#and i don’t know what i’m going to tell her

[tarotsoul]

ghost in the wind — part three

summary: as feelings progress and truths unfold, you're left with a decision that could end your entire existence as you know it. the mother has a path for every soul, perhaps this was where yours was supposed to end.

warnings: swearing, mentions and brief descriptions of sexual abuse, consensual sexual themes, mentions of death and suicide.

word count: 5.8k

series masterlist

Feyre Archeron could never begin to imagine the pain and horror her older cousin had faced in the mortal lands. Rhysand hadn’t shared that image, hadn’t shared the memories he’d witnessed when he took some of that pain away from you. 

She didn’t need her mate to share those visuals. Not when she felt every ounce of anguish through their bond. And every day since then, she had not been able to forget it. 

Another two weeks had passed since your arrival, three in total of your being in the Night Court, and you were finally beginning to work through your trauma. 

The offer had been there to find your own place of residence, to have that independence if you so wished. But after speaking with Feyre and Rhysand, after learning it was in fact Nesta who had imposed the leave Y/N be rule… you realised just how much you loved living in the House with your family. 

Your friends. 

So when you’d finally accepted Mor’s desperate pleas to take you shopping and fill your empty wardrobe…

“You’re going to need another dresser.” 

You blinked, taking in the mess around you. Your entire closet was stuffed to the brim with dresses, blouses, sweaters, coats…

And the pile on your bed…there was no chance of those articles of clothing fitting in the closet too. Nesta was right, you definitely needed another dresser. 

“Rhys is going to lose his shit when he finds out how much we spent.” 

Your eyes widened at Nesta’s words, not quite picking up the teasing tone she spoke in. Mor shot her a look and threw a sweater at her face. 

“She’s kidding,” Mor reassured. “My dear cousin has more money than sense. This won’t have even made a dent in his wealth.” 

A relief, but that guilt began to creep its way into the pit of your stomach nonetheless. You were ashamed to admit that while you had fun shopping with Mor and your cousin, you hadn’t even taken a moment to realise how much everything had cost. 

Nesta threw herself onto your bed, right on top of the throng of clothes you needed to find a place for. “I’m thinking we raid Rhys’ wine cellar tonight…”

A gleaming smile radiated off Mor’s face in agreeance and they both turned to you with upraised brows, expectant. 

You pursed your lips, an apologetic smile on your face. “I told Rhys and Feyre that I’d babysit Nyx tonight.” 

Nesta huffed and threw herself back on the mattress again, clothes bouncing and crinkling as she did so. Mor raised another brow, as if that wasn’t a good enough excuse. 

“So? I’ve gotten drunk while watching Nyx loads of times.” 

Nesta seethed at her. “One, that’s my nephew and I never want to hear you doing that again. And two, Y/N’s tolerance to alcohol won’t be as strong as ours. Two glasses and she’d be borderline incapacitated.”

Despite the slight insult, a laugh bubbled up your throat at just how right she was. Because you’d never even drank a sip of wine in your life, and Nesta knew that. 

“I’m surprised you don’t have plans with Azriel…” 

Mor was prying, you knew that. But you had no control over the heat that made its way across your neck and face. 

“We’re just friends.” It wasn’t a lie. You’d spent a lot of time together the past couple of weeks, and he was one of the only people you felt truly comfortable around. 

Mor gave you a knowing look. “Mhm, tell that to his shadows.” 

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nesta scoffed, sitting up again. “Az’s shadows are basically an extension of himself.”

Mor hummed. “They don’t do anything unless Azriel commands it. Or sometimes, they’ll do something based on his emotions or thoughts. They’re so friendly with you because Azriel likes you.” 

Your cheeks burned. You hadn’t realised his shadows touching you was a product of Azriel’s emotions. And the more you thought about it, there hadn’t been a time since you met him that they hadn’t touched you in some way. 

You didn’t say that, though. No. Azriel clearly had no qualms about other people noticing, but that did not mean you were willing to gossip about it. 

You did not need to allow silly fantasies to root their way in your mind. Azriel was your friend. And you were okay with him only wanting you as such. 

Within an hour, Mor had disappeared to tend to her own duties and just as Nesta was about to leave for hers, she grabbed your wrist and motioned for you to look at her. 

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

She didn’t need to say anything more. Those words were enough—more than enough. She saw you, she recognised everything you had been through and everything you did every day to overcome it. 

I’m proud of you. 

The last and only person to have ever told you that was your mother. 

And because you saw her too, because you remembered fhe young mortal woman she was before her own struggles of turning Fae and adjusting to her new lifestyle, you found yourself saying, “I’m proud of you, too, Ness.”

Nyx had been wonderful to look after that night. 

You’d gotten all the cuddles and boyish giggles, the beautiful little smiles and a few stinky diapers to go with it. You loved every moment with the little babe, and when Rhys and Feyre returned from their night off early in the morning, you offered to sit with him again whenever they needed it. 

But despite how fulfilling and wonderful it had been, it had also hurt. You wondered if you’d ever be blessed with the opportunity to carry and birth your own child. Wondered if you’d ever even find someone to want you in that way. 

Especially within Prythian. 

It was another late night for you, though your reading sessions had taken you from the lounge to the library. And you no longer spent them alone. 

Azriel sat on the couch opposite you, his nose deep in a book as you watched him. In the past week, you’d spent a lot of time together. It ranged from walks into the city to sitting and reading in the library until early hours of the morning. 

You’d grown accustomed to his presence, his scent often able to calm any anxiety or qualms you felt. He had noticed, of course, he wasn’t a Spymaster for nothing. But Azriel did not mention the change in you whenever he was around. 

He basked in it, in the way you appeared so much more comfortable with him. You weren’t afraid to speak up, to ask questions or acknowledge whatever was on your mind. 

You were coming out of your shell and it warmed Azriel’s heart to know that he was somewhat of the cause for it. 

“What does salacious mean?”

Azriel blinked repeatedly as your voice broke him from his thoughts. Salacious? His throat tightened. You’d often ask for definitions of things you were unsure on, sometimes even asking how to pronounce words you had never come across. 

But salacious? 

“Are you reading Nesta’s romance novels?” He quirked a brow. 

Your lips involuntarily pouted at him, your own brows furrowing just slightly as you rested the open book back into your blanket-covered lap. “Yes. Why?”

Anxiety creeped its way into your stomach, rooting deep into your flesh from the inside out. Reminders of how this used to go flashed through your mind and suddenly, it felt like you were back in the village, back in the mortal lands and living with Rafe. 

A tendril of darkness peaked at the corner of your vision and you focussed on it, watching it slowly dance across your knuckles and weave between your fingers in a calming manner. 

Shadows. Azriel. Library. Velaris. Safe. 

And just like that, the anxiety un-clawed its roots and crept away. 

Azriel nodded ever so slightly to the book, knowing exactly what had just happened with you but acting as if he didn’t. “Salacious means…having inappropriate interest in sexual matters.”

There was no hiding the heat on your cheeks—the way it burned your soft skin. You tore your gaze from his as quickly as you could, unable to contain your slight shame and embarrassment. 

But Azriel did not mind one bit. 

Azriel had secrets. He supposed that being the Night Court’s Spymaster, it was to be expected. But these secrets were different from the others, something he kept locked tight in his mind for the past month. 

And it wasn’t the secrets that had him moving closer and spending all of his time in the lower level of the House. No. That was very much you and your presence and whatever it was in your soul that called out to his. 

He couldn’t stay away—though, it wasn’t like he even tried—for that pull was far too strong for even his willpower. 

He had suspicions. Suspicions of a golden thread that started in his chest and ended in yours. He knew it was far fetched, knew he was only hurting himself by entertaining the complete insanity of the idea. 

You were human. Mortal. And mortals didn’t have mates. He told himself so every day, and right after, like clockwork, he countered his own sound advice with the one thing that had been troubling him the most.

Because what mortal could plant and bloom a patch of tulips with nothing more than a thought and a touch. What mortal could speak so clearly to the earth and create life right before another’s eyes. 

Despite the possible threat that could pose for his court and his family, Azriel had kept that tidbit of information to himself. Just for now. Just until he could make sense of it. Then, and only then, would he bring that information to light. 

Because Azriel did not feel any ounce of danger or ill intent from you. He did not feel anything but warmth and intrigue and that godforsaken sensation when you grew excitable over something. 

He couldn’t take that from you. Not when you were finally coming out of your shell, finally talking and laughing and going as far as joining him and Cassian for training twice a week. 

“If sex makes you uncomfortable, there are other romance novels without that.”

Heat warmed your skin again. Shadows dared to intertwine with your fingers. 

“No, it’s not that.” You played with his shadows, allowing them to caress your skin. “Sex doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I’ve just never had a good enough experience to understand much.”

He didn’t push, didn’t ask further questions. You wouldn’t be embarrassed for this, for something that was not your fault. You wouldn’t cower anymore, hide what you felt or thought. No longer would there be repercussions for speaking your mind. 

So you spoke again. 

“Rafe was the only person I’d ever…it’s just different to read it, to have it described as something enjoyable.”

Azriel’s knuckles turned white. Something enjoyable. He’d never experienced it to be anything but. His soul almost cleaved in two at the thought of what you’d endured. 

Azriel dared to glance at you again. “Sex with the right person can be very enjoyable. It should be nothing but beautiful.”

He stiffened then, blood thumping in his ears. His shadows stilled, noticing the shift in your scent just as their master had. Sweet, all consuming arousal, and Azriel did not miss the way your thighs pressed together in impulse. 

He swallowed thickly. 

You broke his gaze, your own heart thumping sporadically as you stared at the pages on your lap. You couldn’t help your mind wandering to thoughts of him, of experiencing that with him. You knew it was wrong. So, so wrong. 

“The thought of being intimate like that with someone new…” You couldn’t find the words to express the fear and anxiety that came with that thought.

Azriel listened intently, breathing deeply. 

“I want to experience life the way it should be experienced. Not the way others have pushed it upon me.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his book on his knee. “You control your life now, nobody else. If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.”

You wondered then if he could see into your mind as Rhysand could. If he could feel that shift in the air. If he could smell it on you. That want and desire. You would not apologise for it. Not anymore. 

“But if it feels wrong, is that not my guts way of warning me?” You countered. 

Azriel smiled, just barely. His knuckles still white. “It’s your guts way of protecting you. Because you’ve never experienced anything beyond what others bestowed upon you.”

Gods above. 

An ache fluttered in your chest, just above your breast and you absentmindedly rubbed at it, disrupting the neckline of your shirt. Azriel’s eyes squinted at the exposed skin, at the mark that adored your flesh. 

“Are you hurt?” His tone was primal, protective. 

You paused your movements, following his gaze. “Oh, no.” You pulled your shirt a little lower. “Just a birthmark.”

He needed to compose himself, needed to stop allowing his mind to wander about other areas of your concealed skin. He felt like nothing more than a big brute. 

Your soft, airy giggle woke him from his daze and he looked over to find tendrils of darkness caressing any inch of your skin that they could. Gods, if he didn’t have a leash on his emotions around you, how could he control his damned shadows. 

“It’s like they have a mind of their own.”

They didn’t. But he couldn’t correct you. Not without exposing the fact that they only fed off their masters emotions and desires. Not without exposing the fact that Azriel wished he was the one touching your skin and not his shadows. 

He swallowed again, throat dry. 

“Nesta told me that they’re an extension of yourself. That they only act if you will it.” You didn’t know why you said it, why you thought you had the right to speak that truth. 

But you would not apologise, even as Azriel remained silent for a few moments. Partly out of shock, partly in awe. But that was another thing he would not speak aloud. 

“Sometimes they can act on behalf of my emotions. My desires and wants.”

You dared to meet his honey eyes. “And that’s what you want?” You were breathless, a feeling in your stomach that you’d never once experienced before. “You want to touch me?” 

Neither of you knew where this confidence had come from, but Azriel did not question it and you did not apologise. 

He shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t repeat the words that echoed in his mind and soul and body. But, Gods…he could not seem to regain any semblance of control when he stared into your eyes. He could not lie to you, could not hide what he felt. 

“I want to do a lot of things.” The admittance was barely audible, nothing more than a breath he’d been holding but you heard it all the same. As though you’d demanded the words out of him. 

You couldn’t look away, even if you tried. Your entire being was encapsulated by him. Your chest heaved, legs ached. The shadows slowly left your shoulders and neck, returning to their previous position at your fingers. 

“But above all, I want you to be comfortable. Happy.” 

Something compelled you to stand, the shadows seemingly guiding you to their master as your book toppled to the couch. He watched with a hungry gaze, one full of faltering self-control. 

If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.

Take it. 

Take it. 

“I’m comfortable with you.” 

The shadows moved like a breeze between you both, tugging you closer and closer. Nothing else mattered, not in that moment. Not when your soul felt like it was singing, like it was exactly where it longed to be. 

Azriel stood slowly, towering above you once at his full height. You strained your neck to meet his gaze and he bent his to come closer. You could feel his breath dance with yours, could feel his hard chest press upon your soft one. 

No part of you felt nervous, no part of you felt unworthy. 

But Azriel…he didn’t know what to do. For weeks he’d been dreaming of this moment, dreaming of the taste of your lips, the touch of your skin. He slowly raised a scarred hand to caress your warm cheek, and you didn’t cower or shy away from his touch. 

A test, perhaps. To see if you really could handle the intimacy of another male so soon after what you’d endured. You didn’t falter, didn’t break his gaze. He wanted you, more than he ever wanted anything else before. 

“What you went through…”

“I don’t want to talk about what I went through,” you cut him off. “That was then, this is now. I don’t want to live in the past.”

Take it.

Take it. 

Your lips…so close to touching his. 

The shadows swirled in delight, excitement.

Azriel knew this wouldn’t be just a kiss. This wouldn’t be meaningless. He felt it, in every part of him, he felt the way your entire being sang to his. He wanted to lay his soul bare before you. 

He itched to brush your hair behind your ear, to hold you and taste you. But Rhysand’s voice echoed through his mind, beckoning him for his assistance. He closed his eyes, huffed out a breath.

“Rhys is calling for me.” 

Azriel stepped away, removed his palm from your skin. You swallowed, stepping back and letting your eyes fixate on the rug beneath your feet. He cleared his throat, struggling to reign in those shadows of his. 

“I’ll come to you tonight…we can talk then.”

But had Azriel waited just a few moments longer, had he given into the urge to brush your hair from your face, he would’ve noticed the slight point that had formed at the top of your ears. 

Azriel didn’t meet you in your chambers that night. And you didn’t see him the next morning. Or the day after that. 

Cassian had mentioned that Rhys sent him on a mission. That he would be back in a few days. 

But something was wrong, you could feel it in every inch of your body. An ache that only got worse with every passing moment. You tried to ignore it, tried to relax in a hot bath with soothing lavender oils. Nothing relieved the pain. Nothing soothed the ache.

And when you left your bathroom and found your once round ears now pointed, and a trail of tulips following in your wake, your legs carried you toward the kitchen before you had a moment to consider it. Cassian and Nesta sat at the table, giggling over their breakfast when you stumbled toward them. 

“What’s happening?” Your panicked tone caught their attention, eyes wide as they stood and took in what lay before them. 

From the stone ground, moss and grass and flowers bloomed as though you stood in the middle of a field. Daisies and buttercups sprouted in your hair, roots of trees tangling around your limbs. 

Everything was so loud yet muffled. Like every word was screamed in your ear but somehow underwater as Cassian called out frantically to Rhysand. Neither of them went near you, even when Rhys flew through the open balcony doors, Feyre in tow. 

They looked at you with nothing less than concern and fear. 

“What in the Gods is happening to me?!” You demanded. 

Rhysand held Feyre back as she attempted to near you, his gaze locked on you as he assessed the situation. But it wasn’t the flowers or grass or roots that he watched. It was you, and the way your crescent-moon birthmark glowed something violet. 

Rhys had known, had suspected something lay dormant within you. From that moment he entered your mind, when he gazed upon that luscious field that seemed to call to you with promises of something new. 

He’d never witnessed such before. Not in the most powerful of Fae had he ever stumbled across that. 

With a very careful step forward, his gaze demanded yours. Feyre had told him of your mother, of her death and your marriage to Rafe. And his voice was soft when he finally asked the question that had been on his mind ever since. 

“What happened the night your mother died?” 

The world went still, cold. Feyre whirled to him in protest. 

“Rhys—“

“—it was a house fire.” 

All eyes turned to you, to the patches of bloom that haltered their growth. 

Rhysand took another step closer. “Where were you?” 

“I—“

A heat unlike any other licked at your skin, waking you from your peaceful slumber. A heat so unwelcomed that you bolted upright in a sheen of your own sweat. 

You could hear the wood of your cottage crackling under a burning flame, and smoke quickly infiltrated your room. You coughed, attempting to swat it away as you squinted in the darkness. 

“Mama!?” You called out, panic stricken in your voice and body. 

Fear began to cripple you, began to take away any sense of self preservation. You couldn’t leave your bed. Your door now engulfed in flames, you screamed. 

“Help! Someone, please help!”

No one was coming. This was the end. You couldn’t move, couldn’t get to your beloved mother. A shrill cry, unlike anything you’d ever heard before, split your heart in two. 

A scream of pure agony and fear tore through your throat, your eyes clenched shut as you gave your body over to the fire. 

Only the next breath you breathed was clean and cold. And your sheets were no longer beneath you, no. Now you laid on the rich soil outside of your home, your fingers rooting themselves into the dirt. 

You screamed and sobbed, unable to do anything but watch as the fire claimed your home and your mother. 

You were sobbing, collapsed to the ground as you struggled to breathe at the memory. 

Rhysand dared another step closer, kneeling before you now and his eyes held such sorrow, such remorse. 

“Y/N…” he spoke softly. “Was your mother ever accused of being a witch?” 

Nesta seethed, threatening. “Rhysand, that’s—“

“How do you know that?” Everything felt very, very still. No one should have known that. No one of these lands should have known that. 

Rhys didn’t answer your question. And despite the sound of large wings breezing through the sky, you did not look away from the High Lord. Not even as Azriel rushed into the House and his heart sunk at what he bore. 

“The day I entered your mind and took some of your pain away, I felt something. Something within you that I have never, in my 500 years of life, felt before.”

Azriel took a step closer. He should have said something when he first noticed the flowers. Because now, whatever power you had…it was consuming you. 

“I’d like to try something,” Rhysand proposed. 

You struggled to keep your breathing even. “What is it?” 

Another step closer, a warm hand on yours. 

“I’d like to enter your mind as far back as it will allow me. Just to see if I can find something.”

Violet eyes watched yours. “Find what?”

He squeezed your hand in reassurance. “Something to make sense of this.”

A moment of pause, to take in your surroundings. The flowers and soil had sprouted to cover the entire expanse of the lounge floor, your friends and cousins standing just beyond the brush of it. 

Eyes flickered to something hazel. Azriel. He stood in the soil, flora coating his ankles and he struggled to keep a tight leash on the shadows that fought to reach you. 

You looked back at Rhysand. 

“Will it hurt?” 

He shook his head. “No, not if you don’t resist.” 

That suddenly sounded an awful lot like your past. Memories of Rafe pinning you to the bed—scolding, reprimanding, promising no pain if you didn’t resist. 

This wasn’t like that, you had to remind yourself. You were safe. They only wanted to help. To understand. 

Azriel stepped closer, ignoring the silent warning that Rhysand whispered into his mind. A scarred hand out held, you took it. And Rhysand took that moment of distraction to enter your mind. 

The first memory he saw was one from just days before. You and Azriel reading in the library, the shadows that swirled your fingers and arms, the near-kiss that escalated into nothing. 

He dug deeper. The next, of you and Azriel again, exploring the city where you left a trail of green and brown tulips in your wake on the embankment of the river. 

Deeper and deeper, until the memories showed you living in the mortal lands. A blow to the face, to your stomach and your head. Rafe seething above you as he shouted and belittled you. 

Deeper, to a memory of your husband pinning you to the mattress, of his body crushing yours as he stole everything you never offered. 

Every memory Rhysand met, you re-lived them. 

A little deeper and he was watching you at the Archeron household, helping Elain plant seeds, watching Feyre paint, reading with Nesta. 

Deeper and deeper he went, passing the memories of the fire, of your mother, until he found exactly what he was looking for. 

“She is my child too, Selenthia. You cannot keep her from me.” A voice you did not recognise. A memory you did not recall. 

“For her protection, I will do what I must.” Selenthia seethed, coddling you closer to her chest. “No one can know what she is, or she’ll be hunted for the rest of her life.”

The unknown male huffed. He was beautiful. Tall and lean, strong and commanding. But there was something about him. Something not quite right. 

“So you plan to lock her away for the rest of her life?”

Selenthia bared her teeth. “I would never lock my child away. She will live her life as a mortal. I won’t subject her to a life like mine or yours.”

A moment of silence. “You cannot hide her from what she is.” He spoke softer now, edging close to peer at you, his daughter. 

“What do you plan to do when she first bleeds? When her ears point and her power grows—“

“That won’t happen.” There was no room for discussion in Selenthia’s voice. She placed a finger over your heart, a familiar violet glow permitting from her skin to yours. 

“What are you doing?” That male’s voice, cold once more. 

“I’m burying her power. So long as this wyrd remains on her skin, she’ll be safe.”

Selenthia pulled away, just enough to take a look at the mark that marred your skin. A mark two shades darker than the rest of your flesh, the shape of a crescent moon and no larger than a fingernail. 

“There. Nothing more than a birthmark.”

Rhysand retreaded from your mind, panting and shaking. Tears streamed down his flushed face, your own skin staining with silver, too. 

“What is it?” Nesta demanded, daring a step closer. 

But those tulips and daisies and buttercups…the soil and grass and roots, they all began to sink into the ground until nothing but the florals in your hair remained. 

“My mother…she…she was a witch. A healing earth witch. And my father—he…”

“Your father was Fae.” Azriel breathed, his eyes focused on the point of your ears that peeked through your hair and flowers.

“He was of the Night Court. A High Fae male.” Rhysand added gravely. 

Azriel’s hold on the shadows loosened and he allowed them to caress you, comfort you. Your hand never left his. 

You pulled away from Rhysand, clutching at your chest—at that crescent moon you always thought was a birthmark. Your mothers protection all along. 

“When you crossed the wall into the Fae lands, your power tried to break through. It was your mothers mark that had been keeping it buried with you all these years.” 

You dared a look at your cousins. But they looked at you with nothing but sorrow and anguish. No fear. They did not fear you, they did not pity you. In their eyes all you could see was longing. A longing for you to no longer live in such agony and hardships. 

“Our mothers were sisters. Does that mean—“

“I don’t think so,” Rhysand cut you off. “If they held the magic you do, I believe their power would have shown by now. They were Made. So it’s possible the Cauldron could’ve interfered with it if that were the case.” 

It was too much. All of it. Reliving those memories again, seeing your father… You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t have magic and powers. You could not be half Fae, half witch. 

It would be easy to give up. It would be so easy to ignore it until it killed you. So easy to just let go of everything. But a pounding in your soul begged you not to. Begged you to fight with everything you had. Begged you to live. 

“Burn the mark.” 

All attention snapped to you, flickering from your face to the mark on your chest that finally stopped glowing. 

“Are you insane?” Nesta seethed. 

You looked at her. “I don’t think I’d be far off to guess that if I don’t burn this mark, this…power will consume me entirely. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be so lost because I have no idea who I am. This is who I am, whether I like it or not. I won’t run anymore.”

Feyre stepped closer, crouching to your level and taking your spare hand in hers. Azriel still held tight to the other. “If you wish to burn it, it will unleash whatever power you have at full force. You don’t have any training, any control over it.” 

You felt sick to your stomach. “I don’t want to die, Fey.” 

And that was enough to enrage Feyre in a way she’d never once felt before. “You are not going to die. Do you understand me?”

Azriel squeezed your hand, begging for you to look at him. You couldn’t. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him looking at you any different than he had three days ago. 

“Rhys, fetch Madja. We will burn the mark in a controlled environment. Where any fallout can be contained.”

You shook your head, not willing to risk a single soul because of your selfish decision to live. 

“No,” you said. ��Drop me to the mountains and I’ll burn it myself.”

Nesta scoffed. “Oh, you are insane.”

You seethed at her. The first ounce of anger you’d truly shown. The first time you’d ever directed it at anyone but yourself. 

“This isn’t your decision. I will not risk anyone. Azriel can take me to the mountains and you can all keep your distance. At least until it’s safe.”

Until it’s safe. As if you knew for certain you’d survive it. You truly weren’t sure you would. There was nothing more to discuss, your tone made that clear enough. 

“Fly me, winnow me…whatever. Just do it now before I change my mind.”

Within a blink, your body was shivering and you were no longer in the House of Wind. Shadows encased your entire body, darkness swarming every inch of you. You said nothing as Azriel held you, nothing at all as he flew you across Velaris and toward the highest mountain just outside of the city. 

Only when he landed, when he refused to remove his hold from you, did the darkness dissipate and hazel eyes gazed into yours. 

“I’m staying with you.” 

“No, you’re not. I won’t risk your life, Azriel.” 

He set you to your feet, holding your hands now to keep you close. A plea of desperation swam in his eyes, his entire body yearning to take you and find another way to fix this. 

“There is no other option. If I don’t burn this mark, I don’t know what my power might do. It might kill me, it might destroy this city. I cannot risk anyone’s life for mine.”

Azriel parted his lips to speak but you shook your head, squeezing his hands. 

“If I don’t survive this—“

“Don’t.”

“Please, listen to me.” Silver lined your eyes, blurring your vision. “If I don’t survive this, I want you to know how special your friendship has been to me. How much I care for you, for your family.” A sob tore through your throat. “And I am so incredibly sorry for burdening you all in this way.” 

You reached on the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his. Warmth and love and the most raw emotion could be felt between you both. An apology for not having longer, a prayer that there would still be time. 

A fuse lit within the pit of your stomach, in the pit of Azriel’s. Tears stained your lips, stained his. In that moment, you were one. Whole, as though you always should have been. 

You pulled away first, forcing your hands from his hold. You took several steps back, blinking through the distorted vision and swiping away and evidence of the fear that crippled you. 

A puff of violet darkness misted beside Azriel as Rhysand winnowed to the mountains. Pain flicked through his eyes, regret and the same sorrow you saw in your cousins. 

You did not meet his gaze. 

“Summon a fire.”

He did as you asked. And handed you a blade. 

You did not grant them another look, did not give into the pleading in your mind to watch them leave. Or else you would’ve seen Rhysand drag Azriel off that mountain. You would’ve seen the anguish on the Shadowsingers face. 

Alone. As you had been your whole life. Though the weeks spent in Velaris had given you a taste of what could’ve been. You’d treasure those memories in the Hereafter. Those and the precious ones of your late mother. 

For they were all you had left. 

You did not allow another tear to fall. Not as you hovered the blade over the flame, not as you tugged your shirt down and took a deep breath. 

For if all you were ever meant to be was a ghost in the wind, you were content to know you’d reunite with your mother soon. Where you would no longer feel such pain. 

You didn’t want to die. But if this was all the time you were fated to have, then so be it. Better you than someone else. 

“Keep them safe.” A whisper to the winds, if they deigned to listen. 

With a final breath, you pressed the scorching blade against the mark on your skin and the entirety of your captive power unleashed upon the mountain as your body allowed it to consume you. Until you saw and heard and felt nothing at all. 

From below, the city shook, a thundering boom and a gust of aftershock and pelting mountain debris that blew the Inner Circle back. 

Then there was silence. 

And Azriel’s soul bellowed. 

a/n: so a LOT happened in this chapter and there is still a lot more to happen, i'm hoping i can fit it into two parts but it may be stretched into three, we'll have to see!! i'm so grateful for all the love you guys have been giving this series and i am so excited for you to find out how it all ends!!

if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated <3

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[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"You're gonna go far"

okay yall this is chapter one! if it sucks or doesn't make sense pls don't hate. might take it down later if i decide i hate it. likes, comments, and reblogs encourage me!!!I brainstormed this pretty fast so it might be messy.

lmk if there's any plot holes! This is the week following the failed patrol and Tiffany taking reader's credit. About 6 to 7 months after Tiffany moved in.

The first day after the incident, you had stayed in your room, nursing the bitter sting of betrayal. You couldn’t even remember the last time they’d acknowledged your existence. Tiffany, of course, was the shining star of the household. While you were holed up in your bedroom, processing the snakebite that had changed everything, Tiffany was out there, winning their favor with her charm, her sweet smiles, and her sugar-coated lies. You spent all night aching and feeling your bones shattering in your skin, feeling your skin peel off, and your teeth sharpen and make your mouth bleed.

The day started with her knocking on your door, her voice dripping with fake concern.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “I heard what happened last night... but don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just walk it off, right? Just a snake bite! You weren't even supposed to be on patrol, Dad said that you can't be part of the team. You're not skilled enough.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. How could you? It wasn’t a matter of walking it off. The venom inside you had begun to manifest, the snake-like power curling through your veins, but Tiffany's words twisted the knife further. You could see the smug look in her eyes as she added, “It’s okay. I’m here now. I know you’re upset, but let’s just move past it. You need some tough love”

You didn’t know what to expect when the transformation took hold that night. One minute, you were trying to cry yourself to sleep the next—your skin tingled, muscles shifting, twisting beneath the surface. The bite on your neck from the damn snake burned like fire, but something deeper, something inside you, urged you to embrace it. Again you felt your mouth burn, your body tingle, your skin shed and a searing pain from the waist down.

As you lay flat against the wall, your hands pressed against the cool surface you couldn’t help but grin, pain was better than numbness. You weren’t just Bruce Wayne's outcast daughter, nor were you the wannabe batgirl, as Stephanie liked to call you, you were something else now, something powerful.

The first time you ejected venom from your fingertips, you almost dropped your phone in surprise. It was cold, sharp, and terrifying in its power. It didn’t make sense. You could feel the agility coursing through you, every muscle in your body aligning with the new capabilities as if your very bones were made for this transformation. This wasn’t you anymore.

The idea of getting even, of showing them all that you weren’t weak or invisible, had always been a fantasy. But now, it didn’t feel like a fantasy. It felt real, solid in a way that left you trembling. You weren’t just going to prove them wrong. You were going to become something they could never ignore again. And they would never see it coming.

But what now? The Batfamily—Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, all of them—had given you nothing but pain and neglect for years. They didn’t understand you, didn’t care to. They couldn’t see past their perfect image of family long enough to see you. Now, with this power, you didn’t need them. You never did.

Except… there was Tiffany.

She was their new perfect darling, their shining star. Every time she took a step into their world, they’d fawn over her, ruffle her hair, praise her as though she could do no wrong. You had tried to be perfect for them, but perfection never got you what you wanted. It never got you love. It never got you acceptance.

She was a liar, a fraud, and she’d ruined your life. You'd tried to warn them, tried to tell them what she really was—what she was doing behind their backs. But they chose to believe her over you. They always did.

So it was time for them to learn. To know what you were capable of.

You wouldn’t hurt them but you would make them understand. You would show them your worth, show them what they had turned their backs on. No more hiding. No more being invisible. You’d be the storm they couldn’t control, the one they couldn’t ignore.

One by one, you would take back everything that was stolen from you.

The next day Bruce didn’t even acknowledge you when he passed you in the hallway. You wanted to tell him about the snake, about the strange scary things going on in your body, of the violent thoughts running through your mind but the words died in your throat in fear of ridicule. You stood there, heart racing, desperately hoping he’d say something, anything, just a hint of recognition. But he didn’t. Tiffany was at his side, her arm linked through his as they strolled past you. She was chattering on about some trivial matter, and you could feel the coldness in Bruce's demeanor. No eye contact. No words. Nothing.

It was as if you weren’t there. It hurt, more than you could have imagined. And yet it wasn't anything new.

Alfred, the one person who might’ve shown you compassion, didn’t even make you breakfast. You waited in the kitchen, hoping for something—anything. But no, Tiffany had already filled the void with her charming demeanor, sitting at the table with Alfred, chatting about some charity event.

You stood there, waiting. Watching. Silent.

Eventually, you turned and left. Alfred hadn't even looked up when you walked out.

Damian.

Your little brother who you tried so hard to bond withhad taken to sneering at you when you crossed paths with more anomosity than usual. His usual arrogance and distaste for you had only intensified. You had caught him once, whispering something to Tiffany about how "pathetic" you were. “Father’s blood runs through me, not through you,” he had muttered under his breath. You had to fight the overwhelming urge to break down right then and there. The venom inside you seemed to thrum in response, as if it recognized the cruel words, feeding off them.

Later, you overheard him tell Tiffany, “You’re far more worthy of being in this family than she’ll ever be.”

Jason, who you once thought of as a brother, the only one who could’ve understood you, had turned his back completely. You had tried to reach out to him and tell him of the pains at night, to apologize for whatever wrongs you’d committed, but all he did was glare at you. A snide comment about how “you wouldn’t know what it means to feel pain” and then he walked away, his back to you as he followed Tiffany down the stairs.

Your heart shattered.

Tim was... absent, but his absence was worse than anything. He made no effort to reach out, barely acknowledging you when you passed by. When you tried to speak with him, to ask how his day had gone, he merely gave you a dismissive shrug and muttered something about needing to “work.” Tiffany, on the other hand, always had time for him. She seemed to be everything you were not—everything they wanted. She was their perfect daughter, their perfect sibling. She was the one who belonged.

You tried to slip into the shadows, but the truth was, you felt like you were already invisible.

You and Duke used to be friends when he first came, till he realized Stephanie was much cooler than you. Maybe you could hang with them in the cave, maybe they could help figure out what was happening to you. Maybe even talk to Barbra and Cassandra!

The Batcave was eerily quiet when you worked up the nerve to enter. You were sitting at a workstation, trying to work up the courage to talk to any of your siblings but your thoughts kept drifting. Tiffany had completely woven herself into the fabric of the team, and everyone else, even Duke, seemed content to ignore you.

You and Duke had once been close. He’d been one of the few people who had ever tried to make you feel like you belonged in the manor. You remembered the late-night conversations, sharing stories and laughter, plotting out plans for how you could prove your worth to the family. But now, every time you glanced in his direction, there was nothing but distance and confusion.

you could feel his presence across the room. He and Tiffany were standing by one of the equipment stations, speaking in hushed tones. You tried to ignore them. It hurt too much to look at Duke, to see how easily he had fallen under Tiffany's spell, how effortless it was for him to ignore you now.

Tiffany was front and center, as usual. Her presence always seemed to command attention, like a star that everyone gravitated toward. You had grown used to the way they all fawned over her, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Duke, you’re up next,” Tiffany called out, a smile playing at her lips. Her voice was sweet, but you could hear the subtle edge beneath it. A tone that made your blood boil. She wasn’t just charming them, she was playing them.

“You know, I’d never say no to a challenge, Tiff.” he said, his voice almost affectionate.

“You’re the best, Duke,” Tiffany purred, clearly pleased.

You glanced at Barbara, hoping for something—a glance, a small acknowledgment—but her eyes were glued to her computer screen. She might as well have been miles away.

Cassandra, as usual, was focused on her training. She hadn’t ever shown interest in you, and today was no different. Her sharp gaze didn’t waver from the sparring targets she was working through, ignoring you entirely.

You sighed, not wanting to add to the already uncomfortable tension in the air. The weight of it was overwhelming. But you couldn’t help but overhear the rest of Duke and Tiffany’s conversation.

“I’m telling you, Duke,” Tiffany was saying with a laugh, “you’ve got this in the bag. You’ve been training for years, they’re never going to see it coming.”

Duke chuckled, clearly reveling in her praise. “Yeah, but I’m still not sure I trust the plan,” he said, glancing at the others. “You really think it’ll work?”

Tiffany’s smile was cold and calculating. “Trust me, it will. I’ve been working on it for weeks, and with your skills, we’ll have it done in no time. Just follow my lead.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from speaking up, even if you weren’t sure why you were still trying. You knew they didn’t care, but some part of you still clung to hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d listen. You and Duke were friends, he wouldn't ignore you. You didn't want Tiffany to pressure him into a plan he wasn't sure of.

“Tiffany, why don’t you give Duke some space?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “He might want to work out his own plan, you know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, Duke’s expression darkened, and so did everyone else's. Even Barbra glanced at you.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Tiffany asked, her tone laced with mock sweetness. “I didn’t realize you had any input. I guess it’s cute that you think Duke needs your help.”

Duke’s eyes narrowed. “I’m good, [Y/N]. Really. Tiffany’s got this. Don’t you have some... other place to be?”

Your mouth burned and your bones ached, since when did Duke treat you like this? What right did he have? You were friends, friends aren't mean to friends.

Your fists clench, "Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?" You spit out, unusually angry and brave.

His eyes softened for a second but then Duke looked up at you, his gaze colder than you remembered. “It’s not personal, okay? It’s just… you don’t really fit in with the rest of us."

The words felt like a slap in the face. Tiffany was the one with the skills. Tiffany was the one who was flawless. Tiffany was the one who didn’t need to try. Tiffany fit in.

You wanted to scream, to demand an explanation for why you were being discarded like this. You tried, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you silent. Duke wasn’t the person you had once leaned on. He wasn't your friend anymore. you could feel the deep divide between you both now, a gap named betrayal.

Before you could respond, Stephanie, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward. “Come on, (Y/N), don’t waste our time. If you don’t have anything useful to add, just leave. You’ll be better off on your own.”

Your eyes snapped to her. Of all people, you didn’t expect Stephanie to be so blunt. But here she was, her arms crossed and her eyes not even looking in your direction as she spoke.

Tiffany shot Stephanie a glance of approval. “Exactly, Steph. They’ll just slow us down. Maybe you should go back to the kitchen and bake something.”

The words were meant to belittle you, to remind you of the one thing they knew you were good at, baking, and nothing more. You felt your fists clench, the sting of her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.

Duke’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. His silence spoke volumes. You could feel the finality of it, the way the space between you both had grown too big to bridge.

“You don’t have to listen to them,” Tiffany continued, her voice smooth, "You’re not part of the team. Just let it go. It’s better for everyone.”

Tiffany’s manipulation was sickening. But what hurt the most was that Duke was going along with it. He had always been the one person who had made you feel like you mattered in this cold, detached family. And now? He was treating you like you were nothing. He had chosen her over you. The reality of it hit you like a t train.

“Fine,” you muttered, swallowing the lump in your throat, ignoring the burning of your eyes and the hole in your chest.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the Batcave, the cold stares of Tiffany, Duke, Stephanie and Cassandra burning into your back. no matter how hard you had tried, how many times you had bent over backwards to prove your worth, it would never be enough for them.

The final blow came that night on the 7th night after the incident and the day after Duke's betrayal.

Tiffany had won. You could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. She won their trust, their love. Now, she was going to make sure you were out of the picture for good.

You overheard Bruce and Tiffany speaking in his study, a room you were never allowed to enter.

“I think it’s for the best,” Tiffany said, her voice sweet, almost too sweet. “She’s so... incompetent. Maybe a change of scenery will help her grow.”

“Maybe,” Bruce replied, his voice cold, indifferent. “But it’ll also keep her away from Gotham for a while. From the family.”

“It’ll be better for everyone,” Tiffany continued. “She’s been so distant lately, and honestly, I don’t think she fits in here. She doesn’t belong.”

“I’ll have Alfred make the arrangements tomorrow,” Bruce said, his tone final. “It’ll be good for her. A change of pace. A chance to learn discipline.”

And just like that, your life as you knew it ended.

You would be sent away to a boarding school in New York City. They didn’t even give you the courtesy of telling you themselves. Tiffany had already manipulated the situation, convinced them that it was for the best. That you didn’t belong. That you needed to be removed from the family.

Later That Night

You sat in your room, fists clenched, eyes burning with tears you refused to shed. You could hear Tiffany’s laughter echoing in the halls as she paraded through the manor, a crown on her head that wasn’t hers.

You weren’t going to cry. Not anymore. You weren’t going to beg for their attention. For their love. No. You had something far more dangerous now. Something that didn’t need them. Something that would show them all just how wrong they were. The venom in your veins burned brighter now. You could feel it coiling around your bones like a living, breathing thing. You would prove them all wrong. You would go to New York and never look back.

Ok I tried my best guys be nice! I just had so many ideas and didn't know how to execute them! Send in asks! I wanted to get the plot moving tbh

[swappermanent]

Normal Kids

“I’m 19! I’m old enough to make decisions about my own body!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the kitchen walls. My chest heaved as I stood across from my parents, their expressions a cocktail of disbelief, frustration, and something I couldn’t quite place—grief, maybe?

My mom crossed her arms tightly over her chest, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry, we just… we can’t let you do that.”

“Let me?” I spat, the word tasting bitter. “You can’t let me? Do you even hear yourselves? This isn’t something you control! This is my life. My body.”

Dad rubbed his temples, his fingers digging into his skin like he could will the conversation away. “You’re too young to make a decision like this,” he said finally, his voice low but strained. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” I shot back, feeling my hands shake. “I’ve spent years figuring this out—every sleepless night, every time I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself, every time I wanted to scream because I couldn’t be who I am. Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Mom finally looked up, her face pale but her eyes blazing. “This isn’t about us not loving you. We just…” She paused, her voice trembling. “We don’t understand why you have to keep doing this to us.”

My stomach dropped, but I held my ground. “This isn’t something I’m doing to you. This is me—this is who I am. It’s not a phase or a rebellion or whatever else you want to call it. You’ve already been through this once with Liam. Are you seriously telling me you didn’t learn anything?”

Dad flinched, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. Liam, my older brother, had been their golden boy until he came out as gay a few years ago. It wasn’t pretty—he’d waited until he was moving out to tell them, probably because he knew exactly how they’d react. The disappointment in their eyes, the long silences, the occasional outburst when they thought no one else could hear… it had been brutal. But Liam had stood his ground, just like I was now.

When he left, I’d thought it couldn’t get worse. But then, a few months later, I’d come out as a lesbian. Their reaction had been less dramatic that time—probably because they were already so exhausted from Liam—but it wasn’t exactly warm, either. They’d treated it like a wound that would heal if they just ignored it long enough.

But this… this was different. A few weeks ago, I’d finally found the courage to tell them I was trans. And the look on their faces when I said those words—it was like I’d detonated a bomb in the living room.

“First Liam, and now this,” Mom had whispered that night, her voice shaking. “Why can’t we just have normal kids?”

That phrase had been replaying in my head ever since. Normal kids. Like there was some checklist of qualities that made you acceptable, and Liam and I had failed to meet every single one of them.

Now, as I stood in the kitchen, I felt that familiar mix of anger and sadness bubbling up. “I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “But I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not just to make you comfortable.”

“Why can’t you wait?” Dad said, his voice softer now. “Just give it a few years, until you’re older. Until you’re absolutely sure.”

“I am sure,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And I’m not going to waste any more time being someone I’m not.”

Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. My parents exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in my mom’s expression—something that looked almost like understanding. But then it was gone, replaced by the same tight-lipped resolve.

“We just need time,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… a lot.”

I nodded, biting back the sharp response I wanted to give. I knew I wouldn’t change their minds tonight. But I also knew that I wasn’t going to stop fighting. For Liam, for myself, for every other kid who’d ever been told they weren’t enough—I wasn’t going to give up.

For months, I begged and badgered my parents to let me start transitioning. Every conversation ended in a brick wall—excuses about my age, about not understanding the “gravity” of my decision, about the costs. They controlled the insurance, and they paid my college tuition. Without their approval, I was stuck. Trapped in a body that didn’t feel like mine and a life that didn’t feel like it fit.

But then, one evening, they relented.

“We’ve… been thinking about your request,” my mom said hesitantly over dinner. I immediately froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

My dad chimed in. “We found a clinic that might be able to help.”

I blinked, surprised but cautious. “Really?” I asked, my voice laced with doubt.

“Yes,” my mom replied, forcing a smile. “It’s… unconventional, but we think it might be what you’re looking for. They specialize in full-body transformations.”

Something about her tone set me on edge, but I didn’t press. I was too desperate for their approval. If they were finally agreeing to help me, I wasn’t about to question it. The only condition? Liam had to take me.

I love my brother. He’s my rock, the only person who truly gets me. So, I didn’t mind the idea of him tagging along. In fact, I was relieved to have him there. I told myself that having his support would make this feel less terrifying.

The clinic was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t a sterile hospital or some dingy back-alley operation. It was sleek, modern, and impossibly fancy. Marble floors, pristine white walls, the faint smell of lavender in the air. The kind of place you’d expect celebrities to visit for some high-end spa treatment.

A woman in a crisp white suit greeted us at the front desk. Her smile was warm but unnervingly perfect. “Welcome,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at me, but I shrugged. We were led into a private lounge, where they offered us water and reassured me that the procedure was safe and effective. A doctor arrived shortly after and explained that Liam and I would be separated for a brief consultation. That seemed odd, but I didn’t overthink it. Maybe they wanted to talk about medical history or something.

The moment I stepped into my consultation room, my gut told me something was off. It wasn’t the room itself—it was just as fancy as the rest of the place, with plush chairs and soft lighting—but there was an odd energy in the air. The doctor who entered was an older man with kind eyes, but his words sent a chill down my spine.

“This isn’t your typical hormone therapy clinic,” he began. “What we offer here is… revolutionary. Instead of months or years of transitioning, we provide an immediate solution.”

I frowned. “Immediate?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward. “We specialize in body-swapping technology. You would be able to inhabit a different body entirely—one that aligns with who you truly are.”

My stomach flipped. “Body-swapping?” I repeated, barely able to process what he was saying.

The doctor nodded, his expression calm, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “In your case, your parents have arranged for a body that they believe would suit you. Strong, male, conventionally attractive. We’re ready to begin the process, provided we have your consent.”

My heart was pounding now. “What body?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Your brother’s,” the doctor said simply.

The room spun. “What?” I croaked. “You’re saying… you want me to swap bodies with Liam?”

The doctor nodded again. “Yes. Your parents thought this would provide you with the life you’re seeking—male, straight, and socially acceptable. Liam has already been sedated and prepped for the procedure. He’ll retain his memories and sense of self, but he’ll wake up in your body.”

My mind raced, trying to piece everything together. “Does Liam… does he know about this?”

“No,” the doctor admitted. “He doesn’t need to. He’ll adapt in time. All we need is your consent.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. This was insane. They wanted to rip apart my brother’s life without his knowledge, without his consent. It was horrifying. And yet… the image of Liam’s body flashed in my mind. He was everything I’d ever wanted to be—handsome, muscular, confident. I imagined the life I could have in his shoes. The ease, the acceptance. The chance to finally feel right in my own skin.

“You’ll be happy,” the doctor said, as though reading my thoughts. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I clenched my fists, my heart racing. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, that Liam didn’t deserve this. But at the same time, the temptation was undeniable. How could I say no to something I’d dreamed of my entire life?

“I…” My voice wavered. I glanced at the door, imagining Liam just a room away, completely unaware of what was happening.

But the thought of waking up in his body, of finally feeling at home, was too powerful to ignore.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”

The doctor’s smile widened. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight. Not the kind that dragged you down, but something grounding, solid, like my body was finally my own. My eyelids fluttered open, and my heart skipped as I caught sight of my arm resting against the pristine white sheets. Strong, defined, dusted with dark hair that caught the soft light streaming in through the window. I flexed my fingers experimentally, watching tendons shift under the skin.

It felt… right.

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist, and ran a hand over my chest. The sensation of my fingers brushing through coarse hair was electric. My pecs were firm, rising and falling with each breath, and I couldn’t stop myself from tracing the ridges of muscle down to my abs. Every touch felt like discovering a secret, a hidden part of myself I’d been waiting my entire life to meet.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. My breath hitched. Liam’s body—no, my body—looked even more incredible in motion. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, the kind of build that turned heads. I stood slowly, marveling at the way my thighs tensed with the movement, the muscles taut and powerful beneath the skin.

I stepped closer to the mirror, placing a hand on the glass as though I needed to prove this was real. My other hand drifted up to my jaw, rough with stubble. I dragged my fingers across it, savoring the gritty sensation. The shadow of a beard framed my face, making my features sharper, more defined. I tilted my head, flexing experimentally, watching my shoulders and arms ripple with strength.

A shiver ran down my spine as I splayed my fingers across my chest, the dark hair soft yet coarse against my palm. My nipples stiffened under my touch, the sensation sparking an unfamiliar but intoxicating heat. I trailed my hand lower, tracing the faint line of hair that led down my stomach, feeling the muscles shift beneath my fingertips.

I turned to the side, marveling at the broadness of my back, the way it tapered into my hips. My hand skimmed over the curve of my biceps, then down to my forearm, where veins snaked beneath the skin, pulsing faintly with life. Every inch of me felt alive, thrumming with energy I’d never known before.

A sudden laugh escaped my lips, low and rich, surprising me with its depth. I couldn’t help but grin, running a hand through my hair, which was thick and slightly messy from sleep. The movement flexed my arm, and I turned back to the mirror, caught up in the intoxicating sight of strength and masculinity. This was me—finally me.

The knock at the door was soft but purposeful, and when I turned, the nurse from earlier stepped in. She was petite but poised, her blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail, her cheeks tinged pink as she glanced at me. I realized I was still shirtless, standing in all my glory, and I couldn’t help but smirk. The confidence in this body felt second nature, like slipping on a well-tailored suit.

“Just checking to see how you’re feeling,” she said, her voice warm but a little breathy. Her eyes lingered on my chest a beat too long before darting away, her blush deepening.

“I’m feeling incredible,” I said, letting my voice drop an octave. “But you probably hear that a lot.”

She chuckled nervously, her hands fiddling with the clipboard she carried. “Well, we do aim to please.”

I stepped closer, the smooth strength of my legs propelling me forward effortlessly. “You’ve done more than that.” I flexed my arm casually, the muscles swelling under my skin. “I’m guessing Liam—uh, I—had an arms workout yesterday. Feel that.” I offered my bicep, and her eyes widened slightly before she hesitantly reached out.

Her fingers brushed my skin, and I tensed the muscle, watching her expression shift as she gave a quiet, appreciative gasp. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s… impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “All yours to admire.”

Her blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away. Emboldened, I let my hand rest lightly on her waist. Her breath hitched, and I could feel the warmth of her body through her scrubs. My touch was gentle, but I knew the strength behind it was unmistakable—controlled, deliberate, intoxicating.

“You’re incredible,” I said softly, my thumb tracing small circles on her side. She shivered under my touch, her gaze locking with mine. The tension in the room was electric, every second stretching out tantalizingly. My hand drifted lower, just brushing the curve of her hip.

I reached for the waistband of my pants, ready to strip down and revel in this moment fully when—

The door burst open with a crash, and I whipped around to see myself—my old self—standing there, wide-eyed and furious.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

[imsofreakingtired]

touch starved sevika </3

content warning(s): none

"can you see me? i'm waiting for the right time i can't read you but if you want the pleasure's all mine can you see me using everything to hold back? i guess this could be worse, walking out the door with your bags"

~~~

The first time: Sevika was sitting in the corner of the Last Drop, fixing up her mechanical arm. Pretending she wasn’t watching you move around the crowded club, from one person to the next, collecting intel with a professional smile on your lips. You were looking good today, a light dancing in your eyes, a spring in your step. Whenever you laughed at something someone said, Sevika would feel an inexplicable rush of anger at whoever you were talking to. 

And then all of a sudden there you were in front of her, elbows on the table, huffing a sigh.

“These fucking boneheads,” you said. “I’m going insane. Not a single piece of reliable information.” 

Sevika only gave a grunt in return, twisting a screw in her arm with renewed vigor to cover up her surprise at the fact that you were speaking to her. Only thing was, the force caused the screwdriver to slip out of her hand and clatter onto the table. 

“Well don’t go ahead and break your other wrist,” you joked, picking up the tool and handing it to her. 

“Something you needed to talk to me about?” Sevika snapped. Her tone was rough, and anyone else in your position who didn’t know her would have been scared away. But you were undeterred. 

“Small talk is an essential life skill, Sevika,” you said airily. “At least, so I’ve heard. It is a doorway to getting what you really want from people.” 

“And what the hell is that?” 

You only laughed, and stood up. “I’ll tell you later. Clearly you’re busy now.” And as you passed by you rested a hand on her shoulder momentarily. 

Sevika would think of the warmth of your hand for the next few days. 

~~~

The second time: It was past midnight. Silco had sent you to accompany Sevika on a trip down the Lanes to oversee the Shimmer packaging. She walked swiftly, wordlessly. Silco was in a mood; Jinx had gotten into some scrape or another and he was determined to spend the night trying to reason with her. Because of that he had moved his entire agenda for the night to Sevika’s task list. The two of you were already behind schedule. 

But as you walked over a high line between buildings, taking a shortcut to the warehouse, you looked up at the sky and gasped. 

A wind had blown away the smoke from the chimneys, briefly clearing the sky. A multitude of stars glimmered above the tops of the buildings. 

“Sevika, look at this,” you said. 

She didn’t hear you; she hadn’t even noticed you stopped walking and was already near the end of the street. You ran after her and grabbed her wrist. She turned around sharply, startled, automatically looking around for a threat. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

You pulled her back a few steps. “Look,” you said. 

Sevika saw the stars, but her thoughts were on your fingers clasped tightly around her wrist, as if to keep her from breaking free and walking away. You looked up at her, smiling, expecting a reaction. “Isn’t it pretty? When was the last time you saw stars in the Undercity?” 

She felt your hand slip down, your fingers finding hers, but before you could lace them together she pulled away abruptly. “We gotta keep moving,” she said. “There’s no time for this.” 

She pretended to ignore the disappointment in your face. She also pretended that she didn’t give a shit about the stars, that she didn’t wish she had let you hold her hand. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t remember the last time someone touched her like that, as if they wanted her, as if her presence meant something to them. It didn’t matter that maybe she wished time had stopped for a few moments, so that the two of you could stand together and watch the rare clear sky. 

~~~

The third time: You found Sevika in the backstreet behind the Last Drop, leaning against the wall and trying to light a cigarette. She had been in a fight: her face was mottled with cuts and bruises and her lip was still bleeding. You went up and took the lighter, flicking it open and lighting her cigarette for her. 

She gave you a brief nod, mumbled “thanks” around her cigarette. 

“Who did this to you?” You asked. 

She just laughed dryly, blowing smoke. “The question you should ask,” she said, “is what did I do to them.”

“Witty. Who’s after us?” 

Sevika shook her head. “No one. Just some street punks.” 

“Hm. Wait here.” You went back inside the bar and returned with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Pulling a clean cloth out of your pocket, you took her chin in your fingers, turning her face toward you. She froze. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Hold still, dummy.” You wet the cloth with alcohol and started to clean the cuts. She winced as you pressed the cloth to her skin, but didn’t pull away. She could smell your scent, this close to you, and she blamed the dizziness on the punch she took from the street rat, even though she knew damn well it didn’t do shit to her.  

“There,” you said, “good as new.”

But you lingered, reluctant to let go of her. Tentatively you reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. And inwardly, Sevika cursed herself, because the gesture made her forget every single conceivable excuse to flee the scene. 

thank you @beatdariceee for the prompt <33

[myderis]

phainon 'n fem reader ᰔ fluff ⊹ word count 0.5k

"Quick, hide me!" you were in a total panic running to PHAINON using him like a human shield as your hands found a place on his back, gently tugging his cape. Although he didn't have time to react, he knew you were in big trouble if you were looking for him. "What is it this time, my lady? You stole another scroll, rode a droma unsupervised, scammed someone, or—?"

"Where is she?" you panicked even more hearing the voice of none other than Mydei and his footsteps that could tear the ground apart, and maybe even your dignity. "Where's who?" Phainon's calm voice carried just enough to sound believable. He didn’t flinch as the prince’s towering frame loomed closer, his eyes blazing like twin suns. The Deliverer shrugged slightly, ensuring his broad frame blocked you from sight as you pressed closer to his back, your heart pounding like a war drum.

"You know exactly who I’m talking about," Mydei growled. His tone was edged with frustration, and you could almost feel his glare cutting through the space between them. "She drank all of my pomegranate juice. Do you have any idea how long I waited for the harvest? Where is she?" At those words, your stomach twisted with guilt and fear. You hadn’t meant to drink all of it… but it was just so good.

Phainon tilted his head, considering. "Pomegranate juice, you say? That’s tragic. But alas, I’m afraid I haven’t seen her.” leaning casually against a pillar as if Mydei’s wrath was the least of his worries. "Perhaps she’s taken to the market? Or gone to annoy someone else?" 

Mydei hesitated, uncertain whether to believe Phainon or keep pressing him for answers. After a long, tense pause, he sighed, not wanting to bother himself anymore.

"Fine. If you see her, tell her to face me like an adult," You shot your savior a silent, desperate thank-you from behind his back. He subtly shifted, blocking you further from view. Mydei narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it, but after a moment, he huffed, muttering something about “finding her eventually” before storming off.

As soon as he was gone, you stepped out from behind Phainon. "I owe you my life," you said dramatically, your heart still racing. "Or at least my dignity."

Turning to you, an eyebrow raised in amusement. "You owe me more than that, I think. But we’ll start with the truth—what did you do?"

You hesitated, then confessed, "I… drank all of Mydei’s pomegranate juice. I was thirsty! And it was just sitting there, looking—"

"Delicious?" Phainon finished, smirking. "You’re lucky I’m good at lying."

"Lucky doesn’t even cover it. I don’t know how to thank you," you admitted, a gentle smile appearing on your face and Phainon crossed his arms, his smirk widening. "I can think of one way."

Your stomach did a little flip. "Do you want to go out on a date?"

He chuckled, blue eyes shining with adoration, "I was going to suggest you replace the juice, but now that you mention it… I won’t say no."

You flushed, but you couldn’t help but laugh. "It’s settled then,"

"At least for now, my lady," he teased, making you wonder how draining Mydei’s pomegranate juice wasn’t the worst decision you’d made after all.

© MYDERIS. do not translate, plagiarize, or steal my work.

[woso-story]

Bad Driver

Alexia Putellas x Reader

It was a crisp Friday evening, and the anticipation of date night had you buzzing with excitement. Alexia, your longtime girlfriend and the love of your life, was getting ready in the bedroom while you paced the living room. The plan was to drive to your favorite restaurant, where you’d made reservations days in advance. Usually, Alexia drove her sleek Cupra, but tonight, you felt a spark of rebellion—you wanted to drive for once.

When Alexia emerged, radiant in a fitted blazer and her signature confidence, you smiled and said, "Babe, I’ll drive tonight."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You? Drive?" she asked, her tone light but her expression anything but.

“Yes, me. Why not? You always drive. Let me take the wheel this time,” you replied, grinning.

But Alexia didn’t hand over the keys. Instead, she shook her head with a nervous laugh. “No, no. It’s fine. I’ll drive.”

Confused, you stepped closer. "Why not? It’s not like I’m a bad driver or anything."

She hesitated, her gaze darting away. "It’s not that. I just… prefer to drive myself, that’s all."

Her response only deepened your suspicion. You crossed your arms and gave her a pointed look. “Alexia, you’re a terrible liar. Just tell me the truth.”

Alexia sighed, running a hand through her hair. After a long pause, she finally muttered, barely above a whisper, “I don’t think you’re the best driver.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

She winced, clearly regretting her words. "It’s not a big deal! It’s just… every time you drive, I get a little nervous."

“Nervous?” you echoed, bewildered. “Why would you be nervous? I’m a good driver."

Alexia bit her lip, as if debating whether to continue. Finally, she said, “Well, you’re often over the speed limit. And you’re late on the brakes… like, really late. Sometimes I think we’re going to hit the car in front of us. Oh, and there was that time you drove over the curb and scratched my rims. Twice.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “You noticed that?”

She gave you a sheepish smile. “I… might have had them repaired. Twice.”

Her confession hit you hard. You couldn’t believe you’d never noticed how nervous she felt. The thought that she didn’t trust you to drive her car made your heart sink. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Alexia said softly, stepping closer. “You’re amazing at so many things, mi princesa. Just… maybe not driving.”

Her attempt to lighten the mood didn’t land. You felt embarrassed and hurt, retreating into silence. The drive to the restaurant was quiet, the usual easy conversation replaced by an awkward tension. Even dinner felt different, with you picking at your food and Alexia watching you with worried eyes.

---

The dimly lit restaurant, usually your haven of laughter and love, felt muted. Alexia’s gentle attempts to pull you out of your shell failed to break through. Her jokes felt forced, and her compliments only deepened your self-consciousness. As dessert arrived, Alexia reached across the table to take your hand. "I’m sorry if I upset you. That wasn’t my intention."

You nodded, offering a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "I know. It’s just… hard to hear."

As you left the restaurant, Alexia stopped you by her car. “Here,” she said, holding out the keys.

“What?” you asked, frowning.

“You’re driving us home,” she said, her tone firm.

You shook your head. “No way. I’m not doing it now."

“I had a little too much to drink,” she countered, giving you a small smile. “It’s up to you now.”

You hesitated, suddenly suspicious. “Was this your plan all along? Get me to drive so you can complain about how bad I am?”

Alexia laughed, but her expression softened. “No, I just want to show you that I trust you. You’ve got this.”

With a sigh, you took the keys and got into the driver’s seat. The drive home was smooth, largely because you were hyper-focused on every move—checking mirrors, braking early, and staying well under the speed limit. Alexia’s amused glances didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re doing great,” she said, her voice full of warmth.

For the first time that evening, you felt a flicker of pride. That is, until you reached the garage of your apartment complex. As you turned the corner, Alexia shouted, “Careful!” but it was too late. The screeching sound of metal against concrete filled the air.

Your heart sank as you parked and got out to inspect the damage. Sure enough, the rim was scratched—again. Tears welled up in your eyes as you turned to Alexia. “I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for the repair this time.”

Alexia walked over and pulled you into a comforting hug. “It’s okay, mi amor. It’s just a rim.”

“But I ruined it… again,” you mumbled into her chest, tears streaming down your face.

“Shh,” she soothed, stroking your hair. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re perfect to me, rims and all.”

---

Back in the apartment, Alexia made you tea and held you close on the couch. Slowly, your embarrassment faded. She didn’t try to fix the situation with words; instead, her steady presence spoke volumes. The warmth of her embrace and the rhythm of her heartbeat calmed you.

“Thank you for being so patient with me,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

She kissed the top of your head. “Always. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, snuggling into her.

After a few minutes of silence, a laugh escaped you. Alexia tilted her head, curious. “What’s so funny?”

“I always wondered why you never let me drive,” you said, grinning. “Now I know.”

She chuckled, pulling you closer. “You’re the perfect passenger princess, mi amor. Let me drive you wherever you want to go.”

Smiling, you nestled into her embrace, the tension of the evening finally dissolving. With Alexia, you knew you were safe—in love, in life, and yes, even in the passenger seat.

[russo-woso]

Hey, can you write something for the lyrics of The Alchemy-Taylor Swift with Alessia? "There was no chance, trying to be the greatest in the league Where's the trophy? She just comes running over to me

Don’t come to me! || Alessia Russo x reader

Masterlist

Summary you’re the first one Alessia runs to when Arsenal win the FA cup

A/N another short fluffy one

It had been a thrilling four goal match so far.

Manchester City had been in the lead the first forty five minutes, holding a comfortable 2-0 lead over Arsenal.

But during the second half, Arsenal made their comeback.

The scoreline soon became 2-1 with a goal from Frida, then 2-2 thanks to a screamer from Katie - let’s be real, every goal she scores is a screamer.

The 90 minutes ended 2-2 so the game went to extra time.

You sat on the edge of your seat as the clock drew closer and closer to the second final whistle.

“You’re gonna fall off of you move any more.” Luca, your brother in law, joked clearly noticing how far forward you were.

“I’m nervous, I can’t imagine how they must be feeling.” You told him, referring to the girls on the pitch.

“Lessi’s used to it by now.”

“I know. I asked her this morning how she was feeling and she just said it was a normal match - no it is not! It’s the fa cup final! I think I was more nervous than her.”

“She hasn’t always been like that. She used to be so nervous before big matches but as soon as she met you, she knew you were her lucky charm. That’s what she told me anyway. If you’re in the crowd, her nerves go away.” Luca explained, your heart warming at your wife’s past words.

You went to respond but before you could, the crowd started getting rowdy.

You looked in time to see Caitlin pass a perfect ball through to Alessia.

With brute force, Alessia struck the ball, sending it flying to the back of the net.

You jumped up, pride filling you as you watched Alessia get tackled by her teammates.

Alessia quickly found you in the crowd - easily due to her getting you front row tickets by the corner flag.

She swiftly blew you a kiss before jogging back into position for kick off again.

The minutes ticked by and although it was painfully slow, the whistle finally blew.

Arsenal had won.

You watched as the whole team ran to each other, engulfing each other in hugs, but there was one person who wasn’t with the team - alessia.

It wasn’t hard to find her though, her blue eyes being so easy to find - for you anyway.

She had a massive smile on her face as she started jogging towards you.

“Lessi!” You exclaimed as she tackled you into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

You pulled away from the hug to place your lips on hers.

“You’re my lucky charm.”

“So I’ve heard. Go celebrate with your team, lessi.” You told her but she turned your suggestion down.

“I just want to celebrate with you, love, no one else.”

“They’re getting ready for the trophy, less, go.” You laughed, watching as she cling onto you.

“You’re my trophy. You’re the only one I need.”

“Oh, baby.” You laughed, stroking a hand through her sweat dampened ponytail. “I tell you what, go get your medal and celebrate with your team and then we’ll celebrate properly when we get back home - however you like. Deal?”

“Deal. Try get a nap in at some point because it’s gonna be a long night, pretty girl.”

[dadvans]

without a base, without a trace

bucktommy (9-1-1) :: 5 medical emergencies buck has after breaking up with tommy + 1 he has when they get back together

slightly based on this post by @epiphainie. for @rcmclachlan. art by @wortwood. verging on crack fic. this is the dumbest thing i have ever written.

ONE.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

It’s a rare day that Josh is working the lines, not that he cares. It’s important to not get rusty in a job like this. And if he’s being a little too honest with himself, the rush he gets on certain calls make his shift fly by way quicker than when he’s supervising or working breaks.

“Josh?”

This is close to his thirtieth call of the day, so it takes him a second to place the familiar vocal fry on the other end of call.

“Buck?”

“Shit,” Buck says, “well, this is embarrassing. Uh, hey. Can you not tell my sister about this?”

“Your sister who is sitting across from me?” Josh glances up, catching Maddie’s attention. Her eyes double in size when he mouths Buck to her and gestures to his own headset.

“Yeah, please, I—Josh—“

“Hey, hey, of course, don’t worry, Buck, I’m still a professional.” He rolls his eyes as Maddie peers over her monitor, and he mouths again I’ll tell you later, before returning his attention to the line. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Buck sighs on the other end. “I have a Coke can stuck up my ass.”

Josh almost chokes. This wouldn’t even be the first call this week where someone “tripped and landed on something wrong,” but the mental image of one of those calls being Buck practically knocks the wind out of him.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that.”

“Coke can,” Buck repeats, and there’s something to be said that his bitchy tone could be genetic the way he sounds so much like Maddie on her last nerve, “stuck up my ass.”

“Oka-a-a-y,” Josh says slowly, logging rectal foreign body and Coke can appropriately. “Can I ask how this happened?”

“How do you think, Josh? My boyfriend broke up with me, I missed him, and Tommy was—he was big, you know?”

“Sure,” Josh replies, trying to keep his tone neutral as possible. “Have you ever heard the adage ‘without a base, without a trace?’ Without a flared base, nearly ten times out of ten you’re bound to—“

“Look, I know, okay? I’ve responded to plenty of these calls myself, I just thought I had a good grip and was feeling desperate, and with all the lube, it slipped, and—“

“You know what, I think I get the picture. Are you at your home address?”

He hears another sad sigh from Buck’s end of the line.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, I’m dispatching paramedics to your location, okay? And for future reference”—he lowers his voice—“there are plenty of places online, or The Pleasure Chest off of Santa Monica that can provide you with a more appropriate, uh, instrument to help you with your needs, got it?”

He hangs up shortly after, and Maddie immediately rounds their desks to sit on the lip of his. “So?”

“Let me just tell you that you don’t want to know,” Josh says, shaking his head. “But if you piss me off someday, I might tell you.”

TWO

It’s barely a week after Josh takes Buck’s call that another one comes in. Josh is the supervisor on shift when he hears Maddie’s tone go from a measured neutral to thin and tight in seconds.

“Buck?” She says. “Buck, are you okay?”

There’s no possible way, Josh thinks. But just in case, on a hunch, he pulls up a chair and connects himself to her line.

“Buck, this is Josh, I’m acting shift lead.”

Maddie gives him a weird look that he ignores, but Buck says, “Oh, thank God. Maddie, can you let Josh just take this?”

“Um, n-no, no. This doesn’t work like that. What’s going on, Evan?”

“Maddie,” Buck groans, “please?”

“Please, sir, I need you to state your emergency,” Maddie continues, voice settling. Her hands, which had been starting to shake, still on her keyboard.

“It’s an eggplant,” Buck says. “I have… an eggplant.”

“An eggplant?” Maddie repeats.

Josh chokes past a cough so he doesn’t laugh out loud. Real fucking amateur hour. “Buck, what did I tell you last week? Did you completely ignore my advice?”

Maddie turns to him, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Your brother has an eggplant lodged in his ass,” Josh replies, shaking his head. “Am I right, Buck?”

“Look, I did take your advice, or I thought I did. I thought if I started at the smaller side, the other end would act naturally as a flared base, but I got uh, carried away.”

Josh closes his eyes, listening, and counts to three. Maddie may have stopped breathing next to him. “And Buck, uh, what kind of eggplant was it? I’m assuming—“

“Italian,” Buck confirms, “the big kind.”

Damn. Josh is kind of impressed. Buck sure isn’t doing things by halves.

“This time it may require, uh,” Buck continues, “surgical assistance. It feels really deep.”

“Buck, I can’t assure you of anything, but you’d be surprised what the human body is capable of. Just stay calm, and we’re dispatching help to your area. Are you still at home?” Josh asks.

“Yeah,” Buck admits. Josh has had years of faceless conversations across a wide range of disasters, emergencies, human experiences. Someone else, even Maddie, would probably say he sounds embarrassed, but Josh knows sadness when he hears it.

He doesn’t call any attention to it, just nods. “Okay, thank you. Help is on the way.”

When the call disconnects, Maddie turns to him, face distressed. “What did he mean, ‘This time?’”

THREE

Josh is supervising a new trainee’s line when Buck’s third call comes in. It’s been maybe a week and a half, and the first to come so late, almost three in the morning. Josh has just come back from a break, having closed his eyes in the back for forty-five minutes, and is wondering if he’s still dreaming when Buck’s unmistakable voice cracks over the line. Unlike the first two calls, he slurs from the first word and Josh is pretty sure he’s been crying.

Josh rolls his eyes and unmutes his side of the line. “Hi, Buck.”

His trainee almost jumps a foot when he does it. He covers his mic with his palm and turns to her.

“Repeat callers, you’ll get used to them. This one is kind of my regular,” he assures her, hoping she doesn’t work with Maddie anytime soon.

Buck hiccups on the other end of the line and moans. “Josh, I did something stupid.”

“Wait, what was that? Buck, can you tell me what’s going on? Are you safe?”

“I dunno. Did something stupid. Dumb,” he repeats. “Wine bottle.”

Jesus Christ. “Wine bottle?”

“Wine bottle. With wine in it. Neck not big enough. Stuck. Wine is—izza—fillin’ me up but is, it’s, doesn’t feel right.” Half of his words are slurred together. It sounds like he’s saying Dozen-fee-ruh. He says, “Mucus membranes. I looked it up. Too much.”

“Got it, got it, you home, Buck?”

“Yeah,” Buck admits softly. “Alone.”

“I’m sending help to your location.” Josh takes over his trainee’s dashboards and dispatches a team accordingly.

“Not the one-eighteen though, right?” Buck asks. But with the way he sounds, it takes a second for Josh to decipher.

“No, not the one-eighteen,” he says, then sighs. “But Buck, I can’t guarantee that they won’t be dispatched to you next time. And if it’s me on the call, that’s who I’m definitely sending. I don’t expect you to remember me saying this, but if this happens again, you might force my hand if that’s what gets you to stop.”

“Okay, okay. Just miss him. Miss him so much. The way he filled me up—“

Josh abruptly ends the call. Which isn’t great. Help has already been sent out, but still.

“What just happened?” She asks.

“Something,” Josh says on an exhale, “totally normal in the broad scheme of things. But for my sake? Please pretend this call never did.”

FOUR.

Josh was supposed to be off tonight, but dispatch has been busy, busy, busy since a low five-point-something and several aftershocks slammed everything sideways from Puente Hills. Sue called him in hours ago, and the only thing that’s keeping him alert through the hours-long queue of anxious callers is the promise of that sweet, sweet, time and a half overtime pay.

He’s ready to lose it by the time the calls start to finally die down only to have Buck end up on his line.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he sighs. He pulls

Buck, on the other end, grumbles what sounds like There have to be more than five dispatchers in all of Los Angeles, right? away from the receiver, before he says closer and direct across the line, “I’m stuck.”

“What do you mean, ’stuck?’” Josh asks, fingers flying over the keyboard. He hasn’t heard of any infrastructure damage near Glendale, but maybe he’s making assumptions. “Are you trapped?”

“No, I’m—not exactly.”

“‘Not exactly,” Josh repeats. “Buck, where are you?”

“My apartment.” Buck doesn’t sound scared, or even urgently in danger. He sounds resigned. “I got a toy, by the way. Like you suggested. Flared base. Suction end, even, so I wouldn’t have any more accidents.”

Josh stopped believing in God a few decades ago, but he finds himself sending out a quiet prayer anyway that none of his calls with Buck have randomly hit the auditor’s desk. “Is that relevant to the call, sir?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t—shit. I was riding it when the earthquake hit.”

“Okay,” Josh says, when Buck doesn’t elaborate. “And?”

“I had it suctioned to my coffee table. And I’d been riding it for a while, so my legs were already shaky and I slipped—you know what, not important. What’s important is that I’ve been glued to my coffee table with a dick in my ass since noon. I can’t get up without the table—everything pulls, I can’t feel where the silicone ends and wood begins.”

“Jesus,” Josh says. Again, he really hopes this call doesn’t get audited.

There aren’t enough first responders to get to Buck right away. Josh lets him know that, in between asking a series of invasive questions where he learns that Buck is also somehow upside down, struggling to reach the poppers bottle he wants to swat out of the line of sight when someone inevitably rescues him.

“We’re experiencing a high volume of emergency calls at the moment, but I’ll get someone to you as soon as I can. But Buck,” Josh continues, “you have my number. Let me know when you’re okay. And then we can talk. Because I never, ever want to get one of these calls again.”

FIVE.

Josh watches as Maddie suspiciously sidles up to him in the locker bay several days later. She’s half-dancing, hips swaying and arms circling in a sad attempt at salsa.

“Do you have bedbugs? Did Howie give you bedbugs?” He asks her. “Because if you have bedbugs and you give them to the rest of us, I swear to God, Maddie.”

“No!” She says. Even when she doesn’t laugh out loud, she laughs with her eyes sometimes, wide and alive and catching all sorts of life. Had he been straight in another life, he would have been in so much trouble. “Okay, remember how we discussed Evan’s, uh, recent maladaptive coping strategies?”

“If by ‘discussed’ you mean ‘completely evaded the subject,’ and I gave him the number of a man whose penis defies God—“

“Yes, yes, anyway. They’re on a date!” She whips out her phone to show Josh the text message confirmation from Buck that not only had he’d reached out to Josh’s friend a few days ago, but was also now on his way to a dinner and movie. “Look!”

Josh’s eyes close with relief. “Oh, thank God. I can finally rest easy for a shift and not worry your brother is going to end up on my line with something stuck up his ass.”

Maddie’s smile fades and her shoulders slump. “Tell me about it. I’d do anything to go back to a time where he was just baking too much and I didn’t have to worry about where all the candles in his apartment went.”

“Stop.” He closes his eyes and throws his head back. “End of conversation. Even if I’m happy you told me, so I won’t have to spend the next twelve hours worried your brother is going to finally puncture his colon and die. Because the past few weeks have been so much.”

“Well, maybe your Prince Charming is the one who will finally break the curse,” Maddie replies, squeezing his shoulder.

Josh really hopes so. He needs Big Dick Eric (the guy’s Christian name, according to how Josh had saved him in his phone after a slightly overwhelming Grindr hookup) to seal the deal with Buck tonight. It doesn’t have to be forever, just as long as it takes for Buck to stop trying to fill the hole in his heart with dick. For Josh’s own mental health.

He wants to be optimistic.

The first two hours of his shift are as normal as normal can be for a seven-to-seven night shift. He handles an ugly domestic call, several drunk teenagers, a broken skate park ankle, and multiple people reporting the same car alarm going off at their apartment complex. His heart rate picks up when a new homeowner calls to report a squatter in her attic, but it just turns out to be a bat infestation.

And then, as if even thinking the word “quiet” is a thought crime that welcomes chaos, Josh takes his next call and is greeted with screaming.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” He asks, voice slightly elevated to challenge the screams warping the call.

He’ll give Buck credit later: when the emergency isn’t necessarily specific to his own bad decisions, the guy is effectively, professionally cool in a crisis, to a degree that Josh doesn’t immediately recognize him.

He requests an ambulance immediately to a residential address for a single adult man who he believes has fractured his penis.

“Can you tell me what happened that has lead you to believe this man has fractured his penis?” Josh asks, trying to discourage his own balls from shrinking back up inside him.

“We were, uh, in flagrante,” the guy on the other end responds, and that’s when Josh knows it’s Buck, because the pitchy, worried waver in his voice haunts Josh’s dreams. “We were—well—there was a popping noise while he was still inside me, and everything got hot and wet different from lube, you know, and I looked down and there was blood everywhere. And then he started screaming.”

Yeah, that sounds pretty fractured. Poor Big Dick Eric.

“Oh-kay, sir,” Josh replies, “Well, I am dispatching help to you right now. While you wait, you should try to treat the afflicted area with ice—“

“—Already on it,” Buck replies, harried, and Josh can hear him roughly digging ice out of a freezer, he thinks.

“Great. Help will be there soon, Buck,” Josh confirms, and then the shoveling sound stops briefly.

“Josh?”

“Yup,” Josh replies.

“Of course, God—hey, please don’t tell Maddie about this one, please? I’ve already traumatized her so much.”

Josh sighs, and professionalism be damned, he can’t stop himself from saying, “Buck, I won’t tell Maddie, but I’m absolutely telling all of Gay Los Angeles to steer clear from you until whatever sex curse you’re dealing with is fixed”

Buck hums sadly. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Josh listens to him return to Big Dick Eric’s side, equal parts miserable and beguiled at the soft, direct way Buck offers a baggie of ice to a wailing Big Dick Eric. He finds himself feeling bad, though he’s not sure who for. All parties involved, maybe. Himself especially.

Despite all his years as a dispatcher, he still ends the call with a migraine.

PLUS ONE

“I think,” Maddie had said between several sips of decaf, halfway through their shift, tone light and bubbly, “that they might get back together. They’ve been talking.”

“‘Talking,’ huh?” Josh had replied, shutting his locker. “God, I hope so. Spare the rest of Los Angeles from whatever in the Grey’s Anatomy that’s become your brother’s life.

The look Maddie had given him, six months pregnant, patience thin, emotionally volatile and absolutely not amused, shut him up immediately.

That was hours ago. Seventeen calls ago. Their shift ends as the sun starts rising outside their windowless floor. Josh shrugs his jacket on thinking about the Egg McMuffin he’s going to get before he returns home and passes out in a sodium coma for approximately seven hours. Maybe he’ll dig through the graveyard of Trader Joe’s meals in his freezer to get the frozen bottle of Absolut that sits in back and make himself a Screwdriver to wash it down with.

“Plans for the rest of your day?” He turns to Maddie, only to find her distracted and scrolling through her phone.

“Sorry, I—I have like, several texts and five voicemails from Evan and I’m trying to read the transcripts first,” she says, brow knitting together with worrying familiarity. “Let’s see, it sounds like—oh. Oh. Oh wow.”

Josh commendably does not scream. “What now?”

She turns the phone to him, expanding the first message.

Hi Maddie, it’s Tommy. We’re—me and Evan—are headed to the ER. Nothing huge, just thought you should know, he said you had plans tomorrow. He kind of got carried away tonight, and, you know what? Doesn’t matter. Not a big deal. He’s having a little trouble speaking right now, but wanted me to call you so you don’t worry.

“What,” Josh says.

She thumbs open the transcript for the next voicemail.

Hey, Maddie. Tommy again. Buck’s voice is still out of commission. He, uh. It sounds like he ruptured his airway. He’s being given the good drugs, but will not be able to meet you tomorrow, and is definitely going to be on a text-only basis for at least a week. At the very least it isn’t bad enough for him to need surgery, so we’re getting discharged soon. I’ve got him for now, and I’ll keep an eye on him for the next couple of days while we’re off. Feel free to give me a call or swing by if you have any questions.

“Did he really—?”

“Yup, yes he did,” Maddie says, swiping over to her texts to open up a selfie from Buck, looking smug and high as a kite while reclining in a hospital bed.

“Jesus, how big is Tommy,” Josh says, before he can stop himself.

“At a certain point it just has to be uncomfortable for everyone involved, right?” Maddie frowns down at the picture of Buck grinning back up at her from her phone.

Josh sighs. “They really found love in a hopeless place. I think this is one of those situations where two people belong together, if only for the public safety of everyone else.”

“I just hope it sticks this time.”

“If it doesn’t, I might just have to quit my job,” Josh says. “Anyway, tell them congratulations for me. I’m going to go drink celebratory screwdrivers until I pass out.”

Maddie’s nose wrinkles and she turns her pout on him, one hand moving to her stomach. “You’re a cruel man, Josh Russo.”

His looks down at the phone she still holds with the other pointedly. “I think you and I both know I could be much, much worse.”

[vqtkufi]

ETHEL CAIN 240125 Trascript 0:00-15:05

I have written this transcript word for word, so it is most definitely not 100% accurate. I have tried to do the rest of the audio, and though i do have some notes and phrases, I can’t help but feel that its meant to be listened to and felt rather than read and processed. I didn’t want this section to go to waste so, enjoy :)

 “Hello, my name is Hayden Anhedönia, and you’re listening to NTS radio. I think i am going to die soon.”

“I don’t know why I have this feeling every so often where i remember, i remember four yeas ago walking and, and and i was saying something to a friend of mine and she was, she was asking me…I don’t remember. But, i told her i was scared and then she wanted to know why, she couldn’t fathom it. I just told her i feel like I’m gonna die soon, and I didn’t really have more words to put it into but, but i was there. I was there and I’ve always had this vision about holding someone in my arms while they die. I don’t know if, I don’t know if it’s me or, I don’t know. *indistinct voice from phone* what? Do you ever wonder that? *indistinct voice*”

 “i always imagine there’s  a pretty, pretty field of flowers. And in there yellow, or maybe orange and there, *mumble* on a hillside… i want to die staring at the blue sky, if that’s alright. if ,if that’s alright. And my, i wanna, I don’t know what i want.  I don’t know what i want. *indistinct voice* I don’t know what i want. I feel like i, i, i wanna dig a hole and i wanna, i wanna crawl down or through the hole and i wanna go somewhere. It’s like i can feel it, i can feel it. On the other side of the wall or in the floor, i wanna put my hands on the ceiling and i wanna, i wanna rise up. Push my body against it, i wanna be close to it. I wanna know what i can fit inside. And i wanna throw up. I wanna be sick. *indistinct voice*. i wanna get on the floor, and i, i need it to be dark. I don’t want people to look at me. I don’t want people to look at me. I want you to listen but I don’t want you to look at me. Mm. Then i want to put my hand on my chest and i want to feel my heart, and its beating too fast and i wanna get scared. And there’s a man and, and he’s watching me. And he’s watching me. I wanna.. i wanna. And i can see his, i can see the outline of his head and of his shoulders but I can’t see his face. I can’t see his face. *groans*”

“I was, In my room when i was, when i was two when the door locked and my mom and my daddy couldn’t get in. And they couldn’t get in and they said, they said they said they wanted to know who he was and that he was there on the hill and i tried. I tried to crucify myself, but I couldn’t go through with it. God said it was inappropriate. It was in poor taste. It was wrong. *indistinct voice* i know. He came to tell me. He said don’t, don’t run and they *mumbles* don’t  fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. But you can’t fuck it up. oh i fucking hate you. You’re so fucking stupid. You’re so fucking stupid. That’s what he says. And i know it. I know it. And he’s in here with me. He’s always in here with me. He was in Alabama with me. And he hit her and i watched him and i watched him hit her, and i watched his hand and he came into my room, and he came into my room. He’s always coming into my room. Fuck. And I think he’s an angel. I think he’s an angel. *mumble* and i get so tired. I get so tired. Im so tired. Oh god. Im so tired. Im so tired. Oh my god. *groans* And i want him to touch me, i do. I still want him to touch me i want it to be real.”

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ science, baby!

chapter summary: You and Logan begin to try for a baby.

word count: 7.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: hope y'all enjoy this one, it's a mostly cute fluffy chapter :)

also, didn't mean to post so late, i was up late last night writing the peter lyman fanfic😭(it'll hopefully be out tomorrow, but be warned, it's a long one)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, trying for a baby, talks of pregnancy and fertility, fluff, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, slight angst, not proofread

series masterlist - chapter 3 → chapter 5

You walked into the kitchen, thermos in hand, sipping the herbal tea you’d begrudgingly swapped for your usual coffee. Logan stood by the counter, reaching for the coffee pot, and you immediately sprang into action. Without thinking, you grabbed the empty mug from his hand, holding it out of his reach.

“No coffee,” you said firmly, narrowing your eyes at him.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “What do you mean, ‘no coffee’? Darlin’, it’s coffee.”

You shook your head, standing your ground. “Exactly. And we agreed to cut back. Remember? Coffee isn’t exactly helpful for…” Your voice trailed off, and you glanced away, feeling your cheeks flush.

Logan tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “For what?” he teased, clearly enjoying your bashfulness. “Go on, say it.”

You huffed, giving him a light shove. “You know what I mean! The research said caffeine can affect… you know, certain things.”

Logan chuckled, setting the coffee pot back on the counter. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, watching you with amusement. “Darlin’, I heal faster than most people. I don’t think a little caffeine’s gonna mess with my…” He paused, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice. “... swimmers.”

Your face burned, and you quickly turned away, pretending to busy yourself with your thermos. “Logan,” you muttered, your voice a mix of embarrassment and exasperation.

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm, before stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone gentler now. “If it matters to you, I’ll lay off the coffee. For now.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by his quick concession. “Really?”

Logan nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Really. If we’re doin’ this, we’re doin’ it together. No coffee, no whiskey, no nothin’. Just tell me what else you need me to do.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled. “Thank you,” you said quietly, leaning into his touch. “It’s not just about the coffee. It’s about… us giving this our best shot.”

He nodded, his expression serious now. “I get it. And I’m in, darlin’. Whatever it takes.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling a bit of the tension ease. “Good. Because there’s a whole list I’ve been working on.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “A list, huh? Should I be worried?”

“Not unless you’re planning on sneaking coffee behind my back,” you teased, earning a mock-offended scoff from him.

“I’d never,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The sound of footsteps approaching drew your attention, and Jean entered the kitchen, her red hair tied back in a loose ponytail. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, glancing between the two of you with a knowing smile.

“Just convincing Logan to give up coffee,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Jean raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Good luck with that.”

Logan shot her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jean shrugged, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. “Just that I’ve seen you sneak a cup or two when you think no one’s watching. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

You turned to Logan, your eyes narrowing. “Sneaking coffee, huh?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m done with coffee. Scout’s honor.”

Jean laughed softly, leaning against the counter. “You two are adorable, you know that?”

You felt your cheeks warm again, and Logan, ever the opportunist, wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. “What can I say? She brings out the best in me.”

Jean smiled warmly at the two of you before grabbing her apple and heading out of the kitchen. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Once she was gone, Logan turned his attention back to you, his hand still resting on your waist. “Guess I’d better get used to tea,” he said, eyeing your thermos.

You handed it to him with a grin. “Try it. You might like it.”

He took a sip, his expression immediately souring. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

You laughed, leaning against him. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Logan grumbled, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

As you stood there together, his arm around you and the faint warmth of the tea lingering between you, you couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of hope. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

---

“Since when has your lab become a shrine?” Logan asked as he stepped inside, his eyebrows raised. His sharp eyes scanned the room, landing on the biology and pregnancy books stacked neatly on your desk. Then his gaze moved to the whiteboard covered in colorful charts, numbers, and a suspiciously detailed calendar.

You glanced up from where you were jotting notes at the table, a guilty smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not a shrine,” you replied, trying to sound casual. “It’s… research.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Research? Looks more like you’re plannin’ to launch a rocket. What’re all these numbers?”

You hesitated, your pen hovering over the notebook. “Uh… temperatures.”

“Temperatures?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Who’s?”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you muttered, “Ours.”

Logan blinked. “Ours? When the hell did you take my temperature?”

You cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in the page in front of you. “You sleep like a rock, Logan. I might’ve… borrowed a moment.”

Logan snorted, running a hand through his hair. “Darlin’, you’re takin’ my temperature in my sleep now? What’s next, experimentin’ on me?”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile betrayed your amusement. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s important to track these things if we want to—well, you know, increase our chances.”

Logan pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the whiteboard, squinting at the calendar. “What’re these stars next to certain dates?” he asked, pointing at a few marked in red.

Your face burned even hotter. “Those are… um, optimal days.”

Logan’s lips twitched as he turned to look at you, his expression thoroughly entertained. “Optimal days? You mean to tell me you’re scheduling sex now?”

You threw your pen at him, though it barely grazed his shoulder. “I’m being scientific about it! It’s not scheduling—it’s maximizing opportunities.”

Logan laughed, the sound rich and warm, as he leaned against the desk next to you. “So, what’s next on the plan, Doctor? You got a list of vitamins for me to take?”

Your silence must’ve said it all, because Logan’s amused expression turned suspicious. “Wait, you’re serious?”

You reached for a small container on the desk, holding it up. Inside were a mix of capsules and tablets in various colors. “These are specially formulated,” you explained, handing it to him.

Logan opened the container, his eyebrows shooting up as he counted the pills. “There’s gotta be fifteen of these things in here. You expect me to down all of ‘em?”

“They’re important,” you said, trying to keep a straight face. “And they’re extra-strength so your healing factor doesn’t cancel ‘em out.”

Logan shook his head, muttering under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he picked up one of the bottles on the desk and studied the label. “You really are pullin’ out all the stops, huh?”

You softened, setting your notebook down and meeting his gaze. “I just… I want to make sure we’re doing everything we can. I know it might seem a little over the top, but—”

“Hey.” Logan cut you off, his voice gentler now. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I get it. And I’m not givin’ you a hard time. If this is what we gotta do, then I’m all in.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the teasing and laughter faded, replaced by a quiet understanding. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Logan gave you a small smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Always, darlin’. Now, how about you tell me what else you’ve got on that whiteboard of yours?”

You laughed, swatting at his arm. “Only if you promise to stop sneakin’ coffee.”

Logan groaned dramatically. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Logan.”

“Fine,” he relented, grabbing the thermos of tea you’d left on the desk. He took a sip and immediately grimaced. “I’m really startin’ to miss the old days.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the thermos from him, though your smile lingered. “You’ll survive.”

As the two of you stood there, surrounded by your meticulous planning and Logan’s begrudging compliance, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. It wasn’t just about the charts or the vitamins—it was about the future you were building together, one step at a time.

---

It had been almost 6 months since you and Logan started trying, which is why you had started doing research and tracking cycle’s, body temperatures, and making sure the both of you were taking vitamins.

But it also meant doing research on other things too. Like—

“Are you readin’ porn?”

Logan’s gravelly voice snapped you out of your focused haze. Your head shot up, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn’t even heard him come in, much less lean over your shoulder to see the screen of your laptop.

“What?” you blurted, your hand reflexively slamming the laptop shut. Too late. Logan’s grin was already spreading, the kind that reached his eyes and filled them with mischief.

“Thought I’d seen it all, but here you are, learnin’ about creative new angles,” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the edge of the table.

“It’s not—” you paused, your face heating as you tried to think of a way to explain yourself. “It’s research, Logan. For… conceiving.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your defense. “Uh-huh. And what exactly were you tryin’ to learn, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, your fingers fiddling with the edge of the laptop. “…Best positions,” you mumbled under your breath, the words barely audible.

Logan barked out a laugh, the deep sound reverberating through the room. “Best positions? Hell, you’ve got a whole lab full of books and charts, but this is what you’re stuck on?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can you not make this more embarrassing than it already is?”

“Can’t promise that.” Logan reached out, gently prying your hands away from your face. His grin softened as he tilted his head at you. “C’mon, darlin’. Don’t look so mortified. I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?” you echoed, half-exasperated, half-amused despite yourself. “I’m sitting here reading medical journals about optimal positions, and you think that’s cute?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it shows how bad you want this.” Logan’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His voice dropped into a gentler tone. “You’ve been takin’ all this on yourself, and I get why. But you know you’re not in this alone, right? Whatever it takes, I’m with you.”

Your eyes softened at his words. Logan might tease endlessly, but there was always sincerity beneath it. That sincerity was part of why you loved him so fiercely.

“Thanks,” you murmured, squeezing his hand.

Logan leaned back slightly, his grin creeping back. “So, you gonna share what you learned? You’ve got my full attention now.”

You gave him a light shove, rolling your eyes as your smile widened. “You really want me to get into the mechanics of it?”

“Darlin’, I’ve spent over a century figurin’ things out on my own. If you’ve got some expert tips, I’m all ears.”

Your face burned as you tried to keep your voice steady. “Fine. Basically… uh, some positions are better for, um, helping things along. Gravity and angles—”

Logan smirked. “Oh, I get it now. It’s physics. Guess you’re in your element, huh?”

You swatted at him with your free hand, unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, Logan, it’s physics. And afterwards, raising my hips for about fifteen minutes can apparently help even more. Something about keeping things… in place longer.”

Logan’s smirk turned into a slow grin, his hazel eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of humor and something a little more primal. “Practical application, then?” he asked, his voice dipping lower.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked away, suddenly very interested in the bookshelf to your left. “…Maybe,” you said, your voice quieter.

Logan stood, towering over you in a way that felt more protective than intimidating. He tipped your chin up with two fingers, ensuring you couldn’t escape his gaze. “We don’t have to keep this scientific, darlin’,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours.

You managed a small smirk, though your breath hitched at his closeness. “I don’t know, Logan. I think I’d look cute with a pillow under my hips afterward.”

That earned you a low chuckle, and Logan shook his head. “Fine. Science it is. But don’t go thinkin’ I need much persuadin’.”

Before you could reply, he swept you off your feet—literally—leaving your squeak of surprise echoing through the room as he carried you out the door. “Logan! Where are we going?”

“To try those optimal angles,” he replied, voice heavy with amusement. “Can’t let all that research go to waste.”

You covered your face with your hands, your laughter muffled by your palms. Maybe you’d let him win this round.

---

You turned on your side to face Logan, the sunlight streaming through the windows casting a golden glow over his features. He was already awake, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly on your waist. His hazel eyes flicked down to yours as a small, lazy grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low from sleep.

You blinked up at him, still hazy, your glasses sitting on the bedside table where you’d left them the night before. “Morning,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s thumb brushed a gentle circle over your hip. “You slept alright?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, your words coming slower, the weight of sleep still clinging to you. “You?”

“Like a log,” he said, his grin deepening. “Though wakin’ up next to you’s the best part.”

You gave him a soft smile, your cheeks warming. “You always know just what to say.”

His hand shifted, sliding up your waist and resting just below your ribs. The look in his eyes darkened slightly, the softness giving way to something hungrier. “Ain’t sayin’ it just to say it, sweetheart.”

“Logan…” Your voice trailed off, knowing that tone, that look. “It’s not… I mean, today isn’t…”

“Not an ‘optimal’ day?” he guessed, the corner of his mouth quirking up as his fingers traced idle patterns on your skin. “Don’t care.”

You raised a brow at him, even as your heart skipped a beat. “You don’t care?”

“Nope.” Logan shifted, rolling onto his side to face you fully. His hand moved down, slipping under the hem of your sleep shirt to rest against your bare skin. “It’s been six months of plannin’ and chartin’ and all that other stuff. Ain’t sayin’ it doesn’t matter, but sometimes I just wanna hold my wife.”

You swallowed, your breath hitching as his hand slid higher, his fingers brushing the underside of your breast. “Logan…”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice dipping lower, that rough, familiar rasp sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words. Your body was already responding to his touch, your skin warming under his calloused hands.

“You love it,” he countered, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Now, c’mere.”

Before you could protest—not that you wanted to—Logan was pulling you closer, rolling onto his back and guiding you to straddle his hips. His hands found your thighs, squeezing gently as he looked up at you with that crooked grin that always made your knees weak.

“Logan, I don’t even have my glasses on,” you pointed out, your voice breathless.

“Gotcha covered,” he said, reaching over to the bedside table with one hand while the other stayed firmly on your hip. He grabbed your glasses, unfolding them with practiced ease before slipping them onto your face. “Better?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, his hands returning to your waist, pulling you down against him. “Now stop distractin’ me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as Logan’s hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. The cool air kissed your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his palms as he explored every inch of you. His touch was firm but careful, reverent in a way that made your chest ache with how much you loved him.

“Logan…” you breathed, your hands finding his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he guided your hips to grind against his.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Just like that.”

You gasped, your movements becoming more insistent as his hands roamed your body, tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts. He leaned up, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all-consuming, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you breathless.

Logan’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you against him as the hard length of him pressed firmly against you through the thin fabric of his boxers. The heat of him, the unmistakable need in the way he moved you, sent a jolt through your core. A soft sound escaped your lips before you could stop it, and his eyes darkened at the sound.

“That’s what I wanna hear,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers tightened, keeping you moving, drawing delicious friction between you both.

Your breath hitched, your hands bracing against his chest, fingers curling into the hard muscle beneath your palms. “Logan…” you began, your voice shaky but laced with warmth, a quiet plea threading through his name.

“Mhm, sweetheart?” His lips quirked up into that familiar grin, the one that could undo you completely. “You just keep ridin’ me like that. Don’t stop now.”

The bluntness of his words made your cheeks flush, but it wasn’t embarrassment that had your thighs tightening around him. You bit your lip, your hips moving instinctively as the growing ache in you demanded more.

Logan’s hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing the soft skin just beneath your breasts. He leaned up slightly, his breath warm against your jaw as he murmured, “You feel so good, darlin’. Always do.”

You let out a soft whimper, your body responding to him like it always did. Your hips rolled, the thin barrier of fabric doing little to dull the intensity of the sensation. He was hard and hot beneath you, and the teasing friction only made you want more.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice catching. “I need…”

His grin widened, and his hands slid back to your hips, stilling you. “What do you need, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone low and teasing, though there was an edge of seriousness to it. “You’re gonna have to say it.”

You groaned, your cheeks burning hotter as you avoided his gaze for a moment. But the ache in you was stronger than your shyness. “I need you,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended but clear enough for him to hear.

Logan’s grin softened into something warmer, though the hunger in his eyes didn’t fade. “Good girl,” he murmured, the praise making your heart race. His hands tugged at your underwear, and you lifted your hips to help him slide them down your thighs, discarding them onto the floor.

Before you could overthink the vulnerability of being completely bare in front of him, Logan’s hands were back on you, grounding you with their rough warmth. His thumbs caressed your thighs as his gaze roamed over you, taking in every inch. “Goddamn,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N.”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before his hands guided you back down, the heat of him pressing against your bare core now. The sensation made you gasp, and Logan groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Bet I could slide right in without any trouble.”

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders as your need for him grew unbearable. “Please, Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

Logan reached between you, tugging his boxers down just enough to free himself. You felt the hot, hard length of him against you, and it made your whole body tremble. He lined himself up, his hazel eyes locking onto yours as he guided you down onto him.

The stretch of him was immediate, filling you in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he groaned, his hands steadying you.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure. “You’re doin’ so good.”

You bit your lip, your eyes fluttering shut as you sank down fully, your body adjusting to him. Once you were seated completely, a shudder ran through you, and you let out a breathless moan. Logan’s hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin as he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your chest.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “You’re so perfect. Always are.”

Your hands rested on his chest, fingers splayed out over the hard muscle beneath them. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, even as your own raced. You shifted your hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him and a soft gasp from yourself as the movement sent a rush of pleasure coursing through you.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “You feel…”

“Yeah?” he prompted, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts. “Tell me, sweetheart. How’s it feel?”

You couldn’t stop the flush that spread across your cheeks, but you managed to meet his gaze. “It’s… so good,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

A lazy grin spread across his face, his hands returning to your hips to guide you. “That’s what I wanna hear. Now, c’mon, darlin’. Move for me.”

You nodded, your hands pressing into his chest for leverage as you lifted your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him as you rose. The sensation was almost too much, and a soft whimper escaped you before you sank back down, drawing a deep groan from Logan. His grip on your hips tightened, his thumbs pressing into your skin as he helped guide your movements.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Nice and slow. Let me feel you.”

You fell into a rhythm, your movements steady but deliberate, each roll of your hips sending waves of pleasure through both of you. Logan’s hands never left your body, roaming up your sides and back down to your thighs, his touch grounding you. His gaze stayed fixed on you, drinking in every gasp, every tremble, every hitch of your breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Always are, but like this? Can’t get enough of you.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and your movements became more insistent, your body seeking more. Logan groaned, his hips lifting slightly to meet yours, the new angle sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made you cry out.

“Logan!”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said, his voice strained but full of encouragement. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips, each one seeming to spur him on. His hands slid up your back, pulling you down toward him until your chest pressed against his. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, making you shiver.

“Logan,” you murmured, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I… I can’t…”

“You can,” he insisted, his voice a low growl. “And you will. Just let me take care of you.”

He shifted, sitting up and keeping you in his lap, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close. The new position allowed him to thrust up into you more deeply, and you gasped, your head falling to his shoulder as the intensity overwhelmed you.

“Oh, God,” you breathed, your nails digging into his back. “Logan…”

“I’ve got you, darlin’,” he said, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re doin’ so good. Feels so damn good.”

You clung to him, your movements becoming more frantic as the tension in your body built higher and higher. Logan’s hands roamed your back and hips, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging gently before releasing it and moving back to your neck.

Logan’s teeth grazed along the side of your neck, his stubble scratching your skin in a way that sent tingles through your entire body. He kissed the spot just below your ear, a soft, almost reverent press of lips that contrasted with the heat pooling in your core.

Your hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice catching as his hips shifted beneath you, his length pressing even deeper. The slow, deliberate grind of his movements made your thighs tighten around him, the tension building with every second.

“Mmm,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm. “You’re so damn perfect, sweetheart. Can’t get enough of you.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair, and you tilted your head to give him more access to your neck. “Logan, please…” you said, your voice trembling with need.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hazel eyes dark and filled with something raw. “What’s it, darlin’? You wanna tell me what you need?”

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing. You’d been married long enough that you shouldn’t feel shy, but Logan always had a way of undoing you with a single look.

He smirked, his hands sliding to your hips, holding you steady. “C’mon now, use your words. Tell your husband what he can do for you.”

“I need you to…” Your voice faltered for a moment before you found the courage to continue. “I need you to move.”

Logan’s grin softened, a tenderness slipping into his expression even as his grip on your hips tightened. “Yeah, sweetheart. I got you.”

His hands flexed on your waist, steadying you as he shifted beneath you. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver through you. Without warning, he leaned forward, wrapping an arm securely around your back. You gasped softly, your arms automatically circling his shoulders as he maneuvered you with effortless strength, lowering you gently onto your back.

“Logan,” you began, your voice a mix of surprise and warmth.

“Easy, darlin’,” he interrupted, his lips quirking up into a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t you say this was the best way?”

Your cheeks burned as you recalled the countless articles and studies you’d pored over in the past six months, each one dissecting the optimal positions, timings, and conditions. He’d teased you about it before, but there was no judgment in his tone now—just a gentle reminder of how deeply he’d paid attention.

“I… yeah,” you admitted quietly, your hands brushing against his chest as he settled himself above you.

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked down at you, his hazel eyes tracing every line of your face. “Figured I’d give my scientist wife what she wants,” he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You laughed, the sound breathy and a little shaky. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, you love it,” he countered, his lips finding yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. His tongue brushed against yours, drawing a quiet sound from your throat. When he pulled back, he didn’t go far, his breath warm against your lips. “This okay?”

You nodded, your fingers sliding into his hair, tugging gently. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. “It’s perfect.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something warmer as he shifted, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. The movement pressed him deeper, and you gasped, your hands tightening in his hair. He groaned softly, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. “Jesus, Y/N…”

Your hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, your nails grazing his skin as you arched up to meet him. “Logan,” you murmured, the sound of his name spurring him on.

His hands found yours, intertwining your fingers and pinning them on either side of your head. The weight of his hands, the way his body pressed into yours, sent a rush of heat through you. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice rough and low.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he pulled back slightly before pressing into you again, the motion deliberate and unhurried. It wasn’t frantic or rushed—it was steady, purposeful, the weight of every movement making your body hum with pleasure.

“God,” you breathed, your head tilting back against the pillow. “Logan…”

“Mhm,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. “Right here, darlin’.” His pace picked up slightly, the rhythm just enough to make your toes curl. He squeezed your hands gently, his thumbs brushing against your knuckles. “Keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice soft but commanding.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there took your breath away—a mix of love, desire, and something deeper that made your chest tighten. “Logan,” you whispered again, your voice trembling.

“I know,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I know, Y/N.”

He released your hands, his palms sliding down your arms and over your sides. The calloused roughness of his touch sent sparks dancing across your skin. He braced one hand beside your head while the other slipped beneath your thigh, lifting it higher around his waist. The new angle made you cry out softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let me hear you.”

Your body responded instinctively, your hips lifting to meet his movements. The rhythm built gradually, each thrust sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. Logan’s breaths came heavier, mingling with yours in the small space between you.

“You’re incredible,” he rasped, his voice strained but filled with sincerity. “Always have been.”

A soft laugh escaped you, though it was broken by a gasp as he shifted his weight slightly. “You… you’re biased,” you managed, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. “Damn right I am. But it’s still true.”

Logan’s hand moved to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he kissed you again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, matching the rhythm of his movements. Your hands slid down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he worked to keep his control.

“Logan,” you murmured against his lips, your voice trembling with need.

“What is it, darlin’?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours as he paused for a moment. His hazel eyes searched yours, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Never,” he promised, his voice low and filled with conviction. “Not for anything.”

He resumed his movements, his pace increasing slightly as the tension between you built. Your breaths mingled, your bodies moving together in perfect synchrony. Every brush of his skin against yours, every shift of his hips, sent sparks of pleasure racing through you.

Your hands slid to his face, cupping his jaw as you pulled him down for another kiss. The connection between you felt electric, every touch, every sound magnified by the depth of your emotions. Logan groaned against your lips, his grip on your thigh tightening as his movements became more insistent.

“You’re incredible,” he muttered, his voice rough and filled with emotion. “Always have been.”

You couldn’t form a coherent response, your mind too clouded with sensation. Instead, you let your body speak for you, your nails dragging lightly down his back as you arched against him. Logan’s lips found your neck again, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Always.”

The tension in your body coiled tighter, every nerve ending alight as Logan drove you closer and closer to the edge. His name spilled from your lips in a breathless chant, each syllable laced with desperation and love. Logan’s own breaths were ragged, his movements becoming less controlled as he followed you into the spiral of pleasure.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice thick with emotion. “Darlin’… I…”

Whatever he was about to say was lost as the wave of sensation crashed over you, your body tightening around him as you cried out. Logan followed moments later, his body shuddering against yours as he buried his face in your neck, his breaths hot and uneven against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled with the sound of your breathing and the rapid thudding of your hearts. Logan pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before lifting his head to meet your gaze. His hazel eyes were warm, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, a tired but genuine smile spreading across your face. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

Logan chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not done holding you yet.”

---

As you poured over your large desk calendar, carefully reviewing the neat little markings you’d made to track your cycle, one thing became clear—you were late. Just by two days, but late nonetheless. Your stomach twisted slightly at the realization. It wasn’t panic, but an odd mix of hope and trepidation.

Logan was out for the day, helping Bobby with reconnaissance in the field. You had the mansion’s lab all to yourself, for now, save for the soft hum of the equipment around you. You stared at the calendar for a moment longer before exhaling sharply, closing it.

Footsteps echoed softly down the corridor outside your lab. The familiar red-haired figure appeared a moment later, her bright smile a welcome sight. Jean always seemed to have a knack for showing up when you needed her, whether or not you realized it.

“Hey,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, her green eyes warm. “Mind if I come in?”

You shook your head, offering her a faint smile. “Not at all.”

She stepped inside, glancing around before narrowing her gaze playfully. “Alright, what’s got you so deep in thought that you didn’t even hear me walking up?”

You hesitated. Jean was one of your closest friend—someone you trusted implicitly—but the thought of saying it aloud made your cheeks warm. You busied yourself tidying a few loose papers on your desk.

“It’s nothing,” you said lightly, though your tone betrayed you.

Jean arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Y/N. I know you too well for that.”

You sighed, sitting back in your chair and fiddling with the edges of your sleeves. “I realized… I’m late.”

It took a beat, but comprehension dawned on her face. “Oh.” Her voice softened immediately. “You mean…”

You nodded. “By two days.”

Jean moved closer, pulling up a chair to sit beside you. Her tone remained calm and supportive, but her expression was curious. “Have you told Logan yet?”

“No. I just figured it out this morning, and he’s out with Bobby.” You shook your head, pushing up your glasses. “And honestly, I’m not even sure I’m… y’know. I don’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.”

Jean tilted her head thoughtfully. “Fair. But, what’s the harm in knowing? Have you taken a test yet?”

“No. I haven’t exactly worked up the nerve,” you admitted, managing a wry smile. “Besides, I don’t even have one.”

Her lips quirked into a smile of her own. “Alright. Why don’t we go grab one now? It’ll give you some company, and we can grab lunch afterward. My treat.”

The suggestion caught you off guard, but the idea of not facing the store alone—and spending some time with Jean—was surprisingly appealing. You gave her a grateful look.

“You don’t have to do that,” you started.

“I know,” she interrupted gently, standing and reaching for your hand. “But I want to. Come on, get your coat.”

You hesitated a moment longer before standing, sliding into your coat and scarf. Jean smiled encouragingly, and you followed her out of the lab, glad for the distraction.

---

The two of you walked into the drugstore, the bright fluorescent lights making the shelves gleam. Jean glanced over at you as you lingered near the door.

“Alright, where to?” she asked, her teasing smile disarming any awkwardness you might’ve felt.

You motioned vaguely toward the pharmacy section, hesitating for a moment before finally heading down the appropriate aisle. Jean walked beside you like a fortress, keeping her presence casual but protective.

Reaching the section with pregnancy tests, you froze slightly. The sheer number of options was overwhelming—digital, non-digital, early detection, the works. Jean followed your gaze and let out a quiet laugh.

“Who knew it was so complicated, huh?” she said, reaching out to grab one of the boxes. “This one looks straightforward. What do you think?”

You nodded, relieved she was taking the reins. She handed you the box, and you managed to keep your expression neutral as you tucked it under your arm.

Once at the checkout, Jean casually chatted with you about physics lectures, cutting through any tension. If the clerk gave you an odd look as they rang up the test, you were too focused on Jean’s lighthearted commentary to notice.

---

After getting back to the mansion and successfully avoiding the test for hours, you found yourself pacing your shared bedroom, the unopened box mocking you from the desk. Every time you thought you were ready, your nerves got the better of you.

Logan would be back soon, and the last thing you wanted was to be caught mid-test, especially if it turned out to be a false alarm. Not to mention, you weren’t even sure how to feel yet. Hopeful? Nervous?

You finally let out a frustrated groan, swiping the box off the desk and heading for the bathroom. Best to just get it over with.

Jean had offered to stay and wait with you, but you’d insisted you were fine. She’d left with a knowing smile and a promise to check in on you later.

The knot in your stomach tightened as you sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the pregnancy test still untouched on the counter. You didn’t even realize how tightly you were gripping the edge of the porcelain until your knuckles turned white. For months, you’d been doing everything you could to plan, track, and optimize, but now, faced with the moment of truth, it felt… terrifying.

Still, you’d promised yourself you’d do this today. “Just get it over with,” you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself off the edge of the tub and grabbing one of the small sterile cups Jean had handed you earlier. You couldn’t help but smile briefly at her thoughtfulness—of course, she’d come prepared.

Steeling yourself, you slipped into autopilot mode, getting everything in place as clinically as possible. You focused on the steps, trying to push away the weight of your emotions. But when you glanced down after finishing, your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the pale pink lines on the pregnancy test that greeted you. It was bright red.

Your heart plummeted as the realization hit. You didn’t even need the test anymore.

The wave of disappointment was immediate and sharp, crashing over you before you even had time to process it. You felt frozen for a moment, staring blankly at the stark evidence in front of you. All the charts, the vitamins, the careful planning—none of it mattered. Not this time, at least.

You sat back down on the edge of the tub and pressed your hands to your face. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. It wasn’t the end of the world, you reminded yourself. You and Logan had only been trying for six months. There was still time.

But the hope you’d been holding onto—nurturing like a fragile spark—felt snuffed out in an instant.

---

You stayed in the bathroom longer than you meant to, staring at the sink as your thoughts swirled. When you finally managed to gather yourself enough to leave, the sun had dipped lower, casting warm orange light into the bedroom. The clock on the nightstand read 6:17 PM.

Logan would be back soon.

The thought of seeing him was equal parts comforting and daunting. You knew he wouldn’t blame you or be upset, but the weight of letting him down—of letting yourself down—pressed heavily on your chest.

You busied yourself cleaning up, discarding the unused test and tucking away the box in the bathroom cabinet. By the time you emerged, you had forced your expression into something neutral, though you felt anything but calm.

---

The rumble of Logan’s motorcycle echoed through the driveway not long after, and you instinctively straightened in your chair, fiddling with the edge of the smaller version of your calendar you’d been pretending to review.

When the door opened, Logan’s presence filled the room like always, his familiar scent and the soft creak of his boots against the floor grounding you. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair, his hazel eyes immediately finding yours.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm. His gaze softened as he stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “You alright? You look tired.”

You managed a small smile, leaning into his touch. “I’m fine. Just a long day.”

Logan studied you for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “You sure?”

You nodded quickly, but soon your eyes started to burn again, and you shook your head, unable to keep up the facade. Logan’s brow furrowed as his hand slid from your cheek to rest lightly on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was soft, concerned.

You tried to speak, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Instead, you gave a small shake of your head and looked down, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose as you avoided his gaze. Logan crouched in front of you, his hands finding yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Hey,” he murmured, his tone coaxing. “Talk to me.”

You took a shaky breath, your hands tightening around his as you finally forced yourself to say the words, even if they came out in sobs and jumbles. “I thought—I thought maybe this time, but… it’s not. I’m not.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and Logan’s grip on your hands tightened just enough to steady you. He didn’t say anything at first, letting you cry, his thumbs brushing softly over your knuckles.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice rough with concern. He moved to sit beside you, pulling you into his arms. The warmth of his embrace broke down the last of your walls, and you clung to him, your face pressed against his chest as the sobs came harder.

“I—I thought I felt different this time,” you murmured against his shirt, your voice muffled. “I was so sure. And then…” You shook your head, unable to finish the sentence.

Logan rested his chin on the top of your head, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’s okay to feel like this. You don’t have to hold it in with me.”

You nodded against his chest, even as fresh tears welled up. “It just—it feels like I failed. Like we’re doing everything right, and it still doesn’t matter.”

“You didn’t fail,” Logan said firmly, his voice steady and low. He pulled back enough to tilt your chin up so you’d look at him. His hazel eyes were soft but intense, focused entirely on you. “This ain’t on you. Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want, even when we’re doin’ everything we’re supposed to. Doesn’t mean it’s over. We’ll keep tryin’, together.”

“But what if—what if it never happens?” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he took a moment before answering. “Then we’ll figure it out, sweetheart. We always do. One way or another, we’ll have the family we’re dreamin’ about. You hear me?”

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak. Logan cupped your cheek, his calloused thumb brushing away the tears. “You’re the strongest person I know, Y/N. We’ll get through this, just like we’ve gotten through everything else. And we’ll do it together.”

His words eased some of the weight pressing on your chest, and you leaned into his hand, letting out a shaky breath. “I just… I wanted to tell you. I didn’t want to hide it.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Logan said. “Don’t ever feel like you gotta deal with this by yourself. I’m here, no matter what, alright?”

You nodded again, and this time the tears that fell were lighter, more cathartic than crushing. Logan leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling you back into his arms.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content to sit in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The soft hum of Logan’s steady breathing and the warmth of his embrace grounded you, reminding you that you weren’t alone in this.

“I love you,” you murmured after a while, your voice small but steady.

“I love you too, darlin’,” Logan replied without hesitation, his lips brushing against your temple.

The reassurance in his voice settled something inside you, and for the first time since the disappointment had struck, the knot in your chest began to loosen. You weren’t sure what the future held, but as long as Logan was by your side, you knew you could face it.

this is mostly 2006! next chapter will cover the rest of the year!

[leyavo]

💖 Dad!price x daughter!reader

Summary: John Price gets an angry voicemail from his ex-wife saying how his twenty year old daughter took off. He doesn’t know what he’s more angry at, the fact his ex-wife’s complaining about rent money or that you took off with her leather jacket.

But he’s going to get another call…

TW: Hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/comfort | a little bit of 141 in here too at the end. [Masterlist] This was longer than I planned too 2980 words.

John and his ex-wife were both sixteen when they had you. Price later joined the military and your mother cheated on him many times as you grew up.

You were the one to break it to your dad, but in your spite for your mother you ended up hurting him.

There were a few years you didn’t see your dad, your mother upheaving your life whenever she fell in love with a new guy. It never lasted long though, forced to stay in a hotel when things went south until she found a new place. The cycle would repeat.

The father daughter relationship was strained till he got married again and your now step mum stepped in to get you back in his life. The younger brother you never heard of and the wedding your mum had never told you about, let alone the divorce. She’d also been spending the money your dad gave her that was meant for you.

You visited your dad every now and then, but it was difficult with his job and you having school.

Fast forward to you being twenty and you leave with the first guy that can get you out of your mums house. She’s never forgiven you for telling your dad about her affairs. Easy money, she said being with a military man who rarely came home.

Things don’t seem to work out for you though, they never do. You’re sobbing whilst you clutched onto your phone, hoping your dad will answer your call.

You know when you can reach out to him, he still messaged you when he’s going dark on his missions and won’t be with his phone. Followed by a short text when he’s finished, a standard one that you don’t reply to anymore.

He does answer, the one person who always seems to pick up your call. Even though you haven’t spoken to him in months. Even though you’ve ignored his name lighting up your phone screen.

“Hey, kiddo.” His voice soft and low, you didn’t deserve his kindness. Part of you expected him to shout down the phone, but he just carried on talking to you. “You looking after yourself kid?”

“Yeah dad,” you said, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your hoody. Half a lie, tonight was the first time in ages you’d looked after yourself in the right way. No making excuses for his actions and convincing yourself it was your fault.

He hummed, music cutting off in the background as he shushed whoever was with him.

“Good to hear your voice,” you said, wanting to fill the silence. It’s like being a kid again and finally getting through to him whilst he’s at the military base, to hear him and know he’s there.

“What you doing?”

A smile tugged your lips, anything to keep you on the phone. “I’m waiting for the bus,” you said, forgetting how late it was and the fact you’d missed the last one of the night.

“On your own?”

The wind whipped through the flimsy bus shelter, your bag held on your lap for extra warmth. “Yeah, I’m a big girl now dad.”

Your mind wandered back to the basic self defence moves he’d taught you at sixteen and how when it mattered most you froze instead of fighting. What would the captain think of you?

The captain, a role he slipped back into when he didn’t know how to be there for you. Spoke to you as if he were training a fragile new recruit, measured words and slight pauses keeping him safe.

The man who told you to do anything, but be backed into a corner or made to feel small.

Small, exactly how you felt clinging onto your dad’s call. “I know you are, don’t need your old man no more eh, now that you’re grown.”

At times like this, you wished your dad would drop the tough act and baby you. He always treated you like an adult, even when you were a kid. Gave you a routine, a choice when it came to discipline, knowing that you’d rather do chores than get grounded. The captain never punishing you physically or raising his voice like your mum did. She was a whole different person when your dad went back to work for months on end.

“You still there kid?”

Tears streamed down your face, your cheeks burning in the bitter cold. “I don’t know what to do,” you sobbed, twisting the cuff of your sleeve in your hold.

You’d made such a mess. There was no way you’d go back to your mum’s and you knew that asking your dad for help wouldn’t be fair on your younger brother.

“Hey, hey kiddo. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Classic captain saying whatever you want to hear, like your someone as brave as him.

You wanted him, but couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. “Are you home?” Part of you hoping he’d say no, so that you don’t have to burden him with your problems.

“Nah, down south at the base,” he said, pausing and there’s a scuffle behind the speaker before he’s talking again. “Just me though, didn’t want to pull boyo out of school. Exams and that.” Your brother, ten years younger than you.

“Makes sense,” you sniffled, nodding as if he can see you. “I’m sorry I called so late.” Your throat burnt, nose sore from wiping it on your dad’s old hanky. Something you kept for comfort, a reminder of him. A little cigar stitched into the off white fabric.

“Don’t be sorry,” he snapped, the no nonsense captain sounding more like a man of military than your dad. “You’re okay though, that’s why you called. To check in with your old man? Well we’re all good kid, you and me don’t you worry.”

The first time talking to him since you sent him that written letter. The one where you apologised for tearing the family apart, for hurting him.

“Why can’t you just be my dad?”

There’s a clink of his phone on the other side, as if he’s dropped it. A deep breath filtering through the speaker as he exhales.

“What do you need?”

“I need you, I need my dad. Everything is so screwed up, I’m looking at this bus chart randomly picking a place or getting on the first one that shows up.” You rambled on, the weight on your chest less now that you’ve released the suppressed anger and frustration.

“Send me your location. You know how to do that, right?”

You can’t help, but chuckle at his response. Of course you know, your dad taught you how and frequently scolded you to turn it back on so he would know you’re safe. You hadn’t shared anything with him in months, your finger hovering over the button.

“Please, don’t send mum…”

“I’m on my way kiddo, an hour and a half tops. There any places you can sit inside whilst you wait?”

You don’t bother glancing around, the small street turning is far enough away from the main road. From experience you walked as long as you could, taking whatever path and ending up at a lone bus shelter. If your boyfriend drove around he wouldn’t be able to find you tucked away in a quiet road with newly built houses.

He stayed with you on the phone, giving you the colour and number plate of the car he’d be in when he arrived. You don’t have an interest in cars so the make and model goes over your head, your focus on the number plate instead.

True to his word the car rolled up by the bus stop and he’s out before it stopped.

Your hesitant steps halted as he too stopped in his tracks. His gaze falling on your split lip and blood clumped in your brow and hairline. His head turned to the side, hands shoved his pockets.

“I’m sorry, I know…” you don’t get to finish your sentence, his arms wrapping around you and your face smushing into his chest.

Pulling away from his embrace, the rain pelted down on you. He swept your wet hair out your eyes, hands framing your face as he tilted it up to look at you properly. The pad of his thumb brushed against your jawline, so close to the cut on your lip, but he didn’t touch it.

“Why don’t we get out this rain,” he said, his touch slipping from your face to scoop up your hand in his much larger one.

You don’t move with him though, stumbling towards him as you tried to tug him back. “Where are we going?” You asked, eyeing the man behind the steering wheel. There’s no way you’d go back to your mums, you’d rather wait for the bus or go back to your ex.

John smoothed his moustache, his gaze following yours to the car. “Back to the base, got a place there with my team. That okay, kid? Or there some where else you want me to take you?”

Nodding, you let him guide you to the car and open the back door. You slid in, followed by your dad who shrugged off his jacket and draped it over you. Shifting in your seat, you leant your head against the cold window and clutched the warm jacket around you closer.

“You hungry, can stop off before we go back to base,” John said, his elbow leaning on your bag on the seat between you and him.

“No, just tired,” you mumbled into his jacket. The burnt cigar and gunpowder still lingering on the fabric, like he’d smoked on the journey here.

His voice turned to a distance mumble, your eyes heavy as you let sleep take you. Your dad’s hand resting on top of yours, as if he’s trying to tell himself you’re really here.

The sun peeking through the half shut blinds woke you a few hours later. You turned over in the bed, watching your dad’s chest rise and fall beside you. His hulking form taking up most of the bed, you could feel the heat radiating off him. Even in his sleep, the line between his brows remained.

You can’t believe you called your dad, don’t even remember getting out of the car. He must have carried you in and put you to bed.

He still slept with one hand on his chest, dog tags hidden underneath his T-shirt, but you could still see the outline of them near his shoulder. Nicks and scrapes curved his bicep, you’d never seen them before. Red angry marks and faded ones of pink he normally hid under long sleeves.

The bedroom like every other base you’d stayed in whenever you visited him growing up on weekends here and there. White walls, cold wood beneath your fuzzy socks as your feet padded across the floor. Nothing but a box with a bed in the middle and small drawers either side.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, tracing the medical tape above your brow. The red stains that once clung to your hairline and forehead were clean, a purple bruise forming in its place.

Picking your hold-all from the floor, you slipped it over your shoulder and pressed your ear against the door. You couldn’t pick up any noise outside, just your dad’s low snores filling the bedroom. Probably from all those cigars he’d been smoking.

The alarm clock on the beside drawer flashed eight, thirty seven. You wanted to crawl back under the covers and sleep for another five hours, but you didn’t fancy having the conversation with your dad. How everything would unravel and lead him to finding out why you chose to leave with your boyfriend, like there was no other option. Because there wasn’t.

You pushed the door open, regretting the action as your eyes fell on the man at the kitchen table. His broad shoulders shifting at the sound of your footsteps.

There’s no use sneaking out the house, not when a team of highly trained men are living under one roof. That and the security surrounding the place.

Simon Riley, the masked driver who hadn’t said a word to you. Now you know why he covered up, the scar on his jawline lead to the neck line of his t-shirt. You tried not to stare too long, your gaze flitting to the sweater hugging his muscular arms. He could crush you in a second.

“You’ll have to wait for your old man to sign you out of the base,” Simon said through a mouth full of cereal. “Cuppa on the side for you, heard you moving about.” He pointed to the counter behind you, steam still rising from the kettle next to it.

Of course he did, probably been waiting to catch you sneaking out. Loyal to their captain the lot of them. You walked over to the small kitchenette and grabbed the strong brewed tea.

The front door opened, another guy walking through the porch and kicking his trainers off. Sweat clung to his body, T-shirt like a second skin on his visible six pack beneath. You couldn’t stop staring till he opened his mouth. Thick Scottish accent as he spoke to himself, plucking his headphones out of his ears.

He looked around your age or slightly older, not as rough and rugged as Simon or your dad. You cringed at the comparison, not wanting to think of dad as being desirable to other women.

“Ah you must be the captains daughter,” he said, reaching around you to grab a protein bar on the side. “I’m Soap,” he chuckled as your brows furrowed. “Johnny, Soaps my call sign.”

“Well that’s unfortunate,” you mumbled, sitting down at the at the table opposite Simon. Hot cup nestled between your hands. “That to remind you to have a wash?”

You edged back in your seat, the stench of sweat hitting you as Soap walked closer.

Simon’s narrowed gaze flitted from Soap to you, but he didn’t say anything. His spoon clinking the bottom of his bowl as he tried to scoop up the last remnants of cereal. If you didn’t know any better he was rushing.

“What’s yours? Hawk, no… Hulk?” Your focus darted back to Simon, anything to distract you from the hot, but sweaty guy out of the corner of your eye.

He didn’t entertain your curiosity, his chair scraping back as he collected his bowl and dumped it into the dishwasher. Soap’s deep laugh rumbled beside you, shaking his Mohawk head and disappearing down the hallway.

You found yourself leaning to one side, trying to catch a glimmer of Soaps back as he peeled his T-shirt off. John Price, however blocked the way, your back shooting back against the chair.

Simon shared a brief look with your dad, clapping him on the shoulder as he too retreated from the room.

“Damned thing keeps beeping,” John said, dropping your phone on the table. “Can’t answer it, the screen’s cracked to shit,” he grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes as he dragged his feet to the kitchen and made himself a black coffee.

Classic captain.

You stared at the cracked screen, a chain of texts and missed calls from your ex. It beeped again, your mother’s name lighting the screen.

“You gonna tell me what that’s all about?” John said leaning back in his seat, his cup of coffee balancing on his knee instead of the table. His seat at the top of the table right next to you, his knee nudging yours.

The cup in your hand no long gave you that biting sting, the tea turning cold under your stare. “Things just got bad and I can’t go back to mums.” You shrugged it off like it was no big deal, not daring to meet your dad’s eyes.

“Boyfriend?” He said pointing to your face. You nodded, wishing you hadn’t as the pounding in your head grew stronger.

He peeled your left hand away from your mug. “Where did you hit him?” He asked tracing the broken skin of your knuckles. Nothing got by the captain.

“I think I broke his nose,” you mumbled, head dipping to stare at your lap and the pattern pj trousers.

The captains head bopped up and down. “That’s good, I take it he’s alright if he’s contacting you.” He might as well have asked if he was breathing.

“How is that good?” You snapped, ripping your hand from him and pushing your chair back with you.

“You were defending yourself kid, look at ya!” His booming voice startled you, his hand flinging to your face as if you needed a reminder.

On instinct you flinched at his abrupt movement. Your body freezing and eyes clamping shut.

You opened your eyes, Simon talking in hushed tones to your dad. The captain staring at you, glassy eyed and frown tugging his lips down. And once again you’ve hurt your dad, made him feel bad.

“Why don’t we get Toff, to check her over. Another women might make her more comfortable?"

They weren't even talking to you, but about you. Too consumed with a plan than you moving. "Check yourselves over," you said, snatching your bag from the floor and rushing to the porch.

The door close, but you were yanked back by the strap of your bag. You wanted to lean towards the door, anything to escape the horror of your fuck up. One flinch and you knew, the captain was questioning everything in your life that would cause you to react like that.

"One check up, if you want to leave after I'll sign you out. No questions asked," John pleaded, knuckles turning white as they tightened around the strap of your bag.

"Okay."

Not me thinking about Price’s daughter and Soap 😅 I think he’s the youngest out of all of them? Mid twenties. This was also a lot longer than I planned, I just kept writing more. Huge possibility there are errors as I'm dyslexic and I'm writing for fun.

👀 Do you want another part??? - Leya

[crimsonnsstuff]

Dark thanos x babysitter reader she came to babysit thanos ' little sister. 'Cause his parents believe he's not responsible enough to take care of his little sister. Reader tried to befriend thanos but after finding out he's an active drug addict after overhearing his parents convo. So she started to stay away from him. Doing everything possible to Stay out of his sight. When parents are overseas and reader has to work overnight. That's when the took his chance with her. She tells him off she has a bf but thanos doesn't care. Non Con pls <333

It’s not exactly as you requested, but I’m lazy! <3

You recently got a new babysitting job. You were babysitting Thanos’s little sister. Thanos was a grade above him, but you have never talked to him. You’ve heard other people talk about him, and how he’s a junkie, but you didn’t think that was true. Sure, he was a bit eccentric.

You knock on the door. To your surprise, Thanos opens the door. You haven’t really seen him before. He had a controller in his hands and a set of headphones on. He lifts one of the muffs up. “What?” “Oh, hi. I’m here for my babysitting job” you mutter. He opens the door, letting you in.

He plops down on the couch. “My parents will be out in a sec.” He groans before going back to his game. You nod and stand there awkwardly. Suddenly, his parents come out, suitcase in hands. “Oh, hi dear!” His mom exclaims. “Hi,” you say softly.

“Sorry, we are in a rush. Make sure yun-hee is in bed before 9. No food or drinks before 7” she says. You nod, “okay, sounds good!” You say smiling. They both rush out the door. You turn to Thanos.

“Where’s Yun-hee?” You ask. He lifts one muff off his ear. “Who knows, probably sleeping. All that little shit does is sleep.” He groans, putting the muffin back over his ear and going back to playing his video games. You sigh, sitting down on the couch next to him and scrolling on your phone.

The rest of the day you played with Yun-hee, having pretend tea parties, letting her braid your hair. You woke up in the middle of the night. You look over at the clock on the nightstand. It was 2am. You stand up. You were only wearing a pair of underwear and a T-shirt. You throw on a pair of shorts.

You quietly tip-toe out of the guest room. You walk into the kitchen, flicking the light on. There was Thanos, in nothing but grey sweatpants. You gulp. “What are you doing up?” He asks. “I’m thirsty. “Where are the cups?” “Top left cabinet.”

You open the cabinet, pulling out a glass. You put it under the tap, filling it up with water. You turn back to look at Thanos and see him putting something in his mouth. “What’s that?” You ask. He holds up a ziploc baggy with several different colored pills, shaking it. “That shits not good for you.” “Why do you care? You’re not my damn mom.”

You sigh and turn back, sipping out of your glass. You feel two cold hands on your waist. You flinch and turn around. “What the hell are you doing!?” You ask, bringing your hand up to slap him, but he catches it before you do. “Playin around.” He says.

He grabs your other hand, pinning them both in front of you with one hand. He brings his other hand up and squeezes your breast through your shirt. “Thanos..!” You whisper-yell. “I-I have a boyfriend!” He looks around the room. “I don’t see him anywhere.” He says, smirking.

Your heart drops. Was this really about to happen? Your eyes tear up. He grins and picks you up, setting you on the counter. “For me?” He says, looking down at your thin shorts. You sniffle. “Don’t cry yet.” He growls.

He pulls your shorts down, along with your panties. “You’re already wet. You like this.” He says, quirking a brow. “N-no, I don’t!” “Yes you do.” He says, plunging 2 fingers into your core, making you double over in pain and pleasure.

He starts to thrust that roughly. His fingers dig into your insides, making you whimper. You grip onto his arm, sobbing softly. He smirks and pulls his fingers out, reaching up and wiping them in your face.

He pulls you off the counter, spinning you around and bending you over it. He yanks his sweatpants down. He pumps his cock a few times. He taps it on your clit and you sniffle. He grunts as he slides into you, your pussy squeezing him so tight. You yelp and he slaps your ass. “Shut up, slut. You want this.” He growls.

You start to think about your boyfriend. What would he do if he saw you like this, bent over a counter while getting railed by this purple haired fuck. Thanos wasn’t even moving, but your legs were shaking from how deep he was. You grunt softly as you feel him tearing your pussy up.

He thrusts in and out roughly and you whimper. He grabs your hair and slams your face down into the counter. Your tears fall onto the marble counter, sobs falling past your lips. He grunts, throwing his head back. “You sound so pretty when you’re crying.” He growls, getting off on your sadness.

He grips your hips, pulling you back onto him in time with his thrusts, completely using you for his pleasure. You squirt on his cock and he snorts from how quick you came, but he doesn’t stop thrusting. “For someone who has a boyfriend, you sure love this.” He says.

You shake your head, unable to get words out. He pushes a hand down on your back, forcing you to arch it more. He slaps your ass, leaving a red handprint. “Fuck, this view..”

You leans down, chest pressing against your back. He pulls your hair, giving himself access to your neck. He bites down on it, making you yelp. He pulls back and lick a tear that was falling down your cheek. He leans back, pulling your hands behind you back and thrusting into you harder.

“Gonna ruin you for your boyfriend..” he grunts out, thrusting deeper and faster, stretching you to the limits. “Shit, shit, shit!” He murmers, cumming deep into your pussy. He keeps thrusting, fuckign his cum deeper into you.

He pulls out, tucking himself back into his pants. He pulls your panties and shorts back up. “Let that drip out and I’m gonna fuck your ass until you can’t walk.” He says, walking out of the kitchen.

[imsofreakingtired]

After a brutal fight, you scream at Sevika, accusing her of caring more about Silco than she ever did about you, and she agrees and calls you a distraction.

when you leave she regrets it but she’s to late

my god i love that. thanks for the prompt!

the cut that always bleeds

content warning(s): wives fighting 😔

"i don't love you anymore, a pretty line that i adore five words that i've heard before 'cause you keep me on a rope and tied a noose around my throat you're gone, then back at my door"

~~~

It had finally happened.

You’re sure of it, and it makes you go cold all over.

Your head is heavy from lack of sleep, but you can’t even stand the thought of lying down. Your heart’s pounding something awful in your chest, as if you’re waiting for the knock that would come any second, bringing the brutal news that you had lost your wife for good.

Sevika had promised you there was no external business tonight. She had promised that she would come directly home after the Chem-baron assembly, she had given her solemn word.

So either she was really dead, or—

The door swings open, hard, so that a thin rain of plaster and dust showers onto the floor. You see Sevika’s tall figure in the doorway.

You stand up.

“Shit,” Sevika mutters. “You spooked me. Why aren’t you asleep?”

Your voice is dangerously low. “Where have you been?”

Sighing heavily, Sevika takes off her cloak and throws it carelessly over the chair. “Silco needed me to take care of some loons trying to steal supplies near the harbor.” Without meeting your eye, she goes to the icebox and takes out a bottle of beer. “Then there was a misunderstanding with some fool merchant about a shipment for Topside—”

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

Sevika looks at you over the bottle. “What?”

“What,” you echo. “Very nice. What. Because you can run around all day, all night at Silco’s beck and call without a care in the world, and I can just sit here worrying myself sick, right?”

“Baby, don’t start. I’m not in the mood.”

“Don’t baby me.” You slam your fist against the table, causing the empty glasses to jump.

Sevika just looks at you. Her cool silence makes you angrier than any insult could have done.

“I must mean nothing to you, don’t I?” You yell. “Is it too much to fucking ask that you send a message in advance, telling me you’ll be late?”

Sevika tips the bottle back, draining the whole thing in one sip. Then she calmly set it down on the table.

“You think I like sitting up here alone until the fucking morning, not knowing whether you’re alive or dead? If I matter less to you than a fuckin’ object, what are you keeping me around for? You might as well save us both the trouble and stop off at Babette’s every night after work.”

“You’re right, maybe I should.”

A deathlike silence falls.

You stare at her, shaking slightly, as her words sink through the air between you like stones in deep water.

Sevika must have seen the way your face changed, the shock in your eyes, and she must have realized the weight of what she just said, because she tries to backtrack. But the damage is done.

“This isn’t a relationship,” you say quietly. “The relationship you’re in, the one you’re fucking devoted to, is with that man in the office above the Last Drop. Just say so.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Fuck you!” You scream.

Sevika stands quickly, her eyes stony with anger. “What did you expect, then?” she says harshly. “Tell me. What’d you expect—honeymooning around the riverside, flying off to Noxus, for Janna’s sake? We’re at the brink of war.”

“Is that what you think? What am I, your fucking toy bride?”

“You’re not a toy,” she snaps. “You’re a distraction.”

A moment passes before you repeat, “a distraction.”

She glares at you. “Silco was right,” she says. “This whole thing—you—it was all just holding me back.”

The slap rings through the empty room.

Sevika stands unmoving, like she’s carved from stone. You watch her, eyes burning, palm stinging, waiting for a reaction, waiting for her to hit you back, yell at you, curse you out—anything. Anything to show that she felt something.

But she doesn’t say a word.

You shake your head, slowly. “You’re a jackass.”

Still no answer.

You turn on your heel and storm into the bedroom you shared with Sevika. You rip your few spare pieces of clothing off the hooks on the walls and roll them violently into a bundle, then stride back into the front room and yank open the door. Sevika is still standing in the same place, staring at the floor as if holding a silent argument with the floorboards.

Before you leave, you turn and say, “Sevika.”

She looks at you.

“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

The door slams behind you.

~~~

Sevika listens to the dust settle. She stands in the dark room, feeling strange and vaguely angry. Suddenly she lets out a yell and grabs the empty beer bottle and hurls it against the wall. It shatters upon impact, the shards dancing across the floor.

Sevika stands, unsteady on her feet, swaying slightly. She grabs the back of a chair, ready to break it as well, then changes her mind and goes to take out another bottle of liquor.

Soon the world is comfortably fuzzy and nothing was ever real, your voice fades pleasantly into the back of her head like the thin buzz of electricity...

~~~

Sevika wakes up among glass shards and splintered wood. Her head throbs like it’s ready to split open. She sits up with a groan, blinking in the daylight seeping through the small window. What time was it? Why was she sleeping on the floor? Why hadn’t you woken her up?

There had been this strange, funny dream she had…this dream where you were real mad at her…she should tell you.

Then she sees the open door of the bedroom, and the empty bed beyond it. Then she remembers—the fight, your anger, the sharp sting of your hand against her cheek. “No,” she mumbles to herself. She gets to her feet clumsily, staggering. “No.”

Stupidly she goes into the bedroom, as if you might be hiding somewhere in the corner or beneath the bed. She sees the empty hooks on the wall. She walks back out and opens the front door, looking up and down the apartment hall. She calls out your name in a hoarse voice.

But you’re not there.

[jxwl4k]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a Bakugou x female reader story where she has a newborn son (not with Katsuki) and struggles with being a teen mom at U.A. She tends to hide it, but Bakugou finds her one night breaking down while trying to warm a bottle for her fussy baby. The pressure of hero work and being a new mom is becoming too much to bear. Bakugou comforts the reader and helps her. It would be great if they knew each other since childhood. (You don’t have to write it if you’re uncomfortable with the idea!!)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ strength .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. hurt/comfort

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x teen!mom!reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by @rocketblasterr

⤿ yn is a teen mom at U.A tries to juggle her hero training and caring for her newborn son in silence.

The halls of U.A. were eerily quiet at night, the only sound being the occasional hum of the vending machines or the distant creak of a door. YN was sitting in the shared dorm kitchen, clutching a bottle of formula in one hand and holding her fussy newborn in the other.

Tears pricked at her eyes as her son’s cries echoed through the space, louder than she ever thought such a tiny baby could manage. She was exhausted—no, beyond exhausted. Between trying to balance training, schoolwork, and the sleepless nights that came with caring for a newborn, she felt like she was drowning.

The microwave beeped, signaling the bottle was warm enough, but YN’s hands trembled so much she nearly dropped it. “Come on,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Just stop crying for one second, please…”

It was no use. The tears spilled over as she sank into the nearest chair, holding her baby close but feeling like the worst mother in the world.

“Oi, what the hell are you doing?”

The familiar voice made her flinch. She turned to see Bakugou standing in the doorway, his usual scowl softened by the dim light of the kitchen.

“Katsuki,” she whispered, hurriedly wiping at her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, dumbass. The better question is, why the hell are you crying alone in the middle of the night?” He stepped closer, his crimson eyes narrowing as he took in her tear-streaked face and the squirming baby in her arms.

“It’s nothing,” YN muttered, trying to shield her face. “Just go back to bed.”

“Like hell I’m leaving.” He pulled out a chair across from her and sat down, his gaze intense but not unkind. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Thought you were just tired from school, but now I see it’s this little guy.” He motioned to her baby, who was still crying despite her gentle rocking.

“It’s fine,” she said, though her voice wavered. “I can handle it.”

“Bullshit.” Bakugou leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re falling apart, YN. You think I can’t tell?”

Her resolve crumbled at his words. The tears came rushing back, and this time she couldn’t hold them back. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Katsuki,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I thought I could balance everything, but… but it’s too much. I’m failing at being a mom, and I’m failing at being a hero. I don’t know what to do.”

For a moment, Bakugou didn’t say anything. Then, to her surprise, he reached out and gently took the bottle from her trembling hands. “First of all, stop beating yourself up,” he said gruffly. “You’re not failing. You’re just human.”

He stood and walked over to her, holding out his hands. “Here. Let me take him for a bit.”

She hesitated, but the exhaustion won out. She carefully handed her son over, and Bakugou cradled him in his arms with more gentleness than she thought possible. He adjusted the bottle and began feeding the baby, his expression softening as the cries quieted.

“There,” he muttered, watching as the baby finally settled. “Not so hard, huh?”

YN stared at him, a mixture of awe and gratitude flooding her chest. “Since when are you good with babies?”

He shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m good at everything.”

Despite everything, she laughed—a real, genuine laugh for the first time in what felt like forever. “Thank you, Katsuki,” she said softly.

“Tch, don’t get all mushy on me,” he grumbled, though there was no heat in his words. “You’re not alone, okay? If you need help, just ask. I’m not gonna let you crash and burn, dumbass.”

She nodded, a sense of relief washing over her. For the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe again.

And as she watched Bakugou carefully feed her son, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to face everything on her own.

[miley1442111]

videos and violence- a.hotchner

summary: an unsub capturing you makes for a pretty interesting love confession

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!fem! reader

warnings: mention of reader being hurt, violence, mental, physical, emotional abuse, regular criminal minds topics (i think that's it? PLEASE TELL ME IF I MISSED SOMETHING)

not entirely proofread

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You knew you had to take in your surroundings, try to remember what had happened before, think. 

All you knew was that one moment, you were on your way home from work, and the next you had a bruising grip on the back of your head, leading you through the hallways of this dusty, dark, shithole. 

Suddenly, he stopped. He was a man, obviously, 5’7ish, buff build, dark clothing that doesn’t fit him correctly, strong, shoes a size too big, and a balaclava. “Get in there, bitch.” American accent, deep voice, but definitely grew up in Washington. There was a chance you were still in Washington.

He shoved you down the stairs, into a basement. When you came to, your head was bleeding and you’d definitely broken a few ribs. You just hoped that Aaron would find you. You tended to your wound as best you could and allowed yourself to rest, knowing more would be to come. You had to figure out why he wanted you. Was it because he knew you worked for the FBI, or were you just the closest woman to him? 

The ground was cold and hard, but it would do for one night. You hoped this would be one night. You hoped the team could solve it. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Where’s Agent Y/l/n?” Morgan asked, sitting beside Spencer in the briefing room. 

“Late,” Rossi grunted. 

“She’s never late,” Penelope argued. “She’s never been late a day in her life and she didn’t answer any of my phone calls this morning.”

Aaron Hotchner, your secure, steady, collected, and calm boss, began to sweat a little. The same thing had happened to him, you weren’t answering his calls, there was no ‘I got home safe’ text, and you didn’t answer your door when he knocked on it that morning. 

“I’m sure she’s just sick,” Rossi shot back, trying to put Penelope at ease. “She’s a big girl, you don’t need to baby her.” 

Aaron didn’t miss the way Rossi looked at him during that last part. He wasn’t babying you, he’d never do that. He wanted to protect you, keep you safe, make sure he got to see that beautiful smile everyday. 

“We have a case,” Aaron announced. “Right here in Washington.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

No matter how loud you screamed, he didn’t stop. He kept hitting, and punching, and hurting. By the time you walked back down to your basement, you were exhausted, bruised, and scared. You were slightly losing hope that Aaron and the team were going to find you, because he was ramping up his activity. He was more violent, more attentive to you, watched you more, got closer, stayed closer. And he wasn’t feeding you. He had no intention of keeping you alive. But he was filming you. You’d noticed the hundreds of cameras all over the room, all pointing to you. 

“What do you do for work?” he asked from the darkness of the top of the stairs. 

“Paperwork,” you lied. “FBI paperwork.”

“You work for the Federal Bureau of Investigations?” he asked.

You nodded. “It’s boring.”

“How much do you make?” 

“About 90 grand a year,” you offered. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a baker,” he answered. “I work in the cafe on 14th street.”

“I like that place,” you chuckled painfully. “Makes good bread. My boyfriend loves it.”

“You have a boyfriend?” he asked. 

“Yeah, but he’s out of state at the minute. Work stuff,” you lied. “What about you?”

“A girlfriend? No, no,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands together. It’s like he watched a movie to find out how to be a villain, I mean, come on. “No one for me.”

“What’s your boyfriend's name?” he asked. 

Well, now or never. “Aaron Hotch,” you answered calmly. 

“And what is it that you love about Aaron?”

You could feel yourself tearing up, you knew he was about to take you for another torture session, and you didn’t know if it would be your last. There was a slim chance Aaron would see this, if he ever caught the guy. Now or never. “I love Aaron because he makes me feel safe. He smiles at me all the time which is nice because he doesn’t smile often. He knows everything about me, and he’s still here. He’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met, even though he puts on a brave face everyday. He cares deeply about the people around him, and he tries to hide the way he worries about people, but he can’t. He just cares too much. He’s wonderful, if I’m being honest. He always brings me home stuff from your bakery, the one on 14 the street, it’s our favourite date night tradition.” 

“Good, very good. I know exactly who you’re talking about,” he smirked. “I’ll make sure he gets this, and the videos of the torture.”

You grimaced. 

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“He takes women of all races, hair colours, eye colour, etc. He doesn’t keep them for more than three days, he videos the torture and sends it to us. He’s had three women so far-” Morgan thought out loud. 

“A new video just came in Hotch,” Penelope burst into the room, tears in her eyes. “I-It’s-”

“No!” Morgan and Spencer both jumped up, disbelief coating their features. Aaron stayed still, a wash of rage and terror rolling over him. You’d been gone for two days, they had one more to find you. 

“Give me the laptop, the rest of you don’t need to see this,” he ordered, taking the laptop out of her hands as she ran straight to Morgan for comfort. Rossi stopped him before he left. 

“You sure you want to see this? We all know how you feel about her,” Rossi whispered, silently offering himself to watch the videos. 

“I have to find her,” Aaron whispered, his voice breaking. “I need every angle I can get.”

Rossi nodded, allowing him on his way.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You’d survived another day, but the broken bones and bruises were starting to ache more and more. He’d gone to work, and you had 8 hours to try and get out, but the cameras. You just hoped he’d gotten cocky and sent it to the FBI before you were dead. It was your only chance. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“We have a lead,” Aaron announced, rushing to put his coat on. “The bakery, on 14th, that’s where he works.”

“Let’s move out people!” Morgan shouting, rallying the cops to follow the team. 

The video of you, broken, bruised, and battered made him feel physically sick. The way you spoke about him made his heart burst, the way you gave him the message gave him hope. He could still find you. 

The car ride felt long, too long; and getting the dick to confess felt too long too. Searching the building felt too long, and getting you into his arms felt too long. 

But when he rounded a corner and went down a set of stairs, there you were. Right in front of him. Lying in a heap on the floor. He rushed to your side. “Please, please,” he begged. “Open your eyes for me baby,” he pleaded as he looked for a pulse, it was faint but there. “Ambulance, now!” he shouted up at the officers who were following him. “Come on, open your eyes for me,” he whispered. 

Somehow his shaking and his words woke you up. You stared at him for a moment, confused and scared, and then it registered. He’d found you. The video had worked. 

“Aaron,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his face. “You found me.” 

He nodded, a relieved smile on his face. “I’ll always find you,” he promised. “And I’ll never let this happen again.”

“You saw the video?” you asked, pulling yourself into his arms. 

“I saw the video sweetheart,” he nodded. “I know.”

“I love you,” you whispered as he hooked a hand under your legs and another under your back. 

“I love you too, more than anything,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[starryylies]

What about Si with a reader who's giving him the silent treatment? I feel like at first he'd be like "fine whatever" but after like 10 minutes he begs his princess to talk to him

Silent treatment and Simon

Hii thank you sm for the ask! I loved writing it <33

Sorry if it got a bit self indulgent though.

It’s heavy on comfort so hope you enjoy!

You’ve been ‘off’ Simon could tell something’s going on but he couldn’t pin point why it’s going wrong.

Youve been ignoring him since he came home that night after his deployment, giving him short and curt greetings and replies a contrast to your sweet and elaborated ones.

He thought he’d let you deal with whatever you’re going through without butting in.

But no,

Just no

He couldn’t stand there and watch his baby look so down,

He couldn’t stand not hearing your sweet voice echo in the room.

He couldn’t stand the thought that you’re getting tired of him.

He was an overthinking wreck,

All possible ideas came to his mind as to why you’re ignoring him.

“Maybe she’s tired of me, ‘m a fucking mess aren’t I.”

“Maybe she found someone else, someone her own age. Nah fuck no, she wouldn’t do that. Would she..?”

His mind was going on overdrive and he broke down.

And now he found himself marching up to your shared room where you sat on your bed watching a movie.

He turned off the movie and put you on his lap.

“Love what’s happenin’ whys my baby ignoring me huh? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“Are ya tired of me?”

He croaked out the last question, tears welling up in his eyes.

You looked at Simon as if you’d seen a ghost

“You really think I’ll be tired of you? I’m here thinking yr’ gonna be tired of me” you confessed with tears welling up in your eyes now.

“It’s just that, I know I can be a piece of work sometimes. I probably just make life harder for ya so I thought maybe keeping my mouth shut wouldn’t annoy ya like I annoy others.”

Simon is hurt to hear you say that, how could you think you annoy him. He fights to come home so he can listen to your sweet voice and look at that pretty face.

And who the fuck told you you’re annoying?

He holds it in him to ask that later because he doesn’t want to stray from the conversation going on but he makes a mental note to give them a personal visit when you’re done

“I don’t even know why you’re with me there’s so many people out there who are better, prettier, more competent.”

“I’m nothing si,I’m not the girl you make me out to be. I’m so scared of the day you start seeing me the way I see myself”

Simon felt his heart break in pieces when he heard you say such cruel things about yourself.

How could he feel okay when the love of his life thought so badly about herself

How could he show you you’re the prettiest and the only woman that matters in his life

“Ya fucking stupid?”

He asked curtly, regretting his harsh words the second he spit them out.

“Excuse me?”

“No genuinely are ya fucking stupid, you fucking think I’ll get tired of you- the first and the only thing that’s ever mattered to me?”

“Fuckin’ hell lovie you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen and yr’ important person in my life.”

“Ya think you make life tougher for me? Ever since you’ve come in my life you’ve made it liveable, you made life seem something worth experiencing, I was just blood and guns before I met you, now I’m a person”

“Fuck id kill for you, die for you, do anything for you. You seriously believe I’ll ever get tired of ya? Because if you do I’m sorry to say you’re a fuckin’ idiot”

Tears prickle down your face as you hear his confession,

You’ve been feeling so insecure, so incapable and so unlovable these past months when simon was away, you’d forgotten how much he loves you.

You cried into his chest, gripping onto him and nestling yourself in his arms.

His beefy arms rubbed your back as he cood at you, telling you how much he loves ya and how he will never get tired of you.