart would ache the same way it did the day Maria told you they were gone.

So instead, you learned to exist again. You started filling your days with the kind of things that didn’t make space for grief —going to work, volunteering at community center, walking shelter dogs, baking muffins you didn’t eat. You’d learned how to keep busy without feeling better.

You stopped checking your phone after the second week. It didn’t help. Not when there was no missed call. No text. Not even a dumb meme Eddie would’ve sent when he didn’t know how to say he missed you. 

And oh fucking hell, did you miss him . 

You told yourself it was better this way. You told yourself this was what love looked like sometimes.

But you never stopped glancing at the crayon drawing still pinned under the fading fridge magnet. The pictures on your walls. In your phone.

Especially Christopher’s. His laughter haunted the corners of your house.

You missed the way his arms would wrap around your waist and squeeze with everything he had. You missed how he’d ask questions you weren’t ready to answer —like the time he asked ‘ why do grown-ups cry when they think nobody can hear them?’ when Shannon had a bad day and left him with you.  

You missed the little things. Friday evenings at the park. Making him pancakes shaped like dinosaurs or spacecrafts.

You missed your little boy.

🐟

It happened on a Wednesday.

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, spilling orange light across the kitchen floor while you stood at the counter, chopping vegetables without much thought. The house was too quiet, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the click of the knife against the wooden board.

Your phone buzzed.

You glanced at it without much interest— then froze.

New text from: Abuela Isabella

Your heart stuttered. Then stopped entirely when you read the message.

Abuela Isabel Hi 🐟 I miss u Dont tell bisabuela ok

Your knife slipped against the cutting board. You barely noticed. You fumbled the phone into your wet, shaking hands, breath caught in your throat.

You Who is this?

Three dots blinked.

Abuela Isabel Its me Christopher 🙂

Your knees went weak. You braced yourself against the counter, exhaling sharply, pressing a hand to your chest. It took another few seconds before your brain rebooted and you scrambled to type a reply.

You Oh my god, kiddo I miss you too! Are you okay??

The reply was instant. 

Abuela Isabel Yes We have fish I miss pancakes

You Fish??

Abuela Isabel Yes real ones One is named noodle She is my best friend now

You laughed. It came out rough and wet and more like a sob than a sound of joy. You covered your mouth with your hand and sat down slowly at the kitchen table.

You I’m so glad you have Noodle. I bet she’s lucky to have you, too.

Abuela Isabel Is daddy okay? He says weird things Like he's glad I am his kid

You stared at the question. Your thumbs hovered above the keyboard, unmoving. It shouldn’t be a hard thing to answer. But it felt like holding a glass sculpture in your hands —too fragile, too sharp in the wrong places.

You He will be. He’s trying really hard, huh?

The reply came quicker this time.

Abuela Isabel Yes He runs a lot He says others are fast but he is faster I think he is like a superhero

You chuckled as more tears welled up. Of course, Christopher thought that. That kid was so proud of his dad, if only the dad knew it.

You I bet he is. I’m proud of him.

There was a pause. Just a few moments, but it felt like time stretched thin between each bubble of dots.

Abuela Isabel Are you mad at daddy? He told abuela that you fought Dont tell him I was listening ok

You stared at the question. Felt the echo of it hit somewhere deep in your chest, just under the bone. It wasn’t fair —that Christopher had to ask. That he was the one threading the needle between two broken hearts, trying to sew something back together with hands still learning to tie shoelaces.

You pressed your forehead to the table.

Then you typed.

You No, sweetheart. I could never stay mad at your dad.

You paused. Watched the cursor blink like it was holding its breath.

We just said things that hurt. But I still love him. Very much.

More dots. And then, 

Abuela Isabel I think he misses u too Like I go to sleep He sits on the porch and looks sad

You gripped the phone tighter and squeezed your eyes shut.

You I sit on the porch too. The light is flickering. I need to fix it.

Abuela Isabel There is a light here too But it is too bright I like the your porch better

You Me too. I miss you, Christopher. Every day.

Abuela Isabel Miss you too Ok I told Noodle u missed me She says hi

You smiled, watery. Imagining a fish tank perched on abuela’s sun room table, sunlight dancing on glass. Tiny fingerprints where he probably tried to chase the fish. It was calm and warm and so Christopher.

You Give her a cuddle for me. And tell her I said thanks for keeping you company.

You hesitated again. Then, careful, 

You Can you do something for me, mijo?

Abuela Isabel Ok

You Tell your dad to be kind to himself. Even when it’s hard.

There was a longer pause this time. You could picture him, tongue between his teeth, thinking hard like he always did when he felt like something was too big for just words.

Abuela Isabel I will But only if he lets me eat ice cream first

You laughed again. This time, it didn’t hurt as much.

Another beat.

Abuela Isabel Ok I need to go

You Alright. Love you, kiddo. Give Noodle a high five from me.

Abuela Isabel Ok She does not have hands But I will try I love you too 🐟💙

You laughed again. A soft, shaky thing. Your hand pressed over your heart like it might keep it from breaking wide open all over again.

You didn’t move after that. Just sat there, phone warm in your hand, the kitchen bathed in orange light. It smelled like cut vegetables and lemon and something like hope.

He was okay. He was okay. They were okay.

Maybe the wound hadn’t closed. Maybe it never would. But for the first time in weeks, it didn’t ache so loudly.

For now, there was hope.

And one little boy with a fish emoji who still knew exactly where to find you.

🐟

A/N: Thank you so much for the response on the first part, guys!

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Indulgence: Something Sweeter

Pairing: Halsin x GN!Reader Rating: E (Explicit) 18+, MDNI/NSFW Warnings: Kind of porn without plot, but most of the plot is in the previous section of this. Fingering, oral (m receiving and GN receiving), finger licking/sucking, nipple play, penetrative sex in orifice of your choosing, biting, predator play if you squint really hard. Summary: Halsin has always struggled with indulging in the more pleasurable aspects of life. However, with the shadow curse lifted and your group now on the road to Baldur's Gate, you and Halsin find time to indulge in a bit of fun and a sweet treat before retiring for the evening. Word Count: 12.8K (7.5k of which is smut about 1/3 of the way down) a/n: As usual, this took me significantly longer and ended up much wordier than I had originally anticipated, but that seems to be my thing. I tried my best to keep this as gender neutral as possible and I think I did well with it, but keep in mind that I just self insert my Tav when writing so if there are mentions of a gendered reader, I'm very sorry. Anyway, this is a follow up to another fic I posted a little while ago, but you don't have to read that in order to read this one. This one is main all about the smut, but if you'd like to know the context behind some things as well as the tension build up, you can find the first part linked below! I've written smut before and I've posted a few snippets here and there, but I've never posted an entire fic for it so I'm about to post this and dip out for the night. Thank you so much to everyone that has left love on the first part of this!

Read on AO3 here if you prefer! Part 1 of this fic can be found here. Masterlist

The area surrounding the town Rivington was uncomfortably hot and incessantly muggy, days of rain left the air humid even after the sun had long set below the horizon. Given the heat of the day and the exhaustion that had come with it, you and your party had decided to camp early for the evening, ready to get a good nights rest before arriving in Rivington and ultimately into Baldur’s Gate. The last remaining rays of sunshine had turned a vibrant orange with streaks of gold, giving you barely enough light to see what you were doing without causing injury to yourself.

Sweat lazily rolled down the back of your neck, tickling the hair at the nape as you focused on steading your hand. The sharpened blade of your knife gently sliced through the soft, malleable wax of the honeycomb you were carefully trying to harvest from the beehive hovering above you. You turned your blade slowly as you cut, gently nudging the occasional honeybee out of the way with the tip of your finger as to avoid harming them. You were precariously balanced on the stump of a dead tree that you’d pulled to the hive and wedged between the roots of the tall oak that you stood before. 

You managed to slice a decent sized chunk of honeycomb from the tree, holding it carefully between your fingers to keep from crushing it as you bent your knees into a squat. You dropped the fresh honeycomb into a glass jar that that sat nestled between your mud covered boots, your fingers clutching the bark with your nails to keep yourself steady. As you stood back up to collect more of the honeycomb, you could hear the ever growing buzz of the bees you were dangerously close to upsetting. You stuck your knife back into the wax, beginning to slice again as you heard a slow stride of footsteps approach.

“And how many stings have you collected this evening, my friend?” The deep rumble of Halsin’s voice carried through the silence of the forest. He referenced your run in with a hive of angry bees from a few nights prior, having been stung multiple times in an attempt to get a jar of honey after a strong craving for something sweet. By the end of the night, you wound up sitting cross legged in Halsin’s tent as he meticulously pulled bee stingers from numerous welts across any bit of exposed skin.

“Your humor escapes me sometimes, did you know that?” You asked as you peered over your shoulder, offering a playful smile  to Halsin as he joined you, standing by your side as you attempted to balance yourself on your tree stump. Your balance was unfortunately short lived as a bee zipped by your head, making you duck as a reflex. Given that you weren’t the most graceful person to walk amongst your group, you quickly lost your footing and starting the quick fall backwards.

Thankfully, like he had done at the pond a few nights prior, Halsin managed to catch you before you left the top of your stump. However, instead of taking him down with you, Halsin’s stance was firm and was able to support your weight. His hands quickly grabbed the back of your thighs, which were at chest level for him because of the height given to you by your makeshift stool, and held you firmly. With a light shove, he pushed you back into your stool and held you until you had regained your footing.

“Just as caution escapes you.” He said as he continued to brace his large hands against the back of your thighs, holding them firmly in his grasp. Your heart fluttered as you felt him pressing against you, clearing your throat before returning your knife to the honeycomb. You sliced another chunk from the hive, dropping the sweet treat into the open jar as Halsin offered it to you, having taken it from between your feet. Satisfied with the fullness of the jar, you cleaned your knife on the rim before sheathing it back against your hip.

“I’ll have you know that you’re the only reason I’m here.” You said as you hopped down from your tree stump, sticking your fingers in your mouth to clean them of any remaining honey.

“If my memory serves me,” he said as he wiped the rim of the jar with his finger, “I don’t believe we declared a winner for that little game of ours. Instead, you toppled into the lake and took me with you.” You chuckled at the thought, remembering night fondly. You had promised each other a jar of fresh honey for whoever could skip a stone the farthest across a lake at your previous camp, but the night had ended with you both in the lake and aching for a kiss. You had longed for more with Halsin even before that fateful night, but since then it had been a burning desire that gnawed at your heart. 

“We didn’t, but we both know I certainly win that little game. And I’m afraid we’re running out of time for another chance.” Your eyes remained on his finger, watching as it circled the rim of the jar and cleaned it of any honey that had dribbled down the side.

“I’m afraid it does.” Halsin said softly, a hint of sadness flickering in his voice, suggesting he shared your sentiment. You both stood there quietly, unsure of what to say next or where to take the remainder of the evening. 

The shine of the leftover honey on Halsin’s forefinger caught your eye, tempting you to take a taste of it for yourself. You eyed the thick droplet of honey that threatened to drip onto the forest floor below, gently biting your lip as you tried to fight back the urge that had suddenly come over you. Unlike Halsin, you always had much less self control over your actions and frequently dove into impulsive thoughts with reckless abandon. With that in mind, you took Halsin’s hand in your own, eyeing the thick, amber colored syrup on his finger for a moment before sticking the entirety of his forefinger into your watering mouth.

They honey was sweet and thick against your tongue, a delightful treat that briefly alleviated the stress of day. Given just how sticky and fresh the honey was, you were unable to quickly clean Halsin’s finger of the substance. Your tongue wrapped around the tip of his finger, swirling the digit briefly before pressing the extremity to the roof of your mouth and suckling gently. Your eyes flicked upwards to meet Halsin’s, holding his stare as you diligently licked and sucked the honey from his finger teasingly slow. 

Halsin’s heart beat rapidly against his chest, pounding against the inside of his ribcage as he watched and felt every second of your tongue dancing across his skin. Your tongue was soft and wet, caressing every bit of skin you came across with a delicate touch. However, there was a bit of roughness from time to time, the feeling of your tastebuds prickled against him as you continued to lick. With your tongue pressing his finger to the roof of your mouth, you had created a deliciously tight suction around his finger, making it throb in tune with his steadily pounding heart. The suction was strong enough that even if he wanted to, Halsin would have had difficulty removing his finger from your mouth.

Halsin felt the all too familiar of tension of arousal forming in his shoulders and neck as his skin began to grow warm. The promise that you had made to each other for a secluded night away to indulge in each other had yet to come to fruition, something always interrupting the peaceful camp nights to prevent you from sneaking away, and you both were growing restless. You and Halsin had almost made it a game of seeing how worked up you could get the other, all with the hope of the following night to finally be the night where you could drop all responsibilities for a few hours and simply lose each other in kisses and caresses. 

Halsin was much better at the spoken teasings. His words were able to quickly make your heart flutter and your cheeks flush, leaving you longing for more of his praises and composed flirtations. You, on the other hand, were much more efficient at teasingly soft physical contact; a sweeping brush of your shoulder against his bare arm as you walked your path towards Baldur’s Gate, your thigh just barely touching his own while sitting around the campfire, and even a lingering touch when you happened to brush hands with each other. This, on the other hand, was the most forward you’d been since you had both skipped stones together a few nights prior. You were growing impatient with waiting; you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

After you were certain his finger had been thoroughly cleaned of any remaining bits of honey, you slowly pulled your mouth from him, making sure that when he finally passed through the tight ring of your lips there was a resounding pop. You looked over your work, making sure you were satisfied with the cleanliness you’d offered before letting his hand drop back to his side. He cocked his head at you with a look of disbelief, surprised at your boldness only a few meters from your campmates.

“What?” You asked playfully, “It would be a shame to let it go to waste.” You offered a coy smile to Halsin before turning on your heels, promptly making your way back to camp to join your other companions for the march ahead in the morning, leaving the druid standing under the heavy cloak of the oak tree with a blush on his cheeks and a sudden tightness in his trousers, the jar of honey still in his hand. 

Halsin was sure that if he didn’t act now, a chance of having a night alone with you under the stars would never happen. Tomorrow, you and your team would arrive at Baldur’s Gate, the end of your journey together rapidly approaching each day that passed, and very soon he was certain you would part ways. You had both been waiting for the ideal moment when the camp was asleep and you could slip away together quietly, but the opportunity had yet to present itself. Between attacks from lingering cultists and interruptions from whatever creature lurked in the artifact you carried, a peaceful evening where you could indulge in the other was nearly impossible to come by. Halsin wanted a night with you, desperately, and he was sure you did as well, but if that were to happen it needed to happen now.

You felt Halsin’s hands secure themselves around your waist with a grip that wasn’t firm enough to actually hurt, but enough to maneuver you around as he wished. He pressed your back along the rough bark of the tree, far enough away from the still calm beehive that you could no longer hear the faint buzzing of the residents inside. Your foot knocked against the jar of honey he had dropped when he reached for you, leaving it to the ground for now as you came face to face with the druid. Halsin’s pupils had dilated when you looked up to him, noting that the pulse point in his neck was thumping rapidly.

“You have been teasing me with that touch of yours for days now.” Halsin’s voice was low against your ear, a slight waver to his voice as hot breath that came out in quick pants tickled the hair on your neck. He loomed over you, his forearms braced against the tree as his mouth hung teasingly close to yours. You could see his chest heave with each breath, pressing against the fabric of his camp clothes with each carefully controlled inhale. Despite his usually calm demeanor, you could see the self control beginning to crack and the long suppressed warmth of excitement begin to peek through. 

“And yet,” you whispered, “you’ve done nothing about it.” Halsin cocked his head slightly to one side, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Although you weren’t completely incorrect with your statement, he took no offense. You were both aware of the lack of opportune moments that the road to Baldur’s Gate offered since your night together in the woods, so if anything, he took your words as an invitation to finally act on long suppressed impulses.

“Then I believe it’s high time I change that, hmm?” Halsin asked softly, your own heart beginning to increase in speed as the reality of the moment set in. Halsin’s eyes closed as he readied himself to steal the kiss from you that he’d been fantasizing about for weeks now, but you hadn’t quite finished in your teasing of the druid just yet. Before his lips could brush yours, you ducked under his arm, rolling against your shoulder until you pushed off the tree and out from under his frame before flitting around to the opposite side.

Halsin’s head lifted, a quizzical look crossing his face as his gaze followed the path you had taken around the tree, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of you. He kept this hand along the bark of the tree, dragging it along as he walked around, surprised to see that you had seemingly disappeared. Although you were not as sneaky as some of your other campmates, you were light on your feet compared to Halsin, giving you an advantage in the game you had started. 

With his attention still focused on finding you at some point along the tree, you had managed to quietly slip around the whole of the oak, quietly stepping behind the druid. You ran the tips of your fingers lightly against the top of his hand, noting how the hair on his arm prickled at your touch. Halsin swung his body in the direction you had come from, his heart rate picking up when he realized you were teasing him even more. He was met with another empty space, finding that you had vanished yet again. Taking a few steps forward, Halsin creeped along the tree the best he could, hoping to find out on the other side.

A tingle ran up his spine when he felt your nails lightly scratch over his lower back through his tunic, a low growl coming from his lips as he quickly reached one of his large arms behind him in an attempt to grab your arm before you could scurry away again. However, you had evaded him once more, leaving him to begin his hunt around the tree yet again. Halsin’s ears perked and his gaze flicked to a nearby tree at the sound of a soft whistle, smirking to himself when his gaze finally landed on you. You had managed to dart to a tree further in the woods, lazily leaning against the trunk as you waited for him to follow. 

Halsin’s fingers lingered on the tree as he stepped away, slowly approaching you in your new spot. Your eyes fell to his hips, entranced with the way they swung with his distinctive gait. His manner of walking was always something that grabbed your attention, having learned early on that there were a few traits from the bear that bled into Halsin’s day-to-day life and his walking pace was certainly one of them. As he stepped closer to you, your eyes traveled up from his waist and met his eyes, which were filled with an equal mixture of lust and excitement. When he finally made his way, Halsin reached for you with a hand that trembled ever so lightly with excitement.

Before his hand could make contact with you, you had taken a step back and disappeared behind a tree once again, clearly set on continuing your little game. You both quickly fell into a rhythm of teasing touches and quick darts to the next tree. As much as you enjoyed simply teasing the usually calm man reaching out for you, you had other reasons. You wanted to get far enough away from camp so you could indulge in a bit of privacy if things processed the way you expected, not wanting to be disturbed by a feathered companion or someone coming to investigate any peculiar noises emanating from a bit of shrubbery.  

You twirled and weaved your way deeper into the forest, the sounds clanking pots and laughter filled conversations from camp were slowly dying down, gradually replaced with the soft, lulling sounds of a warm night. The approaching silence made it much harder for you to scamper away undetected, allowing for a few close calls of being caught in the large hands of the druid steadily pursuing you. Admittedly, this only added to the excitement of the evening. Something about narrowly escaping from a man who spent a large portion of his time as a predator stirred something in your abdomen, leaving you with a light tingle at the thought.

Your game continued for quite some time with you leading Halsin further and further into the forest. By the time you had reached a large willow tree seated by the edge of another pond, you were satisfied with your distance from camp. You pressed your back along the trunk of the tree, allowing yourself a quick moment of rest while you listened for the footsteps that had been following you. However, you were only met with silence. You heard or saw nothing from Halsin, realizing now that you were no longer in control of your little game.

With your back to the water you peered around the trunk of the willow, curiously looking for any signs for the elf that had previously been hot on your trail. You found no signs of Halsin, beginning to think you had potentially left him behind a few trees back. The forest was peacefully quiet, save for the choir of crickets chirping in the distant grass and the occasional croak of frogs somewhere closer to the water. You stepped slowly and quietly around the edge of the tree, your breath leaving your mouth with silent exhales so you could keep yourself hidden in the darkness that now surrounded the area, the sun having set quite some time ago. The forest was seemingly empty as you circled the tree in its entirety, still stepping lightly as you began to leave the willow so you could circle back along the path you’d come from.

A firm set of hand suddenly gripped you firmly by your waist, much rougher than before, pulling you back suddenly and pressing you against the willow with enough force to cause a soft grunt to escape your lips. Halsin’s body was now pressed against yours, holding you securely to the tree. He quickly pressed his knee between your legs, rubbing against your inner thighs and effectively keeping you in place. You gasped lightly at the contact, the feeling of his body against yours after so many nights of teasing and yearning had set your limbs ablaze. And, given the feeling of something warm and quite firm pressing into your leg, you could only assume he felt the same. 

“You should change up your pattern next time, my friend,” he said softly, “it’s easy to learn.” His hand came to rest at the base of your throat, his thumb gently caressing the top of your collar bone as the rest of his fingers grazed the back of your neck.

“Clever bear.” You said with a slight chuckle, your voice tapering to just barely a whisper. Your own hands came to rest lightly against his biceps. 

When Halsin’s lips finally met yours, he let out a soft moan as his eyes closed, losing himself in your embrace. Your lips were soft against his, gentle and caring and everything he had dreamed about. Halsin had longed for your touch and ached to feel your lips against his, often thinking about their taste and feel while alone in his tent. He could feel a raging heat rise along his neck and into his face, even reaching to his ears after a moment. His hand left the softness of your neck, instead replacing it with the roughness of the bark behind you. His nails dug into the tree, trying to find something to distract him from the call of the beast that was beckoning him close to the edge of losing composure.

“You’ve been eating honey, haven’t you?” You asked between kisses, picking up on the faintest taste of honey as your tongue darted across his lips, “I can still taste it on your lips.” 

“I have, but I've made sure to save some for another night. I want to know what it tastes like on your tongue and on your skin.” Halsin rasped, “But tonight, I want to taste something sweeter.” You shuttered at his response, tightening your grip on his arms firmly as you felt his tongue swirl against yours, taking your breath from you with each passing second.

With his hands placed securely along your hips once more, the druid pulled you away from the tree he’d pressed you against, lips still heavy on yours as he led you to a pretty patch of grass by the waterside. You followed him blindly, trusting in him completely as your fingers began tugging at the ties on the front of his camp clothes. Halsin smiled against your lips, thoroughly pleased by your enthusiasm as he followed suit and slid his hands underneath your own shirt. His hands caressing and stroking your bare skin under your shirt caused you to shiver and a tingle to settle in your cheeks. Halsin’s touch was slow and gentle, allowing him to truly take the time to appreciate the feel of your supple skin against his hands.

Halsin pulled your tunic over your head, tossing it to the side before returning his hands to your body, focusing his attention on working pulling open the ties to your trousers. Despite the looming size of his hands, his fingers were fast and nimble as they loosened your laces just enough to allow your trousers to easily slide down your legs along with the remnants of your small clothes. Your boots were kicked off somewhere between Halsin pulling your trouser ties open and the same trousers colliding with the ground, although in the heat of the moment you couldn’t recall exactly when. 

You, however, were not as skilled in freeing the druid from the confines of his camp clothes, unsure of what tie opened which flap and just where the seam of his trousers started. Halsin chuckled softly, finding the confidence you had carried all evening quickly leaving as you struggled with his clothing. Being merciful, and a bit impatient, Halsin stripped himself of his garments, tossing them along with yours off to the side, his sandals having long been flung in different directions. 

Halsin took a step back from you, both hands still holding yours as he simply observed your naked form standing before him. You were breathtaking and beautiful, more than he could have possibly imagined in those long, lonely nights in his tent, and imagine he did. A warmth spread to you chest as he drank in your body, suddenly feeling shy by being bared in full to him. You took the time to observe him as well, more than impressed with the man that stood before you. Simply given the size of his arms, you knew he was muscular and well built, but it was different when actually seeing him in person.

With a gentle tug you were pulled towards him, your chest pressing against his as Halsin kissed you again. He groaned softly into your mouth, his eyes sliding closed as his hands roamed along your back and sides, lightly squeezing as he felt you beneath his fingertips. Your own hands traveled along his chest and arms, feeling the definition of muscles from years of fighting and roaming, but you could help but noticed just how warm his skin was. He always ran on the warmer side from what you could tell, but now he was almost hot to the touch.

He pushed away from you suddenly, arching forwards as an all too familiar heat rose in his chest. You took a step back, unsure of what was going through his mind as you watched Halsin grit his teeth, a light snarl and plea to Silvanus for guidance. It didn’t take long for you to figure out what was happening as you watched him fall to all fours, erupting in a familiar flash of golden light. The hulking frame of the elf was soon replaced with one of a cave bear, panting with heated breath and emitting rumbling growls. You knelt to the ground, knees touching the tender grass as your eyes remained fixed on the bear before you, your hand reaching out slowly to try to make contact. Your hand brushed against his wet nose, which was still blowing out warm breath with each pant. 

“It’s all right,” you said softly, “you’re all right.” Your hand slowly moved to the snout of the bear, your fingers running through the coarse fur in an attempt to calm him down. It took some time, but soon enough the frantic breathing of the cave bear finally calmed and settled into a steady rhythm. Before long, the bear erupted into another flash of light, leaving Halsin before you once again.

“I-I’m sorry,” Halsin stammered, “the beast is difficult to control at times, especially if blood runs hot. I lose myself and it takes over. Forgive me, please, the urges are just too strong at times” Halsin remained low to the ground, leaning on one knee with his back still hunched. His palms were facing you and his hands had the slightest of trembles. His mind raced as he knelt before you, emotions swirling and settling in his chest, cursing himself for allowing all control to be lost in such an important moment. 

“Halsin,” you said softly as you reached out again and placed a hand over his chest, “don’t ever apologize for that. It’s not a beast and neither are you.” His chest was unbelievably warm, but had cooled slightly, and his heart beat frantically against his chest. It was more than just arousal that caused the reaction in his body; it was fear. You glanced to his face and saw nothing but a mixture of panic and regret. Your heart ached at the sight, having never seen the strong man reduced to genuine fear in front of you.

“It’s in your nature. You of all people should know that.” You moved your hand from his chest and rested along his cheek, cupping it softly in your hand, “Don’t ever feel ashamed and don’t hold yourself back on my account.” His hands once again made purchase on your hips and pulled you closer to him, much lighter than before, as if he was afraid that touching you would change your mind.

“And, if I’m being honest,” you continued, “I quite like the bear.” You saw his eyebrows knit together slightly, head cocking to the side before he spoke again.

“The bear?” He said with a bit of hesitation, “You…like it?” You smiled with a slight chuckle. The back of your fingers softly caressed his cheek, feeling the roughness of his skin against yours as you tried to soothe any worry that lingered in his mind.

“I do,” you said softly, “but I’ll indulge the bear another night. Tonight, let me indulge in you.”

Halsin’s lips were on you before you could barely get your words out, hungry and firm against your own. His hands cupped your face, pulling you as close as possible to him as he took your breath away. With his lips to yours and your words still echoing in his ears, Halsin relaxed, feeling safe to be himself around you. You accepted him the way he was, even with a seeming lack of control at times, and it was almost euphoric. The weight of shame and guilt having been lifted with your words and soft touch. It wasn’t long before one of his hands cradled the back of your head and the accompanying arm ran down the length of you back. He used this position to gently lower you onto the grass below, quickly topping you with his own frame.

The grass was soft against your bare skin, the blades tickling your back as you felt Halsin settle above you. The druid’s hips settled between your parted legs as the length of his body rested just above your own, lightly grazing when either of you moved. Your hands ran along the expanse of his bare chest and shoulders as his lips met yours, his large arms resting by your head. You felt Halsin’s fingers weave their way through your hair, softly scratching at your scalp as he took his time exploring your lips. It wasn’t long before he deepened the kiss, moaning against your lips as his tongue asked for them to part. You happily obliged, letting his tongue easily slip into your mouth and explore to his hearts content. One of his hands left the tangle of your hair, settling along your cheek and jaw. Halsin’s thumb tugged at your lower lip, keeping your lips parted ever so slightly for better access. 

After some time, Halsin’s lips left your own and slowly moved towards your jaw, giving you the chance to catch your breath as he focused his tongue on other areas of your body. There was no rush or sense of urgency in his movements as Halsin kissed his way down the column of your throat, simply enjoying and relishing the moment he’d been waiting to share with you for so long now. Your skin was warm from the night air and the blush that had started to grace your skin, radiating against Halsin’s cheeks as he pressed soft kisses against you. He suckled gently against the tender skin of your pulse point, feeling the steady pounding of your heart beneath his lips until a light bruise had formed before moving to your collar bones.

You heard a gentle growl come from Halsin as he kissed your sternum and felt the soft placement of tongue tickling your skin before his lips followed suit. His movements were slow and gentle as he made his way lower, fully content with savoring every moment of you underneath him. He loved the subtle reactions your body gave when he kissed and licked a new spot, taking note of what you favored. The way your heartbeat quickened as his hands traveled lower along your body, how your fingernails would brush against his shoulders and lightly scratch as his own teeth would graze your skin, and the quiet sighs that would escape your parted lips when he found a particularly sensitive bit of skin; all of it a symphony to the druid that was slowly losing himself in you.  

A shaky moan broke the quiet serenity of the forest when you felt Halsin latch on to your nipple, taking the hardened bud between his teeth and giving the lightest of bites before soothing it with another kiss. Your back arched off the softened patch of grass and lightly into the air as your head rolled to the side, more gasps and sighs spilling from your lips the more Halsin serviced your nipple. You felt his hand slowly slide from your ribcage to the arch of your back, pressing you closer to his own frame all while caressing your sweat slicked skin. It wasn’t long before he switched sides, your body tingling at the ministrations of his teeth and tongue against your sensitive skin. Your eyes closed as your hands explored what you could reach of his upper body, eventually coming to rest along the top of his head.

Your fingers brushed along the tips of his ears as you explored his body, which earned you a sharp bite to your now swollen nipple and a tightening grip along your waist. Your eyes reopened and looked down the expanse of your body, admiring the glistening of kiss marks in the moonlight against your skin. Halsin’s eyes were focused on your features, meeting your eyes with a lustfully clouded gaze. You bit your lip with a devious smile, realizing just how much the faintest touch against his ears had excited him. With a slightly firmer touch, you ran your fingers along his ears once again, letting your nails graze ever so slightly. Halsin responded to the touch with a low moan and giving an involuntary thrust against the ground.

The druid continued his descent downwards at a slightly faster pace, having been spurred on by the teasing to the tips of his ears. He continued to hold your gaze as he kissed down your body, feeling the rise and fall of your stomach as you inhaled deeply and released with each shaky breath. His hands grasped your hips, softly squeezing and caressing the soft flesh there as his mouth finally reached that lovely spot that rested at the apex of your thighs. Halsin planted gentle, loving kisses to the sensitive skin surrounding your entrance, teasing you ever so slightly as he took his time in exploring your most secret of places. 

Your thighs instinctively wanted to close and press themselves against Halsin’s head as he teased and tasted you, wanting to keep him there as long as possible. Your hips rolled under his touch and your back arched further, desperate for his contact on your most sensitive spot. You felt him chuckle against your skin, causing a deliciously sensational warmth to begin to pool in your lower abdomen. His hands traveled from your hips to your outer thighs, caressing and grazing with his fingertips as his lips found the velvety soft skin of your inner thighs. After a few more kisses and even a light bite to the soft skin, Halsin’s hands gently pried your lightly trembling thighs from the sides of his skull, pulling them wide until they were kissed by the grass beneath your body. He kept them open by resting his heavy arms on your thighs, giving his hands the opportunity to focus on more important matters. Halsin teased your entrance with a finger and tongue, lingering for just a moment before finally granting you the satisfaction of slipping inside.

“Halsin…” His name slipped from your lips as nothing more than a whisper as you felt him taste you, the bulk of your breath having been taken away when he first teased your entrance. Your hands desperately searched for any part of your lover to cling to, but given just how high the arch had gotten in your back, you were struggling to make purchase. You settled for winding your fingers in the grass beside you, pulling and tugging at the tender blades until they ripped and you needed to find more. 

Halsin glanced up to you, his mouth and tongue still working their magic on your body as he added a second finger, curling at just the right spot to make your body quiver in bliss. He smiled as best he could at your expression, considering that his lips were occupied. Although pride was not something the druid typically felt, it coursed through him as he watched your mouth open and close with soft gasps and the way your eyes knitted together tightly in time with each exhale. Watching you, the normally well put together leader of the group of misfits he’d so eagerly joined, melt into a puddle of whimpers and moans by his touch was enough to make his already painfully hardened cock throb and weep at your image.

Your back rose and fell with each roll of your hips against his teasing, surging with pleasure with each swipe of his tongue as you flitted closer and closer to the blissful edge of release. You felt teeth, tongue, lips, and fingers; anything and everything Halsin could use at his disposal to bring you to your first release of the evening. He held his hand along your abdomen, slowly sliding up towards your chest so he could feel as much you beneath him as possible. Halsin wanted to feel you writhe and squirm under his touch and wanted nothing more than to feel the shakes and convulsions your body would offer when you finally reached your orgasm. You quickly released your grip on the grass you’d ripped out by the root, replacing the handful of foliage with Halsin’s own hand. Fingers were soon intertwined and you held to him tightly, your knuckles turning white as the contact grounded you and allowed you to focus on the tightening coil deep in your belly. Each exhale turned into a breathy moan that only increased in volume as Halsin intensified his efforts, determined to swiftly bring you the release you desperately wanted with a flick of his tongue. 

Your legs began to tremble under Halsin’s arms as he brought you closer to the edge, heat surging in your abdomen as your muscles along your thighs began to tighten. A sudden rush of warmth and indescribable satisfaction washed over your quaking body, jolts of pleasure fired through your muscles as you finally broke the barrier. The sensation made your mind cloud as you rode our your orgasm, still feeling Halsin’s tongue and lips tending to your sex. Your eyes closed as the final waves washed over your body, your breath coming in deep inhales as the feeling subsided much too quickly for your liking. The feeling was euphoric, but you wanted more.

Halsin kissed up along your body quickly, leaving your tingling lower half to bring his face to meet yours once again. Your mind still reeled from your orgasm as you felt his lips against your heaving body. Halsin kissed you gently on your cheek, brushing stray strands of hair from your face as you continued to come down from your peak. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you as you tried to regulate your breathing once again. His skin was warm under your touch, the lightest layer of sweat forming along his back from the heat of the night air. Halsin kissed along your jaw until he pressed his lips against yours once again, tender and soft when compared to frantic movements just moments ago. 

“More?” He asked after breaking from your lips, taking the time to wipe a bead of sweat from your brow as your eyes finally opened for him.

“More.” You said with a nod between pants, your body still trying to regain some sense of composure from the feeling you just experienced. Halsin’s mouth returned to your skin at your words, licking and sucking along your neck as he waited for you to settle once more. Your skin was pleasantly warm, a combination of the heat of the night and your exertion having caused the change in your body temperature. He adored the blush that had settled on the apples of your cheeks and poured onto your neck and along your chest, the sense of pride returning to him as he admired the state of your body all due to his touch. Halsin could still taste you on his lips as it mingled with the sweat from your neck, finding the taste to be almost intoxicating.

Halsin was still lazily planting wet kisses along your body, tasting as much of you as he could as he moved to your chest. When you felt strong enough to move again, your hands and fingers ran along his neck and shoulders, feeling the definition of the muscles that lay just beneath your fingers. Years of roaming nature had toughened his skin thanks to the touch of the sun, but in your exploration you had found a few spots still supple. You traced behind his ears and along the back of his neck, feeling his skin prickle and twitch under your touch and you found yourself wanting to feel more. Given that he was distracted, you took the opportunity to have the upper hand. You playfully shoved Halsin’s shoulder from you until you had the druid pressed onto his back in the grass with a surprised grunt, throwing your leg over his hips until you had him straddled. 

“I believe you’re stronger than you let on, my friend.” Halsin said with a sly grin, impressed at the swiftness of your movements given your previous orgasm.

“I am when I need to be.” You said softly, adjusting your position in his lap as Halsin sat up just slightly, leaning back to place his weight along his forearms. He simply enjoyed watching you above him, seated ever so nicely in his lap as you took your time exploring with your fingers. Your chest was still heaving slightly from your orgasm just moments prior and the druid had his eyes glued to your form, drinking you in and memorizing every dip, curve, and blemish that adorned your body. With the soft light of the moon behind you, illuminating you in a glowing halo, he watched as a bead of sweat rolled from the side of your neck, lazily rolling over your collar ones and onto your chest before getting lost somewhere in the skin above your navel.

“The Oak Father truly broke the mold with you,” Halsin said softly as his eyes continued to wander across your naked body, “I’ve yet to see anything in nature that compares to your beauty.” If you weren’t already blushing, you were now. You leaned forward, kissing his lips as an appreciation for the compliment. 

“Don’t sell yourself short.” You murmured against his lips, taking the time to kiss them once more before moving your way down his neck. Both of your hands rested on his shoulders, beginning to move along his chest as you kissed and nipped lightly down his throat, searching for more tender expanses of skin. You felt him shudder with each light graze of your teeth against his neck, a satisfied hum coming from you with each nibble. With a light touch, you ran your fingertips across the expanse of his chest, feeling every bit that you could reach while still slightly leaned over his frame.

You returned to your previous position, pressing yourself up from his chest while allowing yourself to marvel at the hulking elf beneath you as your fingers continued to roam, feeling and caressing with a gentle touch. You traced along the thick veins in his arms, feeling the firmness of the surrounding muscles of the biceps that could easily have their way with you. His heart beat steadily in his chest when your fingers grazed over his pectorals, enjoying the feeling of the thick hair that coated his chest. While your fingers enjoyed their exploration of his chest, making sure to graze over and toy with his hardened nipples as your eyes traveled further down his body. He hissed at the contact, but loved every moment of your teasing fingertips along his skin.

Your gaze followed the line of coarse hair that trailed between the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen and came to an end at the base of his cock, which was seated nicely between your thighs. You smiled to yourself as you watched his member twitch and bob under your touch when you ran over a particularly sensitive spot, resisting the urge to tickle those areas when you came across them. Your forefinger ran along a nonsensical path around his abs, simply keeping the hand occupied as the opposite finally reached his throbbing cock, which was steadily dripping his arousal in a long stream along his stomach. With a quick flick of your gaze to Halsin, you dipped the tip of your forefinger in the pool of his spend, rubbing small circles to coat the digit before you finally brought your coated appendage to your lips.

“Something sweeter, you said?” You asked with a feigned innocence as you held his gaze, finding the anticipation in his face quite amusing. You could feel his muscles tighten beneath you as he anticipated your next move, his eyes flicking between your half lidded eyes and your coated finger hovering mere centimeters from your lips.

You ran your tongue along your coated finger, engulfing the entire digit in your mouth once you had reached the tip and the first taste of Halsin’s arousal had touched your tongue. You took your finger to the knuckle, cleaning the appendage quickly. Halsin’s hips bucked upwards as he watched your finger slowly slip from your mouth, thrusting you forwards until your hand collided with his chest to keep you from falling flat against him. 

Halsin’s shifted his weight to rest on one of his forearms, using his now free hand to grasp your jaw, pulling you into a heated kiss with a quiet growl. His tongue was in your mouth in an instant, tangling with yours in an attempt to feel as much of the mouth that had teased him all day. With your tongues dancing with one another, you slid your hand down his chest and stomach before ghosting your fingertips over the weeping head of his cock. Halsin released his mouth from yours to as his breath caught in his throat, his grip leaving your jaw as he fell back onto both arms.

You returned your lips to his body, planting sloppy, open mouthed kisses along his chest, steadily working your way lower as you followed the trail your fingers had previously taken. You could taste the sweat that had formed on his body as your lips traveled lower before you finally pulled away, admiring the trails you’d left along his skin. Your fingers had gone from simply teasing the sensitive head to stroking along the length of his cock in long, fluid movements. He pulsed in your grasp as you continued your stroking, squeezing in varying strength along his cock, stopping occasionally to rub small circles along his oversensitive cock head. 

“That touch of yours will be the end of me one day.” Halsin whispered as his head tilted back against his shoulders, his eyes closing slowly as he allowed himself to enjoy your movements. You watched as his chest heaved with each stroke of your hand, his breath coming in and out through his nose as he tried to keep himself collected and under control. Halsin felt his muscles tense and his heart pound under your touch, his body finally indulging in your long sought after touch, and he wanted the feeling to last as long as possible.

“Is that a promise of more nights like this, then?” You asked with a curious look, wiggling your way off his hips, choosing to settle between Halsin’s thighs to give yourself a better position for what was to come.

“Many more, if that is what you wish as well.” Halsin managed to choke out between sighs and soft groans as you stroked your hand along the length of his throbbing cock at a steady pace. Each flick of your wrist became easier over time, the slick that had fallen from the weeping tip giving you plenty of lubrication to work with. With lust filled eyes you looked up towards the druid as you began to lower your head to meet your hand.

“Oak Father, preserve me.” Halsin’s low voice wavered as he spoke, a shudder wracking his body as the flat of your tongue ran along the underside of his cock. His eyes reopened and he lifted his head long enough to watch as you wrapped your lips around his swollen tip. Halsin finally dropped to his back, his arms giving way underneath him as your tongue swirled the cock throbbing in your mouth. Like you had done with his finger earlier in the day, you pressed the tip to the roof of your mouth, creating a firm pressure to the overly sensitive head. 

Your tongue was softer than velvet against Halsin’s cock, swirling and suckling around the tip with enough pressure to make him squirm in pleasure. He moaned softly with each swipe of your tongue, his hips thrusting upwards ever so slightly to create more friction against your warm, wet mouth. With his tip still securely pressed to the top of your mouth, your tongue worked wonders on the underside of his member, focusing on the sensitive space on the underside of the tip. You suckled away on his cock while your hand continued to stroke lazily along his base. As he did with you, you took your time in exploring his cock with your mouth, listening to the delightful moans and sighs that came from above you.

Halsin let out an exasperated sigh when you finally released the suction from his cock, which allowed you to begin your teasingly slow descent. Your lips were pressed tightly around his cock, still creating a light suction as you worked your way down, although your pace wasn’t entirely due to just wanting to tease the man writhing at your touch. Given just how large of a man that Halsin was, you were under no illusions that his member would be anything less than large, but you truly weren’t prepared for just how impressive his size actually was. You took your time in an attempt to service his length in a way that was pleasurable to both you and Halsin. 

You took him further into your mouth, his tip beginning to slip into the tightness of your throat as you focused on not choking along his length all while keeping a steady breath. Halsin’s fingers found their way into your hair, settling on the crown of your head as he felt you lower yourself to your limit, a light gag coming from your throat before you pulled back up. His simply rested his hand along your head as you began to bob along his cock, gradually picking up speed as you became more comfortable with your limits. He didn’t pressure you further than you wanted or tried to change your pacing, but simply needed something to grasp onto as he worked his way through waves of pleasure. He wanted you to enjoy yourself as much as he was, and the last thing he wanted to do was to make you feel pressured to go beyond your limits. For this, you were thankful.

You soon found yourself in a rhythm, guiding your head up and down along the length of his hardened cock with ease, occasionally ending with an audible gag if you pushed yourself too far. For now, he was too large for you to comfortably handle, so you made use of your still slicked hand to stroke and toy with the portion of his shaft not covered by your mouth. From time to time you’d pull away, allowing yourself a few sucking breaths of air before your lips returned to him in some way either through licking any neglected areas or sliding it back into the heat of your mouth. His spend was salty against your tongue, yet something you swallowed eagerly. 

Halsin’s breath hitched and the urge to buck wildly into your warm mouth was becoming too much to handle as he felt a tingling warmth begin to settle in his groin. His fingers grasped at your hair lightly, desperate to anchor to something more substantial as he fought the urge to spill into his own orgasm. However, he resisted, wanting to save that wonderful wave of pleasure for something more intimate than your teasing mouth. Your eyes met Halsin’s once again as you continued your ministrations to his weeping cock, your gaze tender yet blissfully hazy.

You felt his fingers untangle themselves from your hair, dragging along your cheek with a loving touch. You nuzzled your cheek into his palm as best you could, your mouth still fully occupied with pleasuring the cock that was dangerously close to spilling over. Halsin gripped your chin gently, pulling you up and off his pulsing member with a shaky breath. His eyes were drawn to the line of spittle that still connected your reddened lips to the tip of his length, gently wiping your lip with his thumb as your breath came out in pants. You struggled to catch your breath as he held you in his grasp.

“If you keep going like that,” Halsin said after he’d regained some of his composure, “this night will be over much sooner than either of us would wish.”

“We have all night, do we not?” You asked as your tongue flicked across your lips, collecting any remaining spittle that lingered.

“We do, but let us hope that the sun is slow to rise.” Halsin murmured quietly before closing the gap between your bodies. He took your lips with his once more, tender and sweet as he came forward, urging you onto your back for the second time before parting from you. Your body settled into a fresh patch of grass that was slick with the beginning touches of dew forming on the blades. You sighed happily into the night air, your body succumbing to the gentle touches of the druid. Halsin’s hands softly grabbed the underside of your thighs, giving them a light squeeze as he parted your legs for him. 

Your heart fluttered as he crawled up the expanse of your body, his arms and hands surrounding you as he knees knocked your legs open a bit further. His kisses and touches had become light and feather soft, caressing your lips and body with a touch so gentle you almost couldn’t feel it. He was holding back as if touching you any more firmly would thoroughly break you. You had to admit that you understood his concern, given that the bulk of his frame was currently looming over you and he was a bit larger than you had anticipated.

“You don’t have to restrain yourself with me,” you said between kisses, “I’m sturdier than I look.” You brushed stray hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear and out of the way. You knew Halsin wanted something a bit more rugged. He was more than content with slow, languid kisses and soft touches, but you also knew that he had been pent up for quite some time between suppressing his own emotions for years and your own teasings as of late. You wanted him to enjoy himself just as much as you were. 

Holding back his feelings was something Halsin wasn’t accustomed to doing on a day-to-day basis; he wore his heart on his sleeve and made his emotions clear. You, however, were the one exception. He had been attracted to you for quite some time before either of you had made it to your current situation, yet he was hesitant to come forward with those feelings. Decades of denying himself something more meaningful and vulnerable simply couldn’t take a priority over his duties, so now that he was presented with the opportunity, Halsin had hesitated. But now, you both were here in each others arms, fully exposed and having tasted the other in some fashion; now was not the time to restrain feelings.

“I have no doubt about that, believe me, but either way I promise to be gentle.” Halsin said with a slight chuckle, “At least for now.” Halsin wanted nothing more than to hold you down and have his way with you until you were a puddled mess, but he also knew when the time was right. Although you were more than ready to try and take him, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you in his overeagerness. Instead, he opted to take things the more gentle route until he was sure you were up for something more vigorous. 

He pressed his lips to yours once again in a lingering kiss, moaning softly against your mouth as he lined the tip of his cock up with your well slicked entrance. Your body shuddered at the feeling of his warm, throbbing tip pressing against your eagerly awaiting entrance, the feeling of him being so close made your muscles melt beneath him. As slowly and carefully as possible, Halsin eased his way into you, earning a sudden gasp from your kiss swollen lips. He moved his own lips to your ear, cradling the opposite side of your face as he guided himself deeper into you.

His lips were soft and tender on your temple, kissing lightly when you hissed or made a gasp that sounded more uncomfortable than pleasurable. Halsin took his time, guiding his movements in accordance to your body’s reactions than his own lusts. From time to time you’d press your palm against his hip or stomach, quietly asking him to wait until you could adjust. When you did so, Halsin listened, waiting until you were ready to continue as he peppered your cheek with more kisses and whispered praise or encouragement in your ear. You moved your hand from his hip when you were ready to continue, whimpering softly as he continued the slow movement into your heat.

When Halsin had fully seated himself inside you, he released groan from deep within his chest, savoring the feeling of you around his hardened cock. You were warm and tight, which was everything he had expected from you, but the actual feeling of you wrapped around him was euphoric. With everything you had done for him so far, you had once again exceeded his expectations. With this, he wanted to begin moving against you and feel you expand and contract around him, but he paused. Halsin remained still inside you, waiting for your approval before continuing. He knew you needed time to adjust and he would allow you to take as much time as you needed. In the meantime, he simply enjoyed the feeling of being buried deep inside you.

Your eyes closed as you inhaled deeply, adjusting to the size of the length buried inside you. He was large, but not uncomfortable. Halsin was exceedingly gentle with you, not wanting to hurt you with his size, but you were ready for more. You met his haze once more before giving a gentle nod, urging him to continue.

“You have been more than worth the wait.” Halsin murmured in your ear as his hips began to move against you, taking your lips once more with his before you could respond. Your moaned against him, the feeling of his cock slowly slipping out of you before nuzzling back in made a light warmth settle on your cheeks and made your heart flutter with anticipation. You stayed like this for some time, your arms wrapped around each other while connected by your lower halves, taking everything slow and steady until your body had grown accustomed to the size of the cock nestled deep inside you.

However, it wasn’t long before you felt comfortable with his size. Your hips rolled against his, asking him to begin picking up the pace as any discomfort quickly subsided and was replaced with pleasure and ecstasy. Halsin eagerly complied, pulling his arms from you slightly so he could rest along his palms, his hips rolling against yours as he kept his thrusts light, but just slightly faster. Your hands ran down his chest like they had done earlier, feeling his muscles flex under your fingertips with his movements. Halsin was correct, he and this moment were more than worth every moment of teasing and waiting that you’d experienced. He was worth it.

Halsin sat back, resting his weight on splayed knees so he could watch you from above. His hands explored and grasped at the expanse of your thighs as he watched your body writhe and roll under his touch, desperate to meet his cock with a roll each time he sheathed himself fully into you. His eyes searched your body, unsure of which part of you to settle on for more than a few seconds. He wanted to take in every bit of you as he thrust his hips into your warmth. Your face and chest were covered in a deep blush and glistened with sweat against the glow of the moonlight, parts of you bounced each time his hips snapped to yours and became almost hypnotic if he started too long, but in the end he decided that the most delicious part of you to watch was simply just how well you took his throbbing cock. His eyes traveled to where you both were joined, mesmerized by how your entranced stretched with each thrust to accommodate his size, but so early accepted him back in each time he fully entered you. The view combined with the feeling of your heat squeezing around him was almost enough to send him into a frenzy.

Halsin gripped the underside of one of your thighs, lifting it from the ground until the back of your leg rested against his broad chest, opening you up more for him, but also allowing him a better view of his cock disappearing into your heat. His lips and tongue found the skin of your leg and left sloppy, wet kisses along the sweat soaked skin as his fingers pressed firmly into the soft flesh of your thigh. His other hand traveled to your lower half, feeling your muscles tighten in your abdomen as your released neared. He used his fingers to brush across your most sensitive spots, a playful smile gracing his lips as you responded deliciously to his touch.

Your body was on fire, aching and throbbing with heat as Halsin snapped his hips to yours with each thrust. The sound of wet skin smacking against skin and mingled with grunts and moans filled the quiet evening air, making any animal in the area scamper off quickly at the noise. Your cheeks burned with exertion and desire, a feeling that was equally matched in the fire that was ignited in your lower belly. You could feel the string of pleasure begin to coil, knowing it wouldn’t be long before it snapped once more. Your hands grasped and squeezed at your chest, fingers flicking across and occasionally pinching your hard and sensitive nipples, eliciting sharp moans into the air that sent shivers down the back of the druid.

“More,” you gasped out as you felt the coil deepen, “please.” Your voice was almost a whine, needy with desire and lust as Halsin continued his movements.

Halsin moved instantly at your words, pressing forward until his chest met yours, your leg still pressed against his chest as your knee now rested close to your face. He moved your other leg to rest on his other shoulder, his hands shaking at the feeling of you practically halved beneath him. His arms kept your legs from slipping off his sweaty shoulders as his hands came to rest by your head, one of them tangling in your hair with a firm grasp. His lips found your neck and offered a light bite to the soft flesh, making your mouth fall open at the contact. Halsin thrust into you more firmly, knees and toes digging into the grass beneath him as his pace increased. 

Your own hands found purchase on his body, one resting on the side of his warmed cheek and the other tangling with the knot he kept tied at the back of his head. Your body trembled beneath his as your second orgasm starting coming to a peak, knowing it wouldn’t be long until it crashed over your body. Halsin���s eyes remained locked to yours, entranced by the look of pleasure that covered your lovely face. You panted against each other, breath mixing together and only adding to the heat of the moment.

“You’re almost there, my heart.” Halsin panted against you as his forehead rested along yours, “Let go. Let me feel you.” The new use of a pet name and his coaxing send sparks flying through your body, awakening some sort of arousal you’d have to explore more at a later time. For now, however, his words and movements were enough to send you over the edge, your body shaking with a delicious heat and pleasure as your legs trembled against his shoulders. Your orgasm rushed through your body, sending bolts of electricity along your spine as you rode it out. You tightened your hold against Halsin’s cock, which was still thrusting into your sensitive entrance. The sudden grip on him almost caused his to experience his own release, but the druid held firm and made the feeling subside. As much as he wanted to feel his own pleasure course through him, he wanted to take you one final time before indulging in his own pleasure. You moaned and whined, your body twitched and shook under the last remaining licks of your orgasm, your mind hazed with pleasure and exhaustion.

With a swift movement, Halsin removed your trembling legs from his shoulders, pulling them to the side as he flipped you to your stomach. While still in your daze, you felt his hands press against your chest and around one of your legs, easily lifting your still trembling body from the ground and a better position so you could lay comfortably on the ground before pressing you firmly into the grass beneath you. You were taken by surprise, your mind swimming with enough pleasure and haze that you hadn’t fully processed his movements until your cheek was met with a patch of grass, leaving your arms pinned between your own chest and the ground. Halsin’s hands gripped at your hips, swiftly tugging them upwards and towards him with an almost desperate pace. 

You let out a moan at the sudden change of position, letting Halsin rearrange your limbs with ease as you still were reeling from your orgasm. Halsin parted your legs once again, settling nicely between them as he realigned himself with your still trembling entrance. He entered you more quickly than before, still taking note of not being too rough with you, making sure you were comfortable with how he was seated within you before he began his thrusting once again. You whimpered as he picked up the pace, your swollen sex still sensitive from your climax as it tingled and clenched around the druid’s impressive length.

Halsin's hand traveled the length of your back as he steadily and firmly snapped his hips to yours, knocking you forward just slightly with each thrust. Halsin admired the beauty of your body, even from a less than flattering angle. The way your hips curved into your waist, the small dips in your lower back that lead to a steep curve in your spine caused by his movements, and the taught muscles in your shoulders that were defined from battle all enticed him even more. Halsin had admittedly fallen for you based off your merit and kindness, but he couldn’t deny that you were beautiful inside and out, especially when splayed out underneath him.

Your skin was hot beneath his touch, both from exertion and the heat of the night, and your body glistened under the moonlight. He had longed to feel your skin in his grasp for some time now, the thought alone keeping him up many nights as he struggled to subdue his own feelings for the sake of duty. The thoughts that would plague his mind of the caress of your hands had only intensified with your recent teasings, making the feel of your skin slapping against his all the more pleasurable. As his hand caressed the skin of your hips and back, Halsin had enough sense to flick the pieces of grass and dirt that had stuck to your skin from your previous position, lovingly brushing you clean as his hips were mercilessly slamming into yours. You felt his hand grip your shoulder, desperate to hold you in place as he chased his release. 

Your breath hitched as you felt Halsin’s hand firmly grab your shoulder, giving him better leverage to thrust into you from behind. The sudden change of pace from soft and loving to frantic and rough wasn’t quite what you were expecting over the course of the night, but it was a most welcome change. Up until now, Halsin was focused on your pleasure and release over his. He was attentive and loving, making sure your had expended yourself to your limits, even denying his own release when he felt the luscious feeling of your lips wrapped around him.

But this was different. It was still caring, given that Halsin wasn’t ramming into you with his full strength, but this was for him. He was finally allowing himself to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh that he had denied himself for so long. He was desperate to make it last, to have this night make up for years of denial and longing, but you could tell he was nearing his end. Your ears were greeted with a symphony of grunts and growls rumbling deep in his chest the harder he slammed into you. Although you were met with no discomfort, just a delicious feeling of being pressed into the ground by your lover.

Halsin’s grip on your shoulder was strong, simply given the size of the druid, but not quite enough to keep you from shifting underneath him. He released your shoulder, which was now slightly red from his hold, and slid his hand to your back once again, resting between your shoulder blades with his fingers splayed wide against your dampened skin. You let out a moan and a wheeze as you felt the air leave your lungs, leaving you with a deliciously pleasant sting as Halsin pressed into your back firmly, lifting himself slightly to apply as much pressure as he could without causing you harm. You were now securely pinned to the ground, allowing the druid to slam into you without the inconvenience of you slipping out beneath him.

You both let out a pleasurable moan at the new position, the angle allowing Halsin to slip fully into you and pound away at the wonderfully sensitive spot deep inside you that made your vision blur each time he made contact with the tip of his cock. Halsin was practically hovering over you, taking in every bit of your body as he barreled towards his own release. He watched the way his cock slipped in and out of you effortlessly, given his size, and the way your body graciously accepted him. Halsin could feel his legs begin to shake and the pacing of his hips begin to falter, stuttering every few thrusts as he came closer to his orgasm.

“Look at me, my heart.” His voice was gruff and shaky, but it was more of a plea than a command, one you happily complied with. Your haze was a bit foggy, but you looked over you shoulder as you remained pinned to the ground, your mouth hanging open in an attempt to breath as best you could with the pressure on your back. Your lips tugged into a slight smile as you peered up at the druid, the sight of him coming undone because of you brought you more joy than you could have previously thought. You met his gaze with half-lidded eyes, but there was more than just lust behind them and Halsin could see this as well. There was no doubt that your pupils were dilated with lust and pleasure from both your orgasms, but there was something more meaningful. There was trust, admiration, acceptance, and if Halsin’s own lust fogged mind could be trusted, perhaps even the faintest hint of love behind the beautifully bright eyes staring back at him.

Your gaze and the feeling of your warmth clenching around his cock was the final act that sent Halsin over the edge. An uncharacteristically loud curse left his lips as he hunched forward, digging his heels into the dirt as he thrust into you a final time. His hand lifted from your back and collided with the ground beside your head to keep from crushing you beneath his weight and it allowed you a sucking breath as Halsin spilled himself deep inside you. His opposing hand was still firmly gripped to your hips, holding them in place as his body shuddered with each contraction of his muscles. Each warm rope that spilled from his cock sent waves of pleasure down Halsin’s back, making his muscles twitch and tense with each burst. He released a low grunt every time he spilled, each one landing deep inside you, filling you with a gentle warmth.

Halsin fell to his forearms as he slowly fell from his peak, his head coming to rest softly against your shoulder as he panted against your skin. The druid finally released your hip from his grasp, the desperation and intensity behind his grip had finally softened as his body began to relax against yours, softly rubbing your sweat soaked skin to soothe the marks he’d left on your posterior. He littered your shoulder blades with a string of slow, loving kisses, placing a few to the back of your neck. You both lay there for a few precious moments, simply enjoying the feeling of being so close to the other while still connected, your minds slowly falling down from the blissful peaks you had climbed towards.

After giving a final kiss to the area between your shoulders, Halsin pulled himself from you gently, knowing you both were now a bit sore and rather sensitive. You whimpered softly as you felt him slip out of you, already missing the fullness he offered. With the bulk of his weight now off your frame, you finally managed to pull one of your arms out from underneath you, bracing it on the ground before hoisting yourself onto your hands and knees. Halsin went down to his side, pulling you with him with a quick roll as he settled for the evening. Your head rested along the expanse of his bicep, rolling to rest your cheek to his skin as you lay along your back, one knee coming up to bend and help you adjust. 

“Are you all right?” Halsin asked as he brushed more bits of grass from your cheek with his free hand, plucking blades from your temples and your hairline.

“Very much so.” You hummed softly, your eyes becoming heavy as you melted against his touch.

Your skin had finally cooled after the activity from the night, leaving you with tacky skin, but free from beads of sweat. Despite the heat coming from Halsin’s body, you were pleasantly warm and thoroughly satisfied for the evening. You lay together, wrapped in each others embrace on the forest floor, listening to the lulling sounds of the night as you simply enjoyed the silence. Halsin’s free hand traveled along your body, gently caressing and mending any wounds that may have appeared during your rougher moments. 

“Can I offer you a wash?” He asked after a moment, having run along your body several times. You looked to him, offering a gentle smile with tired eyes. 

“That sounds lovely,” you murmured, leaning up to leave a slow kiss to his lips, “but let’s stay here for a spell. I’m not quite ready to return to camp just yet.”

Halsin tugged you closer to him, your bodies fully pressed to the other as the arm you were resting on had wrapped around your shoulders. You tossed your leg over his, tangling your legs together as one of your arms wrapped around his midsection. With the sun still below the horizon, you had a few hours of darkness left before returning to camp was a necessity, giving you a few precious moments together to simply be. You and Halsin spoke softly, whispering sweet words and blush worthy compliments to each other, caressing and touching and learning the details of the other. Eventually, the low rumbles of Halsin’s voice filled you with a sense of peace, causing your eye lids to droop and fall heavy. You fought the feeling, simply wanting to stay awake to enjoy the moment.

“Rest, my heart,” he whispered against your hair, “we’ll find more moments for each other.” He placed a single, gentle kiss to your forehead, pulling away when your eyelids finally closed for the evening and your mind began drifting off to a moment of restful sleep.

Tag List: @thoughts-of-bear ,@beardedladyqueen, @pixie-in-a-moonlantern, @ur-friendly-nbhd-cardassian, @ouranyaoi @galeofyourwaterdeep @mskinkyafro @jenn-majima @blobs-away @halsinsnaturepocket

[theunholybastard]

Bad Day (Papa Emeritus IV x Gender-Neutral!Reader)

Requested by @ollies-station !!! <3

Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Is Hinted Trans But It's Pretty Vague, Mentions Of Body Dysmorphia/Dysphoria, 2nd Person POV

Copia hovered over you, paints smudged and halfway wiped off. He stopped in the middle of washing his face when he noticed something wasn't right with you. You lay face down in the bed, unmoving, just so done with life.

"Eh... t-tesoro, what's wrong?" Copia asks warily, head tilted like a confused puppy, eyes darting around the room awkwardly. He was never very good at comforting people. But you were the love of his life, how could he not at least try to be of help? He just can't stand to see you like this.

"Everything." You reply hoarsely, muffled by the pillow you were crying into earlier. You were hardly exaggerating, everything seemed to be going wrong and sending you further down a spiral. Not to mention, you've not been very kind to yourself today either. When you first woke up, things immediately felt off. You felt off. Looking into the mirror, you instantly felt dread, like something wasn't quite right with you. Deep rooted insecurities bubbled up to the surface, your body not feeling like your own. You just want the day to be over already, but every passing moment feels like eternity.

"Bad day, huh?" Copia sighs, sitting down on the bed with you, mindful to give you a little bit of space if you needed it. You finally lift your head up, and the sight makes Copias heart ache. Red, puffy face, tear stains down your cheeks, hair tussled and greasy. You hadn't even gotten a chance to shower that morning, notably the first sign today wasn't going to be all that great. You probably looked like a hot mess right now, but to Copia, you were the most beautifully ethereal being he'd ever laid his eyes on, no matter what state you were in.

"Is there anything I can do?" Copia asks concernedly, softly stroking your back with a gloved hand. "Do you want to talk about it? It might make you feel better."

"Maybe... But there's still so much stuff I have to do today-"

"Non importante. Whatever needs to get done today, I will do it for you. You've had enough stress put on you today, now it's time for you to relax. Now, tell your Papa what is wrong, okie dokie?"

You couldn't help yourself, airing out all your grievances to him. You spared no details, every little thing that went wrong and every little worry you had was brought to his attention, and he listened intently to every word. That was the one thing he's always been very good at. Listening. And he was right, it did make you feel a little better, especially with how earnest you could tell he was.

When it was all said and done, he said nothing at first, simply holding you close to his chest, his warmth and sweet smell of cologne quickly lulling you into a sense of security and comfort. You knew you always had a safe space with him.

"Bad days come and go, amore. You must keep in mind that this won't last forever. The good days will come back sooner than you think. And yes, maybe they will fleet sooner than you want them to as well, but the important thing is that they will come again. Look outside, tesoro..." You did as you were told, gazing out the window to see the sun slowly setting over the horizon.

"The day is almost over, you see? And tomorrow is a new day. A better day. Why don't you sit here for a moment and focus on that while I run you a nice relaxing bath, hm? I'll quickly run whatever errands you have left today, and after that I'll order some takeout for the two of us, how's that sound? I'll get you whatever you want."

"And... And can we maybe watch something after? And cuddle?" You sniffle. A comfort show would be great right now. He smiles. "Of course! Anything for my baby." He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, pulling away to get up and do the tasks he promised. You quickly grab the lapels of his jacket, keeping him from leaving you so soon.

"Copia... You know you don't have to do this, right? I'll be fine, really." You murmur, self conscious and worried that you're asking too much of this sweet, perfect man you've somehow managed to claim as yours. He chuckled.

"I know, amore; I want to. I want to make you happy, I want to make things easier for you. Because I love you. Because you deserve that. Capisci?" He says, a gentle firmness in his soft-spoken voice. Hesitantly, you nod. Still, you don't let go of his jacket just yet.

"Could you stay with me for just a little while longer?" You ask, hopeful and bleary eyed. He grins.

"As long as you need, tesoro."

-

[thescarletnargacuga]

THE UNSEEN

A Harlequin AU oneshot ft. my OC

AU and ART credit: @tadc-harlequin-au @iamespecter

WARNING: heavy swearing, intense violence, blood, death

~~~

"Well, that was a fucking bore." Pomni flicked the charm into the air and caught it as she walked with her Caine-mandated blimp companion, Bubble. She had been sent on a mission by Ragatha to retrieve the charm, and she was sorely disappointed to find it unguarded by anything. She could just take it and leave. Yawn.

Caine's voice crackled through on Bubble's speaker. "I know, I'm sorry you didn't get the fight you wanted. If it's any consolation, we can spar when you get back."

Pomni rolled her eyes and pocketed the charm. "It's not the same, I need something I can tear apart with my bare hands." She clenched her mechanical hand tightly, and the metal creaked under the pressure of her grip.

"...You can tear me apart for your own sick enjoyment." Caine mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Pomni wasn't sure she heard him correctly.

"He said-" Bubble started to say before Caine cut him off.

"NOTHING IMPORTANT! I'm just disappointed for you, my dear, that's all."

Pomni took a deep breath and surveyed her surroundings. She kept her head on a swivel, especially when things were quiet. The lands outside the city were barren and vast. Scattered war ruins were half buried by time and the elements. The wind blew loose dust in wisps at her feet. The horizon was most often empty of anything particularly interesting, but today something unusual caught her attention.

"Hey, Bubble. Can you get a read on that?" She pointed to the anomaly in the distance.

Bubble hovered higher into the air, and with a mechanical click, a telescope stuck out from his capsule. "Hmmm, looks like smoke."

"Smoke?" Pomni repeated and squinted. "Were there is smoke, there is fire, and were there is fire, there is action!" She took off at a full sprint towards the smoke.

Bubble puttered along behind her and his speaker came to life with Caine's voice again. "Wait, what? Bubble, what's happening?"

"She found some action, boss." Bubble reported with a smile.

"Wonderful." Caine sarcastically replied. "What did she find?"

"Black smoke."

"Black smoke..? Is something on fire?"

"Not that I saw." Bubble would shrug if he had shoulders.

"Wait..." Caine thought outloud. "POMNI! STOP!" His warning came through in time for her to skid to a stop a few hundred feet from what she thought was smoke. She saw no fire. No puppets. Only thick black mist that didn't burn away under the bright mid-day sun. It held fast like a barrier around a wide area of the abandoned landscape, and she could just see the top of an old ruin towering over the mist at the center.

She groaned at Caine's interference, and was even more annoyed with herself that she actually listened. "WHAT, Caine?"

"Pomni, I'm going to need you to describe exactly what you're seeing."

"Uh...it's some weird mist? Pitch black, super thick. Can't see through it at all. Do you know what the fuck this is?"

Caine's voice came through clear and serious. Every word held weight. "Listen to me very carefully. Do NOT go near that mist. It's extremely dangerous, even for someone like you."

Her interest was peaked. "You don't say? What's in there?"

He could hear the smile in her voice. "This is serious! There is an unbound construct in there that uses the mist as a cover. The locals call it The Unseen, but I think a more appropriate name is The Bladed Beast of Steel and Shadow."

"You know what is looks like?" She was sceptical.

"Vaguely, I was busy running for my life, but I am the only person that has encountered it and lived."

Pomni laughed. "Well, if you can say hello and walk away, it can't be THAT strong, now can it?"

"THIS IS NO TIME TO ATTACK MY EGO!" His voice cracked with desperation. "The point is, under NO circumstances should you seek out and try to fight what's in there! It WILL kill you! It's not like anything you have fought before!"

"So, what you're saying is, seek out and fight what's in there because it's not like anything I've seen before? Fuck yeah, I'm sold." She unsheethed her sword and advanced towards the mist.

"POMNI, NO!!"

"Pomni, yes." She grinned and licked her teeth. If this creature was half as epic as Caine made it sound, this was about to be a good day.

"POMNI! POMNI!!" Caine kept calling but she didn't respond.

"She's gone, boss." Bubble said as he watched her disappear into the veil.

"DAMN IT ALL!" A crashing sound in the background suggested that Caine had thrown something in frustration. "Stay right where you are, Bubble. I'm on my way. DON'T GO IN THAT MIST!"

"You got it, boss." Bubble lowered himself to the ground to conserve power for his tracking beacon.

~

Day became moonless night the moment Pomni fully entered the mist. The air reeked of unknown chemicals, her nose burned as she breathed. She tucked in her bell and pulled out some scrap cloth she kept for emergency bandages. She tied the cloth around her face, it helped some, but the air still felt corrosive. Her eyes watered on top of not being able to see more than a foot in front of her face.

She smiled under her impromptu mask. "Finally, a challenge." The uneven ground threatened to crunch under her footfalls, but her light step was just enough to maintain stealth.

She listened intently for any movement. Silence was all that greeted her as she slowly made her way through the abyss. She froze when something came into view. It looked like a puppet. It laid face down motionless on the ground, or, at least, half of it was. The other half was missing. As she continued, she found more bodies. Parts and pieces of varying puppets scattered the landscape. She stepped slowly and carefully over them.

She came to a wall of the ruin she had seen the top of. It was covered in claw marks as thick as her arm. Large dart looking projectiles were stuck in random patterns, some pinning unfortunate puppets to the wall. Her heart thrummed with anticipation, her body bristled on high alert. She gripped her sword tighter and clenched her mechanical fist.

A small piece of crumbling wall gave way and she looked to her right. Two pinprick lights looked at her from the darkness. "Ha!" She lunged and her sword struck right between the lights. She pulled back and the head of a pawn rolled towards her. It was already dead, the lights were on a helmet that has some power left in it. All she accomplished was give away her position. "Fuck."

Something unseen struck her with the force of a battering ram from behind and she went flying. She ragdolled into a pile of bodies and got up fast. The ground shook under the weight of a large obscured creature charging her. She saw two lights again, but this time, they were MUCH higher up and glowed like molten gold. As it approached, the golden glow spread to large fanned blades on either side of the creature's front legs. It pounced and she dodged the first strike. Followed immediately by a second strike she diverted with her sword, but only just, the force of the hit nearly tore her sword clean out of her grasp.

The creature kept her on her back foot, dodging a strike from a giant, razor sharp beak-like maw. She punched its face with her mechanical arm, and it reared back with an ear splitting, screeching roar. This gave her the precious seconds she needed to make distance between her and it. She held out her mechanical arm at what she could see of the creature, and her arm transformed into the barrel of a large gun. "Z says, eat shit!" She braced against the blast of the canon she had for an arm. An explosive incendiary round hit the creature in the shoulder. The air pressure from the explosion dispersed the mist around it, letting in some sunlight, and she finally got a good look at it.

It was horrific. An enormous quadrupedal metal construct covered in dried oil and rust bared its glowing blades at her. Slanted spikes covered its back to a heavy woven chain tail with a flared, spikey end. Black mist poured from its maw and chest, cloaking the area in shadow. It's eyes once again being all she saw.

"Holy. Shit." Pomni was THRILLED. This thing was everything Caine said it would be and more. She readied herself as she stared down the creature. "Come on, you motherfucker! Show me what you got!"

The creature roared and lunged. Its speed made the light of it's eyes streak in the darkness. It lashed out with its blades, she dodged. As it passed her, it swung it's tail, which has no glowing parts to warn her. It struck Pomni in the stomach, a single spike going clean through her abdomen and out her back. The creature whipped around and she ripped off the spike and flew into the ruin wall. The wall crumbled from impact and she fell with the rubble to the ground. She barely had time to get up before it was on her again, bringing down its claws. She rolled away and shot at it again with her arm. She was closer to the creature this time and made her own ears ring from the explosion but it got the thing to back off.

She got up and ran into the ruins. She tore off her mask to spit out the blood collecting in her throat. Pain racked her body and she braced herself against the furthest wall from the opening. She checked the hole in her abdomen, and she stuffed it with her old mask to stop the bleeding. "Fuck, that hurt."

A sudden shake knocked pieces of the ceiling loose and she jumped out of the way. The creature repeatedly slammed its body against the ruins, reaching inside to claw at her. There were broken stairs going up. She transformed her mechanical arm back into a hand and used its grappling hook feature to get herself up to the next floor. The creature dug desperately into the ruins on the second floor as well, so she went higher.

Looking out of a broken gap in the wall, she could see the glowing parts of the creature trying to break through the wall. Her knees started to shake. "What the fuck?" Her sword arm was trembling. "Knock it off!" She growled at herself. "Come on, think! There's got to be something..."

Talking to herself was helping subdue the shakes. "There were no spikes on the back of the creature's neck. So if I aim for the head, I may save myself from being skewered a second time. ...this is still a crazy idea." She jumped.

She came down on top of the creature's head and held on for dear life. The creature thrashed and tried to claw at her. It got in one solid slash in her leg but she held on. She plunged her sword into one of the creature's eyes. Glowing gold fluid spewed out and the creature yowled in agony. The fluid slicked her grasp and she let go before she got flung off uncontrollably.

She tucked and rolled away as the creature pawed at it's damaged eye. She took the opportunity to transform her arm back into a gun and take aim. The leaking flow made the creature easier to target, it poured down the neck and over the chest. She could see partially exposed mechanics from her previous close range shot. The core inside the creature was the source of the golden hour glow. "Gotcha." She fired her third round.

The creature was struck square in the chest, shrapnel exploded in every direction. Pomni covered her face as flying bits of metal cut at her body. The creature screeched and screamed and fell to the ground, gold fluid pooling around it.

Pomni kept her gun on the creature as she caught her breath. She took a few cautious steps forward. The creature didn't move. She grinned. "Fuck, yeah! Take THAT! Some creature of legend, you were! I've have worse fights with Bubble!" She laughed.

A blue flash of light next to her made her swing her gun around and she was looking at Caine. "Hey, you!" She greeted smugly and lowered her gun arm. "You're too late to join the party. I've already killed it."

Caine was out of breath. He had used a large amount of his blink ability to get here as fast as possible. He looked from the bleeding Pomni in front of him to the broken creature. "You...you what? No. That's impossible."

"Look at it and weep, tooth man. I should have made a bet with you." She transformed her arm and sheathed her sword.

Caine examined the surroundings. The mist wasn't clearing, it still emanated from the half glowing creature. The fluid around it stopped flowing out. He grabbed Pomni by her upper sword arm. "No... You didn't kill it. You just pissed it off."

The creature got up suddenly and charged the both of them. Caine blinked with Pomni to the far side of the ruins behind the creature. He took a knee. Between the travel to get to her and then blinking with her, he was feeling a bit drained.

"It was playing dead!? That bitch!" Pomni brought her weapons back out.

"Never trust anything is dead until you're holding it's heart in your hand, Pomni." Caine advised as he strategized. "How many rounds you got left?"

"Two" She cocked her gun arm. "And I took out one of it's eyes."

"What is it with you and eyes? First ragatha and now this?"

"Focus!" Pomni hissed. She watched for the creature. She could see it's faded glow searching for them.

"You have the charm?" Caine asked.

"Yeah." Pomni took it out of her pocket and handed it to him.

He took out a tool Pomni didn't recognize and used it to attach the charm to a metal band. He clamped it on her wrist and she felt a rush of energy.

"There. That'll help." He put his tool away.

"What is this?"

"Ragatha didn't say? It's a stamina charm. You could run laps around that thing now."

Pomni grinned. "Let's test it out then." She vaulted over the low wall they were hiding behind and followed the dim glow away from the ruin. Caine snuck out behind her and kept back a bit. Pomni kept low and quiet as she aimed at the glow. Caine readied his strings to either use against the creature or pull Pomni back. He wanted to avoid using his blink, as taking a passenger took a lot of energy and could render him unconscious if he overused it. Pomni stopped and so did Caine. She fired and hit what she was aiming for.

The target exploded into dust, but it was just that. Dust. She'd hit a rock with the creature's life blood smeared on it. They realized too late it was a trap.

The creature rushed Pomni and clamped it's sharp maw on her gun arm. Pomni was lifted into the air and thrashed like a toy. Caine activated his strings and the near invisible strands of energy connected to the creature. He struggled to hold it. "Drop her!" He commanded and the creature barely opened its maw. "I. Said. DROP! HER!" He shouted and forced the strings with all his might. The creature slowly opened its maw and Pomni fell.

She landed on her feet and rushed away. Caine couldn't hold any longer and the creature broke free. It went after Caine. He dove out of the way of it's deadly blades. Pomni took aim but realized her gun was bent to shit and would explode if she tried to use it. "Fuck!" She tried transforming it, but the bent metal refused. "GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!" She released the dead weight of her useless gun and it detached from her shoulder.

Caine was dodging for his life, trying to stay in the creature's blind spot. He used his cane to stop a claw attack and cracks formed along its shaft. That's when Pomni came running up a pile of puppets to a broken wall and then launching herself at the creature. She aimed for its other eye, but the creature slashed at her and it's blades found purchase. She was carved navel to nose right up the front. She slammed to the ground and didn't get up.

"POMNI!" Caine signaled Bubble and the little blimp came down to his location. Bubble dropped small bombs on the creature whilst taunting it, giving Caine enough time to pick up Pomni and emergency blink as far as he could.

He collapsed to his knees from energy exhaustion and nearly dropped Pomni, but held her tight to his chest. She hung limply in his arms. "Pomni? Pomni, dear, say something." He opened her clothes and checked her wounds. The creature's blades had cut deep, all the way to her heart chamber. Her heart barely glowed with life. "No, no, no, stay with me. You're going to be okay, you hear me? You cling to life like the stubborn warrior I know you are!" He blinked away tears as he frantically dug for tools in his pockets. He was woefully unprepared. He hadn't expected things to go this bad this quick.

Bubble couldn't keep the creature distracted long. He ran out of bombs and flew away when the creature whipped it's tail and shot spikes at him. "Watch out, boss! The angry scrap pile is coming!"

Caine heard Bubble over his com and picked up Pomni. He had to find more cover. Even being surrounded by shadow, it's likely that thing could see through its own cloak. He ran as fast as could with her to a divet in the ground covered by victims of the creature. He slid inside the hiding spot and held Pomni close as he heard the creature roar. The ground rumbled as it grew closer. He held his breath.

The creature slowed, scanning the area. Fluid slowly dripped from its eye and chest. It growled with frustration, Caine could feel the bassy resonance in his chest. After a tense moment of the creature lurking near the hide away, it moved on.

Caine exhaled sharply and peeked out to see the glow of the creature fade into the blackness. He turned his attention to Pomni and held her cheek gently. She'd look like she was sleeping if it wasn't for all the blood. He brushed her hair from her face with his thumb. "I'm going to get you out of here. I promise." On an emotional whim, he gently kissed her forehead. Then he set to work on trying to stabilize her. He used his tool to remove a part of his own heart. It was excruciating, but he got it done and attached it to her damaged heart. The glow to her heart increased. "Atta girl." He smiled.

Caine racked his brain for ideas. They could try sneaking out, but without knowing the creature's location, that was very risky. He could try blinking them all the way out of the mist, but that would knock him out for sure and they would be easy pickings for the creature. He could try fighting it himself, but he knew he was no match alone. He whispered into his com. "Bubble? You still out there?"

"Yeah, boss. Just hanging out at the top of the ruin. You should see this view, so many war remnants."

"That's nice, Bubble. Listen, I need you to get help. Get everyone! Bring them back to this location and warn them of what's inside! Make sure they're prepared!"

"Sure thing, boss! Be back in a jiffy!" Bubble flew off out of mobile radio range.

Caine and Pomni pomni were left in the dark, eerily silent mist. He muffled a cough from the toxic air. Pomni stirred in his arms.

"Caine..?" Her voice was weak.

"Shhh, save your strength, my dear. We're safe for now but we have to be quiet. That thing could come back around at any time."

She could barely move, her whole body felt like it was made of lead. "I heard you..."

"What?"

"You said to hold on..."

Caine's eyes were soft. "And I'm so glad you did. Who would be a pain in my ass if you weren't around?"

She smiled weakly and closed her eyes to rest. He settled himself as best her could and tried to get some rest as well, who knows how long it would be before help arrived.

~

"Caine!? Caine! Can you hear me!"

Caine woke with a start to a woman's voice on his radio. He fumbled with his com and answered. "Ragatha! I can't tell you how good it is to hear your voice!"

"Is Pomni okay!?"

"She's alive! Weak, but alive! Where are you?"

"We're just outside the mist. Bubble said there was, uh...angry trash attacking you?"

Caine facepalmed. "Yes, but not entirely accurate. You've heard of the Unseen?"

"THE- WHAT!? WHY ARE YOU EVEN IN THERE??"

"Feel free to ask a certain combat harlequin when she wakes up." Caine said dryly.

"Figures." Ragatha said with exasperation. "What should we do, Caine? I have Z, Kingr and Jax with me."

"Jax? Really?"

"Yeah, he- HEY!"

Jax's voice came over the radio. "Sup, gums. Heard you needed backup... and I was promised payment. So, were is the little beastie?"

"Somewhere in the mist. DO NOT underestimate it. It's fast for it's size and intelligent. Pomni took out its right eye, use that to your advantage, and it's chest is heavily damaged. Go for the core!"

"Sounds easy enough." Jax's dismissiveness made Caine's skin crawl but he didn't say anything.

Ragatha's voice came back. "Give- give it here! Sorry, about that. Okay, Z, Kingr and Jax will go find the creature and I will follow Bubble to your location. I brought your tool kit!"

"You're a saint, Ragatha." Caine sighed with relief.

"I know." She said cheerily and Caine chuckled. He caressed Pomni's face. "Did you hear that? We're getting out of here." She continued to rest.

After fifteen minutes, the creature's roar mingled with shouting. Caine carefully looked out and saw flashes of gold from an intense battle not too far from where he was hiding. The familiar puttering sound of a blimp propeller brought Ragatha to him and she held Pomni as he got to work on Pomni's heart.

~

Jax somersaulted through the air and brought his hammer down on the creature's head. It's maw left an indent in the ground and cracked from the force of the blow. It lashed out but the agile rabbit animatronic easily weaved out of the way. "Too slow, sucker!"

His distraction gave Kinger a chance to grab the beast. His large mechanical hands grabbed it's front legs, forcing the creature to stand on its hind legs. It's underbelly exposed, Z came in and pile-drived the creature. The force of the blow knocked the creature out of Kingr's hands and it retreated.

"Aw, come on! You running from this fight, you coward!?" Jax called after it.

Kingr and Z did not let their guard down. Even more black mist filled the space. "The Unseen is getting desperate." Said Kingr, back to back with Z. "Watch yourselves."

A flash of gold slashed in front of Kingr. One of his arms was cut, but still usable. The creature disappeared back into the mist before he could retaliate. Another flash of gold, this time slashing Z's leg. They didn't even react, they stayed focused. The next time the creature came in for a strike, they brought both of their fists down in front of them. They timed it just right to smash one of the creature's fanned blades. It screeched and ran off again. "There...that should give us a second." They said flatly.

It was only just. The creature came back, again and again. Tearing one of Z's smaller arms off. Slashing Kingr across the front. Snapping the handle of Jax's hammer.

"This isn't working!" Jax yelled and threw his broken hammer. He kept close to Kingr.

Kinger was locked in. He figured out the creature's pattern. He was next and he knew where it was coming from. The creature lunged and he got it by the neck with his good hand. He used its momentum to flip it end over end and slam it to the ground belly up. Z was on top of it immediately. They started prying open the chest cavity to expose the creature's core. It thrashed and clawed at Z but they powered through and reached for the creature's core. The creature used its back legs to throw Z off of and clawed Kingr's arm until he was forced to let go. Heavily wounded, the creature ran off and didn't come back. A trail of gold liquid in it's wake.

The three fighters caught their breath and Jax had to have the final word. "Aaaand stay away!" He gasped. He was glad that was over, for now. They carefully made their way to the others. Jax jumped in the hold while Kingr and Z stood guard.

"Hey, you done in here yet? We're done with the monster." Jax laid back, doing his best to look unimpressed, despite the marks on him.

"You killed it??" Ragatha asked, shocked.

"Well, not exactly, but it won't be bothering us anymore."

"If it's not dead. We're not done here." Caine said as he focused on his work.

"Caine-" Ragatha tried.

"I don't want to hear it. I want to display it's core in my study." He said with cold determination. He found renewed strength in knowing for certain that Pomni was going to be fine. Now, he wanted that thing dead.

"You trophy hunting now?" Jax asked.

Caine didn't get a chance to answer. Pomni was waking up.

"What I do..?" Pomni opened her eyes to see Ragatha holding her, Caine wrist deep in her chest and Jax lounging in the background. "Wha..?"

Ragatha smiled down at Pomni. "Hey there, sleepy head. Heard you picked a nasty fight."

"Yeah...it was awesome."

Ragatha giggled. "I bet you were."

"She was." Caine said. "And she still is, thanks to you." He finished and carefully closed Pomni's chest.

"And you. You're the one that really knows your way around the tools. I'm still learning."

"Quite the learning experience." He huffed.

"Oh yeah, she really puts us through it." Ragatha shook her head.

"Tell me about it." Caine finished packing up his tools.

"Can you two stop talking like I'm not right here?" Pomni said with a bit more clarity in her voice.

Caine and Ragatha look at each other. "Nah." They said in unison.

Jax gagged loudly. "If you three are done being weird, the creature awaits."

Pomni sat up. She ached all over, but she'd power through it. "Where's my sword?" She asked.

"Oh, I brought your spare." Ragatha handed it to Pomni. "Figured you might have lost the first in the fight when you...when you...lost." She awkwardly finished.

Pomni held it in her remaining arm. "Let's kill that motherfucker."

"Hell, yeah!" Jax cheered, only to be shushed by the others. Even Pomni.

"Can you not give away our location!?" Ragatha hissed.

"Wait? I said it's not coming back. It ran off scared. You'll have to find it."

"No, I won't." Pomni stood and climbed out of the hole. "That thing is a hunter. Hunters don't let prey get away." She looked into the darkness with steeled determination. She saw the trail the creature left when it fled, and started following it. Caine and Ragatha at her sides. The others followed closely behind.

Pomni walked as though she could see into the darkness ahead. She was in tune with the fellow hunter, now that she understood what she was up against. She stopped. They were close to the center ruin, whose top disappeared above the darkness. She looked up in time to see the creature leap from the fourth story.

"MOVE!" She shouts and everyone scattered.

The creature landed with a heavy boom than broke the ground. It furiously swiped at anyone within reach. Kinger being the slowest, he was slashed, but he grabbed the creature by the tail and pulled until he tore it off. Ragatha threw her spear and stuck it in the creature's neck. Z tackled the beast head on, holding the unbent blade wing out of reach. The creature snapped wildly, but Jax jumped on it's head and double stomped repeatedly. "Come on, Pomni! Get this over with already!" He shouted incredulously as he dug his heels into the creature's skull.

Pomni ran forward and attacked the core directly. Her sword piece a few tubes, letting loss a cascade of gold fluid, and the creature howled in pain and desperation. She heard Caine whistle. She looked to see him on the third floor. He held out his hand and made a gesture as though he were puppeteering. She nodded. "Get that thing on it's back!" She shouted and jumped with all her might.

Between Z and Kingr, the creature was laid out. Jax and Ragatha stayed clear.

Pomni felt herself go higher than she could naturally jump. She flipped in the air and dove straight for the creature's chest sword first. She and the creature locked eyes the second before impact.

"I win." She smirked and plunged her whole sword into the creature's core.

With a final gutteral groan, The Unseen died.

The black mist faded away to reveal the sky in twilight. Stars pinpricked the sky amongst deep shades of purple and red. The golden sun setting it's final farewell. The mist cleared the creature's hunting grounds, it looked like a warzone with the amount of bodies piled and strewn about.

Pomni pulled her sword free of the core and started hacking away at the neck. She decapitated it and unsuccessfully attempted to drag the head along with her, but Kingr got it for her. "To the victor go the spoils." He pronounced.

"That fucker's head is going over the mantle." Pomni said as she cleaned her blade.

Caine blinked over from the building and immediately started examining the creature's core. "Fascinating. Z, would you mind carrying this back? Not the whole thing. Just the core."

Z shrugged and pulled the core free of the creature's chest cavity. At the very center, still faintly humming, was a gold crystal.

"I very much look forward to studying this." Caine rubbed his hands together.

"Good for you, where's my pay?" Demanded Jax.

"Oh, I forgot you were here." Caine deadpanned. "We'll talk at the manor."

Ragatha went over to check on Pomni. "You feeling okay?"

"Yeah. A bit stiff, but I'll live. And thanks...things would've ended badly if you and the others hadn't shown up." She tried to be nonchalant, but her voice quivered ever so slightly.

Ragatha put her hand on Pomni's shoulder and smiled. "Hey, I'll always come when you call. No matter what. You can count on me."

Pomni gave her a reserved smile in return and put her hand on Ragatha's.

~

Later that evening, Pomni laid on the table in Caine's workshop. He was putting the final repairs on her body, new arm and heart. The piece of himself he used as an emergency replacement stood out amongst the rest he debated what to do with it. It was fine where it was and he could make himself a new part, but...what if she found it and didn't want it there? Found it violating? It wouldn't be right to keep it from her. His gentleman's code wouldn't let him. He woke her up.

Pomni looked down at her still exposed heart. "Uh...you done?"

"No. I wanted to ask you something." He pointed to the mismatched piece on her heart. "When you were...dying. I used a part of my own heart to keep you alive." He pointed to his own, a piece obviously missing. "It was an emergency, and I didn't know what else to do and I understand if it's weird to you that it's there but it does it's job so-"

"Caine."

He stopped talking, looking away.

"It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

She sat up and gently held his chin so he'd look at her. "Yeah, you gave up a literal part of yourself to save my life. I can respect that."

"I'd give up anything for you." It slipped out before he could stop himself. "Uh, except drinking. I won't do that." He tried to play it off as a joke but the look she was giving him told him she saw right through it.

She leaned in and kissed his bottom teeth. "Thank you."

The kiss left a shockwave of chills all the way to his toes. It was short, sweet, simple and he loved absolutely everything about it. He could barely form a response. "Anytime."

[etherfabric]

Encouragement from your Spirit Guides

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

You are the ultimate authority over your life. I merely provide my perspective. Sometimes the Universe lines you up with something that doesn't resonate with your truth, so you have contrast to find out what does. Never give away your power.

Pile 1

The Fool, 9 of Swords

Ditch the phrase "Do it scared." When you bulldoze through your fear, you hurt yourself. It is a part of you that you will never transcend, because you need it. You can't expect any sustainable outcome from this violent approach. Your Spirit Guides see your efforts and want you to know that you hit the mark a long time ago already, and they are doing all they can to line you up with more positive experiences. They don't want you to use force against your most vulnerable parts for the sake of progress that is not even due yet.

You were told by misguided people that you are too sensitive, too slow, too lazy when you feel comfortable. This is not the case. The Universe likes slow. It likes gentle, loving approaches. It will meet you where you are at. Trust in your innate worth of good things, and don't whip yourself to places and situations you aren't ready for. Good things will come - for example the much calmer state of mind you will have once you don't betray your own trust anymore by ignoring your boundaries. You deserve kindness, patience and everything you need to feel safe. Listen to your fear. It needs your love.

Pile 2

Strength, King of Cups

Standing ovation for your emotional resilience! Your Spirit Guides are so freaking proud of you. You found a place within yourself where you can watch the waters of your soul ebb and flow in sovereignty. Even the stormiest currents can't rock you enough to lose your focus on what's important to you. You exude an air of compassion towards yourself that is inspiring.

What you deemed impossible and beyond your depth not so long ago is now already second nature to you. What an evolution to witness! Take pride in the thousands of conscious impulses that led you here. Let the imposter syndrome swim its laps, you know where it stems from, and you know that's not the whole story.

Beware of your knack for arrogance, the other end of that spectrum, and the future looks peachy.

Pile 3

The World, The Moon

Your Spirit Guides want you to know that there is closure to a deep rooted doubt on the horizon. They way you are carrying yourself in the last few days is amicable, and benefits the integration of one of your deepest wounds. Healing comes in many forms, and you have experienced a good handful of them already. Buckle up for a whole new variant of dimension in this regard - things you deemed lost forever will be ever so close to your grasp again and provide you with a surge of motivation you couldn't imagine before.

When the shadows of the past cloud your judgement, hold onto the smidge of light creeping through, especially when it seems like a lukewarm joke that just can't be true. From the perspective of despair, hope always seems ridiculous. Well, get a little silly, then. Dancing naked might sound like the worst humiliation, but only to those who haven't tasted that kind of freedom yet. Get ready to hear the music soon.

Pile 4

Two of Pentacles, Queen of Swords

Oh how you are chopping down that bullshit quickly! No time for nonsense is written all over your forehead, and for the metaphorically illiterate, you have no trouble spelling it out ever so clearly. Your Spirit Guides are in awe of your determination when it comes to your boundaries. You are loyal to your highest principles, no matter what. You know for certain that your wants and needs have a valid foundation, and you won't tolerate any projected shame on that part.

In the past, people could drag you into psychological tug-of-wars that left you off balance either way, whether you "won" or "lost". Now you smell that game from a mile away and don't even touch that rope. Just one little advice: Choose your battles. Not every boundary has to be set in stone, and not every crossing of one is a fundamental failure on your part you have to avoid at all costs, or else. Humans are multitudes of parts, all with their own unique set of requirements, and context is always a factor.

But still, look at you and how far your shadow work around speaking up has taken you! Who would've thought that one day you would need a reminder that soft is okay, too? ;)

[mintyys-blog]

I’d loved a 90s Kon x reader fic (if you don’t mind 🙏)! Reader is like Mark from Invincible (hybrid of human and Viltrumite), who’s waited eagerly for their powers to come in, so they can show Kon before anybody else. Think it’d be cute to see reader being like, “Now, we can both fly together! … O-once I get the hang of it. And I can fight bad guys with you!” Not sure how Kon would take it. Reader is basically all starry-eyed over potentially becoming a hero, not knowing the dangers.

BE LIKE YOU | kon el kent x viltrumite! reader

DC MASTERLIST | WARNINGS:

Kon hovered above the cornfield just outside Smallville, arms folded, jacket sleeves flapping in the breeze. He looked relaxed, but his brow was a little furrowed as he scanned the horizon. You weren’t late—but he could be impatient when he was curious. And today, he was very curious.

Then came a loud, ungraceful thud from behind.

You face-planted into the grass. You slowly got up rubbing the dirt off your face. “Ow. Okay—okay. That one was better, right?”

He turned, floating backwards midair as he laughed. “You call that better? You made a crater the last time.”

“I barely dented the ground this time,” you argued, spitting out a bit of grass, brushing off your hoodie. “It’s progress.”

“Sure, sure. World’s next greatest hero—gonna defeat evil with sick landings.”

You grinned, standing tall, shoulders square with all the energy of someone who just discovered how to not splatter into a wall at Mach 2. “Laugh all you want. I’m serious this time, Kon. My powers are finally coming in. I’m strong, I’m fast, and I—well, I almost flew in a straight line for ten seconds!”

He floated down, standing in front of you now, smirk softening as he saw the excitement in your eyes. You weren’t just showing off. You were beaming.

“And now,” you added, eyes wide with hope, “we can fly together! You won’t have to slow down for me on rooftops anymore. I’ll keep up! …Y’know, once I stop flying like a drunken pigeon.”

He chuckled, reaching out to ruffle your hair gently. “Hey, that’s my thing.”

You batted his hand away with a mock glare. “I’m being serious! You’ve always been the superhero, and I’ve just been the backup cheerleader. But now—I can help. I can fight bad guys with you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Your heart was hammering in your chest—not from the flying practice, but from saying that out loud. Saying it to him. You’d imagined this moment a thousand times. You hadn’t expected him to look… hesitant.

“Y/N…” His voice had dropped a little. “You know it’s not all fun and flying, right?”

“I know,” you said quickly. “I’ve seen the bruises you come back with. The stories you don’t want to tell. But I want to do something good with this. I want to protect people. Like you do.”

He was quiet for a second. Then he looked away, hands on his hips, the edge of his jacket fluttering again.

“You’re amazing,” he finally said, turning back to you. “You’ve got this look in your eyes like the world’s still got a chance. I remember what that felt like.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying you’re jaded now, Kon?”

He gave a lopsided grin. “Nah. Just saying… I don’t wanna see that light in your eyes get snuffed out. Not by someone in an alley with kryptonite brass knuckles. Or worse.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“I am.”

That stopped you.

The breeze blew between you both, warm and gentle. Kon stepped closer, resting his forehead against yours, grounding you both.

“But,” he added, softer now, “if anyone was gonna fly beside me—it’d be you.”

Your eyes widened.

“Just promise me something, okay?” he said, voice quiet. “Don’t lose that starry-eyed part of you. Not even when it gets ugly.”

You nodded slowly, heart full. “I won’t. Not as long as you’re there.”

He smiled, more real this time. “Then c’mon, rookie. Let’s see if you can fly a little straighter this time.”

You grinned, took a breath—and leapt into the sky again. And this time… you didn’t fall.

The world was quiet at night.

That’s what you liked best about it. No one watching. No expectations. Just you, the open sky, and the rush of wind as you cut through clouds.

Every night for weeks, after Kon left or the world went to sleep, you slipped out your window and trained in secret. The fields beyond Smallville became your proving ground. You practiced everything—flight, dodging, strength control, stopping on a dime, lifting boulders, punching trees (you felt so bad for the trees).

You didn’t want to just fly with Kon anymore.

You wanted to be someone he could count on.

But your eyes were starting to betray you. Even in the mirror, you noticed the shadows—dark circles painting themselves beneath your lashes like bruises you hadn’t earned in battle. You waved them off. No big deal. Just a few sleepless nights. A few more, and you’d be ready.

At least… that was the plan.

Until one afternoon, Kon floated up beside you as you sat on a rooftop in Metropolis, watching the sun start to dip. You had no idea how long he’d been there. He didn’t say anything right away.

Just hovered.

You looked over at him, tired but smiling. “Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Didn’t exactly knock,” he said casually. But his voice had that quiet edge to it.

You leaned back on your hands, squinting at the clouds. “I’ve been getting better, by the way. I can fly without swerving now. And I figured out how to brake midair with my momentum without breaking me. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, but his eyes weren’t on the clouds.

They were on you.

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

You blinked, caught off-guard. “Wha—of course I have. I just—I mean, maybe a little less than usual, but that’s normal, right? People train. Athletes train. Heroes—”

“Y/N.”

You stopped.

He landed softly beside you, sitting on the edge of the rooftop. Close enough to lean into, if you wanted.

“I’ve seen it before,” he said. “The obsession. The push. Thinking if you just train harder, maybe you’ll be good enough. Maybe someone will count on you. But that’s not how this works.”

You looked away, throat tightening. “I just… I want to deserve this. These powers. You. The whole ‘hero’ thing. I’m not like you, Kon. I’m still figuring it out. But if I’m gonna fly with you, fight with you… I have to earn it. I have to be ready.”

He didn’t respond right away. And for a moment, you thought maybe you’d said too much. Maybe he’d tell you to back off, to stop playing pretend.

But instead, his hand found yours.

“Y/N,” he said, gently, “you don’t have to break yourself just to keep up with me.”

You turned to face him, surprised by the softness in his eyes.

“You already do,” he said. “Every time you believe in me. Every time you say we can make things better. That stuff? That’s what keeps me going. Not how fast you can fly.”

You looked down at your joined hands, the warmth grounding you more than gravity ever could.

“…You really think I’m enough?”

He smiled, boyish and real, brushing your cheek with his free hand.

“I think you’re gonna be amazing. Just… don’t lose yourself trying to get there.”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Not from sadness—just… being seen. Really seen.

And this time, when you leaned your head on his shoulder and let your eyes close, he didn’t tell you to keep training. He just held you.

The sky could wait. For now.