#THE ANGSTIER THE BETTER

[thatgirlwithasquid]

time loop fics time loop fics time travel fics right person wrong time right person not enough time time travel time loop time loop time loop gnashing my teeth and slamming my fists down on the non-present counter sending my love to every fanfic author who writes these tropes because you literally fuel my existence there would be a big hollow nothingness in my heart without these i would die for them again and again and again and again and—

[wearejericho]

//hi i'm in the ER please send memes

[throwmethroughawindow]

God I love angst

This is so good and cuts really deep

Whiskey and Wishful Thinking

-- unrequited love and misplaced desires

Logan/Wolverine x Reader 6.2kw(😵‍💫)

a/n: this idea has been in my head for a while now and i didn’t really edit —

TW: 18+ MDNI AFAB!Reader, alcohol abuse/intoxication, sexual content (explicit), Emotional manipulation, unrequited love, mild violence (Logan crashing into things), infidelity (emotional), sexual encounter under the influence, emotional distress/angst, mild language, p in v

—

The quiet whirring of the air conditioner filled the cavernous space of the library, its cool breeze a stark contrast to the sweltering August heat outside. You circled the poster board laid out on the worn wooden table in front of you, your fingertips ghosting over the glossy photos and carefully cut-out newspaper clippings. Your chin rested on your hand as you examined the display closely, brow furrowed in concentration.

The new semester at Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was starting in a week, and you were determined to be prepared. This wasn't just about having a visually engaging classroom; it was about proving yourself. Your second year as a teacher here was right around the corner, and you still had people to impress—or maybe overshadow. The pressure to live up to the legacy of the school's illustrious faculty weighed heavily on your shoulders.

You were in the middle of rearranging a faded photo of Richard Nixon next to a more vibrant one of Mystique—a stark visual representation of the complex history you were trying to convey—when something caught your eye. A small tear in the corner of the Mystique photo made you frown. It was barely noticeable, but you knew it was there. Much like the small imperfections in your own mutation that you tried so hard to hide.

As you reached for the tape to add more photos, a thunderous crash erupted from the direction of the front door, reverberating off the mahogany bookshelves and causing the chandeliers to tinkle ominously. You startled, your elbow catching the edge of the poster board and sending a cascade of photos fluttering to the floor like autumn leaves.

"Dammit," you muttered under your breath, dropping to your knees to gather the scattered images. Each one represented hours of research and careful curation. There was Erik Lehnsherr in his prime, Charles Xavier before the wheelchair, headlines about the Mutant Registration Act—pieces of a puzzle you were trying to fit together for your students.

As you collected the last of the photos, another crash followed, accompanied by a string of muffled colorful curses that could only belong to one person: Logan.

You rose to your feet, brushing dust from your knees and straightening your top. A part of you wanted to ignore the disturbance and return to your work. After all, you weren't one of the X-Men, just a history teacher trying to make a difference in your own small way. But another part, the part that had brought you to this school in the first place, urged you to investigate.

With a last, longing look at your unfinished project, you began to walk down the corridor, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. The warm wood paneling and lush carpets couldn't quite muffle Logan's gruff voice, slurred and aggravated.

"Who the hell locked the damn door?" he growled loud enough to be heard through the mahogany, followed by another thud that sounded suspiciously like a body hitting solid wood.

You rounded the corner just in time to hear Logan slam against the door again. Sighing, you approached, your hand hovering over the ornate brass doorknob.

"Logan?" you called out, trying to keep your voice steady. "The door's always locked after midnight. You know that."

There was a moment of silence, then a muffled grunt. "Oh. Right." You heard him fumbling on the other side, likely searching for keys he didn't have. "Must've... must've forgot."

You leaned closer to the door, lowering your voice. "Did you lose your keys again?"

"Didn't lose 'em," Logan grumbled, his words slurring together. "Just... misplaced 'em. Temporarily."

Rolling your eyes, you turned the lock. "I'm letting you in. But please, try to keep it down. Some of us are trying to work."

As you swung the heavy door open, the full impact of Logan's state hit you like a wave. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, more disheveled than you'd ever seen him.

His usually wild hair was a mess, matted in places as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. His leather jacket was askew, one sleeve pushed up to the elbow while the other hung loosely at his wrist. The strong scent of whiskey wafted from him, mixed with something earthier – had he been in the woods?

His eyes, usually sharp and alert, were unfocused as they landed on you. For a moment, they seemed to look through you rather than at you.

"Work?" he scoffed, stumbling slightly as he entered. "It's summer, kid. Live a little."

The irony of his statement, given his current condition, wasn't lost on you. But as he brushed past, the scent of alcohol growing stronger, you couldn't help but wonder what had driven him to drink so heavily tonight. Logan had his demons, sure, but this seemed excessive even for him.

"Logan," you said softly, reaching out to steady him as he swayed. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He paused, turning to look at you. For a brief moment, his tough exterior seemed to crack, revealing a glimpse of raw pain underneath. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual gruff demeanor.

"I'm fine," Logan grunted, his voice rough as gravel. He shrugged off your hand with a forceful jerk that nearly threw him off balance. "Just need to sleep it off."

As he stumbled towards the stairs, you stood frozen in the foyer, a war of emotions raging within you. Frustration at the interruption of your work battled with genuine concern for your colleague. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, each thud against the hardwood punctuated by a slight scuff - clear signs of his unsteady gait.

BAM

The sound reverberated through your chest, jolting you into action. "Oh my- Logan!" The twisting knot in your stomach unraveled, replaced by a surge of adrenaline as you found yourself on your knees beside the fallen giant. The polished wood floor was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Logan's body.

"Are you okay?!" Your voice came out higher than intended, tinged with worry. You gently turned his body, your hands careful but insistent. Logan's face came into view, his rugged features slack, eyes roving aimlessly. They passed over your face without a flicker of recognition, unfocused and glassy.

"Clearly not," you muttered, answering your own question. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, worry and frustration mingling in equal measure. You patted his stubbled cheek, the coarse hair rough against your fingers. The familiar texture grounded you, a tactile reminder of the man beneath this drunken exterior.

"Come on, you big lug." Your fingers curled around his jacket collar, the worn leather an old friend under your grip. You could smell the years of use on it – a mixture of tobacco, whiskey, and that indescribable scent that was purely Logan. You tugged, your muscles straining against his dead weight. It was like trying to move a mountain, and you felt a bead of sweat trickle down your back with the effort. "I can't get you up those stairs, but we can try to find something else."

Logan stirred under your hands, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest. You could feel the vibration of it through your palms, like the purr of some great, dangerous cat. Keeping a steadying hand on his arm, you helped as he struggled to his feet. His muscles were taut under your touch, coiled with a strength that, even in his inebriated state, was intimidating.

The scent of whiskey hung heavy in the air around you both, an almost visible miasma. It mingled with the earthy smell of his leather jacket and something so distinctly Logan – a heady mix of cigar smoke and pine that usually brought a sense of comfort and safety. Now, it just emphasized the bitter truth that in trying to distance himself from his pain, Logan had simultaneously distanced himself from the man you once knew.

He was mumbling, disconnected words tumbling from his lips like scattered puzzle pieces. You caught fragments – "Jean" and "Summers" among them – each name landing like a small stone in the pit of your stomach. But you weren't really trying to piece it together, not now. Your mind was already racing ahead, calculating the logistics of moving him, wondering if you could manage to get him to the nearby study with its comfortable couch. And, if you were being honest with yourself, a small part of you was wondering how soon you could get him out of your sight and return to the normalcy of your work.

You watched, as if in slow motion, as Logan threw a heavy arm around you. The sudden shift in weight knocked you off balance, causing your body to shove even closer to Logan's as you struggled to support his swaying form.

You closed your eyes, trying to distract itself with thoughts of your discarded project in the library. You tried to reimagine your pre-arranged photos and timelines, hearing them calling to you like a siren song of productivity and purpose. But it was hard to focus on that, not with the heat radiating off of Logan's body making your skin feel like it was sizzling, every point of contact between you a livewire of sensation.

You could feel every hard plane of his body pressed against you, the heat of him searing through your clothes. The closeness was both thrilling and terrifying, and you quickly shook your head, pushing the confusing thoughts away. Right now, Logan needed a friend, whether he (or you) realized it or not.

"Alright, big guy," you said, your voice sounding strained even to your own ears as you adjusted your grip on his arm. Your fingers dug into the solid muscle there, seeking purchase. "Let's get you somewhere you can lay down before you fall again and cause some damage." You began to guide him, every step a careful negotiation between his unsteady feet and your determined support. It was like trying to direct a landslide – Logan's bulk and uncoordinated movements making each step a precarious balancing act.

"I-I'm fine," he slurred, his words thick and syrupy. His head bobbed with each trudging step, reminding you of those drinking bird toys. "Jus' needed a break." The words were punctuated by a hiccup that shook his whole frame, and by extension, yours.

"A break from what?" You grunted, the words coming out breathless as you strained to keep him walking in something resembling a straight line. The carpet runner in the hallway bunched under your feet with each step, creating small obstacles you had to navigate around. "It's the last week of summer."

The reminder seemed to hit Logan like a physical blow. He let out a loud groan, the sound rumbling through his chest and into yours where you were pressed against him. Suddenly, his body went limp, all semblance of cooperation vanishing in an instant. He stumbled again, but this time, anchored to you as he was, he dragged you with him.

"No, no Logan," you gasped, your muscles screaming as you struggled to keep both of you upright. Your feet scrambled for purchase on the polished wood floor, sliding dangerously. For a heart-stopping moment, you thought you were both going down, but somehow – through sheer determination or dumb luck – you managed to keep moving.

With a final, herculean effort, you maneuvered Logan's bulk towards the library. The giant sofa loomed before you like an oasis in a desert, promising relief from your burden. And of course, because the universe seemed to have a twisted sense of humor tonight, it was right next to your craft table. The carefully arranged materials – your planned escape from this chaos – now stood as silent witnesses to your struggle.

As you finally deposited Logan onto the couch, the leather creaking under his weight, you couldn't help but wonder how this night had spiraled so far from your quiet plans. The Logan-shaped imprint of heat on your body slowly began to fade, leaving you feeling oddly bereft despite your earlier desire to be free of him. You stood there, catching your breath, watching the rise and fall of Logan's chest as he settled into the couch, already half-asleep.

As you finally deposited Logan onto the couch, the aged leather creaked in protest under his substantial weight. You couldn't help but marvel at how drastically this night had veered from your meticulously laid plans. The Logan-shaped imprint of heat on your body slowly began to fade, leaving behind a peculiar sense of absence. It was a feeling that caught you off guard, considering your earlier desperation to be free of his burdensome presence.

For a moment, you stood there, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Your eyes traced the rise and fall of Logan's broad chest as he settled into the couch, his features already softening with the onset of sleep. The furrows in his brow, usually so pronounced, began to smooth out, giving him an almost peaceful appearance that seemed at odds with the tumultuous events of the night.

Shaking your head, you turned back to your project, eager to lose yourself in the familiar comfort of organization and creativity. Each piece fell into place with a satisfying click, the world narrowing down to the careful arrangement of photos and timelines. Time seemed to slip away as you worked, the rhythmic sound of Logan's breathing fading into white noise.

Despite the rhythmic process you had created, your mind managed to stray to the man beside you. Logan's presence, even in his unconscious state, was impossible to ignore. Your eyes drifted from your work to his sleeping form, tracing the rugged lines of his face that you'd memorized long ago.

A familiar ache bloomed in your chest, a bittersweet mixture of longing and resignation. How many days and nights had you spent like this, stealing glances at Logan when he wasn't aware, allowing yourself to imagine a reality where his eyes would light up at the sight of you? But that was a fantasy, and you knew it.

Your fingers absently toyed with a photo of Jean Grey that had fallen from your timeline. Even in this candid shot, her beauty was undeniable. Logan's voice, slurred with alcohol, echoed in your mind: "Jean." Of course, it always came back to Jean.

You couldn't blame him, not really. Jean was everything - brilliant, powerful, compassionate. And you? You were just... you. The history teacher who helped patch him up after missions, who listened to his rare moments of vulnerability, who silently loved him from afar.

A soft murmur from the couch drew your attention. Logan's face had contorted, his lips moving soundlessly. Was he dreaming of her even now? The thought sent a pang through your heart.

"She's with Scott, Logan." You shook your head.

The words tasted bitter on your tongue. Because that was the cruel irony, wasn't it? Jean was utterly devoted to Scott Summers. Her love for him was as clear as day to everyone - everyone except Logan. He clung to hope like a drowning man to driftwood, blind to the fact that Jean's heart belonged to another. Just as he was blind to your feelings for him.

You turned back to your work, trying to lose yourself once more in the familiar task. But your eyes kept drifting to the leather jacket draped over a nearby chair - Logan's jacket. How many times had you imagined him placing it around your shoulders on a cold night? How many times had you dreamed of being the one he looked at with that intensity, that raw need?

But those were just dreams. Reality was this: Logan, passed out on the couch beside you, murmuring another woman's name in his sleep. A woman who would never return his feelings. And you, silently loving a man who would never see you as anything more than a friend.

The spell was abruptly broken by a loud, guttural grunt from the couch. Startled, you whirled around, your heart leaping into your throat. Logan's peaceful demeanor had vanished, replaced by a mask of distress. His forehead was creased, beads of sweat forming at his hairline. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling as if grasping for something just out of reach.

The realization hit you like a splash of cold water: he was having a nightmare.

Pushing your chair into the table with a soft scrape, you rose to your feet. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as you approached Logan. Years of living in a school full of mutants with varying degrees of control had taught you the value of caution, especially when dealing with someone as potentially dangerous as Logan in a vulnerable state.

You positioned yourself at the head of the couch, carefully staying out of range of his arms - and more importantly, his claws. Your eyes flicked nervously to his hands, half-expecting to see the glint of adamantium at any moment. Swallowing hard, you steeled yourself and reached out, your hand hovering uncertain over his forehead.

For a heartbeat, you hesitated. The man before you was a far cry from the intimidating, gruff Logan you knew. In sleep, trapped in the throes of a nightmare, he looked almost... vulnerable. It was a side of him you'd never seen, never even imagined existed.

Taking a deep breath, you gently placed your fingertips on his temple. The skin there was hot to the touch, almost feverish. You could feel the rapid pulse of his temporal artery beneath your fingers, a testament to the intensity of whatever visions were plaguing him.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet of the library. "It's okay. You're safe." He let out a soft moan. Your fingers comb through his unruly hair, something you had never dared to do before. His usual gruffness is stripped away, and what remains is raw, untethered vulnerability—both his and yours.

His breath is uneven as he shifts under your touch, but your movements remain steady, soothing him. The weight of unspoken feelings that have built up over the years presses down on you. The sight of Logan up close so troubled and lost pulls at your heartstrings in a way you can’t ignore anymore.

"Logan," you whisper again, this time more firmly, urging him back to reality. His eyes flutter open, hazy and disoriented. For a moment, they lock onto yours. There's no Jean, no Scott, no X-Men—just the two of you in this quiet, dimly lit room, the air thick with unspoken tension.

His hand moves up to catch yours as it rests on his hair, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the strength behind it. "Why... why are you here?" he mumbles, voice still hoarse and thick with sleep, but there’s something else beneath the surface.

"I'm here because you needed me," you reply softly, the words feeling far too loaded but still true. The tension in his grip tightens, and for a split second, you wonder if you're imagining the way his eyes darken, the hint of desperation and something else swirling within them.

"Don't you have someone else to take care of? I'm not worth the trouble..." His words are a mixture of bitterness and regret, and it cuts deep. You shake your head slowly, heart pounding in your chest.

"You are worth it, Logan," you whisper, barely able to believe the words have left your mouth. Maybe it’s the weight of the years you’ve spent suppressing your feelings, or the heavy air filled with alcohol and desperation, but something shifts between you two in that moment.

Without thinking, Logan sits up, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you closer to sit beside him, bodies pressed together. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, your body leaning against his, faces only inches apart. His breath is warm and carries the sharp, smoky scent of whiskey, but beneath it lingers something else—something raw, unspoken, and heavy between you. The proximity feels electric, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface.

For a split second, neither of you moves. You can feel the thrum of Logan’s pulse where his chest presses against yours, and his eyes, dark and stormy, search your face for something—maybe reassurance, maybe an answer to a question neither of you has dared to ask aloud. The weight of unrequited love hangs between you, an invisible thread that pulls you closer even as you hesitate. You've both been running from this, denying it, but now it feels inevitable.

Logan's hand lingers on your arm, his rough fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine. His jaw clenches, and you can see the battle raging inside him, the unspoken words on his lips threatening to spill out. "I—" he starts, his voice rough and hesitant, like he's about to confess something too heavy to bear, but you don’t let him finish. You can't, not when you're both teetering on this razor's edge.

You lean in and kiss him, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative press. For a heartbeat, Logan freezes, his body going rigid with surprise, but then something in him snaps. His right hand snakes down your left side pulling you even closer, as his other hand cups the back of your neck, and he pulls you deeper into the kiss, his lips urgent, almost desperate. It's not gentle—it’s raw, filled with the intensity of everything he's never said. The kiss is a release of all the years spent pining for someone else, all the nights spent wishing for what he could never have.

You know this isn’t love, not the kind either of you have been hoping for. It’s about filling the hollow space left by the people who’ll never look at you the way you want them to. You’re both seeking something that’s just out of reach, using each other to drown out the ache of unrequited love that’s settled deep in your bones. Jean's name might as well be carved into the air between you, but tonight, that pain is dulled, replaced by the heat and urgency of the moment.

His grip on you tightens as the kiss deepens, a silent understanding passing between you. This isn’t about forever. It’s about right now—two people grasping for something real, even if it’s fleeting, even if it doesn’t fill the spaces you need it to. You know that come morning, things will be different, but for now, you both allow yourselves this escape.

Logan’s tongue licks tentatively at your lips, you give him the permission he’s silently seeking as your lips part. You feel lightheaded as his tongue slides into your mouth, and your groin feels hot as Logan lets out the filthiest groan into your mouth.

You let out a soft whine as you grab at his shirt, his muscles hot and firm under the fabric. As Logan continues to indulge in the taste of you, fingers trail down the front of his shirt all the way to and under the hem. Your fingers lightly drag across the thin sliver of skin and you feel Logan’s hip twitch, and he pulls away sighing lightly into your mouth.

He adorned the sexiest look on his smug face. Granted he still looked inebriated but this time instead of being drunk on whiskey.. he was drunk on you. Mother of all that is good and well, you know you should say something, be reasonable, smart, but dammit if there’s one thing you will stick by it’s that you will always help a friend in need…

You bring him close, hands clasping behind his neck and pulling him in as you swing your leg over his lap straddling him. His hands immediately meet the small of your back, and he leans in to kiss you again pulling you flush to his chest.

Now its your turn to take control in the kiss, Logan pliant as you lap at his mouth. He lets you think your in charge until he takes you by surprise and uses one hand to grab the hair at the back of your head. You lose your rhythm for a second and he takes the opportunity to push his tongue along yours, saliva pooling in your mouths and melting in the middle. He begins to suck on the slick pink muscle and you give in.

Whatever ounce of worry, hesitation, anxiety, any reservation whatsoever you could have had left your body and you gave in to desire. That bitch, that deliciously sinful demon had got her way as the muscles in your legs gave in and you relax onto Logans lap. He continues to slurp at your mouth, and you mewl. Never in your life had anyone done this to you before. Not only was it filthy, it was incredibly hot.

The heat in your groin burned your insides leaving you with an ache you needed to relieve. Your hips buck reflexively as you feel a wetness pool on the fabric of your underwear. You let a moan slip out of your mouth, and Logan let out a deep and throaty chuckle. His fingers go back beneath the waistline of your pants, fingers gripping the flesh of your hips and grinding you down against his pelvis.

You threw your head into the crook of Logan’s neck as he began to buck his hips into yours at a steady rhythm. His fingers digging harder into your skin, as he applied more pressure. You could feel the thin fabrics of your underwear and sleep shorts soak the more you rubbed against Logan. You began to gyrate your hips in tighter circles.

“Ah, fuck.” You breathed out as you pressed your forehead to the brute of a man beneath you. “Logan, Logan, come on, stop teasing.” You panted between breaths. Logan shifted a bit beneath you causing your neglected clit to get caught during your motions. Your head lolled to the side and then back as a whimper turned into a full cry of frustration. God, you wanted this pain, this ache you were feeling to go away and you’d do anything to make it stop.

Logan’s grip tightened on your hips, as he stilled your body for a second.

“What the fuck,” You hissed, trying to slide your wet heat on Logans definite show-er and grower but the man loved to tease. Logan continued to hold your hips and you began to grow frustrated. The feeling of his smirk against your neck causing tears to come to your eyes.

“Logan, please.” You whimpered, your voice shaking. You feel him freeze and you mentally shoot yourself in the foot— You didn’t want this to be a thing with emotions, it was bad enough that the first time you’re having sex with the man you’ve loved for five years is as a one night fling. You didn’t want to have to think about the emotional repercussions before having what you’re pretty sure is going to be the best orgasm of your life.

In a moment of panic, and wanting to shift the focus you lean forward, and your hands find the button of Logan’s pants. You unbuckle the belt, and he peppers kisses along your shoulders, your fingers fumble with the button, and he noses your jaw, you slide down the zipper and he pecks your neck. All of a sudden the intimacy becomes too much so you trail your hands at the band of his underwear and you begin to pull the fabric down. Coarse hair grazes your fingers, and before you can stop yourself your hand runs up his stomach, and down back to his groin— his breath shudders against the nape of your neck as he begins to nip at your skin.

Before you can fully expose the man he grabs your hand and puts it on his shoulder as if saying to let him do the work. You obey and lift your hips to give him space. Next thing you know your being guided back close to him, hovering over his groin.

While you hadn’t seen his dick fully yet, you knew the mutant was big. You could tell regardless of the scenario. The way he walks, the way he sits— legs spread so wide it’s like he’s constantly inviting you to kneel between them. Missing the opportunity this time didn’t make you think any different though, this man was massive. The heat within your body was already painful enough, but now the heat you feel outside your cunt was unbearable.

Your right hand slid between your bodies as you reached for Logan's thick dick. He let out a low growl as your fingers wrapped around his shaft. Logan's fingers reached for the fabric between your thighs, moving the soaked cloth to the side urging you to put his cock inside.

You guide the tip to your entrance and you can feel your cunt clench around nothing in anticipation. You feel heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment, but the aggression in Logan’s breathing gives you relief that you’re not the only one desperate. But for who it was is a different story.

Logan got impatient and lifted his hips to push the tip past, and your mouth fell open as a silent moan possessed your body. God, you were right. He was so thick, the stretch was borderline unbearable but before you could fully adjust Logan began to thrust up even further. His dick going so deep, the tip hit the spongy part.

He let out a strangled grunt as he held your hips down, and you squirmed.

“You needa stop that.” He barked, as he rolled his head back against the couch rest, trying to control himself as he felt your hole clench around him.

“I’m sorry,” You sob, trying to adjust but the pain and pleasure were too overwhelming you could feel yourself losing focus.

“I just–” He shushes you by cradling you against his shoulder, arms enveloping you in a tight hug, and just when you think you’ve calmed down he devours you like you’re his last meal. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you from his lap before he brings you down and he thrusts up.

A sob escapes your lips as his hips fire off like a pistol, thrusting in and out, brutal but so worth it as your desires are finally being satiated. He’s holding onto you like if he let go you’d float away. A string of curses fill the air as he continues to pump into you.

“Fuck, fuck, Logan.” You mumble, words slowly leaving your mouth.

“Awe,” Logan tuts as his hips fall into a normal pace, his hand coming to caress the back of your hair. “Don’t tell me this pussy is lightweight, we’ve only just started and you’re already acting like this?” You don’t respond, and instead let out soft moans as he continues to fuck into your abused cunt. Logan uses the opportunity to pull you back by your hair (again) to examine your face. It’s flushed red, glowing with perspiration, your chest panting as you try to catch your breath.

“No baby that won’t do.” He caresses the hair out of your face and nuzzles his face against yours. His facial hair prickling your skin. He places a kiss on your forehead before he pounds into you faster, deeper than before. You can barely keep your eyes open and all the sounds that leave your lips are just pathetic little whimpers and sobs.

"M'close." He grunts and you can't help but agree. "You gonna come, sweetheart?" You can't find the words and nod, pliant like a ragdoll in his arms. He groans.

"C'mon. You can do better than that, can't ya? Tell me."

"Fuck yes," you pant, your voice barely audible between gasps. You writhe beneath him, desperate for something to anchor yourself to, but with his hands pinning your wrists, the only thing you manage to grab is the rough hair on his lower abdomen, the friction of it grounding you as much as the heat and slap of his body. "Please… don’t stop."

His grip tightens on your wrists, the pressure pushing you to the edge as he moves faster, his breath hot against your skin. Each thrust sends a jolt through your body, every nerve alight with anticipation and need.

"That's it," he growls, voice thick with control as he watches you fall apart beneath him. "Let go."

You can feel it building, the tension coiling in your core, and with one final snap of his hips, you shatter—your body arching, toes curling, a strangled cry escaping your lips. The world blurs, everything outside this moment fading as you hit your peak, wave after wave crashing over you.

But even through the haze, you feel him reaching his own release. His pace becomes erratic, his muscles tensing, and as he finally falls over the edge, his body tight against yours, he groans—a low, guttural sound—before the name slips out.

"Jean—"

The word cuts through the air like a knife, your euphoria draining in an instant, replaced by a sharp, hollow ache in your chest.

Your heart plummets, and the warmth of his body that moments ago felt so consuming now feels like ice against your skin. The name he whispered isn’t yours. It echoes in your head, louder than the pounding of your pulse, louder than the ragged breaths you're both still catching. You feel like you’ve been struck, yet somehow, you’re not surprised. You always knew this wasn’t really about you. But it doesn’t stop the ache spreading through your chest.

You close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat as the reality of it all comes crashing down. This was always going to hurt.

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. The weight of the moment lingers, heavy and unbearable. His body relaxes, but the guilt etched into his expression is unmistakable, and you can feel the shift in the air. The intimacy that just moments ago had been raw and consuming has evaporated, leaving behind only an awkward silence and a sense of regret so thick it’s suffocating.

You disentangle yourself from him slowly, the warmth of his skin now foreign, a reminder of what you never really had. You sit up, your body still trembling, trying to piece together your scattered thoughts. The room feels stifling now, every breath you take thick with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Logan’s eyes open, still clouded with the haze of pleasure, but they widen when he realizes what he’s done—what he’s said. Panic flashes across his face, but it’s too late. You’ve heard it, and you can’t unhear it.

“Shit…” he mutters under his breath, his hand reaching out as if to apologize, but you’re already pulling away, slipping out of his grasp like sand between his fingers.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, though the crack in it betrays you. You force yourself to keep moving, pulling your clothes back into place, each motion slow and deliberate, as if trying to hold yourself together with every button and clasp.

He doesn’t say anything, and for once, you’re grateful. You don’t want to hear an apology, you don’t want to hear him stumble over words of regret. You don’t want to hear him say her name again.

You stand up, back turned to him, your chest heaving not from passion, but from the pain you can’t quite swallow down. Your hands are shaking as you adjust your clothes, but you refuse to let him see it. You knew this was a mistake. You knew this wasn’t love.

“This was never meant to fix anything,” you finally say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I was just… trying to help.” The words taste bitter, but they’re true. You’d gotten caught up, you’d let yourself believe—if only for a moment—that maybe it could be more. But it never was.

Logan sits up, running a hand through his hair, looking at you with something that could almost be remorse. But it doesn’t matter anymore. He made his choice long before tonight.

With one last glance over your shoulder, you meet his gaze. His eyes are still shadowed by the weight of his unrequited love, and you can see it all too clearly now. You were never the one he needed. You never stood a chance.

“I’ll be fine,” you lie, turning back to the door, your footsteps heavy as you leave the room, abandoning the project you had started earlier that night, each step pulling you farther away from the moment that should’ve never happened.

But even as you walk away, you can’t shake the feeling that for a second, despite knowing better, you let yourself believe it was real.

———

a/n: i thrive off of feedback and criticism.

[violetc4ts]

Ah yes, the Core Four moments made the first books worth reading. I'll probably eventually read the 3rd and 4th books, just not immediately. And oh, that 4th book sounds like it'll hit me in the stomach too. It's been 10 years since I graduated high school, but only a year and a half since I graduated University and I'm still feeling It, that feeling of "where do I go from here?".

What are your other favorite books and movies? (List as many or as few as you want.)

- Secret Santa

yes exactly.

when it comes to books i tend to mostly read like, really sad, heartwrenching books that make me feel numb for days. like a breath too late by rocky callen. but also wlw books like the seven husbands of evelyn hugo & girl serpent thorn. it's a 50/50 split

as for movies, all of the hunger games movies are my favourite, as well as andrew garfields spiderman. also anastasia. i can and will suggest those movies any chance i get lmao

[yuri-is-online]

It's Not Going Away (First Years x Yuu)

The subtle, sweet scent of flowers shakes you gently awake, but to your surprise you lack the strength to move. It's like your entire body is made of lead and your throat is filled with sand. A vague memory of telling Grim you didn't feel well before... well you thought you were just taking a nap, but there's person holding your hand who would never speak to you like this if he knew you could soon wake up.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, angst brought by denial, technically sick fic? Inspired by the op to Horimiya, which can be listened to here (x). References for flower language were taken from here and here. If you like this feel free to check out my masterlist for more fic.

Rose, Great Maiden's Blush

"Seriously, what am I going to do with you?" The voice belongs to Ace, you'd recognize him anywhere, but it's strangely strained. If you had the strength to move you would slap him, but then you would need to let go of his hand. It's warm, comforting, a bit rough from basketball and tending the roses, and fills you with happiness. Ace would probably make fun of you if he knew how badly you wanted this, take away his hand with a look of disgust and stick out his tongue. "Just kidding~" That's how your dynamic has been ever since he first asked to crash on your couch, two steps forward into something more, one leap back into the safe zone. "You know I'm not always going to be around to take care of you, yeah? One of these days you are gonna go home and leave me, whose going to look out for you then?" He lets go of your hand and you want to scream for him to stay, but feel the fever settling you back into sleep. "You'll be ok, I know that. You don't need me as much as I want you to, so-" He touches your cheek, caressing it so tenderly you want to keep him there forever but he doesn't bother to finish his thought.

But by the time you are able to wake up he's long gone, the only thing suggesting it wasn't a dream a vase full of roses he's definitely going to brush off as lame. That's assuming he brought them in the first place, you have never seen these flowers in the Heartslabyul garden. Maybe you were just being too hopeful, you think to yourself as you lean your still warm hand against your painfully beating heart.

(if you do love me you will find me out)

Rose, Tea

"Hey don't you think you might be hurting the prefect?" The person holding your hand has it in a tight grip, but it isn't uncomfortable. far from it, you feel wanted, secure in someone's appreciation. That voice belongs to Ace, you think that makes the hand your holding Deuce, but he's refusing to respond verbally and confirming your suspicions. The silence fills the room for an uncomfortably long time, even for you, you're grateful when Ace decides to break it. "Deuce-"

"We're not doing this now." His grip on you hand loosens, but he still keeps it near. You can tell Deuce's fighting to keep his cool. "They ar-"

"You're always talking about the future like they'll be there." Ace snaps, careful to dull his voice but not his point. "Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind laughing at you two losers forever, but have you even thought about what your future will look like if they aren't there?"

"I can't. And don't act like you don't know that already." There's movement in the room, you think Ace tries to get Deuce to leave with him but he doesn't budge. He takes your hand again as the door clicks closed, moving to cradle it in both of his with such care it's hard to believe these are the same fists you've seen busting up jaws for breaking some eggs. "I'm sorry you had to hear that." he whispers, but you're unsure if he knows your awake or if he is just speaking to fill the silence "You can go back to sleep now, I'll be here when you wake up I promise." You have no choice but to take him at his word, settling into your bed and hoping you will have the courage to face each other when you wake.

(i'll remember always)

Spider Flower

There's only ever one. For his father and mother, for his grandfather and grandmother, so long as there have been wolves in the mountains they have only ever sought out one partner for the rest of their lives. But you aren't programmed like that, you said as much when the boys started gossiping about their preferences during that whole ghost bride event. "I'd like a soulmate, I just don't think I have one." And you meant it really, you were sure Jack would meet someone like him that would be perfect for him one day. So why is there a fluffy head resting next to you? Why is a tail draped over your legs, you want to believe protectively but you can't bring yourself to open your eyes and check.

"I swear it's like I'm in love with the moon." Jack grumbles into your side. "No matter how loud I howl you can't hear me and act like I'm not on your radar at all." That's not true, he's all you can think about sometimes, you just wanted to spare his feelings since it couldn't be possible for him to love you back. "Maybe I was wrong that I didn't have to worry about winning you over..." His tail wraps up closer to your waist and you try to snuggle closer into him. He'll ask you later, maybe when you wake up or maybe even later than that, but he has to ask. You might be out of reach, but that's only if he does not try. The flowers at your bedside have a specific meaning, he made sure to ask Vil for help just this once, though if the message doesn't make it through he supposes he can ask again.

(elope with me)

Alyssum

Warmth leaves your body as the person who has been holding your hand gently lets it go, setting it on your chest as he pats it and begins to hum an unfamiliar tune. The familiar shlick of a knife through an apple sets a scene you can't open your eyes to see, for someone so hot headed, Epel seems remarkably calm right now. "I wonder if it's ok for me ta look at you like this..." or maybe he wasn't. "I mean I have seen you sleeping before when I put you under my spell, but this is a bit different. Would be nicer if it was under different circumstances..." He pauses in his carving, studying you for any sign that you could be awake and poking your cheek a few times to try and wake you, pouting when you don't immediately rise. "You know I was really happy when I found my signature spell. I wanted to protect you so badly, and for so long I was convinced I couldn't. I thought if I could just get stronger, and taller I would be able to-" There's a weight next to you on the bed now, it sounds like Epel has put his head in his hands and resolved himself to stare you down until you wake up. "But I don't think you'll be around long enough for me to reach the point I wanted to before telling you anything." You manage to stir slightly, and are rewarded with startled noises from Epel that give way to disappointed relief when you realize actually getting up is just a task too much for you right now. As if he realizes this, Epel reaches out to squeeze your hand before returning to his apples. The strange song makes its way to his lips once more, but this time he softly gives it words.

There's a note left for you alongside the flowers, telling you to drink water and that there's a bunch of apples in your fridge that you absolutely have to eat. It's some of his best work he says and you can't help but wonder if he doesn't just mean the carving.

(worth beyond beauty)

Gladioli

“I’m not quite sure when I started to see you differently, just know I feel like a fool for my prior behavior." The letters hadn't been signed, but you had an inkling who they were from. In place of a picture every third one was accompanied by the exact same flower, you thought it was cute how well Sebek thought he was covering his tracks. It would be nice if he was the one holding your hand, but that couldn't be. He was too loud, if he was here then you would know. Even his unsigned letters were loudly and proudly him, mercifully free of praise for Malleus though they were. "You shine like dew on a rose, for your praise I go to lengths that surprise myself. Some say I am foolish, most call me single minded and in your presence I cannot protest those sentiments. Given your circumstances, it would be selfish of me to ask for your patience, but I must. I must ask for your patience until I can ask you aloud." You were content to be patient with him, if you weren't you never would have been friends in the first place. The person holding your hand gives it a final squeeze, though he pulls away slowly, trying to savor every last bit of illicit contact he can.

When you are finally able to move a familiar sort of flower around your room, once again someone is trying to be romantic and failing to cover his tracks. Once again he is refusing to face you, out of fear or shame you do not know. You gently pick at the petals, trying to divine just what it is you think Sebek wants to say, not just what you want it to mean.

(i am really sincere)

[luffyrose]

Mistaken - DC x DP

Idk man- this one fully just came to me. So have fun. Cry.

~~~~~~

Another rogue attack.

Bats coming to save the day.

It was a never-ending dance between the two.

Casualties were often low. People got hurt but fewer and fewer people died. Even major injuries had lessened over the years. It wasn't the focus of the villains to necessarily kill people, it was simply a byproduct of their goal.

So why was it different?

Why now?

Sure, Gotham's rogues weren't afraid to kill to gain attention, but this was different. The attack came from nowhere, no sign of it before it had already begun, and when Batman arrived...there was no villain there. Just the destruction in its wake.

He'd been quick to call the others for help searching for injured, and no doubt dead from the destruction, before getting to pulling people from rubble and fires. His kids arrived and did the same until another call came from Oracle. The fire department and ambulances had arrived, so they left it to them.

It had already been nearing the day, so when they finished dealing with some goons, the family had turned in for the night. Yet Bruce couldn't stop thinking about the explosion. The camera's from the building, he'd learned it was a lab of some sort, were far and few, really only showing the entrance. Even then they cut out before the explosion.

The news was talking of it, the owner of the lab was on it by now claiming it was an accident with some chemicals and they were investigating possible causes. He knew it was a lie, and from his children's faces when they heard it, they thought the same.

It didn't take him long to head there, not as Batman, but as Bruce Wayne.

He had planned to speak to the owner of the Lab, he really only remembered he wore a pristine white suit. Parking nearby, and offering help to those he saw as he passed, Bruce slowly made his way toward the main part of the crowd.

A quiet sob and cough made him freeze in his tracks. It was so quiet he doubted anyone would have noticed if they weren't trained. Glancing around, he slipped into the alleyway he'd heard the noise from. It was close to he accident, but far enough away no one would look down it...so why was someone here?

Bruce cautiously looked through the alley, his gaze hardening as he found a smaller figure curled up on itself, trying to hide behind a dumpster.

"Hello?"

The kid, because it really could only be a kid, flinched eyes darting toward him.

And Bruce froze.

Green eyes were staring back at him. Glowing, Lazarus, green eyes. Yet, his eyes were quick to drift from the color to the blood soaking the boy's clothes. Gritting his teeth, he crouched, holding up his hands. He couldn't see the boy well with this distance, but he couldn't risk not finding a way to help the kid.

"I'm not gonna hurt you...I promise."

The glow fluctuated for a moment before the other tried to move, wincing harshly as his arm gave out and sent him careening into the floor. Bruce had moved forward when he fell, worry clear on his face, and when the boy growled, only for it to fade into a whimper, he paused again.

"Let me help you. I can get you to a hosp-"

Panic filled the other's eyes, scrambling further away. "No! No, hospital. No, no, no no nononono-" Bruce kept his face from changing at the boy's voice. It was hoarse as if he hadn't used it or had been screaming.

Putting his hands up placatingly, he carefully shifted on his feet. "Okay. No hospital. But you need help...can I help you?" The boy seemed to be looking for something in his face, maybe a lie, but after a few moments, the kid's head bobbed before he collapsed onto the ground completely.

Taking the moment, Bruce moved beside him, careful not to touch him as he pulled out his phone, messaging Dick and Leslie. She would need to prep for some stitches no doubt from the blood, and he definitely couldn't get the boy elsewhere without some help. As he finished sending the messages, he felt a hand grab onto him weakly. Looking down at the boy, his heart absolutely sunk.

He could see him now. How his black hair fell over his eyes. Blue eyes. The green was temporary, probably powers, but now with those blue eyes, he looked like one of his many children. More specifically...a younger Jason. His heart clenched, gently taking the boy's hand despite himself.

This wasn't Jason...it wasn't.

It was clear the boy had started to grow delirious, his eyes unfocused for the most part, but staring so intently at him.

"...dad...?"

Oh.

Bruce could hear the harsh swallow he did, but smiled softly at the boy. Carefully sitting, he dragged the boy onto his lap, gently moving his hair. "You're gonna be alright..." It wasn't Jason, and he knew that...but that didn't mean he couldn't comfort the boy. If he happened to look like his father...Bruce wasn't going to try and correct him when he was so delirious, not when it may give him some kind of comfort.

He couldn't help the pain in his heart though as the kid practically melted into the touch, unfurling slightly and revealing some of his injuries. It wasn't his kid. It wasn't.

Maybe he could have comforted any of them like this if he'd listened in the past.

Shaking his head, he pushed down the feelings. He couldn't focus on that, not right now. Looking back at his phone, he saw a message, saying Dick was almost there. Part of him hoped he was alone...he knew that probably wasn't the case.

"I'm scared..."

Gazing back toward the kid, he put the phone back in his pocket. Putting his hand on the boy's cheek, he gently rubbed away some tears that had begun to fall. Before he could respond the boy's eyes drooped the little consciousness he had fading. "Hey, come on, try to stay awake." It was no use as the boy drifted off, only the too-slow rising and falling of his chest assuring Bruce he wasn't fully gone.

"Kid, come on you can't sleep yet-"

Two pairs of footsteps came from the entrance of the alley as Bruce tried to wake the boy, glancing back to see his oldest boys. What was slight, but worried, amusement turned to horror the closer they got, seeing the pool of blood. "Leslie is waiting." Without needing to say anything else, Dick was quick to carefully scoop the kid up, looking back to Jason. He seemed shell-shocked, staring at the boy. Bruce couldn't blame him.

They looked so similar.

~|0|~

Danny had...what had he been doing? He remembered the GIW, and lab equipment-

Oh.

The lab.

He had gotten out...but someone had seen him. Where was he now? Fighting to open his eyes, he saw the ceiling of a car. He could also see two older guys. He was in the back seat with his head...on someone's lap? Or was it a ghost? They felt like a ghost...but not.

Frowning, his eyes slowly drifted shut again. He'd thought he'd seen his dad...but, the man had been too kind. His- Jack was...he wouldn't have ever comforted him like that. Not now. Not in the past. Feeling himself drift off again, he felt small tears fall down his cheeks.

Why had his dad never comforted him like this stranger had? Why had he hurt him? Given him to the GIW after he'd told them what he was? If they truly hadn't believed him...if they had thought he was mimicking "their beloved son" then why not do everything they always said they would.

More tears fell, but he felt someone wipe them away again. It was a different hand...it was still rough, but gentler than the other had been. With a stuttered breath, Danny let the darkness take over his mind again. He probably wouldn't have let himself fall asleep again...but he would rather these people who reminded him of his family have him. Hurt him or not...he just didn't want to be alone.

A hum was the last thing he felt, a warmth he couldn't remember having in a long long time rumbling beneath his skin.

~|0|~

Jason had felt something when he'd seen the kid. The pits went quiet before pure worry erupted from them. He didn't know why...but it didn't help that this kid look like him. Looked like that little kid who'd never gotten help.

It didn't help that deep down Jason knew that this kid hadn't either.

He'd ended up carefully cradling his head in the back seats while Dick drove and Bruce messaged who he could only assume was Leslie or the family group chat. Either way, when he felt something wet land on his hand, he hadn't expected the kid to be crying.

Gently wiping the tears, he felt the frown on his face grow. "He's crying." He heard Bruce shifting, probably looking at the two, yet he ignored the other, just wiping the small tears. As he did, a warbling cry made him jump slightly. Glancing toward the other two, he saw the shock on both their faces.

"Well, he's definitely some kind of meta."

Bruce hummed, but Jason simply looked down again. The pit was silent for a moment, the non-stop worry having paused at the noise. So when a rumbling almost purr-like hum came from himself, he almost froze. Almost. His shock had been overrun by how the kid seemed to relax, one of his hands gently grabbing onto him.

"That...that was new."

He didn't need to look to know the two were even more shocked, if not worried. Jason couldn't bring himself to care for once, wiping the last of the falling tears before running his fingers through the fluffy and bloody locks of their mysterious meta-kid.

He wasn't a meta...he knew that deep down as well.

It didn't take long after for them to get to Leslie's clinic, taking the boy inside in a rush. He was quickly moved onto a stretcher and taken into one of the more medically equipped rooms. The three weren't far behind, entering the room as Leslie worked on removing the bloodied clothes, mainly his shirt.

A large y-shaped and inflamed gash met all of their eyes. It wasn't the cause of the bleeding, but it clearly had been done not too long before the large gash next to it. They weren't the only injuries he had, and he'd had plenty if the scars were to say anything. The most concerning was a Lichtenberg scar that stretched from his hand across his entire chest.

None of them had been ready for it. Dick covered his mouth as Jason audibly took a deep breath. Bruce was silent, but from the stare, they knew he was just as horrified.

Leslie was equally as horrified to find a child in the condition he was in, but gritted her teeth and got to work. It took a long time, but the boy didn't stir. She and the others had checked his vitals multiple times just to make sure he was still fine. He was...if the low heartbeat and temperature were normal. The temperature probably was to an extent at least, they'd figured that out after a frost had covered the bed he was on.

Finally, his injuries were stitched, but as Leslie left to get everything he would need the boy bolted upright.

His breathing was heavy, flinging himself out of the bed and into a corner. Jason reacted the fastest, getting over to him and enveloping him in a hug. It was definitely not the right thing you're supposed to do, but he'd done it before he'd even thought about it.

And when the boy's arms tightly wrapped around him, a loud echoey sob being muffled against his jacket he knew it had been the right instinct.

Neither let go nor did they move.

Dick came over, carefully sitting beside them and hugging them both, taking a moment to wipe a tear that had fallen from Jason's face...when had that happened?

With a quiet click of a door opening and closing, Jason buried his head into the younger black-haired boy's head. Leslie wouldn't have had silent footsteps. Bruce had left the room. He didn't know whether he was thankful or not for that. From the brief information, he'd told them, the kid thought Bruce was his dad.

"...I'm sorry..."

Shaking his head slightly, not bothering to lift it, Jason rubbed the other's back.

"Nothin' to be sorry for. You're alive."

Another rumble noise escaped him, but he couldn't bring himself to worry and wonder about it yet again as the kid clung tighter, a similar yet much sadder noise coming from him.

Both could feel the short breath of a small laugh from Dick, who still held them both.

"You both sound like birds, your nicknames pretty fitting now, Jaybird."

A laugh came from the boy, slightly startling the older two. But, it was a welcome sound, the rest of the tense air finally fading.

After a bit of silence, the kid spoke again.

"I think I called your dad my dad."

Jason couldn't help the smirk that grew on his face.

"Just sounds like you're the next sibling to be adopted."

"New baby bird!"

Danny was both incredibly confused and...pleasantly surprised by their words. He knew for a fact they'd seen his powers at some point. But then again, the one he was clinging to, Jaybird if the guy's nickname was to be used, wasn't entirely alive either.

"Honestly I should apologize for thinking he was my dad...he's probably worse."

Jason snorted out a laugh. He probably shouldn't, but damn if the kid with the scars all across his body said it, he was probably right. Dick made the noise he does whenever Jay makes a joke about his death, only causing the kid to look over.

"What, it's a very grave mistake."

[shaylogic]

Something that gets to me about Charles as a character in ships is that I feel like he's someone put in the position of being the guy with the cricket bat, protective and ready to fight

But in a relationship, more than anything, he really just wants to be gentle and caring with the people he loves

[whohasthecards]

Top Gun AU Idea -- Jake is Mav's son and grew up in foster care.

Jake only has a beat up picture of his dad and that his name was "Pete". He didn't know his mother at all, not even his birth certificate. He was abandoned and whoever abandoned him made sure that his lineage would never be traced.

He figured out who his father was during his first time in Top Gun.

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell.

He also found out that his father was married to the COMPACFLT.

He didn't need a father anymore, right? And he wouldn't want to break up a family in his desperate attempt to maybe gain one. His father probably didn't know he existed. Hell, his father could even be the one that abandoned him (although why he would leave the picture makes that theory unlikely).

However, he did want to meet the one of the Navy's top pilots. It's all professional curiousity.

(He was in the same profession as his father, aviation is in his blood.)

He will become the best.

Maybe he'd meet Maverick once he's on top.

During his first air combat kill, Iceman was the one to shake his hand. The admiral gave him a clap on his shoulder and congratulated him.

The mission occured.

As a person, Maverick was not who he expected him to be.

As a pilot, Maverick was the best.

He was numb when Maverick and Rooster were shot down.

He never felt more alive and scared when he pushed his jet to save them.

He turned and walked away when he saw Rooster and Maverick hug it out, confirming his suspicions during training.

Rooster was Maverick's son, in every way that matters.

Blood doesn't matter, heck there isn't even a blood test that proves that Jake was his son. Only a battered photo with scripted handwriting.

Jake should let go.

After the mission, Dagger squad becomes a permanent squadron with Maverick as team leader.

Maverick got along with every single Dagger just fine, but there was an awkwardness between Hangman and himself that neither knew how to bridge. Mav never did know how to act around people who was just like himself.

Maverick acts paternal and caring to everybody, especially Bradley, and Jake had to swallow the growing jealousy (I don't need him, I don't need him, I don't need--). Why did everyone get a family and a Mav that would look their way for more than 10 seconds?

Why did Rooster get everything he ever wanted?

What did he do or not do that made him deserve this crippling feeling of jealousy and loneliness?

[sincerely-sofie]

*gently places angsty Twig comic in your hands*

There comes a point in healing, sometimes, where you must grieve the child you never got to be, and bury her along with the desperate hope of one day somehow becoming her.

It isn’t fair. And it never will be.

But you grieve the child, still.

[rsquared31]

🙌🏼😍

Hiii! Forgive me if you already have this info posted somewhere that I didn't find, but I have been in desperate need of some Comfort Joel Miller... 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 Because real life has been stressful enough and riddled with anxiety 😩 And while I'm ALL about smutty goodness, I could really use some Emotional Hurt/comfort (or physical/protective), depressy/anxy, supportive bby boi shit to read. I'm not sure the best way to go about finding those stories specifically... So I figured I'd ask if you or writers you know have fic recommendations in those categories?? If so, that would be amazing 🖤

Hellooooo. I adore getting fic rec requests. Most of these are gonna have smut in them because I am just a girl (gn), but a few don't. I included some alternative stuff that's a little outside what you asked for, but similar enough.

Disclaimer: I have not read every fic on this list

One shots:

Breathe Through It by @tommysversion

Summary: you have a panic attack. Joel helps.

This is the one I think will be perfect for your request

Illicit Affairs by @schnarfer

Summary:  A little angst-ridden affair with Joel Miller, as a treat?

From the author: "there is a butt load of angst and emotions? He's very supportive (of having an affair with him)"  

Heavy Rain by @lunitawrites

summary: It´s been raining for weeks when Joel finds you curled up on his couch.

recced by @janaispunk !

Walking Through Fire by @macfrog

summary: you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk.

recced by @janaispunk

Observations by @ezrasbirdie

summary: You're not like the other girls, but it'd be easier if you were. Joel Miller doesn't see it that way.

recced by @janaispunk

Series:

One Thing I'm Missing by @joelscruff

you and joel accidentally end up falling asleep together, and what follows is the beginning of a quiet and tender relationship neither of you saw coming

forever is the sweetest con by sistersadeyes (AO3)

Summary: your life, post-apocalypse, and the surly old survivor who darkens your door. Growing up with a doomsday prepper as a father hadn't been easy. But after the Outbreak, you can't help but feel a little grateful to the old man. You're almost sad he didn't make it long enough to see how right he'd been. You inherit the farm, the stockpile, and the bunker months before the Outbreak. And in the aftermath, you use it to prove that human kindness still exists, helping all those you can. Set 5 years after the Outbreak.

I cannot recommend this fic enough dawg

One Day at a Time by @sixhours

Summary: Joel becomes a dad. Again

Lots and lots of emotions, lots of growing together, very sweet, made me cry

A Heart For Eating by @motherofagony

Summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing.

Mind the warnings, but this one is excellent. Joel's savior complex is nothing to be scoffed at.

WILDCARD -- ever thought about Din and Joel together? Do you like really long series?? I've got the fic for you

Cosmic Oddities by fromthewhales (AO3)

Summary: Turning a clan of two into a clan of four and asking the very important, albeit unhinged question: What if space dad and apocalypse dad were Weird About Each Other?

It's long as hell and it's a weird pairing and it fills my heart with joy. Joel and Din both have some hurt and they both give some comfort. this whole fic just makes me feel soft. It's precious.

Some hurt/comfort one shots but it's Joel that needs comforting:

Father's Day by @proxima-writes

Summary: Father’s Day is hard for Joel Miller after losing his daughter.

Seven by @proxima-writes

Summary: Joel Miller has spent twenty years pushing the grief and guilt surrounding the death of his daughter, Sarah, to the darkest recesses of his brain in favor of survival. Living a more quiet life in Jackson means the ghosts of his past have returned to haunt him. He finds his solace in you, the town librarian.

help me hold on to you by @proxima-writes

Summary: Joel always tries his best to keep his mind from wandering to its darkest corners, but occasionally, the frayed threads holding him together with sloppy stitches start to unravel. Sometimes you need to give him something to hold onto.

[kianaisspiraling]

Here ye, here ye! I humbly request that thee provideth me with fic recommendations in which Grian gets taken by The Watchers once again AFTER having joined The Hermits.

This could be done in any season (though preferably 8 or 9) and by any means. They could just take him, poof. Perhaps they take him by force. Maybe there are negotiations for the server's safety or something (Grian OR Xisuma). Don't care how it happens, the birb just needs to get kidnapped, willingly or unwillingly.

Issue is that all Watcher Grian fics occur before he joins Hermitcraft, never after. If it is after, it pertains to the life series. Love the life series and all, but I'm requesting specifically Hermitcraft fics. That said, if there are any fics like this that have to do with the life series that are particularly good, I don't mind. These 'conditions' are just loose guidelines on what I'm looking for, doesn't mean I won't read anything that doesn't check all boxes lol

Yeah I just really want something Hermitcraft centric and Watcher Grian centric where he ends up stuck with the Watchers again after joining Hermitcraft for whatever reason, and the Hermits gotta do something to help my boy :)

[zipzapzopzoop]

Meet the Robinsons Headcanons (Part 3)

There are more Robinsons that live in other places. Uncle Wormly, Cousin Pete, Uncle Judlow, Orbley, Nimbus, the Family Lazardo - They’re all out there.

Petunia’s side of the family is Irish. They all have bright red hair just like her and her children. 

They do not know about Laszlo and Tallulah, but Petunia’s father disapproved of Fritz.

Franny is still good friends with Lizzy and Stanley. Both are often welcomed over and considered part of the family.

Wilbur and Laszlo are known to get into laughing fits at the worst possible times. Like clockwork, the two are glancing at each other and trying not to laugh at every little thing. Neither of them even have to say a word, it’s all in the eye contact. Gaston often finds himself in on these fits as well. He’ll try and scold them, but next thing he knows, he’s laughing with them. According to Carl, they all struggle with situational awareness, although that could easily be an entire-family trait.

Fritz is squeamish and can’t stand the sight of blood or needles without becoming faint or passing out.

Tallulah, like her father, hates needles. Not to the point of fainting, but she definitely needs help at the doctor’s office. 

Laszlo has to hold her still when she needs to get a shot or vaccine. She’ll usually do the ‘slip to the floor to get out of their hold’ thing. Fritz just straight up passes out.

Wilbur stares at the garage door a lot, especially when it’s cracked open. Everything just seems to go fuzzy for him…

The same thing happens during thunderstorms, especially at night.

He now double and triple checks locked doors. Sometimes his relatives will have to get him to leave it. He’ll always refuse until he’s certain it’s shut and locked with the alarm on. The only way to get him inside is to show Wilbur that the door is locked.

Franny was always that kid bringing home stray animals. Her favorites? Frogs!

She did bring home a snake one time. She had never seen Gaston run so fast in her life.

When Cornelius came home at the end of the movie, Bud pulled the ultimate dad joke and told him “The last time I saw you, you were this tall!” While holding his hand up at Lewis’s height.

Grandpa Bud can do a walking handstand.

Laszlo is quite skilled at both the theremin and the piano. He loves playing ragtime on the piano.

The first prototype for Laszlo’s paint gun was a modified water gun.

Cornelius has a bad habit of pulling all-nighters with his projects.

Wilbur isn’t much better with his video games.

[meteorsandstars]

Andrew Minyard is Karma Police by Pierce the Veil coded (I don’t like the Radiohead version)

[anguishmacgyver]

[sualne]

Sualne: ofc they know each other, otherwise it'd be too sad

Also Sualne: Makes Ace suffer alone

Btwww it's not a hate comment or anything I just found it very funny, the duality of Sualne ✨️✨️✨️

ace IS a very sad character! :'D he says something in his light novel (that i havent read but really need to (law's too)) about how he probably would've killed himself if it hadn't been for sabo and luffy, im forcing him to survive till he can meet luffy in the au, but i have to keep that passive suicidality of his in there! ace even in canon was not doing fine at all!!

the duality of sualne, lol, i havent even started the angst yet.

here a lil ace ive drawn for concepts art and planning reasons:

[23z567]

the first chapter of my aegislash fic is out,,,kicks a rock this is gonna be mainly my own interpretations of canon interactions and a lot of my own made up shit