#future wall color right here

[sacredsorceress]

Scars / Logan Howlett

pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him. word count: 3.2k a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated! warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.

For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585

[sparklingchim]

game on 03 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x oc

word count: 2.7k

tropes: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: pg

warnings: jk is a huge flirt, mentions of jk's past fights in school, lots of hand holding, paparazzi!!!, mentions of jk's flings 🫢, they love to bicker <3

summary: your fake relationship goes public - cue the unexpected butterflies.

a/n: she's finally back !!!! n i rlly hope u like it 😋

masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

So many nights spent wondering about the future, but you never imagined yourself in this scenario.

“I can see someone across the street.”

“That’s good – that's perfect.” Jungkook doesn’t even look back to catch a glimpse of what’s happening outside when he says, “Let them get their little shots. We’ll pretend we don’t notice.” He leans closer, elbows on the table. A grin lights his eyes. “Maybe we can even start the show right here.”

Jungkook begins to play with your fingers, gently tracing his fingertips along yours. Slowly, he lifts your hand, your elbow grazing the edge of the table, and links your fingers with his in the air.

You hesitantly mimic his smile. “Sure you don’t wanna switch paths and become an actor?”

“Hmm, maybe in my next life,” he ponders. “But only if you’re the co-star.”

“Can’t even leave me alone in our next life? I’d categorise that as obsessive behaviour, Jungkook.”

Kind of like the way most people in this café are obsessively watching you two.

The plan is simple: sit in a café with Jungkook, pretend you’re lost in your own little world, play the part of a love-struck couple – and wait. Wait until people become suspicious that this isn’t just another casual lunch between childhood friends, but that maybe there’s something more. Wait until a few more onlookers gather outside, cameras ready, eager to capture the moment your friendship seems to blur into something else.

“That’s just how a boyfriend would act, no? Be obsessed with his girl.”

“I guess? No one’s ever been obsessed with me.”

“Wasn’t Junwoo?”

You sigh deeply at the mention of your high-school ex-boyfriend. “Yeah, after I broke up with him.” If a two-month thing even qualifies as a relationship.

“Should’ve let me punch that fucker for treating you that way, seriously.” He says it with such contempt dripping from his voice, you’d think this happened recently and not nearly three years ago.

When Junwoo and you got official and had your first time, suddenly that’s all he was interested in. No more fun dates or random calls just to talk. Just a guy who liked the idea of you more than actually spending time with you. And once you called him out on it, he pretended it wasn’t true at all and tried to win you back with cute letters, random gifts or cringey apologies over voice notes.

“You got into trouble for that way too many times,” you remind him pointedly.

Whether it was for the sake of protecting you or losing his temper on the field – Jungkook had squared up to other guys more times than you could count. And still continues to do so on the field. Boys.

Jungkook’s sweet, charming, total golden retriever, until you piss him off.

“Ah, I really miss it,” Jungkook mumbles, wistfully brushing his thumb over your skin.

“Fighting?”

“No, just school in general. It was a silly time back then.”

“Don’t remind me. Life was so carefree.”

“Was it really for you, though?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head like he already knows the answer. “You were, and still are, a study maniac. Dragged me to the library so many times.” Jungkook rolls his eyes at the memory of the times you’ve spent in the library to study for exams and you nearly swat his arm for that.

You were stressed out and trying to survive under all the pressure of acing your exams. He was there for the vibes. You hunched over textbooks with color-coded tabs, he sprawled across the seat next to you, nearly falling asleep from boredom. Jungkook used to doodle on your notes while you crammed for midterms. At the time, it drove you up the wall. You’d flick his pen away, scold him for distracting you, threaten to ban him from ever coming again.

He always came anyway. And you always let him.

Now, whenever you’re studying – whether alone or with a study group – you catch yourself having memories popping up in your mind of Jungkook sitting next to you, twirling a pen, asking dumb questions like do you think mitochondria ever get tired of being the powerhouse?

You don’t miss the stress of high school. God, no. But you do miss that. Him in those moments. The silly distractions. The way he annoyed you so much it looped around into comfort.

“And you got us kicked out so many times,” you argue. “I get your hatred for studying, but you were doing too much.”

Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “I did the best I could, honestly.”

Right then, the waitress appears with your drinks. Two iced americanos, his with an extra shot, yours with oat milk. She places them on the table with a polite smile before vanishing again. Jungkook thanks her absently, stirring his coffee with the paper straw.

“Kinda wish we could go back for a day. Just one,” he says, eyes fixed on the swirling coffee. “Walk the halls, eat lunch together, annoy each other in class.”

“You just want to relive the time you sneaked off with Hyejin and made out behind the gym hall.” You sip on your drink, eyeing him.

Jungkook nearly chokes on his coffee. “You know what, I wouldn’t say no to that,” he replies, a sly smirk forming on his face. But then he recoils dramatically. “No, ___. How dare you say that when we’re on a date? I don’t wanna go back in time to kiss other girls.”

You quirk your eyebrow, but he doesn’t budge from that statement. "You just said you wouldn’t say no.”

“Slip of the tongue.” He waves it off. “I’m – we’re still new to this,” he adds, eyes wide with mock innocence. “But I’m fully reformed now. Monogamous. Loyal. Emotionally available.”

“Oh wow. All three?”

“All three.” He nods solemnly. “All for you.” Jungkook leans closer, conspiratorially. “Do you wanna sneak off and kiss behind the building?” he teases, voice dropping the tiniest bit. A soft, short chuckle escapes him like he’s proud of his flirty jab.

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You wish.”

He sips on his drink, sparkling eyes trained on you. “Should we really, though?” he asks more seriously. “Maybe not in the back of the café but my car or something?”

“I don’t know. Is hand holding enough? Did Taesung tell you something about a kiss?”

“Lemme just ask him.”

Jungkook lets go of your hand. He grabs his phone and types.

You squint suspiciously. “What did you text him?”

Without a hint of shame, he flips the screen around.

should we kiss?

You nearly laugh. What an unprofessional, unhinged text message to your manager. But then you catch sight of his grin behind his phone – that wide, dimpled, full-teeth kind of grin that makes him look way too pleased with himself – and annoyance melts away.

“You’re so lucky he puts up with your shit.”

“I just add a little fun to his job. He needs it.” His phone pings. He reads the message aloud. “He said it’s not necessary. Do what you’re comfortable with.”

Suddenly, worry tightens your chest. “Do you think they’ll follow us? To your car?” you ask, voice low as your eyes flick to the café window, though you force yourself not to actually look.

“They’ll keep their distance,” Jungkook says calmly.

Your worry turns out to be nothing more than a fleeting flicker. Here one second, gone the next. Especially when he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I told you not to stress over these things. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I can’t stop the worrying.” You tap a finger to your temple. “This thing won’t shut up.”

“It doesn’t have to work when I’m around.”

“I believe you when we survive the day.”

“Yah,” Jungkook breathes out affronted, his shoulders sagging dramatically like you just wounded him. “Do I not take care of you?” he pouts, the expression softening every line of his face.

“I’m just joking,” you giggle, nudging his foot under the table with yours. “Don’t be upset.”

Jungkook crosses his arms, lips still pursed in that exaggerated pout. “I’m not upset,” he says, clearly upset. Or pretending to be. His foot nudges yours back, a petty little kick that barely has any force behind it.

“Thank you for risking your life in public with me,” you try, waiting for his reaction.

“Risking my life is crazy, no?” he says, drinking his coffee. “We’re just having overpriced americanos.”

“So you do still know the value of money and have a concept of what’s normal. We haven’t completely lost you yet.”

“Yeah, what can I say. I’m still grounded.”

“You’re paying a monthly fee for a dog-walking app, and you don’t even have a dog. I don’t think that’s exactly grounded.”

“I just like to know what’s going on in the dog community. Sue me.”

“That’s called being rich,” you shoot back, lifting your drink. “Meanwhile, I was checking my bank app before I said yes to this fake date.”

“You wound me again.” A disappointed sigh slips past his mouth as he slouches back in his seat. “It’s those boys you hang out with at university, isn’t it?” he asks, shaking his head slowly, dramatically. “Feeding you cafeteria food and making you split Ubers.” He tuts, tongue clicking. “You’ve been through so much.”

Jungkook is ridiculous. But he also has a point.

“Maybe this fake dating situation won’t be only beneficial for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you how a man treats his girl properly.” He leans forward slightly.

“You don’t even date.” And yet, throughout your friendship, he still manages to do better than half the boys you’ve talked to.

“Exactly.” He shrugs like it proves something. “And I’m still ahead of the curve.” On a more serious note, he adds, “It’s not that hard to not be weird.”

“Low bar, huh.”

“Painfully low.” Jungkook winks at you. “But I’ll raise it for you. Temporarily.”

“Until you send me off to the college boys?”

“The finance bros you’ve been collecting?” At least Jungkook has the decency to try and hide the smile that threatens to break across his face, but it’s a miserable attempt.

“It was one date,” you groan, slumping back in your chair. “Will you ever stop annoying me about it?”

“I fear I can’t.” He reaches out, fingers brushing yours before he gently takes your hand. He gives a light tug, coaxing you to lean forward again, and you do. “How long did it take him to bring up crypto again?” Your fingers end up loosely threaded with his, resting on the table. The contact makes the teasing a little less annoying.

“I think he made it a whole five minutes before he went into a deep dive of explaining cryptocurrency to me.” You swirl your straw in slow, disappointed circles. Whoever started the myth of meeting the love of your life at university is a big, fat liar. Or maybe just works in admissions. And definitely deserves jail time.

“Wow.” Jungkook nods impressed. “Do you want a moment of silence for your brain cells?”

“I’m surrounded by idiots. I’m used to it.”

“You’re a med student. How does that work?”

“Men. Lots of emotionally unintelligent men.”

“But now you have me!” Jungkook exclaims, eyes big and sparkly. He squeezes your hand as he triumphantly holds them up a little. “Isn’t that fun?”

You laugh at his silly antics. “It’s an upgrade, for sure.”

Jungkook drinks up your words with a huge smile. “I’m so honoured. You’re, like, the smartest girl I’ve ever had.” he says. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“Do you even know anything about the girls you’ve been with?”

“They’re pretty?” he answers hesitantly. “And they have amazing taste.”

“Finish your drink before I throw up, please.”

“Wanna end our date already?”

“Didn’t you want to head to the gym after this?” You take a final sip of your coffee, pushing the empty glass away from you.

“I can cancel.”

“For me?”

“For us.”

“All it took for you to spend more time with me is fake date you?”

“Says you,” he shoots back. “The one who always bails on me because she has to study.” He mimics your voice when he says it and does a terrible job at that. It’s awful, but he still manages to pull a little laugh from you.

“Speaking of,” you say, glancing at the time. “I actually have a study date in an hour. So I don’t have time to hang that long.”

“This relationship’s doomed to fail,” he says flatly.

You gasp. “Excuse me?”

“Fully admitting to going on another date during our first date?”

“A study date,” you clarify, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. “With my study buddy.”

“Side chick, you mean.”

“I should accuse you of that, not the other way around.”

“Doubting my loyalty already, I see.” Jungkook taps his fingers against his glass. “I told you, I’m a brand-new man. I’ve got the big three now.” He raises a finger for each one: “Loyal. Monogamous. Emotionally available.”

“I truly love that for you, Jungkook. Growth looks good on you. But I still need to study.”

Jungkook finishes his coffee, sighing when he places his glass on the table. “Lets go then.” But then suddenly he goes, “Hold on – what would you rate this date? One to ten.”

You ponder. “Like, maybe a seven?”

“Seven? Damn.” Jungkook exclaims. “What are you deducting three points for?” He tilts his head with a genuine confused pout.

“It was a cute date. Conversation was fun, good banter but...” You trail off, thinking. Jungkook raises his eyebrows expectantly. “The butterflies were missing.”

He scoffs. “I can give you lots of butterflies if you let me.”

“Don’t make me deduct more points,” you warn, unfazed.

“Ah, okay.” He bows his head in apology, muttering, “I’ll do better next time.”

You giggle, comforting him with small pats on his head. “Don’t feel too burdened. I really liked it.”

~

Leaving the cafe hand in hand, a shy smile playing on your lips, you walk beside Jungkook towards his car. Your shoulders are tense, awareness prickling at your skin as you feel the distant hums of cameras capturing every step.

You try to play it cool, telling yourself that this isn’t different from any other day, but the little waves of anxiety still roll through you.

Jungkook seems unfazed. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you, the edge of his mouth curved upward. He pulls you closer, his body shifting ever so slightly to shield you from curious eyes.

Once you reach his black Bugatti tucked away in a quiet street, he opens the door for you, his hand brushing lightly against your back as you slide in.

He rounds the car and settles in beside you.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod. “Are you?”

Concern flickers over his face. “Yeah, as long as you are okay.”

“No, I am. Really. Just worried that they would be more annoying about following us, but it’s all good.”

“They know better.”

“Think we did good?” You turn your body a little towards him as he starts the car.

“Of course we did,” he replies. “You looked like you were seconds away from falling in love with me. Got excited for a sec.”

“Delusional and confident.”

Jungkook checks the rearview mirror, his gaze flickering over the street behind you. “They’re probably still around.”

“You think?”

“Probably. But let them look. We are kinda adorable.”

You huff out a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

Jungkook’s fingers rest lazily on the steering wheel. He turns his head to you again, eyes twinkling like he’s had an idea.

“Maybe we could do a bit better?”

“Better how?”

He leans a little closer, his cologne wrapping around you. His voice drops slightly when he says, “Come here.”

Jungkook cups your cheek, gently guiding you towards him. You lean into it without a second thought. Your eyes fall close, and you wait, expecting him to kiss you just like you had practised it at your place, but you don’t feel the gentle touch of his lips against your mouth.

Instead, you feel him press a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

Your chest stirs at his unexpected move.

There they are.

Butterflies.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

a little extra from me to u 😋:

[regressionschool]

A Quiet Afternoon at Home

The sun streamed through the window of the cozy living room, bathing the space in warm, golden light. Kim sat perched in her highchair, legs swinging idly in the air, her bunny-covered footie pajamas crinkling softly with every move. A large pink bib, embroidered with "Daddy's Little Angel," hung around her neck, slightly smeared with the remnants of mashed bananas from her lunch.

Her expression was one of mild distraction, lips pursed around her thumb, eyes fixed on the colorful cartoons playing on the TV. But the occasional wiggle of her bottom betrayed something else entirely—an unconscious habit born of her complete lack of control. Her diaper, already swollen from the morning, gave a faint squish as she shifted in place, unaware of the telltale signs of what had just happened.

“Kimmy,” called a warm, sing-song voice from the kitchen. It was Sarah, her caretaker, carrying a sippy cup filled with apple juice. She approached with a practiced patience, as if dealing with a little one who had long accepted her place. “Did you make another present for me?”

Kim blinked at her, thumb slipping from her mouth with a soft pop. Her cheeks flushed pink, a mix of embarrassment and resignation crossing her face. She didn’t need to answer; the sagging weight of her diaper said it all. Sarah gave her a knowing smile, setting the sippy cup down on the tray of the highchair.

“Aww, it’s okay, sweetie,” Sarah cooed, reaching over to tousle Kim’s blonde hair, now tied into two childish pigtails. “That’s what your diapers are for, isn’t it? You tried to hold it, didn’t you?”

Kim nodded faintly, her lower lip quivering. “I-I felt it, but…” She trailed off, glancing down at her lap, where her hands nervously fidgeted with the edge of her pajama sleeves. “It just… happened.”

“It always does, baby,” Sarah said softly, crouching down so she was at eye level. “You’re just not big enough to make it to the potty, are you?”

Kim bit her lip, tears threatening to spill. She didn’t protest, didn’t argue, because deep down she knew Sarah was right. She’d been through regression school, where every ounce of her adult independence had been carefully stripped away, replaced with the routines and instincts of a toddler who might think about potty training but could never follow through. The smallest flutter in her tummy was always too late, her body betraying her before she even realized it was happening.

Sarah leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Kim’s forehead. “No tears, sweetheart. Mommy’s here to keep you dry and happy. Well… maybe not dry,” she teased with a light chuckle. “But happy, for sure.”

Kim managed a small smile, the corners of her lips twitching upward despite herself. She clung to the comforting reassurance in Sarah’s voice, even as her soggy diaper grew cold and clammy against her skin. This was her normal now—no responsibility, no expectations beyond simply being the little girl she’d been molded into.

“Now,” Sarah said, lifting Kim from the highchair with ease, her arms cradling her protectively. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into a nice fresh diaper, okay? Then maybe we’ll do some coloring. Or would my little princess like to play tea party instead?”

Kim wrapped her arms around Sarah’s neck, resting her head on her caretaker’s shoulder. She didn’t answer right away, simply snuggling closer as Sarah carried her to the nursery. The familiar scent of baby powder and plush toys greeted them as they entered, the pastel pink walls and crib a constant reminder of just how far Kim had regressed.

As Sarah laid her down on the changing table, Kim let out a small sigh, her thumb creeping back into her mouth. She didn’t fight it, didn’t squirm. There was no point. Her future was as padded and protected as the diapers she’d never leave behind.

For Kim, this was forever. She’d always be the toddler stuck on the cusp of potty training but never quite making it. And, as Sarah lovingly taped up a fresh, crinkly diaper around her waist, Kim couldn’t deny the tiniest spark of comfort in that reality.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

the after party teaser

fratboy!Jaehyun x f!reader

summary: Jaehyun realizes he's going to need to put some real work in to try to win you back. What, he didn't really think it would be easy to win you back, did he?

teaser word count: 569

expected fic word count: ~6.7k

release date: Saturday, March 29

warnings: profanity, angst, hurt, violence (a fight), drinking alcohol

a/n: THIS IS A PART 2! If you'd like to catch up on the drama you can read, when the party's over and catch up on my fratboy!Jae au! Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist, you can comment, message me, or send me an ask :)

dividers from strangergraphics <3

After the last try he starts to go a little crazy. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he had created an extra Instagram account to watch your friend’s Instagram stories. He sees how you practically glow on the screen. You look so ethereal. Like a goddess straight from Mount Olympus. He spends countless nights tapping away through countless friends’ Instagram stories. He sees how they all rally around you with dinner parties, movie nights, partying, and clubbing. In every picture, he can only focus on your face. Your beautiful face smiling so brightly at the camera like nothing horrible has happened to you. Like some dumbass with a 2.1 GPA hasn’t broken your heart and likely made you wary of any romantic interactions to come in the future. Every picture of you, every version of your smiling face, obscured with a plastic cup, covered with a sheet mask, eyes looking elsewhere, is burned into the deep recesses of his mind. How could he have ever hurt someone so beautiful, inside and out?

It’s one of the reasons why he knows you’re at a fucking Alpha Sig party tonight, looking hot as hell in a cute little crop top and your tightest jeans. He sends a mental thank you to Ari for posting a short clip of you guys taking a shot together before you dance off the burning sensation in your throat. It’s the same reason he manages to convince a handful of his own Nu Chi brothers into going to the same party with some weak excuse of fraternity relations.

That’s how he finds himself here, pressed against the wall of the Alpa Sig frat house, hoodie over his head, dead sober as he watches you dance happily with your friends. You look so happy, so carefree, like a love interest right from one of the romance movies you’d made him watch what feels like 100 years ago. Nights where he grumbled about not wanting to watch a stupid romance movie but ended up more invested than you were.

He watched you like he was stuck in some kind of trance. The colored lights flashed and strobed across the crowd of gyrating bodies in what he assumed was the living room when they weren’t partying. He watched as your hips swayed, arms raised as you move to the bone-shaking beat of the house music. He watches as Kira joins you and Ari, watches as she pushes another plastic cup into your hand, he sees how your eyes clench shut at the taste, but you don’t stop drinking whatever you have in your cup. He can’t help the way his eyes track every enticing sway of your hips, how your crop top lifts just a few inches which makes his mouth water. You don’t look inhibited by any kind of break up or broken heart like he does. He looks like some kind of sick and tired ghost summoned to ruin the vibe of the party. Where he used to attract girls like flies to a pot of sweet honey, his frankly off-putting vibe radiates off him so that the only people that can stand to be around him are his brothers that he dragged here. None of them would have ever been found dead at an Alpha Sig party if it weren’t for Jaehyun, and he would have never been found here it it weren’t for you.

[novaursa]

The Northern Heart (1/2)

- Summary: Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.

- Pairing: baratheon!lannister!reader/Robb Stark

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The journey north had been long and tiring, and the wind was colder than you’d imagined. Winterfell loomed ahead, dark stone against an overcast sky, its towers casting jagged shadows. The North was starkly beautiful in a way the warm halls of the Red Keep could never match. You adjusted the fur-lined cloak clasped at your neck, the black of House Baratheon contrasting with the lion clasp, a quiet nod to the Lannister blood that ran through you, though it was not yours to display openly.

Your mother, Cersei, rode beside you, her green eyes scanning Winterfell with an air of disdain barely hidden beneath her serene mask. She sat tall, ever the queen, her golden hair gleaming in the pale sunlight. Your brothers, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, rode behind, their bright golden heads standing out against the muted grays of Winterfell’s walls. And your father—no, King Robert—was ahead, already bellowing greetings at the sight of the Stark family awaiting them in the courtyard.

As the procession slowed to a halt, you dismounted gracefully, though your legs ached from days of riding. Your mother’s eyes swept over you, a flicker of approval in them as you adjusted your cloak, falling in line with her and your siblings. As Robert strode forward, eager to greet his old friend Eddard Stark, you remained back, your place clear beside Cersei. You caught her eye, and she offered a subtle nod, a reminder to stay poised, as she always did.

Ahead, Robert greeted Eddard with a boisterous hug, their laughter carrying through the courtyard. Your gaze wandered to the family gathered at Lord Stark’s side. Lady Stark, her auburn hair swept back, her expression cool but welcoming. The young ones were gathered around her, curiosity and interest clear in their eyes. But it was the young man at Eddard Stark’s side, tall and broad-shouldered, that drew your attention.

Robb Stark.

His auburn hair matched his mother’s, and his face, though youthful, already held the strength and quiet intensity of his father. He was watching you—or rather, he’d been looking toward your family in general, but now his gaze lingered on you, his blue eyes tracing your features with a kind of hesitant awe. He was handsome, undeniably so, and the confidence you’d honed over years of court life faltered, just slightly, under the weight of that gaze.

You looked away, hoping the color rising in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joffrey watching the Starks with open disdain, but you ignored him. Instead, you found yourself glancing back at Robb, curious despite yourself, and caught him still looking at you.

“What do you think of the Starks, sister?” Myrcella asked beside you, her sweet voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned closer to her, eyes flickering toward Cersei before answering. “They seem… honorable,” you murmured, struggling for a word that felt right. The North was a world apart from King’s Landing, and the weight of the Northern air, the forthright gazes, all of it felt different—real.

Meanwhile, Robert’s booming laughter filled the air as he clapped Eddard on the back. “It’s been too damn long, Ned!” he declared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. “Seven hells, I’ve missed this place. And your family—look at them, already grown!”

Lord Stark’s smile was reserved, but you could see warmth in his eyes. “The years have been kind to us both, Robert. And you’ve brought your own family north. It’s an honor to welcome them here.”

Robert looked back over his shoulder, waving an arm toward you, Cersei, and the children. “Aye, they’re a fine brood, aren’t they?” His gaze settled on you briefly, pride flickering there. “My eldest,” he said, his tone softening. “She takes after her mother in beauty, but she’s got her father’s spirit, I’d say.”

Your mother’s lips curved into a perfect, practiced smile at his words, though you could sense the strain in her. She inclined her head gracefully, accepting the compliment on your behalf.

“Princess Y/N,” Eddard said, nodding in your direction, “Winterfell welcomes you.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” you replied, keeping your tone formal, though your voice was soft. Cersei’s fingers brushed your arm briefly, a reminder not to be too bold or warm. “The honor is ours.”

But it was not Eddard’s gaze you felt lingering on you. Robb stood a step behind his father, his blue eyes keen and watchful. There was something gentle, almost reverent in the way he looked at you, and for reasons you couldn’t quite place, that small expression made your heart race.

“Robb,” Eddard said, his voice low but carrying the authority of a father and lord, “come and meet the king’s family.”

Robb stepped forward, his movements steady, though he appeared young and nervous beneath his composure. He nodded to Robert first and then looked back at you with an intensity that seemed almost out of place in the quiet courtyard. “Princess,” he said, his voice steady though softer than you’d expected. “It’s an honor.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you fought it back, simply inclining your head. “The honor is shared, Lord Robb,” you replied.

It was a simple exchange, but in that moment, it felt like more.

The air in the crypts was cold and heavy with the scent of stone and earth, the silence settling thickly around Eddard and Robert as they descended the worn steps into the shadows. Torches flickered in their iron brackets, casting long, twisting shadows over the figures immortalized in stone, ancient Stark kings and lords gazing solemnly from their resting places.

Robert paused in front of a statue, his face softened by the flickering light. His eyes, usually sharp with mirth or tempered with anger, now held something else—a quiet, lingering sadness that Ned hadn’t seen in years. Robert reached out and placed a rough hand against the face of the woman immortalized there in cold stone: Lyanna Stark, her face carved with a gentle beauty that no craftsman’s hands could ever fully capture. Flowers lay scattered at the base of her statue, their colors muted in the dim torchlight. Ned had left them there just the day before, a gesture of memory and honor.

“She was always so damn beautiful, wasn’t she?” Robert’s voice was low, almost reverent. “And all of this, everything, might have been different if she’d been mine. If Rhaegar hadn’t…” He trailed off, bitterness tightening his jaw.

“Aye,” Eddard replied, his voice as soft as the stillness around them. “The gods saw fit to tear us all down that day.”

Robert nodded slowly, lost in thought, his fingers brushing over the stone flowers woven into Lyanna’s statue. “I asked you here for more than just memories, Ned.” He turned, his gaze sharpening. “The realm is… not as it should be. I am surrounded by vipers and whisperers. I need someone I can trust.” His voice lowered, taking on a familiar intensity. “I need you, Ned. I want you to be my Hand.”

Eddard met Robert’s gaze, his heart heavy. “Robert… I’m no statesman. The North is my place. I don’t belong in the South, nor do my children.”

“That’s exactly why I need you.” Robert stepped closer, his face earnest, imploring. “You’re honest, Ned. You’ll do what’s right, even if it’s hard, even if it costs you. The realm needs someone like you. I need someone like you.”

Ned sighed, his eyes drifting back to Lyanna’s statue, the ache of old wounds stirring within him. “And what of the North? My children… they need me too.”

Robert nodded, understanding yet unyielding. “Bring them with you,” he said, voice steady. “Let them know the court. Let them see the world beyond the walls of Winterfell.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting, something almost hesitant in his expression. “In fact… I have an idea. A way to unite our Houses, as we should have done, as Lyanna and I would have done.”

Eddard turned back to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Robert’s eyes gleamed, a spark of hope breaking through the sorrow that lingered in them. “A marriage pact, Ned. We unite our bloodlines, our families.” He straightened, his voice taking on the tone of a king. “My son, Joffrey, and your daughter, Sansa. And…” He paused, eyes narrowing in thought. “My eldest daughter, Y/N, to your son, Robb.”

Eddard’s expression tightened, surprise flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, hesitating, his mind racing with the implications of Robert’s proposal. “A match between our children…” he murmured, almost to himself. “You truly wish this, Robert?”

Robert nodded, his voice softening. “It’s what I always wanted, Ned. To be part of your family, for our blood to be bound together.” He glanced back at Lyanna’s statue, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “I wanted your sister… and though the gods were cruel enough to take that from me, this… this could be a way to bring our houses together, as it should have been.”

Ned felt the weight of the proposal settling on him, his mind turning over the idea of Sansa with Joffrey and Robb with Y/N. “Sansa is still a child,” he began carefully, “and Robb… he’s young yet. I’d want to speak with them both. And Catelyn.”

Robert nodded. “Of course. But think of it, Ned. You have a son and a daughter, and I have a son and a daughter of age.” He straightened, the gleam of determination in his eyes returning. “Sansa would be queen one day. And your son… Robb would be heir to the North, united to the blood of both Baratheon and Lannister.”

Ned frowned. “The girl… Y/N,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “She has Lannister blood, Robert. I know how you feel about her mother’s family.”

Robert’s face darkened briefly, his gaze hardening. “Aye, Cersei is a Lannister. But Y/N is my daughter too. She carries the blood of my House, and though she bears the lion on her face, there’s stag in her heart.” His tone softened, almost pleading. “Ned, she’s not her mother. She’s…” He paused, searching for words, “She’s got fire, spirit, and I want her to know a man like your son. One of true honor, not some… viper of the South.”

Eddard considered this, his mind drifting to Robb. His son, dutiful, strong, and honorable—a match for any in the realm. And Y/N… she’d seemed poised, striking in the courtyard, with that quiet grace he’d seen in only a few women. He thought of Sansa, who had dreamed of becoming queen since she was a little girl, and his heart ached.

“Let me speak with Catelyn,” he said finally, his voice steady. “And with my children.”

Robert clapped a hand on his shoulder, a grin breaking through his somber expression. “I knew I could count on you, Ned. Together, our families could be what the realm needs. Strong, united.”

They turned to leave, but Robert lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Lyanna’s stone face, his eyes shadowed with memories.

“Tell me, Ned,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “do you think she would have loved me?”

Eddard’s heart ached, the answer lodged somewhere deep, known only to him. “She was her own woman, Robert,” he replied softly. “And the gods alone know what lies in the hearts of the dead.”

Robert nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, tinged with sorrow. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, his voice growing firmer. He tore his gaze away from Lyanna’s statue, focusing on the path ahead.

“Come then,” he said, his tone lightening as he turned to face the stairs. “Let us speak of the future and leave the past to rest.”

And together, they left the crypts, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the silent halls where shadows lingered, bearing witness to the choices that would shape their families and the realm.

Here, by the fire’s light of private chambers, shadows softened, and the familiar scents of woodsmoke and winter roses made the space feel like a retreat. Catelyn sat across from Eddard, her brow furrowed as she listened to his words, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Nearby, Robb and Sansa sat side by side, both listening intently. Bran, Arya, and Rickon were sprawled around the room, though Arya’s restless gaze and occasional sharp glances made it clear she was as engaged as her older siblings.

Eddard took a breath, letting his gaze move from his wife to each of his children in turn. “King Robert has suggested a marriage pact to unite our families,” he began, his voice steady, though he felt the weight of the decision pressing down. “He has offered Joffrey’s hand to Sansa… and Y/N’s hand to Robb.”

Sansa’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile breaking across her features. “I would be honored, Father,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “To be Queen someday, to be married to Joffrey… it’s everything I’ve dreamed of.”

Catelyn’s face softened as she looked at her daughter. “Are you certain, Sansa? It is a serious decision, one that would take you far from home, to the capital.”

Sansa nodded, almost eagerly. “I understand, Mother. But I’ve dreamed of King’s Landing—the court, the feasts, the tournaments.” Her cheeks flushed with excitement. “And Joffrey… he’s handsome, and he’s a prince.”

Ned exchanged a glance with Catelyn, her expression mirroring the concern he felt. Sansa’s eagerness was not unexpected, but it still struck a chord. He was about to speak when Robb cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“I would accept the match as well,” Robb said, his voice calm, though there was a quiet intensity to his gaze. “To join our Houses… it would be an honor.” He hesitated, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. “And… I saw her today. Y/N. She seems… dignified.” His cheeks colored slightly, a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a match with her, Father. I think I could be happy.”

Eddard raised an eyebrow, surprised by Robb’s swift acceptance. Robb was young, and Ned had half-expected resistance or at least more hesitation. Catelyn, too, looked taken aback, her mouth parting slightly as she considered her son.

“It’s a big decision,” Catelyn said gently, her voice measured. “You would be bound to her for life, Robb. Have you truly thought about this?”

Robb nodded, his gaze meeting hers with quiet conviction. “I have, Mother. She seems strong, and I would welcome the chance to learn more about her. If it’s what the realm and our House needs, I am willing.”

“Robb, you’re not actually thinking of marrying her, are you?” Arya’s voice broke through the quiet, incredulous and disapproving. She scrunched her face, her expression mirroring her distaste. “And Sansa, Joffrey’s awful. He’s arrogant and cruel.”

“Arya!” Catelyn chided, though her tone was soft, almost indulgent.

But Arya only shrugged, crossing her arms. “It’s true. I’ve seen him, Mother. He’s unkind to everyone around him just because he’s a prince. I’d never want a marriage like that.”

Sansa’s expression tightened, her smile fading as she glanced at her sister. “You don’t know him, Arya. Joffrey is a prince. He’s noble and brave. You just don’t understand.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but her expression softened slightly as she turned her attention to Robb. “But… I like Y/N. She doesn’t act like the rest of them. I saw her today, and she didn’t look down on anyone.” She looked at her father, her gaze challenging but hopeful. “If Robb has to marry someone, I’d rather it be her.”

Rickon, sitting on the floor beside Bran, looked up, his young face alight with curiosity. “What’s she like?” he asked, his voice filled with innocent wonder.

Bran shrugged, glancing at Arya. “She looked quiet, I guess,” he said, thoughtful. “Not like Joffrey, anyway.”

Ned sighed, feeling the weight of his children’s varied reactions. He’d expected Sansa’s enthusiasm and Arya’s protests, but Robb’s quiet acceptance had caught him off guard. The North had always been his family’s home; the thought of binding them so closely to the South troubled him.

He looked at Catelyn, catching her eye. She nodded, understanding his silent request, and rose from her seat, placing a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Robb, Sansa,” she said softly, “this is a decision that will shape your futures. We don’t take this lightly.”

Sansa nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation, while Robb simply inclined his head, calm and steady. Arya huffed, but Catelyn silenced her with a look, and Arya fell back, though her gaze remained defiant.

As the children continued to murmur among themselves, Ned took Catelyn’s arm and led her a little way from them, lowering his voice. “There’s something more,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting back to his children, his heart heavy. “Robert asked me to be his Hand.”

Catelyn’s face tightened, her concern immediate and clear. “Ned… the Hand? I thought you’d never return to court.”

He nodded, his voice low. “Neither did I. But Robert… he says he needs me. And with Jon Arryn gone…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “The realm is troubled, Cat. If I can help Robert, I feel I must. But I would bring all of you, as Robert suggested.”

Her hand tightened in his, her expression a mix of worry and resignation. “You know what lies in the South, Ned,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Whispers, plots. I fear for you—and for our children. They’d be far from the safety of the North.”

“Aye, I know,” he replied, his heart heavy. “But if I refuse him… Robert will be left to those who would only drag him down further. I owe him my loyalty, Cat.”

Catelyn studied his face, her eyes searching. She knew his sense of duty ran deep, and she understood the bonds that held him to Robert, the memories of war and brotherhood that could not be so easily dismissed. “Then let us think on it,” she said finally, her voice steady. “We’ll decide together, Ned. For our family.”

He nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand grounding him amid the storm of decisions and uncertainties. For now, they would hold to each other and to the North. 

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with music and laughter, the warm glow of firelight casting rich hues across the long tables laden with food and drink. The Northern lords and ladies feasted heartily, their voices mingling in a cheerful cacophony. At the high table, you sat beside your mother, your attire shining like a jewel against the muted, sturdy colors of Winterfell.

You sat poised, your gaze serene yet attentive as you watched the revelry unfold around you. From time to time, you’d lean in to speak to your mother, Cersei, your smile soft but polite. You laughed at something your younger sister Myrcella said, the sound gentle, like a secret shared with the night. Across the hall, Robb Stark found himself wondering what it would be like to be the one to make you smile, to hear your laughter up close.

“You’re staring, Robb,” Theon Greyjoy’s voice interrupted his thoughts, a teasing grin on his face. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? The lady staring at the lord?”

Robb gave him a playful shove but felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m not staring.”

“Oh, but you are,” piped up one of his other friends, a grinning Northern lad named Domeric Bolton. “She’s certainly caught your eye.”

Robb sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. “She’s… well, she’s different,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not like the Northern girls.”

“Then go speak to her,” Theon urged, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Ask her for a dance.”

Robb hesitated, glancing back at you. Your presence was poised and refined in a way that made him suddenly feel rough and unpolished. But then he met your eyes, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the noise of the hall faded away. You gave him a shy smile, your eyes meeting his across the distance with a glimmer of interest.

Taking a deep breath, Robb rose from his seat, ignoring Theon and Domeric’s encouraging grins. He made his way through the hall toward the high table, his heart pounding with each step. When he reached you, he bowed slightly, his gaze meeting yours.

“Princess,” he said, his voice steady despite the quickening of his heart. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

You looked up at him, your expression one of mild surprise before your lips curved into a soft smile. You glanced at your mother, who gave a curt nod, her gaze unreadable, before you turned back to Robb and inclined your head. “I’d be delighted, my lord.”

He offered his hand, and as you took it, the warmth of his touch sent a thrill through you. Together, you stepped onto the floor as the musicians struck up a new tune, a melody both gentle and lively, and Robb led you into the first steps of the dance.

“You seem well-versed in Northern customs, my lady,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as you moved through the steps. “I hadn’t expected a girl from the South to dance so well to Northern music.”

You laughed, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze. “It seems the North is full of surprises. But I’ve had a lifetime of lessons in court dances. I only hope my dancing is… acceptable.”

“More than acceptable,” he replied, his own voice softening as he looked at you. “I’d wager even the most graceful Northern ladies would be envious.”

You lowered your gaze, a light blush coloring your cheeks. “You flatter me, my lord.”

He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes from you. “No, I speak the truth.” He hesitated, then leaned in slightly, his voice lowered. “I hope you’re finding Winterfell… welcoming. I know it must be different from King’s Landing.”

You looked up at him, your expression thoughtful. “It is different,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I find I like it here. There’s… a warmth here that I hadn’t expected.”

“That pleases me to hear,” he said, his tone earnest. “This is my home, and one day… well, I hope to make it a place that someone like you could be happy in.”

Your gaze softened, and you felt the connection between you both grow as you moved through the steps, as if the hall and the people around you had faded into the background. “I believe I could be happy here,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s… quieter than I’m used to, yes, but there’s something about Winterfell. A sense of peace.”

Robb looked at you, his expression earnest as he gathered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind since he’d learned of Robert’s proposal. “And… do you think you could see yourself here one day, as the Lady of Winterfell?”

For a heartbeat, you felt surprise flicker in your gaze. But then you smiled, a shy, genuine smile that made his heart race. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice as soft as snowfall. “If the North would have me.”

You shared a quiet, lingering look, the unspoken promise between you both as delicate as the touch of his hand in yours. For a moment, Robb could imagine a future where you walked these halls as his wife, where your laughter and warmth brought light to Winterfell even in the deepest winter.

Robb led you through the steps of the dance, his touch gentle yet firm, his eyes locked on yours with a sincerity that warmed you even amidst Winterfell’s drafty stone walls. Around you, lords and ladies cheered and clapped, voices blending into the joyous hum that filled the hall.

But just beyond the laughter, at the high table where the royal family sat, an animosity simmered.

Cersei sat rigid, her fingers clenched around her goblet as she watched you move across the hall in Robb’s arms. Her green eyes were sharp, like cold emeralds, and her displeasure was barely hidden behind her carefully composed mask. Robert, beside her, laughed heartily with Eddard Stark, his voice booming over the din as he recounted tales from their youth. But Cersei’s simmering anger finally spilled over, and she leaned toward him, her voice low and venomous.

“So, this is your grand plan?” she hissed, her eyes never leaving you. “To bind our daughter to this… Northern boy without so much as a word to me?”

Robert’s laughter cut short, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her, irritation flaring in his gaze. “What are you going on about, woman?”

She turned to him fully, her voice barely louder than a whisper, though her anger crackled beneath each word. “You’ve condemned her to this cold, dark place. My daughter, Robert. You would give her to a Stark—to live in this fortress far from court, from her family, from me. And you did this without consulting me?”

Robert took a long drink from his goblet, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep his voice steady, though a vein ticked at his temple. “Our daughter is old enough to wed, Cersei. And a match with the Starks would make her the future Lady of Winterfell. She’ll have a strong husband, and her place will be secure. What more do you want?”

“What more?” Cersei’s voice tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “She is my daughter, Robert. Do you understand that? My blood. And you’d give her away as if she were some toy in your games with Eddard. She was supposed to be in King’s Landing, to be part of the court, to learn her place. But here…” Her gaze flicked toward you with something like desperation. “You’ve taken her from me.”

Robert’s face grew dark, his patience wearing thin. “Taken her from you?” he muttered, shaking his head. “She is my daughter, too, Cersei. Or have you forgotten that? I’m doing what’s best for her.”

“Best for her,” Cersei repeated, bitterness coating her words. “And you think binding her to the North is what’s best? To send her to this frozen wasteland, where she will be as isolated as I am?”

Robert’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his goblet. “Enough,” he growled, his voice low. “This is not the time or place.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes blazing. “Oh, so now you find restraint? Now, when it suits you to ignore the voices that oppose you?”

His gaze flicked back to you and Robb, who were laughing softly as you spun in perfect rhythm to the music, the two of you oblivious to the conflict boiling at the high table. Robert’s irritation softened slightly, replaced by a look of contemplation. “Look at her,” he muttered. “She’s happy, Cersei. You would deny her that because you think this match is beneath her?”

“Beneath her?” Cersei scoffed, her gaze icy. “I would deny her nothing, Robert. I would give her everything. A place in court, a life of comfort, of power.” She turned back to him, her voice low and scathing. “But you would cast her away to the ends of the realm, to live out her days as some Stark’s quiet wife in the cold.”

“Enough, Cersei,” he said again, this time more forcefully. “Our daughter is a Baratheon, and this is what I’ve chosen for her. The North is good for her. It’ll give her strength, and a place to call her own.”

Cersei’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression tight with fury barely held in check. “You would know little of what’s good for her,” she spat. “When have you ever thought of what’s best for her? For any of us?” She cast a sharp glance toward the hall, where Robb was speaking softly to you, your face illuminated by a soft smile that made you appear every inch the regal lady Cersei had trained you to be. “That smile,” she murmured bitterly, “is what you think will last here?”

Robert’s expression shifted, his face darkening as he met her gaze. “Do not presume to lecture me on what’s best for our daughter, Cersei,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve let you have your way with her long enough. This match is good for her and good for the realm.”

Cersei leaned back, her gaze hard and unyielding, her lips pressed into a grim line. “And when she comes to hate you for this—when she realizes you tore her from her family, her home—don’t expect me to soften her heart toward you.”

Robert’s patience snapped, his voice rising just enough for a few heads to turn in his direction. “She’ll come to understand, and she’ll thank me. You may not see it, but I know what I’m doing.”

At that, Cersei gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “If only you ever knew what you were doing, Robert.”

With that, she turned away, her gaze icy as she stared out over the hall, the tension between them leaving a chill in the air despite the warmth of the feast. Robert returned to his drink, the brief flash of guilt in his eyes fading as he watched you dance with Robb, your smile and laughter filling the hall as you swayed together in time to the music.

Though a bitter silence now lay between Robert and Cersei, neither could deny the spark that lit up the hall as you danced.

The early morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the ground as you walked beside Robb through the godswood, surrounded by towering trees that stretched their branches skyward. Robb had invited you out for a quiet walk, promising you a glimpse of the heart of Winterfell, where even the lords and ladies came to find peace. In the early light, the godswood was serene, the scent of pine and earth mingling with the soft murmur of the nearby stream.

You found yourself laughing easily with him as he recounted tales of his childhood in Winterfell, his face lighting up as he described the antics he and his brothers would get into. There was a warmth in his smile, a genuine ease that seemed to set you at ease in return.

“And then,” he was saying, barely containing his laughter, “Theon got the idea to sneak into the kitchens at midnight for pies, but Jon and I told him we had to outsmart Old Nan first. Well, we barely made it through the kitchen door before she caught us. Sent us all back to our beds with an earful.” Robb chuckled, shaking his head. “Theon tried to blame me, of course.”

You laughed, covering your mouth to stifle the sound, imagining a young Robb caught in the act, eyes wide with guilt. “And what about you? What did you do to make up for it?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eye. “What every good brother would do—I blamed Jon.” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “He took it rather well, actually.”

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet as you walked side by side. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and you’d find yourself caught in his gaze a moment longer than expected. There was an openness in Robb that felt… different from the formality of the court and the rigid politeness you were used to in King’s Landing. Here, it felt easy to just be yourself.

“So,” Robb said, his voice softer, “are you finding Winterfell to your liking?”

You hesitated, feeling his gaze on you, before nodding. “I am. It’s… quiet. Peaceful. I think I could grow to love it here.”

Robb’s smile softened. “I hope you do.” He looked out over the godswood, as if envisioning a future that included you here, walking these paths together in the years to come. “I’ve spent my whole life here, you know. These woods, this castle… it’s in my blood. I can’t imagine calling anywhere else home.”

You glanced at him, feeling a strange tug in your heart as he spoke. “You speak of Winterfell the way a poet would speak of his muse.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile. “I suppose I do. I never thought of it that way.” He paused, turning to look at you, his expression growing serious. “But I think, perhaps, if you were here… Winterfell would be all the more beautiful.”

Your breath caught, and you felt your cheeks flush as his words hung in the air between you. You opened your mouth to reply, but just as you were about to speak, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the quiet.

A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, came rushing toward you. “My lord!” he gasped, his face pale. “My lord Robb—it’s your brother. It’s Bran.”

Robb’s smile vanished instantly, his expression tightening as he turned to the servant. “What happened?” His voice was sharp, tinged with fear.

The servant swallowed hard, catching his breath. “Young Bran… he fell from the tower, my lord. The Maester… they’re with him now.”

Robb’s face went pale, and his hand dropped from where it had been resting near yours. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his eyes wide as he processed the words. But then, as if a switch had flipped, he straightened, his features hardening with determination.

“Take me to him,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet urgency.

The servant nodded, glancing between you both before hurrying back toward the keep. Robb took a shaky breath, looking at you, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heart ache.

“I’m sorry… I have to—”

“Go,” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Your brother needs you.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned and strode quickly in the direction of the tower. You watched him go, feeling a pang of worry settle in your chest as you thought of young Bran, whom you’d only just met, a lively boy with a boundless curiosity.

Left alone in the godswood, the peace and warmth of your morning with Robb faded, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press down on you. You glanced back in the direction of the keep, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you considered what had happened.

After a moment, you began to make your way back toward the castle, hoping, praying, that the news awaiting you would be better than what you feared.

[ye4gerz]

escape room - lee haechan

‧˚⭒ pairing: ghost!haechan x afab!reader. mdni! adults only. ‧˚⭒ genre: thriller!au, strangers to lovers, soulmate!yandereau! angst, smut! ‧˚⭒ word count: 6.1k (sorry it’s long!) ‧˚⭒ warnings: voyeurism hc, fingering, oral(f receiving), dirty talk, slight nipple play, choking, multiple orgasms, swearing, obsessive hyuck, mentions of death, dom hc x sub reader. ‧˚⭒ starring: haechan, johnny, ten, mark, jaehyun reader. ‧˚⭒ summary: when you and your friends sign up for an extreme escape room, you expect clever puzzles and a few jump scares– not real danger. as you navigate eerie traps, the game takes a turn, and suddenly you find yourself separated from the group, alone. at least that’s what you thought, unaware of the familiar shadow lurking besides you.

a/n: hiii everyone, i hope those who read enjoy! this is my first story in years so i’m sorry if it’s not as detailed as could be but hopefully i improve the more i continue to upload. as said before this story is for adults only if i find any minors on my account i will block you. i’m open to feedback or any ideas for future stories. enjoy!

The eerie notes from the piano grow louder, filling the cramped room with an unsettling melody. From the corner, an old record player spins on its own, crackling as it fills the air with static. The noise gradually morphs into a faint whisper, words barely audible over the static.

"Time has just begun."

A chill creeps up your spine. You glance at the others, who stand on edge, their eyes darting around the room as the unsettling atmosphere takes hold. You’d exited the car only minutes earlier, arriving at what was supposed to be an ordinary escape room. As you step toward the entrance, the air thickens with uncomfortable tension, the dim light only emphasizing the building's eerie charm. The old structure seems to exist outside of time, its walls drenched in shadow, barely touched by the weak glow of the single streetlight overhead.

"So this is it? It looks... ancient. You sure you got the address right?" Johnny asks, his voice laced with doubt as he studies the rundown building in front of him.

"Address checks out," Ten replies, glancing down at the map on his phone, then back up at the dark, decrepit building. "This is it, apparently."

Mark shivers, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. "Can we just go inside? My fingers are freezing off," he mutters, eyeing the doorway.

"Mark's right," Johnny chimes in, rubbing his hands together. "Let's just make sure it's still open."

Without further discussion, you all follow Johnny into the building. Inside, a dim, red-hued glow bathes the narrow hallway, where an old wine-colored carpet leads to a black wooden desk at the far end. A single lamp beside the desk casts long shadows against the walls, and the red, tilted lampshade gives the whole scene an otherworldly air.

Behind the desk stands a tall, gaunt man in a navy velvet suit, his frame sharp and dignified. His hair is slicked back with a single blonde strand hanging loose over his forehead. Black leather gloves cover his hands, and his eyes are blank and empty, as if devoid of emotion. He moves with precision, carefully placing a pen down on the desk before turning his attention to your group.

"May I help you?" he asks, his voice smooth, his smile revealing a dimple on his cheek as he flips open a worn booklet filled with room reservations.

Ten steps forward, excitement bright in his eyes. "What's the scariest room you've got here? Something not a lot of people have beaten."

The man's eyes glint with something that looks like amusement—or perhaps a warning. "Room 13," he replies. "It's... challenging. Few have managed to escape. Are you sure you want to proceed?"

You exchange glances with the others, an unspoken agreement passing between you all before Ten grins confidently and says, "Absolutely. We'll take the challenge."

The man inclines his head, pulling a large, iron key from a drawer. "As you wish," he murmurs, stepping from behind the desk. "Follow me."

He leads you down a narrow hallway lined with doors, each one different in design and shape, some small and round, others tall and rectangular. Your footsteps echo ominously as you walk, the creaks in the floor whispering warnings you can’t quite decipher. Finally, you reach the end of the hallway, where a massive, medieval-style door looms in front of you, its iron handle weathered and cold to the touch. The keyhole is unlike any you've ever seen.

The man unlocks the door with deliberate slowness, pausing to glance at each of you, his gaze assessing. "Are you certain you want to enter?" he asks, his voice almost mocking.

Ignoring his subtle warning, you nod along with the others, eager to continue.

Once inside, you find yourself in a dim, unsettling room. The walls are covered with crooked paintings, each one depicting strange, shadowy figures and bleak landscapes. A dusty piano sits in one corner, and a cracked baby doll lies slumped in an old rocking chair, one eye half-shut, its mouth slightly open as if caught mid-scream. The thick, worn red rug beneath your feet has frayed edges, adding to the room’s eerie atmosphere.

"This is beyond creepy," you mutter, glancing warily at Ten. "Your ideas are always a bit much, but this..."

"Before we begin," the man interrupts, capturing your attention, "there are rules to follow. You have ninety minutes to find your way out. Clues are hidden within the room, and they will lead you to your escape. Today's story follows a young man who lost his life in this room. If you free his spirit, he will grant you your escape."

He pauses, eyeing you all seriously. "If time runs out... well, then you've lost."

Ten scoffs, brushing it off. "So, we either win or lose. No big deal, we got this."

The man nods slowly, though you catch a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "One more thing: you get three hints, should you require assistance. If an emergency arises, call my name... Jaehyun."

Your eyes linger on him one last time. "Well, thank you for the rundown, Jaehyun," you say, forcing a smile, your arms crossing as Jaehyun steps back toward the door, the iron key in his hand.

Without another word, Jaehyun closes the door, and a distinct click echoes through the room as the lock engages.

“Wait… did he just lock us in?” Mark asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Relax, it’s just part of the setup,” Johnny replies, his voice casual. “It’ll unlock when we finish.”

Ten, brimming with excitement, claps his hands. “Alright, time’s ticking, guys. Let’s get to it!”

You exchange uncertain glances with the others but eventually begin searching the room, inspecting every corner and crevice. Dust settles on your clothes as you rifle through old books on the shelf, examine each creepy painting, and prod at the cracked doll.

After a few minutes, Johnny spots a series of letters framed on the wall, positioned slightly out of order. Squinting, he reads the faded words aloud:

"Entry 204, I found this nearby a sacred tree. A doll was looking out to the lake, the same lake she was last seen. Her body is gone, but her spirit will find its way back to me. —H.C"

A heavy silence settles over the group.

“Creepy,” Mark mutters, his voice uneasy. “But it’s gotta mean something, right?”

Ten nods, his eyes darting around the room. “Let’s check the doll. There might be a clue with it.”

You and the others gather around the broken doll, studying it closely. Just as you reach out to inspect it, the lights flicker, and the piano plays a single, haunting note, echoing through the room.

Your breaths hitch, unease creeping in as you realize this game might be far darker than any of you had anticipated.

Your breath caught as the note hung in the air, vibrating with a resonance that made the hair on your arms stand up. You exchanged a tense glance with the others, noting the flickers of doubt and unease on their faces.

"Did… did the piano just play on its own?" Mark asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny forced a laugh, though it sounded unsteady. "Probably just part of the scare tactics. They’re really going all out with the haunted vibe here."

You couldn’t shake the creeping dread seeping into your mind, and from the looks on their faces, your friends felt it too. What was supposed to be an ordinary escape room was starting to feel… wrong.

“Let’s just keep going,” Ten said, his voice more subdued now, as if he, too, was shaken. “We’re wasting time, and we’ve only got ninety minutes.”

Your attention returned to the cracked baby doll in the rocking chair, its glassy eyes staring blankly at nothing. Slowly, you leaned in closer, examining its face. One eye was half-open, almost lazily, while the other was wide and unblinking, giving it a disturbingly lifelike appearance. Gently, you lifted the doll, feeling something hard poke through a tear in its fabric.

“There’s something inside,” you murmured, glancing up at the others.

“What is it?” Mark asked, peering over your shoulder.

With a bit of effort, you pried open the small tear, pulling out a tiny brass key, its surface worn but unmistakably real. You held it up to show the group, the key catching a faint glint of the dim light.

“What’s this supposed to open?” Ten wondered, taking the key from your hand to inspect it.

“Maybe it’s for one of the drawers or the bookshelf?” Johnny suggested, already moving toward the old dresser across the room.

As the group tried the key on various locks, a low rumble echoed from somewhere behind the walls, making you shiver. The air felt colder, and the room seemed darker, as if the shadows themselves had thickened, pressing in around you.

After a few tense moments, Johnny tried the key on a drawer in the dresser, and it clicked open. Inside, he found a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age. Carefully, he unfolded it, squinting at the faded text before reading aloud:

"Look beneath the seat where nightmares rest, Where shadows linger and spirits test. The way is hidden, only for those, Who dare to face what fear bestows."

"Under the seat... where nightmares rest?" Ten repeated, glancing around the room. "What does that mean?"

"Maybe the rocking chair?" you suggested, nodding toward the doll’s seat. "It’s creepy enough to count as a ‘nightmare.’"

Mark crouched down beside the chair, reaching underneath it. His fingers brushed something solid—a loose panel. Slowly, he pried it open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was another key, this one larger and more worn, and a small, rolled-up map.

Johnny unrolled the map, and everyone crowded around, their faces growing tense as they took in the strange, labyrinthine layout sketched across the parchment. The map didn’t resemble anything you’d seen in the room so far. Instead, it showed a twisting series of rooms, corridors, and strange symbols that were foreign to all of you.

"Is this… part of the room?" Mark asked, glancing around, trying to align what you were seeing on the map with the space around you.

"There’s no way this room has more than one door," Ten said, frowning.

“Maybe there’s a hidden passage,” you suggested, though dread was gnawing at you. The idea of a secret path that led to who-knew-where made your skin crawl.

Ten, still undeterred, nodded. “Yeah, let’s look around. There might be more to this place than we thought.”

You and your friends spread out, examining every corner of the room, pushing against walls, lifting furniture, and inspecting every nook and cranny. Just as you ran your hands along the bookshelf, you felt a slight give beneath your fingers. You pressed harder, and with a slow, creaking sound, the entire bookshelf shifted, sliding aside to reveal a narrow, dark hallway beyond.

Everyone stared, a mixture of intrigue and unease settling over them.

“Okay,” Johnny breathed out, “this is beyond next-level escape room stuff.”

Mark hesitated, casting a wary look down the hallway. “Are we sure this is still part of the game?”

Ten, undeterred, gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “We’ve come this far. Let’s see where it leads.”

The group stepped into the passage, the narrow hallway closing in around you as the shadows seemed to deepen. The air was thick, almost stale, and the walls felt damp, as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Your footsteps echoed through the silence, each one seeming to amplify the tension thrumming beneath your skin.

After a few minutes, you stopped, shining your flashlight down an unexpected fork in the path. “Which way?”

Before anyone could answer, a loud slam echoed behind you, making everyone jump. Spinning around, you saw that the passage behind had closed, sealing you in.

"No way," Mark whispered, running back to the door and pressing against it. But it didn’t budge.

“It’s probably just part of the game,” Ten said, though even he sounded uncertain.

“Left or right?” Johnny asked, glancing down each path. “Standing here isn’t going to help us.”

Without much choice, you picked the left path, leading the group deeper into the twisting hallways. But as you turned a corner, something unexpected happened—a force tugged you sharply by the arm, pulling you off balance. Before you could react, you found yourself separated from the others, pulled down a narrow side passage that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Guys!” you called out, panic rising in your voice.

You heard the faint sound of your friends calling back, their voices echoing, but they grew distant, fainter, until they vanished entirely. You were alone.

Your heart pounded as you steadied yourself, gripping your flashlight tightly. You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The narrow corridor was cloaked in shadow, and you slowly raised your flashlight, scanning the dark space ahead. That’s when you saw him—a young man, standing just a few steps away, watching you with an intense gaze that sent a shiver down your spine.

He was tall, with dark, messy hair and sharp, striking features. His clothes were worn, his eyes shadowed and tired. Beyond the exhaustion, there was something else in his gaze—a quiet desperation, as though he’d been waiting for someone to find him.

"Are you… lost too?" you asked cautiously, not daring to step closer.

The man’s lips lifted in a small, weary smile. “You could say that. I’ve been here… longer than I can remember. It’s been a few days, give or take. I didn’t think I’d ever see another person again.”

Your pulse quickened. “Days? You’ve been trapped in here that long?”

He nodded, shadows dancing in his eyes. “One minute, I was here with some friends. The next, they were gone. Just like that.”

You swallowed, fear twisting in your gut. “My friends and I… we thought this was just an escape room, but nothing about this place feels right.”

He took a slow step closer, his gaze softening. “Maybe we should stick together. I’d hate for you to end up alone like me.”

You nodded slowly, relief flooding through you. “I’m Y/N.”

“Haechan,” he replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s find your friends and get out of here.”

With Haechan by your side, you ventured further into the maze of hallways, each step taking you deeper into the unknown. But as you walked, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that clung to you, a feeling that Haechan’s eyes held secrets he wasn’t willing to reveal.

All you can do is hope and pray you see your friends again.

The dim hallway stretches on in front of you, shadows clinging to the walls and making it difficult to see more than a few steps ahead. Every footstep feels heavy, the silence around you broken only by the occasional creak or groan from the aged structure. Haechan walks beside you, his presence oddly comforting amidst the overwhelming gloom, though something about him remains unsettling.

After a few minutes, you can’t help but ask, “So… how exactly did you get stuck here?”

Haechan lets out a small sigh, glancing over at you with a shadowed expression. “It’s a long story,” he replies. His voice is calm, almost too calm, and a shiver prickles at the back of your neck.

“We’ve got time,” you say softly, clutching your flashlight a little tighter. “If we’re going to find my friends and make it out, I should know what we’re dealing with and who I’m talking to.”

Haechan considers your words for a moment before nodding. “Alright. I was here with a group of friends, not unlike yours. We thought this was just an escape room—a haunted one, sure, but nothing dangerous. But once we entered, everything felt… wrong. Just like you’re probably feeling now.”

You nod, feeling a chill run down your spine. The thought that others had gone through the same confusion and fear unsettles you even more. “So what happened?”

He lets out a soft sigh, his voice dropping to a whisper. “At first, we tried to solve the puzzles, thinking it was all part of the game. But every clue we found led us deeper and deeper, to darker places that didn’t feel like they should exist. Eventually, we started getting separated. One by one, my friends disappeared… and I haven’t seen them since.”

His words hit you hard, your heart twisting with fear and sympathy. You imagine your own friends, separated from each other, wandering alone in these eerie, twisting hallways.

“Do you think… do you think your friends are okay?” you ask hesitantly, afraid of the answer.

Haechan is silent for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his tone is dark. “I don’t know, but this place… it’s haunted. It’s not a normal escape room. It’s something much worse.”

His words linger in the air, and a tight knot of fear forms in your chest. “Haunted? What do you mean?”

He glances at you, his eyes gleaming strangely in the dim light. “I’ve seen things here. Shadows that move on their own, voices that whisper in empty rooms… This isn’t a game. This place was created by people who wanted to watch others suffer, who find entertainment in fear and despair.”

A shiver runs through you as his words sink in. “So, they’re just… watching us? For their own sick entertainment?”

He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. “Exactly. They trap people here, turning their fear into a spectacle for whoever is watching. Once you’re here, it’s nearly impossible to leave, never able to see your loved ones ever again.”

You bite your lip, glancing around the dark hallway as anxiety gnaws at you. Your hands are shaking as you clasp them together, murmuring a silent prayer for your friends. The weight of your worry presses down on you, and you can feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as the hopelessness begins to creep in.

“Don’t worry too much, sweetheart,” Haechan says, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here with you. I’ll help you find your friends.”

You nod, giving him a small, shaky smile. His calm presence does ease some of your fear, though a part of you wonders how he can be so composed. But as you focus on his steady gaze, something flickers in his eyes, something you can’t quite place—a look of satisfaction, as though he’s pleased by your fear. For a moment, the corners of his mouth lift into a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

But when you blink, the expression is gone, replaced with a look of earnest concern.

You brush off the uneasy feeling, telling yourself it’s just the atmosphere of the place playing tricks on you. “So, you’ve really been here… for days?”

He nods, keeping his gaze trained on you. “More or less. Time feels different here. You start to lose track of it after a while. Some days, it feels like hours are slipping by in minutes, and other days, it feels like I’ve been wandering for centuries.”

You can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. “That must be terrible. Being alone for so long… I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

His eyes soften, and he looks at you with a gentle intensity that sends warmth spreading through you. “It was… until now.”

You feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze, his words lingering in your mind. There’s something both comforting and unsettling about him, a duality that leaves you unsure of how to feel. He’s kind, attentive, a stranger nonetheless, but there’s a unusual shadow in his eyes, an intensity that you can’t quite shake.

As you walk further down the corridor, a sudden chill sweeps through the air, making you shiver. Haechan notices and steps closer to you, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re safe with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “I promise.”

But despite his comforting words, something about the way he says it feels… off. The reassurance feels too practiced, like he’s said it a thousand times before, knowing exactly how it would affect you. You glance at him, meeting his gaze, and you swear you catch another glint of amusement, almost like he’s enjoying your unease.

Shaking off the thought, you try to refocus on finding your friends. “Do you think… they’re okay? My friends, I mean.”

Haechan pauses, as if considering his answer. “Maybe. If they’re smart, they’ll find a way to keep moving, just like we are.” He gives you a comforting smile, but that flicker of darkness in his gaze hasn’t fully disappeared.

You murmur another silent prayer, hoping your friends are safe, wherever they are.

As you continue through the twisted corridors, a realization starts to dawn on you—something about Haechan’s demeanor doesn’t quite add up. The calmness, the knowing glances… It’s as though he’s hiding something, and each time you catch a glimpse of his eyes, it’s as if he’s letting a bit of the mask slip, showing you a side of him he’s trying to keep hidden.

Finally, unable to shake the uneasy feeling, you glance at him and ask, “You said you’ve been here for a long time… How have you managed to survive all this time? Isn’t there any way out?”

Haechan smiles, a strange, almost secretive smile that sends a new chill down your spine. “Oh, I’ve managed,” he replies vaguely. “I’ve learned a lot about this place. Enough to know that it’s better not to trust anyone. Not even me.”

You freeze, your heart racing as his words sink in. “What… what do you mean?”

He gives you a long, intense look, his expression unreadable. “I mean, you don’t know who or what you’re dealing with here. That’s part of what makes it so interesting, don’t you think?”

The realization hits you like a cold wave– you aren’t sure if Haechan is telling the truth, or if he’s been playing with you all along. But the look in his eyes, that glint of amusement and satisfaction as he watches your fear grow, leaves you with a terrifying suspicion.

This man, this stranger you’ve been trusting, isn’t lost like you are. He isn’t just another victim of this twisted game. He’s something else entirely, something far more dangerous– he's apart of the game.

As he steps closer, that smirk creeping onto his face once more, you realize that he doesn’t want to help you escape.

“What are you–” you begin, but Haechan shushes you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He leans in, his presence overwhelming as you find your back against the wall, and arms pressed above your head.

His smirk widens as he leans close, his voice soft but chilling. “This is your first challenge, sweetheart. Try to escape me.”

Your heart races, and without a second thought, you shove him off and sprint down the dark hallway, feeling his gaze burning into your back. At this point, you can’t focus on directions or clues; all you want is to find your friends and get back to safety.

From behind, his mocking voice echoes through the hallway, closer than you expected. “It’s too late, sweetheart. Your friends won’t be looking for you any time soon. You’re stuck with me, after years of being apart.”

Before you know it, his hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you through a hidden door concealed by shadows. You stumble inside, disoriented by the sudden brightness. Unlike every room you’ve seen so far, this one is consumed by light, making you squint as your eyes adjust, your back resting on the padded floor.

Haechan’s smirk hasn’t faded. In the brightness, you take in his features more clearly—his sharp jawline, the glint in his dark eyes, the smirk playing at his lips. You hate to admit it, but his presence is overwhelming in an unsettling yet strangely magnetic way.

He hovers over you, his gaze locked onto you, his eyes roaming as though he’s savoring your unease. He leans in, brushing his lips close to your ear. “Don’t fight it,” he whispers. “This is where the real game begins.”

Before you know it, his lips are against yours, and you find yourself kissing him back. It feels insane, but something about him draws you in, almost as if you're under a spell, a force you can't resist.

He pulls away, his chest heaving, his eyes darker now, pupils wide with desire. "The moment I saw you, I knew," he murmurs, his voice thick with desperation as he cups your face in his hands. "I knew you were the one to set me free. I've been waiting lifetimes for you."

A shiver runs through you as his words sink in. Your brows knit together. "Who... who are you?" The question slips out more like a plea than anything else.

His lips curl into a smirk, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "Everything you've been waiting for. There's a reason we're drawn to each other." He tuts softly, eyes gleaming.

"Who do you think led your spirit here?"

Your gaze flickers around the room, realizing he's still hovering over you, his body pressing you into the ground. When your eyes lock again, you feel it—a pulse of craving, dark and intense, matching the hunger in his gaze

Suddenly, nothing matters anymore. All that exists is the heat between you, the electric pull that holds you both in place, and the thrill of his body pressed so close to yours.

Your lips crash against his, this time initiated by you. He's momentarily stunned, taking a second to adjust, but before you can even let out a whine, he matches your movements.

His hands find their way to your waist– his thumb rubbing circles against your skin. “Is this what you want? To remind you of my touch?” His knee placing pressure against your core.

A faint moan escapes your lips, you know this was so wrong, but feels so right. Your hips buckling– trying to match his rhythm as you attempt to ride his knee. “Hae..chan….”

His name slipping through your thoughts causes his eyes to darken. He lifts your hips up, your leggings quickly being tugged off your skin.

It didn’t take him long enough to get you wet. His mouth practically drooling while admiring your core.

His face inching closer to you, very rapidly feeling his breath against your heat causing you to slightly lift your hips. “No teasing… please,” you whimper, unable to wait any longer for him.

Haechan lets out a slight laugh, sounding cynical. “I’m sorry baby, I just like to admire what’s mine.”

Before you can respond his fingers found their way to your clit, rubbing small slow circles over your underwear. His eyes nearly burning into your soul, the way he watches every single one of your reactions, feeding off of them.

Before you could plea for more, Haechan pulls your undergarment to aside, working his mouth against your core. His tongue lapping against your swollen clit, leading all the way down to where you were nearly dripping for him. He saw this as an opportunity to get rid of the last piece of clothing concealing your lower half, gripping your thighs, and yanking you closer to his mouth.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he moans against you, the vibrations of his voice to your body sending you in chills.

You had so many questions to ask him. You wanted to know who he really is, what he is really is. Yet, here you are having a stranger eat you out. What bothers you more is the immediate attraction and pull you feel toward him. You’ve had your fair share of one-night stands and exes, but none of them have ever affected you the way Haechan does.

The feeling was all too much for your body to handle, your eyes practically glued to the ceiling– seeing stars.

Haechan notices this, his mouth releasing from sucking at your clit. He slaps the side of your ass, causing you to jolt looking down to his eyes.

“Focus baby, I want you to watch how I fuck your pretty pussy– I mean look at this,” he slams two fingers into you, the sharp breath you intake being the only thing keeping you on alert.

He growls at the feeling of your insides squeezing desperately against his fingers, but before he gets ahead of himself he takes them out slowly. With his other hand, he grabs your face, looking directly into each other’s heavy eyes– he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking the mess you left on them.

A moan escapes your lips, “I need more…please…”

“What more do you need, princess? Is this not enough for you?” His fingers find their way back inside of you, thrusting hard but slow, his thumb matching the same rhythm on your clit.

“Are my fingers not enough for you? Are you worried your friends might find you like this?” Suddenly the door slams wide open as if it were by a gust of wind, assuming it was Haechan’s work.

By reflexes you attempt to shut your legs together, squirming beneath him. You know your friends are probably on the other side of the building right now looking for you– but the thought of them finding you being fucked by this ‘entity’ triggers a rush of excitement through your body.

He holds your legs apart with his free arm. Between Haechan’s teases, the pace against your core, and the pressure of his thumb– you were more than ready for your release.

“F-Fuck… I’m going to–”

“Do it, baby. Cum all over my fingers. Show the world how desperate you are to get your pussy fingered by me,” his pace fastens, his face desperate to watch you collapse on him.

“Haechan!” You scream his name as loud as possible, his fingers continuing to ride out your orgasm. It felt as if a life time of pleasure within the time of him slowing down his pace, to you finally catching your breath back as he slides right out of you.

The emptiness from inside you causes you to frown. You didn’t notice till this moment, Haechan had taken off his clothing while you were recovering, finally getting rid of the rest of yours.

“You did so good for me, princess,” his lips trailing from the side of your face to your neck, eventually to your breasts.

You take a deep breath, still not fully recovered from your previous high. “I’m still sensitive,” you murmur to him as his tongue flicks over your nipple, his spit already coating them.

He pushes himself off of you, repositioning you both so that this time, you’re on top of him. Your eyes face the still–open door ahead of you, while he faces the wall behind you. You look down as you two align yourselves together, practically teasing each other.

You couldn’t help but stare at his cock, cursing yourself as you didn’t notice how thick and big he is.

The thought of him being inside you sends a shiver down your spine and your lip quivering. “You’re so big... I need to feel you, I want to feel you inside of me please. No more games,” your face grows hot after realizing how pathetic you sound, but this only sends Haechan to laugh in response.

“You want it so bad? Well if that’s what you want–” before he finishes his sentence he grabs you by the waist slamming you down into him. “Then that’s what you fucking get,” he groans into your ear.

A few curses and moans left your lips as you watch his cock disappear into your insides. The sound of your wetness against his skin filling not only the room but echoing in the hallway as well. His thumb pressing over the indentation of his cock against your skin, whimpers escaping him due to the sight. This was everything and more than what he had been waiting for.

Your hands find their way to his dark hair, grabbing a good amount as you fuck yourself on him, grinding down to his own rhythm. His hands find their way to your throat, squeezing the right amount to have your eyes rolling back.

“That’s right baby, put on a show for everyone to see. Let’s show everyone how good I fuck you– how needy you get, begging to be filled up. I hope your pathetic friends walk by any second to watch as my cock fills you up… but I bet you would like that huh? Look at you, trying to escape my cock knowing how much you fucking want it,” He grunts, his hips lifting as he starts fucking himself deeper into you.

“Answer me when I speak to you,” he slaps your ass again, the stinging sensation bringing you back to the moment.

“Yes!” You scream.

“Yes what?”

“Yes! I want everyone to see how good you fuck me! I want them to see you fill me up!”

That famously known smirk appearing on his face for a last time before he flips you over on your back again, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder to bury himself deeper into you.

“I want you to say my name when you cum, baby. You think you’re capable of that, hm?” His pace fastens on you.

You body starting to shake from the pleasure as he starts hitting your sweet spot, his thrusts causing an additional burst of pleasure against your clit.

“Haechan! Haec..” you scream his name as if it were the only word you ever knew. Your insides throbbing tightly against him, he curses under his breath twitching inside you as you bring him to his release, letting his seed drip down your thigh.

You groan at the feeling of him leaving you, already missing the warmth he brought. The both of you finding yourselves back to reality and that’s when it all started hitting.

You just had sex with some sort of supernatural entity.

And you liked it.

You feel Haechan’s warm breath against your ear as his voice drops to a low whisper. “Your friends… they’re free to go. As for you, sweetheart…” His eyes lock with yours, and this time, they’re filled with something deeper, darker—a fierce longing mixed with possessiveness, a completion he’s longed for.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You don’t remember me,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours, “but we’ve been together before… lifetimes ago. We were meant to be, you and I.” He traces his thumb along your jaw, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “When you lost your life back then, I followed soon after. I’ve been stuck here ever since, a place where lost souls are tied to, searching. I’ve been waiting for your spirit to return back to me.”

A chill runs through you, your heart racing as his words sink in. Your mind scrambles to process what he’s saying, but you can’t deny the strange pull, the connection that seems to tether you to him. It feels… ancient, familiar in a way you can’t explain.

He leans in closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “You may not remember, but I know you feel it too. You’ve always been mine.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, both thrilling and unsettling, and for a moment, you feel yourself drawn into his world, his promise of an eternal bond. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his touch possessive yet filled with an almost aching tenderness. “Now that you’re here,” he whispers, “we can finally be together. Forever.”

Your stomach twists as his words linger in your mind. Slowly, the reality sets in—while your friends will walk free, you’re bound to stay. His smile is soft as he strokes your hair, but there’s something haunting in his eyes, something that makes it clear this is not a choice. He’s waited lifetimes for you, and he won’t let you go.

A chill of fear creeps in, breaking through the warmth of his embrace. You glance toward the exit, the realization hitting hard: you’re not meant to leave. You’re bound to this place, your spirit destined to remain here… forever with Haechan.

As he pulls you closer, his words echo in your mind, a promise and a sentence intertwined. And though his gaze is filled with love, a deep-rooted fear takes hold. You know that this, now, is your eternity—your soul forever tethered to his, within these walls.

[whisperofwonder]

part 2 of this - about 10 years in the future

Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader - 676 words

"Thank you very much." Ushijima dips his head in a slight bow as he hands the signed photo over to the teenage girl in front of him. In recent years, he's met more and more fans just like her - "I've been watching you play ever since I was a little kid!" Time has been going by so quickly.

The years have, anyway. This day has started to feel like it will never end. Between fans, he sneaks a glance at the clock on the wall. In a little more than an hour, he'll be going home. It's the only thing that keeps him going.

He turns back to reach for another stack of photos when he feels the tug on the hem of his shorts. He looks down only to find a pair of grasping hands. "Papa!" His son cries out when his father notices him. With a soft, surprised laugh, he swings him up into his arms.

"Hi," He says into his hair as he presses a quick kiss to the top of his head. He spots you then, approaching with a sheepish smile, the baby sleeping in your arms and Kaito trailing behind you. Suddenly, every moment of the day that's been weighing on him feels as though it's floated away.

"Hi Toshi," You greet him, leaning in expectantly. He tries to make it a rule to keep displays of affection to a minimum, especially in such public situations like this, but he can't resist pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

"What are you doing here?" He murmurs, taking the chance to peer down at the sleeping bundle in your arms, brushing his knuckles against a soft cheek.

"Someone had to say hi to you," You gesture at your son perched comfortably in his arms, "And he just couldn't wait until you got home later. So here we are," You grin. "Plus, I think someone else wants another autograph to add to his collection."

Ushijima watches as Kaito's cheeks color, and he ducks his head. He raises an eyebrow and tries to disguise his smile as Kaito insists he had said no such thing. "Well, I've already signed this one, so you'd better take it anyway," Ushijima holds out the photo and Kaito accepts it. He tries to act nonchalant, but Ushijima doesn't miss the way he studies it closely for just a few moments. "We just took these photos, so it's a new one," He adds offhandedly. Kaito's expression brightens.

"Thanks, Uncle Toshi," Kaito says, flashing a quick smile. Almost 16 now, there's very little of the small boy Ushijima had met all those years ago, but his grin is still the same. It's endearing how the boy is still just a little bit starstruck by him.

"You didn't have to wait in line, you know," Ushijima turns back to you. "You're allowed to come right through."

"I know," You say with a wave of your hand, "But waiting is all part of the experience. It really takes me back. Right, Kaito?" You turn to your nephew.

"Yeah," He says distractedly, in the middle of stealing a glance down at the photo.

"But we should probably get going," You say, all too soon.

"You don't have to go," Ushijima says quickly, his hand coming to rest on your arm before he can stop it.

You laugh. "We're holding up the line," You gesture with your chin to the fans behind you. "Besides," You lean in a little closer, just enough that he catches a whiff of your shampoo, "The sooner we go, the sooner you'll be home." You press a quick kiss to his cheek. "We'll see you in a bit. I love you."

"I love you too," He says, finally setting your son back on his feet as Kaito reaches for the little boy's hand. He can't help but watch until you're swallowed by the crowd - his family.

The people still waiting in line remark to each other that they can't remember ever seeing Ushijima Wakatoshi smile quite like that before.

[winterzsurprise]

Crimson Lovers • KSJ

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

SUMMARY: “I'd spoil you rotten, put you in the nicest, most expensive clothing and I'd still have more to spend on you for an eternity.” Jin whispered into your lips like a promise. If it weren't for your lust addled mind, you'd believe him. “You like wealth, princess? I have plenty. My coven has a dragon, he'd spoil you rotten, he’d stop at nothing to give you everything you'd ever wanted.”

Or alternatively, your friend’s only solution to you being a broke college student with a family to feed is to attend a private feeding party where the most affluent vampires are in attendance to drink fresh blood in exchange for money and get yourself in trouble with the infamous Kim Coven. 

Tags: Vampire! Seokjin, Half-Faerie! Reader, Mythical Creatures AU!, SMUT, Cunnilingus, Magic slick (Seokjin passed out from it lmao), Blood sucking(obvs), not beta read.

Words: 5.1k

I just found this one collecting dust in the vault so I decided to post it here since it'll be a shame if I don't post a 5k words worth work. Its supposed to be the first chapter for a mythical creatures and reincarnation au bts x reader story but I immediately hit a wall.

I'll prolly pick it up in the future idk.

• MASTERLIST •

__________

Never in your life have you ever thought a single sheet of paper could weigh so heavily in the palm of your hands like it holds the heaviness of your future.

Depending on your answer, it does.

The card was a vibrant crimson with a nice golden design of modest swirls as margins for the text that are colored in silver, the material no doubt expensive. It was an invitation to a private feeding after all, how could it look shabby when only a selected few are given the opportunity to attend?

By selecting a few, you meant people from affluent backgrounds and some unfortunate people desperate for money.

It was obvious what category you’d fall into.

If you were to attend the party.

“Stop staring at it like it offended your ancestors, I'm just suggesting it.”

Soomin, your friend since high school, says.

“Where did you even get this? You don't know any vampires, do you?”

She shrugs, leaning back into her armchair. “Got a few favours. You were complaining about needing money and thought I could use some of them.”

Scratching your head, you read the card's contents with careful apprehension.

“Relax, it's not enchanted to track where it goes. It's just a normal card, you know I wouldn't force you into something if safety wasn't guaranteed.”

Before leaving the herd to pursue college far from the safety of family wards, your mother had enchanted your accessories with aura suppressors and glamours to prevent people from knowing your heritage.

You were told of horrors of the inhabitants outside the plane, both mortals and supernaturals turning over every leaf in the forest just for a whiff of a faerie.

Your blood is as precious as its golden colour, said to restore even the weakest mortal on its deathbed to pristine condition with a mere drop and turn a half vampire’s miniscule powers into a bottomless pit of a royal pureblood.

Faeries live in constant danger and you'd be damned if you weren’t taught to overthink everything.

“It’s anonymous, they’ll have you wear a mask, don't overthink it too much. My aunt used to tell me ‘your body is an emergency fund, every part of you is profitable. You just need to know the right place.’ or in my case, a man.”

She says, wiggling her fingers in front of your face where a gigantic pink diamond glimmered under the light above you, an engagement ring from the werewolf she bagged from dancing haphazardly on a stranger one friday night.

It's her pride, being able to capture the attention of one of the country's most attractive bachelors. It gave her a confidence that soared so high in the skies, she had nudged the space terminal. You couldn't even blame her for thinking so, knowing you'd share the same sentiments if it were you.

But still, daring to wander around without the wards your mother has spent years of creating to keep you safe, it makes your stomach churn. 

Placing the card and pushing it as far as you could, you lean back into the chair.

“I don't know… It's really risky.”

“I’m just suggesting here,” she sighs, sliding the paper back in front of you and patting it. “If all goes well, you wouldn't need to work overtime for a year at least.”

“You saying that only makes me overthink it even more.”

She rolls her eyes playfully.

You knew she was right and the prospect of not working for a year is tempting. But a part of you frowned at the thought of risking your safety for a couple of zeroes in your bank account. Pride is such a fickle thing, so easily threatened and dragged through the mud when desperation kicks in.

But what is Pride in the face of your mountainous pending bills?

Not to mention, your mother and little brother's living situation back in the province. Soobin needed new shoes for school, you've seen how well-worn it has been—if well-worn meant clumsily glued back soles onto the upper body for the nth time with shoelaces frizzled and pulled taut from being twisted into knots and years of washing.

Your barista and supermarket cashier job nor your mother's job as a saleslady in the wet market doesn't reward you enough to save for his shoe while trying to sustain both you and your family, you need more. Taking on another 9-5 job is far from the solution.

Grabbing the paper with a newfound heaviness in your body, you sighed. The address encrusted in silver stood out in the seas of crimson reds, rooting your eyes onto the text.

“You asked for my help and I offer this–this somewhat long term solution.”

“But what if someone tries to track my blood back to me?”

Your mother and brother are counting on you, her salary from selling in the market aren't enough for the both of them. If you were to disappear they would sink further than you all already are, Soobin would stop attending school in favour of working. The guilt from seeing your mother bend over her back to be able to put food on the table would kill him.

It's a burdening feeling you wouldn't wish upon him. He should only know to have fun, make friends, and experience life in high school like a normal teen would.

You can't afford to put yourself in danger.

“I’ll put my name on the list instead. I promise you that you'll be safe, you just need to find someone to feed on you and then you can go, easy money!” 

Seeing the hesitance in your eyes, she continued.

“Sometimes you just need to live a little. There's rewards in risking, you know?”

But then again, nor can you afford new shoes for Soobin with your minimum wage jobs.

With a defeated sigh, you looked up to meet your friend's eyes. 

“How should I dress?”

________

He should've known better than attending parties the prehistoric council members had invited him into, you'd think centuries of politics would render him immune to these tricky situations yet here he is, standing awkwardly in the middle of the meeting room while holding said invitation and a cocktail. The old geezer was already gone by the time he realised his mistake. 

The envelope was a deep hue of red, a foretelling sign of what the party might be about.

It wasn't a shock when he saw the neatly imprinted silver text on the thick crimson paper telling him of a private feeding gathering for both the fortunate and the unfortunate on Saturday.

While being a vampire himself, he never had to feed on strangers when he had his coven to fill him up for the next month or so. His age has allowed him longer intervals between feeding and at this point, he has grown nonchalant with that aspect of his life. 

Obviously, he should've ripped it to shreds and incinerated the damn thing.

But a voice whispered at the back of his, urging him to join the small gathering. A nagging feeling tugging at him and telling him he'd miss something important if he were to dismiss the invitation. Yet when asked why he went, he said it's to oversee the event undercover.

He could still feel the burning curious gaze of his brothers on his skin.

Which brings him to his current predicament, fighting off the urge to yawn from the absolute boredom caused by newbloods breaking their backs to impress potential business partners and blood donors.

He silently thanked whoever thought it was a good idea to have guests wear masks. There would've been heaps upon heaps of scandals if he were to be spotted in a feeding party, not to mention, the newbloods trying to peacock their way to being sponsored by the Kim Coven and from the rising irritation burning his back, he might shave off a huge number off the vampire population.

He couldn't remember the times he had done his route around the hall, trying to avoid people vying for a morsel of attention and trying his best to not stay still in one place for people to recognize him but he did know that if he were to go around once more, he's leaving once and for all.

Downing his last martini, he stood up. 

Only for a dizzying scent to knock him back into his seat. It grabbed onto his throat with a tight grip, stuffing his head and demanding his attention. It smelled like the sweetest of sin, honeyed and dripping thick on his tongue. 

A faerie’s blood, although from a half, is still as tantalising as a pure blooded one.

He hears the murmurs, could feel multiple spawns’ auras spilling out of their body, their greed relentless and non-discriminating as it lashed out over each other, fighting to be noticed by the woman in the black bodycon dress. Why are they looking at her? How dare they lay their eyes on what's mine—

He immediately shook the thought away, making a note to review it later.

You strode into the middle of the ballroom with a sway to your hips, lips painted in the hue of blood stretching into a coy smile as vampires of all ages take a step towards your direction. The dress didn't leave much to the imagination with its thin fabric clinging onto your form tightly. From the spaghetti straps hanging flimsily on your shoulders to the low dip of its collar between the mounds of your chest and the high slits on one side to reveal the plumpness of your thighs, you were mouth watering in every way possible.

With pouty lips tinted in crimson red and hair loosely curled on the side of your face. You were a sight to behold.

Seeing you stride in with all that skin displayed for everyone to see, a ravenous monster at the back of his mind resurfaces. Greed and possessiveness of the others seeped into his skin, awakening something he had long buried.

A potential mate, his mind had whispered 

Fuck, you're driving him insane.

Seokjin didn't notice his feet moving, following the alluring scent beckoning him close as if hypnotised but he did see the flirtatious narrowing of your eyes as he approached. If his power is spilling over the floor and deterring everyone from daring to get in between you both, he ignored it. 

In fact, he revelled in their soured faces and shivering bodies.

He wasn't one for claiming territories nor was he the type to flaunt his power but for tonight, he'll make an exception.

No one is to dare interrupt him.

“What's a pretty faerie like you doing outside of their realm?”

He tried so hard not to stare at the delectable view of the mounds of your breast or the unblemished skin of your neck and chest but it's difficult with the view granted by his height. Your heartbeat pulsed nervously despite the flirtatious mask you so perfectly strut with. 

He could practically taste your scent being this close and his throat dries up.

Fuck, you're gonna make him religious.

“The same as the other women in pretty dresses in this room, darling. Money.”

“Aren't you scared people might hurt you?” It was a genuine question, if he wasn't here to step over the pining prospects, he didn't want to imagine how they would've killed each other for a glance.

You would've been ravaged, you were bold for strutting into a room full of ravenous vampires. It was impressive as much as it made his blood curl. He pushed the thought away, he wouldn't want to scare you off by decorating the hall in gore.

Seokjin could feel your fear, could hear it from the racing beats of your heart under flesh and bones. You were nervous, no doubt ready to bolt the moment you were approached by the predators surrounding you in all directions yet you faced him head on with a false confidence he started to think is real.

If fear were to ever linger in the corner of your eyes, he had a feeling it wouldn't end well for every supernatural in this room. 

No one should ever dare scare you.

“I'm desperate. So, if you aren't trying to take me for the night, I have other guys pining for me so excuse—”

“I didn't say I didn't want you, sweetheart. I'm just trying to get to know you better.”

You stopped, looking up at him through your lashes as you stepped closer.

Lithe fingers boldly reached onto his tie pressed neatly behind his blazer—nails painted in a sinful red hue, he notes— tugging and twirling it between fingers as you stepped closer and closer, further drowning him in your delectable fragrance. Your nervous heart beats echoed in his ears and it sounded like the piper's capturing tune, your scent surrounds him like a haze of amortentia, demanding his attention on your eyes, your lips, your skin and to the dip in your waist. All Seokjin could think about was you.

Your soft flesh flashing up at him, teasing him and urging him to have a taste, to feel the rush of your blood coating his tongue and down his throat, to run his hands over your skin and have his marks littering its unblemished surface.

Suddenly his clothes felt suffocating in the heat of his desire.

Was he seriously this floored for someone whose face he hasn't seen?

“All you need to know is that I need a name to moan, handsome.”

He could feel the thread of his patience running thin, lust leaking in and clouding his judgement. He smirked. “Name’s Jin. What should I call you then, sweet thing?”

Your arms reached around his neck, body pressing flush into his chest as you looked up at him through lidded eyes. The size difference not going unnoticed, if anything, it made him want to drive a stake through his heart.

“Cherry.”

He doesn't know who started it first, nor does he remember how you both ended up in a private room after the feeding contract was signed, doors locked behind you both as he pressed you onto its wooden material, the masks long forgotten on the floor. Seokjin felt your lust in how your scent sweetened further like heaven's nectar, grabbing onto his throat and drowning him.

It almost felt sacrilegious that he gets to know you so intimately like this. Almost unfair how your desires grappled with his patience like a cat with a ball of yarn, temptation lighting his skin alight.

Pulling away, his lips immediately zeroed in on your neck. His fangs ached to be buried onto your precious skin but he knows better than to harvest his rewards early. He sucked bruises and marked your throat yet the greediness in his chest didn't relent, if anything, it rampaged further at the sight of you littered with his marks.

They looked so pretty on you.

“You're driving me insane.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Taking your lips once again with his, you engaged in a wild dance of teeth dragging over his lips and tongue clashing with yours before picking you up and taking you both to the bed at the far corner of the room.

The straps of your dress falling from your shoulders shouldn't have the effect it does to him yet here he is, throat tight and mouth watering as he hovers over your pliant body, full chest spilling on the sides of your body, raising with your laboured breath with cheeks flushed with desire. His hands pushed the offending fabric of your dress to bunch over your inner thighs, eyes greedily drinking in every inch of skin being revealed to him before noticing how the thick flesh managed to look so small under his palms.

His mouth dries.

He can't wait to see how Namjoon feels about the size difference between you. The man would lose every morsel of control.

“Stop staring!”

“Why should I? You look so pretty like this.”

There's something so sinfully divine in how the fabric only seems to cover the necessary parts of your body, trying its best—and failing—to hide you from his gaze, the devil about to corrupt your purity with a bite.

You whined, hand reaching for him as you flush darker at his comment.

You'd turn Yoongi into a devout worshipper who'd dedicate a thousand songs because of this sight alone.

He ran his hands across your thighs, thumb inching closer to your heat under the fabric and every time it neared your breath hitches. Your heartbeat thuds a little faster, a new melody he's grown to love. 

Yoongi would've somehow composed a song with it.

“If you stare any longer, I'm going to start charging you.”

He didn't mean to laugh as hard as he did at that.

“Not much of a threat for me, sweetheart. I'm fucking rich.”

Your scent flares as you let out a soft moan and he captures your lips once more before pulling away with a smirk. 

“I'd spoil you rotten, put you in the nicest, most expensive clothing and I'd still have more to spend on you for an eternity.” 

You whined and it sounded like the sweetest melody he'd hear once he enters whatever heaven there is for the supernatural. 

Seokjin didn't have a kink for spending money on someone nor did he imagine he'd have one, but as he drawled on, he couldn't help but imagine you in the most lavish fabric to pose for him and his coven members, to see your form covered in the softest of silk and the rarest of gems only their money could purchase, his throat tightened.

Taehyung’s designed clothes would fit you perfectly.

“You like wealth, princess? I have plenty. My coven has a dragon, he'd spoil you rotten, he’d stop at nothing to give you everything you'd ever wanted.”

You didn't react to his revelation and he takes it as a win, a silent acceptance of his coven.

“Please just touch me.”

“Where do you want me, princess?”

You take his hand, lithe and small against him, and bring it close to where you wanted him most between legs, nudging his fingers between folds and shocks shoots through his body. He groans, the lacy fabric already drenched with your arousal, doused with your addicting scent.

“I want your fingers inside me, Jinnie. Please?”

If you asked him for the universe with that voice, he would learn how to shrink it and hand it over to you the next day tied with a bowstring.

Are you aware of the power you hold over him?

Instead of moving, he let you move his wrist, watched you with rapt attention as his fingers dipped down your folds, hovering on your clenching hole before rising to nudge your clit, teasing your already sensitive self and moaning from the slightest of touch. 

If it wasn't for the unfamiliar signature of a faerie in your scent, he would've thought you were a succubus.

“Look at you grinding on my knuckles so prettily, already so needy for me.”

He pressed light figures of eight on your button and drank in the sight of your desperation with rapt attention. Your hips twisted, eager for more. Tugging the fabric aside with the other hand, he toyed with your clit, using different pressures and motions to figure out what brings you the most pleasure before dipping a finger into you.

Your velvety walls fluttered around him, pulsing with need and tightening oh so deliciously on his finger. His cock stirs in his pants as he adds another digit, he can't wait to bury himself into your warmth.

Seeing you thrash around in pleasure as his fingers drove and curled inside you, got his body crawling with the intense feeling of greed. He wanted to see more of you, to have you on the brink of breaking. Suddenly, the dress flimsily covering you grew offensive. He eyed the material restricting his movements before pulling away from your cunt and reaching up to tug your panties off of you, discreetly tossing it into his spatial storage.

The dress is already halfway off your skin, he could easily tear them apart to replace them with a better, more expensive fabric but decided against it.

He sheds the clothing inch by inch, placing soft kisses and gentle nibbles to newly uncovered skin, leaving you breathless beneath him. Your scent flourished with your magic. It was electrifying. Intoxicating how your power seems to react so well with his.

Like you were meant to be.

Sitting back, he admired the divine artwork before him, embedding the sight into the walls of his brain. Your arms moved to cross over your breasts from his gaze making him reach down to entangle your fingers with his and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Don't hide from me. You look so pretty like this.”

With you finally revealed bare beneath him, he wasted no more time, leaning down to your cunt where your scent was stronger and licked.

Your flavour explodes on his tongue and he groans. Whether it was just your scent he’s tasting or your arousal he could care less, mouth latching onto your folds and tongue lolling on your erect bead as he sucked. His head buzzed, intoxicated by the fluctuating aroma surrounding him. He could die happy between your shuddering thighs threatening to close around his face, he didn’t mind it though, he can go on without breathing if only he could taste your sweet nectar.

Tasting you felt blasphemous, like he broke every heavenly rule there is by having you drip on his tongue. Sinful and outright disrespectful, and he loved it.

Heat ravaged his entire being alight, desire running rampant and restless under his skin. His fingers roamed your uncharted skin possessively, digging his fingers onto flesh and dragging them down, cupping and squeezing whatever he could reach while his mouth busied with your clit. Your hands grabbed at his head, fingers threading and entangling themselves onto his hair, confused whether to push him away or to tug him closer as you edged closer to the precipice of your high.

“I'm so close…! Jinnie please!”

With your back arched, hair laid around your head like a halo and chest glistening with sweat stuttering as you come to a close, skin illuminated by the soft lights of the room, Seokjin swore he has never seen a more beautiful sight than this.

His fangs ached once more.

“Fuck..! I’m gonna—”

He pulls away, teeth sinking into the plush of your thigh and your body seizes with pleasure, the ecstasy caused by his bite pushing you over.

Your blood is light and rich on his tongue, syrupy and honeyed, like the sweetest nectar found only in the garden of eden, the flavour heightened by your climax. Seokjin could taste the sugariness of your orgasm as if it was his own and he groaned. It was dizzying, the taste clogging his senses and stuffing cottons inside his mind as he took and took. He has never realised how hungry he was until he’s bitten into your skin.

His head swims, intoxicated by the raw magic in your blood entering his system, intertwining and entangling themselves into his own before boldly integrating with the flow of his power as if they've always been there. Energy buzzed under his fingers now erratically plunging and curling inside your cunt, further sweetening your blood as you edged between pleasure and pain from overstimulation.

Then in the midst of all the pleasure and nirvana, something clicks into place and he jerks awake from the haze.

Forcing himself to pull away, he almost black out as if he’s been taken off of life support—he feels like he did. Head blank and lightheaded, blood drunk. Even in his bleary state, he could feel it. An additional trace of your magic latching onto his own, a bond unconsciously made.

The uncomfortable stickiness in his boxers didn't go unnoticed and he buried his face into your thigh, blushing for no one in particular.

He cursed under his breath before pushing himself up and wishing you both into the comfortable clothing he had stocked up in his pocket dimension before taking his phone out of it, immediately greeted by the onslaught of text on his lock screen, all two hundred of them from his brothers who had no doubt felt the addition and his intense pleasure from feeding on you.

Normally, he'd be embarrassed by the thought of them knowing what he's been up to but there were more pressing matters to attend to. 

For example, the bond formed without your consent and his.

There's panic and confusion swirling madly like a hurricane through the six other bonds. He forced calmness down the lines tethered to his magic before turning back to the issue at hand.

He might have to wake you up and inform you of what happened.

But when he looked up and found your eyes closed, most likely blacking out from the intensity of the unprecedented bonding and the overstimulation from a vampire's bite, he figured that he'd deal with it tomorrow. You looked peaceful and he found himself mirroring the same sentiment, exhaustion weighing his bones. He dragged himself up next to you, arms wrapping around your torso as if he has always been doing so.

There's still insistent tugs down the lines of his bond, demanding answers and the constant buzzing from his phone but that's for tomorrow's Seokjin’s problem to solve, for now, he closes his eyes.

For the first time that year, Seokjin sleeps and wakes from the most pleasant rest he's had in centuries only to end it abruptly when he wakes up with the other side of the bed empty and he freaks.

______

“What the fuck do you mean you just left him?!”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do then?! If he's as high profile as you think, I don't think he'd appreciate waking up next to a one night stand!”

“Not all of them you—ARGH!”

Soomin groaned exasperatedly and loudly, folding over herself as she facepalms on the other armchair in your dorm's living room. Deeming it not dramatic enough, she grabs the pink throw pillow behind her and screams onto it.

Truth be told, leaving Jin earlier that morning placed a heavy weight on your heart. It felt so wrong to walk away from him, as if there's a string tying you to him and now it's pulled taut—which is a crazy statement to think about, there was no bonding ritual so how could you feel so dejected from closing the door behind you?

You have a couple of spare zeroes in your bank account now with bills paid and an expensive pair of black shoes already in transit for Soobin. Why would you be sad from leaving a one night stand?

You couldn't even believe you managed to bag someone that high in the social hierarchy. That party was a nightmare, walking in knowing all eyes would turn to you, all predatorial and hungry, it almost made you want to run back to your mother's arms. But you're an actress, theatre experience be damned if you weren't going to put on the greatest act of your life.

Fake till you make it, you always think and it led to you having the most earth shattering, blackout worthy orgasm as well as owning heaps of money.

Soomin has a different sentiment though, now standing up to crossover to where you sat across her before promptly hitting your body with the pillow.

“You're. So. Fucking. Stupid!” She screams like you had pissed and disrespected her ancestors’ grave, striking after each word. “That man might be Kim Seokjin from the most elusive clan in the world! Number one most sought bachelor and the country's most powerful sorcerer and you just walked away from him!”

“How could you be so sure it's him? All we got is a nickname.”

“His name is literally Jin which is short for Seokjin and he's a vampire wizard! You said he has a coven with a dragon? Well, guess what?! That dragon is Kim fucking Namjoon, another member of the Kim coven! That man is one of the richest in the fucking world and you just ditched his coven’s eldest!”

She swings for the last time and you weren't so fortunate the last few times—already letting down your guard when she began ranting—and it hits you square in the face. You groaned in pain, the zipper on the side of the pillow scratching your skin. 

Soomin’s anger immediately dwindled as she realised her error and gasped, falling to her knees and hands already reaching to cup your face to check for visible marks, pillow left abandoned on the carpet.

“Can't be damaging the face that bagged the Kim coven.”

“No damage here.”

“Just my faith in your decision making skills. I mean,” she stands, now more subdued and more disappointed than angry, still you eyed the pillow warily. “You've been wearing yourself down to death for years not only for you but also your family. If you were taken into the Kim Clan, you wouldn't have to worry about money anymore.”

Despite being one of your closest and longest friends, there's always been a huge difference with how you both perceive money. 

You're desperate for it, clawing and digging your hands bloody through the desolate desert for a chance of finding one small nugget to sustain your family while Soomin was familiar with it—she grew comfortably living in her parents’ spoils of years of hard work but never enough to buy the highest of quality items until her fiance came and suddenly, she had more than enough to spend for her luxury and you.

You strived and toiled for a smidge of stability whereas she revelled in anything life throws at her without worry because she has her parents to catch her if everything ever goes wrong.

She thinks of luxury as designer brands and ridiculously highly priced products that don't guarantee the greatest quality but you think of luxury as never having to worry about spending a cent over the designated budget for food shopping.

Even then, you loved her to the bone. Appreciated her like a sister from another mother.

“I can't afford to be distracted right now. I have a course to finish and a family to keep alive, I can't be hanging onto blind hope.”

Soomin's eyes softened, understanding and sighed. Turning around, she licked up the stray pillow before settling back into her chair and crossing her arms.

“I'm just… I just wanted you to be happier. It's a life mission of mine to make sure I won't die before seeing you living without stressing over details.” 

“I know.”

“I love you, leaflet.”

You laugh and she smiles. “I love you too, queen.”

[coyotelip]

starchaser microfic: baby || old married couple || @into-the-jeggyverse || wc: 905

James wakes up alone next to the still-warm pillow on the other side of the bed and to the sound of the water running in the shower. 

Long, lazy mornings in bed are meaningless to James without his husband, so he quickly gets up, puts on some shorts, and heads for the bathroom. 

The door is unlocked, as locks become irrelevant in a long marriage, so James calmly enters the room, does his business, washes his hands, and splashes cool water on his face. Through the noise of the water, Regulus still doesn't notice his presence, the shadow of his slender figure moving as he reaches for the shampoo on the shelf. 

James touches the blue curtain that separates him from the shower and pulls it back a little to look inside. Regulus has his back to him and still doesn't notice the other man's presence. His back muscles are tense as his raised hands massage his scalp, lathering his hair with shampoo. The hot air, along with the strong smell of soap, hits James in the face, but his attention is drawn to the figure of his husband. He follows the line of his spine downward, the tattoo on Regulus' side half hidden but still familiar. Two distinct dimples on his lower back, his favorite mole between them. Round buttocks... James can't help but reach out and pinch one of them. 

“Shit!” rings through the room, echoing off the wet walls. Regulus turns to him with frightened eyes, but the fright quickly turns to irritation. He shakes off some foam in James' direction, trying to shoo him away. “You sick pervert, get out of here!” 

James laughs heartily at the sight of Regulus' skin turning red from the combined efforts of his little pinch and the hot shower. But he obediently pulls the curtain back and turns to the sink. “Is it a crime or a perversion to look at your own husband in the shower?” he says loudly, so that he can be heard over the sound of the water. 

The mirror above the sink is fogged with steam, and James isn't wearing his glasses, so his reflection is just a blur of color. He picks up his toothbrush, adds toothpaste, and starts brushing his teeth. 

Regulus, meanwhile, replies, “Your love of sneaking up on me is actually the reason why we're going to divorce someday.” 

James just smiles to himself with a mouthful of toothpaste, the same thing Regulus has been saying all along their relationship. “One day this will be the reason we break up,” he said during the first year of their relationship. He attributed his first gray hairs to James' behavior. However, he still blushes every time.

Spitting out the paste, James says, “Tell me more about it.” 

Regulus clicks his tongue, “About our divorce?” 

“Yeah.” James rinses his mouth. “Have you added this section to your whole life planning folder yet? It's got to be somewhere before the retirement section, right?” 

Despite James' joking tone, such a folder did exist in Regulus' desk. In fact, it was just a collection of all the necessary documents and templates that might come in handy in the future. To it, Regulus added old materials from their wedding planning, drawings of the renovation they had done ten years earlier, property documents, and old templates for adoption papers. The latter were in the deepest corner, long forgotten, because the topic had never gone beyond discussion. But Regulus still couldn't just get rid of them. 

“Uh, I have an appointment with my lawyer for the divorce papers this Thursday, so expect a letter,” Regulus says lightly. Meeting Dorcas for coffee on Thursdays was a long-established tradition, and the woman's career as a divorce lawyer has become a favorite playful manipulation of Regulus for any occasion. 

James just snorts, running his palms over his face. He wipes the mirror and almost bumps his nose into it, carefully examining his reflection. He runs his fingers along the line of his beard, checking to see if it needs trimming here or there, and strokes his neck. His stiff hair on his chin and above his upper lip seems more perfect than ever, giving James a statuesque appearance for his age and confidence in his attractiveness. 

He really didn't care how many women or men turned to him on the street, how wide the baristas smiled at him, or how many years they gave his look. All that mattered to James was how Regulus reached across the table during his morning coffee to wipe the milk foam from his mustache, or simply took his face in his hands and ran his thumbs along the smooth line of his cheek stubble. His gaze at these moments spoke more than anything else. 

Looking at his reflection, James suddenly remembers his late father, whom he had never seen young except in photographs. But now, looking at himself in the mirror, he resembles him more than ever. The muscles in his chest clench simultaneously with sadness for the dear man and a rush of happiness because of his memories. 

With wet hands, James brushes his unruly hair back and gathers the strength to say, “Regulus?” 

“Hmm?” comes the man behind the curtain. 

“I think we should have a baby.” 

Silence reigns for a second before the curtain is abruptly pulled back, revealing a naked and foamy Regulus staring at him wide-eyed, “What?!”

[strawbeerossi]

Stuffing Stockings

Pairing: Wife!Reader x Husband!Spencer

Description: Spencer and you have been married for ten years with a beautiful six year old daughter. Whenever she gives you her Christmas list, you notice something new on the list and bring it up to your husband.

Content/Warnings: Dad!Spencer, discussions of expanding family, interest in being pregnant/wanting another baby, breeding kink, oral sex (f rec), penetrative sex, mention of failed test and disappointment, happy ending.

Word Count: 3.5K

Merry Christmas, my sweeties! Santa T is giving you a present because of how much I love you all!

“Mama, I have my Christmas list ready!” Matilda announced, a bright smile on her face revealing the front tooth that the tooth fairy had recently come to take. She was a spitting image of Spencer, beautiful honey colored irises and soft brunette curls that framed her face, not to mention her intellect and her determination that no doubt her father had an influence on. 

“Your Christmas list? You’re early,” You smiled fondly as you looked over at the flower filled calendar on the wall closest to the stove, your coffee cup held comfortably between your hands. “Let me hear it, come on!” You urge on, an excited grin on your face. 

You always loved Christmas, however having Matilda just made the holidays so much better. Nothing compared to seeing her excitement whenever you’d place wrapped gifts under your Christmas tree, or when you’d ask her to help you make Christmas treats that her and Spencer would end up eating just days after they were made. 

You wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

“Well. I would like an American Girl doll, Rebecca Rubin to be exact.” Not a surprise. She loved dolls, her father spoiling her with any accessory or set she asked for. “And then I would like some light up sneakers, please. Sam has some at school and I think they are so cool!” She continued. The rest of the things she lifted were usual for a little girl. Until she got to the last thing on that list. 

“And then I want a little brother or sister.” She concluded, a wide grin on your face. The mere suggestion had you nearly choking on the mouthful of coffee, your eyes widening some. “Uncle Luke and aunt Penny said that I have to write it in my list so it happens!” 

Penelope and Luke. Classic. 

“A baby brother or sister?” You repeated, watching those beautiful curls bounce as the kindergartner nodded her head. “You do know that they won’t be here in time for Christmas if that happens, right?” You asked, wanting to break it gently to her that even if she got what she wanted, it would be well past Christmas before she got a sibling. 

“Oh. I know. Babies grow in mommy’s bellies for nine whole months. Which seems like a long time but I think it’ll go by fast! Oh please, mama?! A baby would be cute and cuddly, even whenever they are cranky!” 

The begging was tugging at your heart. She really wanted this, didn’t she? You and Spencer were financially stable enough for you to stay home while he worked with the BAU, not to mention that you both could definitely handle Matilda and a new baby. “You know I have to talk to daddy about this before we make a decision.”

After that, the idea of another baby was stuck in your mind. Your first pregnancy was rough, however you still really did enjoy the process of growing a future scholar who would change the world. Just thinking about it had you reminiscing, especially when it came to being pregnant. You could remember every appointment, the announcement to your friends and families, all the excitement that you and Spencer felt with every heartbeat and every little kick. 

Your husband had gotten home relatively early on a Saturday evening after a long case in Tampa, Florida. He was toeing his shoes off by the front door in an effort to surprise you and Matilda, the two of you unaware he was even coming home today. You were in the kitchen making dinner while your shared daughter was at the table, happily coloring in her new coloring book. 

 It was a blissful sight, the domesticity of it all bringing normalcy to Spencer’s busy and sometimes abnormal feeling life. “You two look peaceful,” He decided to speak up, Matilda quickly turning in her chair to look at her father. With a wide smile and teary eyes, she was quickly leaping from the chair to run into your husband’s expecting arms. “Hi!” He chuckled fondly while kissing her cheek sweetly. 

“I missed you!” She whined out, keeping a tight hold on her father. “I thought you weren’t gonna home until after Christmas!” She added on, making Spencer’s heart drop. He loved his job but he hated being away for what could’ve been weeks at a time. That was the hardest part. 

“Hey, I’m home now and I’m gonna be here for Christmas. I promise. In fact,” He was picking up Matilda while resting her on his hip. “I need to see your Christmas list!” He grinned while bouncing his daughter. “Mama, where’s the list?” Spencer then asked as he turned his attention to you. 

“Oh, mama needs to talk to you about that!” The six year old in his arms perked up, making Spencer look at you with an amused, yet questionable look. 

“Talk to me? About what? Don’t tell me that Tilly wants to get a car or something already.” Spencer teased. A car might’ve been easier convincing depending on how he felt about expanding the family. 

“Not exactly a car,” You laughed a bit while grabbing the list that had been neatly folded and stuck to the fridge with a magnet. “She wants a new American girl doll, a new accessory set to go with said doll, light up sneakers, a dollhouse,” You paused while reading over the last item. “And a baby brother or sister.” 

Spencer felt like the items on the list were easy enough. A doll, some accessories, a dollhouse and sneakers. He could knock that out with just one shopping trip. However whenever he heard the last item, his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “A new brother or sister, huh?” He asked slowly, glancing at the little girl who smiled widely. 

“I know the baby won’t be here for Christmas, daddy.” Matilda just knew by the look in his eyes that he didn’t wanna break the news she’d have to wait for that. Her reassurance had him taking in a breath of relief though. That little girl was too smart for her own good. 

“Well. That’s a big decision. You think you’re ready to be a big sister? Cause babies are a lot of work.” Spencer asked, a smile on his face at her sheer excitement he was entertaining the idea. “They cry a lot. Plus, they always need a lot of attention. That’ll mean that sometimes mama and daddy will be busy with the baby.” He said softly while rubbing her back. 

“I know and it’s okay! Babies need more help because they can’t really eat on their own or go potty in the bathroom, so that’s why you and mommy will need to pay extra attention sometimes. But babies are small and cute! And they always want cuddles!” Now that sounded like something Penelope Garcia would say of course she’d gotten to Matilda about the idea. She was just saying at the office that she was wanting another baby around. 

You offered a smile. “Well, it sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into it, Tilly! You know that me and dad have to talk about it though, as grownups.” You added, although judging by your husband’s wide smile and the twinkle in his eye, he was already sold on the entire Christmas list. Well, maybe this was easier to convince than a new car. 

After dinner and baths were in order, it  wasn’t long before you and Spencer were tucking Matilda into bed for the night. Gently closing the door behind you both, Spencer finally turned his attention to you. “A new baby. Wow..” He brought up the idea immediately, his arms gently wrapping around your waist. “How do you feel about the idea?” 

You smiled, body leaning back against his as you let out a soft hum of content. “Well, at first I was wary. Then the more I thought about it.. The more I really wanted it.” You said softly, head tilting up to face him more. “I mean, I think we’ve got this parenting thing down. Plus, I miss being pregnant and having a baby around. I feel like it’s going to be a positive change for us. Parents of two.”

That was all Spencer needed to hear to have him sold completely. “I agree. We are pretty good at this.” He chuckled a bit while moving to press a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s always fun trying too, huh? Maybe All our practicing will pay off.” He teased, making you laugh as you were playfully hitting his arm. “Hey! I’m just saying what we are both thinking!” He laughed in return. 

The both of you had retired to your bedroom for the night, gently closing the door behind you both. “It’s so good to have you home. I’ve missed you.” You sighed, offering a smile as you were heading over to sit on the edge of your shared bed. “It’s just not the same without you home but I know you have to save the world.” You smiled fondly, watching as your husband was shedding from his clothes. 

“I know, honey. I miss being home with you and Tilly more than anything when I have to be gone.” Spencer expressed his own feelings before heading over to you, kneeling in front of you with a soft smile. “But I’m glad to be home now,” He began, pressing kisses to your legs while getting settled between them. His hands were working on the button of your shorts before tugging them down your legs. “Besides, I’m gonna be here for the holidays and I even took the time off to make sure of it.” He hummed, his kisses moving to your inner thighs. 

“Working on the list early, I see.” You teased, brushing the mop of brunette curls from your husband’s face as he was playfully nipping on your plush inner thigh, lifting his head. 

“Guilty. I feel like this is the most expensive present Tilly is getting.” He teased, the both of you sharing a little giggle before he was going right back to where he started. 

Those kisses ended with your hips being tugged close to the end of the bed, his tongue lapping over your clothed clit. “God, I’ve missed you.” He murmured, hands working to tug your panties down your legs. Spencer was absolutely pleased with the sight of your glistening pussy, mouth salivating at the sight. It had been far too long for his liking. 

“Pretty girl. You look like you’ve missed me too.” He purred, tongue moving to flick over your throbbing bud, only chuckling as you were already clutching his hair. He didn’t make an effort to tease you long, tongue already delving into the warmth of your cunt as he was so focused on drinking every ounce of your essence, taking whatever you had to give him. 

“Spencer, fuck.” You squeaked, legs practically locking around his head to keep him in place as he was too drunk on lapping and sucking at your desperate pussy. The thought of a new baby excited him in more ways than one. 

There was the calm and innocent way that just had him thrilled to have a new baby and expand your beautiful family. Then there was the dirty and not so innocent side of him that knew there would be a lot of nights where he was stuffing your pussy just in an effort to get that positive test. Just the thought of his cum dripping down your trembling thighs was enough to have him hard as a rock, his cock begging for attention while he was so focused on giving you all of his. 

While his tongue feverishly lapped at your wetness, his hands were gripping your hips just a little tighter. Truth be told, Spencer could get off merely from cunnilingus alone. He fed off of your pleasure, the way you would shove his head more into your weeping cunt for more was enough to make his cock twitch in his boxers right now. 

Although even through all the excitement, he was soon pulling away from your pussy much to both of your dissatisfaction. “I feel like I’m gonna cum in my boxers and I’m not wasting what I could be giving you,” He added on, breathing labored as he was quickly getting up to shed his boxers while you were quick to do away with your clothes on your torso, shirt and bra thrown somewhere out of sight and out of mind. 

With one hand tugging at his cock, the other was quickly helping you scoot back on your bed, knowing you’d end up flying off if he dared pull you even just an inch closer from your current spot. 

“Comfortable?” He asked, watching you simply grab his arm to pull him on top of you. You didn’t even mind the feeling of his body crushing you for a split second, you knew that you needed him, now. Spencer was adjusting himself into a more comfortable position on top of you, his hand sliding between your thighs. He collected some of your arousal on his fingers before holding them up to show them off to you. 

You knew what was coming next, your mouth now open as you were waiting for the intrusion of his fingers. He learned it was the easiest way to keep you quiet when you needed to be. As you took the digits in your mouth, you were sucking on his fingers. “There we go.” Spencer praised as he was shifting, now pushing his leaking cock into your pussy with a soft groan. 

“I love you.” He breathed, letting his hips slowly snap against yours just to build you up for what was to come. Your face was contorted in pleasure as you muffled an ‘I love you’ around his fingers in return. 

The thought of you being pregnant was bringing out an animalistic side of your normal gentle husband. He loved seeing you pregnant with your first, it made him feel like he was finally contributing to society in the aspect of bringing another potential genius into the world who would do amazing things. The way you looked swollen with his child filled him with pride. 

It was also a bragging right. Yes, he had your hand in marriage but he also cemented the fact you were his. You were getting filled with his cum, begging him to ravage you the way you deserved. He was the only one who could make you feel good. 

The thought of you being pregnant with his second child was enough to make his thrusts get harder and faster. It was the ultimate act of love to carry his child, to raise a family with him. The ultimate act of intimacy of allowing him to know the pleasures of a family and a successful marriage. 

You were squirming underneath him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Spencer was all too focused on the images flooding his mind. “I’m gonna cum.” He panted. “You want me to fill you up? Give you a baby? Fuck.” Cursing was pretty rare for Spencer but just the mere slip of a curse word had your pussy clenching around his cock, signaling you were ready as well. 

With a few more sloppy snaps of his thrusts, you could feel the warmth of his spent flooding your cunt, your legs trembling as the sensation was enough to have you reaching your climax. “Fuck.” You panted, your husband’s fingers now being pulled out of your mouth. 

His face was flushed, brunette curls plastered to his sweaty forehead as he looked down at you. “You know, I wish we had this idea before. Christmas is coming up so soon, we won’t even be able to get a positive test for her in time for the holiday if we get lucky after this time.” 

“I think that Tilly is gonna be happy either way, to be fairly honest. You should’ve seen the way she looked at me when she was asking for a new sibling. She was so excited.” You recalled, smiling in content as you were slowly, but surely, catching your breath.

With soft eyes, Spencer leaned down to press a sweet kiss against your lips. “I’m really happy she brought it up first. I’ve been wanting another baby for a while but I didn’t want you to feel obligated.” The confession had your hand lightly swatting at your husband’s chest.

“Why didn’t you talk to me before?! I never would’ve felt obligated. I’ve always wanted a big family, you know that.” 

The reassurance had your husband chuckling fondly. “I know, I know. I promise that for the next little Reid, I’ll get to you before our daughter.” He teased, nose nuzzling into your cheek before he was pushing himself out of bed. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, mama.”

—--

It was currently the third week of January, Matilda freshly back in school for the second semester. It was after you dropped Tilly off at school that you were feeling off. You’d been sick the past week or so, mostly just chalking it up to be a bug Matilda seemingly brought home. The more awful you felt, the more you were worrying. Being pregnant wasn’t a problem at all, however the way you would get your hopes up would be.

You’d pushed the idea back for a while, it wasn’t until you were sick for the fifth time that you figured that the test would be better than nothing. You’d only gotten one negative, however with the brain of your husband and his facts about conception, he still gave you some hope.

The sound of the timer going off in the bathroom snapped you out of your thoughts. It was now or never. As you approached the bathroom, you could feel your heart begin to race. If you were pregnant, that would be the best little surprise for your little family. If not, well, you’d at least get to be heartbroken in peace.

Taking in a deep breath and mustering up all of your courage, you were lifting the test from the sink. You felt like you were going to be sick from a mixture of your ailment as well as the nerves. You exhaled the breath you took in seconds before, eyes fixed on the test.

Pregnant.

You nearly fainted, free hand covering your mouth from the surprise. Pregnant, you’re pregnant. Pregnant!!!!

You were thrilled, the test being tucked away in its box before you were hiding it away. You were going to have to show Spencer and Matilda when they got home. You didn’t have the strength to keep it a huge secret and put a surprise together, they needed to know as soon as possible. 

Spencer had gotten to go home early in order to pick up Matilda, something rare that Emily gave him the chance to do considering he was away so much as is. If only those two knew what they were coming home to. 

You were just getting finished with a snack for your daughter whenever you heard the sound of keys jingling in the door. It’s now or never!

“We are home!” The little voice called from the living room, the child taking off her coat and backpack before making sure to hang them up.

“Hi you two.” You offered a smile, pressing a kiss to your daughter’s cheek, followed by a quick peck on your husband’s lips. “Tilly, I have you a snack.” She hummed fondly, watching the little brunette hurry to the table. “You might wanna sit down as well,” You informed your husband, who raised an eyebrow. 

Without question, he’d approached the table before sitting himself down. “Are we in trouble?” He teased, making you roll your eyes fondly.

“No. I just have something I need to tell you both.” You hummed, grabbing the wrapped box from the counter before placing it on the table. “I found this in the closet. It was addressed to you two, I think we forgot it around Christmas.”

“Forgot it? Mama, we never forget presents.” Matilda spoke around a mouthful of apple slices, although her curiosity was piqued as she leaned against the table. “Open it, daddy!” She urged.

As the colorful wrapping paper was peeled away, the male was opening the box. He knew what it was, however he wanted Matilda to have the first big reaction. The minute that the stick was on the table, you could practically see Matilda’s eyes pop out of their sockets from surprise. “Does that say pregnant?!” She asked, looking at her mother with a wide smile. “There’s a baby?!” 

Her excitement made you want to cry your eyes out. “There’s a baby!” You gushed happily. “Now, I still have to go to the doctor because I don’t have specifics just yet,” You began, although your daughter was all too happy to quickly run into your body, arms wrapped around your torso. 

“We are gonna have a baby!!!!”

[hardly-an-escape]

inspired by this gorgeous art by @newtkelly 🌹💕

It's just a normal Tuesday. They're about two hours out from the end of their shift and Buck is upstairs in the kitchen, finishing up the dinner dishes, when Chimney's voice floats up from the floor below.

"Hey, uh... hey Buck? I think you have a visitor."

He sounds a little weird, almost like he's trying to hide something. Buck frowns and grabs a dishtowel. "Be right down," he calls back.

He hops down the last few steps, rounds the front of an engine at a jog, opens his mouth to ask what's going on and – stops dead.

Tommy is standing in the middle of the ambulance bay, feet planted like he's expecting someone to come along and shove him out the big garage doors – and from the slightly murderous glare Eddie is throwing his way, it might be a valid concern. He's wearing a cream colored Henley and his hair is tousled, a couple artful locks falling over his brow.

But what stops Buck in his tracks – what roots his boots to the floor and makes his mouth drop slightly open – are the flowers.

Tommy's arms are absolutely overflowing with roses. There's got to be at least two dozen, maybe even three, wrapped in classic brown paper with a bright ribbon holding it closed. They're full and perfectly opened and a deep, rich red, with a handful of pink and white carnations scattered through the bouquet that, rather than distracting from the roses, just make them look even more luxurious by comparison.

"Hey," Tommy says. "Happy Valentine's Day, Evan. Can we talk?"

Buck spends at least two and a half seconds fruitlessly opening and closing his mouth.

"Valentine's Day isn't until Friday," is what eventually comes out. He can practically hear Eddie's eye roll from behind him.

One corner of Tommy's mouth lifts in a tight little smile. "I know," he says. "But this is the day I knew for sure you'd be on shift, so."

"Oh. Right," Buck says stupidly.

"These are for you." Tommy hefts the armful of roses and Buck automatically steps forward to take them. His fingers brush the backs of Tommy's hands as he does so.

He could swear he feels a spark. Maybe it's just static electricity. But Tommy's eyes widen minutely, so he must feel it too, whatever it is.

"You, uh. You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah. Yes." Tommy clears his throat. Buck is intensely aware of the fact that they have an audience. Eddie is still frowning, Chim is doing a very bad job pretending he's not hanging on every word they say, and even Bobby has paused what he was doing to lean too-casually against a wall, arms folded and carefully neutral expression on his face. "I have thought... so much about what I want to say to you. I've gone around and around, telling myself if I could just find the right words, I could make you understand. And then telling myself I haven't even earned the right to try." Tommy takes a deep breath. "It shouldn't have taken me so long to get my shit together and come talk to you. You deserved better than that, Evan. But I... I'm here now."

"I'm listening," Buck says. He's glad he can hold the flowers, because he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Tommy seems to be having the same problem; he clasps them awkwardly in front of himself, then unclasps them, then goes to shove them in his pockets and seems to change his mind, rubbing them briefly against his hips instead.

"Thank you. Thank you for being willing to listen," he says. "I... I never found exactly the right words. But I know what I want to say. First, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I fucked up, and I panicked, and I just kept panicking until it felt like it was too late to do anything else. Second, there are still things I hope we can talk about, things I tried to say that night that I couldn't get out right. Stuff about my past, and questions about the future. But most important... Third. I do want a future with you, Evan. Everything you said that night, I want it so... so badly. And it took me walking out to realize that, because I'm an idiot, and a coward, but all I learned by being without you these last couple of months was..."

Tommy trails off. His eyes have never looked so blue. "Was how much I don't want to be without you," he says simply.

There's a long moment of silence. You could hear a pin drop in the firehouse. It's as if everyone in the building is holding their breath. All Buck can see is Tommy – Tommy, with his broad shoulders, and his fidgety hands, and his blue eyes, full of hope and tears.

"Can someone come take these flowers, please?" Buck says over his shoulder, without unlocking his eyes from Tommy's. Chimney comes up behind him and gently takes the bouquet from his hands, stepping back without a word.

Buck takes a step forward. And then another. And then Tommy steps too, and then their arms are wrapped tightly around each other, cheeks pressed together, and it's as if the entire station heaves a sigh of relief.

"You are an idiot," Buck whispers fiercely into Tommy's neck.

"I know."

"This doesn't magically fix the fact that I'm still really mad at you."

"I know, Evan. I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I promise."

Buck pulls back far enough to look Tommy in the eye again, and what he sees there reassures every uncertain inch of him: sincerity. Hope. Apology. Even – he dares to hope – love.

He begins to lean back in, but before he can crush his mouth to Tommy's, the bell rings – because of course it does – and the alarm squawks, calling the 118 to a house fire a couple neighborhoods over. Buck reluctantly tears himself loose and heads for the engine.

"Don't you dare leave!" he yells to Tommy, pointing a dramatic finger at him.

"I won't! I'll wait right here for you!" Tommy yells back.

Chim claps Tommy on the shoulder and shoves the bouquet back in his hands as he runs past. The last thing Buck sees before they pull out and round the corner is Tommy's smile, blindingly bright above a cascade of red roses.

ETA: now there's a part two!

[logansdoll]

chimichangas

part two of "jim beam"

CW: suggestive, profanity, Blind Al, takes place after the events of Deadpool 3, reader is going through some stuff, Logan is an animal, Wade is Wade, etc.

"I see you found my stash," Althea smirked, poorly pouring you another glass of whiskey as you sat down at the table.

"Sorry," you sighed, taking a swig. "If I'd known you could tell, I would've asked."

She cocked a brow with a smirk, and you let out a half-hearted chuckle.

She could read you surprisingly well for a blind woman.

"Yeah, no, I wouldn't."

She smiled as she poured herself her own drink, but when the silence settled, she could tll your expression had fell.

"All right, what's on your mind?" she sighed, almost like an order as she pulled up a chair.

You scoffed.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It may have been a while since I've actually talked woman to woman, but I can still tell when something's up," she nodded, taking a sip from her glass. "And judgin' by the way you're downin' that drink, I'd say it's man troubles."

You nearly choked on your liquor, and she let out a quiet chuckle.

"Of course not. It's not him at all," you quickly assured, not wanting the woman to get the wrong idea. "Logan has been amazing. And if anything... it's me troubles."

She smiled, attempting to reach out and touch your hand, but missed.

By a whole lot.

"I'm all ears."

You didn't know what it was, be it her elderly charm or her comforting presence, but something about her just made you feel like spilling your guts.

You sighed, taking a deep breath before deciding to start from the beginning.

"My power allows me to see the future," you looked down at your drink, solemnly. "Be it seconds or minutes or days, you name it, I can see it... so long as my power is activated."

"Okay..." Althea nodded in understandig.

"But that night... the night everything went to shit... I was asleep... I couldn't see the Sentinels coming."

You squeezed your glass, the self-loathing clawing at your throat like an angry tomcat.

"I tried to save the kids... but it wasn't long before everyone was gone... and I was taken captive."

Your voice quaked, hands trembling as fragmented memories of the bloodshed flashed in your mind.

"I can't remember much after that... and Wade won't tell me the details of what happened to me in that laboratory. But after who knows how long in that chamber I'm stuck in this new world with no way to get back to mine and I just can't help but wonder if I'd just been awake that night then maybe... my family would still be alive... my home wouldn't be destroyed..."

You turned to her, eyes glassy as you sniffled.

"My Logan... not so guilty about what happened..."

Althea sighed, her hand finally finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Honey..." she started, her tone warm and forgiving. "Guilt is one of those feelings that feeds on the pain you give it."

Her thumb smoothed over the back of your hand, bringing a sort of grandmotherly comfort to your heart.

"You can't turn back the clock... but you can decide whether you're gonna let this feeling hold you back, or show you the strength you need to keep on living."

You sighed, knowing her words were true, yet still hearing that nagging voice in the back of your mind.

Maybe it's time to leave the past in the past...

"It's Chimichanga Time, bitches!" Wade suddenly exclaimed, bursting through Al's apartment door and striking a pose, waving the take-out bags around theatrically.

"Motherfucker!" Althea jolted, snatching a gun from under the table and taking aim...

Directly at the wall.

Muffling your snickers, you carefully pushed her hand the right way, changing her target to Wade's chest rather than the door frame.

"Jazz hands?" you raised a brow, turning to the man.

"I believe the politically correct term is spirit fingers," he corrected, mater-of-factly. "Times have changed, my dear (y/n). Next thing you know you'll be old Al here a colored."

"The fuck did you just say to me?" Althea exclaimed.

"(n/n)'s words, not mine!"

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Logan groaned, snatching the bags from him and plopping them down on the table. "Eat your damn food and keep fuckin' quiet."

You stood from your chair, walking up to your man and pulling him into a hug.

"Hey, baby," you greeted, resting your head on his chest. "How was your day?"

His shoulders sank under your touch, all the anger melting away as he wrapped his arms around you, placing a tender kiss on your hairline.

"I'm just glad it's over," he sighed, resting his tired head against yours.

It was no secret to anyone that Logan had some serious anxiety when it came to leaving you places by yourself.

And it wasn't that he didn't trust in your ability to handle yourself, but rather he didn't trust the powers that be not to try and fuck his life over for the hundredth time.

Granted, he couldn't really help it when he had to go to work, or assist Wade with his post-breakup, mercenary bullshit...

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

"M'sorry," you cooed, cupping his cheek in your hand. "If you want we can—"

Suddenly, it felt like all the air was snatched out of your lungs, the image of a bunch of thugs flashing in your mind, along with the door being broken down.

It was your first vision since being in the chamber.

"(n/n)?" Logan asked, worry spiking up his chest as he lifted your chin. "You alright?"

'Althea!'

Five seconds...

"GET DOWN!" you shouted, quickly kicking over the table and shoving Al behind it just as the men kicked open the door.

Quickly, Wade grabbed a cast-iron skillet off the stove, slamming it over the head of the first grunt to rush in before using it to deflect a shotgun.

"Behind the couch! Now!" Logan barked, shoving himself in front of you and unsheathing his claws as bullets began ricocheting around the room

You dropped to the ground without argument, army crawling away to safety.

And once you were secure, Logan went off, letting out a roar of anger as he charged into the fight.

They come into his home... in his safe haven... and try and take his reason for living?

Heads. Were. Going. To. Roll.

Wade slid across the kitchen counter under the heavy gunfire, grabbing the knife block before flipping over the edge, tossing a steak knife into a man's neck before finishing him off with a bread knife to the dick.

Logan launched himself at the one with the shotgun, not even flinching as a chunk of his shoulder was blown off, still plunging his claws into the man's chest.

Clocking the grunt coming up behind him, he quickly whipped around, sending an uppercut straight through his head.

Out of nowhere, one of the thugs popped up with an AK-47, completely spraying the couch while Wade handled the dumbass with the baseball bat.

'(Y/N)!'

"RAAAAAAH!" Logan bellowed, furious, as he sprinted toward the one responsible, tanking countless bullets before slicing the gun to pieces and proceeding to absolutely maul the poor bastard.

Wade hit Baseball Douche in the face with the knife block before dodging a swing, stabbing him in the chest with a butcher's knife before turning around and throwing it at the head of a man going for Althea.

But when he whipped around to finish off Baseball Douche, Logan was already there, stabbing him right through the head and spraying blood all over Wade's face.

"Oh, God! Oh, God, time out!" he whined, dropping to his knees as he covered his face. "Got bad guy blood right in my open eye. Oh, that is gross..."

As the dust began to settle, it became eerily quiet, all the enemies seemingly dead.

"(n/n)?" Logan panted, chest heaving and heart panicked as he glanced around. "(y/n)?"

Slowly, you rose from behind the couch, unharmed.

"I'm okay," you assured, a little shaken up, but otherwise alright.

"Althea," Wade sang, wiping his eye with his shirt. "Are you dead?"

"I wish," she groaned, hoisting herself up from behind the table.

Without another word, Logan sped toward you, retracting his claws before pulling you into a bone crushing embrace—one you reciprocated with just as, if not more, relief.

"I thought I lost you again," he exhaled, relishing the way you felt in his arms, hands sliding all over you to squeeze what could've been taken away from him.

"I'm right here, Logan," you cooed, carding your hand through his scruffy hair as he nuzzled his face into your neck, breathing in your scent. "I'm right here..."

Though, unknowingly to the other, you both were going through your own forms of consolation.

You had protected your family from a tragedy you couldn't before.

He had saved you from the fate that befell countless others from his past.

Both were beginning to realize that maybe this new life really could be different.

Working together to protect and save one another...

Learning to love without fear of separation...

Forgiving the past mistakes that made you who you are today...

Growth that could only be attributed to absolute trust in each other.

"Heyo!" Wade gasped, a smile stretching on his face as he stared at the ground. "The Chimichanga Gods have spoken."

The rest of you turned to face him, watching as he fished a bloody take-out bag out from under the body of a dead man—who looked like he had mush for a face.

"Tonight... we feast."

"You are fucking disgusting."

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ to be dangerous and blooming, to eat of you.

ceo!paige x architect!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: azzi is a sought-after architect known for her quiet intensity and near-spiritual approach to space. paige—a former wnba star turned sports tech ceo—didn’t expect much when her assistant picked her to design the house. but months pass, walls rise, and suddenly paige can’t stop thinking about her architect.

cw: mentions of parent death, fluff, slow-ish burn, strangers-to-lovers, aged-up!pazzi.

notes: this would not leave me alone, it was like a ghost against its own grave. fully inspired by @pbaz7 in general, but more specifically their beautiful, recent pazzi "finding peace in you" series which i want fed into my blood via an iv. as always i hope you enjoy. feel free to tell me what you think. i try my best to respond to everything. i love you.

the sky was still the color of ink, streaked thin with lavender and powder-blue light—a fragile morning that seemed to apologize for arriving at all. 

paige hadn’t meant to be early, but she’d barely slept. her hoodie was inside out, an old relic from her uconn days, and her sneakers were unlaced; there was the familiar tension in her jaw from clenching through dreams she couldn’t remember. she tried to lose some of it, stretching her mouth into strange shapes as her white mercedes eqs rolled over the gravel beginnings of her destination. 

the lot was quiet but not still. the wind picked at the edges of the tarps. there was the smell of fresh earth and wood dust, and something more subtle underneath—clay maybe, or sage. parked off to the side was a mercedes g-wagon, its body dipped in a deep green that pushed against the world's noise and begged it to be silent. the bottom of it was edged with a light layer of dirt. whoever drove it put it to its full use. 

good taste, paige thought to herself. she stepped out of her car, closing the door softly. her phone buzzed with every step she took toward the skeletal structure looming just out of reach and eventually, she stopped, tilting her head back in annoyance. 

she turned back, tossing her phone into the cup holder and leaving it behind. she walked again, back toward the specter of her future house, and tugged her blonde hair into a loose ponytail. her roots were dark and peeking through; she needed ingrid to book her an appointment at the salon before she flew to toronto for whatever conference she’d agreed to speak at.  

paige stepped into what would be the front room, fingers brushing the frame of the temporary doorway. the beams still looked like bones. she stood there, one sneaker slightly sunk in the soil, letting her eyes adjust.

and then she saw her.

the woman was crouched at the far end of the lot, alone, barefoot, her hand in the dirt as if communing with it. she wore a cardigan in a soft, worn orchid purple that hung open, and beneath it an off-the-shoulder top, same color, thinner from wear. the fabric clung delicately to her chest and revealed its swell—not tight, not deliberate, just honest. it wasn’t sexual; it was a mere acknowledgment of her body. her pants folded at the waist like they were meant to, easy and fluid in motion, a smokey blue that matched the sky around them.

paige didn’t speak. just watched, leaning back against the doorway with a titled head.

the woman was tracing lines into the ground with the side of her hand, slow, rhythmic, not unlike a person stirring honey into tea or braiding hair without thinking. her braids were swept back—french curls, spinning down to the waist, a bath of dark brown—and clipped in pl.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･ace with an amber claw clip engraved with a delicate gold design.

for a moment, paige forgot she’d come here to meet anyone. her keys were still in her hands, but she couldn’t remember pulling them out. there was something inside her—a little itch behind the ribs, a breath trapped hot in her chest—that bloomed forward.

the woman didn’t look up right away. when she did, it was brief—just enough to clock paige, then return to the dirt, brushing her hand flat over the lines she’d made.

paige stepped closer and cleared her throat. “didn’t know anyone would be here this early.”

the woman looked up again. her gaze landed on paige and stayed, not exactly warm, but not unkindly either. only curious. quiet.

“neither did i,” she said. “but sometimes it helps to listen to the house before it starts lying.”

paige raised a brow, folding her arms. “houses lie?”

“all the time,” the other woman said, straightening slowly. she brushed her hands against her thighs, light swipes that somehow managed to look graceful. “to clients, to inspectors, to light. you learn to read through it. even hear it.”

“mm,” paige said. it was a noncommittal sound. “i don’t think my ears are tuned for that. you must be azzi.”

azzi crossed her arms, a smile flickering around her mouth. “and you must be ingrid.”

that startled a smile out of paige, her eyes brightening at the tease. it was a slight jab, but fair. 

paige had been wielding her executive assistant like a shield when it came to this whole process. she’d be loath to part with her “bachelor pad” as her brother called it, to step further into her adulthood and put her name on a deed and a house but her family just wouldn’t leave her alone. she’d given in, mostly because she loved them, but had kept her distance until now.  

“touché,” paige said. “unfortunately, ingrid couldn’t make it because she is not one to wake up at the ass crack of dawn. so, i had to show up. hope i haven't disappointed.”

azzi took a few steps toward paige, feet bare against the gravel like it didn’t matter. paige tried not to notice how the cardigan slipped further down her shoulder as she moved, exposing more soft, brown skin. she tried not to notice a lot of things.

“you haven’t,” azzi said. 

paige could smell her, could feel the notes of her perfume begin to snake inside of her head like the smoke of a flame. gardenia, honey, hints of sticky peach, and milk. 

“didn’t think architects got their hands dirty,” paige said, teasing lightly.

azzi tilted her head. “and here i thought executives stayed in their cars.”

that got a low laugh out of paige, caught off-guard. “you always this charming?”

azzi didn’t smile, but her voice softened. she stepped back. “no,” she said. “i don’t flirt. i build.”

there was a beat of quiet. the breeze tugged at the hem of azzi’s cardigan, and paige watched the weak, watery strips of sun land along her collarbone. then azzi nodded toward the frame of the house.

“you don’t know what you want yet. that’s okay. we’ll find it.”

paige looked over at her. “how do you know i don’t know?”

“because your questionnaire was surface level at best,” azzi said simply. “you keep using the words house, building. never ‘home.’ you are unsure if you even want this, let alone what you want to be inside of it.”

azzi crouched again, touching a spot near the beams, then gestured for paige to join her. she hesitated, then stepped forward, crouching too. azzi turned, her lips plump and wet with gloss. they parted, two pink petals. this close, paige could see the dirt on the fat of her fingertips and a thin ring of it underneath her nails. 

“can i ask you a question?”

paige paused, then nodded.

“what was one thing in everyone else’s homes that you loved as a kid?” azzi asked quietly. “that you kept thinking about when you left? the thing that made you go ‘fuck, i wish we had that.’”

paige looked at her, startled for a second. she smiled wryly.“you ask everybody that?”

“only people who need it. my job is to be the nudge, not the push. given your history, you already push yourself.”

“so you looked me up?” paige asked, smiling cheekily.

azzi gave her a look, but paige saw the amusement settle across her face. “to work with you, i have to know who you are.”

“what do you know?”

“nothing,” azzi said. she smelled more like summer peaches the longer they crouched together. “i learned what your brand is. pro-athelete-turned-tech-mogul with a focus on health and mentorship. the body as a temple. the real you? that’s private. i’ll learn as we go, i think.”

something flickered behind paige’s eyes. not quite a smile, not quite defense. just something soft.

azzi didn’t press. she just touched the earth again, palm flat, grounding herself. “i don’t want to erase you. tech’s good,” she added. “you’ll most likely want it in an everyday sense based on what you sell. maybe a smart fridge, but we’ll build around it. we cover it with wood cabinets so it doesn’t reflect the flash when taking photos. or if there are kids one day, it doesn’t get cracked.”

paige blinked. “you think ahead.”

“i listen,” azzi said. “to the house. to you. sometimes to the light.”

she looked up at paige one last time, that long, quiet stare like a lighthouse beam—patient, unwavering.

then she stood. “i’m here to work with you, to give you what you want, paige. what i know of you, i like.”

paige opened her mouth, but words escaped her. azzi didn’t wait.

“i’ll see you at a normal hour,” she said, already walking off. “you, not ingrid.”

paige still didn’t say anything. just watched her disappear into the half-formed spine of the house. she was left alone with a strange fluttering in her ribs. not nerves. more of a mapping out. 

it felt like a blueprint.

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

paige didn’t hear a word of what the man across from her was saying. she only watched his mouth move, saw the whistles of air and speckles of spit leave the dark cavern of his throat. 

he was old and patronizing, his face sagging with the weight of years gone past. ingrid sat next to her, diligently taking notes. she’d seen her boss's body become more tense with every passing minute and knew paige’s focus was more on not losing her mind rather than the supposed merits of the business deal being pitched. 

the room was too warm. or maybe it was just the buzz of her body: tight at the shoulders, jaw stiff, throat dry like she’d swallowed chalk.

the man—walter? wally? fuck, she couldn’t remember—kept talking. words like incentivize and pivot floated up from his side of the table like gnats. paige thought vaguely about swatting them. maybe she could get away with a quick pop against his shoulder, a good silencing hit. 

she blinked. realized she’d been gripping the stem of her water glass so hard her knuckles had gone pale. across the table, ingrid gave her a small, practiced glance. she did it often, instructing her to breathe without actually saying it.

paige appreciated it. ignored it.

her phone buzzed once on the table. then again. and again.

group chat. family. her brother, maybe, asking if she remembered their lunch reschedule. her mom, probably weighing in on the countertop debate with the same energy usually reserved for national elections.

her fingers twitched toward the phone.

william caught it. “everything alright, miss bueckers?”

she smiled, a slow, flat thing. “peachy.”

he laughed like he was supposed to. ingrid stopped writing.

paige tuned out again. she thought of the house lot. the bones of it. the hush of early morning pressed against her skin. azzi’s voice still lingered in her ears, velvet-wrapped steel: i don’t flirt. i build. her language was sexual in a hidden way, a psycho-phantasmic layering of words that ate your body in the moments when you were alone and could think of her. 

paige looked at the window. not through it. just at it. the glass reflected her in pieces. hair up, newly blonde. blue eyes dark and tired. hoodie swapped for a navy knit blazer she didn’t remember putting on. she missed her sneakers.

missed dirt. missed quiet. missed—she barely knew the woman. still, the first impression ran deep, a little too fast to catch.

paige cracked her neck, the pop vicious. “goddamn,” she muttered.

“paige?” ingrid again, this time gentler.

the room had emptied. she hadn’t noticed. her eyes slid to ingrid, who closed the leather folio with a soft snap. she watched as the woman looped the polyester band over the body of her ipad, shutting its violet-colored case with a final, soft ‘plip.’

“you looked like you needed a minute,” ingrid said, already standing.

“thanks.” paige stayed sitting.

ingrid hesitated, then offered, “i’m unsure if you’re up to it, but azzi fudd is downstairs.”

that jolted something loose in her. not nerves. something cellular. like her blood shifted direction.

“in the lobby?” paige asked.

“in your office,” ingrid corrected, and then, almost conspiratorially, “i let her get settled. plus she had a bag of groceries. well—a vintage fox fur birkin of groceries. she brought you plums.”

paige blinked. laughed, small and confused. “like… actual plums?”

ingrid grinned. “dark purple. one already half-bitten. she said you needed fruit, not noise. i’m kind of jealous.”

paige stood without another word. on her way out, she touched ingrid’s shoulder. the younger woman turned, her auburn hair tumbling down the hill of her shoulders. 

“maybe i can convince her to give you one.”

ingrid laughed. 

paige’s office was mostly glass and light. minimalist and clinical, by design. she never liked clutter. still, sometimes her world got away from her and resulted in an impressive mess. she felt dread as she realized it was one of those times.

azzi was bent against the windowsill. she hadn’t touched a chair. she never did unless invited. her body moved like it always did—controlled, efficient, and humming with withheld energy. a saw that never needed to be against wood to prove its sharpness.

her outfit was issey miyake—a voluminous, sculptural black pleated mock-neck top that swirled around her torso with every breath. the pants, a tepid, banana yellow that warmed her skin, whispered across the floor. it appeared effortless, but was also clearly precise, carefully chosen to avoid any unnecessary fuss. her braids were tugged into one large plait, tied by a creamy, ivory bow sitting low at its end. 

the bite of her perfume was softer this time—an amber lead, gardenia sandwiched between dripping honey and that same sticky, wet peach. spiced and rounded. in her hand: a plum, bitten once. the skin split like velvet, the flesh inside red and glistening.

“did i catch you at a bad time?” she asked.

the question was innocent, devoid of the typical ingenuity it held when asked by people who didn’t care about bothering her. 

“nah,” paige said. “just in the middle of losing my shit.”

azzi offered the plum. paige waved it off. azzi shrugged. took another bite, her teeth flashing quickly.

“you’re doing too much,” she said between chews.

“you sound like my mother.”

“i sound like someone watching a client she kind of likes spiral for no reason.”

“kind of likes? there’s hope for me after all, huh?”

azzi snorted a laugh, her lips curling wide and fruit-stained. god, paige wanted to eat her. the thought was so surprising that paige choked in the middle of her next sip of water.

azzi’s eyes darted around the clutter of paige’s desk, politely ignoring the rising red of paige’s skin as the executive coughed. papers were sprawled across it in chaotic arrangements. aftermath, fragments of a brainstorm that never really took off. 

her gaze was quiet, absorbing. a beat passed before she stepped forward and nudged aside a few of the design magazines and mock-ups that paige had been staring at like they held the answers. the silence stretched between them, thick but not heavy. azzi set her plum gently in a glass dish like it mattered. her fingers skimmed a stack of fabric samples that had appeared in the last week, all neutrals and beige-on-beige.

she didn’t say anything. just swept the whole stack into the trash.

“i appreciate you redoing the questionnaire for my firm,” azzi said, staunchly ignoring paige’s open mouth, “but it still felt inauthentic. there are other people in your ear. shut them up.”

paige blinked. “that’s not—”

“you’re not getting anywhere,” azzi continued, her tone light but the words cutting through the noise, unbothered. “you’re too tangled in everyone else’s version of what you should want.”

“okay, first of all—” paige tried again.

“you don’t want any of it,” azzi cut her off again. “i can hear it in your voice every time you talk about this house. it’s all noise. white noise in a dentist’s office.”

she picked up paige’s tablet and placed it in front of her.

“you will live in this. so start easy. and alone,” azzi said. “find something you like. you called yourself an ipad kid. so, maybe look on pinterest again. tunnel vision, just yours. email me when you’re done.”

“what if it’s still not me?” paige said finally.

“i’ll tell you. i’m capable of emailing you back.”

paige didn’t speak. just stared at her. at the braid thick against her back. the faint pink smear of plum on her thumb. the steadiness of her. the kind of woman who knew how to be still, who could hold paige down.

“you drive me crazy.”

the confession slipped out, but azzi didn’t mind. it was good—something paige wanted. 

azzi looked up from beneath her lashes. paige liked that she was taller than her, that azzi would slot under her chin if they hugged. she watched as the other woman sucked in her bottom lip, rolling the skin beneath her teeth before letting it go. 

“you’ve only met me twice,” was her response. then she was gone.

paige stood there. still vibrating from the closeness. still aching with something she couldn’t name.

ingrid, the ever-astute assistant, appeared in the doorway. she glanced at paige, then at the space azzi had left behind.

“i’m glad you picked her,” ingrid said with a knowing smile, her voice light, almost teasing. she left, closing the door with a gentle click.

the plum in the dish caught the light.

paige sat. picked it up and put her mouth around it, sucking azzi into the space behind her teeth. 

it was sweet. her thighs clenched. 

she put it down.

opened pinterest.

typed slowly, as if it mattered: big windows.

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

things got easier for a while.

the next questionnaire paige filled out garnered nothing but a short email back. “good. more like you.” paige had grinned to herself, tossing her phone onto her nightstand with a little wiggle of victory. she figured she was finding a way to fit into the flow of things, by taking on this project. 

so, she called up her parents. despite them living separate lives now, she wanted both of them there. her mother was ecstatic, so much so that paige held her phone from her ear with a grimace before putting the woman on speakerphone for her health. her father was less enthusiastic but promised to show. paige let it be enough. 

but fuck if she wasn’t perfect at being self-destructive because thirty minutes in and paige wanted to slit her own throat. it was all turning into a bright blur. paige couldn’t remember half of what had been said by now, her mind swirling with the push-pull of her parents’ well-meaning but suffocating expectations. 

they’d stood there in front of the lot, her dad pointing out ideas that sounded more like demands, his voice firm and authoritative, as if he could will the house into being by sheer force of will. her mom was quieter, watching the land with an expression that was half curiosity, half concern like she was seeing something paige couldn’t.

nothing felt right, despite how much paige liked it. the house, the project, it all suddenly felt like it was slipping through her fingers, and every suggestion from her parents only piled more pressure on her chest. every detail seemed to make her feel smaller, her ability to control anything vanishing in the shadow of their expectations.

she redid her bun for the sixth time, and her dad caught sight of her fidgeting only to push harder, talking about how this was going to be her legacy. 

"you just want this to feel like you, paigey," he had said, but it sounded more like a reprimand than anything else.

“it does, dad. i like it. doesn’t that matter? why the fuck are y’all so invested anyway?”

“paige, don’t speak to your father like that,” her mother said absentmindedly, flashing her a look.

paige scoffed. her chest tightened and her breathing went shallow. the wide open space of the lot, the unfinished house—it threatened to swallow her. 

"i gotta go," she muttered, turning away.

her mom called after her, but paige was already walking. she didn’t get very far before someone was beside her. she turned slightly, blue eyes catching on brown. minutely, her body relaxed in the face of azzi’s immovable calm. the woman didn’t say anything for a moment, just reached down and grabbed paige’s hand.

“come with me.”

it wasn’t a question. where else would paige ever go?

azzi's g-wagon truly was a tank of a car, dark green and unassuming, with a subtle sheen like it was meant to be a part of the landscape rather than stand out. the inside smelled of black cherry, and a pink-capped sonny angel dangled from the neck of the mirror. 

it hummed quietly in the makeshift parking lot, parked off to the side like an afterthought. the house was in the distance, looming like a skeleton in the desert, half-birthed and still waiting for life. loomed, yes, but it had lost its monopoly on paige’s attention. what held it now was the woman sitting next to her, and the way she swayed to the soft music from the car’s stereo playing in the background. 

the sun was starting to dip lower, but the light was still warm, flooding the space between them. azzi sat self-assured and uncompromised as she drove, the side of her face warm, almost covered in flame by way of the dying daylight. her curls were out, the braids undone momentarily for the time being. paige wanted the image of her burned into her mind forever, the heat of her desire so potent that it threatened to turn her brain into a pink molten mass; a pulse of nerves and pain.

they only stopped twice: once to pick up food and again, to sit and eat.

paige leaned back into the seat, her legs stretching long across the bench, the worn denim of her patchwork jorts fraying at the edges. her hair was falling from its messy bun, stray strands falling against her forehead as she absently picked at the edge of a fry, her eyes flicking between azzi and the world around them.

the trunk had been opened to create more space, the seats put down as well, and warm summer air gently invaded the backseat. a tangle of takeout bags sat between them, food half-eaten, the quiet hum of the forest just outside the window. azzi had driven them to a park but had made no effort to get out and join the throng of people in the center of the green. 

she made it clear the car was their fortress, and everyone else must stay out. paige was grateful. she needed the boundary.

"tell me what’s holding you back," azzi said quietly, her eyes fixed on the grass ahead, though her hand was resting lazily on her thigh, fingertips drumming against it as she waited for paige to answer.

she was in stark contrast in her white scoop-neck halter top, her body leaned back a little too, like she was trying to make herself comfortable, but paige could see there was something tight in her posture. she had on low-rise jeans—old school, real low-rise that cupped the moonish curve of her hips—and they fit her perfectly, baring the cool jewel of her belly piercing every time she shifted. 

paige couldn’t help it, her gaze lingering on the way azzi’s hips moved when she shifted, the soft line of her stomach that made paige’s heart skip a little each time she saw it.

paige chewed on a fry, squinting slightly out into the world, pretending to consider the question before shrugging. “i don’t know. i guess… it’s just a lot, you know? like, what if i can’t make it mine? what if i can’t figure out how to feel about it?”

azzi nodded, her profile sharp in the half-light, and paige noticed the tension in her jaw, the way she softened her gaze when it shifted back to her. “with what i saw of your parents, i imagine it can feel like a pressure cooker. you were right to ask why they are so…invested.”

paige snorted. “i’m a brand, ma. it’s about the pictures of my house, not the living in it.”

azzi said nothing of the pet name, but her eyes flickered to paige’s face. they were so dark and wide, a deer’s gaze from the middle of the road.

"you’re slowly getting into it though,” azzi added after a moment, her voice low. "there’s been a change. you were… distant before. but now? you’re letting it in."

paige looked back at her, meeting her eyes over the cardboard box housing her boneless wings, something wry pulling at her lips. she laughed lightly.

 "mm, i’m gettin' more into something alright." she let the words hang in the air, a playful grin creeping up on her face. "but it ain’t the house."

azzi’s eyes widened just the slightest, and paige caught the moment before she could hide it. a small flush appeared on azzi’s cheeks, the softest blush of color. she tried to laugh it off, but paige felt the power in it—felt like she’d just forced a crack in the calm.

"okay, paige. do you always flirt like that?" azzi asked, voice not quite steady. she looked away, her lips tight, but there was an undertone of warmth underneath it. like she didn’t know whether to be annoyed or charmed.

paige chuckled, reaching for another fry, but keeping her gaze on azzi.

 "nah," she said casually, "but you do something to me."

azzi scoffed, shaking her head in a way that was both endearing and disarming. "you know what they say. too much confidence isn’t exactly good for you."

paige couldn’t help the grin that pulled at the corner of her mouth. “i’m good with it, trust.”

the air between them thickened, charged, in that brief second before they both turned their attention to the bags of food between them. azzi let her breath out slowly like she was trying to regain control of herself, but paige could tell—she’d gotten under her skin. 

she felt an electric wave ripple through her. this could become addictive. 

azzi shoveled a spoon of quinoa and grilled chicken into her mouth, her cheeks bulging adorably.

"so," paige said, popping a fry into her mouth, "you’re telling me you don’t sneak a little unhealthy snack every once in a while?"

azzi shot her a sideways glance, eyes flicking to paige’s takeout container with a raised brow. "i don’t know what you’re talking about," she replied, but her voice gave her away.

"you really don’t think i’m noticing how you’re eyeing my wings?" paige teased, leaning forward slightly, her chin resting on her palm. "you’re practically drooling over them, ma. and i don’t blame you because that," she pointed a fry at azzi’s chicken bowl, “looks like it hurts going down.”

azzi laughed, her eyes widening as if she were surprised by the sound of her own joy. it was a good sound—soft and easy. paige smiled and added another tally to the scorecard in her head. 

paige: 2 | the most beautiful girl in the fucking world: 0. 

"i don’t know what you mean," azzi repeated, though her eyes flickered to the box again.

without waiting for permission, she reached over and stole a wing, taking it in one fluid motion, her fingers brushing against paige’s hand. the touch was fleeting, but it landed somewhere deep in paige’s chest. she froze for a moment, and then, almost without thinking, she giggled.

"you’re sneaky," paige said, mock exasperated, though her voice softened when she said it.

azzi bit into the wing, a little too casually. she was pretending it was no big deal, but paige could see through the act. azzi was revealing herself through this act. 

"you’re not even a little mad?" azzi asked, her voice lighter as though she was testing the waters.

paige glanced at her, her eyes narrowing slightly. 

"i’m mad, but i’m also gonna let it slide," she said, leaning back again. she felt a grin tugging at her lips. "i’m just gonna remind you every time we’re together that you owe me, alright?"

azzi smiled then, a small thing that barely touched her lips but made something warm web through paige’s chest. 

"i’ll make it up to you," azzi said, voice velvety. paige could tell she meant it. 

there was a long pause, and for a second, paige was lost. the world around them felt muffled, like they were in their own bubble, floating in the warm glow of the late afternoon. paige found herself leaning in, watching as azzi wiped her mouth. she propped her elbows on her knees as she spoke, her voice quieter now, more serious.

"i think… i think i’m scared. of this whole thing. i’m scared of what happens if i let myself care about it. about the house. about the project."

“why?” azzi asked, her tone careful.

“before, when i lived on my own in my ‘bachelor pad’,” paige rolled her eyes as she said it, “i don’t know. it felt like a good barrier between the public and my life. with this house, as stupid as it sounds, i feel like it's going to open up more opportunities for people to feed on me. it’s going to be headlines about me purchasing and building, speculation about the next steps like kids and marriage, and shit. ‘why is the condo not enough? you know?”

azzi hummed, still leaving room for paige to speak. she set the finished wing down in the container, reaching for her water bottle, but not looking away from paige. she was listening—really listening.

“then there will be the interview requests. the architectural digest tours, the vogue spread. like fuck.” paige drew the curse out and azzi shifted as she did, her stomach surging with heat at the growl of it. “i hate the media, az. i hate it. i hate talking.”

"i think you’re scared of a lot of things, paige," azzi said quietly, her tone more serious than before. “but you have more control than you think. an interview request is a request, not a court order.” 

she looked at her, her gaze needling deep into paige’s skin. she could feel the puncture, but there was no pain. only release.

“you don’t owe anyone anything.” 

paige swallowed and closed her eyes. she shifted in her seat, uncomfortable at the feeling of being seen so closely. she shook her head slightly, trying to push the feeling away. 

“it’s not that easy.”

azzi made a noise of disagreement, and paige opened her eyes. “most of the time, it only feels that way.”

for a brief moment, their faces were close, too close, the air between them crackling with something unspoken. paige didn’t know when they had moved closer, but she didn’t want to move away. azzi was perfectly still, lips parted slightly, and for a moment, paige swore she could feel the weight of the entire world resting in that space between them. 

then a child’s yell tore into the silence, and the spell broke.

“you like to give me nicknames,” azzi said lightly, beginning to clean up their meal. “ma, az. i didn’t know we were so close, ms. bueckers.”

paige shot her a knowing grin as she hopped out of the trunk and stretched. 

“you’d complain if you hated it. i don’t think you’re the type to not say shit.”

azzi blinked, her face flushing with a mixture of surprise and something else. it was that familiar pull from before, the one that made paige’s heart run that race, send that thread through the needle.

"you're impossible," azzi muttered, but the softness in her voice told paige that it wasn’t an insult.

paige felt a small victory then, a little spark of something inside her. azzi liked her. and that felt like something.

“come on,” paige said, her voice thick with affection. “i’ll drive back.”

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

the sky was ink-dark when paige next turned into the driveway, her headlights sweeping across what was no longer just a skeleton. the house had skin now—walls and windows and the beginnings of a life. she killed the engine and sat for a moment, letting the silence settle around her. no elevator music. no neighbors' footsteps. no security guard nodding hello in the lobby. just… stillness. maybe this was what the whole house thing was about.

her flight from san francisco had been delayed twice. the flagship launch had gone well, honestly better than expected, but she'd spent the entire day surrounded by people wanting pieces of her: reporters with their hungry questions, investors with their anxious eyes, and fans with their phones already raised for selfies. by the time she boarded, her smile felt painted on.

but the closer she got to home, to azzi, the more settled her blood felt in her body. and now, stepping out of her car, paige felt something give and fall through her.

the house was dark except for a faint glow coming from somewhere inside—probably the temporary construction lights. she hadn't expected anyone to be here. she’d only wanted to come on her own, see it before she went to sleep. feel it, feel azzi, before she went to sleep. her key slid into the new front door lock, and the sound it made was satisfying in a way she couldn't quite name. 

inside, the smell of fresh paint and sawdust hung in the air. most of the rooms were still unfinished, but they had walls now, and the concrete floors had been poured. her footsteps echoed as she moved through the entryway, following the source of light. a trail of tiny splatters—paint, probably—led toward the kitchen.

that's where she found her.

azzi was lying flat on her back in the center of what would be the kitchen, arms extended slightly from her sides, eyes closed. she looked fowlish, a bird trapped in the act of flight. the construction light cast long shadows across her face, catching on the high points of her features. 

she wore faded jeans rolled at the ankles and a once-white tank top now streaked with gray-blue paint that matched the swatch on the adjacent wall. the same paint had somehow found its way onto her skin—a streak across her forearm, another on her stomach where the tank top had ridden up slightly. 

paige stood in the doorway, strangely afraid to break whatever spell she was under.

"i can hear you breathing," azzi said without opening her eyes.

paige smiled despite herself. "that's low-key creepy."

"the house told me you were here."

"now you're just fucking w’me."

azzi's eyes opened then, finding paige's in the dimness. "maybe a little." a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "how was the launch?"

paige sighed, dropping her bag near the doorway. "exhausting. successful. the usual."

"congratulations, paige."

paige felt her dna rearrange as azzi said her full name, as she took in the way her sweet mouth moved around it and pushed it out.

"thank you, az."

silence settled between them, comfortable rather than strained. paige moved closer, sinking until she was sitting cross-legged beside azzi's prone form. she let her hand rest lightly on the cool concrete, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from azzi's skin without actually touching her.

"what you doing?" she asked, nodding toward azzi's position on the floor.

"what you hired me to do, bueckers. working." azzi's eyes drifted closed again. "the kitchen needs a skylight."

"is that right?"

"mm-hmm. the overhead light we planned won't work. too…" azzi gestured vaguely with one hand. "artificial. morning light should come from above in a kitchen. you'll want that when you make coffee."

paige snorted. "bold of you to assume i make coffee."

"you will, here." the certainty in azzi's voice sent something warm through paige's chest.

"how do you know that?"

"the house tells me things."

"you're so fucking weird." but paige was smiling as she said it, her fingertips inching closer until they just barely grazed the side of azzi's hand.

azzi opened one eye, the brown of it piercing even on its own. "lie down."

"what?"

"lie down, paige."

paige hesitated only briefly before stretching out on the concrete beside azzi. the floor was cool and hard against her back, but not uncomfortable. above them, the ceiling was still exposed in places, wooden beams intersecting with electrical wiring. she watched it swing, never looking away as she let her arm press against azzi's, skin to skin, the contact electric even through her exhaustion. she felt azzi press back, her body shifting to apply equal pressure. 

"close your eyes," azzi instructed.

"we meditating?"

"we're listening."

paige closed her eyes with a loose grin, feeling slightly ridiculous but willing to play along. for a while, all she heard was their breathing and the occasional creak of the new structure settling. her awareness shifted to the places where their bodies connected—shoulder to shoulder, the sides of their arms, the occasional brush of azzi's pinky finger against hers. 

she breathed in deeply, letting azzi’s smell web along her bones and veins. it was borderline erotic, how the peach note wept all over azzi’s skin and clothes. how the gardenia got stuck, how the cinnamon seemed to crawl and transfer over onto paige. she felt it like ants and her mouth parted, like she would’ve let them in if they were real. she wanted azzi all over, azzi inside of her, azzi all the time. 

was this normal? she needed to read the reviews for this firm. or maybe she needed to test out that psychic ingrid was attached to. she’d know.

"what am i listening for?" she whispered finally.

"the house. how it moves. how sound travels. where the light wants to be."

paige turned her head slightly toward azzi and opened her eyes. "where did you learn to do this?"

the question hung between them for a moment. paige could sense azzi weighing her answer.

"my dad," she said finally. "tim. he took me to work with him when i was little."

"he an architect too?"

"contractor. he built things other people designed." azzi's voice softened with the memory. "we'd play hide and seek in the houses before they were finished. empty rooms, no furniture, just possibilities. he'd tell me to hide, and i'd have to listen for his footsteps to know where he was."

the image settled in paige's mind: a small azzi crouched in empty rooms, ears attuned to the subtle sounds of movement.

"i got good at it," azzi continued. "not just hearing him, but hearing the houses too. how sound bounced differently in different spaces. how light moved through the day. i saw the desire for purpose. dad noticed. started asking what i thought about the designs he was building." her lips curved into a smile. "i usually had opinions."

"nah, really?" paige murmured, and azzi's smile widened. her teeth were like pearls.

"once, when i was about nine, we were working on this huge house in greenwich. all glass and chrome, very modern. the owners wanted everything sleek, minimal. but the house didn't want that."

"the house told you that, huh?"

"it did." azzi's tone was matter-of-fact. "i told dad the living room was too cold, that it needed wood, not tile. he thought i was just being a kid, but the next week, the owners came by and said the exact same thing."

"so your dad listened to you after that?"

"he started to. said i had good instincts." azzi turned her head then, meeting paige's gaze. "he died when i was sixteen. heart attack."

"fuck, azzi. i'm so sorry," paige said softly.

"me too.” azzi's eyes glistened, wet and large. she shuddered with the weight of grief, turning her head and drifting back to the ceiling. "but by then, he'd already taught me what i needed to know. it's what made me want to be an architect. to create spaces that speak."

something about the vulnerability in azzi's voice made paige's chest ache. 

“i wish it was different. that he’d been here longer, but then again, who would i be?”

paige watched the subtle shifts of emotion across azzi's face, the way the construction light caught in her eyelashes when she blinked. slowly, deliberately, she moved her free hand to rest on azzi's forearm, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath her touch.

"this house speaks to you?" paige asked, her thumb making small circles on azzi's skin.

"all of them do. but this one…" azzi paused, seeming to search for the right words. "this one's been waiting for you, i think. even when you weren't sure about it."

"that's a nice way of saying i've been difficult."

azzi laughed, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen. "you haven't been difficult. you told me yourself—you've been afraid."

the word landed with unexpected weight. paige felt stripped bare by it, exposed in a way that should have made her uncomfortable but somehow didn't.

"maybe," she admitted.

"it's okay to be afraid of how much you may want something. i spend a lot of time that way."

azzi turned onto her side then, propping herself on one elbow to face paige properly. a smudge of paint marked her cheekbone, and without thinking, paige reached out to brush it away with her thumb. the touch lingered, her hand cupping azzi's jaw.

"is that why you keep pushing me away?" paige asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "because i want you?"

azzi's eyes darkened. "i'm not pushing you away."

"you're not exactly pulling me in. been leaving me on read."

"i wasn’t aware we’d been texting.”

“you know what i mean. emotionally.” 

i'm trying to be professional."

"and how's that working out for you, ma?" paige shifted closer, the full length of her body now pressed against azzi's side, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing, the subtle tension in her muscles.

the corner of azzi's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "not great."

their faces were close now, close enough that paige could feel azzi's breath against her lips. the space between them seemed charged with possibility, with wanting. it was a raw pause, a silence that held as their bodies communicated chemically. at a primal level, they ached. they needed one another. 

paige's hand slid from azzi's jaw to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through the short curls there.

"tell me to stop," paige murmured, her nose brushing against azzi's.

“no, thank you."

that made paige laugh quietly. and it was all the permission she needed. 

she closed the distance between them, her lips finding azzi's in the dim light. the kiss was gentle at first, exploratory, but quickly deepened as months of tension dissolved into hunger. azzi's hand came up to curl around the back of paige's neck, pulling her closer.

paige thought of azzi’s plum from that day in her office, of that first split of velvet skin, the sweet flesh inside. azzi tasted like that—like something ripe and perfect finally broken open. a sound escaped her throat, half-groan, half-sigh, as azzi's tongue slid against her own.

azzi let out an odd, fractured mewl as paige rolled them over. now, azzi was on top of her. her body pressed down into paige’s grip, letting the older woman snake a hand down her back and under her tank. she shivered as paige dragged her nails across her skin, her palm coming to rest over the lace cup of azzi’s bra.

azzi loved the way she touched her: urgent, desperate to explore but restraining herself and her necessity until azzi allowed her to break. and azzi would’ve fucked her right there, would’ve let paige suck and lap at the dark peaks of her nipples as her hips bucked. 

but it wouldn’t be sanitary or comfortable.

when they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, paige rested her forehead against azzi's.

"been wanting to do that since i saw you barefoot in the dirt," she admitted, her thumb tracing the line of azzi's collarbone. "you got in my fucking blood. you’ve been driving me out of my mind."

azzi smiled, coy and sweet. "i know."

"you know? that's it? that's crazy, bruh."

"i wanted you too," azzi said, her voice soft in the space between them. her fingers traced a path down paige's cheek, leaving a blush in their wake. "but i needed to be sure you wanted the house first. not just me."

paige pulled back slightly, meeting azzi's eyes. "why?"

"because i build homes, paige." azzi's fingers found the hem of paige's shirt, slipping beneath to rest against the warm skin of her lower back. "not temporary spaces. i needed to know you were interested in any sort of permanence.”

"i am," paige said and was surprised by how much she meant it. "for real. i'm, like, really interested."

azzi laughed then, a full, unguarded burst that transformed her face. it was crystalline, an external expulsion of light. 

she leaned in, kissing paige again, slower this time but no less intense. paige felt herself melting into the touch, her body responding to every point of contact—azzi's hand on her back, their legs intertwined, the soft press of breasts against her own. 

above them, the moon was full, a white eye with no pupil or iris. it stained them silver, bled through where the skylight would eventually be.

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

the house was near its end. 

the contractors appeared less and less, and the house filled more and more. paige let her mother have free reign on the quality of furniture, sending her a rather massive pinterest board alongside ingrid’s number if she had any opinion that contradicted her daughter’s. 

azzi stood by the window in what would be paige's bedroom, her silhouette outlined in late afternoon light. her burgundy sweater caught the golden glow, giving her an almost ethereal quality against the unfinished walls. the black maxi skirt she wore pooled around her feet like ink, making her seem taller than she already was. dust motes danced in the air between them as she turned toward the sound of paige's footsteps.

"i'm thinking maybe the bed should face this way," azzi said, gesturing toward the east-facing window. "so you wake up with the sunrise."

paige leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, taking in the sight of azzi in this space—her space. something about seeing her here, planning and dreaming, made paige's chest tighten in a way that wasn't altogether unpleasant.

"bold of you to assume i wake up before noon on days off," paige replied.

azzi's mouth twisted in amusement, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "you will, here. this room wants light."

"the room wants light," paige echoed, pushing off from the doorframe and moving into the space. "what about what i want?"

azzi looked up at her from beneath dark lashes, her head slightly tilted. "what do you want, paige?"

the question hung between them, layered with meaning beyond just furniture placement. paige moved closer, stopping just shy of touching her.

"i want to know why you chose burgundy today," she said, gesturing to azzi's sweater.

azzi blinked, clearly not expecting that question. "i—what?"

"the sweater. why burgundy? do you like that color?"

a small smile played at the corner of azzi's mouth. "i don't know. i mean yes, but…it felt right."

"and the skirt?"

"are you interviewing me now?" azzi asked, her voice lilting with humor.

paige shrugged, her expression serious despite the lightness in her tone. "if you're gonna be in here with me, i need to know what you like."

"in your bedroom," azzi clarified, one eyebrow arched elegantly.

"in my life," paige countered.

azzi's smile deepened, a shy curve across her face. she turned back toward the window, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the glass. "that's rather presumptuous, isn't it? that i'll be with you forever."

paige moved behind her then, close enough that azzi could feel her warmth but not quite touching. "nah, it's not."

"no?" azzi turned her head slightly, just enough to catch paige's eye over her shoulder. “the amount of times we’ve been together, or gone on dates, still fits on two hands.”

“so? you and me?" paige said, her voice dropping lower. "that's forever."

azzi's breath caught, but she maintained her composure, that same amused twist returning to her lips. "and you know this how?"

paige closed the distance between them then, her chest pressing against azzi's back, hands coming to rest lightly on her hips. she could feel azzi's slight intake of breath, the way her body instinctively leaned back into the contact.

"god, maybe," paige murmured, her expression intense and unrelenting as azzi turned to face her fully. "i just—i just know."

the simplicity of her faith hung in the air between them, as solid and real as the walls rising around them. azzi studied her face, searching for any hint of doubt or artifice. paige gazed back, met her there. finding none, azzi slowly tilted her head back, exposing the long line of her neck in a gesture of surrender.

"my dad used to tell me that there would be times in my life when i’d get the closest that god would ever allow to what i wanted. no matter if it was good or bad. when i did, i had to reach out and hold on, or i’d be fucked over it for the rest of my life. i’d always be full of regret.” she tilted her head, and azzi watched her ponytail dip with it. “i don’t want to regret you.”

paige's lips found the sensitive skin of azzi’s neck, pressing gently at first. then the kiss grew teeth, swelled with intent. azzi's hands came up to grip paige's arms, steadying herself as her eyes fluttered closed. she knew it would leave a mark. blushing and bruising had the same internal mechanisms.

"so certain," azzi whispered, the words vibrating against paige's mouth.

paige smiled against her skin. "always have been. about the things that matter."

azzi turned in her arms then, bringing them face to face. her eyes were serious now, the playfulness replaced with something deeper, more vulnerable.

"forever is a long time," she said softly. 

paige reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind azzi's ear, her touch lingering on the curve of her jaw. "not long enough."

the late afternoon light stretched across them, painting stripes of gold and shadow on the unfinished floor. in this half-built room, with walls still waiting for color and windows still missing curtains, they stood on the threshold of something neither had fully expected to find.

"you still have more to learn about me," azzi told her, the words quiet and full. “you still might regret me.”

"i won’t,” paige said. “i won’t, azzi.”

azzi reached up with one hand, cupping paige’s chin as she pulled her down. she didn’t close the gap, just held her there. azzi’s eyes never left her. they were two dark planets, heavy with inescapable gravity.

“i won’t,” paige repeated, her voice decisive. “i know it. like i know my own name.”

and azzi trusted that she did.

© hcneymooners.

[theonottsbxtch]

A FUTURE WORTH LIVING | CS55

an: this was a request from @carlossainzapologist and RAHHHHH they’ve given me so many ideas chat be ready to be blown up on here please enjoy knight!carlos

wc: 3.6k

The castle walls were always cold at night, the chill seeping into her bones no matter how many fires roared in the hearth. She stood at the balcony, the silk of her gown whispering against the stone as the wind tangled itself in her hair. Below, the training yard was empty, save for one figure—Carlos.

He moved like the ocean, each swing of his blade fluid and unyielding. Moonlight danced along the edge of his sword, casting fleeting shadows that seemed to mock her. She had watched him countless nights like this, a silent penance for the sin of her love. The knight was hers in duty, bound to protect her with his life, but not in the way her heart so desperately craved.

She clenched the railing, the cool stone biting into her palms. Tomorrow, she would stand before an altar, draped in gold and jewels, and vow her life to a man she barely knew. A prince who was everything a kingdom could hope for—noble, strong, diplomatic. And yet, she could barely remember the color of his eyes.

Carlos, on the other hand... She could sketch the curve of his jaw from memory, trace the faint scar that cut through his brow with her fingertips. But he had never once looked at her as though she were anything more than his charge.

She turned away, unwilling to let the tears fall where they might be seen, even by the night.

“Your Highness,” his voice broke through the stillness, low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine.

She hadn’t heard him climb the stairs. “Carlos,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.

He stood in the doorway, his armor glinting faintly in the moonlight. “It’s late. You should rest.”

She laughed softly, bitterly. “Rest will not come easily tonight.”

He hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’ve...much to think about, I’m sure.”

Her heart twisted at his careful tone, the way he avoided her gaze. “Do you ever think about what it might be like to leave all of this behind?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos stepped closer, and for a moment, she thought he might say something—something that could shatter the fragile balance they had maintained for years. But instead, he bowed his head.

“My duty is here,” he said, his words as unyielding as the steel he wielded. “With you, always.”

And wasn’t that the cruelest part of all?

She turned back to the balcony, desperate to hide the tremble in her lips. His words echoed in her mind, a hollow comfort and a deeper torment. With you, always. But never in the way she longed for.

“Duty,” she murmured, tasting the bitterness of the word. “And what of desire, Carlos? Do you ever think of what you want?”

The question hung between them like a blade poised to strike. She didn’t expect him to answer; he never did. He was a master of restraint, trained to subdue his every impulse, his every want, for the sake of the kingdom.

But this time, he faltered.

“I have no right to want,” he said at last, his voice tight with something she couldn’t quite name.

She spun to face him, her heart pounding. The stoic knight who had stood at her side for years, unflinching, unyielding, looked...fractured. His jaw was clenched, his hands trembling at his sides, as though holding himself back from something he couldn’t afford to let loose.

“Everyone has the right to want,” she said, taking a step closer. Her voice was steadier now, emboldened by the crack in his armour. “Even you, Carlos.”

He shook his head, “It’s late, Your Highness,” he said, his voice cold again, the mask he wore sliding back into place. “You should go to bed.”

Her heart stuttered.

“I…” She swallowed, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. “Carlos, I—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his voice a little softer but still firm. “It’s been a long day. You need rest. Tomorrow, I’ll be here to take you to your wedding.”

The words stung, sharper than any blade. Your wedding.

Her chest tightened. She nodded, but it was a hollow motion, an empty gesture. “Of course,” she whispered, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “I will go to bed.”

Carlos didn’t move, didn’t speak, as she turned away, her steps heavy as she walked past him and into her chambers. His silence followed her like a shadow, and when the door clicked shut behind her, the walls seemed to close in.

She collapsed onto her bed, the weight of the night pressing down on her chest. The tears came then, hot and relentless, streaking down her face. She buried her face in the pillow, her sobs muffled by the soft fabric, but the pain was no less real. How many years had she spent in this prison of her own making? How many nights had she wondered if he felt the same? And now, she had the answer.

He had never loved her. Not like that.

The cruelest part was that she had always known it. He had always kept his distance, had always put up that invisible wall between them. But tonight—tonight, she had hoped for something different. A sign. A glimpse of what could be. But instead, he had pushed her away, as he always did. As he was bound to.

And tomorrow, she would marry a prince. Not Carlos.

The thought was suffocating.

She cried until the tears were spent, her body aching with grief. The room, the bed, the very air around her felt like a tomb. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, but sleep was fitful, filled with dreams of a life she would never have.

When the morning came, bright and cruel, she woke to the sound of birds outside the window. The sun was already rising, casting its light on a future she was powerless to change.

The day had come.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her chamber, staring at the reflection of the woman she was supposed to be. The dress—gold and white, sparkling like the dawn—felt like a weight, a gilded cage around her body. Her hair, braided intricately, was pinned perfectly in place, but her heart was a mess of tangled threads she couldn’t untangle. She had spent the last few hours preparing, her hands trembling with the knowledge of what was to come. The crown, the prince, the vows.

But as she looked into her own eyes, she saw only a woman who had never been allowed to choose her own fate.

Her father’s voice echoed from outside the door. “It’s time, my daughter.”

She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears.

When she stepped into the hall, the air seemed to thicken with the weight of expectation. The guests were already seated, whispering amongst themselves, all of them dressed in their finest clothes, their faces a blur of curiosity and anticipation. The music began to play softly, and her heart raced in response.

She could feel every eye on her as she made her way down the aisle, each step feeling heavier than the last. The golden carpet stretched out before her like a path to a life she had never wanted but had been told to accept. Her father’s arm was warm and steady at her side, but his grip felt more like a shackle than a reassurance.

And then, she saw him.

The prince stood at the altar, tall and regal in his embroidered cloak, his expression composed but his eyes glimmering with the excitement of their union. He was a handsome man, noble, with a smile that promised safety, security. But it was a smile she had never truly felt for.

The thought of marrying him—of giving herself over to someone who had always been a stranger to her—gnawed at her insides.

She caught sight of her people sitting in the pews, the nobles, the courtiers, their faces filled with eager expectation. The kingdom was relying on her. They all expected this—her duty to marry and secure the future of their land. And she had always known it was her responsibility, her burden, to uphold this legacy. But today, as she walked closer to the prince, closer to the altar, something inside her broke.

This wasn’t her life to choose. This was a life written for her before she had even taken her first breath.

Her heart pounded as she neared the altar. The prince’s eyes were fixed on her now, his smile widening. He reached out, eager to take her hand, to finalize the union that had been arranged for years. But something inside her snapped.

She looked to her father, his face a mask of pride and expectation. And then, she whispered—her voice trembling but resolute, despite the tears that threatened to spill.

“I can’t.”

The words were quiet, but the silence that followed felt deafening. Her father’s face faltered, the confusion and anger flashing in his eyes as the entire room fell into stunned silence.

“I can’t do this,” she said again, louder this time, her breath shaking. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Before anyone could stop her, she turned. Her gown swished in the air as she fled from the altar, her heart pounding with every step, every beat screaming to be free. The room erupted in chaos, gasps of shock and whispers of disbelief. Her father’s furious voice called after her, but she didn’t look back.

She ran down the aisle, past the stunned guests, toward the doors. The weight of their eyes was suffocating, but it wasn’t enough to make her stop.

But then, as she reached the doors, she heard it—the sound of footsteps, fast and urgent. A figure pushed through the crowd, his heavy armour clanking as he moved with determination.

Carlos.

Her breath hitched as he came to a stop in front of her, his face flushed with exertion but his eyes filled with something softer—something she hadn’t dared to hope for.

He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. The world had stopped, leaving only the two of them.

“Carlos,” she whispered, her heart thundering in her chest.

He looked at her, his gaze gentle but firm. “You’re not alone,” he said, his voice low, raw. “I’ll be here. Always.”

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she allowed herself to breathe, to feel something that was her own.

He reached out, taking her hand with a tenderness she hadn’t dared dream of.

“Come with me,” he urged quietly.

Without a second thought, she nodded, her heart finally free of the chains that had bound it for so long.

Carlos led her swiftly through the palace, his hand firm around hers as they moved with purpose. The chaos of the wedding behind them still echoed in the corridors, muffled voices and heavy footsteps trailing in their wake, but they were already a world apart.

He knew every hidden corner of the palace. Every secret passageway and forgotten alcove. He had trained here for years, had wandered these halls long before he had become her protector. Now, as he led her through a narrow, unlit hallway, his grip tightened, a silent promise that he would never let her go.

They reached a small, inconspicuous door at the end of the hall, tucked away in the shadow of a grand staircase. With a glance over his shoulder, Carlos pushed the door open, revealing a small room that had been untouched by the outside world for as long as either of them could remember.

The walls were lined with old tapestries, their colors faded with time, and the floor was covered in a thick rug. There were no windows—no light except for the soft glow of torches on the far wall. The air was thick with dust, but it felt safer than any grand chamber in the palace. Here, in this forgotten corner, they could be hidden from everything, from everyone.

He closed the door behind them, the click of the lock sounding final.

For a moment, they both stood in silence, catching their breath. She was still in her wedding gown, the fabric bunched around her legs, her chest rising and falling with each breath. His hands were still warm from the grip he had kept on her, his fingers now twitching with the need to touch her again.

Carlos took a step closer, the heat between them building. His eyes searched hers, full of questions, but also something deeper—something he had fought to conceal for years.

She swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. “What now?”

Carlos didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, his hand gently brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. His touch was hesitant, as if he were afraid she might vanish if he moved too quickly.

“I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “I didn’t mean to make you run. But I couldn’t let you do this, not when I knew you weren’t ready.”

Her heart skipped at the weight of his words. He knew her. Truly knew her.

“You should’ve let me go,” she whispered, her voice strained. “You should’ve stayed out of it. This is not our fight.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “It’s always been our fight, Your Highness. I’ve watched you—” His voice faltered as if the confession had come too suddenly. “I’ve watched you give everything for this kingdom, for your people, for your father. But it was never your choice, was it? Not once. And I couldn’t bear to watch you live a life you didn’t want.”

The words were like a dagger to her chest, but they were also freeing. For the first time in her life, someone saw her, truly saw her—beyond the princess, beyond the duty. He saw her heart.

“I don’t want to marry him,” she said, the words coming out with a rush of emotion she hadn’t allowed herself to feel until now. “I never did.”

Carlos stepped closer, his breath mingling with hers. “Then don’t. Not now. Not ever.”

She looked up at him, her chest tight with something she couldn’t name. “But what do we do now, Carlos? What’s left for us?”

He didn’t hesitate. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to spill from her eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. Whatever you need, I’ll be there. Always.”

And in that moment, everything that had been left unsaid, all the years of longing and silence, came crashing down.

Carlos leaned in, his lips brushing against hers for the briefest of moments, tentative, searching. She gasped, her heart racing as she finally let herself feel everything she had been holding back. She kissed him back, her hands moving up to his chest, tugging at the fabric of his tunic, desperate to feel him closer.

The kiss deepened, their bodies pressed against one another as though they were two halves of a whole, finally coming together. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him as his mouth claimed hers with a fierce urgency.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in short gasps as the heat between them intensified, the room spinning with a mixture of passion and desperation.

She had imagined this moment a thousand times—dreamed of it in the silence of her heart—but nothing had prepared her for the reality of it. The way his hands burned against her skin, the way his lips moved over hers with a hunger that matched her own.

Carlos pulled back for a moment, his forehead resting against hers, both of them gasping for air. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve always wanted this,” she confessed, her voice trembling.

And without another word, they kissed again, this time with a fierceness that spoke of all the years they had spent apart, of all the moments they had lost. In that hidden room, within the walls of the palace that had confined them both, they were finally free.

Just as their kiss deepened once more, a sharp, urgent knock at the door shattered the fragile moment between them. The sound echoed in the small room like a warning bell.

She pulled away immediately, her heart leaping into her throat as she scrambled to straighten herself. The panic rose within her, hot and suffocating. What if it was her father? What if the whole palace had come after her?

Carlos, too, immediately stepped back, his expression flickering between concern and irritation. He moved toward the door swiftly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though it wasn’t drawn. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and in that glance, there was no need for words. They both knew they were far from safe.

The knock came again, louder this time, followed by a low voice from the other side.

“Carlos? Open the door. It’s Lando.”

Her heart skipped. Lando—one of the knights she recognised from the court. He had always been polite, professional, and loyal to her family, but what was he doing here?

Carlos hesitated for only a moment before he reached for the latch and opened the door. Lando stood there, his expression tense, eyes scanning the room quickly. He wasn’t wearing his armor, but he was still dressed in the colors of the royal guard, his dark cloak billowing slightly behind him.

“Carlos,” Lando began, his voice low but urgent, “I’ve heard the rumors. Your princess...she’s gone?”

Carlos didn’t answer right away, his gaze still fixed on Lando, weighing the situation.

“Yes,” Carlos said, his voice steady but tinged with something like defiance. “She’s with me. No one else knows of this.”

Lando nodded, glancing quickly at her—still in her wedding gown, eyes wide with fear—and then back at Carlos.

“Good,” Lando said, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “I’m not here to make trouble. I’m here to get you both out.”

The words struck her like a bolt of lightning. “Get us out?” Her voice trembled, the reality of what that could mean slowly sinking in. “Where? How? They’ll come for us. The entire palace…”

Lando closed the door behind him with a soft thud, cutting off the room’s only escape from the chaos outside. He leaned against the door, his hands steady. “I have a plan. I know the back routes. I can get you on a train, to the border. The prince and your father will have no idea you’ve gone. But we need to move now, before they realise what’s happened.”

Carlos turned to her, his eyes dark with unspoken emotion, but this time there was no hesitation. He wasn’t waiting for her to choose anymore.

But she was frozen, her mind racing. The weight of everything was bearing down on her—her family, the kingdom, her future. She had run away from her wedding, run away from the life she had been promised. It wasn’t just a momentary flight of passion. This was real, and there would be no going back.

Her heart was torn between the life she had been forced into and the man standing in front of her. She had always known she was meant for something more, but this—this escape—felt so final. So dangerous.

The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing against her chest as she breathed in sharp, ragged breaths.

“I can’t... I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Carlos took a step toward her, his hand gentle on her arm. “You don’t have to decide now, but we don’t have time. They’ll find us, and they’ll make sure you marry him. You’ve already decided you can’t go through with that. So what are you going to do? Stay here, be forced into a life you never wanted?”

The words stung, but they were true. She had always been the dutiful daughter, the princess. She had always done what was expected. But this—this was hers.

She looked at Lando, then back at Carlos. The decision was there, right in front of her.

The chaos of the wedding, the pressure of her family’s expectations, the silence she had lived in for so long—it all came rushing to the surface. She didn’t have time to think anymore.

Fuck it.

The thought shot through her mind like a spark to kindling.

“Let’s go,” she said, her voice steady now, her decision final.

Carlos’ eyes softened, relief flooding through him. He reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You won’t regret this.”

“I already have,” she replied, a wild grin breaking across her face. “But this... this is my choice.”

Lando smiled, and with a quick nod, he moved toward the door. “We’ll need to move fast. You two better follow me.”

Carlos took her hand, guiding her toward the door, but before they stepped into the unknown, she paused for a moment.

“Carlos,” she whispered. He turned to her, his hand resting on her back. She looked at him with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. “Are you sure? Will you stay with me? I... I don’t want to be alone in this.”

Carlos stepped closer, his voice firm. “You’re not alone. I will always be here.”

And with that, they followed Lando through the dark corridors of the palace, the sound of their footsteps fading into the distance.

They were no longer bound by duty, by royal expectation, by anything but their own desire for freedom. And in that moment, they realised that together, they could forge a new path—one they chose.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby

[pedriache]

Moments 𖦹 Alexia Putellas !

summary. on your second christmas together, alexia can’t help but feel an overwhelming amount of love for you.

word count. 510+

disclaimers. fluff , wlw !!

bea speaks. merry xmas to those who celebrate!! if not, well just happy day! it’s actually xmas eve for me rn but i needed to post..

The snow was light in Barcelona, which you were grateful that there was even any—but the air had a wintery bite. Inside the warmth of your shared home, christmas lights sparkled throughout the room, casting soft glows of many colors over your faces and the walls. You sat beside Alexia, wrapping a few extra presents in a sea of colorful papers and ribbons.

Alexia had been quiet the whole night, her usual playful quips absent. You’d figured she was just tired and it’s not like you didn’t enjoy being in the silence with her, until it reached thirty minuted before midnight, and you could see her eyebrows pulling together the more she thought.

Finally putting the scissors aside, you nudge her knee. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

She glances up at you, her expression tender but distant. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am,” she answers softly.

Smiling at her, although her tone gave you slight pause, you tilt your head to the side questioningly. “Lucky how?”

“For you.” She murmured, her eyes flickering over your face.

“For this. For us.” She picked up a small ornament on the tub beside her, one that had your names written in sloppy glittered letters. It was pink, you’d picked it out last Christmas—a small memento to your first holiday spent together.

“I’d never thought i’d have peace like this in my life. I’d always been so focused on football—too focused. You know? Like I was afraid I’d get too in deep if I let someone in.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, but you nodded anyways. “And now?” You ask gently.

“Now I can’t imagine my life without you.” She admitted, her voice raw as she gave you a half-lipped smile. “I’m always afraid of losing this—you.”

Moving closer, your heart aching at her words, you take the ornament from her hands and set it aside. “Cariño, you’re not going to lose me,” You say as firmly as possible, cupping her face lightly. “I’m going to be around for every moment, every Christmas, and everything in between. I am not going anywhere.”

The blondes lips quirked into an actual smile then, her eyes glassy as she looked at you. “You have a way with words.”

“I do.” You grin, brushing a thumb over her cheek, “I’m here because I love you, every moment with you.. I cherish, even the quiet nights like tonight.”

Alexia leaned forward, resting her forehead against yours. “Seriously, how do you always know what to say?”

“Because I’m just as lucky as you are?” You quip, Pulling away to smirk at her.

With a small chuckle, Alexia wrapped her fingers around your wrists, tugging you closer to place her lips on yours.

The warmth of her lips spread across you, spreading through your chest like the lights from the tree. Pulling away ever so slightly, you whisper against her lips, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, mi amor.” She murmured right back, now only feeling warm and full of love for you.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future alexia posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @joaoflms @sakashq @h4vertzz @spidybaby

[jscrawls]

Grave mistakes

Gotham City is full of a lot of characters, criminals, creepy clowns, man eating plants, eccentric billionaires. But all that rolled into one household?

Warning: contains mentions of blood, violence, attempted kidnapping, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be freaky,

Part 6: cellblock tango

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The very last thing Bruce expected to be woken up early for was this, Alfred shaking him awake just to shove a too bright phone in his face while talking about something and jail, when his sleep heavy eyes finally peeled open and got an eyeful of what was on the phone he sat bolt upright.

“How'd you wind up in here, spooky.” one of the braver inmates sidles up beside you to speak, not getting close enough for the blood to rub off on his denim jacket of course.

“oh I just got into a little back and forth with a rather rude fellow, you know how it goes.”

Your casual response would be funny if you weren't locked in a holding cell with them covered in blood, the other people huddle at the furthest end from you, watching you cheerily converse with the spiky haired punk with alarmed expressions.

“…. Sure, it happens. Just curious….. Who'd you gank? Bet it was ugly if you're…looking like this.” The man keeps his distance even as he speaks, rubbing tattooed knuckles up and down the front of his torn dark colored jeans nervously despite his brave air.

“gank, what a funny word. No I'm in this lovely little place because a man was very unpleasant to this-”

“Mx Addams, you've got a visitor.” your mouth shuts with an audible clack of your teeth in the too-quiet holding cell when you're interrupted by a bored looking officer, the woman unlocks the metal barred door and gestures for you.

“Oh? I was under the impression I was staying here for the foreseeable future. Is it my roomies?” You're a bit disappointed to be pulled away from your new-new friend but alas, you have a visitor! Who cares if that doesn't make sense considering the due process and all that.

“I don't know your relation to him and I don't care, come this way.” the lady pushes her glasses up her nose and pulls out a set of handcuffs as soon as you get close, well it's clearly not your roommates if it's a him, maybe it's one of your delightful acquaintances.

You don't hear the multiple sighs of relief from in the cell as you're pulled down the hall.

The woman practically pushes you into a small room and shuts the door between you two, the walls are plain white and the flooring is just plain brown paneling, and it's rather cramped with the large table and three chairs taking up most of the space. Before you can start entertaining yourself the door opens behind you, your best friend Alfred is here!

“Oh hello my friend! I didn't realize you were in this jail too! Don't tell me you've finally snapped and sank into your darkest impulses, you sly thing you should tell me these things.”

“can you not right now.” Bruce huffs as he shuffles in behind Alfred and shuts the door, both men grimace at the sight of the dried blood caked on your body.

“Oh you're here too.” You say calmly while waving at Bruce with your still cuffed hands.

Bruce looks at you questioningly at the different treatment. “You don't sound surprised.”

“I knew you'd succumb to the darkness within your heart as soon as I'd met you.” you just shrug while stepping back to make room for the two men in the small space. They share a silent look and both move around you to sit at the table, at their expectant glances you quickly join them.

Alfred clears his throat loudly while resting his hands on the table. “…. So, care to share how you wound up in….. This predicament you've found yourself in?”

“What predicament.” Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose tightly when you say that, the man looks about ready to smack his head on the table. “You violently stabbed someone in the middle of a street.”

“Oh, that. That was just a little Tom foolery that got exciting. You should try it sometime my friends!”

“…just tell us what happened.”

“Fine, it all started when I took my roomies out on the town-” Alfred interrupts you quickly. “Who are your ‘roomies’?”

“My friends! I've named them cousin Looney and cousin venom, I don't think they want to be called Addams yet but we'll see how that goes. Now onto the tale-!”

🔹🔹🔹

“Hurry up the freakin markets gonna close!”

Harley loops her arm through Pamela's and yours and yanks you both down the sidewalk at a slightly too fast pace, the black fur coat she'd borrowed from you nearly falling off her shoulders when Pamela pulls her out of the way of a crosswalk pole.

“Calm your tits harl, watching you bounce around is giving me a migraine.” Pamela casually brushes her hand against a wilting tree in a sidewalk cage as you walk by it and makes it perk up and grow a few feet taller.

You glance over at the both of them with a big smile on your face. “I happen to enjoy migraines.”

Harley snorts at that while Pamela scowls at you and rolls her eyes. “Oh of course you do, you've got regular money right? You're not embarrassing me with that coin crap tonight.” Her voice is gruff, yet she still pulls you by pulling on Harley out of the way of a car getting too close to the edge of the sidewalk.

“Of course I do! You know I know this horrible little stand that sells vegetables we should go there first before-”

A scream further down the street cuts you off, looking around in confusion the three of you watch as the crowds all move in the opposite direction, clearly Gothamites know when to clear out.

“Sounds like someone's having a little problem.” Pamela pulls out a piece of gum and then hits the crosswalk sign with her elbow.

“We should go look!” “We should go watch the peril!” You and Harley nearly speak over each other, you say a quick apology while Pamela frowns at the both of you.

“Weren't you just complaining about time? We should go while the market crowds are clearing out, less foot traffic right now.”

Harley whips around to look at Pamela, jostling you a bunch since her arms still looped through yours. “babycakes.”

Pamela looks at her with narrowed eyes while starting to tug her across the street, popping her gum loudly. “Don't ‘babycakes’ me, I'm being the responsible once since you both can't do anything right.”

Another scream echoes down the dark street, this time much louder and more shrill. You and Harley share a conspiring look and you take the lead to start tugging your little monkey chain down the middle of the street while Harley holds onto Pamela tightly.

“Come on my demented dames! Just a little peek then we'll be on our way!” Your voice just makes Pamela's face screw up and she huffs loudly, Harley grins widely, accidentally smearing black lipstick on her teeth, not that she notices of course. “Yeah come on ives! We've been missin out on mischief for a while anywho.”

Pamela grunts angrily, yet allows you two to drag her down the dark and empty streets, no longer resisting but she's also not exactly enthusiastic about it either. “When we go home empty-handed I don't wanna hear one single peep of complaint.”

“Help! Someone help me!” The three of you pause in your tracks when a child runs down the street yelling, when they spot you they freeze in place for a second before quickly Glancing over their shoulder and then running over you your little group. Latching onto Harleys borrowed coat tightly.

“Woah there shortie! Watch the grubby paws!” Harley looks down at the kid in alarm, she pulls her arms away from yours and Pamela's to grab the kids shoulders.

“Ugh, kids. Let's go before they start crying on one of us.” Pamela tugs on one of Harleys pigtails, she glances over at you expecting to see your awkward ass backing off, but she's surprised when you squat down next to the kid to address them.

“Hello random screaming child!” you smile widely at the kid while they take a hesitant step back, they quickly look over their shoulder once again before turning and starting to speak quickly.

“you…. You people gotta help me! There's a weird man after me!”

“A weird man?” Harley joins you in squatting down to talk to the kid, Pamela scowls and crosses her arms. “We don't have time for this.”

Harley quickly turns her head to pout up at her. “Red that's cruel, sounds like the shorties in some kinda trouble!”

You look back at the kid and smile at them again. “Ignore them, I happen to love trouble! Why don't you tell me what's going on?”

The kid scuffs their shoe on the street nervously, but before they could reply a new figure runs up to the group.

“Finally, there you are!” When the person, a guy with baggy clothes and shaggy brown hair runs up to you, the kid shoves behind you and clings to your clothing tightly. “That's the weird man!”

“I'm not a weirdo! Sorry about my niece, she likes throwing tantrums and running out of the house. Sorry for the inconvenience…” the guy steps closer while gesturing at the kid with one hand, the other hand shoved in his baggy sweatshirt pocket.

“He's lying! I don't know him at all! He said he knew my mom and grabbed me, and when I tried to pull away he hit me!” The kid points to their face while Harley leans down to look at the mark, Pamela's eyes narrow at the man while you stand up.

“You're a kid smacker eh?” Harley looks at the man with a frown while stepping in front of the kid to block them from view, the man looks nervously between the three of you before backing up a few steps.

“You're taking their word over an adults? Come on…I just need to get them home to my sister since it's so late….”

“You're not my uncle!”

Pamela sighs and glares at the man tiredly.

“You, tell me this kids name right now if you're related to them.” She then leans down to the kid, her voice low. “Whisper your name to me squirt.”

The kid hurriedly leans over and cups their hands around their mouth while you and Harley watch, Harley keeps glancing at the guy with an angry expression on her face.

The guy starts backing away more, the fact that he isn't answering says enough.

“I….. She could just tell you a random name anyways…. She's just being a brat, I swear!….”

“Like anyone's buying that!” Harley starts to stomp over to the guy while you and Pamela quickly follow her, the man suddenly pulls his hand out of his pocket and brandishes a hunting knife at the three of you.

“Back off freaks! I'll gut all of you!”

Pamela just looks at the man with disgust while raising a hand and gesturing at one of the nearby shrubs, Harley pulls a regular hammer out of her pocket and squares up, and you?

“I have one of those too!” You excitedly pull your own dagger out of one of your long sleeves, how was it up there? Who knows!

🔹🔹🔹

“Hang on a second, hang on.”

Bruce interrupts you rather rudely, both men are leaning into the table with there elbows rested in it, wearing matching disturbed expressions after you've mostly recounted last night's events.

“You're saying you beat up and stabbed a man who was kidnapping a child?”

You nod quickly, casually picking at the dried blood flakes under your nails while staring at the two men. “That's right, normally I'm all about a little consensual stabbing between friends but this man wasn't my friend.”

Alfred just shakes his head and tilts his head up to look at the ceiling exasperatedly, the older man grumbling curses under his breath. Bruce just crosses his arms with an unreadable expression on his face as he studies you.

“…I don't even-you're already trending in Twitter for this, and you're not even being sentenced yet…”

You give both men a confused look. “I'm on Twitter?”

“Mhmm, look at this…” asked pulls his phone out and shows you a screenshot, it looks like a still of a video taken from someone's window of the incident, the title reads ‘angry gays and a Goth attack PDF file in the road, #onlyingotham’

You stare at The phone for a long moment but looking back at them and shrugging your shoulders, gesturing with your still-cuffed hands at yourself.

“Nothing to be done about that, yeah? Looks like I'm stuck in this lovely little place for the foreseeable future, I just hope cousin Looney and cousin venom remember to check the mail and feed the swamp creatures for me.”

Just then the door to the interrogation room opens, the same bored looking woman from before sticks her head in to address you.

“Addams, you're out on bail.”

“What!?” The three people sitting say at the same time, Bruce and Alfred sound surprised and you sound upset.

“How on earth did that happen so fast?”

“The kid you saved’s mother set up a GoFundMe for you and then some old hag came and paid off the majority.” the woman shrugs and walks over to you and starts to undo your cuffs, you can't even be too disappointed at your newfound freedom because there's only one old hag that it could be.

“Oh! Grandmamas here!”

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A/n: this was heavily inspired by this one harlivy comic panel I saw floating around years ago, reader gets into some legal trouble! 😵‍💫

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