#but this time around i will be doing a gift :]

[inbabylontheywept]

Babylon and the Duck of Butter

I have a gift for falling in love with random objects. One time, my aunt got me a little rubber chicken, and whenever I squoze it, a little egg thing popped out. Very silly. Except that chicken became something like my best friend. I carried it with me to school, and I kept it with me in my pocket, and whatever social hazards there were about Being The Guy Who Got Stressed Whenever His Rubber Chicken Was Missing were far outweighed by being The Guy Who ALWAYS Had a Rubber Chicken On Him. There's a lot of comedic opportunity that comes with always having a good prop on your person.

Of course, the chicken did eventually. Explode. And such was my grief that I did not eat for 36 hours. This was very stressful for many people. Mostly my mom. I was a very strange child to work with. She took parenting so incredibly seriously, and then I'd pitch her these curve balls like refusing to eat for a day and a half because my rubber chicken died. No parenting book tells you what to do when that happens. You just have to feel it in your heart.

A less tragic story of an object that I fell in love with was a large, foam toad that I found in a trinket shop. The toad was the size of a very large grapefruit. Much too large to carry with me to school (thank god) but enough that I could move it around the house, to keep me company during my solitary pursuits. If I was reading, the toad was there, and if I was tinkering with legos, the toad was there, and even when I slept, I would wrap the toad up in layers and layers of blankets, and then spoon it. I did this until the rubber coating on the foam started to wear out, and the foam started to get brittle and break down and leak this repulsive yellow powder. Then I simply put the toad in the playroom and would consult it on matters of great importance. Eventually I stopped doing that, and someone took the opportunity to dispose of it. Not sure who. By the time I noticed its absence, too much time had passed for me to actually be sad. As an adult, part of me thinks I would have maybe liked burying the toad, but part of me also thinks I might have refused to part with the toad, which would have resulted in it leaking more repulsive yellow powder into the house. So I understand why that decision was made. 

I want to state that this does not happen often, and it does not happen on purpose. I don't choose to fall in love with random objects. And it's always a little bit embarrassing when it happens. 

Which brings me to my wife. 

Before meeting my wife, I did not often go to places with crowds. I didn't really think of it as avoiding them - those places just didn't seem fun to me. But she liked those places, and I really liked her, and being with someone who really likes something can kind of sell you on liking it too, so I'd take her to places and watch her Visibly Enjoy the Fair and go: Alright. The fair is pretty sweet.  

Which is a thing that happened. After fourish months of dating, I took her to the fair. And she fell very visibly in love with a large series of quilts, and she stayed near them for a while, which she thought was very embarrassing, and I got to pretend to be understanding as an outsider, because I thought it would be much more impressive than also being the type of person that would fall in love with a quilt. 

Do not do this. The gods punishment for my hubris was that the room next to the quilts was full of butter sculptures, which was an entirely new thing to me, and I immediately fell embarrassingly in love with all of them. It was like the biggest, sappiest non-sexual crush you've ever had, but not only did the other person not recipropcate, they could not, because they were made of butter. I actually got yelled at for pressing my face against the glass, which is fair, but also, I hadn't realized I was pressing my face on the glass, I just started leaning forward because after approximately 30 minutes of staring wistfully at a cow made of butter my legs got tired. And I think I should be given some grace for that.

Anyway. My wife was very patient with me taking more time to look at the butter sculptures than the average person might spent at the Louvre, and she also felt much less embarrassed over falling in love with a quilt, and we had a good laugh about it on the ferris wheel. 

A few weeks after that was my birthday. And I don't know what I expected, exactly - but I did not expect what she did. 

Dear reader, she made me a butter sculpture. Of a duck.

She picked a duck, because our first kiss was at a Japanese friendship garden. It was our second date, and she'd made up her mind not to do any kissing until the third date, but as we sat on the grass, a duck walked past me, and I'd just seen the hold-duck-gentle-like-hamgurber meme,

so I sort of impulsively reached out and snatched it. I honestly didn't think it would work. I don't know who was more flabbergasted, me or the duck. But we looked at each other, and then I looked at her, and then she looked at the duck, and she looked so incredibly envious that I assumed that must have wanted the duck so I just handed it to her.

It turned out she was actually envious of the ability to just grab a duck as it walked by, but she accepted the duck and stroked it a few times before releasing it. (She also made up her mind to kiss me in that moment, which was very nice.)  

Anyway.

She made me a butter duck of my own. Obviously, I fell in love with it immediately. I cleared out all of the freezer-portion of my mini fridge, and I put the duck in there, and for the next several months, when I felt sad, or lonely, I would open the door up and spent some quality time. Just me and my duck.

But this is, of course, not the end of the story. 

Because.

After several months. 

The mini fridge died. 

I really didn't use it that often. It was mostly my duck storage container. But one day, I walked by it, and it struck me that it wasn't humming. So I opened the door, and it was just. Far, far too late. The duck was dead. Dead dead. Turned into a foul-smelling slime dead. 

I cried. I did. After the rubber chicken thing, I thought I had changed, but I had not changed, and the unexpected death of my butter buddy left me pretty shook. I texted my then-girlfriend now-wife about how sad I was, and she actually came over to help me say goodbye. We didn't even bother scraping the duck out of the mini-fridge, we just said our goodbyes to both and threw them together in the nice dumpster behind the chapel, because it seemed appropriate to put it in God's dumpster. And it did actually help quite a bit. I certainly did not go 36 hours without eating again. 

And that was, for some time, the end of the butter duck. 

However. Three (or four?) years ago, for my birthday, my wife was looking around thrift stores. And she found something interesting. 

The original butter duck had an odd pose. She'd sculpted it laying flat, intending to raise it up later. But the butter was less flexible than she thought, and she was afraid of cracking it so she left it down which left the duck with a very elongated, very in-motion appearance. And she found a brass statue of a duck in the same, running posture.

It wasn't the original. But it was oddly on the nose. It was a yellow brass, it had the same strange posture, the same crude little face feathers. 

I think it was $3, but it remains perhaps the most thoughtful gift I have ever received. I got very choked up when I unwrapped Butter Duck, The UnDying. 

Pic provided.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

The First Meet Self-Aware!Caleb

Caleb always talked about how he would he would show you around SkyHaven when you got there. It was never an 'if' with him it was always a 'when'. Perhaps that should've been your first red flag, but when you have feelings for someone those red flags look a little pink A/N: I was chillin' in the N109Zone while I wrote this. Sylus rubbed my feet and brought me food. pt. 1 here

“Just give me some time….”

What did he mean by that? The memory of the way his voice shook and how it seemed like he was talking more to himself rather than you — haunted you endlessly. You spent your days on edge, looking over your shoulder, tossing and turning in your sleep and waking up out of breath. You were never able to use your phone again after that it just wouldn’t turn back on. You spun the new device in your hand flipping it over to see the new phone case you purchased for it.

Apples.

“Well thanks for the new phone Caleb” You mumbled to yourself, setting it aside on your desk before sitting down to get to work. Part of you missed playing Love and Deepspace, but you couldn’t bring yourself to download the app again after what happened with Caleb. For months you had managed to fall for that pixelated man only for it to end the way that it did. You still had no clue what he meant by ‘Give me some time’ but it gave you chills nonetheless.

“Hey!” You jumped at the sound of Camerons voice aka your work bestie. “What?” The word rushed out of you. She stared down at you with a concerned look “I’ve been trying to get your attention I called your name at least ten times” You blinked rapidly as you looked around trying to gather your scattered thoughts. You hadn't realized you were spacing out “I’m sorry I was just trying to get this finished by end of day” You smoothed out your shirt and turned to face your friend “What's up?” Just when you thought it would be bad news you watched as a saccharine grin spread across her face. “Somebody had these delivered” She pulled a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind her back and gently placed them in your lap. “Just for you”

Your whole face lit up as you looked down at the gorgeous flowers. No one has ever gifted you flowers before. The gesture almost made you combust just from staring at them. Carefully picking them up, you took a long sniff relishing in the floral notes that filled your senses. After getting a good sniff you quickly searched the flowers for a card to see who your secret admirer could be.

‘𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑷𝒊𝒑-𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒂𝒌 ♡ ͏𝑰 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 -𝑪 ’

Your heart dropped to your ass in an instant; it can’t be Caleb he’s not real. You sprang to your feet letting the flowers fall to the floor — petals broke away from the stems as you kicked it away. The room grew blurry as your lungs constricted and your heart pounded like a drum in your ears. The last thing you saw was your friend reaching for you before you were suddenly counting the ceiling lights. Cameron shook you by your shoulders trying to get you to breathe properly. “What was in those flowers!? What did you do? Should I call 911?” She wasn’t speaking to you she was looking over her shoulder — who's she talking to? Please don’t let it be your boss that lady is strict enough as it is. She’ll have you head on a stick if she finds out you passed out on the clock.

“No I'll take it from here” A tall looming shadow stood over you; his face came into view as he leaned down and cupped your cheek in his hand. “Let’s go home pipsqueak you don’t look so well” Caleb? But how? You wanted to flinch away from his touch or get up and scramble away from him but your body was so heavy. “Ca…Caleb” It was so hard to speak your words coming out slurred as you continued to become even dizzier. “How?…..” His smile was blurry but his voice was clear "I take it you missed me considering this phone case"

The world seemed to be going by in flashes. First you were on the floor and next you were in someones arms and now you’re watching flashes of light pass by as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “Get some rest” A gentle hand rubbed small circles on your back willing you to sleep. The heavy weight of sleep outweighed your will to stay awake.

You were groggy as you rolled over and instinctively snuggled into your pillow. You wanted to go back to sleep, but the smell of breakfast had your stomach growling. Breakfast? You sat up in a panic looking around the foreign room. This was not your room and this was not your city. Fumbling out of bed you somehow managed to wrap your feet up in the sheets falling to the floor with a hard thud “Fuck that hurt” just then you heard heavy footsteps heading your way. Terror set in as you tried to untangle yourself from the blankets as the footsteps grew closer. “Come on come on come on” you begged the sheets that seemed to continuously grip onto your legs. “You can’t be serious” You whisper-yelled to yourself.

The room door opens softly and there stands Caleb with a look of worry. “What happened?” He rushes to your side and tries to help untangle you. “Caleb!?” Your eyes are practically bulging out of your head staring at the man in front of you. You wriggle and flail only making things worse “Hold still!” Caleb pins you in place with his evol as he unwraps your lower half from the sheets and blanket. “There. All done” He meets your stare and gives you those same puppy dog eyes that you remember all too well.

“W-where am I?” It took everything in you to keep from cowering into the corner. You knew there was no point in trying to run since he could quite literally pin you in place. He beamed as he gestured towards the floor to ceiling window “Welcome to SkyHaven I hope you enjoy your stay” He said with a wink. Your lips curled into an angry frown while your eyes ping ponged between the view and him. “What? Are you not happy to see me?”

“I don’t understand how I'm seeing you” You rolled your shoulder to try and quell the pain radiating from it. There will definitely be some bruising or at least some soreness later. “That’s classified information Pip-squeak” Before you could ask anymore questions Caleb pulled you to your feet like you weigh nothing. You looked up at him almost entranced by how handsome he is. You shook your head and snatched your hands from his. “Don’t give me that bullshit excuse! Take me home!”

He tilted his head and reached a hand out to caress your cheek “You are home” Although he had the warmest smile and lovestruck eyes; you couldn't help, but feel like a bucket of ice water was thrown on you. You stared dumbfounded; words escaping you.

Say something. Say something!

“I have to leave soon but I wanted to share a meal with you before then” That's when you noticed he was dressed in his colonel uniform — damn he looked so good too, but you refused to tell him that.

Suddenly he grabbed your wrist and pulled you out the door. You tripped over your own feet trying to keep up with his long strides. “I can walk on my own Caleb let go” You yanked at his grip and surprisingly he let go — only for him to swiftly sweep you off your feet and carry you bridal style into the dining room. He gently placed you in a chair and sauntered off to the kitchen returning with your favorite juice, a glass of water, and scallion pancakes. You stared at your plate not sure if you’re happy or pissed.

“I didn’t poison it so stop poutin’ and eat before it gets cold” You glanced at Caleb who occupied the seat next to you. He sat in a relaxed position with his head resting in his palm; studying you intently. You were still hesitant to eat anything this man put in front of you considering he kidnapped you to another world and won’t tell you how to get home. Caleb reaches a hand across you grabbing your knife and fork and slices a piece of your scallion pancake — popping it into his mouth with a subtle groan. He cuts another piece and turns the fork to you “See it’s safe”

You hesitantly part your lips as Caleb pushes the food into your mouth. The flavors bursting on your tongue had you audibly moaning as well. Caleb was a fantastic cook — you snatched the fork from his hand and dug right in taking a few sips of your drink to wash it down. The weight of his stare has you slowing down and immediately wiping your mouth “What are you staring at?” Calebs eyes soften as he slowly scans your face “You’re even more beautiful in person”

Even though you weren’t happy with him those words still gave you butterflies — you’ve been trying so hard to suppress them. You dropped your gaze and moved the last bits of your food around your plate “Don’t flirt with me you’re gonna make me nervous” He let out a soft chuckle and flicked your nose before leaning back in his chair — flashing that gorgeous smile of his. Caleb really was breathtaking; those violet eyes almost had you in a trance. You couldn’t help, but take in all his features — your eyes going from his eyes to his lips, taking notes of how full and soft they looked.

Continuing your perusal, you let your eyes move down, taking in his long muscular, but lean frame. His legs seemed to go for miles and you watched him spread them just a little wider when your eyes reached his lap. “You like what you see pip-squeak?” You finally snapped out of your self-inflicted trance and shook your head “You’re easy on the eyes even though you make my nervous system stand on end” You pushed your empty plate away, crossing your arms over your chest as you sat back in your chair.

Caleb didn’t respond immediately — opting to just give your cheek a caress as he grabbed your plate. His silence was unnerving to say the least. Is he upset? Are you the reason he’s upset? Staying quiet seemed to be the best option. “So I’ll be leavin’ for three days I want you to stay here and when I get back I promise to give you the grand tour of SkyHaven” His voice was accompanied by the sound of dishes clattering and running water.

“Three days?!” You choked on your drink causing you to cough loudly. Caleb stopped what he was doing and rushed to your side — rubbing your back as you caught your breath. “I’m not staying here for three days! I have a life back home!” You pushed his shoulder so you could stand and get some space. You knew by the way his brows furrowed and the chilling demeanor that washed over him in an instance that you’d made him mad. “And how exactly do you plan on getting ‘home’ pip-squeak?” He took a step toward you making you step back. You didn’t get far as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you flush against him. His eyes were becoming wild — this was the same look in his eyes before he ruined your phone for good. His heart was also beating rapidly in rhythm with yours.

You: Tell me how! Caleb: Didn’t you say you hated your job? You: Yes but- Caleb: Weren’t you the one who said you wanted someone to take care of you for once? You: Caleb I didn’t mean- Caleb: So why not stay here and be happy …. with me?

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you stood there letting part of yourself give in to him while the other half was ready to run out the door. Where would you go though? Who would help you? There’s no way Caleb is actually cruel enough to keep you here knowing damn well you don’t belong in this game. “I-I can’t” You croaked out not knowing if you wanted to kiss him or kick him. You watched Calebs’ expression fall, but he quickly covered it with a small grin. He stepped away from you and you almost chased after him due to the loss of warmth. He gripped you by your chin and you stood there frozen not sure what his next move would be. He narrowed his eyes as he searched your face for what? You didn’t know. To your surprise he placed the softest kiss on your lips. The gasp that followed was swallowed up by him as he deepened the kiss. Your mind screamed at you to give him a swift kick to the crotch, but your heart was melting in the palm of his hand.

You kissed him back with the same fervor.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him impossibly close. Caleb kissed you like he would never have this chance again while simultaneously savoring your lips like he had all the time in the world. He tapped the side of your thigh and you swiftly lifted it without question. Caleb picked you up, holding you close as he moved across the room and laid you down on the couch. He pulled away breathless and dropped his forehead on your chest “If we keep going I’ll be late for work”

“I should probably get home anyway Caleb we can talk about this another day, but let me go home first” You ran your hands through his hair — it was soft. He lifted his head and for the first time, since bringing up home, his eyes showed no sign of anger. “You’re right” He stood to his full height and helped you to your feet. “Lets get you some pain medication for your shoulder” He brushed his fingertips over the darkening area “Then I'll tell you how to get home” his words were almost a whisper.

“Thank you” You could feel the tension melting off of you in waves.

“Follow me” He helped you to your feet and headed down the hallway towards what you assume is his room. You followed closely behind him; stumbling a few times to keep up. Once you were in his room your stumbling became much harder to control. Your breathing was becoming heavy and your head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. You braced yourself against the wall willing the dizziness to stop.

“What’s wrong? Come lay down” Caleb said feigning concern. Your body was too heavy to even try to fight him so you allowed him to guide you into his bed and you felt a soft kiss on your forehead right before drifting off to sleep. “I’ll be back soon”

The room was dark only lit by the moon through the window when you woke up. You sat up glancing around the room trying to figure out where you were. It took a minute for your eyes to adjust, but once they did you saw the outline of a small lamp on the nightstand next to the bed.

No he didn’t.

You bolted out of bed at the sudden realization that you were still in Calebs home. “Caleb!” You yelled as you ran down the hall out into the living room. The place was dark and quiet not a single sign of another person. You ran to the front door, frantically trying to open it, but somehow Caleb managed to bolt this door shut making it impossible for you to leave. “He locked me in?” Think.

The windows!

You opened one of the few windows that wasn't floor to ceiling and found that it luckily wasn't sealed shut. Freedom was in reach. You went to put one leg out the window when you were met with an electrifying pain. “Ow! Damn it!” There was some kind of electromagnetic wall just outside the window. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Your breathing was ragged and tears streamed down your face uncontrollably. “Fuck you Caleb you were never going to let me leave”

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[lovecla]

MAKE IT TO THE MORNING ; JACK HUGHES

PAIR jack hughes x fem!reader

SUMMARY being jack hughes’ girlfriend comes with a lot of hardships— but in the mornings, you realize it is all worth it.

WARNINGS unedited, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), rough sex, p slapping, cockwarming, dirty talk, jack is lowkey a little shit, reader loves him tho, inspired by the song “make it to the morning” by partynextdoor. freaky af!!!

WORD COUNT 2,3k

FROM ME TO YOU a little late (literally, it’s like 3am for me), but this is my thank you gift for you guys because today i woke up with 700 of you!! i’m still too in shock to say anything besides thank you so much. i was celebrating 600 followers like a month ago and now this. i’ll keep working hard to give you guys good content <3 ily and pls enjoy

𖧷

don't scream or shout, i'm workin' my way down

girl, you gettin' loud, now put it in yo' mouth

THE SOUND of your heels clicking against the marble floor were enough to piss anyone off. It was annoying, repetitive and even you were starting to get tired of the little tec tec sound, but you couldn’t stop.

Dating Jack Rowden Hughes was not for the weak. And you knew that, more than anyone else. Being his girlfriend of three years— the longest time he has ever been in a relationship, mind you—, you knew that the prize was good, but the job of keeping it was tiring.

You stared at him across the room, talking to some random fans who definitely didn’t know what being a fan was, since they were all over him, with their hands on his arms and shoulders.

He eyed you from time to time, blue eyes making it hard for you to stay one hundred percent mad at him— truthfully, you knew that all it would take for you to forgive him for his playboy behaviour would be a single kiss and an aggressive make out session.

“It isn’t so fun watching from here, huh?” Quinn’s new fling, or whatever the girl standing beside you was, said, approaching you quietly. “Trust me, I know how it feels.”

You hummed, not engaging with her. You knew Jack wouldn’t actually do anything, but still, it didn’t feel nice to get painted as the dumb girlfriend who has to watch her famous boyfriend laugh and take pictures with hundreds of girls while she stands in the back.

“I’m lucky my Quinn isn’t as nearly as talkative as he is,” she continues, despite your silence. “But you know, Jack is everyone’s favorite.”

You turned your head to the side, watching the girl next to you eye Jack the same way she eyed Quinn, hungry and suggestive, and that was enough for you.

“Sorry,” you interrupted, putting your wine glass down— it had been empty for at least ten minutes— and smiling apologetically. “I have a terrible headache, so I think it’s time for me to head out.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” she pouts, and you can feel your eyes twitch. “It is pretty late too, so you must be tired.”

“Mhm.” You nod, looking at your phone. 3:46a.m.

“Do you want me to call Jacky?” She asks, expectantly, and the way she says his name makes you want to smash her face against the crumbles of cake sitting on the buffet table.

“No, no, it’s fine, don’t worry,” you play dumb. “It was nice seeing you…”

You forgot her name. It was probably something like Olivia or Madeline, but still. You didn’t remember.

“It was nice seeing you, too!” She says, apparently clueless to your lack of memory— and interest. “I’ll text you later so we can talk more.”

“Sure thing, yeah.” You walk towards Jack with long, careful steps. “Hey, babe.”

His eyes are on you immediately, his hair moving around with his abrupt move. He smiles, stepping out of the little circle the girls had made around him to wrap his arms around you.

“If it isn’t my favorite girl,” he says. “Hi, baby.”

You can feel the girls’ eyes on you, burning your skin like the fictional fairies’ whenever they touch iron. It is a feeling you are used to already, but you feel yourself shivering either way.

“Can we go?” You ask, bluntly ignoring the other women there. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, we can,” he nods, turning his head back to his little girl group before smiling at them. “See ya, ladies.”

See ya, ladies?

“Bye, Jack.”

“You’re the best!”

“See ya next time!”

You can’t hide your pout on your way home— you don’t even try to. You have your arms crossed in front of your chest as you sit in the front seat of Jack’s absurdly expensive car, listening to the quiet hum of his air conditioner and the annoying noise whenever he turns on the turn signal.

“You’re not mad… are you?”

His voice is tentative, almost as if he’s scared of asking the question.

“Are you kidding me? You spent half of that ridiculous party talking to women. Tell me I can’t be mad about that.” You hiss back, not looking at him. You know there are high chances of you folding bad if you do.

“Baby, I already told you, it’s all business,” he says, once again, because he has, indeed, told you that several times before. “I can’t have them saying I’m a rude guy, can I?”

“Sometimes I can’t believe the shit you say,” you scoff. “You literally told a reporter to fuck himself last week, on live. Talk about being a nice guy now, Jack.”

“Come on, you’re not being fair!” He exclaims, and you can hear the pout on his voice. “He talked shit about you. He was lucky I didn’t punch him in the face.”

You rolled your eyes, biting your lips to hide your smile.

Little does Jack know you jumped out of the couch when you saw the transmission and giggled while you sent texts to your best friend about how you would have to be the mother of his children.

You stayed silent, looking at the dark streets, briefly forgetting about your anger to notice how beautiful your city is. There weren't many people in the streets at that hour— it was summer, yes, but it was almost four a.m and it was still Monday, and a lot of people were still working.

When you got to your and Jack’s apartment— a two bedroom penthouse with plenty of space and a kitchen you still fell in love with every time you looked at it— you didn’t waste time before heading to the guest bathroom shower, a clear sign that you didn’t want Jack to join you, which you knew pissed him off.

You were quick even though you weren’t sleepy, washing the soap off your body under the lukewarm water; happy because it was your favorite scent.

You got out of the stall, opening the bathroom door after you wrapped the towel around your body, deciding to change inside your bedroom.

Or at least that’s what you thought you would do.

“Y/n.” Jack calls you, sitting on top of the bed.

“Fuck, Jack,” you grunt. “You scared me.”

“I can’t have you mad at me, baby,” he says, getting up and walking towards you, only stopping when your covered chest is touching his. “You know those women mean nothing.”

“Jack,” you sigh. “We’ve been here before. You can’t just say that every time you flirt with other women.”

“I wasn’t—” he starts, but interrupts himself mid sentence. “You’re making shit up.”

“Am I?” You ask, holding the towel tighter. “You damn well I’m not.”

“Listen,” he says. “I’m not proud with the way I acted but I already told you—”

“It’s all business. I know, you know, we all know.” You roll your eyes, stepping back and moving forward so you can leave the room. His hand finds your waist almost immediately, locking you in place. “Jack—”

“You’re so full of complaints, baby,” he whispers. “Every time we go out you complain about something.”

“I wouldn’t complain if you didn’t give me reasons to.”

He clicks his tongue, running his fingers over your naked arms. You shiver slightly, hoping he doesn’t see it. “You want more?”

“More what?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“More reasons to complain,” he continues, chuckling as he lowers his head and hides it in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “Real reasons to complain.”

“Wha—”

“Because I’ll give them to you, if you want to,” he licks your skin, and you can feel yourself start to malfunction. He’s a little shit, you think, as you slowly start to give in. He’s a little shit and I’m in love with him. “Or I can keep your mouth full so you can’t complain anymore.”

He stands up straight again, staring at you while his fingers move to where you were holding your towel.

“What’s your pick, baby?” He whispers, removing your grip from the soft fabric around your body, letting it fall on the floor, like a puddle of water on your feet.

You’re fully naked, and he can’t even pretend he’s not looking— he is. He always is.

Jack kisses you with hungry, tender lips. He holds your neck while he licks your lips with his tongue, hot and messy. He tastes like beer and you hate it, but you cannot get enough.

You wrap your own arms around his neck, holding him so close to you you could feel his heartbeat. Kissing him never got old, and if you were to write down your top ten favorite things about Jack Hughes, his kiss would definitely be number one.

You breathe in his scent, your favorite ever since you met him, and you can feel your legs start to give in, just like the rest of your body. It’s late at night, almost morning, your body can’t keep up with your mind and you want to tell Jack to fuck off.

Yet.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers against your lips, as he guides you to the bed, laying you down with your hips on the edge of it. “Let me give you something to make noise about.”

That’s the only warning you get before he gets his knees on the floor and separates your legs, leaving you open and exposed. You feel his fingers spreading your lips open, and when his tongue finds its way to your clit, all of your previous complaints are gone.

You close your legs around his neck, holding him in place, while he puts on a show for you, his fingers tracing the wetness pouring out of you.

You let out a soft moan, holding his hair with your hands, not bothering to be gentle. His tongue found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, circular motions.

“Jack.”

You trash under him as he flicked your sensitive nub with his mouth, the wet noises making you want to disappear. Jack always seemed pleased to go down on you, but you still aren’t used to this fact about him.

“So sweet, baby,” he murmurs, the vibrations of his words sending shivers down your spine, as he dives in again.

He has you curling your toes and arching your back, moaning his name loud and proud, but still, he doesn’t stop. He slides his arms under your thighs, holding you in place by gripping your waist, hard.

He has you coming in under five minutes— it’s a shame it’s over so soon, but what can you do, really. He looks up at you between your thighs, and the sight alone has you moaning, desperate for something else.

You pull his hair, gently, signaling to him that you wanted him up, closer to you, and so he does. He kisses you again, and you get to taste yourself on his lips, moaning loudly inside his mouth when you feel his dick trapped between his body and yours.

“Jack,” you whisper again, placing both of your hands on his cheeks. “I need you.”

“Yeah. I can see that.” He says, chuckling as he gets off you and removes the rest of his clothes.

He slides inside you with no hesitation or whatsoever, knowing too well that your inside’s have his print all over it. You both moan loudly, louder than you should be moaning at four something in the morning, but you can deal with the complaint letter later.

He holds your legs together, pressing them against your chest, almost folding you in half. He is being rough, something you absolutely want to kill him for, but you let yourself enjoy the roughness for a moment; you can scold him later.

You can feel him deeper now, as your body gets dragged up and down against the mattress, making you want to scream.

“You’re wet,” he says through his teeth and you can tell he’s also giving in. “Y/n, fuck.”

You’re clenching around his length as he strokes your G spot, dragging his dick against your walls, once again making sure you can take everything he gives you.

“Harder.” You hear someone ask, probably yourself, and you also hear his low chuckle. “Not enough.”

“Still complaining?” He asks, but doesn’t give you time to answer. Instead, he removes his right hand from your waist and does the one thing he knows it will have you drooling and begging under him.

He slaps your pussy. The wet, loud sound that fills the room makes you squirm, unconsciously trying to remove yourself from his hold. But he’s stronger, always has been.

“Take it, baby.”

He then slaps you again, and again, and so many times you stop counting. The feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, and his rough slaps against your clit is enough to make you come, leaving you almost lifeless under him.

“Good girl, Y/n,” he says, kissing your lips, briefly. “I’m gonna come, fuck.”

“Inside, please,” you hear yourself mumbling, and you’re not even sure if Jack hears it.

“What was that, baby?” He asks, his thrusts getting sloppy.

“Inside?”

“Fuck,” he curses. “I’m—”

He cums inside you, the familiar feeling making you sigh with bliss. You are both panting, the room smells of sweat, alcohol and sex, and you swear you can see the sun start to rise through the bedroom’s floor to ceiling windows.

You’re just about to tell Jack you want to go to sleep when you feel him start to pull out, which has you protesting, immediately.

“No, I— sleep inside, please?”

His blue eyes are staring down at you, and now, there’s a hint of a smile plastered on his face. He nods once, manhandling you around until you’re under the sheets, with your back glued to his chest, and his length still nestled inside you.

“Well, if you’re still mad at me,” he whispers. “At least we made it to the morning, huh?”

“Shut up,” you whisper back, barely hiding your smile. “If you keep talking, there won’t be any other morning.”

He laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Very well, then.”

𖧷

NHL MASTERLIST. JACK HUGHES MASTERLIST

[dykepuffs]

The mad thing is, for sex workers this often isn't even a hypothetical. Not Elon, but obscenely rich men would propose to me, deadly seriously, about once every 18 months. I cammed and whored, and used the camming to scout for touring clients, meaning sometimes I would get "Bb, come to see me next time I'm in London, I would die for you, I will get you a room in the Dorchester, here is a little allowance to buy yourself gifts before then..." and sometimes after doing that a handful of times with the same man, I'd get "Sweet girl, marry me, I can stop you from having to do this, you will have your own apartment and all your bills paid, I will see you when I am in your city, and you will fly first class to be with me in Paris, LA, Kyoto..."

And at the time, I was homeless or not far off it, living in squats and renting rooms in shitty overstuffed buildings, sleeping in stairwells and under railway arches. And these were men I knew I could at least trust to not physically hurt me, who were no worse than self-obsessed and vain, who I'd spent some time with and wasn't totally incapable of getting along with and, for that matter, that I'd had usually mediocre-but-not-offputting sex with - And they were offering a very "distant" marriage, where I would have been arm candy at parties and a regular fuck every few weeks between affairs, with a long leash (as long as I wasn't fucking around with men... Women was fine though.)

One "yes," and I wouldn't have been eating out of bins because I had to spend my earnings on delousing foam. But... Still, no, because the thought of being permanently attached to these awful rich men, in a way that I couldn't just terminate by changing my number, was stomach churning.

But the number of white boys who do not at all understand why I am now not someone's trophy wife who he only sees when he's in this hemisphere on business, alarms me.

I would say closer to 99.5% of women don’t like him but the point still stands.

[julia-jck]

Random new boyo!

I have no idea what to do with him... Which I'm thinking about maybe adding to his story, kinda like Ink?

Imagine this: He wakes up in a white space with some half finished places from undertale, but nothing else. He himself is an unfinished design, only wearing a dress-shirt and leggings. It could be his finished design, but it doesn't feel finished to him. His creator had given up on his AU and story and abandoned it some time ago, but was done enought to be reality. He was stuck alone in his AU for some time, walking around and seeing all the unfinished stuff. But it didn't take too long for him to be found and brought to the Omega timeline. When he got to the Omega timeline, he realized quickly that everyone seemed to be something and/or have a theme, while he were just... some skeleton guy. He didn't know what to do and were to shy to really approach people, but knew he needed something to do for a living and to keep him sane. So he became a postman/mailman. And being more drawn to cute stuff, he decided to tailor his uniform to be more cute. The wings on his boots were a gift however, as his coworkers thought he were very fast and thought it would look cute. He didn't have a name for a very long time as he was never given one and never really knew his own identity. He wasn't even sure if he were a Sans or not. But after a while, he decided to name himself Del.

If you think he looks like a shipchild, you wouldn't be wrong. I looked at him many times and thought "he looks like he could be a chip child between these characters" for like.... 3 diferent pairings (all being with Dream), and I were close to just say "Fu*k it" and make him a ship child, but I didn't want that. Aka, people in the Omega timeline might mix him up with Dream a few times when he's not in uniform???

[r3ynah]

The people we lose along the way;

A prompt where Danny's old middle school lab professor was the Joker (from Batman: The Killing Joke) and Danny and his classmates call him Professor J, Him and his wife Jianne was born and raised in Amity Park, so overtime being surrounded by large amounts of ectoplasm, Professor J. became a liminal.

And Prof J. was actually a good teacher, the kind of teacher that will let you eat in his class, give you snacks at random times, and someone you can seek solace and peace whenever you get stressed.

Him and his wife always were there for everyone as a shoulder to cry on or just a helping hand, they were dearly beloved by the whole community.

Professor J was actually very funny, but his humor was only circled around amity park due to the fact it's a town not very social with other city, towns, social media, or the net, and they are famously known to keep to themselves.

Nonetheless everyone saw the potential in Professor J, and supported him to the fullest, why they ended up in Gotham was a mystery (some excuse that'll I'll probably come up later, but I'll let you guys do the imagining).

I like to think Gotham has very toxic ectoplasm so when He and his wife moved there he couldn't handle the toxins and it affected him mentally and physically.

after they moved everything started to go downhill, prof J first worked in a lab, then he quitted his job and became a comedian and sadly failing, Jianne almost who was almost due to give birth sadly died due to an accident, and then the Joker happened.

Now a couple a years after the comic took place, the amity parkers (they don't know what happened in these past years, they only know that the professor J. they know became a well-known comedian, or so he says) still in touch with Prof J. continued to talk to him through phone calls, messages and letters most of the time it's just his students that call, and some of his few close friends there, they tried to ask on how was Jianne doing, only to get abruptly interrupted by the rogue, who just says that she's doing better than ever or that she's resting, which they believed because they trusted their Professor.

Sometimes the joker also sends gift to his former students, Danny sometimes gets planet themed items, Sam gets mailed plants that are not native in amity park, Tucker gets new technology, Paulina gets a new plushie for her plushie collection, and so on

So, as payback they decide to go to Gotham to search for their professor J, which made them meet new friends along the way, Danny with Jason Todd, Sam with Poison Ivy, Tucker with Tim Drake, Paulina with Barbara, Star with Steph, etc..

And they're very vague with their reasoning, just only saying that they're visiting their former professor and surprising them, and then they get kidnapped in like a museum or charity event or something that has a lot of people gathered, so the amity parkers alongside other civilians became hostages.

And of course, the Bats ad Birds immediately went out to save them, only for Joker to reveal himself to everyone, and he locks eyes with the amity parkers who looked at him in realization, betrayal, and horror, and Joker stared back at them with a taken aback look that merged into panic, his grin still plastered on his face.

They couldn't swallow the reality that their professor became the person, he promised he wouldn't be, he promised to them (Because you know damn well the adults from amity park couldn't care for their children). and to see the only trusted adult in their town become one of the most disgusting and horrible human beings to ever step foot in the earth was truly heartbreaking for the group.

And for once, Joker felt like he was burning inside out because of their stares that they emitted. he mourned as guilt, sadness, and grief swallowed him for the person he used to be.

He treated those kids like his own and he and Jianne loved those kids to bits, so he did the only logical decision he could think as he pushed aside his crazed rogue tendencies, and made his last decision as a friend, professor and father and ordered his goons to take the students away from this place safe and sound and threatened them to make sure not a single hair was pulled out of them or anything to cause harm.

He watched as Paulina cried for him, Sam with her brows furrowed at him betrayal etched in her face, Tucker not believing the reality of his favorite professor, Dash frozen in place, Star was holding on to Wes for support, and Danny looked at the Joker in betrayal and anger mouthing the words 'You promised, you promised to not be like them.'

As they were dragged away

Joker only looked away to face the bats, a smile still etched on his face but somehow it looked a little bit dimmer.

[revelboo]

I know its not ENTIRELY the case but I love how Waspinator's like "Dating? Got it. I can do dating. Im gonna be the BEST at dating. And then, i will have unrestricted access to Nap Lap, the most coveted place."

He’s trying his hardest

Worker Bee Pt 17

Waspinator x Reader

• Sprawled face down on your bed, you’re immediately awake when you hear and feel the bed shifting and creaking. He’d stayed in the living room watching cartoons with the rapt focus of a toddler for the bright colors and let you sneak off to bed alone last night. Apparently, he’d finally noticed you’d abandoned him. And you groan when his heavy weight comes down partially on top of you, forcing the air from your lungs. “You’re too heavy,” you groan, squirming to wiggle out from under him and he settles for just his head and an arm against your back. And a leg kicked out across yours. Sighing and resisting the urge to grab a pillow to beat him with, your nose wrinkles. Why does he smell like freshly turned soil? Has he been digging in your yard? He’s behaving at least and you’re too sleepy to care about holes in your yard.

• Venting against you, he’s alert until your breathing evens out and only then does he allow himself to recharge. Had checked the perimeter of his hive after returning to make sure all was well. Hadn’t been able to find any pretty flowers with the snow, but he’s pleased with what he had found to offer you. Sure that you’ll be impressed with him and accept his courting gift. And food? He’s seen you prepare your weird smelling food from the tall, cold box and the small beeping box. Simple enough.

• “Little friend?” What time is it? Ignoring as he croons at you, the mattress shifting when he moves over you. If you ignore him, he might go away and let you sleep. “Little friend.” Feel his mandibles slides through your hair and against the back of your neck to make your skin crawl. And then his wet glossa slides behind your ear and there’s no pretending you’re not awake anymore when you shriek and nearly elbow him in the face. “Awake?”

• “What’s have I said about licking me?” You growl, words becoming a wheeze when he slumps against your warmth to vent against your skin. “Can’t breathe.” Hooking an arm around you, he rolls so you’re sprawled on him, his wings flared out under him. And your eyes narrow when you look around. “There’s mud in my bed,” you say, voice that carefully neutral tone you use right before you get angry with him. And he whines when you sit up on him to stare at the mud smeared on your skin from him. Clawed servos resting on your hips, he’s afraid to move in case you bolt. “Why is there mud everywhere?” Knows how dangerous that calm tone is. That his little friend is about to yell at Waspinator most likely.

• “Waspinator’s little friend very lovely,” he manages and that is the last thing you expect from the big idiot. Startling a snorting laugh out of you, because if he thinks that’s going to get him out of trouble, he’s gravely mistaken. “Little friend’s frame very soft,” he adds and now you are laughing, because he’s so terrible at whatever this is? Painfully awkward flirting? That thought sobers you, because no. There’s no way he’s flirting. “Pretty scent.” Yeah, nope. This is getting uncomfortable now.

• “I smell like dirt right now, but thanks,” you mutter, sliding off of him to make his frame strain and another buzzing whine escapes him. Rolling onto his side to watch you purse your soft lips and examine the room, his antenna go back when you smile. “There’s more dirt, isn’t there?”

• “Prepared food for little friend,” he says, words a bit too quick as he rolls off your bed and follows you down the hall. How is there mud on the ceiling? Squinting back at him, that he’d fixed you food is especially horrifying. Bug breath eats silverware. And he bumps into you when you stop short at the living room. Is that an azalea bush? Roots and all? And what is that stink? “Flowers for little friend. Dating.” What are the symptoms of a stroke, because you can’t breathe right now, staring at the mess. Dating? What does he mean dating? And the fire alarm chooses right then to start screaming.

Previous

[tryxyhijinks]

Pratchett had some words about this:

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

P: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

P: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

my creative writing prof also HATES fantasy. as in if she asks for an example of symbolism in a book, and you give something from a fantasy novel, she’ll ask for an example from a “non-commercial book” instead.

I dunno man, people can have preferences, but the second you discount the artistic merit of sci fi and fantasy I stop taking your opinion seriously. and there’s such a big culture in Canada of only valuing literary fiction, to the point where one of our biggest authors, Margaret Atwood, refused for a while to classify her books as sci fi or fantasy. she said they were “speculative fiction”, which is entirely separate and very highbrow (sarcasm).

and I could go on about how Octavia Butler and Ursula Le Guin wrote books every bit as intellectual (and honestly, even more so) than their literary counterparts, but I am also an enjoyer of schlock!! I think there’s artistic merit in animorphs, and in isekais where a japanese schoolgirl reincarnates into a magical spider who has to level up like it’s a video game! it’s like with everything, you can’t draw a clean line that separates ‘art’ from ‘non-art’ or even ‘lesser art’, and pretending you can do so just makes you look ignorant and goofy. in my opinion.

[earthchica]

You Are My Joy

terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader

summary: you and Terry celebrate your son's 1st birthday and go on the journey of watching him grow from toddlerhood to preschool. The talks of another baby cause some tension.

warnings: FLUFF, daddy/mama, dilf! terry, milestones, birthdays, mention of baby talk, time skips, domestic life, nicknames [ baby, sweetheart, baby girl & more ] words: 5k

note: hiii, we're back with this story. Please enjoy, but there may be some errors.

sequel to { funny how time flies } mini-series masterlist chapter one { everything I ever wanted } chapter two { make it right }

It was a bright Saturday afternoon, and the house was excitedly buzzing. Balloons in shades of red and blue floated lazily from the ceiling while a giant Elmo banner proudly declared.

"Happy 1st Birthday, Elijah!" You glanced around the living room, marveling how Terry and you had transformed the space into a mini Sesame Street wonderland.

Terry was in charge of the snacks, and he had pulled out all the stops.

“I got these cookies shaped like Elmo’s face, and trust me, they’re gonna be the show star!” he proclaimed, gesturing dramatically as if announcing the headliner at a concert.

You chuckled; he always knew how to bring the excitement. The doorbell rang, and without missing a beat, Terry darted to answer it.

He swung open the door to reveal his family—his dad and mom, his siblings, and Auntie Marisa, who was already sporting an Elmo t-shirt.

“Hey…family. Y’all ready to Celebrate Elijah?” Terry shouted, his voice booming with infectious enthusiasm.

Auntie Marisa rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile. "Oh….child, it’s a 1-year-old’s birthday party, not a concert!"

“Look at this Elmo cake!” You chimed in, bringing out the showstopper. It was a beautifully decorated cake with Elmo’s big, friendly face on top.

Your mom, who was holding Elijah, the unofficial family baker, beamed with pride. "That's so cute!"

“Ooh honey, that cake looks sweeter than Terry’s dance moves!” Auntie Marisa teased, making everyone burst into laughter.

“Hey now, my dance moves are classic! Just wait until the ‘Baby Shark’ song comes on! I’m about to hit y’all with the moves you didn’t know you needed to see,” Terry shot back, throwing a playful smile at Elijah, who giggled at his daddy.

As the guests settled in, you noticed your mom trying to balance Elijah on her knee.

“Oh, look! Elmo loves little kids just like you!” she exclaimed, pointing toward the TV where an Elmo special was playing.

Elijah’s eyes went wide; he was utterly entranced, babbling in his baby language as the cheerful music filled the room.

“Is it just me, or does he look like Elmo right now?” You joked as he wiggled in my mom’s lap.

Terry leaned in closer, “He does! All we need is a red onesie, and we have an Elmo right here!”

“Let’s not go that far; I’m not ready to be overwhelmed by my son’s cuteness!” You laughed, shaking your head.

As the party continued, it was time for the gifts. Family circled up, and you and Terry started pulling out brightly wrapped presents.

“Let’s see what we got here!” Terry announced, opening the first gift.

“Elmo plushies? I see we’re all feeling the theme!”

Terry's brother said, “At this rate, Elijah's gonna be the coolest kid on the block like he’s the mayor of Sesame Street!”

The laughter flowed endlessly as Terry attempted to reenact Elmo's laugh.

“Ahh, ha ha ha! You gotta give it your all!” Auntie Marisa exclaimed, her laughter filling the room as he clumsily tried to mimic Elmo.

“Can’t forget, 1 year means we gotta show off those baby dance skills! Come on, Elijah!” Terry said, lifting him into the air while doing a little shimmy.

Elijah laughed—whether he knew what was happening or just enjoyed being twirled around, both of you never knew.

The party wrapped up with cake, and everyone gathered for a slice.

“Elijah, this is your special day! Just remember, you gotta share this sugar with your fam!” Your dad said while sneaking a second slice for himself.

“Yeah, and if you’re anything like your dad, you’ll miss out on cake because you can’t stop dancing!” You joked, nudging Terry, who pretended to be offended.

As the sun began to set and the laughter echoed through your house, you couldn’t help but feel incredible gratitude.

Watching both of your families come together, surrounded by love and joy, made Elijah’s first birthday a day to remember—a beautiful celebration fueled by laughter, smiles, and, of course, a lot of Elmo!

-

Weeks later, the memory of Elijah’s birthday still lingered like the faint scent of vanilla frosting. The days had stretched into a rhythm of baby giggles, diaper changes, and late-night cuddles, but today was different.

Today, something extraordinary was unfolding right before your eyes. You and Terry were lounging on the couch, sipping coffee and discussing the latest episode of a reality TV show you both had reluctantly gotten hooked on.

The room was bathed in soft morning light, and Elijah was sitting on the floor, surrounded by his favorite toys—a mismatched collection of colorful blocks, a squeaky rubber duck, and, of course, his beloved Elmo plushie.

“Babe, did you see how she came for him at the reunion?” Terry said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Shit, he had it coming though.”

You chuckled, setting your mug down on the coffee table. “Oh, he definitely did. But let’s not act like she didn’t bring her own drama to the table. Chile, everybody in that room was messy.”

Terry grinned, leaning back against the cushions. “True, true. But messiness makes for good TV. I can’t wait for next season.”

Before you could respond, a sudden movement caught your attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Elijah wobble to his feet, using the edge of the coffee table as support. His chubby little hands gripped the wood tightly as he steadied himself.

“Oh my God, Terry, look!” you whispered, your voice trembling with excitement.

Terry turned his head, his eyes widening as he saw Elijah standing there, his tiny body swaying like a reed in the breeze. “No way… is he about to—?”

Before Terry could finish, Elijah let go of the table. It seemed like he might topple over for a moment, but then he took a step—a wobbly, uncertain step, but a step nonetheless.

His little face lit up with determination and surprise as he shuffled forward, his arms outstretched for balance.

“Oh my God!” you gasped, clapping your hands together. “He’s walking! He’s walking!”

Terry was on his feet now, crouching down a few feet away from Elijah. “Come on, little man! You got this! Walk to Daddy!”

Elijah giggled, his drool-dampened lips curling into a wide grin as he took another step.

Then another. And another. Each one was shaky like he was navigating a tightrope, but he kept going, his tiny sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor.

“Look at him go!” you said, your voice rising with each step. “Terry, he’s doing it! Look at our baby; he’s really doing it!”

Terry’s face was lit up with pure pride; his hands outstretched as if to catch Elijah if he stumbled and encourage him forward.

“That’s right, lil man! You are a whole walker now! That’s my son!”

Elijah wobbled again, his little legs trembling slightly, but he pressed on, his focus laser-sharp. It was like the whole world had narrowed to this moment—this tiny human taking his first steps into a bigger world.

“Come on, baby boy,” you cooed softly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “You got this. Come to Mama.”

Elijah’s face scrunched up in concentration, his chubby cheeks puffing out as he took one more determined step. And then another. And then—he was there, tumbling into Terry’s arms with a squeal of delight.

“Aye! That’s my boy!” Terry whooped, scooping Elijah up and spinning him around in the air. Elijah’s laughter filled the room, pure and unfiltered, like little bells ringing out a victory song.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe it,” you said, wiping at your eyes as you stood up, your heart swelling with pride. “Our baby just walked! Like, for real walked!”

“Man, look at him,” Terry said, putting Elijah down and letting him walk again, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s going to be running before we know it,” Terry said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“We really need to baby-proof the house. And I mean really baby-proof it.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, your heart swelling as you watched Elijah take brave little steps toward you. “But right now, let him enjoy this. This is amazing!”

With each tentative step he took, your hearts soared. At that moment, nothing else mattered—just the pure joy of watching your baby discover his world.

Elijah, giggling, managed to stumble forward and grasp your leg for support. You scooped him up, showering him with kisses as Terry joined in, his laughter ringing through the room.

“You did it, Eli! You walked!” Terry said, beaming with pride. “Before we know it, you’ll be running off on adventures of your own. Just promise us you’ll always come back to us, okay?”

“Yes, promise,” you added, your heart full.

-

Terrible Twos, “Mama! Dada! Wake up!” Elijah chirped, his voice high-pitched and bubbling with a joy that seemed to radiate through the room.

Just turned two years old, he reveled in his newfound independence, a charming phase that primarily involved an exaggerated refusal to wear pants.

His curly afro hair stuck out every which way, and his hazel eyes were lit for the day's excitement ahead.

Terry groaned, cocooned in the sheets, pulling the covers over his head as if they could shield him from the cuteness assault.

“I can’t handle this level of cuteness before coffee,” he mumbled through the fabric, his voice muffled but teasing.

“But he’s too cute to ignore!” you playfully countered, stretching your arms and feeling the residual warmth of the covers slip away as you bounced out of bed like a coiled spring released.

Elijah spotted you and emitted a delighted squeal, arms up as if asking to be picked up.

Watching Terry lumber out of bed, disheveled and squinting against the morning light, you couldn’t suppress a laugh.

“You look like a sexy zombie. Add some sunlight and breakfast, and you might wake up!”

“Ha! Very funny, you know I lose a little melanin in the wintertime, girl,” he retorted, rolling his eyes but grinning as he ruffled Elijah's hair.

Deciding that a family breakfast was required to kickstart your energy-filled day, you entered the kitchen. Elijah was launching a mini treasure hunt, rummaging through cabinets with glee.

“Terry, do you think he’ll sit still long enough to eat?” you joked, pouring a glass of bright orange juice into a sippy cup. With a swift, unexpected move, Elijah flung a cereal box off the table.

“Not a chance,” Terry replied, reflexively catching the cereal box mid-air with one hand, a gesture that almost seemed rehearsed.

“Ever since he started walking, he’s got too much hustle in those little legs. I swear, he’s part rabbit!” you mused, smiling as Elijah bounced around the kitchen.

His infectious smile lit up the room while he tried to keep breakfast from morphing into a chaotic battlefield.

Elijah darted past, squealing, “Mama! Dada! Race me!”

“Oh boy, here we go!” you said excitedly, apprehensive.

“Ready, set, go!” Terry shouted, and just like that, the three of you were caught in an impromptu race that had you all dashing through the kitchen, navigating around furniture, and back to your seats, laughter echoing through the house.

"I won…!" Elijah cackled, throwing his arms up in gleeful triumph, his little face glowing with pride.

“You know he’s gonna be a little athlete,” Terry grinned, already pouring himself a hefty cup of coffee. “Like a mini Usain Bolt!”

“Or a high-speed whirlwind!” you added, shaking your head and smiling as you glanced at Elijah. “But either way, we need to get him to eat something today.”

While Terry distractingly wrestled Elijah into his little chair, you hurriedly prepared a plate of scrambled eggs and colorful fruit.

The calm was short-lived; in an instant, Elijah’s tiny fist shot out with surprising strength, flipping the plate off the table with theatrical flair, and it clattered to the floor.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the spectacle. “Yooo! Who taught you to do that?” you exclaimed, covering your mouth in delight, unable to believe the sheer drama of the moment.

Elijah’s giggles filled the room, his laughter so contagious that it drew chuckles from Terry, who was wiping a tear from his eye.

“Not me! Although that was quite impressive! He got his daddy’s strength,” Terry joked, puffing out his chest in exaggerated pride.

“Okay, daddy’s strength! But who’s gonna clean this mess up?” you shot back, crossing your arms with a playful smirk.

“Looks like it’s all on me, huh?” Terry responded with a mock sigh, grabbing a towel and kneeling to collect the food remnants with exaggerated care, making a show of it for Elijah’s entertainment.

“It’s a good thing I’ve been working on my Olympic cleaning skills,” Terry joked, pretending to lift invisible weights as he gathered the shattered pieces.

“Hey, while you’re down there giving the floor a full spa treatment, I’m gonna try to get this little munchkin to eat something,” you said, turning back to Elijah, who was busy inspecting his dad's cleanup efforts with curious, wide eyes.

“Elijah, baby, how about we eat some food? You’ve got eggs and fruit waiting for you!” you said in your sweetest, motherly tone.

“Nooo!” Elijah declared resolutely, shaking his head with the fervor only a toddler could muster.

You rolled your eyes but felt a smirk creeping onto your face. “What if we make it a game? You know how they say superheroes eat fruit for strength?”

His eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Superheroes?”

“Yep! You wanna be a superhero, right?” you asked encouragingly.

“Uh-huh!” Elijah nodded enthusiastically, clearly intrigued.

“Alright then! Superheroes gotta eat their super fuel!” you held up a bright yellow banana-like magic. “Banana for super strength! And how about some eggs for super speed?”

Terry chuckled as he stood, towel in hand, watching your antics with genuine admiration. “Man, you’re good at this! If only I could distract him like that when it’s my turn to get him to eat.”

“Just wait ‘til I whip out the secret weapon—yogurt!” you declared, your motherly instincts fully engaged. You carefully set another plate in front of Elijah and kept your gaze pinned on him like a hawk, ready for any sign of resistance.

Your tactic proved fruitful; with some coaxing and playful encouragement, you finally got Elijah to eat breakfast. As he took a bite, his eyes widened in wonder, as if he had just discovered a culinary treasure.

“Mmmm!” he exclaimed, savoring the taste.

“Yes, is it good? That’s right! Now, a couple more bites, and then we can explore!” you encouraged, unable to contain your delight as he surprisingly took a bite of the egg.

“Look at you go!” Terry exclaimed, pride swelling in his voice as he flopped back down on a chair beside you. “Our little champ is besting his breakfast like a true athlete!”

“Just wait ‘til he runs circles around the park,” you replied, watching Elijah chew thoughtfully with a slight grin.

“Speaking of the park, are we ready to give this little one a walking tour?”

“Only if you promise to keep up with him. You know he’ll take off like a rocket,” you replied, both of you chuckling as you readied yourselves for what the day had in store.

-

“Pfft, please! I got him!” Terry scoffed, flexing his arm like he was preparing for some epic showdown. “I’m the king of parenting in this household!”

Elijah finished his breakfast, clapping his hands in triumph. “Yay!!”

With that, the exit was on the horizon. You all bundled up, and the world outside awaited. The sun shone brightly as you stepped outside, and fresh air welcomed you like an old friend.

“Come on, buddy! Let’s show the world who the real champion is!” Terry called as Elijah took off, running down the driveway without a glance back.

“Wait up, Speed Racer!” You laughed, but you loved watching him explore. Elijah darted towards the park, his little legs pumping with pure joy.

As you reached the park, Terry caught up to him, hoisting him into his arms.

“Okay, champ! What’s our plan? Do we play tag, chase squirrels, or climb to the top of Mount Mama and Dada?”

Elijah squealed, wiggling in excitement. “TAG!”

“Alright then, you can’t catch me!” Terry shouted, leading the charge more profoundly into the park.

You shook your head, grinning at the sight of your two favorite people tearing through the grass, laughter trailing behind them. It was a morning full of chaos, laughter, and more love than you ever asked for.

Fast-forward to the afternoon, and we were knee-deep in the glorious jumble of diaper-changing time. Elijah had developed a habit of wiggling like a fish during this process.

“Alright, little man, let's get you sorted out!” you said, trying to hold him still.

“No diaper! Noooooo!” Elijah squealed, laughter echoing off the walls.

“See? This is why we can’t have nice things,” Terry joked, trying to wrangle Elijah’s squirming limbs. You both exchanged a glance, a mix of exasperation and delight.

“We can get it done; just follow me!” you said, and you broke into a silly song about changing diapers, which made Elijah giggle uncontrollably.

“Just when I thought parenting couldn’t get any more…interesting, we need to potty training him,” Terry quipped.

After the successful change, Terry stood up and looked at the clock.

“Alright, little one, time for your beauty sleep. Or should I say beauty naps? Your cuteness needs to get recharged,” he said, lifting Elijah into his arms.

“Good luck getting him down! I’ve got faith in you,” you called after him, watching as Terry gently rocked him back and forth, whispers of “time to sleep, my little athlete” pouring from his lips.

Once the door closed behind them, you sank onto the couch, feeling a wave of relaxation wash over you. You grabbed the remote, flicked on your favorite show, and let the noise wash over you like a warm blanket.

Not long after, Terry returned, catching you in blissful tranquility. He leaned against the doorframe with a teasing grin, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Look at you, lounging like a goddess. Did I mention how beautiful you look today?”

“Oh really? I’m just in sweats and an old tee?” you shot back with a smirk, stretching your arms above your head.

“Baby, please! You could be in a potato sack, and you’d still be finest as hell in the room,” Terry replied, walking over and plopping down onto the couch beside you.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You keep talking like that, and I might just believe you!”

Terry leaned in a little closer, a playful glint in his eye. “I’m dead serious. You light up my whole day, even when I'm half asleep.”

“Okay, okay, Mr. Richmond,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. “What’s on your agenda? Trying to get some kitty while our son's napping?”

“Maybe, never stopped us before,” he said, walking over to you. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “But first, how about we take advantage of this rare silence? I’ve got a few ideas.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Oh? Do tell.”

Before you could react, Terry’s hands were on your sides, tickling you mercilessly. You burst into laughter, squirming to escape his grasp.

“Terry! Stop!” you gasped between giggles, trying to push him away, but he was relentless.

“Nope! You’re mine now!” he declared, his laughter mingling with yours. The two of you tumbled off the couch in a heap, still laughing uncontrollably.

Finally, he relented, collapsing onto the floor beside you, breathless and grinning like an idiot.

“You’re terrible,” you said, swatting his arm lightly. “What if Elijah had woken up?”

“He’s out cold,” Terry replied confidently. “Besides, I needed to remind you who the fun parent is here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the fun one. But I’m the one who negotiates for him to eat his breakfast,” you shot back, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Terry laughed, shaking his head. "True, You're mama bear, I’ll give you that.” He stretched out on the floor, his arm brushing against yours.

“And you’re amazing. I don’t know how you do it.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through you at his words. “We do it. Together. Team Richmond, remember?”

“Team Richmond,” he echoed, his voice soft. He turned his head to look at you, his expression serious momentarily.

“I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else. I love you, baby, so much.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat but swallowed it, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Me neither, Terry. I love you too.”

For a moment, you just lay there, the silence between you comfortable and familiar. Then, Terry’s mischievous grin returned.

“Alright, let’s see if we can take a quick nap before the little man wakes up.”

You chuckled, letting him pull you to your feet. “Go ahead; I’m gonna catch up on my favorite show.”

Terry smirked, grabbed a blanket, and came to lay his head in your lap. "Suit yourself," he teased with a smile before getting comfortable and closing his eyes.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face as you began caressing his hair. "Yeah, yeah, enjoy your nap."

As Terry’s breathing evened out, you turned your attention back to the TV, though your mind kept wandering.

At this moment, you wouldn’t trade for anything. The laughter, the chaos, and the love all felt like the perfect little life you’d built together.

-

Preschooler, Before you and Terry knew it, Elijah was five years old and about to start preschool. Where did the time go? One minute, you and Terry were chasing him around to make him eat his breakfast, and he grew since then.

“Okay, what if he doesn’t make any friends? This is a huge deal!” You fretted, stuffing crayons into the bag.

“Sweetheart, he’s a sweet kid. I think he'll do fine!” Terry reassured, peeking at Elijah.

“Yeah, but what if he gets overwhelmed? Or worse, what if he gets bullied?” You asked, imagining the possibilities.

Terry chuckled, “I’m not worried about him being bullied or anything like that. We've taught him how to defend himself.”

"Look, Mama, Look, Daddy!" Nerves fading, both of you turned back to him, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the two of you had a little superhero astronaut in your hands.

Elijah was trying to turn the living room into his spaceship. The cushions were scattered everywhere, and he was wearing a cardboard box on his head.

"I’m takin’ off!" Elijah shouted arms stretched wide, running at full speed towards the wall.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Eli, be careful. I don't want you to crash into the wall! No time to patch up no spaceship!"

Terry chuckled, adding, "If he’s anything like you, he isn't ever flyin’ straight. Need a pilot’s license to get in that box!"

"Ha! Look who's talkin’! You were the one who thought you could parallel park that big ole SUV in a tiny spot last week!"

"Hey, I got that baby in there; it just took a couple of tries!" Terry replied with a laugh, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"But back to Eli," you said as Elijah started reenacting what looked like a dramatic countdown. "We need to get him ready for preschool. How do you feel about all this, babe?"

Terry sighed, “I’m excited but low-key sad. Our baby boy ain’t no baby no more.”

“Tell me about it! Next thing you know, you blink, he's in college, and he gonna be off dating and all that!”

Terry put on his best dramatic voice, “I can already see him comin’ home talkin’ ‘bout, ‘Mama, I met this girl…’”

“Wait, what? Nah, don’t even play like that ‘fore I gotta put him in bubble wrap!” You joked, rolling your eyes.

Elijah’s spaceship—ahem, box—finally reached its destination against the couch, and he let out a triumphant “We landed on Mars!” before collapsing into giggles.

You and Terry exchanged a look, both of you thinking the same thing: this kid would run y’all ragged, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Alright, Captain Eli,” you said, scooping and spinning him around. “Time to fuel up the spaceship crew. What’s for dinner?”

“Chicken nuggets!” Elijah shouted as if it were the most obvious answer in the universe.

Terry smirked, “Chicken nuggets? Again? Eli, you gonna turn into a nugget at this rate.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?” Elijah asked innocently, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“Nothin’, baby,” you said, caressing his fade waves. “But how about we mix it up tonight? Maybe some regular chicken nuggets and some mac and cheese to go with it?”

Elijah considered this for a moment, then nodded solemnly. “Okay, Mommy, but only if it’s the kind with the squiggly noodles.”

“Squiggly noodles it is,” Terry said, heading toward the kitchen. You followed Terry into the kitchen, still carrying Elijah like your little koala bear.

"Alright, team," you announced, setting him down on the counter.

"Let’s get this dinner movin’. Eli, you’re on cheese duty. Terry, you handle the noodles. And I’ll season the chicken nuggets so they don’t taste like they came straight outta the freezer."

Elijah clapped his hands excitedly. "I’m gonna make the cheesiest mac and cheese ever! It’s gonna be so cheesy, it’s gonna need a passport to cross state lines!"

Terry burst out laughing. "Where he get that from? That ain’t my genes!"

"Please," you shot back, grabbing the seasoning shaker. "You, the one who said the spaghetti last week was so saucy, it needed a chaperone. Y’all two got jokes for days."

As you all worked together in the kitchen, the banter kept flowing. Terry started doing his best cooking show host impression, holding a wooden spoon like a microphone.

"And here we have Chef Elijah, master of the cheese shredder—do not underestimate his power! Watch closely as he transforms this block of cheddar into a cloud of deliciousness!"

Elijah giggled uncontrollably, holding the cheese grater like a prized artifact.

“And now, for the grand finale!” he announced, dramatically sprinkling cheese over the pot of noodles like he was casting a magic spell.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched them. “Y’all better not be messin’ up my kitchen,” you warned, though your grin gave you away.

“I swear if I find cheese in places it ain’t supposed to be…”

“Cheese is supposed to be everywhere!” Elijah declared, still giggling.

“It’s the law of the universe!”

“The law of the universe, huh?” Terry said, raising an eyebrow. “Well, when you grow up and become president, you can make that official.”

Dinner was ready, and you sat at the table, digging into your feast. Elijah insisted on narrating every bite of his chicken nuggets like a food critic.

“Hmm, this one has a crispy exterior with a tender interior—10 out of 10! And this mac and cheese? A symphony of squiggles and cheese—perfection!” Elijah giggled.

“You watchin’ too much Food Network,” Terry teased, shaking his head.

After dinner, you all settled on the couch for movie night. Elijah was practically bouncing with excitement as you scrolled through the options.

“Ooh, what about this one?” Elijah said, pointing to a colorful animated movie about a talking dog. “He looks funny!”

“Alright, funny dog it is,” you agreed, hitting play and leaning back on the couch. Terry grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over all three of you, creating a cozy family cocoon.

Halfway through the movie, Elijah’s giggles slowed down, and his head drooped. When the dog in the movie had his big hero moment, Elijah was utterly out, snoring softly like a little bear cub.

You glanced over at Terry and nodded toward Elijah. “Guess somebody’s had enough fun for one night.”

Terry chuckled softly. “Man, he fought sleep hard tonight.”

“He always does,” you whispered back, carefully sliding out from under the blanket so you wouldn’t wake him. “I’ll get him ready for bed.”

But just as you reached over to pick him up, Elijah stirred slightly and mumbled, “No… I want Daddy to do it.”

You froze for a second, then smiled. “Alright, baby. Daddy’s got you.”

Terry’s face lit up like he won the lottery. He scooped Elijah up gently, cradling him like the most precious treasure in the world.

“Alright, little man, let’s get you to bed,” Terry whispered, his voice soft as a lullaby.

As they headed down the hallway, Elijah mumbled sleepily, “Daddy, can I have a baby sister or brother? I want someone to play with.”

Terry’s steps faltered momentarily, his heart doing a little flip-flop in his chest. He glanced down at Elijah’s sleepy face, those big hazel eyes barely open but still filled with hope.

“You wanna play with a baby?” Terry asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah,” Elijah murmured, his head resting against Terry’s shoulder.

“I’d teach ‘em how to shred cheese and everything.”

Terry laughed softly, his chest vibrating against Elijah’s tiny body.

“Sounds like you got it all figured out, huh?”

“Mhm,” Elijah replied, already drifting back to sleep. The little boy was out cold again when Terry reached Elijah's room. Terry laid him down gently on the bed and pulled the covers to his chin.

Terry sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, watching Elijah’s chest rise and fall in the soft rhythm of sleep. The stuffed dinosaur Elijah insisted on sleeping with every night was tucked under his arm.

He caressed Elijah’s forehead, his heart feeling so full it might burst. “Man, what am I gonna do with you?” Terry whispered to himself, shaking his head with a smile.

Terry stood quietly and turned off the bedside lamp, leaving the room bathed in the moon's soft glow through the window. Back in the living room, you were tidying up the remnants of movie night.

Popcorn kernels scattered on the couch, Elijah’s juice tipped over on the coffee table, and the blanket in a crumpled heap on the floor.

You were humming softly to yourself when Terry walked back in.

“He’s out cold,” Terry said, plopping down on the couch beside you.

“Knocked out.” He added, and you laughed, handing him a pretzel you’d just found under the cushion.

“Here, snack for your troubles.” you joked, and Terry took it with a mock bow.

“Much obliged.” He leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling momentarily before turning to you.

“So….,” Terry started, scratching the back of his neck like he always did when he was about to say something that made him nervous.

“Elijah hit me with a little somethin’ on the way to bed.”

You raised an eyebrow, tossing another pretzel into your mouth. “Oh yeah? What’d he say this time? He wanna be an astronaut, superhero chef who only cooks mac and cheese in zero gravity?”

Terry chuckled but shook his head. “Nah, nah. It was… different this time.” He paused, biting his lip like he was trying to figure out how to phrase it.

“He asked if he could have a baby sister or brother.”

You froze mid-reach for another pretzel, your hand hovering over the bowl. “Wait, what?”

Terry nodded, his expression a mix of amusement and mild panic.

“Yeah. Said he wanted someone to play with. Even said he’d teach ‘em how to shred cheese.”

You burst out laughing, nearly knocking the bowl off the coffee table. “Shred cheese? That’s his selling point? That’s what he led with?”

Terry shrugged, grinning despite himself. “Hey, don’t knock it. The boy’s got vision.”

You leaned back against the couch, shaking your head with a smile, though your heart was doing somersaults.

“Another baby, huh?” you said softly, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers written on it. “That’s… a big ask.”

Terry nodded, his grin fading into something more thoughtful.

“Yeah, it is. But… I mean, he’s not wrong. It’d be nice for him to have someone to grow up with. Someone to share all his cheese-related wisdom with.”

You snorted, elbowing him lightly. “You’re really leaning into this cheese thing, huh?”

“Hey, it’s a cornerstone of our family culture,” Terry replied, mock-serious. “But seriously… what do you think?”

You sighed, tucking your legs under you and turning to face him.

“I don’t know, Terry. It’s not like we haven’t talked about it before. We always said maybe someday, but… is someday now? Are we ready for another baby?”

Terry reached over and took your hand, his thumb tracing circles on the back of it.

“We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?” he said, his voice soft but steady.

“Elijah wasn’t exactly planned, and look at him. He’s the best thing that ever happened to us.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “True. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard....it still is but Late nights, diaper changes, the endless questions about why the sky is blue… Can we do it all over again?”

Terry leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours. “We can. Together. And this time, we’d have Elijah to help. He’d be the best big brother. Plus, he’s already got the cheese-shredding tutorial ready to go.”

You laughed, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room. “Oh my goodness...you really won’t let that go, will you?”

“Never,” Terry said with a grin. “But seriously… I think we could do it. I think we should at least talk about it. Not because Elijah asked, but because… maybe it’s what we want too.”

You sat there for a moment, letting his words sink in. The idea of another baby—a tiny person who would look like Terry, you, or even Elijah—was thrilling and terrifying.

“Can I have a few days to think about it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I need to wrap my head around it.”

“Of course, baby” Terry said, squeezing your hand again. “Take all the time you need. It’s not like we’re deciding tonight. Just… think about it, yeah?”

You nodded, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. The two of you sat there in comfortable silence. The minutes stretched on, and eventually, Terry let out a long yawn.

“Alright,” he said, standing up and stretching his arms over his head.

“I think it’s time to call it a night.”

You chuckled, standing up and gathering the last stray popcorn into your hand. “Yeah, and you know he’s going to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

Terry groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “Why do kids have so much energy? Like, where does it come from?”

“The cheese,” you joked, tossing the popcorn into the trash. “It’s the secret fuel.”

Terry laughed, shaking his head. “You’re probably right. Alright, let’s go.” The two of you made your way to the bedroom.

The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards. As you climbed into bed, Terry turned to you, his expression soft in the dim light.

“Whatever we decide,” he said, his voice low and steady, “we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

You smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Yeah, we do. Goodnight, Terry.”

“Goodnight, baby,” Terry replied, his voice heavy with sleep. He turned off the lamp on his nightstand, plunging the room into darkness.

You lay there for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, your mind still swirling with thoughts of another baby.

TAGS

@saturnville @kisssssssssssss @grlsbstshot @nayaesworld @onherereading @blyffe @duhitzkay380

@milktert @sefiya0x @urgirlygoddess @honeytoffee @cocooned-butterfly

@vivaalenaa @m1sk1n3 @blackpinup22 @writingsbytee

@peachbuttetfly @ayeeeitsmiracle @fakxmbj

[ravens-bird]

Yours to Keep - Sylus.

Pairing: Sylus x F!Reader.

Tags: Boyfriend Sylus, fluff, smut, kissing, fingering. this was supposed to be like soft sex (and it is) but I almost got carried away. Blame the man not me. Not Beta'd we die like Caleb. MDNI‼️

Nicknames used: Sweetie, Kitten, Sweetheart.

Note: Based on the prompt "Making love, except it’s on the bedroom floor" (link)

wc: 3.6k.

Sylus had long since stopped being surprised by your tendency to do random things on a whim. By now, he knew better than anyone to not question the little things that you did just because they felt right.

Like when you decide that having a whole block of cheese as a midnight snack was completely normal, or when you apply random products and make questionable concoctions in the name of skincare and then drag him into it while calling it a ‘spa day’.  

Sure, watching you Do Your Thing was quite amusing to him, but sometimes he wished he could take a look inside your head and Understand.

Case in point, he wasn’t sure why you were sprawled out on the plush carpet beside the bed, akin to a cat that curled up and napped anywhere it deemed a worthy spot. His red eyes flicker with quiet amusement as he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching you.

“You do know we have a bed and a desk in this room right, Sweetie?”

You don’t bother looking up, shrugging in response as you spread out your haul from the gift shop — a thick leather-bound scrapbook, three different types of decorative tape, a set of colourful markers — and Sylus stopped counting.

His eyes furrow. “What are you doing?”

You finally glance up at him, blinking at him as if he was being silly. “Scrapbooking? Duh.”

His lips twitch at the corners, though the sigh he lets out is equal parts amused and exasperated.

“I can see that,” his tone is dry. He straightens up, pushing off the doorframe as he saunters towards you, a little curious. When you pat the space next to you, urging him to join you, he doesn’t hesitate.

He lowers himself onto the floor beside you, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he leans his back against the bedframe, taking in the mess— ahem, the arrangement of art supplies. The carpet is warm, and the faint evening light streaming in through the window paints the room a warm gold.

You scoot closer to him, nudging the scrapbook towards him. “Wanna help?”

He hums in thought, reaching for one of the photos from the pile you'd set aside — probably to include in the scrapbook, he assumed.

It was from one of your first public dates together, taken at Café Destiny — with you striking a peace sign, half out of the frame, while the camera had caught him mid-sip, eyes on you instead of his drink.

He smiles, picking up another one.

This one was from the new year celebration, taken by the twins — you were beaming, while Mephisto perched on your hand, with a tiny white ruff around his neck — an imitation of the Grumpy Crow plushie, looking thoroughly affronted and a touch betrayed, with his head turned towards Sylus who was standing out of frame.

Sylus hummed in amusement, flipping through a few more photos. His sharp eyes softened as he took in the little snapshots of your time together — laughing over coffee, wandering through night markets, you dozing off on his shoulder in the back of a car after an auction. Most were candids.

He briefly ponders how much you might have bribed Luke and Keiran for these.

“You’re really into this, huh?” His voice is softer now, more curious than teasing.

You smile, turning back to the task at hand. “Of course. It’s our memories.”

There’s a warmth spreading through him that he doesn’t quite know how to react to. So instead of trying, he just picks up the Polaroid camera beside him, aims it at you, and snaps a picture.

The flash makes you startle. “Hey!”

His crimson eyes gleam with mirth as he shakes the developing photo in front of you like one would dangle a feather-toy in front of a curious cat.

Once it clears, he holds it up for the both of you to see. For a quick picture, it had come out rather well, but it looked a little silly - because he had snapped it right as you closed your eyes.

Your pout lasts all of three seconds before you’re giggling, reaching for the camera yourself. Sylus doesn’t resist when you take it from him, instead hooking an arm around your middle and pulling you to him.

You squeak at the sudden movement, instinctively grabbing onto his arms as he settles you into his lap with ease, resting his chin on your shoulder as he keeps a lazy hold on your waist. Trying to ignore the way your heart flutters, you lift the camera, angling it so both of you fit in the frame. “Alright, smile.”

Sylus huffs but obliges, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

You press the button, the camera clicks, and as the photo develops, you glance down at it with satisfaction.

“See?” you say, turning the picture toward him. “We look cute.”

You glance up at him, still in his arms, expecting him to study the image but instead he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You let out a small, surprised noise before melting into it, reaching up to touch his cheek softly.

When he pulls back, your smile is dazzling.

Sylus has always wondered how it would feel like for his heart to race — either out of fear or excitement. Lately, he’s been experiencing it often, thanks to you — though, oddly enough, it seemed to be due to a secret third thing.

Which was not much of a secret, anyway.

Everyone around him — at least, those he considered relevant — knew he was smitten with you. But still. His chest feels full.

So full that, when you giggle again, he doesn’t think — just shifts the scrapbook and the photos aside, guiding you gently down onto the carpet with him as the camera slides out of your grip, falling into the carpet with a muffled thud.

You let out a small gasp, eyes wide, as he flops you down, one arm bracing the back of your head as he mindlessly shoves the camera aside.

His name barely leaves your mouth before he’s pressing his lips to yours, fingers grazing your waist with his free hand. He kisses you slowly, deeply, and you lose yourself in his kiss, his touch, the scent and feel of him, that you forget entirely about what you were doing.

He pulls back a little and your breath is shaky as he nips at your bottom lip, before he swipes his tongue over it, soothing the sting. His hand slides up, cradling your jaw with a tenderness that makes your heart stutter. His thumb traces just below your eye, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of you.

His face is so unguarded, so open, that words fail you.

Sylus despised vulnerability.

The mere thought of giving someone that kind of power over him had always been unbearable. Not that it was a common occurrence or anything — but with you, it was different. You made it feel less like a weakness and more like something he could surrender to — something safe.

He may not always find the right words to tell you how he feels, but in moments like this, his touch speaks for him.

Desire sings in his veins as you tug lightly on his collar, kissing him again. When his tongue teases the seam of your lips again, you open your mouth, and the noise of satisfaction that escapes your lips has his ego soaring.

He was determined to drag out more such sounds from you.

He goes easily when you flip him over, relaxing under you as you straddle his waist, feeling the press of his hardening erection against your heat. He watches you with a quiet intensity as you settle yourself over him, taking the lead, and his sharp intake of breath when you roll your hips gives you immense satisfaction.

His hands trail up your thighs to rest on your hips. “I’d rather take the initiative,” he speaks, red eyes sparking. “But I must admit. It is quite nice seeing you on top like this sometimes, kitten.”

You roll your eyes playfully, tipping forward to kiss again. He sighs against your lips, squeezing your side in response, before his fingers begin fidgeting with the material of your shirt.

You splay your palm against his chest, right above his heart, while resting the other on his shoulder, letting him hold you up and his hand sneaks beneath your clothes, caressing the skin underneath. 

Before long, he starts moving his hips too, jerking upward to grind against you and you gasp into his mouth, and his responding groan sends a spark of desire straight down to your cunt, and suddenly, there’s just too many layers of clothing separating the two of you.

Sylus seems to be thinking the same, because when he tugs at the hem of your shirt, you pull back, pulling it off immediately so that the only thing covering your upper half is your bra. When you reach for the buttons of his shirt immediately, he chuckles lightly.

“You’re rather impatient today, Sweetie.” 

You ignore his comment, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing them off his shoulders, and the amusement vanishes from his eyes when you run your hands down his front, all the way down to the waistband of his pants. 

He sits up then, pulling you into him as he presses hot, wet kisses against your lips, your cheek, your jaw, and your neck, trailing down to the swell of your chest before he unclasps your bra in one quick movement, baring your breasts.

You feel a wave of heat wash over you, tinging your cheeks red — not in embarrassment, but because of the way he looks at you. His eyes rake over you slowly, and the quirk of his mouth tells you that he's enjoying it immensely.

That, and the way his cock hardens further underneath you.

His voice is a quiet rumble as he cups one breast and gives it a little squeeze, “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Sylus—” His name is barely out of your mouth before he rolls a pert nipple between his fingers, and you whine. “Stop teasing.”

He chuckles again, “Your wish is my command, kitten.”

And when he takes your other breast in his mouth, his wet, hot tongue pressing against your nipple, your nails dig into the smooth, pale skin of his shoulder. His shirt was shoved off one shoulder, resting at the crook of his elbow and the sight of him like this, with his mouth on your chest, a faint blush on his face, is truly one to behold.

Your fingers get lost in the strands of his hair, tugging at them as he worries the sensitive flesh with his teeth, when his right hand trails down to the waistband of your shorts. You lift your hips readily when he tugs, and he pulls back to slide your shorts off you with ease.

“So eager,” he murmurs teasingly, as if he wasn't the one who started all of this. You don’t get to retort, because his hand is on you again, rubbing you against the fabric of your damp panties.

Sylus's fingers ghost over the material, teasing the sensitive skin beneath, before applying just the right amount of pressure that sends a surge of warmth pooling low in your belly, and your breath catches in a soft whimper as he finally pushes your underwear aside, dragging his fingers up to circle over your clit.

When you buck your hips against his hand instinctively, craving more friction, impatient and a little desperate for him to just touch you properly, god damn it all, he gathers some slickness in his fingers, slowly pressing into you.

A delicious mix of relief and tension flooding over you.

He thrusts his fingers in and out slowly at first, and you moan at the sensation, clenching around him. when he curls his fingers ever so slightly, and finds that one spot that has you crying out and grinding into his hand, he picks up his pace. Soon, you start to feel the waves of pleasure heighten, and you wrap both arms around him, holding on.

When Sylus gently presses the pad of his thumb against your clit, keeping his pace steady as he breathes against your mouth, you could do little except cling to him, and you come hard, drenching his hand, lap and your panties as well as your thighs.

He flips you over gently, letting you rest on the carpet on your back and you immediately try to stop him. 

“We’re going to ruin the carpet—!”

“I don’t care about the carpet, Sweetie.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, pushing you back down gently. “Not when I'm on top of you.” 

He pulls your panties off easily, and you help him take his shirt off, running your hands down the swell of his muscles appreciatively, and gasp in pleasure when he presses his clothed erection against your core.

You reach down, palming him through the material of his pants, as he kisses you again, and with great patience, he kneads the softness of your body, running his hands up and down teasingly yet carefully, as if he was trying to etch the memory into his mind.

“Sylus, please.” You whimper, empty and needy, already starting to feel aroused again, and he caves, letting you unzip his pants and take them off along with his underwear. 

He reaches for the nightstand and takes a condom out. You bite down on your lip in anticipation as you watch him roll it onto his fully erect cock. Despite the number of times you’ve done it before, the Moment Before was always a little intimidating. 

He lines himself up at your entrance, breath quickening as he looks down at you, gaze soft yet burning with anticipation.

"Are you ready, Sweetie?" His voice is low, laced with desire and affection.

You nod, heart racing as he presses a gentle kiss to your brow as he begins to slide inside. Your breath hitches as he sinks deeper, burying himself to the hilt.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust.

You nod quickly, urging him to move. "Mmm, you feel so good."

"You're so tight," he breathes against your lips as he kisses you sloppily.

When he starts to move, your toes curl with the sensation and you wrap your legs around his waist. His breath shudders as he picks up the pace, and the wet squelching sounds of his dick sliding in and out of your cunt, paired with the sounds escaping you both, adds a layer of lewdness to the whole ordeal.

“Shit, you feel so good, Kitten,” Sylus’s praise unleashes a swarm of butterflies in your tummy, and you grip his shoulders harder, your head falling back. 

Just as you feel your climax start to build, Sylus slows down, making you whine but he merely hushes, uncurling your legs from around him and shifts.

“Patience, sweetheart.” Despite the commanding tone of his voice, his eyes and touch are gentle. But what you wanted was not gentle. Not right now. 

However, your protests are once again thwarted as he lifts your right leg up, pulling you closer by the hips, still inside you. 

You’re about to ask him what the hell was he trying to do — though you have an inkling as to what it is, when he slinging your leg over his shoulder and moves again, thrusting inside you. Deep. 

Your garbled moan gets a devious smirk in response, as he tilts his hips just enough, angling himself to hit your G-spot, his cheeks splotched red to match his eyes. Strands of light hair stick to his forehead, while beads of sweat dot his brow and temple. 

There are four red half-moons on each shoulder, from when your nails dug into him, and the half faded hickeys on his collarbone begs for attention.

He looks so sexy like this.

Your breath stutters as you catch his eyes, and the way he’s looking at you — the intensity of it, makes you wonder what you must look like to him. Naked and flushed, panting as your breasts bounced with the momentum of his thrusts, the sight of him moving in and out of your wet cunt… 

“Lost in your head again, Kitten?” The huskiness of his voice carries a hint of warning in it — something dangerous. “When I’m still inside you?” 

You quickly shake your head, but he’s unconvinced as his pace slows down yet again. 

“Sylus—” You gasp as he presses his thumb against your pussy again, rubbing your clit with just enough pressure for you to whimper. You try again. “Please.”

Sylus chuckles, low and dark, the sound vibrating against your skin. He watches you with sharp eyes, drinking in every little reaction as he drags his thumb in slow, torturous circles.

“Please, what?” His voice is a whisper of sin, teasing, coaxing. His hips barely move now, keeping you right on the edge, just out of reach.

You squirm beneath him, fingers digging into his arms, nails biting into his skin in frustration. He loves that—loves how desperate you get for him. But he’s not done playing.

“You get lost in that pretty head of yours so often,” he murmurs against the side of your calf, pressing a lingering kiss to the bend of your knee. “Maybe I should fuck you hard enough to remind you exactly where you are.”

His crass words send a shiver down your spine, anticipation crackling through your veins. Your breath catches when he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with a force that steals what little air you had left.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growls as he turns his head to bite your leg slung over his shoulder, leaving an imprint on the skin, setting a brutal rhythm that has your body arching off the carpet, your moans spilling freely now. His fingers don’t stop either, overstimulating you and pushing you closer and closer to the ledge.

And this time, there’s no room for wandering thoughts—only him, only this.

Not that your thoughts ever strayed far from him to begin with.

But now, your mind is blissfully blank, lost in the waves of pleasure as your body tenses and trembles beneath him.

Your release crashes over you just as he continues his pace, dragging out every sensation, every spark, until he follows soon after — burying himself deep inside you with a low, shuddering groan as he too chases his high.

You sigh a little as he pulls out, feeling the sudden emptiness in you as he rolls off of you, laying next to you, breathing a little heavily. You both lay there for a moment, with you being drowsy after coming twice. 

You’re only half aware when he gets up to dispose of the used condom, and don’t protest much as he scoops you into his arms, holding you to his sweaty torso. 

He breathes you in, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispers softly, "I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you."

And in the silence that follows, you feel your heart swell. The words come out before you can rethink them, breathless and full of warmth. "I’m all yours to keep."

Which is true. You don't think anyone else could quite make you feel the way he does, and anything else couldn't compare.

So when you smile, holding onto him like he’s your whole world, he finally understands why people compare love to the sun, the moon, and stars.

Because here, right now, having you in his arms—he has them all.

“Have you caught your breath yet, Sweetie?” His fingers rub lazy circles on your back as you nuzzle into his side. You hum sleepily in response. 

Then he chuckles, voice dark with intent. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Your eyes snap open. “Sylus, are you serious?”

He tilts his head, amused. “What? You look so pretty all wrecked like that. How could I resist?”

“No way! First, you interrupt my scrapbooking, and now you want to continue?” You scoff. 

“That’s not a no,” he drawls in response, before sneaking his hand down and giving your ass a quick, teasing squeeze. You yelp, swatting at him as he grins against your temple. 

“It is,” you wag a finger in front of his face playfully. “Let’s just clean up and get dinner already!”

Sylus sighs, clearly reluctant to let the... session end, but after a moment, he gives in. “Fine, fine.” He pushes himself up, then effortlessly scoops you into his arms, making you squeak, before he carries you to the attached bathroom. 

But as the warm water starts to stream down your bodies, his hands find your hips, his lips find your neck, and well…

Who’s to say that you both will only shower, though?

The night is still young.

Note: found the Praying Mantis position quite hot, despite its name being very... yeah. I think it's Sylus for me (get it??? 🤣)

Masterlist.

[lee-alethia]

A rare banquet was to occur three moons from now. Many kings, queens, nobles, assassins, and servants were passionately preparing. Each kingdom had to bring a gift for the others. A lofty gift for the host, and something rich but equal for the other attendees. Every person down to the scullery maid was busy, busy, busy.

So busy, in fact, that on the dawning of the event, where twelve powerful rulers and their handful of sycophants each sat down to the grand feast, it was a relief. Sure, the kitchens were hectic; but the staff is used to this. The power players had completed their wheeling and dealing in the previous days upon everyone's arrival. Now they could relax and eat, drink and be merry.

This lasted for all of ten minutes. Then King Navarro of Trevon went face first into his potatoes. His face was purple and eyes bulging. The hall fell silent. Until Queen Elizabeth II, Grand Ruler of Vandalia started coughing. And coughing. She collapsed struggling to suck in air while blood trickled down her chin. A minor lord starts foaming at the mouth. Oddly, a jester goes to take a nap in the corner. It's very loud now, so many people are shouting. He isn't disturbed.

King Nathaniel of Rethoara feels true fear for the first time in his life when his hired assassin, who had been posing as Lady Anita, starts seizing. He tries to tune into the cacophony around him. So many otherwise dignified people shouting like ninnies.

A desperate "What is happening?! Why is everyone - what’s - why is everyone choking?!" Quiet pleading right next to him, "I…can't breathe.. Whas in this... wha didhey pu ‘n our food?" Shrieking, it's Queen Elara, "Poison! It’s poison! Someone’s trying to kill us! Help! Somebody help!" A confused servant,"This can't be happening! This isn't happening! What do we do? What do we do now?!" The host, King Edmund, "Stay calm, everyone! The guards, get the guards!" Lord Alexander gesturing wildly with a goblet- red spilling down his sleeve, "The wine! It was in the wine! I saw the cup, it was just a moment before!" Lady Thesra, her lips were blue. "It was the food! You can feel it in your veins! It’s too fast, it’s too strong.. there’s no time!" A weeping lady was holding the still form of Elizabeth."There has to be an antidote! We can not be without hope!” King Vicar was pressed against a wall screaming “Help! Help us! Please, someone—someone do something!" A gaurd."Seal the doors! Don't let anyone out! We need the healers—NOW!" Sweet Princess Emelenine, "Who... would do this? We’ve trusted them all... Why us? Why now?" Dying King Gawain to his personal guard, "I can’t feel my legs... It’s spreading...protect my queen”

King Nathaniel stood harshly. His chair scraped loudly across stone, then toppled. He yanked his horn off his belt and blew as hard as he could. This was the instrument he used to communicate across vast outdoor spaces to hunting parties. Within a stone hall, even a large one, it was deafening. Anyone still capable clapped their hands over their ears.

It was almost silent again. Except for the gasps and groans of the dying and ill. It made an eerie soundtrack to Nathaniel's forced nonchalance, "….Okay, are any of the dishes not poisoned? Is there anyone at this feast who did not poison anything?!"

Two people raised their hands. Not including Nathaniel.

"….Okay, are any of the dishes not poisoned?! Is there anyone at this feast who did not poison anything?!"

[adieutristana]

Hi! Can you make arcane characters x reader who is afraid of touch?

of course! thank you for the request <3

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn

summary; arcane women with a girlfriend who is afraid of touch.

tags/warnings; hurt/comfort, (vague) mentions of past trauma, fluff, mentions of poor mental health

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* jinx is pretty understanding when it comes to fear of being touched. she is as well, for the most part. when it comes to a relationship, i think jinx would be incredibly touchy, but if you tell her that you're afraid and/or uncomfortable she'll give you the space that you need. yes, jinx enjoys physical touch, but she doesn't want to overstep any boundaries.

✧.* jinx will probably resort to words to show her love instead, though she's not the best with them. saying sweet things like "i missed ya, trinket! i've got something to show ya, yeah?" or "oh gods, you just look so pretty, it's impossible!"

✧.* jinx is the textbook definition of clingy. look up the word in a dictionary, and her face will be underneath. so she won't physically hang off your arm if you're afraid of touch, but she'll still follow closely behind you like some kind of lost puppy. it's endearing, honestly. jinx just needs to be close to you somehow at all times.

✧.* the closeness reassures her. she's used to everyone she lets in, everyone she cares about dying. so to share that proximity with you and have the reassurance that you're here, alive, with her, it means a lot more than jinx thinks you'll ever understand.

✧.* like i said, jinx is the same way to an extent. touch-starved, but also won't let anyone close enough to touch her. so when she met you, let you in and began to trust you, part of jinx did expect that touch. you're in a relationship, after all. but once you explain to her, she understands wholeheartedly!

✧.* also constantly showing her love through gifts and grandiose gestures. makeshift firework shows that are a fire waiting to happen? yep! music boxes that play your favorite songs (although slightly out of tune)? also yes! tagging walls in the undercity with your initials together in hearts! you bet! jinx will go above and beyond, she doesn't want to scare you off by doing something she knows you're afraid of

✧.* on the off chance you do let her touch you she'll be making sure you're alright, but also very very happy for those little moments.

✧.* pressing soft kisses to your cheeks while whispering, "you okay, sweetness?"

✧.* jinx doesn't really question you on these things, she just lets it be. if you say you're afraid of touch, then so be it. not a problem for her.

✧.* "come with me!" she'd say, using her hand to wave you over. "what's this about, jinx?" you'd ask, quirking an eyebrow. jinx would be giggling all the way, shaking her head and nearly skipping towards her destination. "don't worry about it, toots! you'll love it, i promise!"

✧.* knowing jinx, she's probably dragging you to the last drop after hours so she can show you how she decorated it just for you (don't question how she managed to pull that off), or she's taking you to her hideout to show you some of the gifts she made you. she's just so excitable around you, she can't help it

vi;

✧.* vi is a little confused at first i think, but that's just because of her need for communication and specifics. like yes, you're afraid of touch, but what kind of touch?

✧.* she has a loooot of questions. she's not trying to pry at all, genuinely just trying to understand you and where you're coming from better. is it alright if she hugs you every now and then? can she hold your hand? what don't you want her to do? do you need her to ask to touch you, or not touch you at all?

✧.* literally just doing everything in her power to not scare you off. vi has a good thing going with you, something real. the last thing that she wants is to fuck it up because she couldn't keep her hands off of you

✧.* vi is sooo so good with her words, though. a master at sweet talking you to show her adoration.

✧.* "you look so beautiful right now, y'know that? i mean- you always do, but gods, right now..." or something along the lines of, "look at you, all focused and stuff. you always amaze me, cupcake."

✧.* one of her defaults is that it's a trauma response, mostly because she knows that's most of where her sister's fear of touch comes from. she'll try to approach the subject delicately, letting you know that if you need to talk about anything she's here and she only wants to help. it can come off as slightly patronizing without her meaning to, so it really all depends on how you take it.

✧.* if it is a response, then fine, vi wants to help and support you the best she can. if not, then she backs off still, settling for just doing you favors and vocalizing her love for you

✧.* she will not let you do a damn thing if you're in a domestic situation. vi is so loving and attentive. she will handle the cooking, cleaning, laundry, all that... you just rest!!

✧.* honest to gods, vi is just such a sweetheart. literally whatever makes you happiest and most comfortable is done without question by her.

✧.* on the off-chance that your girlfriend does scare you or accidentally crosses a line, she'll be profusely apologizing. asking if there's anything she can do to make it up to you, this is the absolute last thing she wants.. if you need space, you've got it. need words of reassurance? consider it done. literally anything.

✧.* generally, i'd think vi is touchy but not enough that this would be a problem. she's versatile, she can show her love in a lot of ways!

✧.* "mm.. i'll do your laundry for you tonight. give you some time off." "vi, that's not necessary-" "shh. it's done. see? i'm already on my way, getting your laundry..."

mel;

✧.* honestly a bit confused at first. mel has grown up around war, tragedy, and despair, but she hasn't met many people who are just downright afraid of being touched- even in the midst of chaos.

✧.* she probably immediately goes to thinking it's because of something that's happened, though, only because of the war and tragedy that she's seen. she hasn't seen fear of touch in particular, but mel has seen a lot of things affect a lot of people in different ways. if it is, then she wants to support you, of course. if not, she still will do her best to show her appreciation for you in other ways.

✧.* mel is easily one of the most devoted and gentle lovers ever, and she has so many tricks up her sleeve when it comes to affection. we've already established that she'd be spoiling you constantly, but she'd also be using her words so well. i also think mel might be the type to write you poetry, honestly. is she the best writer? probably not. but damn, she pours her heart into it.

✧.* "hey, darling. i wrote something else for you, see?" she'd say while holding up another slip of paper, just to add to the collection of your endless others. "written just for my dearest girl."

✧.* mel is just so attentive. she'll probably be a bit protective, especially in public. even if it's just a stranger innocently tapping you on the shoulder to ask for directions to the station, she doesn't want you to get scared.

✧.* "aht- i'll handle that. directions, yeah? you'll go straight here, then take a left, and another left right past the council building." all before someone can touch you.

✧.* if you do allow any kind of touch later on, mel will tread lightly. it's not that she thinks you can't handle yourself or you're fragile, but she just wouldn't be able to live with herself if she scared you off somehow or hurt you.

✧.* light caresses to your cheeks, gentle hugs, guiding you by the small of your back, her head on your shoulder or lap. always so careful, but so sweet and loving

✧.* of course mel will have a lot of questions initially, but it's only because of her need for connection and understanding. she doesn't mean to push or prod, she just wants to understand her lover better and know exactly what is and isn't okay. what will make you most comfortable being with her, that's all that she wants

✧.* hands-down the best at comforting you if you do happen to get scared by touch, though it's usually not at her own hands.

✧.* "hey. hey, tell me what happened. i'm right here, you're alright." she'd say, her voice low and soothing. "nothing's gonna hurt you, nothing's gonna touch you. at least not while i'm here. just let me make things better."

sevika;

✧.* i don't think you'd really need to have a conversation with sevika about it. she's intuitive. the first time you flinched from her touch, trying to wrap an arm around your waist, she knew something was up and she backed off. she wouldn't ask, wouldn't push for more information than you're comfortable giving her. something in her tells her that it's a sensitive topic, and asking might make things worse.

✧.* if you want to talk to her about it, the floor is open. you know that she'll listen, she always does. but until then, she won't pry.

✧.* if you do decide to have that conversation with sevika, she'll take in and cling onto every last word. we've established time and time again how loyal and devoted she is, how she'll do anything just to make sure you're content. she'd listen attentively, taking note of every little thing that you say scares you, of every shift in tone of your voice.

✧.* "i... thank you for telling me this." she'd whisper, her eyes locked with yours. "you know you don't have to hide a thing from me, yeah? but i won't ask for more than you wanna tell me, either. just don't hold out on me, dove."

✧.* besides, sevika has a lot of other ways she can show her love to you. that connection can be achieved through other means! late night talks, bringing you to play games of blackjack and poker with her, etc.

✧.* that's actually one of her favorite ways to have fun with you: gambling! as odd as it may sound, it's one of her favorite pastimes, and getting you involved in her world is a big deal for sevika. someone who famously doesn't let anyone in. so for her to play games alongside you when she's typically merciless, giving you tips for your own hand, it's a big deal.

✧.* if you do allow sevika to touch you, it'll be fleeting and soft. almost as if she's afraid. it's only because she wants to ensure your comfort and sanctuary, really.

✧.* light kisses to your jawline as she whispers things like, "look at you, so beautiful," or "my sweet girl, you look tired. let's turn in, hm? i can hold you. or not. your call, dove..."

✧.* like she doesn't need to be told twice that you're afraid. sevika is very good with respect, very good with communication and laying off. she loves you, she doesn't want to make you afraid or uncomfortable at all if she can help it.

✧.* super protective in public, though. if anyone tries to touch you at all, even if just to push past you in a crowded place, she's immediately pushing them away from you and telling them off.

✧.* "hey. you lay off her, ya hear? thought we learned as kids to keep our hands to ourselves."

caitlyn;

✧.* i think caitlyn would also catch on pretty quickly. she'd ask just to be sure, but she's a smart woman. she can take hints, put pieces together, figure things out. the first time you inched away from her touch was coincidence, the second time was anything but.

✧.* naturally, cait brought it up with you when she got a moment that was just you and her. she tries to approach the subject with caution and care, as she doesn't want to scare you off or seem like she's aiming to force information out of you. but she loves you, and she worries.

✧.* "you can tell me things, love. i promise, i won't get angry. whatever it is, you can tell me."

✧.* she's understanding once you do tell her! she's been raised knowing devastation and war, though her upbringing is privileged. she still knows about trauma, about fear, about phobias, all that kind of thing. even if it's just a thing of general anxiety and you not wanting to let people in that way. she won't take it personally, she knows that this is just something innate within some people

✧.* caitlyn will likely resort to her words and acts of service instead. she's constantly doing things for you, trying to make your life easier in any way that she can. if there's some housework you need done, consider it taken care of. if you're feeling hungry, she's cooking your favorite without a second thought.

✧.* she might accidentally touch you without thinking- like a brush against your back or a grasp of your hand, but she immediately pulls back and apologizes the second she realizes what she's doing. she gets the hang of it rather quickly, but she's used to showing physical affection to her family and friends.

✧.* she still loves sharing a bed with you at night, but cait makes it abundantly clear that she doesn't expect you to cuddle up to her, and she won't hold you unless you ask her to. she's perfectly happy having you next to her, just your presence soothes her to sleep.

✧.* "shh... just sleep, dear. i'll be right here. you always look so peaceful when you're at rest, it's beautiful."

✧.* cait is honestly just so sweet and understanding, she'll do anything and everything in her power to make sure that you're at ease!

[triplefrontierbabe]

2 Hands Lando Norris Imagine

smau linked here

summary: you’re a world famous singer dating Lando Norris

pairing: f! singer reader x Lando Norris

warning: suggestive content, language

a/n: this is part of a request paired with a smau, linked above

Ask any woman what their favorite part of a man is and she will most likely say his hands. There’s just something so innocently sensual about man hands, especially if they’re the hands of a racing driver.

It’s no secret that using your significant other as inspiration for your work is one of the highest forms of flattery, especially when it comes to art. And ever since you met Lando Norris, he has been your muse for your work. Every song somehow suddenly was about him, he’s all you thought about. Now that your second world tour has come to an end it’s the perfect time to get back in the studio and you have the perfect idea of what to do.

To be honest, one of the first things you noticed about Lando was his hands and how they looked like they were carved from marble. The mere sight of him holding a coffee cup made your mind wander like no other. All you could think of was how his hands looked on your body and how he would touch you with such gentleness and care. Occasionally you’d sneak a photo of his hands while you were around him. Soon enough he realized the obsession of his hands that you had developed.

One night you and Lando were heading out for a nice dinner when you pulled out your phone to take a photo of you two in the elevator mirror. Lando immediately grabbed your phone out of your hands and moved his hand from your hips to the front of your stomach, and dangerously low might you add. You blushed at his actions, knowing your not so secret obsession had been found out.

“I know you like them.” Lando said cheekily handing the phone back to you as your face broke out in a blush yet again.

“Can you blame me though?” You asked, grabbing his right hand and examining the rings he had on. Those rings were another weakness of yours. The way the cool metal clashed with your burning skin made your whole body shiver. His hands were going to be the death of you.

“Write a song, it’ll last longer.” He responded with a mischievous smile as the elevator door opened. You looked over your shoulder at him and rolled your eyes.

“You know I just might, Norris.” You said as you stepped out of the elevator.

“Atta girl.” He said laying a light smack on your ass which earned a whispered scold from you.

A song about his hands is exactly what you wrote. The writing process for this song was probably the fastest you had ever written a song in your entire life. Your producer was shocked when you got to the studio and had to make minor changes to the lyrics, it was practically perfect– like Lando’s hands.

While Lando was halfway across the world for a race you facetimed him to play a demo of the song for him.

“You mean it?” He asked, looking at your face on his screen with a look of disbelief.

“Every word.” You simply replied, giving Lando a sly smile.

“What about a music video?” Lando inquired, shifting in his seat.

“Okay, hear me out” you began “I was thinking about incorporating cars into it somehow, maybe a McLaren or something.”

“A McLaren, huh?”

“I dunno, just a thought. Could be a fun little easter egg.” You responded by shrugging your shoulders while stealing a glance at his hands that were barely in sight on the phone.

Before you knew it music video rehearsals had arrived. On your first day of rehearsal you walked into the studio to see a box wrapped in bright orange- or papaya- wrapping paper with a big blue bow on top. There was a card attached that read ‘although this isn’t a sports car, i hope this gives you some inspiration ;) -4’. Lando had gifted you one of those battery operated kids’ McLaren F1 cars.

Another month had passed of working on 2 Hands but it was finally ready to be promoted, and so was your relationship with Lando. Since you started dating him, small easter eggs of your relationship had been sprinkled throughout your instagram posts.

But the post you made announcing that you had new music coming out, you decided to be bold. You included a picture of you on the toy car that had Lando’s number on the front. But the kryptonite of the post was the last picture which was a closeup of Lando with his hands on his helmet with his hand veins on full display. You had spent hours of looking through social media for the perfect photo of his hands, many thanks to the thousands of other girls who were just as enamored with his hands as you were.

The minute you posted, your phone was blowing up with countless fans speculating a relationship between you and the famed driver but more so, the attention was on his hands like you wanted it to be.

Abu Dhabi rolled around which was a big weekend for the both of you. Lando won the race, McLaren won the Constructors’ Championship and 2 Hands was released. You were with Lando at the hotel basking in his victorious weekend and listening to your new song. It was a perfect weekend and you couldn’t have imagined it to be any other way.

“I fucking love this song.” Lando said, grabbing you by the waist giving you a deep kiss. “But I love you way more.”

“I couldn’t have done this without you, Lan.” You replied, raking your hands through Lando’s curly hair. “I love how everyone loves your hands too. Did you know there’s pinterest boards dedicated to your hands?”

“Of course there are.” He responded by throwing his hand back in laughter. This moment was perfect, just being in the same room as him celebrating your accomplishments together.

“But, I’m the only one that knows what they feel like.” You said with a wink.

“Well, look at you Miss Possessive.”

F1 Masterlist | Indycar Masterlist

taglist: @r0nnsblog @bernelflo @ifyouaintfirstyourelastt @f1updates4you

[hai7ani]

inspired by this tiktok

Ran gifts you a Jellycat bunny on a random Thursday, right after you reach home from class.

You're in his lap talking about your day, twirling hair around your fingers as you ponder, recap, and speak. He still sees glistening stars in your orbs despite the heavy bags under your eyes, the youth in your crooked smile while you tell him about the campus cat who'd recently gave birth to five sweet kittens 一 all in different colours.

And then he reaches beneath his bed to shove an expensive looking box into your hands. He had been waiting for the right moment to show it to you, and he finally found it.

You grow red after seeing it. Ask him why he even bought it at all because it's so expensive and it's not a necessity. At all. It's just gonna sit in your bed and attract dust and it has no proper practical use for someone your age. You're living together in a one-bedroom apartment juggling studies and gigs and a little bit of this and that while struggling with paying rent on time and a Jellycat is definitely not something that he should be spending his money on.

He gets annoyed as you go on and on about it, because this is something that he wants to do for you. He got it for you. Why are you even doubting him? Scolding him for something innocent that he poured effort into?

Though the frown on his face disappears very quickly when he sees the little red on your nose, the tears pooling in your eyes after you stop and take a deep breath.

You're trying so hard to be brave. To remain a big girl.

He knows.

Because despite this stupid toy not being a necessity in your household; despite the awful things you'd said to him and to yourself 一 and about the poor bunny stuffed with cotton that has no feelings 一 to try and make yourself believe that this is as useless as you said it was 一 it is still something that the little girl in you have always wanted.

He sees right through your front 一 right at her, small and shy, crouching in the dark, little hands holding onto the bunny that you've said mean things about just earlier 一 and he softens.

A part of childhood that you never got to have.

You couldn't deny it after all.

He knows.

"You're not worried?" Your voice is small, just like the way you're discretely pushing the bunny close to your chest, squishing its cheeks, flapping its ears, hiding a wet sniffle in between. He hums as a question, for you to continue.

"You spoil me too much. People are gonna say you're dating a spoiled brat."

He knows you're referring to the gifts he likes buying from time to time. Just last week he'd gifted you a pair of earrings way out of your budgets and you'd given him the same reaction then.

Angry and confused.

You're not used to being pampered. Being treated so gently.

And it is true 一 Ran spoils you way too much to be seen as normal, or 'appropriate', traditionally. Been this way since you've started dating. He likes pampering you in his own ways, though you've still yet to grow used to it and you're not sure why. Perhaps it's the guilt for spending money on yourself, or because you're used to not being important at all.

He combs fingers through your hair.

"It's alright." A kiss to the side of your head. Ran has always been open with affection.

"Who the hell cares?" A hand is pressed against your back, pushing you closer to himself.

Into his heart.

"If I don't spoil you, who will?"

[fromchaostocosmos]

Also America Jews worked really hard to get the Holocaust to be a part the USA curriculum.

There is also the pervasive idea that Holocaust Museums are funded by government and that they were created/founded by the governments.

That is a lie.

Jews fought tooth and nail for Holocaust Education and memorials to the Holocaust.

That included persevering Concentration Camps so that they could be a testament and witness to the history.

Because there were those who advocated razing them.

Jews fought for the memorials to put up in places there were no physical reminders to be the testament to history.

Jews in the USA fund-raised amongst our communities to raise money for Holocaust Museums and applied for grants when and where applicable to teach and educate on the Holocaust.

And when others Genocides have happened such Cambodian, Darfur, and Rwandan for example information about those as well as the Armenian Genocide have sections within these Holocaust Museums.

No one handed over Holocaust memorials, Holocaust Museums, and Holocaust education. We Jews had to fight a very fraught and bitter fight for it.

And in many countries we are not the ones in charge of the Museums and memorials so you get really not good choices and decisions being made.

Like the Polish government has a lot of control over the Concentration Camps and so official statements that get made by them can be very political and it is not good. Also there are a lot of choices especially in terms of Auschwitz on how they go about things that many Jews are not fans off, myself included, like appearance for example and tone.

The Anne Frank Museum in Amsterdam has made choices that again have I don't think would have happened if the majority of those in charge were Jewish.

Also within Europe these places are very tourism and will have gift shops.

For me personally I think it is inappropriate. This is not something that should anyone should make money from. Your countries made your money when you murdered us and pillaged from us. At least treat our dead with a little more respect this time around.

The governments should fund the upkeep and care of these places.

I will not forget being at the Majdanek Death Camp and having to pay to go in and then walking and seeing sign that was a pointed arrow shape and it said in English, Gift Shop.

I felt so sick seeing it. I won't ever forget it. I feel sick when I think about it.

This is not the place for a gift shop.

So if people want to have a serious and honest discussion about how Plantation sites are used in the USA, what should be done with them now, what can be done, and more I am more then willing to have that conversation because I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on the topic coming from the People I come from and the experiences we've had.

I think that there is a lot that the Jewish community have to offer in terms of experience and help to the Black Community on this topic.

I'm just really sick and tired of people who don't really anything about the Holocaust speaking total bullshit and then also making stuff up the USA in terms of the Holocaust.

I'm also sick and tired of seeing the type of shit that we see in the screenshots because for as hurtful and painful as it is for me to see it I have to imagine that it is even more hurtful and painful for Black Jews to see and experience.

Because that type of rhetoric is in essence not just erasing their experiences, but is erasing them entirely. Because it is saying the Jews come at the expense of Black people and if someone ascribes to that kind of hateful ideology then how must the view Black Jews. Do they not think they exist or do they think something even worse and more hateful or somehow both.

And I myself do not want to be Black Jews in position where they ever have to feel like they need to choose between parts of who they are because they shouldn't. They should be able to be all of who they are, fully and wholly.

And to remind or educate those who may not know the USA after the Civil War had a policy of Isolationism in regards to International Affairs. Which meant that whatever was going outside of the USA they were not really getting involved in and didn't want to.

So when WW 1 happened the USA came in later and was kinda pulled in and at the time it war on a level no ever saw before and it was called The Great War not World War (1) and once it officially over the USA was like ok bye.

And went to saying we are gonna stay here and do our thing.

So once World War 2 was going on the USA was yeah no that is a Europe problem leave us out of it.

It is only until Japan bombs Pearl Harbor that the USA gets involved and they are fairly late the party, but they are there and become a major power player.

It Japan never did that and the USA was left alone the USA would not have gotten involved.

So it is once the USA is pulled in because of Pearl Harbor that you have Japanese citizens being forced into interment camps, you have the rationing of food and supplies, the mass of women entering the workforce, vegetable victory gardens, and all of that.

So the USA like to present the retrospective that the poor pathetic Jews needed help and big strong USA came to save the day which is bullshit.

FDR was multiple times presented by his generals ways they could destroy the tracks to Auschwitz and he said no every to it every time.

FDR also made it much harder to apply for refugee status, rules that still exist by the way, in order to prevent Jews from coming into the USA and added quotas too for the same reason.

USA Jews raised money to pay to get Jews in legally to the USA and when that really wasn't working, they wrote to their elected officials and marched in Washington D.C to bring attention to what was going on to get Americans to give a fuck.

And when that didn't happen some USA Jews went to Europe to try and help Jews get out putting their lives on the line and USA Jews also were able to help to pay for some European Jews to get out and go to other countries be it at the time safe European ones, ones in South America, illegally into the USA, British Mandate Palestine, or countries in Central America and the Caribbean Islands.

So what it would like is USA Jew has lets a cousin in Europe so their local community raises funds and however much they raise goes toward paying to get however much of said cousin and family out of the country so fees, bribes, tickets, etc and to cover for as much people they can so it could sometimes cover everyone in the family and sometimes just one or two people. And the family in Europe would have to pick who goes.

So we are not talking about hundreds of thousands of people being saved here maybe not even thousands and thousands, but this is what could be done and so it was.

And often you would send the money and tickets and stuff with someone so someone had to risk their life to bring it to the family in Europe because you couldn't take the chance of it getting lost or stolen in via mail.

So Jews in the USA knew about what was happening and they were doing their best to help.

And while they were doing what they could however they could you had the USA government only getting involved when they had to and the until the USA joined the war in the USA Nazism was super popular. The American Bund Party was popular. Hitler was popular.

Many Americans were not happy about joining the war and having to fight the Nazi. They might not have cared for the Japanese, but they were not happy to fight the Germans.

That is relativity condensed and basic breakdown of what was going on, but yeah so anything or anyone who goes American were like yay lets fight Nazis are lying.

Jews were happy to fight Nazis which is why many Jews volunteered to fight.

Black people I think were probably happy to fight Nazis and I think from what I understand thought that the army would present an opportunity for an actual merit based structure and that was sadly not the case.

I have great respect and הַכָּרַת הַטּוֹב Hakarat HaTov, gratitude, to the many Black soldiers who fought on behalf on the USA army in WW2 because they did not get the recognition they did deserve after the war was over and I doubt they were treated with respect by their fellow white soldiers. I would also imagine that due the anti-Black racism they were forced to due riskier missions and tasks by their white army leaders (commanders?). They helped liberate us and their efforts freed us.

I have great respect and הַכָּרַת הַטּוֹב Hakarat HaTov to the many different peoples who helped in fighting the Nazis even when it meant having endure discrimination and racism from the very army the were helping and fighting on the behalf of.

Because how can I not.

(X)

i’m going to let this video speak for itself. bc i don’t even know what to say anymore. i don’t know how we come back from this level of radicalization among young people to the point where holocaust denial has become the norm.

[azzifuddfanpage]

can you do fluff fic of based on today. so azzi had a bad game and paige texts her to see if she’s ok but azzi doesn’t respond so paige goes to azzi’s room and finds her on her bed crying. So paige comforts her and they cuddle

My Rock

——— Thank you for the prompt!!               just a short lil fic to tide you guys over (it’s 3 am right now so I’m sorry if this is bad) ———

711 words       themes: fluff/ gfs/ paige taking care of Azzi after bad game ———

        ——9:48pm——

P💗: hey baby how u feelin?

          I know it was a rough game it wasn’t your fault tho they were defending you really hard from the 3 point line.

                             ———10:03pm———

P💗: Azzi? 

          Az are you good 

          answer me??

                             ———10:22pm———

P💗: alr sweet girl I’m coming 

———-

Paige doesn’t even have to wait for a response before she knows how Azzi is feeling.

Coming back from an Acl tear and than injuring herself again not even 4 games later was another blow to Azzi’s confidence.

Now here she was having to rebuild her confidence for the second time that month.

Paige knew Azzi was probably home curled up under her blanket, endlessly scrolling through twitter listening to people talk about how she will never be the player she was before.

Azzi had faced so much adversity, but as an athlete she was never able to appreciate the talent she did have.

Every good game was filled with her critiquing some aspect of the game.

“I’m a supposed to be the best shooter on the team, yet I was shooting under 43%.” Azzi would tell her as she left for the gym at 11 pm.

Paige new when Azzi was like this their was no talking her out of it.

After checking Azzi’s location, she knew at least this time, Azzi was safe at home in bed.

Before walking over to Azzi’s dorm, paige drove out to target to pick up some things to cheer Azzi up.

She roamed the isles, grabbing her favorite snacks; Nutella and strawberries (paige’s favorite as well). And a cute Olaf blanket she saw. 

As she was leaving her eyes focused on a huge Valentine’s Day card.

She opened it up laughing to herself, valentines wasn’t for 2 months and stuff was already up.

“I only want to imagine my life with you in it.

               You're everything to me!

                  Happy Valentine's Day

                   To My Love”

Paige smirked and tucked it under her arm, and walked over to self checkout.

She knew Azzi was a sucker for gifts like that and paige loved when Azzi snuggled up to her in appreciation.

Paige also stppped at chipotle on the way home, having her order down by memory.

As she pulled back into their dorm building, paige made sure to be quiet when she keeps into Azzi’s suite.

When she opened the door to Azzi’s bedroom, she immediately noticed the Azzi sized lump under the covers

Paige used her phone flashlight to navigate over to the younger girl, placing the bag of goodies onto her bedside table.

“Baby” Paige said tugging the comforter down to reveal Azzi’s tear streaked face.

Azzi pouted up at her, her big doe eyes rimmed with red from her tears, and her lips puffy from crying.

Paige didn’t say anything, she just climbed into bed and pulled Azzi close to her chest, running a finger through her hair and pulling it out of her face, kissing her cheek softly.

Paige listened as Azzi’s soft whimpers filled the silent room, the sound of her girlfriend crying was the worst sound Paige could hear. 

She knew not to bring it up until tomorrow when she had had time to rest and think on it, so instead, Paige’s arm remained wrapped around Azzi’s waist, and her other hand rubbing small circles on her back.

Azzi’s sobs slowed to just sniffles as paige’s presence nautrually soothed her.

Paige held her closely, feeling comfort as the sniffles turned into soft snores.

Page sat up a little, leaning forward so she could revel in her girlfriend’s sleeping figure, so vulnerable and inncocent, her lips and eyes puffy from crying.

Staring at Azzi, all paige wanted was to take away any sort of pain Azzi faced.

If paige could give Azzi her knee she would, if paige could give her the confidence she would, if paige could give Azzi her ability to not overthink she would. Paige would give Azzi the world if she could. 

Paige leaned forward and brushed a curl that had fallen infront of Azzi’s face, away from her sleepy eyes, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead so she wouldn’t wake her.

Tomorrow she would pick up the pieces, tonight she would be her rock.