#i just want that rush again. i want the words to come out of me like they should

[miyakiwiii]

GUESS NO ONE EVER TAUGHT YOU HOW TO BE A REAL MAN...。o○ [2]

KANG DAE HO x FEM!READER

Wylcome back sigmas.. or idk.. help

TAGS

mmm red light green light,blood, a lot of blood, uh period ahh period uh, 'IVE PLAYED THESE GAMES BEFORE' ahh gi hun, but has gore and a lot of death, spoilers, lots of hand holdinh between TWO players (guess who)

NOTE:

Heyy wassup my peeparoo's, i hope yer liking this series fic or whatevs you call it! Ilysm and ty for liking the last post! THAT WAS THE FASTEST LIKES IVE EVER RECEIVED( *・ω・)ノ TYSMM

WORD COUNT:3,560k

PREVIOUS... NEXT PART.. MASTERLIST

"That is correct." The square says. 'Hope this'll be fun, whatsoever.' I say in my thought's, focusing on the rushing things that came on my mind.

"...cool i guess, free money from playing kiddie games." I put yet again, both of my hands in my pocket's. But suddenly, a voice of an old woman was heard.

"Good heavens- excuse me." The voice echoed through the room.

A faint sound of a slap, a slap on a cloth was heard as it soon was followed by words. "You idiot-!" The old woman says.

"Mom! Wha- what are you doing here..?" The familliar voice that was heard earlier said.

"Thats what i wanted to ask you! What are you doing here!?" The old woman's voice said angrily.

"Embarassing? If you know what was embarassing, you wouldn't be here!" The old woman continued, i guess the son spoke in a whisper before that then.

"No- we wont, come on! Your leaving." The old woman said again, it appears to be that my calculations were correct, never mind im sounding like a nerd.

'Wow, family drama in such place like this is crazy, haha.' I say in my thoughts.

"Why would you bring a naive old woman here?! Will you take responsibilit if my mom collapses!? HAH?" The familliar male's voice earlier yelled out.

"yong sik- ill stay and do this, you go home.." the old woman said, now that you knew that player's name.

"Stop it! Im already here, i cant just leave!" Yong sik continues.

"But you promised me! You promised never to gamble again!" The old woman continues(i love this diva sm)

SKIPPING TO.. TAKE PICCIES.

As you were standing in line, looking at the players taking their pics as a woman on the speakers had announced something.

"Damn.. this is taking long, my feet are gonna be sore-" i sighed, but the speakers interrupt me.

"The first game will begin momentarily."

Now the line being done, you took a step as it said to you.. "smile." Yeah sure, smile for the picture or cheese?

(The picture is what i potray the reader as! But you can potray the reader however you like, or being yourself! The reader can be any race, weight, or bodyshape! As long as your enjoying it :). )

Music plays as you stood infront of the camera.

"Yeah i wont.. smile." You say, because your smile scared alot of children last time you approached them, yeesh.

You walked out of the photo booth or something ... i really dont know what its called.

The speaker spoke again.

"After having your picture taken, follow the staff's instructions and proceed to the game site." The speaker says as you slowly went up the stairs...

☆ ○o。..。o○ ☆

"Welcome to the first game, all players please wait a moment on the field." The speaker says as you stepped out, there was sand in the ground, the walls were painted like landscapes, and there was a huge hole above all of this.

But the strange thing you noticed is that..

There was a weird doll that represented a figure of a child, it wore yellow and had pigtails, "yeesh that give's me the chills." You said as the sun went to blind your eyes.

The door behind you closed, basically the door was shut behind you, automatically..

"The game is Red light, Green light." It announced.

I prepared myself as i stretched my arm's "first game, easy enough." You say with confidence as you looked at the front.

"Hey! Dont get too cocky missy." Someone said right behind you, ew.

"Nah, id win." You said, your back still facing the man that said you were too cocky, well it was a sheer boost of confidence.

"Cross the finish line in five minutes without getting caught. If you do you pass." The speaker says but suddenly- someone went upfront, it was the familliar voice that you heard earlier. "Everyone! Everyone! Pay attention!" The familliar figure waved and put his hand to deliver attention to him, wow main character energy that much.

"Listen carefully! This is not just a game! If you lose the game, you DIE!" He yelled out.

"Dying from a kid's game? Sounds awfully fake." You said, fixing your hair as strands went up to your face, looking at the.. crazy? You wouldnt call him that, Man.

"That sounds sketchy,"

"Fake"

"Hes crazy."

People spoke, as you laughed a little.

"Hey! What are you talking about?" A random woman says. "Were going to die playin' red light, green light?" The random woman questioned.

The familliar figure responded. "Of course! If they catch you moving, they will kill you! They will shoot from somewhere!" The man says.

"Sounds weird enough." You said, letting out a sigh as you moved your head again, looking at your left, you noticed... player 388 yet again. His head was tilted slightly as he listened to the man's words. Huh, cute- wait. Your only here for money not for love.

"Oh hey its you agai-" you spoke out, but the familliar figure that was in the front spoke again.

"Stay on your toes!" The familliar figure yelled out.

"Ehem, as i was saying, hello... player 388." You greeted him as he glanced at you, his lips were parted as he waved a little bit.

"Ah.. hello again uhm, player 238." He says flashing a small grin, but the familliar figure spoke again.

"If you get caught, YOU DIE! That doll's eyes are motion detectors!" The familliar figure says."Stay on your toes!"

"Well, no time for chatting i guess." I say as i spoke to player 288, he nods as we both stood silent, the tension was akward even if there were multiple people surrounding us.

"What the hell are you talking about???" A random man says. "I think he's trying to scare us so he can win the prize money!"

"Thats right!"

"I agree!"

Multiple people agreed on the man's words as we both still stood akwardly with each other.

"Dont pull any tricks, asshole!" Another guy says.

"You have to believe me!" The familliar figure says. The figure rotate's its head as the weird doll starts to move, its right hand started to raise and cover its eye. You took a deep breath and released it.

"Do not be alarmed or panic! No matter what happens, do not panic and start running!" The figure says.

"Let the game begin."

An alarm suddenly ticks as the doll finally spoke.

"Green light, red light."

You moved, and finally stop, looking at the man that did a gesture that made his arms go down.

"Freeze!" The man yelled, you focused on not moving as your feet began digging in the sand. The sun literally is interfering with this.

The doll rotated its head as its eyes began to weirdly move. 'Ew.... creppy ass doll.' You said, looking at the doll while you spoke in your thoughts.

"Well done! You just need to stay calm like this! We just have to move and stop at the same time!" The man yelled.

"Green light...." you moved fastly as you halted, the man speaking yet again.

"Freeze!" He yelled.

'Being in a jumper while being under the sun, too much coverage, but gotta handle it.' You say in your thoughts yet again.

"Dont move! Stay still! Just relax!" The man yelled.

"Green light.." you ran slowly.

"Red light." The doll chanted.

It repeated again as you took some steps, you really wished there was an AC inside this room, well.. you never experienced it anyway except when going to stores and such.

"Freeze!" The man repeatedly yelled again.

'This is getting boring not gonna lie..' you say in your thoughts again.

The doll moved its head again as you repeated it, repeat repeat repeat, even hid words were repeated.

You freezed yet again, the air hitting you lightly.

But suddenly, you heard a gunshot.

Shit.

A loud thud echoed through as you stood, now static as a heavy boulder. Then, there was a scream that followed now, people we're moving. Scarlet red coated the back of your jumper as you still stood. Not flinching from the sound at all.

Screams and gunshots continued, more blood soon dripped in the ground, wow you already got stained by someone's blood. Thats that for not knowing what will happen, also maybe consequences in the first round: getting stained by someones blood.

'Just dont move and we'll be good.' The gunshot's were still going as the man yelled again. "Freeze!" One more gunshot followed it.

"You can move forward while the tagger shouts, 'red light green light. If your movement is detected afterward, you will get eliminated."

The doll rotated its head again as you still stood.

It rotated its head for two times untill the familliar voice finally spoke again.

"You'll also die if you donr make it there in time! That doll is a motion detector! But it can't detect motion thats not visible to it!" The man signals its hand open and closed as he continues with his words. "Get behind someone bigger than you! Like your following the leader! Were running out of time! We've got to move!" You moved behind a.. familliar back with that signature small ponytail of their's.

Player 388. Huh this must be a coincidence that your almost being close to him and such.

You suddenly stumbled as you put your hand behind him.

"...sorry." you said, gripping his jumper a little to be a gesture of an apology, you noticed his hand slightly shaking, that made you feel slightly worried.

"No-nono.. its fine.. miss." He said, you can tell he was anxious suddenly.

Two gunshots were soon followed again as the doll moved its head again, getting your grip out of 388's jumper, he suddenly held your hand and ran, then stopped. His hand felt callused compared to yours, his was warm, yours was.. cold.

You were still behind him as you gulped some air.

Now, a line was now formed by individual players. Yet you still focused on.. the game and this feeling i guess.

"Do not move! Freeze!" The familliar man yelled out, but then suddenly, three thuds were heard as it was one gunshot, and the other two were shot at the same time.

The doll moved its head again and his grip on your hand tightened, running, and then stop.

One gunshot followed as he still kept you behind him, wow dude you guys arent even dating or in a relationship yet, get a grip🙏😭

As i was saying, it repeated again, the sound of the sand below crunching as there were another gunshot.

"Hey- 388, why are you holding my hand-" you questioned but he doesnt respond. He still kept holding it as you both halted again one gunshot. Two gunshot.

You two were almost near the finish line as you noticed someone stumble, now shot.

"It wasnt me. She pushed me i didnt move! It was her i didnt move!" The random man said.

A gunshot was soon followed as the familliar man cheered. "Your almost there! You can do it!"

You two were a step ahead on getting to the finish line.

You two both fell inside the finish line as you both grunted, now you were heaving, breathing for air.

"Im sorry uh- miss, i didnt mean to hold your hand." He said, holding a hand out for you to grab.

You held his hand and stood up, dusting the jumper.

"... thanks for shielding me though, i should be the one to apologize for-" he cut's you out.

"No, no its fine." He spoke. You noticed that there was three people running up to the finish line, the one in middle being injured.

The three of them ran, and now arrived at the finish line.

"By the way miss.. whats your name?" The man behind you spoke.

"I think you already heard it being announced but.. [nam-]" there was a gunshot followed as the man died inside the finish line.

You didnt speak after that, knowing it was a time to not speak.

"...[name]. It is.. im- im kang dae ho." He introduce's himself.

The sky suddenly darkens as you both look up, there was sound building up from the other players as it closed slowly.

"Players, its now time to go back to the quarters." The speaker had announced.

☆ ○o。..。o○ ☆

Now you and dae ho were facing each other even in opposite bunk beds, the silence filling both of your eardrums.

"That was..." you said.

"Not great." He said.

Both of you had said it in unison.

The door buzzed open as the pink guards showed up, walking a little bit.

You hid behind your bunk bed in instinct as they approached.

"Congratulations for making it through the first game. Here are the results of the first game." The square said.

The tv immedietly turned on, showing numbers that dropped down. "Out of 456 players, 91 players have been eliminated. 365 players have completed the first game." The square announces.

"Congratulations again for making it through the first game." The square announces.

"Sir please dont kill us!" The familliar old woman's voice begged. "Please dont kill ud im begging you! As for my son's debt, i will do whatever it takes to pay you back! Please forgive us!"

It followed other players begging for their lives, kneeling down, crying. Both you and dae ho didnt mind all of them but just exchanged eye glance's.

"We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you an opportunity." The square says.

"Clause three of the consent forms!" The familliar man yelled out. " 'the games may be terminated upon a majority vote.' Correct?"

"That is correct." The square answered. Both you and dae ho's head were now turned into the direction of the familliar man, looking at him.

"Then let us vote right now." The man says.

"Of course. We respect your right and freedom of choice." The square continues. "But first, let me announce the prize amount thats been accumalated. "

The square clicks on the remote as the piggy bank slowly goes below along with music and sound effects.

I looked from the side of the bunk bed and stared at the won falling from a tube inside the piggy bank.

"The number of players that were eliminated were 91. Therefore,accumalates to 9.1 billion won." The square says. "If you quit the game now, the 365 of you can equally divide 9.1 billion won and leave with your share.

"How much is that?" The old bitc-man says.

"each person's share would be 24,931,500 won." The square says.

Voice's build up yet again as they all had different answers.

"Thats not enough.."

"We almost died for that.."

Well, it was true. You needed more won. Still too minimum.

"Million? You said 45.6 billion!" A purple haired guy said. Oh you definately could recognize the dude.

"The rule is that, a hundred million won will be accumalated for each eliminated player." The square says.

You perked up from his words that soon followed another. "If you play the next game and more players get eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly." The square spoke.

"How much will it be if you survive untill the end?" The annoying- i mean old man spoke.

"as i already told you, the total amount of prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games, will equally divide the 45.6 billion won." The square answered.

"So if your the only one to survive, you get 45.6 billion?" A random man spoke.

"That is correct." The square answered.

Murmurs start building up again as you noticed dae ho fidgeting with his fingers, signalling him with your hand to ask if he was okay, he nods and gives you a thumbs up.

"So we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?" A random man had spoke.

"As promised in the consent form, you can take a vote for each game and decide to leave with the prize money accumulated to that point. We alwaye prioritize your voluntary participation.. Now, lets begin the vote." The square spoke.

You gestured dae ho to stand up and he does so, walking down to go with the fewer people below.

Both of you were standing behind the several players as you sighed.

"If you wish to continue the game, press the O button, if you wish to end them, press the X button." The square has said as you looked at the ground. "The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers, player 456." The man had called out, everyone's attention went to him as you gulped, thinking about what to vote.

You needed the money because it wasnt enough.

"Its all pointless!" Your thoughts had been interrupted as a strange woman that was on the top bunks spoke. "Talk about getting creep's again.." you said.

"You didnt decide when to come into this world, and you cant decide when you leave it either. When and where you die, were already decided by the gods the moment you were born. No matter how hard you try, you CAN never escape it." The woman said.

a button was soon followed as you looked at the flat screen tv, one X. "Once you finish voting, put the patch you are given on the right side of your chest, put the patch you are given on the right side of your chest, and stand on the side you have chosen." The square announces.

A few votes followed as it called dae ho, looking at dae ho who was walking torwards the button, the O went up by one.

After few people again, it was finally your turn. "Player 238." It had announced. The X and O's side turns their face on you as you walked, thinking about the buttons that was plastered on the voting, you finally were infront of it.

You pressed.. O.

After you pressed it, they gave you a blue patch and went to the blue side, the counter went up by one yet again.

Several votes followed as the score is now 87 to 93. Looking at the screen above, someone had spoken up yet again.

"Wait a minute everyone! Wait! You cant do this." The familliar voice had spoken again, looking into the direction of that player, you already knew who it was.

"Come to your senses! Dont you see? These arent all games, we will die if we keep playing! We have to get out of here now." The man had interrupted the voting process.

"Who do you think you are?!"

"Im super man." I answered. It was that annoying old man again.

"Why do you keep egging people on like that? You scared us by saying they'd shoot us before the game even began!" Wow ferocious debate mister.

"Thats right! He was going one abour how we'd die, and i almost did because i got so nervous!" A woman had spoken up, it was followed by a man. "How did you know they were going to shoot us? Are you one of them?" The man had spoken, and that annoying voice came up again.

'Fucking hell this debate makes my head hurts..' i say in my mind, as i went to rub my temples.

"Are you conning us all by pretending to be a player? Who is this guy?!" The old man shoved the man. "Did you plant him to mess with our hands?!" The old man said.

"Thats uncalled for! We wouldn't won the game and survived if it weren't for him!" The guy who seemed to be his bestfriend defended him.

He was correct afterall, but you just needed more money to pay half of the debt.

"And you! I saw how scared you were, and your legs were shaking!" The bff man yelled.

"You should thank him, not treat him like a fraud!" The man yellled. "And who the hell are youuu? Are you conspiring with him?" Another guy said. "Older than you, what are you going to do? Huh? Huh?" It was followed by an old woman's voice gesturinh for them to stop.

"Please dont do this, listen- none of us would be alive if it weren't for this gentleman! So enough with the greed- lets put our live's first and get out of this place- okay?" The old woman cried out.

"Thats right!"

"Lets get all out of here!"

"No we have to keep playing!"

The arguments were cut off as it was followed by the familliar man's voice.

"I have played these games before! I have done this before! I know about the first game because i had played it before! I played the games three years ago! And everyone who was with me.. died here!" The man had said, as voices build up yet again, theyre so noisy...

"They all did?"

"All of them?"

"Really, no way. If they all did, how did you survive alone? Wait. Are you saying you were the sole winner?" A man had said. "Thats right. I was the final winner." The familliar man answered. They were gossiping again soon after. "If we continue the games, every single person here... just like all the people back then, will die in the end." You can hear pain in his last few words. You felt bad but, you still needed the money.

"Bullshit." The old man interrupted again."if you were the sole winner it means you eon 45.6 billion won. If you really did, why would you even come back here?"

"Thats right! Hes lying!"

"Cut the crap!"

"Hes a total nutcase!"

"If someone like you can win, so can i!"

"If you really won it actually works better for us. You can give us some tips, on how to beat these game's." The familliar purple haired dude said, now you do recognize him.

"Thats right! We have a previous winner with us, so what do we have to worry about? Come on lets do this!"

"Come on!"

"Yeah!"

"Lets make some money!"

"Lets do this!"

"Lets do it!"

"Lets try!"

You just stood there processing what happened as every word of them came to a blur, but the square spoke again.

"From here on, we will not tolerate actions that disrupt the voting process. Now, lets resume the vote."

Few votes afterward, it all led to a tie. People cheered for the tie.

"Lastly, player 001." They all looked into the direction of the man.

"Everyone say O!"

"O!"

"X!"

They all cheered as the man went to the voting podium.

All of them were now focused on the man, so were you.

The vote had clicked as the O... won.

Half of the people in O cheered as you covered your ears, now.. all the people retreated to their quarters. You noticed dae ho and ran up to him.

"Hey, dae ho!" You said, he noticed you as you followed him, going to your bunk bed as the opposite of him.

You sat down in the bunk bed and looked at hid patch, you werent alone anyways.

"Hey dae ho.. do you have a reason on why you voted O?" You asked, looking at him. "Yeah.. i do." He said quietly.

[authorbriannarae13]

Mind of Mine // i just want to watch you take it off - joel miller

Joel Miller x female! reader

read on AO3 here.

summary; "You got 'nother one, sugar?"

Joel knows exactly how to get you wetter than ever. or this is the work you get when the author listens to the song 'TiO' off of the album 'Mind Of Mine' on repeat. for five hours.

warnings; smut (MDNI); unprotected p in v; oral (f receiving); mostly soft!joel; actually all soft!joel, so much praise

word count; 1.3k (it's my first joel fic, ok?)

-

You’re swaying to the music while Joel’s behind you, cooking as always.

He usually ignores you – not because you’re necessarily a distraction – but instead, because giving you the attention you crave doesn’t end well. For either of you. Last time he gave you attention, your wrists were secured to the headboard as he fucked your brains out, giving you too many orgasms to count and forgetting about the food.

Oops.

You live to be a tease, though.

It excites you too much to stop.

Mainly because it lets him plan how he’s going to punish you. Or praise you.

Whichever he’s in the mood for.

Based on his current mood – which is subject to change – he’s most definitely going to praise you.

And after the day you’ve had, it’s definitely what you need. Working for a publishing house can be stressful. And today was one of those days.

Good thing Joel loves to make you feel light – weightless, actually.

Not to mention how safe you feel. And when you feel safe, the softer side comes out.

Like all relationships, you just need to feel safe to show it.

“Darlin’,” his rough, Southern drawl interrupts your music, and you turn it off.

“Yes?” you ask, teasingly. Trying to rile him up.

But you never succeed. He knows you too well for that.

Turning away and holding a hand out, he murmurs a simple, “C’mere.”

So, you take it, letting him drag you and lift you up – right into his arms. Bridal style, of course.

You groan as your thighs clench, trying to hide your soaked cunt.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead.

“Fuck off,” you mutter while he carries you to the bedroom. Since he insists, he needs his fill of you before he can think about anything else – or dessert, as he likes to call it.

He kicks the door open and lays you down, playing with the hem of your skirt.

Your hips buck into his touch. He’s teasing you – you realize.

“Joel,” you moan as he hooks his fingers into your waistband, pulling your skirt down, and revealing the soaked black lace covering your cunt.

He pulls the lace aside, running his fingers against your swollen pussy, and he groans deep in his throat. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, pretty girl.”

Your brain goes blank as his index and middle finger both sink inside you, curling towards your g-spot.

“Fuck, sir.”

“N’ne of that sir shit tonight, baby.” He grabs your ankles, placing them on his shoulders as he sinks to his knees and licks a stripe up to your swollen - and aching - clit.

Your head falls back as your eyes roll into the back out your head. “Fuckk.”

You’re so close. If he would just curl his fingers against your g-spot just one more time, you’d be there.

He lets out a gruff chuckle that reverberates though your body as his other hand finds you shirt, pushing it up to find your nipple, pinching it.

That sends you over the edge. “Fuck, Joel,” you moan as the orgasm hits, crashing you into waves with each one more intense than the one before it.

His tongue doesn’t stop lapping at your clit even as you try to buck him off. “I can’t. I can’t- “

He cuts you off before you can repeat it again, “You can and will give me ‘nother one, sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” you groan as he pulls his fingers out, thrusting them back in while your back arches.

In. Out. In. Out. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

His fingers thrust faster as your thighs start to wrap around his head, trying to keep him there.

The second orgasm is faster than the first. You let out a silent scream as the waves rush into you for the second time in less than ten minutes.

“Good – fuck – good fuckin’ girl,” he groans, his tongue still swirling around your clit as the waves subside.

The strength from earlier leaves you almost immediately, making your legs fall. You’re boneless, but you also know he fucks you regardless of just how boneless you feel.

“You got ‘nother one for me, sugar?”

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you and brings them up to your mouth, “Taste yourself.”

You happily oblige, opening your mouth to take his fingers and tasting your cum mixed with his skin in a fucked up symphony.

His groan reverberates off the walls as you suck on his fingers – the same way you always have his cock. That’s when he starts to pull your panties down your legs, giving him better access.

Since that’s what this is all about, of course. And better access usually means better orgasms.

Speak of the devil – that shit must hurt. He looks painfully hard.

He interrupts your staring. “You like what you see?”

You slowly start to nod, but he slowly pulls his hand away, fingers leaving with a pop.

He leans down towards you, as you lean up and play with the hem of his shirt before you decide to pull it off.

Next is his belt as you hurry and rip it off, trying to get to his jeans.

“Woah,” he lets out a low chuckle, “’u’re a feisty one tonight, aren’t ya, beautiful?”

“No,” you whine as he starts to stop your frantic hands. “Just need you,”

“Where ya need me?”

“You know where,” you sass with everything you can muster.

“Need to hear ya say it, baby.”

“Fuck,” you moan as his jeans lightly graze your cunt. “Need you in me – fuck – now.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, pulling his jeans and boxers down – as fast as he can. “’U’re g’nna be the death of me, pretty girl.”

“I – fuck –“ His thrust cuts you off as he bottoms out. “I live to please.”

“So I can tell,” is the hiss you get back while he waits for you to adjust.

“Move already,” you whine before you can stop yourself. “Break me for all I – fuck –care.”

He slowly finds the pace you’re accustomed to – hard and fast.

“Look at ‘cha. You’re takin’ me so well.”

Your cunt clenches around him as he continues. “Aw, does my good girl need to be reminded of how good she feels?”

“You-“ you start, “you keep doing that and I’ll finish faster than I ever have.”

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Is that a promise?”

“B-better be,” you stutter as his thumb finds your clit. Again.

“Fuck.” Your head falls back again. Everything is sensitive.

You’re not even expecting the orgasm when it washes over you.

“Good – fuck. You’re such a good girl f���r me, sugar,” he praises, not taking his thumb away.

“Fuck.” It’s somewhere between a moan and groan. “Fuck, everything’s so sensitive.” Now that’s definitely a groan.

He ignores you, continuing his praise. “Fuck. Good girl. God, Good fuckin’ girl.”

You softly whine as he slowly speeds his pace up, trying to find his own orgasm.

After more futile moans, whimpers, and whatever else he can pull out of you.

“Fuck, you’re g’nna make me cum so fuckin’ fast, pretty girl. Goddamn-“ And that’s when you feel his orgasm crash into him – violent and unforgiving.

The orgasm lasts so long that neither one of you can keep up with how much time has passed. It isn’t until he flips you two over, so you’re on top and he’s not crushing you, that you know it’s done.

“Fuck,” you softly laugh, pressing your ear to his chest and listening to his heartbeat as he holds you tightly. You kiss his chest while he hums.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs kissing your forehead, “u’re all fucked out, aren’t ya?”

“Maybe,” you tease while he gives you a look.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.”

Eventually, after Joel made sure you were okay in every aspect, you two make your way back into the kitchen, attempting to get your appetite back after all that.

You’re standing behind him with your head laying on his back when you murmur, “I love you forever and always, baby.”

You can hear the soft smile in his voice when he says, “I love you more than anything else, darlin’.”

[rafescherie]

PORNSTAR. — RAFE CAMERON

synopsisᝰ.ᐟ bsf!rafe finds something he definitely shouldn't have, and teeters crossing the boundaries of your friendship.

warningᝰ.ᐟ 18+ MDNI. use of vibrators, best friends, praise & degradation, fingering & boob play

word countᝰ.ᐟ 1,192

A/N this is so gooner!bsf!rafe coded yuuup mind constantly filled with disgusting ideas of the things he wanted to do to you … omg i���m weak in the KNEES of course he'd jump on the first opportunity he could to play into his best fantasies. queue pornstar by nessa barrett thank u dj

it was almost humorous how flustered you had gotten over the discovery — cheeks dusted with a rosy red blush, biting your lip embarrassingly. even on your tiptoes, you couldn’t grab the object out of his firm grasp. you were so short in comparison to your best friend, rafe cameron, you had no other option than to accept defeat from your stolen item when he held it over his head.

“rafe, come on…” you groan, a pout staining your face. “s’not funny, give me it.”

he rolls his pretty blue eyes, how pathetic of you. of course this was funny, to him at least. lucky for him, you had so stupidly forgotten your favourite vibrator under your silk pillow. it was like you wanted him to find it, he thought. despite being your best friend since middle school, he had always fantasized about this exact moment — the power dynamic, and how you were wrapped around his finger.

“m’jus curious, s’all.” he speaks, shit-eating grin smothered on his face. he was evil — evil in the way that this entire interaction was only fuelling his own arousal, the bulge within his pants growing at the sight of how embarrassingly flustered you had gotten over his finding.

your pretty plump lips part, a huff of annoyance slipping out — if rafe was anything, it was stubborn. “you saw it, now give it back.”

the whine itself was almost enough for him to give in — to cave at the request. that pitiful little pout of your lips always seemed to do the trick for him, willing to do anything for you just to see it fade. but he had something different in mind, something more wicked. he had dreamed of this very moment, your total vulnerability ready to be played with like putty within his palms. “nah, lemme try it on you.”

your eyes widened at the demand, a rush of disbelief flooding your senses. the words hung heavy in the air, heavy and impossible to fathom. you stood frozen, heart racing, your mind trying to process what he had just said. was this some kind of joke?

“gross, no. you’re my best friend, rafe.”

“so?” he began, his gaze darkening with desire. he had pumped his cock raw at the idea alone, having you submissive and obeying every word for him. “s’not like i like you or anything… jus’wanna see if its like in porn.”

grimacing at his remark, you roll your eyes. porn was so icky, but then again so was his filthy request. that didn’t stop the ache of need and irritation, clenching your thighs at the thought alone.

“c’mon,” rafe cooed, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. he looked so cocky, so smug. he knew he had you thinking about it, and it wouldn’t be too hard to convince you after that. “only two minutes.”

it was only a matter of time until you were naked in your own bed, best friend perched greedily near your hips so he could get the best view. this felt so wrong — face flushing hot blushes across your cheeks every time you looked over at him. he looked so invested, head of the vibrator pressed firmly against your poor sensitive clit.

“jesus,” he chuckles, “sweet cunt’s dripping, all i did was ask a question.”

“shut up, rafe…” you whine, feeling so vulnerable against the cold air of your bedroom. your thighs had become numb from the way he had you positioned, muscular arm under your leg to hold them open.

the feeling of the head vibrating against your sensitive nerves had your eyes rolling, back arching off of the bed. and even though he’d only told you ‘two minutes’, the pornographic whine you had let out at the feeling of the rough vibrations against your core had only egged him on further, hands creeping up your chest to toy with your tits greedily, handfuls of your fat moulding around the shape of his large hand.

“rafe..” you moan, back arching off of the bed at the overwhelming feeling. “feels so good.”

“i bet, baby.” he hums, lips finding the side of your jaw as he presses soft messy kisses against your skin. his cock twitches against the fly of his pants at the sound of your moans fill the room.

“rafe.. we can’t-“ you start, breathy moan escaping.

his lips find the corner of your mouth, effectively shutting you up. the kiss he delivers against your whiny mouth is messy and quick, burst of lust rather than passion. you groan into his mouth, feeling his thick fingers caressing against the curves of your clothed tits, kneading the fat within his palms.

his hands eagerly slip under your shirt, calloused fingers working to pinch and squeeze the sensitive pearl of your nipples. within seconds, he has you panting desperately for air, pleasure consuming too fast over your body while your best friend fervently gropes you. the noises that flood out of your pretty plump lips is a jumbled mess of nothing but noise — muttering curse words under your breath, whimpering against the feeling of his skin on yours where it definitely shouldn't be. still, you find it impossible to pry his hands away from your whining body, cord within your stomach ready to snap any seconds.

"doing so good, sitting and taking it for me." he murmurs, the smirk within his voice obvious. his lips connect with the sensitive skin of your tits, tongue lapping at your hardened nipples — eliciting a pathetic sharp little cry from your throat.

pulling the vibrator away from your sore cunt, his fingers slipped inside of you so easily, arousal pooling within your puffy folds. he desperately attempted to coax your orgasm to light, thick digits curling inside of you what felt like the hundredth time where you needed it the most. his dark blue eyes bored into the sight of you — angelic against the situation, you looked so damn beautiful, and so vulnerable for him.

your legs shake, orgasm suddenly washing over your body fast and hard. he's panting into your ear, watching as his actions make you completely fall apart. he had yearned for this moment, seeing the way your face scrunched and your eyes rolled back as you came.

“yeah, that’s it. cum on my fingers, bitch.”

your body pulses, his fingers slowing to a halt inside of you as the room fills quickly with the sound of both of your exhaustion, panting practically in sync with one another. he couldn't seem to rip his gaze away from you, watching the mess you had made of yourself, all because of him.

a wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you look over at him, smugness spread across his face. "what're you looking at?"

"nothing." he replies with a shrug. he looks so proud of himself, "m'just saying, the way you came on my fingers? just like a fucking pornstar."

shoving him in the chest, you playfully roll your eyes, "you're disgusting, rafe cameron."

you would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about his fingers inside of you, too.

[meazalykov]

don't bleed where you cannot heal

lena oberdorf x reader requested

summary: there is a thin line between love and hate

warnings: angst, acl injuries, swearing

the stadium is getting you excited. it’s a friendly match, but for you, it’s anything but. 

this is all preparation for the upcoming world cup, your second. this is what you’ve dreamed of since you were a kid. the world stage, the chance to prove yourself once again as one of the best players in the world with the best country in the world.

the first whistle cuts through the air, and the game begins. germany presses hard from the start, their relentless high line suffocating, but your team is known for your aggression and tactical brilliance. 

you know how to play under pressure. as the minutes tick by, you quickly realize that your primary challenge tonight isn’t the team as a whole. it’s their number six, lena oberdorf.

she’s everywhere. the woman’s presence is like a shadow, constantly dogging your steps. the way she reads the game is impressive, and she’s physical—too physical. the first time she shoves you off the ball, it’s unnecessary. 

you had already passed it away, the play was moving forward, and yet her shoulder slams into you with enough force to make you stumble.

“get the fuck off me!” you snap, spinning to glare at her.

she doesn’t flinch. doesn’t even blink. lena just shakes her head and walks away, her expression calm, almost cold. it infuriates you, but you swallow the anger, forcing yourself to focus. she wants a reaction, and you won’t give her the satisfaction, even though you almost did.

the next twenty minutes are a battle of wills. she pushes, you evade. she lunges, you anticipate. it’s a dance, one where you refuse to let her lead. then, just before halftime, you seize your moment. the ball finds you outside the box, and you see her diving in for another tackle. 

you leap over her outstretched leg, the studs of her boot missing you by inches. planting your foot, you unleash a strike that sails cleanly into the top corner of the net.

the roar of the crowd is deafening, your teammates rushing to you in celebration. your captain grabs you in a tight hug, laughing as she says, 

“lets fucking go!!!!!”

as you jog back to midfield, you glance at lena, her frustration barely concealed, but she doesn’t say a word. you smirk, letting the satisfaction of the moment fuel you as the halftime whistle blows.

the locker room is buzzing during the break, your team riding the high of the lead. your coach gathers everyone, clipboard in hand, her expression serious despite the score.

“good half,” she begins, her voice cutting through the chatter. “don’t get comfortable though. their number six—” she doesn’t need to say lena’s name for everyone to know who she’s talking about—“is the anchor of the german team. she going to come out swinging. they don’t want to lose this, and she’s not the type to back down looking at what y/n is enduring.”

you nod, already expecting it. “i can handle it,” you say, your voice steady. you mean it. you’ve faced players like her before, and you’re not about to let her throw you off your game.

your captain gives you a reassuring pat on the back. 

“don’t let her get in your head.”

the second half begins, and lena’s intensity ramps up as expected. she’s glued to you, her physicality increasing with every passing minute. you can feel her presence even when she’s not touching you, the way she presses close, cutting off your options, forcing you to think faster, move smarter. 

in the 72nd minute, you’re sprinting down the left wing, the ball at your feet. your eyes scan the field, spotting your left winger making a run. just as you’re about to release the pass, a sudden force slams into you from behind.

the orange colored boot clips your ankle, and you go flying toward your team’s bench. the world tilts, and you hit the grass hard, skidding along the ground.

the whistle blows sharply, the referee immediately reaching for her pocket. you hear the crowd react—boos and gasps, some shouting for a red card. lena stands by one one of her teammates, their captain alex, her expression unreadable as the yellow is shown. 

she doesn’t argue, doesn’t apologize. she just turns and walks away, leaving you fuming.

“are you serious right now?” you mumble under your breath, pushing yourself up. pain radiates from your ankle, but you grit your teeth and wave off the medical staff. you’re not letting her see you weak.

your coach yells from the sideline, “need a sub?”

you nod, forcing yourself to stand. “i’m fine,” you call back, though the sting in your ankle says otherwise.

the game restarts, and you barely have time to settle before lena comes at you again. this time, it’s worse. you’ve just turned with the ball when she crashes into you, her body slamming against yours. your right leg gets caught awkwardly between hers, and you feel it—a sickening pop that shoots through your knee like lightning.

the scream tears from your throat before you can stop it. you collapse to the ground, clutching your knee, the pain blinding. it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, a sharp, unbearable agony that leaves you gasping for air. 

your teammates are there in seconds. one of them kneels beside you, her hand on your shoulder. unfortunately, it's a teammate who is coming back from their own acl injury. 

“stay down, stay down,” she says, her voice panicked. 

“don’t move.”

your captain storms toward lena, fury etched into her face. “are you trying to kill her? what the hell is wrong with you, you psychopath?!” she yells, jabbing a finger in lena’s direction.

lena stands her ground, her arms crossed, her face stoic as alex comes to her aid. she doesn’t respond, but the tension is palpable.

you can barely focus on the exchange, the pain consuming every ounce of your attention. your hands shake as you clutch your knee, your breathing ragged. tears stream down your face, though you try to hide them, burying your face in the grass.

“fuck,” you whisper, the word barely audible. deep down, you know what this is. you don’t want to admit it, but the telltale pop, the way your knee feels unstable—it’s your acl. 

“don’t say that,” one of your teammates says quickly, her voice trembling. 

“it could be something else. just… just breathe, okay?”

the medics arrive, carefully stabilizing your leg. every movement sends a fresh wave of pain through you, and you bite down hard on your lip to keep from screaming again. the world cup is only a month away. the thought makes your stomach churn. this wasn’t supposed to happen. 

your coach is by your side now, her face pale with concern. 

“we’re here, okay? just hold on. you’re going to be fine.”

fine. the word feels like a cruel joke. as they lift you onto the stretcher, your eyes meet lena’s one last time. there’s something in her expression now—a flicker of guilt, maybe regret—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

 all you can think about is the unbearable pain in your knee and the dream that’s slipping away.

the year since your acl injury was rough. you’ve been with bayern munich since transferring from chelsea in june 2023, but the timing of your injury had kept you sidelined, robbing you of the chance to have a true debut with bayern that year. 

now, with the olympics looming and a string of friendlies leading up to the tournament, you’ve finally made it back. the game against poland is your first international appearance since the injury, and while you’re excited, you’re cautious. 

you’ve come too far to risk it all now. 

the friendly goes smoothly. you keep your movements measured, easing into the rhythm of the game without overexerting yourself. your teammates rally around you, celebrating when you register an assist in the second half.

the final whistle brings relief, not just for the victory, but for the reassurance that your knee feels strong. you’ve made it this far.

back at bayern, the news of lena joining the team had been a bitter pill to swallow. the same lena who caused your acl tear. the same lena who showed no remorse, at least not that you saw. 

every time her name is mentioned, your stomach churns, and your teammates know it.

“she’s not as bad as you think,” lea had said one day in the training room, her voice cautious. 

“obi is my best friend. she didn’t hurt you on purpose.”

you scoffed, stretching your hamstring. 

“lea, i know she’s your best friend, but you don’t know what it’s like to be taken out like that. to lose everything for a year because someone couldn’t control themselves on the pitch.”

lea had frowned, her usual brightness dimmed. 

“she does feel bad, you know. she’s just not great at showing it. she wanted to talk to you when she visited here.”

“then she should’ve done it,” you’d snapped, your frustration bubbling over. 

“instead of waiting for me to approach her. that’s not how this works.”

lena’s acl injury in a friendly against austria happened before the olympics. after hering about it, you believed that it was karma. yes, a part of you felt vindicated, another part of you—buried deep—felt something else. pity, maybe. understanding, even. you’d been there, after all. the recovery, the mental toll, the feeling of being left behind while the world moved on without you. 

you quickly pushed those thoughts aside. she was the reason for your pain, and any sympathy you had was fleeting.

the olympic semifinal against germany is intense. both teams leave everything on the pitch, the game eventually decided by a single goal in extra time. your country wins, securing a spot in the final. 

as the celebrations begin, you take a moment to greet your bayern teammates—sydney, lea, giulia, and klara—who’ve come over to congratulate you.

“great game,” sydney says, pulling you into a quick hug before stepping back. 

“your knee is looking sharp.”

“thanks,” you reply, smiling. 

“you guys were solid too. it could’ve gone either way.”

you swap jerseys with sydney, holding hers in your hand as you turn to lea. 

“you okay? that tackle toward the end looked rough.”

you’re referring to a tackle one of your teammates did on lea, where it seemed like lea’s ankle was kicked in. 

lea waves you off. 

“i’m fine. it’s nothing.”

the conversation flows easily, lighthearted. you’re laughing at something giulia says when you catch sight of lena approaching out of the corner of your eye.

she’s on crutches, her pace slow but determined. your stomach tightens.

she’s heading straight for the group.

“uh, i’m sorry i think i hear my teammate calling for me–i– i’ve gotta get back to my team,” you say abruptly, cutting sydney off mid-sentence. you offer a tight smile before jogging away, your pulse quickening. 

you don’t look back, but you know she’s watching you.

behind you, the group falls silent for a moment before sydney breaks it. “she’s avoiding you again,” she says bluntly, her eyes on lena.

“yeah,” lena replies, her voice low. there’s a faint crease between her brows, the closest thing to a frown she’s shown all evening.

“are you ever going to apologize to her?” sydney asks, crossing her arms.

“i tried,” lena says, shifting her weight slightly on her crutches. 

“the first day at bayern, i walked up to her during warmups, but as soon as she saw me coming, she bolted. it’s been like that ever since. she won’t even stay in the same room as me if she can help it.”

klara sighs, glancing at lena. 

“have you tried writing to her? or asking someone else to talk to her for you?”

“what would i even say?” lena asks, her frustration evident. 

“sorry i ruined your career for a year? sorry i made you miss the world cup where you had to be left out of your team making it to the final?”

“yes,” klara replies firmly. “that’s exactly what you should say.”

lea shakes her head, her expression sympathetic. 

“i’ve tried talking to her,” the blonde says. 

“but it’s tough. she’s… she’s still dealing with it. at least the mental part.”

“she hates me,” lena mutters, her voice barely audible.

“she doesn’t hate you,” lea insists, though her tone suggests even she’s not entirely convinced. 

“she’s just angry. and hurt. give her time.”

“time,” lena echoes bitterly. 

“it’s been a year. how much more time does she need?”

sydney shrugs. 

“look, you’ve got a lot of ground to make up. you can’t just expect her to forgive you overnight.”

lena exhales sharply, her grip tightening on her crutches. “i never meant to hurt her,” she says quietly. 

“it wasn’t intentional.”

“we know,” lea says gently. 

“but you have to make her believe that.”

as you jog back to your team, you feel the weight of their eyes on your back. you know you’re avoiding her. it’s not subtle, and everyone has noticed. you can’t bring yourself to face her. not yet. the wound is still too raw, the memories too vivid.

you’re back from your acl injury, but you’re scared of it happening again. the first few weeks of recovery, while seeing your country making it to the world cup final without you, was one of the darkest points in your life. you believe that your country could’ve won the final if you were present. instead, lena had to be overly aggressive in a friendly game. 

you try to focus on the celebration, on your teammates and the victory for going to the final of the olympics. however, lena’s presence lingers. 

you don’t want to think about her, about the injury, about the months of recovery that followed. no matter how hard you try, she’s there, a reminder of everything you’ve endured. she is going to be your teammate during the club season, which you have no idea how you will avoid her then.

as you stand on the sideline, watching your team huddle around your coach, you catch a glimpse of lena out of the corner of your eye. she’s still with sydney and the others, her expression distant.

for a moment, you wonder what she’s thinking. but you quickly push the thought away. it doesn’t matter.

you’ve got a final to prepare for, and she’s the last thing you need on your mind.

three weeks later, the golden medal resting in your room is a reminder of everything you’ve overcome. winning the olympic gold with your country felt like redemption, a tangible reward after the hell of the past year. 

everyone at bayern has been nothing but supportive since your return, congratulating you with hugs and pats on the back when you walked into training the first day back. even the german girls, who’d taken bronze, had been gracious. most of them, anyway.

now, with training over, you’re sitting in the lounge, nursing a sports drink and watching tuva and alana messing around on the pitch outside. their laughter carries faintly through the glass, light and carefree, as they attempt some flashy dribbling moves. 

you smile to yourself, their joy contagious even from afar.

the door behind you opens and closes softly, and you think it’s georgia. she’d left a few minutes ago, maybe forgetting her jacket or something. turning around with a small smile, you open your mouth to greet her—but your smile instantly fades.

it’s not georgia. it’s lena.

you freeze, your body stiffening like prey caught in a predator’s gaze. lena’s crutches are gone now, and though she still has a slight limp, she moves with ease. 

the expression on her face is serious, but her eyes hold something softer, something almost vulnerable. 

“can we talk?” she asks, her voice steady but quieter than you’ve ever heard it. 

you shake your head immediately, panic rising in your chest. “no,” you say firmly, already standing. 

you grab your drink and try to walk past her, but she moves to block the door.

“please,” she says, her tone bordering on desperate now. 

“just… five minutes. that’s all I’m asking.”

you hesitate, your jaw clenching. 

“why? so you can say sorry in five minutes and think everything will magically be fine like the last year did not happen? no thanks.”

she exhales sharply, frustration flashing across her face. 

“it’s not like that.”

“then what is it, lena?” you snap, your voice rising. 

“what do you want from me? because I really can’t do this right now.”

“i want to fix this,” she says, her voice firm. 

“i can’t stand how things are between us. i hate it.”

“oh, you hate it?” you laugh bitterly, setting your drink down on a nearby table. 

“well, welcome to the fucking club. do you know how much i hated not being able to play for a year? watching everyone else live my dream while i was stuck rehabbing? you did that to me, lena. you.”

her face pales, but she doesn’t back down. “i know,” she says quietly. 

“and i’ve tried to tell you—”

“when?” you cut her off, your anger bubbling over. 

“when did you try, huh? because i don’t remember you saying a single word to me after it happened. not on the field, not in the locker room, not at bayern. nothing. you just… moved on like it didn’t matter.”

“that’s not true,” she says, her voice shaking slightly. 

“i’ve felt awful about it every day since it happened. but every time i tried to talk to you, you wouldn’t let me.”

“can you blame me?” you shoot back. 

“every time i see you, i just… i can’t stop thinking about it. the pain, the surgery, the months of recovery. and then you come to bayern like nothing ever happened, and i’m supposed to just… what? smile and be your teammate?”

she flinches at your words but keeps her gaze locked on yours. “it wasn’t like that for me,” she says.

 “i’ve been trying to figure out how to fix this since the day it happened, but you shut me out before i even had the chance.”

you cross your arms, glaring at her.

“maybe because you didn’t show any remorse until you tore your own acl. maybe you needed to feel that pain to understand what you did to me.”

lena’s eyes widen, and for a moment, you think she might cry. but she takes a deep breath, steadying herself. 

“that’s not fair, and you know it,” she says quietly. 

“i didn’t need to tear my acl to feel remorse. i felt it the second you hit the ground screaming. i felt it every time i saw you in rehab, every time i saw your name on the injury list. yes, i was too much of a coward to say anything then, but it doesn’t mean i didn’t care.”

your anger falters slightly, the raw honesty in her voice catching you off guard. you look away, your chest tightening. “then why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, your voice softer now. 

“why didn’t you just… apologize?”

“because i was scared,” she admits, and the vulnerability in her tone surprises you. 

“i was scared you’d hate me even more, that it wouldn’t make a difference. and then you came back, and i saw how much you hated me, and it just… it felt like there was no point.”

you sit down heavily on the couch, running a hand through your hair. the tension in your chest doesn’t ease, but the anger begins to ebb, replaced by a dull ache. “you don’t get it,” you say quietly. 

“it wasn’t just the injury. it was everything after. the doubt, the fear, the feeling that i’d never be the same player again. i blamed you for all of it because it was easier than blaming myself.”

“you shouldn’t have to blame yourself for any of it,” lena says, sitting down across from you. her voice is gentle now, almost pleading. 

“it was my fault. i was reckless, and i’m sorry. i know that doesn’t fix anything, but it’s the truth.”

you look at her, searching her face for any sign of insincerity, but all you see is regret. for the first time, you notice how tired she looks, how the weight of the past year has clearly worn on her too.

“i don’t know if i can just forgive you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“i’m not asking you to,” she says quickly. 

“i just… i don’t want you to hate me anymore. i can’t stand it.”

you exhale shakily, the vulnerability in her words breaking down the last of your defenses. 

“i don’t hate you,” you say finally. 

“i thought i did, but… i think i was just angry. at you, at myself, at everything.”

she nods slowly, relief softening her features. “that’s a start,” she says, a small, tentative smile tugging at her lips.

you shake your head, a faint laugh escaping despite the heaviness in the room. 

“you’re really persistent, you know that?”

“i’ve been told,” she says, her smile growing. 

“but for what it’s worth… you’re worth it.”

the months following your tense conversation with lena go smoother than you ever thought possible. she’s still lena but she’s also softer now, more willing to meet you halfway. you’re not best friends, but the animosity is gone, replaced with something… lighter. 

every time she hits a milestone in her recovery, you find yourself smiling. not the forced, polite smile you’d given her before, a genuine one. when she starts jumping on her injured leg, you can’t help but feel proud. 

when she takes her first jog, the grin on her face is contagious, and you find yourself clapping along with the team. it reminds you of yourself.

when lena announces to the locker room one day that she might be back to training by march 1st, the excitement is palpable. even you can’t help but cheer, giving her a small nod when her eyes meet yours. 

lena’s face lights up. for a moment, you wonder how you ever managed to hate her.

the team notices the shift between you two. 

“you and lena might actually be friends now,” lea teases one afternoon, nudging you with her elbow. you roll your eyes but don’t deny it. truthfully, the idea doesn’t bother you as much as it would have a few months ago.

fate, as always, has other plans.

it starts small, almost imperceptible. you catch yourself watching lena more often, your eyes drawn to her when she’s on the sidelines. during a match against frankfurt, you score a goal, the kind of strike that makes the crowd erupt. 

as you jog back to your position, your eyes instinctively find her in the stands. she’s watching you, her face glowing with pride, and you smirk up at her. no hand symbol, no exaggerated gesture—just a simple smirk and head nod. 

the way her smile widens in response sends a strange flutter through your chest.

then there’s the time in the lounge when lena tries to lift something too heavy for her recovering leg. you’re across the room when you see her struggling, and without thinking, you rush over.

“let me help,” you say, taking the weight from her hands.

your fingers brush hers as you adjust your grip, and for a moment, neither of you moves. her hand is warm beneath yours, and the realization that you don’t want to let go hits you like a freight train. 

before you can process it, lea walks in, and you rip your hand away like you’ve been burned. lena doesn’t say anything, but the flicker of disappointment in her eyes stays with you for the rest of the day.

it’s lena who makes the first move. subtle at first—lingering glances, the occasional brush of her arm against yours—but then bolder. during a team dinner, she catches your eye from across the table and winks. your cheeks flush, and she smirks knowingly but that was not enough for the german woman.

she sits beside you at the team dinner, and doesn’t mind the fact that she links her hand with yours, pulling both of your hands to hold together on top of your left thigh. it’s maddening, really, how easily she gets under your skin now in a different and better way, but you can’t deny the way your heart races every time she’s near.

one evening after training, you’re alone in the lounge again, sipping on a protein shake and scrolling through your phone. outside the window, you can see tuva and alana messing around on the pitch, their laughter faint but audible. 

the door opens, and you glance up, expecting georgia or lea. instead, it’s lena.

your heart skips a beat, but you quickly school your expression, trying to seem nonchalant. 

“hey,” you say, your voice more neutral than warm.

“hey,” she replies, closing the door behind her. she hesitates for a moment, then crosses the room, sitting on the couch opposite you. 

“can i ask you something?”

you nod, setting your drink down. 

“sure.”

she looks nervous, a rare sight that catches you off guard. “do you… consider me a friend?” she asks, her voice quieter than usual.

you blink, caught off guard by the question. “uh… kinda?” you say, the word slipping out before you can think it through.

obi’s face falls slightly, and you immediately feel a pang of guilt. “kinda?” she repeats, her tone laced with disappointment. 

“so you still hate me?”

“no, no,” you say quickly, sitting up straighter. 

“it’s not that. it’s just… complicated.”

“then explain it to me,” she says, her voice firmer now. 

“please.”

you exhale, running a hand through your hair. 

“it’s hard, okay? for so long, all i could feel when i looked at you was anger. and then you got hurt, and it was like… i didn’t know what to feel anymore. i wanted to hate you, but i couldn’t. and now… now i don’t even know what this is.”

“what this is?” she echoes, her eyes searching yours.

you nod, swallowing hard. 

“yeah. us. whatever we are.”

she’s silent for a moment, then leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees. 

“what if i told you i don’t want to be just friends?”

your breath catches, your eyes snapping to hers. 

“what?”

“i like you,” she says simply, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes. 

“i’ve liked you for a while now. and i know i screwed up, and i know i don’t deserve anything from you, but i can’t keep pretending i don’t feel this way.”

your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure she can hear it. “lena…” you start, but your voice falters.

“you don’t have to say anything,” she says quickly. 

“i just needed you to know.”

you take a shaky breath, the weight of her words settling over you. “i didn’t want to call you a friend,” you say slowly, your voice barely above a whisper, “because i don’t want to be just friends either.”

her eyes widen slightly, hope flickering across her face. 

“i don’t know when it happened, but… it’s there. i feel it too.”

she doesn’t hesitate. in one smooth motion, she moves closer, her hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “can i?” she asks softly, her eyes locked on yours.

you nod again, unable to find the words. her lips meet yours, gentle at first, testing the waters. your heart races, your hands instinctively finding their way to her waist. the kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, as if you’re both trying to make up for all the time you spent apart. 

her lips are soft, warm, and they taste faintly of spearmint gum.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathing heavily, her forehead resting against yours. “how does it feel to kiss the girl you hated a year ago?” she teases, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

you laugh softly, swatting her arm. 

“don’t ruin the moment.”

“what moment?” she asks, grinning now.

“this moment.”

this time, it’s you who leans in, capturing her lips in another kiss. as if you didn’t hate her one year ago.

masterlist

[honeyncherry]

sweetest desire - sister's fiancé!rafe

summary If your sister’s fiancé is as mean as you claim him to be, why's he in your room right now?

content 18+, smut, cheating, angst

The first slap came without warning.

It landed on your cheek with a sharp crack that echoed through the room. Your head snapped to the side, breath hitching in your throat as a mix of pain and something darker coiled in your stomach. 

Shame? Desire? You weren’t sure anymore. All you knew was the way his touch lingered.

You blinked, trying to steady yourself, but Rafe's grip on you was unyielding. His fingers clung to you like thorny vines wrapping tightly around their bloom, beautiful yet merciless.

“Gotta stay with me, kid,” Rafe’s heavy voice carried an undeniable sense of authority.

His other hand tangled roughly in your hair, yanking your head back until you had no choice but to meet his piercing gaze in the vanity mirror. Your reflection stared back at you — wild, disheveled, at his mercy.

He loomed behind you, a predator savoring the thrill of the hunt; his wild, hungry eyes drinking in every moment of this twisted game.

The sounds that filled the empty air between you were primal and raw, each new one sent shivers down your spine.

How did it always come to this?

You tried to fight back, to resist him, but each thrust sent rushes of gratification over your body, making it difficult to think or form coherent words. A moan escaped your lips, exposing how effortlessly he could unravel you. How quickly he could turn your defiance into trembling submission.

Rafe smirked, clearly pleased with himself as he slid his hand up your body to pinch your nipple harshly. The sensation sparked electricity, drawing another involuntary gasp to tumble from your lips.

“I am here,” you managed to grit out through uneven breaths. Your hand shot up to grasp his wrist, but he only tightened his grip, twisting just enough to send a sharp jolt throughout, making your toes curl and your body tense in response.

“You better enjoy this,” Rafe sneered, his breath hot against your ear. His cock slammed into you again and again, the rhythm punishing and unrelenting. “After the wedding, it’s over. No more fucking around. Got it?”

Your jaw tightened, refusing to let him see the way his words sliced through you. He didn’t get to control everything, not this time. Tilting your head back, you met his eyes in the mirror, a spark of defiance glinting in your own.

“You say that,” you breathed, your voice quivering but resolute, “but you keep coming back. Every time. And you will again.”

Rafe’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin, his fingers trailing from your hair, down your spine, and around to your front, pulling you firmly against him. “Maybe,” he drawled, his tone thick with smug satisfaction, “but who’s the one letting me?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, wrapping around you like a noose. You wanted to argue, to push back, to throw his words back at him with the same hostility. But the truth settled deep in your chest, an unbearable weight pressing against your ribs.

You.

It was you. Every stolen moment, every heated glance, every whispered promise that this would be the last time — every single one. It was you who let this become a routine.

"And look at you now," Rafe continued, his voice dropping to an almost whisper as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. "Bent over for me, taking everything I give you. How long do you think you can keep pretending this doesn’t mean anything?"

You opened your mouth to retort, but another brutal thrust smothered the words. Your cheeks grew hotter as a borderline shameful moan slipped past parted lips instead. 

Rafe chuckled darkly, his hands roaming freely over your body, exploring every inch of you like he owned it. Maybe he did. Maybe you’d let him claim you in ways that went far beyond physical.

The thought sent a jolt surging within you, your body betraying you as you pressed back against him, meeting his rhythm with a desperation you couldn’t hide. Rafe noticed, of course he did, and his smirk grew wider as he whispered against your neck.

"Pathetic," he murmured, the word stirred up a strange mix of humiliation and desire within you. "You keep letting me come back. Over and over again. What does that say about you, huh?"

Your nails dug into the wood of the vanity, your knuckles white as you fought to steady yourself. But Rafe wasn’t finished. He never was. His hand slowly slid up your body, fingers curling in your hair and yanking your head back once more, calling for your attention through the mirror’s reflection.

"Tell me," he ordered, his voice rough and unwavering. "What does that make you?"

You stared at him, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. There were so many things you could say, so many ways to deflect or deny. 

But the way he looked at you, as if he could see beyond every lie and excuse, left you speechless.

And then, unexpectedly, his free hand came down sharply on your ass. You cried out, the pain intertwining with pleasure, coursing within you in a seamless current until you could no longer distinguish where one ended and the other began.

"Answer me," Rafe growled, his voice thick with impatience.

"I—" you started, but he cut you off with another powerful thrust that made your knees buckle.

"Say it," he insisted, the grip on your hair tightening. "Or maybe you don't even need to. You know what you are."

You swallowed hard, your wide-eyed reflection staring back at you in the mirror: hair tangled, cheeks flushed, eyes pleading.

Weak, it seemed to say. 

Desperate. 

But there was something else buried in that look, something you didn’t want to acknowledge, not even to yourself. Rafe leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Go ahead. Say it."

The word lodged in your throat, suffocating you, but you forced it out, voice barely above a whisper, hardly even audible. 

"Pathetic," you breathed, the admission burning like acid on your tongue.

Rafe’s smirk widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he released your hair, his hand moving to gently cup your chin.

"That’s right," he murmured, his tone soft, almost tender. "But don’t worry, kid. I like you better this way."

His words should have cut deep, should have sparked anger and the urge to push back. Instead, they ignited a fire within you, a surge of heat racing through your veins as your body betrayed you, arching instinctively toward his touch.

Rafe took note, his laugh low and dangerous, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. His grip shifted to your hips, firmer now, his movements rougher, more insistent.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice drenched in approval. "Let go. You know you want to."

And God help you, you did. 

You wanted to lose yourself in him, in this moment. You wanted to forget about your sister, about the wedding, about everything except the way Rafe made you feel.

But even as you gave in, surrendering to the euphoria crashing over you, a quiet voice in the back of your mind stirred.

This is dangerous, it whispered.

You were playing with fire, and sooner or later, someone was bound to get burned.

Rafe’s hand slipped between your legs, his fingers teasing your clit mercilessly as he leaned in close. "You’re mine," hissed through clenched teeth. "Don’t forget that."

How could I? 

His hips snapped forward with brutal force, each thrust driving you harder into the vanity. The wood creaked beneath your weight, but you barely noticed, too consumed by him.

“That’s it,” Rafe snarled, his breath hot against your neck. “Take it. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t answer, not with words. Every nerve felt alive, every inch of you hot to the touch as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Rafe’s fingers dug into your skin, leaving marks that would linger long after this moment was over. He was everywhere, in your body, in your mind, in your soul. There was no escaping him. 

“Come on, baby,” he repeated. “Let go. I know you’re close.”

He was right. You could feel it building inside you, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to crash over you at any moment. Your nails scraped against the wood, whimpering for more as you teetered on the brink.

And then, with one final, punishing thrust, Rafe sent you spiraling over the edge. Your body convulsed, a cry tearing from your throat as the world around you dissolved into pure sensation. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you trembling and spent.

Rafe wasn’t far behind. With a low growl, he buried himself deep inside you, his release hitting hard and fast. His grip on your hips tightened painfully as he rode out his own climax, his breath ragged against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the harsh rhythm of your breathing. Everything else faded away; the guilt, the fear, the undeniable truth that none of this could last. It all vanished, leaving only you, Rafe, and the fire that refused to die.

But when it was over, when the last tremors of ecstasy subsided, reality came crashing back in. Rafe’s hands lingered on your body for just a moment longer before he stepped back, tugging on his clothes with that same infuriating smirk. Like he hadn’t just shattered you into a million pieces.

"See you around, kid," he said casually. As if every ugly truth you’d been desperately trying to bury wasn’t just stripped from you.

You watched him leave, your heart hammering in your chest, already wondering how long it would be before he came back.

Because deep down, you knew he would. And worse, you knew you’d let him.

[azzibuckets]

sweet [part four]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count: 2.5k

masterlist

Azzi wakes up to a sweater being thrown on her face. It’s bright, sunlight streaming in through the window and bathing her room in a soft yellow. “Wake up.”

“Mhmmm.” Azzi tosses the sweater away, burrowing back into the warmth of her comforter. She’s halfway asleep again when the feeling of cold water dripping down her cheek sends her flying up. “What the fuck?”

Paige smirks, clearly fighting the urge not to laugh. She’s in her UConn puffer and sweats, her hair tied up in a messy bun and her eyes brighter than ever in the sunlight. “You gotta wake up for real.” She screws back the cap of her water bottle.

“What are you doing here?” Azzi fumbles around for her glasses, slipping them on as she takes in the sight of Paige in her room for the first time in weeks. She blinks rapidly, trying to get ahold of her bearings.

Paige stuffs her hands into the pockets of her puffer. “Your doctor called me. Said you missed your last rehab appointment?” She raises an eyebrow at this.

Azzi rolls over in bed, stuffing her face into a pillow. It’s too early to deal with this. All she wants to do is go back to sleep, her only escape from the nightmare that’s been her life recently. “What does that have to do with you?”

“Check the time.”

Glancing at her watch and seeing that it’s almost noon, she curses. She’d forgotten to set her alarm last night. Even if she left now, she’d still be hours late - her rehab center is all the way in New York.

“He asked me if I knew where you were, seeing as you haven’t been responding to most of his messages or calls lately.”

Choosing to ignore the question hiding in her words, Azzi searches frantically among her blankets for her phone. “Shit, I gotta call an Uber.” But Paige rests a hand on her wrist, the warmth of her touch burning through the long sleeve she’s wearing. Azzi’s pulse quickens.

“I’ll take you.”

“No, it’s really okay,” Azzi objects.

“Az. By the time the Uber comes you’re gonna be even more late. You won’t even make it by the time they close.” When Azzi still doesn’t look convinced, Paige adds, “I seriously have nothing else to do. Let me take you.”

Azzi hesitates before finally relenting with a nod. She’s already been on a thin ice with her doctors before missing her last appointment, and every minute she shows up late today is another minute under their scrutinizing gaze and interrogations.

Pulling on the sweater Paige had thrown at her, she rushes around the room, trying to collect her things and get dressed as fast as possible. Paige tosses her random items as she gets ready - socks, her shoes, her purse. The older girl seems to know what Azzi needs before she even says anything, and it makes her miss their dynamic even more - Paige always understood her so easily.

The look in Paige’s eyes hasn’t left Azzi’s mind since that night. She knows she should’ve said something, done anything to take that destroyed look off of her face. And she’d regretted the words as soon as they’d left her mouth, every step taken with Micaela and away from Paige feeling like another crack in the shattered glass of their friendship. But she hadn’t had the strength to turn around and apologize then, to face Paige when she could barely look in the mirror and face herself.

Afterwards, she’d expected the older girl to be frustrated, upset, angry at her. But in their clipped interactions during practices and team events, Paige never snapped or made snide comments. Instead, she almost seemed timid, wary and withdrawn, like she was just hurt, and somehow? Somehow that was even worse.

“Hey.” Paige glances over at her, surprise flickering across her face. They’d been sitting in silence for the past hour, aside from the occasional comment on the passing scenery. Paige had seemed lost in thought, her eyes darting around quickly like they usually do when she’s zoned out. But now she has Paige’s attention. This is her opportunity. Azzi shifts in her seat. “I just wanted to say I’m, uh, sorry about the other night.”

Paige’s face remains indifferent, indecipherable. Azzi searches for any sliver of emotion in her expression - the familiar furrow of her eyebrows when she’s upset, the crease at the corner of her mouth when she’s sad - anything. But Paige’s face is carefully controlled, as if she doesn’t trust Azzi with her emotions, and Azzi thinks this might hurt more than anything. “It’s all good. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Paige’s hands tighten ever so slightly on the steering wheel. “I’m glad Micaela looks out for you.”

They fall into silence again. Azzi isn’t used to this either - Paige being silent, not chatting her ear off. She’s treading in unfamiliar waters, and it almost feels like she’s drowning. “I put you as the emergency number.” Azzi finally says. “That’s why they called you.”

“Aw, I thought Janelle just missed my face,” Paige says, her lips tugging upwards, and Azzi sighs in relief. A joke. She can work with this.

“I can change it, if you want,” she offers.

Paige looks at her weirdly, as if Azzi had just proposed something preposterous. “Why the hell would you change it?”

“I mean, I don’t want them to keep bothering you about stuff. I can just change the contact to Micaela?”

“No, don’t change it,” Paige says a little bit too quickly. “I know more, um, basketball and treatment stuff. It’ll be easier if they just contact me.” Paige doesn’t say that she doesn’t trust anyone else to be Azzi’s emergency contact. That she needs to be the first to show up if Azzi ever needs anything, that no one can understand Azzi like she does.

“Okay,” Azzi agrees. She taps her fingertips on her knee. “I won’t change it.”

Paige finally looks at her, and Azzi swears she sees the familiar softening of her eyes. But she turns her gaze back on the road, and it’s gone. “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, Azzi’s stomach grumbles. “A little bit.”

Paige jabs her thumb towards the back seat. “I brought some snacks. Help yourself.”

Azzi reaches over, grabbing the bag and ruffling through it. Gummy worms, chocolate chip cookies, Quest protein bars - all her favorite snacks. And - a Tupperware of strawberries, and a mini jar of Nutella. “Did you pack this for me?”

Paige’s cheeks color. “No,” she says defensively. “I just happened to grab your favorites.”

“Aw, Paige,” Azzi coos, earning a roll of the eyes and a swat from Paige. She dodges her hand and laughs, and they almost feel normal again. But then Paige clears her throat, and says, “So what’s up with rehab? Why’d you miss your last appointment?” And Azzi knows that that momentary slice of normalcy could only last so long.

“Micaela was having a rough day. I wanted to stay home and make sure she was okay.”

Paige’s jaw tightens. “You know every appointment you miss is another day you can’t play?”

“I know that. I missed one appointment, it’s not the end of the world. She gave me some stuff to do at home and I followed all of her instructions,” Azzi defends.

“Bullshit.” Paige shakes her head in disbelief. “You know that your actions affect the entire team too? It’s another game we have to figure out a way to work without you.”

“God, Paige, you’re acting as if I completely fucked up my entire rehab,” Azzi laughs incredulously. “It was one day.”

“One day you chose to fool around with a girl rather than focus on basketball,” Paige says sharply.

“Oh, please,” Azzi scoffs. “Fool around with girls? Yeah, real fresh, Paige. Let’s talk about how many girls you hit up at the bar every fucking week.”

“You know I don’t do that shit anymore. I have a girlfriend,” Paige shoots back.

Azzi’s eyes burn, and she forces herself to look out the window again, to blink away the tears before they start to form. Yet another reminder of how she was never good enough for Paige - Paige could never take her eyes off other girls when they were friends with benefits, but with Ella, she didn’t even want to look at anyone else. “Good for you,” Azzi replies coldly. They sit in silence for the rest of the car ride.

••

Azzi doesn’t want to admit it, but rehab somehow becomes bearable again with the presence of her best friend, even if the tension between them is still suffocating. Paige, always attuned to Azzi’s feelings, seemed to have noticed the negative shift in Azzi’s mood as soon as she entered the facility. She’d started cracking jokes at everyone they talked to, and although she never even made eye contact with Azzi, the younger girl knew that her sudden playful behavior was for her.

Even now, as Janelle works her fingers around her scar tissue, Paige is sitting just inches from her, telling a long story about an encounter she’d had with some crazy fans. Azzi is mostly quiet, merely contributing a nod or a laugh every so often, but she nevertheless appreciates it, because even despite petty arguments, Paige has always made it a point to look out for her. Azzi thinks to herself that it couldn’t possibly be her fault that she’s always been so caught up with the older girl. Paige was too easy to fall in love with.

Janelle’s phone rings suddenly, and she excuses herself to take it. “Paige, can you take over for a sec? Massage the tissue around her scar, just like how we did it with you.”

Paige looks hesitantly at Janelle’s retreating figure before slipping into her chair, taking over her position. Her hands hover over Azzi’s knee, almost as if she’s afraid to hurt her by touching her. “Is this okay?” she asks softly. And Azzi wants to laugh, because if someone had told her a month ago that Paige would be asking for permission to touch her when she’d once had her hands constantly on her waist and back and butt, she would’ve thought they were insane.

And Azzi’s not even sure if she can handle Paige touching her, because her heart is already thumping from the mere proximity of her presence. But Paige is waiting with bated breath and hopeful eyes, so she nods. Paige presses her thumbs into the tissue around her knee, moving them in soft circles. Azzi’s numb where her scar is, so she can’t really feel Paige’s touch until she shifts slightly, and the blonde’s fingers graze the sensitive skin of her inner thigh for just a second, and she lets out a little sigh. Paige freezes for a second before continuing to work more firmly around her knee.

“Paige.”

Paige looks up at her, and all Azzi can focus on is how pink and kissable her lips look, and the pretty flutter of her long lashes. They lock eyes, neither of them saying anything, scared to start another argument that will blow a fuse between them. But then Paige slowly lowers her mouth to her knee, her gaze stubborn on Azzi’s. She presses a kiss to Azzi’s scar, lips lingering on her skin as her thumb continues to stroke circles into the side of her knee. Azzi brushes a strand of hair away from Paige’s eyes, gently tucking it behind her ear, her thumb caressing her cheek for a brief second before she drops her hand.

“I said to massage my patient, Bueckers, not feel her up in my office,” Janelle reprimands as she steps back into the room. Paige jumps away quickly, looking at anything but Azzi, tucking her hands behind her back like a little child whose just been caught stealing a cookie red handed. Azzi licks her lips, wishing that Janelle could’ve waited just two more seconds.

Her doctor looks between the two of them with a knowing smirk. “I got it from here,” she tells Paige. “Go make yourself useful and stop distracting her.”

“I’ll go, er, fill up the ice tub,” Paige stammers, scurrying off before Janelle can make another comment. She busies herself for the next hour or so, filling bags of ice for other patients, making sure Azzi’s water bottle is filled, everything and anything she can do to keep her mind off the sound of Azzi’s breathy moan and the way it had made her feel warm all over. She had a girlfriend, for Christ’s sake. A girlfriend that couldn’t make her feel half of what Azzi made her feel.

When she’s finally done, Azzi is waiting for her in the lobby. “You might have to drive back alone,” Azzi says. “They said I should come back tomorrow because I missed my last one. Think I might just book a hotel room and stay over.” Azzi’s about to fall asleep on her feet, and she doesn’t feel like waking up at 5 am tomorrow to repeat the long drive.

“You’re funny for expecting me to let you stay in a random city by yourself.” Paige grabs Azzi’s duffel and tosses it over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

••

Paige comes out of the bathroom in boxer shorts and a tank top. She wrings her hair with a towel, and Azzi’s eyes skim appreciatively over the muscle of her arms going taut.

“Wanna put a movie on before we sleep?”

Azzi nods, and Paige somehow manages to find a channel that’s playing Frozen. They sit on the bed at first, stiff. All the rooms with doubles were already booked, so they’d had to settle for the room with the biggest bed possible. But even as they sit on opposite sides of the king bed, the distance between them feels too small, too weak to stop the energy in the air between them.

And neither of them knows how it happens, but as the movie plays, they’re shifting closer and closer together until their arms are touching, their knees pressed against each other. Then Paige is moving Azzi onto her lap, and Azzi isn’t resisting, letting the blonde take control of her hips and place her in her lap.

They stare at each other for half a second, indecision running through their minds. Azzi knows that whatever happens next won’t fix whatever’s going on between them - the constant arguing, the back and forth, the exhaustion. It’ll only make it worse, complicate things until they’re tied into a messy tangle of knots. But Paige looks so soft in the dim light of the room, her hair loose and wavy and down and her eyes tired, and her skin still warm from the heat of her shower, that Azzi thinks that she just has to feel her, for just one second, and before she can stop herself she’s nuzzling her face into the crook of Paige’s neck. The older girl shudders at the feeling of Azzi’s lips grazing her pulse point, heat blossoming in her lower tummy. “We can’t do this,” Azzi whispers, even as she tucks her body in closer to Paige.

Paige’s hands wander down to Azzi’s ass, pressing their hips together. They both groan at the feeling. “Why the fuck not?”

“You have a girlfriend,” Azzi gasps as she rolls her hips, grinding against Paige’s lap. “And I have a girlfriend. This will fuck everything up.”

“Me and Ella are taking a break,” Paige moans, hips bucking up as she searches for more friction. Azzi whimpers, and it takes everything in Paige not to lose all control at how needy the younger girl sounds.

“How the fuck are you guys already on a break?” Azzi pants.

“Trust me, we are.” Paige suckles on Azzi’s neck beneath her ear, nibbling at the skin and tasting her sweat with a swipe of her tongue.

“This is so wrong,” Azzi whimpers, but she laces her hand through Paige’s hair and tugs her even closer. She can feel Paige smirk against her neck, her warm breath damp on her skin.

“Are you and Micaela exclusive yet?” Paige’s fingers creep closer to the waistband of Azzi’s shorts, itching to dip below.

“No,” Azzi moans. “Not yet.” She grinds against Paige again, getting lost in the slow, sensual rhythm of their bodies moving together in pure want.

“So what’s so wrong about this?” Paige rasps. “Because it feels so right.” She runs her hands up Azzi’s bare thighs, heart beating wildly at the sight of the prettiest girl on her lap, her abs flexing as she moves, eyes big and dark and blown out. Her thumb briefly pushes up her shorts, stroking her upper thigh, making the younger girl shudder. She kisses a line down Azzi’s clavicle, leaving a messy and heated trail of spit. “Let me make you feel good. Please.”

Azzi groans, and she’s so close to giving in, so close to taking Paige’s hand and guiding it to where she needs it most, so close to letting Paige take all control and have her way with her, until Paige pants, “Come on baby. It’s just sex.”

It’s just sex.

Fuck you, Paige Bueckers.

[azzifuddfanpage]

Shooting Stars

ANOTHER PAZZI FIC: thank you again to 😛 anon probs my fav for coming up with all these prompts. This is prompt two on my most recent post.

3.0k words

themes: friends to lovers: fluff

tw: suggestive content (not smut) / *no editing (I appoligize😩)

After both making the team USA team, both Paige and Azzi immediately clicked. They were inseparable. 

Unfortunately, living in different states, Paige in Minnesota and Azzi in Virginia, meant going months without seeing each other, and being the good friends they are, it was extremely hard for them to go months without in person contact.

On the bright side, Azzi’s grandparents had a lake house in Minnesota where she would usually go to for a few weeks in the summer. And this year she decided to invite paige.

—-

Paige had been counting down the days ever since Azzi mentioned her lake house on the plane ride home from their first tournement.

Now it was a few months later, and Paige stood next to her bed with clothes scattered everywhere.

She shuffled through bathing suits and t shirts trying to find the perfect ones.

Paige and Azzi had never really ever hung out outside of basketball, other than team dinners afterword. They had FaceTimed plenty, but something in the back of Paige’s mind made her nervous about this new first impression.

After an hour of trying to find the perfect bikini, she plopped down on her bed defeated. 

Just as she was about to call her mom and ask if she could go to the mall to get a new bathing suit, Azzi’s contact popped up on the screen.

Paige immediately swiped to open, her heart pounding. 

“Heyyy” Azzi said her dimples popping onto the screen.

Azzi’s smile was enough to make paige melt completely.

“Hi” paige sighed a little defeated.

Azzi studied her for a couple of seconds

“What’s wrong.” Azzi said breaking the silence as she flopped down onto the bed infront of her. 

“I don’t know what to bring.” Paige said huffing as she flippped her camera showing Azzi the messy pile of clothes.

“It doesn’t matter paige I don’t care what you wear you will always look good to me….” She paused and Paige felt the blood rush to her cheeks from Azzi’s words. “Ok just show me the options then.” Azzi continued. 

“Well I picked out my outfits already, just like tank-tops, shorts, shirts, and hoodies… but I don’t know what bathing suit.” Paige replies showing the portion of her suitcase that was already packed. 

Paige even snuck a few extra of her hooodies (Azzi’s favorite one) in case she wanted to borrow one- she loved seeing Azzi in her clothes. 

“Like I liked this one but I feel like it’s too skimpy.” Paige said holding up a light pink bikini. 

“No that’s definitely perfect I love that- definitely do that.” Azzi said quickly blushing a little.

Paige smirked, “okay looks like someone really wants to see me in a slutty bathing suit huh.” 

Azzi blushed hiding her face on the camera. 

“Ya you wish.” Azzi said laughing.

—-

“Mom come on I don’t want to be late.” Paige called out up the stairs.

She was now by the door, her suitcase fully packed, and the straps of her backpack hung on her shoulder. 

She was bobbing up and down her knee in anticipation. She couldn’t wait. She was thrilled.

Her mom was going to be dropping her off and hanging out with Azzi’s mom for the first day, and then leaving paige for the next two weeks. 

Her mom hurried down the stairs and they both hopped in the car. 

Paige couldn’t hide her smile as they pulled out of the driveway and started their hour long drive to Azzi’s house.

“I’m so happy you found a friend like Azzi. She such a nice girl.” Paiges mom said breaking the silence. 

Paige smiled thinking about her. She was one of the nicest girls she had ever met. Paige was absolutely positive that she was the prettiest, most generous, kind, companionate friends she had. Thinking of her warm smile that made her dimples show, the freckle directly under her eye, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed… she could go on and on.

“Earth to Paige.” Her mom said laughing 

“You sure there isn’t anything you want to tell me.” She giggled. Paige broke out of her trance and looked at her confused.

“What do you mean. We are best friends.” Paige replied attempting to read her mom’s face.

Her mom let out another laugh.

“Okay paige if you say so.” She said rolling down the window and letting the summer breeze roll into the car. 

The rest of the ride paige’s mind raced with what her mom could mean. She and Azzi had only been best friends for a couple of months, she had never really thought to much into it before- she just assumed her and Azzi were really good friends. 

As they pulled up the long drive way, paige’s heart pounded. She hadn’t seen Azzi in person in months, what if something changed, what if they didn’t connect as well as they did before. 

Impossible.

Paige looked at hereelf in the rearview mirror, running her hands through her hair. 

She stared at herself for a few minutes and squinted. 

“Do you have any lipgloss.” She asked her mom before she had the chance to get out of the car. 

“Since when do you wear lipgloss.” Her mom said confused as she handed the lipgloss to paige. 

“I always do, you must have just not noticed.” Paige said smearing it on her lips. Paige has never worn lipgloss before, but Azzi did, and paige liked Azzi-as a friend that is.

The second she saw Azzi open the door and come running out, her nerves evaporated. 

Paige slammed the door of the car shut and ran to Azzi. 

Azzi leaped into her causing her to stumble back with a grunt.

“I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!” Azzi exclaimed as she squeezed her tight into a hug. 

“I missed you more!” Paige said laughing as she pulled her back to regain her balance. 

They looked at each other for couple of minutes and Azzi immediately noticed the shiny layer of lip gloss on her lips. Paige had never cared about that stuff before. It left her wondering

Paige blushed as she caught Azzi staring at her lips.

“I like your lipgloss.” Azzi said shyly as she walked around to the back of the car to help her grab her bags.

Paige lingered for a second frozen by Azzi’s words. Ya there might have been a little something there beside normal best friend feelings.

“Okay so what do you want to do first?” Paige said carrying in her back pack and plopping it down on the bed in Azzi’s room. 

Since her two brothers were also there paige and her would have to share a bed. Not that either of them protested. 

“Wanna go down to the lake?” Azzi said 

Excitedly. She had been looking forward to this almost just as long as Paige had.

“Ya lemme just change into my bathing suit.” Paige said rustling through her suitcase to find it. 

“Okay ya same.” Azzi agreed walking over to the door and locking it. 

“Do you have a bathroom I could change in.” Paige said turning around her bathing suit in her hand. 

Her jaw dropped. Azzi was standing in front of her completely shirtless, attempting to unfold her bikini before putting it on. 

“Oh my god I’m sorry.” Paige said abruptly turning around and covering her eyes. Her heart was pounding. The image of Azzi’s naked chest was permanently engraved in her mind. She was absolutely perfect. Everything about her was gorgeous. Paige was screwed. 

“Oh my god don’t even worry about it.” Azzi said laughing but she felt a little confident seeing paige’s reaction. Maybe she wasn’t crazy.

Azzi knew she had liked Paige the minute she saw her. What she wasn’t sure of, was if the feeling was mutual. 

Lately she had begun to pick up on some things. Subtle things paige would do that made her think that maybe there was something in the air.

After seeing the way Paige looked her up and down while she changed, giving her total butterflies at her reaction to her body, she decided maybe she would try and convince paige of her feelings. Make it impossible for her to hide them. It was the perfect plan.

“Ya there is one down the hall, but it’s okay if you wanna just change here I won’t look.” Azzi said calmly. 

The idea of Azzi seeing her naked body made her heart flutter and her breath catch in her throat. 

“Uh sure okay ya.” Paige turned around and started to slide off her clothes quickly and pull on her bathing suit. 

When she turned back around, slower this time to make sure Azzi had all her clothes on, she saw her light purple bikini. 

Azzi had her back turned to paige as she adjusted the front of her bikini in the mirror. 

She could see paige’s reflection staring at her ass behind her.

Azzi smirked turning around catching her in person.

“Like what you see huh?” Azzi smirked as paige turned bright red looking at the floor immediately. 

“Ya your bathing suit is really cute.” Paige said shyly rubbing her foot along Azzi’s carpet.

The image of Azzi’s body in the bikini was running through her head. The way it hugged her ass so nicely.

Paige had always known Azzi was beautiful, but this was a whole new level. She never knew Azzi had such a fat ass holy crap. 

Azzi smirked as she walked closer to paige. 

“Thanks.” She paused reaching her finger out to touch the strap of her bikini top. 

“I really like yours too. Pink is my favorite color.” She said running her finger along the strap. 

Paige felt herself blush as she watched Azzi’s hand move closer to her breast.

She couldn’t help herself but let out a soft breathy moan as Azzi’s leaned over a little highlighting the way her bikini top pushed together her breasts letting them sit perfectly.

Paige felt a little self conscious of herself, as they walked outside. It was a little skimpier of a bikini than she would have liked but Azzi for some reason insisted so that was what she would do. 

As they made their way outside Azzi ran past her laughing and dove off the dock straight into the water. 

Paige laughed jumping right in after her. 

The entire time they swam around paige couldn’t keep her eyes off Azzi’s body. 

Her bikini outlined her figure perfectly, Azzi looked unreal.

After around an hour of swimming, Azzi’s mom called them to eat at the table. Her dad had grilled and there were two hotdogs- ironic- waiting for them. 

Azzi immediately climbed out of the water. The wet bathing suit clinging to her skin. It had risen up in the water and it exposed more of her curvy figure. 

Paige found herself starting to undress Azzi with her eyes. Her face grew red as she climbed up behind her. 

“This is my literal best friend why am I thinking this.” Paige thought to herself confused shaking her head trying to snap herself out of it. 

But as she got to the top of the doc and she saw Azzi turn around to look at her. The cold air hit Azzi’s bikini drying her in just the right way. 

Paige could see Azzi’s nipples poking through the thin fabric as the cool breeze blew by them. 

“Oh my gosh it’s so cold I need a towel.” Azzi said running over to the chairs and food where Jon and Jose sat. 

Paiges blush from Azzi’s body lingered as she made her way over to join them at the table. 

Jose could sense the tension in the air, noticing paige as she snuck glances at Azzi.

He smirked, fed up with them tip toeing around their feelings. Azzi never stopped talking about paige, and he could tell it might be even the same way around. 

“Damn paige your already sunburned? Or is that just from looking at my sister.” He smirked as Paige’s blush deepened. 

“Must be the sun it’s really hot out.” Azzi jumped in giving him a look, as she looked at paige who was clearly very embarrassed after she had been clearly caught. 

“Let me put some sunscreen on you, I think you need it.” Azzi said knowing it wasn’t a sunburn, but the idea of rubbing her fingers along paige’s body was all too enticing. 

“Uhm sure okay.” Paige said sheepishly refusing to let Azzi catch her staring at her again.

But as Azzi squirted the sunscreen into the palm of her hand, paige watched the veins in her hand longing for them to be on her body.

Azzi rubbed her hands together and began to massage the white cream(I’m sorry) into paige’s skin starting with her back and working her way down.

As Azzi made her way to her waist she heard paige let out a soft whimper. Azzi smirked.

“Hey can you maybe put some on me.” Azzi said calmly knowing exactly what she was doing.

The idea of touching Azzi worried paige. If she started she may never stop, but it didn’t really seem she had much of a choice as Azzi shoved the bottle onto her hand. 

Azzi was destined to make paige admit her feelings first. Now was the moment.

Paige grabbed the bottle and let the white cream (again I’m very sorry) coat her fingers. As she worked her way against Azzi’s creamy tanned skin she made her way to the front of the body. 

She was ready to stop, once it was over the main parts of her skin, straying from the more sensitive privater parts of Azzi’s body.

“Missed a spot.” Azzi said suggestively as she made eye contact with paige before looking back down at the soft tissue of her breasts.

Jon and Jose had already gone back to the kayaks and were paddling in the water. There was no one here but them.

“Uh are you sure.” Paige said softy, a bit ujcertain. 

Before she could second guess herself further, Azzi grabbed her hand and put it against her breasts and used Paige’s hands to massage in the sunscreen. Azzi groaned as paige’s hands applied more pressure. 

Paiges eyes would not leave Azzi’s in shock. She had no idea what was happening. Her heart was racing. Hearing these soft whimpers escape Azzi’s mouth was incredible. She felt herself extremely weak when it came to having her hands on the soft skin of Azzi’s chest.

“Thanks that’s perfect!” Azzi said smiling as she dropped her own hand, but paige’s stayed lingering, resting on her collarbone. 

They stood like that breathing for a few minutes just staring at each other when all of a sudden they heard Jon call for them.

“Guys stop making out and come paddle with us to the island over there.” He yelled pointing towards the small cluster of trees in the middle of the lake. 

Azzi and paige leapt away from each other embarrassed, not even keeping eye contact with each other as they scrambled back down to the river. 

As awkward as it was, the air had shifted, the feelings were as clear as day, all they needed was for one of them to come clean. 

—-

The day stretched on, it was filled with laughter and fun as they spent the rest of the day in the water, playing yard games, and eating barbecue. 

After sitting with Azzi by the fire. Looking at her tanned skin in the contrast of the orange reflection of the fire, she couldn’t stop staring at how perfect she was.

Azzi turned to her noticing her staring.

“What?” Azzi said with a croaked smile. 

“You have really nice skin” Paige said gently noticing Azzi’s skin turn a bit red. 

“Are you blushing?” Paige said pointedly as Azzi turned. 

“No it’s just a little hot that’s all… and your one to talk Mrs. Sun burn.” Azzi said laughing leaning into her. 

They lay there a little longer. Everyone else had retired back into the house. 

The fire was slowly dying, and they lay looking up at the stars. 

“I wonder if we could see a shooting star.” Paige said breaking the silence. 

“I honestly doubt it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one down here.” Azzi replied. “Besides I already have all my wishes granted.” She said looking over at paige. 

Paige turned to her shocked by the boldness of her statement.

“It’s so beautiful.” Paige started.

“Ya it really is.” Azzi said.

Neither of them looked away from each other, and neither of them were still talking about the stars.

Azzi moved closer resting her head against paige’s chest.

“Paige?” 

“Yah Azzi?”

“Can I tell you a secret.” Azzi whispered against her chest.

Paige could feel the butterflies in her chest.

“Of course.” She replied running her fingers along Azzi’s wrist. 

“I think I have a crush on you.” Azzi said shyly turning so she could look paige in her eyes.

Paige took a few seconds taking it in. She had dreamed of this for months. 

“Can I tell you a secret too?” Paige responded, watching Azzi nod.

“I have a crush on you too.” Paige said smiling as Azzi’s dimples began to pop out of her face. 

Without thinking paige connected their faces into a gentle kiss, feeling Azzi kiss her back. 

When they finally pulled away breathing a little heavier they leaned their heads together. 

“I don’t even need a shooting star, my wish just came true.” Paige said as she placed her finger on Azzi’s face tracing her dimples as she beamed at her. 

That night they would fall asleep together looking at the stars, fingers laced together, and sleep better than they had in years. 

[lucimaaie]

runaway ✧.* spiderwoman au

pairings - ellie williams x fem!reader

summary - things in your relationship have changed since ellie got shot, some of them good. some of them you don’t talk about.

warnings - fluff mixed with angst, gets a lil suggestive but no smut as always, unspoken trope because plot, 3k word count, not proofread cuz i was too excited to post

playlist | spidey masterlist

Who or whatever was up in the sky, you prayed to it. Pleaded that every bad thing you'd ever done, every bad thing you'd even plan on doing would be forgiven all to save her. It made you look even more unstable to your father lingering outside the door, but you didn't care.

And whatever else you added worked. The constant beeping of the machine became the one thing grounding you to reality. You didn't get a wink of sleep, a crumb of food, or speak a word to the very curious, almost invasive police. All so you could see Ellie's eyes flutter open.

The first sound she let out was a tired, pained groan as she tried to sit up. "Are you crazy?" You blurted, rushing to her side to guide her back down. It was then that you seemed to realize she was awake, emerald eyes staring back up at you in confusion and a hint of fear. A loud gasp fell from your lips as your fingers traveled from her arms up to her face. "You're awake." You said, lip quivering in a failed attempt not to cry. "A-Are you hurting? Can we get some in here! She's awake!"

"Is that a question?" Ellie's voice was rough. Had she not been so grateful to be awake, laying her eyes on you it'd have come out with more snark. She was stubborn on trying to sit up just hours after surgery, pushing herself up on her fists.

"Are you making a joke right now?" You were more a mix of dumbfounded and relieved than annoyed right now. Lord knows you should be. Your girlfriend was fricking Spider-woman. That was a big thing.

"Now that you're crying? No, of course not." Ellie reached up to swipe your tears before they could fall off your face and onto the sheets. Her hand was ever so gentle in cupping your face. She swallowed as she took you in, not sure what to say to make this right.

None of this was right. She had unintentionally sprung everything on you when she landed at your window tonight. How long had it been, actually? Had she been out for days? What did they do to her? Ellie's mind was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming need for answers.

Her hand slipped down to rest on top of yours. She licked her chapped lips, brows furrowing. "Did they find me in—“

At the mention of the suit, you pulled away and wiped your face. “I hid it.” You said quietly. “I hid the suit and whatever..came out of you," The words tumbled out of your mouth as you were forced to think about the panic you felt just hours ago. The swirl of emotions sat deep in your stomach, threatening to rise up and come out in a way you couldn't control. So to stop it, you pulled away.

Ellie could sense it and it made her want to climb out of the bed just to hold you and apologize a million times over. Somehow that still felt inadequate. "And they're still at your apartment?" She dug her fingers into her palm. It was a better thing to focus on than how she messed up.

"I'm sorry, is that what you're worried about now?" You hadn't meant to sound pissed, but maybe you were. Maybe you were more than scared out of your mind you were gonna lose her. Maybe you were frustrated and pissed—beyond pissed—that she had kept this from you. And maybe mad at yourself thinking of all the times you should've known, all the times she was hurt and you weren't there—

Once again, she didn't know what to say. For the first time, she wasn't looking at you. It was a painful sight to linger on, her sunken features downcast under fluorescent lights and surrounded by beeping machines and wires. You were still fuming, but you couldn't be now. "I'm not mad. I'm not mad." You whispered, more to yourself than her, as you sat back next to her because what were you doing pulling away from her in the first place?

"It'd be okay if you were. I mean, if you are." She said with a humorless laugh. That wasn't the sound you wanted to hear. "If I were you, I would be. I get it—"

"Ellie, I'm not." You rubbed your brows. You shook your head as if it would make all your thoughts fall right where you wanted them to be. "Ok, that a lie, but— I don't want to be. I just wanna be happy that you're okay and I am. So, I'll be that. Only that." You grabbed her hand in an attempt to remind yourself that she was alive and okay, so everything was fine.

If you weren't convinced by your disjointed rant, you know Ellie wasn't. She wouldn't say it though. She wouldn't dare tell you how to feel when she came to your window bloodied, bruised, and shot. "I'm sorry," Her eyes welled up with tears she had failed to swipe up before they fell. She couldn't bring herself to. For years she felt like she had this band over her mouth, reminding her she had this huge secret she had no one to share with and only now had it given up and snapped. "I'm sorry," Was the only thing she could make herself say.

"Oh, baby—“ You tried your best to pull her into your side without aggravating the recent wound in her side. She had hid certain parts of her life behind a wall and you had learned to live with it, hoping that one day she'd feel comfortable enough to let you in. This was it, you thought.

She had let a few more tears fall, along with "I'm sorry"'s, before the sobbing had gotten to her gut, almost like a literal knife twisting in just to make things extra hurtful. Even then, she hadn't had the right words in mind. Instead, she held on your arm like her life depended on it. And that worked for a while. Though, not forever.

"Ellie." No response. "Ellie, can you look at me?" Her eyes flicked up to you with glassy eyes. It a sight you'd never experienced before and never wanted to again. "From now on, you're gonna tell me everything, okay?" You were persistent in wiping each tear as it fell. "And..I tell you everything, even if it's something you quite frankly won't give a shit about. And you tell me everything, even the-" You lowered your voice. "Even the Spider stuff."

"Yeah, okay." Her hands grabbed yours from her face and brought them to her lips. She sniffled as she gripped your hands. "I can do that,"

Healing from a gunshot wound was no doubt hard. It was harder when you were antsy to get some action. No, not that kind. (Though, she wasn't opposed.) The superhero-ing kind. Ellie missed swinging through the air and feel the wind all around her as all her problems became like tiny specks on paper. Of course she missed saving people and feeling needed by her city, but that had seemed to increase her risk of losing you. She had decided that wasn't an option, so she put Spider-woman on the backburner for right now, mostly.

She was slightly hunched over her computer in your newly shared apartment. There was no way you could back to your apartment after what happened and not enough space in Ellie's for the two of you to live in, so insert the supposedly inexpensive--totally expensive, it's new york let's be real--one bedroom, one bathroom beauty you now lived in.

Ellie brows furrowed as she felt somebody's hands wrap around her neck. The fact that her senses were relaxed and your scent was filling the air told her it was you. "Whatcha doing?" You nosed at her neck. "Fucking up your posture or just trying to get your dailies?"

She let out a snort. "Why not both? I like to multitask."

"Of course you do." You came up to stare at the screen. It was opened up youtube on some gaming video, but you weren't convinced. Your hand was on top of hers in a second, moving the mouse to click the other tabs. "Hey—!”

You weren't far from letting out an 'aha!' now that your suspicions had been proved right. She was knee-deep in articles about her absence, the surfacing of alien tech, the effects of the first alien invasion a couple years back in 2012. Deep in the rabbit-hole. "El..you said you were taking a break." Your hands fell to your sides.

"I was! I am." Ellie turned around in her chair, slowly so as not to feel that familiar sting in her side. "I'm just reading. That's not illegal." Ellie’s hands chased yours in an attempt to soothe your disappointment before you voiced it.

“Ever since you could walk again, you’ve been at this computer for hours, hun.” Her attempt fell flat as you moved to sit on the edge of desk, eyes glued to bright screen as it would change any moment. You wished it would. Then, you could have your girlfriend back.

“I’m at home for hours. I have to find something to fill the time.” Even her shitty excuse didn’t convince her. You were still practically sulking at the edge of the desk. “Hey,” She said softly. “I’m still relying on you to get up and down the stairs. I don’t think I’m gonna be swinging any soon.” She said, lighthearted. “Babe?” You hummed, eyes still glued to the screen. 

You weren’t sure you were ready for her to get back out there again, nor was her body. Well, the first part was a lie. You definitely didn’t want her to go back. It was selfish, that was obvious, but that didn’t change your mind. That didn’t change the fact that she was still hurting because some asshole on the street shot her with some superpowered gun. 

Ellie leaned closer, reaching her hand up to angle your chin down to her. “You don’t believe me.” She said in realization, eyes flicked between yours with a hint of hurt. She really couldn’t blame you, she wasn’t convincing herself either. 

“No, I don’t.” It hurt to peel her hand from your chin and walk away, but you did. You ignored her attempts to call after you, closing the door behind you and dragging your feet in the kitchen. You had concerned yourself with some attempt at cooking a dish you cared nothing about, but lucky for you your shitty cooking could keep you busy for hours.

Ellie had wandered into kitchen to check on you, shoulders going limp at the sight of you pitifully pushing food around in a pan. She approached you carefully and slowly, turning the stove off and setting the pan aside. "So," She inhaled slowly, hands wringing together. "You're mad at me,"

"I'm not mad at you." You shot back, taking the pan from the counter to put it right back on the still-hot stove. With a passive aggressive smile, you flipped it back on. "What would I be mad about?" Now that was a stupid question.

"I've got some idea." Ellie was quick in turning the stove off and snatching the pan from your hand. She sighed at the slosh of opaque orange liquid painting the counter and the floor. "Great." She said under her breath moving to grab a wad of paper towels and crouch down before a stabbing pain in her side reminded her to slow down.

Your irritation softened as you shot out to stable her and guide her onto the island. "You gotta be careful, El. You can't move like that yet." The mess on the other side of your kitchen was the last of your worries. "Are you okay? Does it still hurt?" You rolled up the bottom of her tank top to lay your eyes on the wound. No bleeding, okay. That's good.

"I'm fine. I'm..more worried about you, I swear you haven't breathed in a two minutes." Ellie's cold hands on your arms were oddly grounding, pulling you from your small moment of panic.

Your first breath in a while sounded something like a wheeze. Rolling her shirt back down, you pushed yourself off the counter—and away from the palpable concern from Ellie's eyes alone. Now the spill was helpful in distracting you, allowing you to distance yourself from the very familiar conversation you had been pushing back for weeks. You had realized your were practically buffing the polish of the counter until Ellie pulled at your arm, her other hand holding your waist.

"It's clean and I'm fine." Her voice was quiet and yet it cut through your raging thoughts effortlessly. It took the same amount of effort to turn you around to face her and to pry the towel out of your hands. "Let's get you clean," She could see you coming up with a way to decline and she was having none of it. If she couldn't even clean up her own mess, she'd at least calm your worries. Or at least try. "We'll both get clean, okay?"

Steam became a curtain around the two of you as you both worked up a lather. (No, not like that you perv.) You didn’t want to admit the hot water hitting your bare skin had been quite calming, though it didn’t do anything to stop the force that was your overthinking mind.

“Hey, I can hear you thinking.” Ellie’s arms around your waist was a pleasant surprise. You could feel a few strands of her damp hair tickling your neck, making a few giggled escape your lips. “This is the no thinking zone, babe.” She mumbled against your neck, trailing kisses down your neck to your shoulder.

“Then..how can I talk?”

"You don't need to do that either." She kissed your cheek, hand loosening it's grip on your waist and slipping lower. You gasped, grabbing her hand.

"Is that why you wanted to shower together?" You turned around, taking a step forward just to watch her inevitably back up to the tile. A raise of her brows told you she was shocked, but not unreceptive to what you were doing. The mix of needy haze and admiration in her eyes fueled your confidence to tease her even further. "You just wanted to get me all distracted?" Your rested your arms on her shoulder, fingers combing through her wet locks.

"Maybe I was being a good girlfriend and wanted to calm you down, which succeeded at." She usually wasn't this smug but she felt she'd earned the right. She was forced to sit on her ass almost all hours of the day, but that didn't mean she was completely useless.

"You are a good girlfriend." You blurted. "You're the best girlfriend, you know that?" Your teasing smirk turned into something genuine. "And I'm not just saying that because you literally saved my life. I'm saying that cause I.." Love you. "because I need you." It wasn't what you wanted to say, you were too scared to say the real thing. Scared that if you said it and allowed your relationship to progress any further, it'd be harder to watch her go everyday and know that might be the day you lose her to some supervillian with a vendetta. Besides, it was true. You needed her.

Ellie looked stunned at your admission and everything behind it. She let her forehead touch yours, sighing shakily as she took in your words. "I need you more," It was funny, if you were imaginative enough you could replace the need with love in a beautiful reality where New York didn't need saving and you could have her to yourself.

You were yanked out of your mind by Ellie's lip crashing into yours. A surprised sound made it out your lips only to come out muffled. You kissed back with just as much, if not more, intensity as she gave you. Your hands tangled in her hair as you lost yourself in the feel of her, no longer stuck in your mind. However, when her hand started to slip down, you hesitated. "Ellie, you haven't been cleared yet-"

"Don't care," She mumbled against your lips. "It'll be worth it." She pulled back to look at you, eyes dark with a need you haven't seen in her before. Between school, her internship, her secret vigilante-ing and then her getting hurt, you hadn't exactly made the time to have that talk.

"You say that now," Your brows were furrowed in concern. They only tightened when your eyes traveled down to her wound. It was healing for sure, but the idea of her in any pain at all hurt you too.

"Hey, it’s healing." Her hand was warm on your neck, finger swiping over your jaw. "Super-healing, remember?" She tilted her head so your eyes were drawn to her face instead of her wound.

"How can I forget?" You said sarcastically. "What other super things can you do?" You asked, genuine curiosity drowning underneath the tease in your voice. “Catch flies?”

"Keep it up, bug.” Ellie snorted, using her strength to hoist you up an inch from the ground. “Air-jail, how bout that?” 

“Ellie!” You yelped as the water came down the strands of your hair and your back, making you feel something like a wet dog. She knew how much you hated having wet hair and was using it to her advantage. “Put me down, right now!” You were only in the air for a few more seconds before she had you situated in her arms. If you could see how you looked clinging onto her, you would’ve busted out laughing. 

“Just showing you my super-strength.” She nosed at your collarbone as she put you down. “And being a really good girlfriend.” She was aware being a good girlfriend would mean being completely honest with you. She hadn’t been before and she was for sure stalling now, but she could make it up later. She wasn’t ready to deal with the complexities brought into your relationship by a certain arachnoid persona. For now, she’d enjoy making you happy for once. 

thank you for reading!

[themareverine]

God Laughs | DoFP!Logan x fem!OC

synopsis: 'I'll love you in every time, Logan, that I know. Just say the word." So much hinged on so little, and it doesn’t make any damn sense. They all knew it—their moments, any of them, ceased to exist if he didn't do this—this unspeakable thing, the only thing that would keep any of them alive.

warnings: time travel elements, AU, pre-established relationship, some angst, a big age gap due to time travel, a little angst, unedited, will do later, PG-13. 🌶️🌶️🌶️

a/n: happy thirtieth birthday to me. 🎉🥂i am sorry this is so long, but i'm actually not, and this fic has been taking up space in my brain for like a month and a half. please enjoy.

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | TAGLIST🏷️ let me know if you want added!

Time in the ether is both cold, and slow. 

Being alive 200 years leaves Logan nowhere near shortchanged when it comes to dreams. Really the only peace a man who cannot die—a living weapon—finds is sleep, walking in and out of dreams. Digging graves to bury secrets, the horrors of living. Phantoms of his living moments, somehow though, manage to follow him into REM, into the colorful, twisting pictures of dreamstate—they rob him of purest joys. Highest highs. Through their boneless fingers he falls, time and again, even in his sleep—some nights, he doesn’t even rest. Barely breathes. Just wrestles with the things his mind shoves into dark recesses during daylight, vampires bleeding him dry. 

And much like the nightmares that find him as he fitfully sleeps, the ether between time is equally harrowing. A scythe that cuts slow and deep, through certainties and everything humans, once, thought they understood.

Nothing in the world like it, slipping through the sands of a timeglass—lives already lived, time already elapsed. Unable to fully blot from the universe moments already bled, God Himself, Logan is sure, laughs—laughs as he chases moments, daylights. Nights. Stretches of time in the bend of space the Almighty must just chuckle at. No more than a mouse chasing reward, trapped in the grand scheme of an oversized cat. 

He’d jumped through the waters of time before. Drowning in pain, his body fighting to stay alive and knit together when travel would otherwise viscerally rip apart.

Logan supposes it is not far removed from shaking a bottle, a tornado of contents spinning together to form some perfect union of chaos and beauty, bouncing off walls and wholly contained within units of matter. Hurricane on steroids, rushing to find somewhere to land, but in no hurry to do so all at the same damn time.

That is what the ether feels like—a hurried state of asystole, neverending, that somehow doesn’t seem to mind at all. And Logan has never felt more intimate, precise pain than he does here, filtering through time and space—everything hurts. Whitehot fire that laps at his spine, racking every thought, every movement, every cell with the finest, knife-edge agony.

Like a blacksmith’s hammer beating to life creation from the hottest flame he burns, beat into oblivion while slowly knitting together something that resembles signs of life. 

 “Need you to do this, Pryde.”

Kitty had an overwhelming ability, he knew. Taxed her to the point of soul crushing. He’d rocketed through time, balancing in her hands, times before—and some part of him always felt her during the process, guiding and sifting his moments in the past through careful, graceful hands.

Truly gifted, Logan understood this was not a bowl of cherries request—he knew it would shave years off her life, steal heartbeats she’d never get back. Days of recovery, horrors of readjusting back to the present. Not a light lift for either of them—as he was ripped apart only to be stitched back together in a younger, former life, she was there, with nobody to put her back together as strain and pain played her like a drum. 

And as painful as it was, Logan knew Kitty—she would die for things like this, consequences be damned. Young and reckless, she’d skipped through the folds of the time space continuum for less than what he was asking, but one’s own desires were another thing entirely. Couldn’t fault her for that. If he were able to rip open the universe, go back to former days, well—he didn’t know. So many nightmares, so many phantoms.

Logan wasn’t even sure if he was whole, anymore. 

“And you’re sure you wanna do this, Logan?” 

Cigars had never tasted so flat, so sour. Maybe if he rolled it through his fingers harder, it would shapen up. But nothing could change the broil in his gut, the ripple of consequences hanging out on the edge of history. They all knew it—their moments, any of them, ceased to exist if he didn't do this—this unspeakable thing, this thing God had gifted. To ensure his future, the future of Charles Xavier, had never felt so—so cold. Dead. Excruciating. 

So much hinged on so little, and it doesn’t make any damn sense. And then the voice of reason, a cherubim amongst thieves. Stealing minutes, ripping away time none of them have. Light in a universe of darkness, his sun. Adonis to his Icharus, Aphrodite to his eternal, cold war—she’d looked as if the world had stopped, and in a way, it was not far off. His world had stopped spinning, their world. Threatened to collapse. 

“Kitty, we have to. We need to–if we don’t, we don’t have this conversation.” 

No other conviction necessary. Decided, on a whim—on the bleeding edge of should we? they’d made a plan. Go back decades, retrace steps already taken. Cool trails already blazed. Forge new irons, cast new stones—do everything to ensure this moment, this moment that cannot be barren, paralyzed. Do what God commissions, what heaven allows.

Follow me, Logan. 

A bed of stone had never felt more like a grave, and the very idea sends an unfamiliar shiver down his spine. Like a seance, candles burn in the darkness—easier for Pryde. But in some twisted way, Logan finds it fitting—fitting, this supernatural undertone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wishes it were light. Prays for morning, for the innocence of blinding daylight streaming through open windows, the fresh bounce of sun on his skin. Something about this being dark, tucked under the earth, feels eerie. Backwards. Graven.

Man was not meant to live in the dirt, but to die there—man was not meant to venture alone. 

I'll love you in every time, Logan, that I know. Just say the word.

Pain in his chest had ripped him from the cool ether, snapped him awake in an arctic sweat. Pebbled with goosebumps and twisted in damp sheets, he’d ripped off the layers of blankets with gusto enough to carve canyons.

Rousted from apparent sleeping arrangements, the world swims as he attempts to scrub life back into his face—to feel. 

Parts of him were still sorting themselves out deep in his tissues, Logan could almost count his cells unscrambling. Never would he wish the kinesthetics of memories sorting themselves into brain matter on any man, enemy or otherwise.

One thing was painfully clear from the jump, a branding iron seared into the folds of his brain—her face. Her features. Every moment spent together, every sweet nothing she’d ever said. Honey salve on gaping wounds, he could smell her. Taste her, even in time.

It’s the one memory that doesn’t need sorting, that seems welded into his biology, his very being—her.

Her face, her name, her laugh. More a part of him than he’d ever know, he carries her in the low of his spine, a simmering heat that starves. A man could die, aching for a woman like he burns for her.

Aching in memories that feel foreign in this body, like dreams. But they are more real than he’ll ever confess—more real than sunlight or air, than scripture etched into faraway stones. The song of the world, the prayer of the universe.

Logan had never believed in soulmates—until fate had split him down the middle. He’d never known he was missing part of himself, until he’d tasted her goodness. Her sweetness. Her beauty and strength and insecurity that had fallen through his fingers like butter.

Time is his enemy, and there’s very little room to reminisce. That comes later. Much, much later.

Her presence a grounding rod to the now and here, excitement pistons through him like a locomotive. Logan wasn’t around in this period of her life, decades ago. He’d met her years after—in the blossoming glow of things to come. He can only fathom where she is, what she does in the twilight years of knowing him—of better, safer years.

Often he catches himself, watching her march through the days of their life together, wondering where she’d have gone, who she would’ve become if not for him. What better she’d have done in the world, what good she may have accomplished beyond his tether. 

Never lasts long, though. He mauls the high fantasy of letting her leave. Crushes the beastial part  of him that warns she’s better off without him, navigating life alone. Safer, whole. Selfishness always catapults his justifications, his rationales. She stays, she’s yours, and nobody else gets her. Just the way it is, and he’d worked hard to ensure it. Logan wears enough blood to fill a reservoir—blood she’d helped him spill. Lives he’d taken for her. The cost for her was higher, atmospheric—he’d rob hell to pay it, even today.

And in a way, he isn’t far off. 

Thoughts of her send him buzzing with a little thrill he hasn’t known since boyhood, pulses his brain. Windows in this room are his stage, daylight a rapturous, blinding audience that sparkles with anticipation. He breathes and feels her, somewhere, in this universe.

There’s a presence, an energy— the world is alive with the promise of her, things to come. He doesn’t know how, perhaps it’s cosmic, built into the foundations of God’s creation. Or maybe it’s divine, maybe supernatural. Maybe just biology. Whatever it is, it tastes sweet, pulses through him like a live wire strung tight on five thousand molten-lava volts. 

A groan slips through streaks of daylight crisscrossing the floor through floor-length, heavy curtains. Logan all but springboards from bed, about-facing with the poise and grace of a fighter much younger than himself, heart racing. Somehow he manages self-control—the claws don’t come. Instead, his arm draws back into a fist far quicker than he remembers, almost sending him off balance. His arm—it weighs next to nothing. 

Mind spinning, he remembers. Adamantium—no adamantium. It’s a foreign, blissful feeling. At this point in his lifetime he hadn’t been cursed with steel bones, hadn’t been ripped apart to be stitched back together into whatever atrocity hell had born across the earth. Hadn’t been anyone’s lab animal, a plaything. That would come, he imagines—and briefly, Logan wonders if he’ll remember this feeling. If it will crop up in memories when he returns to his time, when future Logan is put back in time, and this is all but a dream. 

It doesn’t matter—assumptions come to a burning halt when blonde hair flips from beneath the covers of his former grave, his resurrection site. Blonde spirals of curl, muffled from obvious extramarital affairs, spill over milky skin. A hit of perfume hangs out beneath his nose, but it’s seared like a branding iron with the familiar, unmistakable scent of sex. Orgasm rides the air like it’s a jet plane, and very quickly Logan can’t breathe.

Thoughts spin through his brain, a kaleidoscope of horror and shame and confusion, watching his bedmate rise into a stretch not all that far removed from a cat.

He doesn’t remember this. Oh, fuck, not even a little. His future self’s mind pistons for any recollection, any silver cord of remembrance of who she could be, but it comes up blank. Distressingly blank, pitifully void. A blackhole of lust and perverted nothingness, his stomach hollows. Pitches up against his esophagus. And Logan isn’t a man to easily toss his cookies, but—he’s not far off. His dick numbs as she glances over her shoulder. 

“You’re awake,” voice heavily tainted with sleep, his feet suddenly burn with the itch to move. Get the hell outta dodge. Eyes scout the room quickly, picking out pieces of clothing he can only pray belong to this version of himself. “It’s early, if you’re hungry I can make breakfast—” 

Unable to think of anything —get the hell out of here, Logan, “—no!” It’s more of a bark than it is an answer, and he bristles, fingers swiping at the discarded pants hanging out on the floor by his feet. Wrangles into them in time enough to split atoms. Hiking them up his legs, he works the belt, tongue suddenly thicker than winter molasses as it attacks his back molars, trying to raise some moisture in the Sahara his mouth has become. 

He doesn’t miss his bedfellow flinching, though. Her shoulder shifts a little sharply in reaction, and he curses himself. “Girls are sensitive creatures, Logan,” years from now, she’s suddenly so there in his brain matter. Cascaded by the sun, rapturous in white. He can feel her against his ribs, her smile cutting paths through territory unexplored in the dark chambers of him, “Be careful with us, love.” 

Spiraling blonde curl and bare shoulders say everything that clothes don’t have to, and he’d laugh if this wasn’t the most depraved thing he’d ever felt crawling through his gut, clawing like it’s hell. Future him remembers wandering through these mirages of life—mindless fucks, one-night stands that get him off, little more than cold graves of satisfaction. Briefly he wonders what the fuck, what happened to him. Once detached, now he’s tethered to starlight, stars to which he breathes to revolve.

Fingers burning, weightlessness threatens to topple him like Rome, conquering him slowly. 

Shifting her hair in front of her, he feels a twinge of appreciation run him through—but he isn’t surprised. In a different world, he’d move mountains for a girl with curls the color of how he takes the coffee she so faithfully makes; curls that flick and move in private dances for him, God’s perfect design, conceived among the canyons of time. It’s a foreign memory, amputated almost—umbilicated to nothing in this world to give it life, but he knows. He just feels them tangle through his fingers something perfect, in a way that hair never has.

Always a sucker for a girl with curls—they were different. Feral. Wild. 

His canines hit sharply on the plush of his bottom lip as the stranger angles to shift against the sheets, probably to face him. Logan  all but bullrushes the mattress to put a hand on her shoulder, “—sorry,” bumbling like an idiot, he sucks in a breath, “not real hungry, but thanks. ‘S early, go back to sleep—I gotta hit the road,” barely above a constrained whisper, adds a little pressure to his hand to encourage the behavior.

She complies, and he dives for his shirt and what he can only assume is his jacket tangled in the sheets of his side of the bed. 

Surprisingly, she says zilch. Content to let the subject drop, a mercy from God. Thank you God. He’s dressed. Barely registered that punch of hunger a good fuck always leaves behind before he’s out the door, palming his jeans for keys—bingo.

Fingers grazing sunglasses in his pocket, he slips them on the low of his nose. Shakes in his blood tell him he needs a smoke, booze, something for the cold edge peaking through his bones. 

Spinning keys to the punched-out and snowkissed Bronco on his finger, Logan slips out the door, fighting boots onto his feet as he skirts the curb, looking for his ride. 

It takes him a day to find her.

Well, more specifically, twenty-two hours—and finding isn’t the right word for it, either. He knows where she’ll be, she said so herself before he’d slipped into the sands. There’s only one place in the world she’d ever received formal education, property lines of a familiar farm and prairie grass amidst old farmhouses teaching her more than any public education ever could.

He’d been there, her childhood home, more than a dozen times. Been here, tasted this air. Watched the frost kick up on windows, slick up highways that have carried him all over farmland America, almost-Canada. The wilds of this place remain, scattered in and out of industrial complexes and pop up bedroom communities. 

She’d always hated it here, all the snow and cold — people. Made no sense, honestly. She’d loved their home in Alberta, where winter was, in a sense, arguably worse. Had fostered a love for that place unlike anyone he knew, and he was from there. Never complained, though.

Logan had always known, secretly, that she missed the States, its freedoms and culture, a pretty that rivaled none. Faithfully and with duty she’d followed him everywhere, skiptracing across the globe like it was a game of hopscotch and not a fight for life.

While he’d been running all his life, she’d been firmly rooted—but he’d be damned if she didn’t pluck roots to keep after him, to keep them alive. Together they’d rested their heads in some less than Eden hotspots, places phantoms wouldn’t even tread—places purity went to die, holiness turned its face. 

She’d counted it joy, just to scout the lines of living beside him. I’ll love you in every time, Logan.

If the tires on his Bronco could heave, they would. Twenty-two hours and no sleep, Logan could pretty well feel exhaustion lapping up the marrow of his bones, needling away at his eyes. Highway 7 signs, painted with snow and wobbling in straight winds greet him as he guides his Ford off the asphalt, out from between guiding lines that had shifted oh so many times the last day and a half—prophecy not much unlike his life.

And pushing the Bronco along the tree-lined lane, lights shining in the last fingers of fading night, Logan realizes that he’s white-knuckling the steerwheel. Maybe for the first time in his life. 

He’s never been an anxious soul. Never a point to it, anxiety was wasted emotion. But all the same he feels a pit open in the depth of his gut, a fierce burning not unlike a lake flaming with inferno heat rising up his spine. Feeling feverish, his palms pearl with moisture.

A quick glance in the rearview at the darkness hanging out under his eyes punches home the marriage of piglet pink rising beneath his unkempt shave, which is now a handful of days overgrown. Muttering, he guides the wheel with a knee, working fingers through his hair—it’s thick. Dark, darker than future him remembers, styled in a way he hasn’t worn in at least four decades. 

Popping the Ford to a stop in a parking spot overshadowed with packed, plowed snow, he snaps the shift into park. Sits there, in his leather jacket and jeans, staring at the front door of the college complex. A stone Goliath, it towers in the fading darkness, sunlight beginning to stretch the horizon to a new morning. There’s a few cars belonging to the overly ambitious, his eyes scan them. 

Logan remembers the plan, all the details of the debrief—of a dossier that came from her lips, to his ears. Not a stitch of paperwork, no documentation to erase. So unlike the old days.

The most informal of the informal, perched across his lap, topless and smiling as her nails pull sharply at the flesh stretched across his collarbones. Scarlet lines to match fake but not inexpensive nails, he forgets how she manages them in an apocalyptic world. Twilight their only audience, four walls conferenced them as she’d relay detail after sweet detail, his brain pulsing with the weight of her against his chest.

If he closes his eyes, he can feel her again—even in a body that doesn’t even know her. 

His dick twitches with a needy throb that reminds him where he is, where she isn’t. Absently his mind spins, his hand skates across the bench seat of the 70s Bronco, palming for her familiar presence. Void coldness ices over the space, and when the Wolverine opens his eyes, the cab is deceptively empty.

Forty years from now his brain weaves an image of her, flashing like a film reel. Supplants her in this seat next to him, smiling—-as young and beautiful as she was the day he met her, age hardly more than a number even as it joins itself at her hip. 

Hips bucking up off the bench out of habit, with rebellion, his head falls back over the seat. Sinks lower on the bench, knees kissing the dashboard as the heels of his boots dig into the floorboards, anchored to nothingness. Bone grating against bone on his back teeth, the growl he releases is animalistic.

Painful, sharp, it licks up the heat in his blood. He palms at his cock buried in his jeans, suffocating in heat. Her mouth, sucking at his pulse, tongue flicking against his—tasting like lipstick, like chap and sweat. How her hair brushes his shoulder, raises his skin like he doesn’t remember. Her little noises, breathy little moans. Praying his name as he feasts on her presence, consumes her closeness, union almost supernatural, galactic. Otherworldly, divine. 

And it hurts, his starvation for her. Loneliness he doesn’t remember cracks like a whip, canyons open his spine to perform surgeries that’ll leave him a barren, cold wasteland. Oh, fuck.

God, he missed her—hasn’t been gone but two days, and he misses her. An unmovable hunger mountains in the low of his belly, rearing an ugly head Logan knows won’t be turned but only one way.

A way that won’t exist for another decade, ten long years of arctic cold. 

You’re a sick fuck, Logan.

Eyes snap open, pops the latch on the door. Freezing wind chases in and smothers tornado heat kicked up in the cab, amongst the radio buttons and film developing on the windows from his hot breath. Slipping out, Logan bats the door closed behind him. Pockets his keys. Considers the landscape, it’s pretty, then looks to the front door.

Marching after it, his eyes sweep the parking lot—her car. It’s here, sentinelled, standing guard in an otherwise empty lot of asphalt and fading starlight. 

He chuckles, shakes his head. Much to his surprise when he tries the door, heavy doors open. Unlocked. Whisking inside like a silent shadow, Logan breaches the foyer. The first coordinator. Nobody is here, hallways as dark as skeletons in squirreled-away closets, the air stuffy with age and ventilated air.

An old smell creeps up and down the hallway, wraps around him—but it’s quiet. Serene. She said it would be, one of the happiest places of my youth, Lo, and she doesn’t really lie. It bleeds from walls like open arteries. 

Something hangs in the air, a sweet lightness, airlessness that he can breathe, but doesn’t know. When his finger brushes the wall, curiously, the earth doesn’t split open, the air doesn’t move—-it’s just still. Unmoving. Patient, like a lover. Fortressed between thick pines and Midwestern snow, it’s a sleeping giant Logan doesn’t know. When he pauses to listen, to think, he can feel it try to touch him—-that weightlessness, that solace.

He could sleep here a thousand years, felt like he could breathe for the first time in a century. 

Unsure where his feet point, but he knows where to go. Senior year, first class is theatre—-she’ll be in the auditorium.

One by one he ticks off the details in his brain, smoothing his hand over his mouth, trying not to miss his past, his future, whatever the hell it was. But parts of him claw to go back, memories that don’t belong in this body—and very suddenly, Logan wishes for the first time he were older, time wasn’t now. That he survived long enough for the day, ten years from now, that the rest of his life came marching through the doors of a dimly lit bar to rattle steel cages.

Wandering corridors eventually finds him standing outside the door. Metaphorically, crossing this threshold will change his life—it will ensure the future of everyone he’s come to care for, to know. It will ensure them, in a life far from now that feels faraway down and lightyears away.

He opens this door, crosses the place where carpet meets cheap linoleum, and he’d write in stone events that will play out forty years from now. 

And he hesitates, only briefly. Hand hovering over the knob of the double doors, waiting for something to tap him on the shoulder. Opportunity to rip him away, fate to call out behind him, stop, you fool. His blood sings with anticipation, ripping through his ears in a way that blocks out everything but him in the shadows, standing here.

Waiting has never felt so smothering, so earthquake. It’s hard to swallow, but he manages. About to open the door, movement behind makes him flinch. 

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow! Creeps in this petty pace from day to day—to the last syllable of recorded time—and all our yesterdays have lighted fools—” 

Oh, shit. If that doesn’t fit. 

For the first time in nearly 200 years, Logan’s heart stops functioning.

He forgets to breathe, the familiar weight of suffocation launching his lungs forward, pitching them against his ribs. Every part of him simmers with flames of ice he hadn’t known but only one other time in his life, fingers itching as they rest at his sides, motionless. Paralyzed.

But that twinge of ache, deep in his skeleton, rockets to life between the bones of his hand—-and Logan lifts one, to consider the claws. But there are none, they are still sheathed deep within himself, but they echo. They ring and shake, trembling as the speech continues again, restarts. This time louder, with more life—from the gut, it stirs him in a way that pays homage to curiosity killing cats. 

Carefully he pops open the door, peeks through. Light spills through the opening, warm tones that force him back, squinting as his eyes adjust. Washed in light and emptiness, the room is vast. Pitches down to a floorstage, theatrical seating a quiet giant waiting to throw stones.

Instead, the air is still, motionless among the seats. Only thing moving within the four walls is the body rearranging a rolling podium, collecting things off the floor. Running lines under rushed breath, bare feet so at home center stage that it is almost treacherous. 

He can’t breathe, every cell in his body pistons into an overdrive that sends his head reeling.

It’s her.

He shouldn’t be surprised, forty years in the future she’d told him she’d be here. Was always the first one here, in the auditorium, the only time I can use the stage, Logan, and the truth of it smacks him across the face as if he’s been whipped with a milkstrap.

Castor wheels on the stage are loud, rattle the air as the podium rolls back to reset, and Logan realizes he's standing stupidly in the center aisle, looking lost and enchanted with her—and he is.

Even as he slips into the last row, sitting low in a seat to observe, he aches in a way that only God designed for the most violent, deep love.

Even at distance, the detail of her springs after him like a predator. It overtakes him, powers him into corners of himself that Logan didn’t think to ready. The first thing that he thinks is that she’s young, so young, young in a way that even a decade from now couldn’t know.

You ain’t ready for who you’re going to find, honey, it was a warning, shadowed between kissing him and making love in a way that would imply the world’s end. 

When she told him he wouldn’t be ready for her, he thought she couldn’t be serious.

But she was righter than he is alive, he wasn’t prepared—innocence. Purity. Naivety. It spins around her in a dance he can almost taste, and his memories struggle to assimilate this precious little thing with the woman his heart knows, his body craves.

And Logan thinks it’s wrong, feels absolutely filthy, falling in love with her all over again, in the mere seconds he’d seen her standing there, reading from a frayed and tattered Macbeth.

How she’s the same person, he doesn't know—how she couldn’t be, is another thing entirely. 

Logan realizes she’s been the same height practically forever, and that makes him smile. High heels tossed stage left beside a backpack in the shadows, what he wouldn’t give to see her conquer the world in thrift store heels the color of darkness. Familiar curves pull at denim jeans that take every ounce of his self-will not to notice, full hips on Hollywood display with the same leather belt and buckle she’d be wearing in ten years, when this body first makes eyes at her.

And her style hasn’t changed—high heels and jeans, a tucked-in tank top and left-open buttoned shirt that floats almost ethereally.  

And his head cants to the side, not unlike a curious dog—he could cry, he thinks. Probably.

Brunette curl spills down her back, nearly to her ass, a lazy slipknot hanging limp at the base of her neck. Righteous indignation rises up in him like a wild animal—in a decade, he’ll meet her with cropped hair, curls cut to not-even shoulder length. His stomach knots, solidifies like it’s concrete. Memories spinning—Logan realizes he’s never known her with long, full hair. Hair like this, curls that make him insane, almost threaten to send him up the wall with ferality. 

Insane, sick the way his mind immediately shoots to all the things he wants to do with it, with this little thing pacing downstage and back, humming and reading lines to what she thinks is open air.

Straight to hell with him, thinking about bending her over that stage and fucking her until she weeps. He won’t get the privilege of her taste for at least a decade, if not a few years after.

And that’s enough to gut him completely, punch a low moan from the base of his spine as blood rushes to take up space in his cock. 

Subliminally, he feels for the ring that’s been hanging out on his left hand for twenty years—alarm snaps his gaze to his hand, its absence alarming and unfamiliar. Takes a second for his heart rate to still, realizing it isn’t there—and that’s right. It won’t be for a while.

But it’s become an engrained thing, a usual part of his life—memories relay that he does this often times a day, it’s almost a coping mechanism. Hilarious how it so easily translates to this body, this time when it isn’t even reality. The ring probably isn’t even crafted, he’s missing something that doesn’t exist. 

“Excuse me, what are you doing in here?” 

Klaxon alarms rings through his blood like a warning shot, and Logan for a second considers that he has been shot, a burning hole through the center of him widening to swallow him almost body and soul.

A steel beam drops to replace his spine, and he catapults to his feet like he’s on fire—scrambles out of his chair like an upset cat. Heart pounding, heat flares across his skin like his life depends on it, palms riding up the denim on his thighs as he tries to wick away bubbled moisture.

Swallowing a shallow breath, he watches her gracefully hop off the platform, finding her feet as she tosses the book on the stage. 

Realizing she’s meeting him up the aisle, he steps to greet her halfway.

“This is a closed classroom,” her tone is firm, but not entirely uninviting—memory serves that he’s not unfamiliar with this, and won’t be, in their future together. “I’m running lines, did you need something?”

Her little way of always assuming the best of people—of prying without making it feel like she’s digging. God, she was good—-it’s no surprise to him that she’ll become a journalist, the nosiest person in the world, in but a few short years from this very moment. 

Even up close she glows with a radiance that alarms him. Wearing the makeup she always does, mascara that sets off icy blues like a plague, Logan fights his way out of the depths of her gaze. Claws for purchase at anything he can get his hands on, which at the moment, is a quicksilver smile this body knows. It’s worked well for him, disarming the opposite sex.

He knows he looks good, always has, and Logan has weaponized his sexuality for his betterment since years ago. It’s a toxic thing, one that this very girl will dismantle in about twenty years—-will continue dismantling, claiming, for the next forty. 

Absence of any reply has her taking more conversational territory. Her hand extends, she offers her name.

“I don’t know you,” no room for argument, God she’s still so forward, “are you a student here, or faculty?”

A polite way of asking what his old ass is doing at a college at ass o’clock in the morning, and very suddenly he realizes, off like a shot, he has no alibi. No backstory, no agenda for this moment.

Logan can’t even think past her bludgeoning pheromones and scent, much less the assault of her eyes. Like a wolf she takes him apart, plays with the carcass of his resolve like it’s a plaything. 

Never usually unprepared, he fumbles for words. Arms crossing over her chest, she waits. Stands there for all of a few seconds, before she does that thing that all girls, seemingly, do—she fills up the silence.

“You’re not Graingly’s theater buddy from Pensacola, are you?” The look on her face tells her that not being whoever such a person is probably isn't a good thing, the way her hip cocks and her jaw flicks with the tight of muscle.

She doesn’t wait, not even a second, “You’re not supposed to sub until Friday—I’m his student lecturer, I set that date.” 

Well there it is, his perfect in.

She won’t learn to interrogate and intimidate with silence for a while, and he finds her battle for dominance amusing. It’s even more raw and unpolished in her youth, she’d mastered it already in the years after this.

If he didn’t already know, he’d find it hard not to be curious how she’ll stonewall in the coming years—as she ages, matures. Instead, he just revels in her presence, in the floating feeling taking up space in the empty of his gut. He’d slaughter for a cigar but couldn’t move from his weld right here if the earth split open to consume him. 

Logan’s chuckle is low, off the base of his ribs. Even if it is a little weak, a little breathless and ashamed of the thoughts sounding off like nuclear bombs in the back of his head—their first meeting, in a crummy Canadian bar in May.

The first time he sees her cry, an awful first date ending with an argument, him at her door asking to see her again in the straightline winds of a near tornado. How he asks to marry her, that first look at her on the day he makes her his own. That look on her face when they move in together, when they buy their first house—when they spill first blood together.

Pain raptures him to new worlds when he realizes what she becomes, what he gives her—mutation that traps her in this world, this life for an indefinite future. 

And he can’t shake the reminiscence—their first fuck, her first time, his first time with someone so virginal, so holy and sweet and good. Burning through him like a branding rod dripping with white heat, he struggles to assimilate this young little thing with the woman, ten years in this body’s future, she’ll become.

And as legal as it may be, Logan can’t imagine touching her like he will, someday—she might break, such a fragile little thing. And yet all he can picture is taking her, right here and right now, unraveling the strands of time to hurry the fuck up what is meant for a decade from now. 

She’s still talking.

“Listen, I really think you should—-” agitated. She's pissy, that same edge he will walk well, that same edge he’ll teach her to teeter, to exaggerate.

It’s a beautiful thing, really, watching their life together unfold in his brain—it’s like a movie he never wants to get up from, a picture he creates.

It tastes good, it feels perfect. 

He puts up a hand, offering her an easy smile. Her mouth snaps closed, bingo.  

“I figured,” if you only knew. He extends his hand, “Logan,” and she shakes it, hers fitting in a way that confirms God’s very existence. “'M not a teacher, and sure as hell ain't from Pensacola.”  About three thousand miles north, actually—-a mountain house so pretty, we’re going to spend our honeymoon not leavin’ it. 

But of course, it hangs out in the open wound his heart has become, unsaid. 

That hits home, seems to fit the bill. Her posture loosens, and she crosses one leg over the other. Still does that, forty years from now, and he still finds it adorable.

“Good to meet ya,” and good God if she still drag her ‘o’s’ in that little Midwestern way that ticks up the corner of his mouth, amusingly. “Can I help you with anything?”

Again, always so willing—so naive. He could’ve been here to ruin her entire world and she’d help him do it, patient as a flower. 

“Yeah, actually,” he runs fingers through his facial hair, gestures to her. “Believe it or not, honey, I’m here to see you. Sent, actually.” It’s going to sound so ridiculous. Unbelievable, and at this point, it is.

More sci-fi than reality, no human in this universe is aware that time can be so manipulated. Kitty Pryde, his very vessel, isn’t even alive.

And that hollows him out like a canoe, bloodlets any confident air in his sails to the ground. It cries out unforgivingly, laughs at him. 

God was laughing at him, he was sure.

Her airy snort is dismissive, aggressively derisive. “Yeah, right,” she shakes her head, turns on the ball of her foot, “I don’t know any Logans. You can go, now,” turning back around, she backpedals away from him.

Hand flitting through the air, her chin lifts in an away gesture, “Like I said, closed classroom. Nice meeting you,” moving to the stage, she hauls herself back up, moving to retrieve the text she’d discarded. 

Stalking after her, Logan hauls up on the stage. Comes up on her, grabs her arm. Starting, she whirls around at speed, knocking into him. Fingers clamping around the muscle of her arm, the look on her face is horrified for all of a few seconds, fear skittering in and out of the blues that flash in her eyes like dreams he doesn’t want to rise from.

His hard look into her face is quelling, and she shrinks back. Pages fall from her hands, hitting the floor at their feet with a hard thunk. 

Logan can feel her heart throbbing, her blood singing with heat. Color creeps up her neck as she pulls at his grip, investigative. Eyes holding his gaze, they put up a fight—they disarm him in a way that he should fear, that shouldn’t be so difficult for a man that will endure the unthinkable.

Pain flashes between his ribs like a flare, lighting up his chest. Shuffling her a few steps closer, his other hand moves to loop a finger through a belt hoop, knuckle rubbing against the familiar leather. 

“What are you do—” 

He remembers what she told him to say, “I have a word for you,” it’s assured. Hard. Riddled with a confidence that bleeds out of him like his arteries have been sliced, pumping lifeblood onto the floor at his feet. He’ll beg, if necessary. Grovel at her beautiful feet like it’s worship, and in a way, she’s deserving.

Her eyes snap up from where he’s conjoined them, Logan watches her swallow a handful of shallow, doing-nothing breaths. “Sent to find you, darlin’.” 

Ripping her arm away, her brow mottles with scarlet heat and confusion that isn’t concrete, but instead unsure. She said she’d be confused, uncertain of him when he walked up out of nowhere and called her darlin’, a petname that meant something. The name, the one she conjured up in showers and feel asleep to. Logan knew it was her favorite; she’d told him so their first time, You had me at darlin’, Lo, and you always will.

Poetic justice, really—and maybe, now, this will be why.

He’ll be why she falls in love with that name, with how he says it, how he calls her. 

“I don’t understand,” she tries to make it sound strong. Logan releases her, expecting her to rear away like a upset horse—surprise lands in his gut when she doesn't.

Instead, she faces him. Draws her shoulders back. Lifts her chin and steps up to him, closing daylight. Her head cants slightly, eyes narrowing in that what’s up with you way that is curious, but hesitant.

Unsure rips off of her like heat he can only feel in every cell of his genetic makeup, in a way that regenerative mutation could only ever hope to heal. 

“You may not,” he challenges, it falls off a sigh as he upturns a hand. Offers it, kindly. “But try, honey. A whole lotta world needs you to try.” 

And she does. She tries. Business hours and daylight interrupt them, but she tries—and it’s a bloody fight, making her understand. Challenging every quip, every reasonable logic that she hurls at him like knives.

Moving to the auditorium’s lobby, then to the corridor, then up into the library. And  after an hour, when she really started believing him, he drags her out to his Bronco—where they can be alone. Thrive in the uninterrupted them.

Cranking the heat and turning to rest his back against the door, he accepts her denial. Any question she throws at him for another hour, every rabbit trail of You’re absolutely wrong and this is why.

She pauses to breathe and remember what class she’s blowing off, and oh does he love her. He’s already so in love with her that it hurts, bludgeons that space behind his ribs with the knowledge that soon, when this is over, he may not remember.

Multiple times Logan has had the thought to fuck everything and just run away with her, take her anywhere she wants to go and start their life right now, to explore and give life to memories he doesn’t already know.

No matter how much he rationalizes, that idea doesn’t leave him—the high fantasies of what she’d look like, attached to him at the hip.

Of who they could be, before adamantium, before the X-Men, before—

And questions finally metamorphosize. A standstill, like after a hurricane—her chest is heaving, curls sticky with sweat. Memory recall tells him that his normal for her—she’s argumentative, by nature. Defends what she believes, is not so open. Doesn’t back down from a fight, which is why, in years from now, she’ll be his perfect match. His soulmate.

The one God designed for him, since the foundation of the stars and the bends of time. 

It’s what makes her so her, a Wolverine. In a roundabout way. Another version of the same monster he becomes, but a holier one. If that’s possible—and he reminds himself it is, she becomes it. This young woman, on the cusp of living, will become everything Logan had only ever fantasized, more than he could ever conjure up in wild imaginations and greedy headdreams.

It’s surreal, sitting in this cab of this Bronco, watching windows film up with the heat of their breath. His knee knocks against the steering wheel, adjusting to glance at her milkwhite grip on the door handle. His eyes skate from hers to her grip, and he knocks his head back against the glass of the door’s window, a lazy smile turning up the corner of his mouth. 

“Still don’t believe me, huh?” 

After an eternity of silence, she side-eyes him.

“It’s only a little ridiculous,” exaggerated sarcasm drips like sour honey off her tongue, “I mean—put yourself in my shoes here, Logan.”

His heart flatlines and then resurrects—she’s called him Logan a handful of times, now. It sounds like it never has from anyone else—at points in his life before this, he’d always thought his name sounded so good, at its best coming from a woman he was balls deep in, hearing it chanted like a prayer.

But that’s gone, so anemic that it’s sick—it will only ever sound so orgasmic again if she says it. Nobody else is worthy, all graven images in comparison to the goddess she has become, him at her feet.

“It’s unbelievable.” 

Whatever else she’s said fails to land. He can’t stop hearing his name in her mouth, consonants and syllables so delicious it turns his spine to jelly, stirs up his cock in a way that makes him adjust his leg on the floorboards. Suddenly uncomfortable, sardined into a too-tight space crowded with her and everything he wants, he rolls down the window with a few pumps of his arm. Forces air in, underneath his collar.

Logan swears he’s boiling alive beneath his jacket and shirt, there will be medically evident boils when he’s finished with her. 

The Bronco rocks slightly with her moving to mirror his posture, back against her own door. Her knee knocks against the seatback, other leg bouncing anxiously against the floor.

Picking nervously at the buckle of her belt, Logan has to force himself to look up from the cut of her shirt, the way it pulls taut across her tits with the angle of how she’s sitting.

Aw, hell. Fuck him for being such a filthy, sexual creature. 

Fairly certain he will die if he doesn't have her, he repositions—sits up, leans his arms over the steering wheel to knuckle mindless patterns into the fog hanging out on the windshield. She manages an uneven sigh that may as well rip open the world—Logan cuts her a look from the corner of his eye. 

“You think I’m lyin’,” he sighs. Falls back against the seat. 

“Hell yeah I think you’re lying.”

And if that doesn't make him laugh. 

“You laugh, Logan-whoever-you-are, but—honestly. C’mon,” her hand extends to serve a point, “time travel? This isn’t Star Trek. You don’t just waltz up to someone and tell them that and expect it to be believable,” her hand flits, through the air, through whatever she uses to rationalize the anger creeping up into her words.

“And then, if that isn’t good enough, you tell me this, this Hollywood bullshit that I’m going to meet you in ten years in Canada, somewhere I’m not even ever planning to go—and that kicks off the next forty years and the survival of mutants in the future!”

Her hands fly into the air, as if trying to pull down reason from heaven, “That’s a bunch of bullshit, if you ask me.” 

It’s quite the line of reasoning—he can’t fault her for it. Just chuckles, shrugging as he leans forward to pluck sunglasses off his dashboard, slip them along the cut of his collar.

Arms crossed over her tits, her chest rises and falls with nervous breath after breath, eyeballing him with enough force to rip the sun from the canopy of sky. He flicks off the heater, sweat between his shoulder blades sign enough that it’s too warm in here—she’s already damp, sweat raising the makeup on her face. 

“That’s the highlights,” didn’t mention how you’re the love of my life, how I can’t hardly think straight with you sittin’ right there, he cards his fingers through his hair. “Not askin’ you for anything, sweetheart. I’m just telling you—it’s gonna happen, and when it does, you need to remember me, this moment right here, and trust that it works out.”

He lifts a shoulder, hand turning through the air in a so-so way, “It’s like—fuck. It’s kinda like a prophecy, right? I’m telling you what’s gonna happen, and you just gotta wait to see if it does.” 

“Prophecy? You’re mocking me now, right?” 

His sigh is excessive, roughs up the wind in the tissue of his lungs with more froce than he thought possible. Knitting his brow together, his fingers pull at the cartilage in the bridge of his nose.

Stubborn little thing, always, stubbornness was both a strength and a weakness—nevermoreso underestimated in her, right now, by him. 

He nods out the window.

“This is a Bible school, right? Yeah, I know it is—you graduate here, in the spring,” the look on her face implies that he’s backhanded her, hinge of her jaw failing entirely to instead, sit there. Agog.

Rolling his eyes, he holds out a hand, begins counting off his fingers, “I told you, honey. You graduate, you get a job working for some lowlife newspaper editor–you fall in love with mutants, in that sick and twisted ADHD way of yours that you obsess about everything, and—” he stops, mostly to breathe. Halfway to bludgeon everything he wants to tell her to the point of pain, “—just listen. If you’re as high an’ mighty as you say you are—and you are, I know that about you—then you can’t say you don’t at least believe in prophecy, darlin’.”

Knifing a sharp smirk over to her, his brow lifts. “And last I checked, a whole helluva lot of unbelievable stuff happens in God’s history book, sweetheart—but I ain’t the expert.” 

That’s why I have you, in a decade or so. 

There is absolutely no time for his words to land anywhere other than nowhere. 

Her dismissal happens swiftly, like sharp jabs. The laugh bites, more of a bark than anything. Bam.

“Oh, I so get it now.” She absolutely does not, but he tastes the first blood. Pow. “You’re a messenger from God—right. Yeah, yeah I’m sure,” her eyes roll. Angles to pop the latch on the door.

In one go she’s out of the Bronco, letting all the hot air and frustration of the moment out into the arctic wasteland the parking lot has become. Bam bam bam. 

“I don’t say this very often, and pardon my language, but—fuck off, asshole.” 

Shouldering her backpack, staring at him from the cresting daylight that bleeds into the cab from behind her—if Logan didn’t believe in the celestial, he would’ve, exactly now.

Near frantic—and Logan has never, in all his 200 years been frantic—his hand slaps at the door for his own latch, and he rips out of the Bronco like a shot, hustling to stalk after her marching across the parking lot to her car like a soldier with orders.

And he is.  

Not so fast, tiger—that ain’t right, nah. Wolverine, you’re a wolverine.

My Wolverine.

“Honey, listen—” 

He grabs for her arm again, but something whips her about-face of her own volition, stepping up into his chest like a powerhouse of pride, absolution.

Her eyes cut through his armor, what will someday be adamantium bones like knives, hot and thrilling as they grab him by the absolute balls. The ferocity at which her eyes scout through his is wild, sends his blood spinning through his ears. He can’t hear anything but the thrum of his heart and every one of the breaths she sucks into her chest. 

There she is. 

 “I am not your honey, so quiet calling me that,” she bites, and it’s venomous—snapping fangs that sink deep into his veins, slavering at this soul.

And Logan should be upset with her, he should shake some common sense into her. Scream in her face the logic that she so lacks—but he can’t. He can’t move beyond the boundaries her eyes set, deep pools that empty oceans and rival the very stars hanging in the universe.

She could echo jump, and he’d beg her to know how high—and that may make him a fool. A pathetic shadow of the man he was hours ago, laying in someone’s bed, getting all the tit he wanted, without waiting.

“You say all this, this stuff about me—ok. We meet in ten years, sure. I’ll give you that. You’re hardly forgettable,” her eyes narrow, and Logan can’t miss how she shivers—how her lip trembles in the cold air, how snow clings to her lashes and sticks to her hair, carries it away across her features.

“Explain to me how you know everything about my life forty years from now, Logan.” 

Oh, fuck. This entire thing could be wrong, but it feels so right. 

Her eyes skate over him—down, up, and then back to his face. Like she’s summing him up—maybe she is. It would be the first time, but never the last.

Logan weighs the words in his chest, wishing for the first time that his bones were adamantium—that way, they’d cut through what to say. They’d bear the weight of her statement and haul them up the mountain-ing uncertainty he feels rising against the tail of his spine.

He’s never been so out of control, felt so out of his element than he does right now in the ripping wind of Minnesota cold and sunlight. 

She’s lined up the shot for him. All he has to do is take it. 

He does.

“We marry,” barely there, it’s the only thing he thinks to say.  So much more happens, “A lot of shit happens, a lot of it bad, but a’lotta good— takes a while, but eventually I get my head outta my ass and marry you, like I should years before I actually do.” 

“What?” 

Logan isn’t ready for the look of surprise on her face, and she’d told him before that he wouldn’t be.

A series of emotions pass through her eyes that he’s able to earmark, he watches them fall like dominoes—denial. Anger. Disbelief and hurt and really? that knots his guts up like the Sesame gates.

And Logan could watch the revolution of the earth around the sun in her eyes for all eternity, but their clarity is clouded by a mist of tears that rise—-she drops her head away, reaching fingers to swipe at the sting in her eyes.

She goes to turn away, and that may as well rip every organ out of his body. 

His heart leaps up into his throat, he snags her arm. Coming back willfully, he can’t miss how freezing her hand is in his. Logan pulls her close, against his chest, wraps his arms first around her shoulders, then around her waist, fingers gently skimming the rise of her jeans, the leather of her belt.

Her heart against his ribcage pistons like a locomotive, and he fears if it beats any harder, it’ll drive him into an early grave. 

When her head lifts to consider him, she isn’t crying. There’s a whimsical, faraway look on her face. He’s never seen it before, and somewhere deep inside the places you don’t show anyone but God, it terrifies him. Watches her swallow thickly, her tongue fill the pocket of her cheek. How it skips over her bottom lip, accompanies the way her eyes subliminally move back and forth, looking for him in the depths of his.

And Logan can see the thoughts spinning alive in her brain, wheels that have no place to go—that turn, over and over, looking for memories, thinking. Grasping at straws, clawing for the surface. 

Her eyes flick beyond him, back to the Bronco. Taking his hand as if she’d been doing it her entire life, she tugs him behind her, back to this Ford. Logan opens the door to tuck her inside.

Slipping in, she drops her backpack at her feet and shifts in the seat. And before he can bat the door closed, her fingers find the front of his leather jacket. Twisting into the leathers, she pulls him forward until his thighs brush the frame of the truck—until he’s flush against her chest, closer, somehow, than before.

A hairline moment and her lips find his, soft and curious but starving. 

Jumpstarted to life, every organ in his body flings forward against bone, fighting for air as she sucks the very breath from his lungs in the best way he could ever fathom.

He can tell she’s never kissed before. The way she moves, clumsy like a new calf. Can’t breathe. Her teeth knock against his, and despite how hard he tries to urge her tongue forward to meet his, it retreats. All thumbs and clumsy, it would be humorous if lightning bolts weren’t rocketing down his spine, if he wasn’t burning alive. 

And fuck, if it isn’t enough to wake up every part of him he’d been fighting to bury.

Insane, how even so foreign to him she could feel like home, like everything he’s ever been missing. His missing rib, created from dust.

Nothing aside from God’s grace keeps him composed, keeps his mutation leashed to the walls of his prison—God’s grace and how he absolutely is not actively ripping at the leather of the Bronco’s bench, nails buried so far that they ache.

Fingers find her hair, playing through brunette curls he knows will never be this long again—wraps them around his fists, nails gently pulling at her scalp in a way that makes her hiss, arches her forward against him. 

And if she doesn’t mean for that little mewl to be so lascivious, he’ll never know—it punches him low, in his dick, enough that rips a groan from the back of his throat, rattling around his teeth. She breaks first with a wet pop, a string of sticky saliva drawing him back to her in a way that leaves him stunned and breathless.

All traces of the frigid world gone, her skin coats with a sparkling sheen of slick sweat, she almost glistens. Racked with ache that he wouldn’t be able to admit in therapy, he drinks in every one of the shallow breaths she releases, as if it’s the air he needs to live.

It’s not far removed. 

Her eyes hold his captive, enraptured in his attention before they flick down to his mouth, the heave of his chest. Logan is fairly certain that fire laps up the heat in his blood, wolves eating away at the marrow of his bones, hungry in a way that nothing short of her will ever touch.

Her teeth snag her bottom lip, gnawing cautiously, and her fingers curling into his jacket are the only greenlight he requires—his hand at the back of her neck pulls her in for another kiss, a part two he’ll never stop writing, as his other hand slips behind her knee, gently guiding her down to the seat so he can slip in over her. 

It’s worship, how he crawls up her body—an altar that, memories recall, he worships at like it’s religion. She’s a fast learner, picks up the cues like a champ, finally allows him to French her in a way that should be unforgivable.

This him has never done this with her, doesn’t know her like he wants to—but memories. Fuck him, the memories; movies, their own future pornography feeds him just how she’ll react, what she likes.

In his mind, a life he's never lived, he can hear her crying out his name. Sobbing as he splits her wide open, body and soul—stares at her heart, takes everything God had given her. Greedily, he takes—he wants, desires, lusts for everything now, in a time that isn’t right, and can’t be, for the next decade. 

His hand anchored on her hip is enough to arch her back, her head tipping back into the leather of the bench, brow pulled taut into a hard line that makes his head reel. Keening, Logan angles to run his nose along her jaw, tongue lathing at the pulse pounding in her neck like a racehorse, steady like the sun.

And it takes willpower not to touch her the way his body demands, the way he lusts after. Instead his nails bite into the back of the seat, others far too busy playing with the hair he prays she never changes but knows she will. 

“Oh my god,” Logan isn’t sure it’s a prayer to him or heaven itself, but—he won’t complain how it rousts his blood, stirs his cock something good. “It’s—you’re, Logan—-shit,” His smile is wolfish, of the devil.

Perverse and twisted, he sinks his teeth into the words vampirically, rips the lifeblood from them like it’s soulworthy.

“I can’t breathe,” he knows she can’t. He knows, in some deep and faraway downs part of himself that this is all so new—so living color, so all over the place.

Part of him, a more rational Logan, knows that overstimulation stalks.

But he chuckles all the same, brushing aside the collar of her buttoned shirt to suck hard at the soft flesh of her collarbone. Lathes his tongue into its pool, tastes her sweat. Dies, resurrects to taste it again.

“You can and you will,” he prays it into her skin, hopes it takes, “hmmmm—-just feel, darlin’.” And it hurts, the way he absolutely wants. Knows he can, but won’t. Fuck, fuck,  “Fuck, yes—just, honey, just feel.” 

Her hands buried in the front of his shirt pull him back from the haze, from where he’s lost. Kiss him again. Again and again, he drinks at her well like a man who will die, and he will.

Logan will die if he doesn’t have her, if this isn't real and is nothing but a sick and feverish nightmare plagued upon him like the dead firstborn in Egypt. She’s already ripped open his chest and clawed out his heart, balancing it raw in her fingers where it bleeds out all of his will, his absolution. 

There’s a chance he doesn’t remember this.

If he dies from thirst of her, he’ll never know why.

That’s sick. 

Absently, his finger tugs over the waist of her jeans, dips beneath the denim. Grazes the buckle of her belt, investigative. She gasps, breath cut short as her back arches off the seat as his knuckle brushes her sensitive skin—she arches so far that he fears she’ll snap.

But the low of her belly is soft, inviting—inferno. He can feel her womb from here, the kiss of her cervix that memory serves is so good.

Breathless and hard, a light tug at the waist of her jeans makes him groan—all the way from the depths of his soul. It’s so familiar, so easy—he expects her to acquiesce, but it’s demonic. Torturous.

Fuck yes, this is right—

His drifting hand snaps her eyes wide open. She’s propped up on an elbow so quickly that it sends him for all of a heartbeat. Her hand shoves at his shoulder, off, and he falls back on his heels, breathing hard.

Unable to catch his breath, cut his eyes from the swell of tit peeking up over the top of that barely-there tank top she dares to call a piece of clothing. 

“No,” and there it is.

Absolution and righteousness that could strip him of his skin, if she desired.

Embarrassment sets in as she wrangles out from beneath him, to the farthest side of the Bronco that she can get. Unable to breathe, unable to think, her hand shakes as it settles over her stomach, her other propping her head up in the heel of her hand.

“Logan, I—” 

He knows. Doesn’t cure the sigh. Reaching behind him, he pulls the door closed and traps them both in the sex swirling through the Ford, unfilled and thick.

Guilt plants deep stakes into the soil of his soul, and he scrubs his hand down his face—looks out the window. Shifts against the seat, ignores the absolute agony of a hard cock festering low between his legs. 

They sit.

It’s a full silence ready to give birth, until she sweeps her hair up into a high knot, off her neck, twists to sit fully in the seat, fingers slipping through the slots on the steering wheel. He noticed when her breathing levels, when the cardio rhythm in her blood bleeds away into a normal heart rate—but it takes time. A full minute or two.

And he doesn’t know what to say, how to bridge this chasm—how to proceed from here. 

“What happens ten years from now?” She’s quiet, doesn’t look up from her hands for a few heartbeats, until sapphire eyes cut to him with a raised, interested brow. “You coming here to tell me this—does this change what happens to us when I find you, in the future?” 

The question of the ages, indeed.

“Dunno. Might not remember this, might not know you,” leaning across the seat, he moves his hand to take one of her curls, rubbing it gently between his fingers.

His other takes her hand, his thumb skipping over the familiar ring anchored firmly on her right hand—a ring she will gift him in the future, a ring that he will wear through time and space, should it be asked of him.

“Or I might. Not quite sure how the memory’s thing works when I wake up in our future, honey.” It doesn’t answer her question, and he knows that. He doesn’t have answers, never has. “Not sure how it works for you, either.” 

“Wow. You’re so helpful,” she teases.  

He cracks a small smile. “It don’t improve, trust me.” He gently brushes a knuckle over the apple of her cheek, her angling into the touch a little farther. “Still as pretty as you will be the first time I see you, sweetheart,” she said she’d need to hear this, that this alone will spare so much of the pain she has yet to live.

“You remember that, yeah? ‘Member that someone out there wants you, even if he doesn’t know it yet.” 

She slips across the seat to brush shoulders with him, her palm along his cheek guiding him for another kiss—this time, it’s what he expects. Soft, sweet, young. So her, so familiar. He could die a thousand deaths to experience this, over and over.

Softly carding his fingers back through her hair, she breaks firs. Curls a finger beneath his chin to draw his attention to her. He gives it, willingly, up unto the half of his soul and any kingdoms he possesses.

“Are you still in love with me?” Want me, Logan—do you want me? 

He smiles, nods. Presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, her lifeblood. The very pulse that will bring her back to him, that carries him away.

“I’ll love you in every time, sweetheart. Just say the word.” 

taglist: @thevoicefromanotherworld @sidkneeeee @misscrissfemmefatale @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @eternallyfrustratedwriter@ayamenimthiriel @pandapetals

[tinybeetiny]

Sit and Watch How It’s Done: J.Y

SMUT | 18+ | MDNI

I don't really know where I got this idea from.... I think this might be one of the longest things I’ve ever written… I hope it lived up to the expectations and I’m so sorry if it didn’t 🥹

->Starring: YunhoXAfab!Reader, brother!San, boyfriend!Mingi

->Genre: Little bit of angst, Smut

->Cw: Explicit language, unprotected sex, cheater Mingi, MIngi refers to reader as girlfriend still, cuckold Mingi!!???, Yunho is a little manipulative!!?!!, mean Yunho, big dick Yunho, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, overstimulation, praise, degradation, slight dacryphilia, creampie, squirting, multiple orgasms, let me know if I missed anything

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

You walked through the lobby of the grand hotel that your boyfriend was staying. He’s been on tour for 5 months and you missed him tremendously. With the help of your brother you were able to surprise him in the next city they were going to but what you didn’t know was that he was going to give you a surprise of your own.

You make your way down the hall with a room key in hand, your steps bouncy with anticipation. You missed Mingi and you couldn’t wait to see him again. You loved your phone calls and facetimes with him but they weren't enough. You longed to be in his presence again and now that you were so close the long hallway seemed to stretch on forever. But as you approached the door you felt some hesitance. Would he be happy to see you? Of course he would, he would constantly tell you over the phone that he was counting down the days until he could be with you again. You heard some commotion on the other side of the door but you just assumed that Yunho or someone was in there with him.

You use the keycard to unlock the door and you push open the door but when you finally set your eyes on Mingi the sight knocks the wind out of you. There was your boyfriend in all of his glory fucking some random girl from the back. They hadn't noticed you yet until your bag hit the ground. Mingi's head whipped around ready to tell off whoever barged into his room but his face dropped when he saw you standing in the doorway "Oh my god" he whispered out. You say nothing, picking up your bag and turning to leave. Mingi scrambles to his feet trying to put his boxers back on while rushing over to stop you from leaving "Baby wait" He grabs your arm stopping you in your tracks. You rip your arm away

"Get off me. How could you?" Your voice raises and you feel hot tears flood into your eyes "I'm sorry. Please just hear me out" He begs but his words make you angry.

Hear him out? Is he serious? You glare at him momentarily before you yell "SAN" You walk across the hall banging on your brother's door "SAN" you yell again and Mingi begins to panic "No no no" But he's a little late. San swings open the door with alarm and the first thing he sees is your distraught face and Mingi's terrified expression "What the hell is going on?" San's question is answered when the girl bolts out of the room fully dressed.

It's quiet for a minute, no one saying anything or moving. The tension was so thick that Mingi felt like he was going to pass out. Finally, San takes a small step forward "Mingi?" San's voice is eerily quiet and it makes the taller boy take a big step back. He's never seen San so enraged and he wanted nothing more than to shrink back into his room. Then everything happened so fast. San lunged at Mingi, the two slamming back into the hotel room door "YOU PIECE OF SHIT" "SAN STOP" "I'M SORRY" Your loud voices cause the others to come out of their rooms. "San what the fuck" Jongho rushes over to try and pull San off Mingi. Seonghwa runs over to help Jongho. You feel an arm wrap around your shoulder and you look up to see Yunho as he pulls you into his chest. You lean into him, his warmth dulling the ache slightly.

Yunho ushers you into his room as Seonghwa and Jongho try to hold San back. Their voices muffle as Yunho closes the door and urges you to sit on the bed. You sniffle as a couple more tears slip down your cheeks. "Oh angel, don't cry." He coos as he kneels in front of you, his thumb brushing the tears away. You sniffle again as you stare at him with teary eyes. He watches as a tear runs down your cheeks and can't help but strain tight in his pants. He knows he shouldn't feel this way, especially considering the circumstances but he thinks you are absolutely breathtaking when you cry. The way your wet eyelashes hit your cheekbones when you blink. He can't help but imagine how the same teary eyes would look with his cock shoved down your throat.

The soft sounds of your cries bring him out of his thoughts "You're too pretty to cry over men like him" Maybe it was your broken heart doing the thinking but as you stare into Yunho's eyes you feel a little flutter. You've never really looked at him like this before always being blinded by Mingi but now your vision has been tainted. Something about the comforting hand on your thigh and the way he looks at you with such intense eyes causes a surge of warmth to shoot through you.

You're not sure who leaned in first but the feeling of Yunho's soft lips on yours is all you can focus on. The kiss starts off slow, almost like he's testing the waters but when your hand comes up to grip the collar of his shirt his self-control starts to waiver. You pull him in closer deepening the kiss and a little moan gets caught in your throat. He pulls away, breathless "Sorry, that was inappropriate” he’s not sorry. “I should go. Give you some space to breathe.” He gets up to leave but your hand shoots and grabs ahold of his wrist “Please don’t leave” you whimper. He stares into your big doe eyes “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay” his tone is low, he knows what he’s doing, he knows exactly what he’s doing. With your emotional state and how you reacted to the kiss, he knew he had you right he wanted you. Ever since he met you he’s been infatuated, almost drawn to you but you were Mingi’s and he couldn’t betray his best friend like that. But with what just happened how could he let a perfectly good opportunity slip through his fingers.

“No please. I want to feel something other than hurt right now” you plead hoping he would give you what you wanted. “I can’t do that to Mingi” yes he can. Yunho liked you first, Mingi knew that, he knew all too well “Fuck Mingi. Please Yunho. I need this” you tug on his wrist. He pauses, acting as if he’s thinking it over before he leans down pressing his lips to yours again as he gently lays you down on the bed. You sigh into the kiss and your hands come up, entangling themselves in his pretty brown locks.

You feel dizzy and can only focus on how good his lips feel as they make their way down your neck. His fingers play with the hem of your shirt "Please touch me" you beg as he nips at the skin right under your ear "Tell me where" He whispers. You grab his hand and place it on your breast, letting out a sigh when he squeezes slightly. He slips your shirt off and your nipples harden in the cold hotel air. He leans down taking one of your perk buds in his mouth and your back arches slightly, a little moan leaving your lips. He switches the other nipple before he trails kisses down to the waistband of your sweatpants. He looks up at you asking for permission with his eyes, you nod your head and he wastes no time pulling your pants along with your underwear off.

His intense stare has you squirming and you're suddenly fully aware that you're completely exposed but before you can move to cover yourself he dips his head licking up your slit. You let a high-pitched whine when he attaches his lips to your clit. Your hand grips his hair, holding on for dear life as you grind against his face. You gasp out when you feel his fingers slide in. His eyes nearly roll when he feels your tight walls squeezing his fingers so well and he can only imagine how good they'll feel around his cock. He continues to lick and suck at your sensitive nub as his fingers abuse your g-spot. Your moans come out one after the other as your stomach tightens and your hole flutters around his skillful fingers "You gonna cum for me?" you nod your head vigorously pulling him back to your needy pussy. Your eyes roll back as you cum all over his tongue, which he happily cleans up.

He continues to suck on your clit helping you ride through your orgasm until you're pushing his head away from overstimulation. He pulls away, spit and cum covering his chin "You okay" You give him weak thumbs up "Wanna taste you now" you mumble and he helps you sit up and takes his own sit next to you "You don't have to you, you know that?" he reassures you "Mmm I want to"

Your knees dig into the rough carpet as you settle between Yunho's long legs. You stare at his bulge that strains painfully in his jeans. You reach to unbutton his jeans before pulling them down his legs. You palm him through his boxers, your mouth waters feeling how hard he is. You grab the waistband of his underwear and pull them down, his cock springing free and slapping his stomach "So big" you whisper staring at his pretty pink tip. He smirks down at you as you take his girthy base into your hands. You place a small kiss on the head of his cock and he sucks in a breath when you give it a little lick. You wrap your lips around his mushroom tip and slowly move down his shaft. You stare up at him as he hits the back of your throat and tears gather in your eyes as you gag. "Oh fuck, that's it." He moans. His hand holds the back of your head, guiding you up and down. He revels in the way the tears stream down your cheeks as you continue to choke on his cock.

“(Y/n) are you in here? Please let me ex-” Mingi's words are cut off when he walks into the room and sees you on your knees choking on Yunho’s cock. He watches as Yunho grips the comforter below him, head thrown back and his lips parted. The sound of your gagging and lewd slurping fills his ears “What the fuck” Mingi’s words come out slow. You jump at his voice, trying to pull off Yunho but his large hand comes down and keeps you in place. He takes your hair in a makeshift ponytail, helping you bob your head up and down “No need to stop for him Angel. Come on, you’re doing so good” He looks up and stares into Mingi’s surprised eyes "What? You want to take a picture? Maybe watch?" Yunho teases trying to hold back a moan. Mingi doesn't know who to look at right now, you with Yunho dick shoved down your throat or Yunho who has you swallowing his dick.

He's not sure what possessed him to move but the next thing he knew he found himself sitting in the corner chair watching Yunho cum down his girlfriend's throat. He watches as Yunho pushes your head down as he thrusts his hips up making you gag “Just like that. Suck my cock just like that, such a good girl” He stares at Mingi as he bites his lip, antagonizing him. Mingi felt his leg bounce in irritation not wanting to continue looking at the scene in front of him but he just could not tear his eyes away. I mean it's not like either of you tied Mingi to the chair, he was free to get up and leave whenever he wanted but yet he stayed glued to his seat.

Yunho lifts your head off and pulls you up to lay you on the bed. His soft lips move feverishly against your own. He grabs the base of his cock rubbing it through the wetness, spreading it around. Your brain goes fuzzy when he slips and you let a little cry when he pushes his fat tip into your dripping hole, the stretching making your eyes roll. Mingi has to physically restrain the moan from escaping him just from hearing how wet you are. He adjusts in his seat, his jeans feeling tight.

The air deflates from your lungs as he pushes his cock in inch by inch. He lets out a deep groan when he bottoms out "Fuck Yunho you're so big" You whimper out. You’ve never been this full. Sure Mingi's big but Yunho was a whole different story. The way your walls mold to each ridge and vein, like he was made for you "So tight, squeezing me so good" His eyes screwed shut. He slowly pulls out and you clench around his tip trying to keep him from escaping “Patience” he looks over at Mingi whose face is full of anger but his eyes hold desperation. Your mouth falls open when sheaths himself back in.

He starts off with a slow pace, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. The sound of Mingi’s heavy breath fills the room and it only encourages Yunho to speed up his pace. The sound of the lewd squelching of your pussy bounces off the wall and Yunho gets lost in the softness of your walls. He takes your legs and throws them over his shoulders, pushing on the little bugle of your tummy. Your mouth opens and little gasps are the only noises that come out. "I love your pussy, taking me so good" The way he looks down at you with lust filled eyes makes you clench around him. The burning sensation grows in your stomach again and he pushes closer to the edge "Oh fuck Yunho. You're gonna make me cum" Your voice raises a couple notches and your back arches as you cum all over his cock. He groans, feeling your needy little hole trying to milk him.

He continues to fuck into you, not giving you any time to recover. His thumb brushes over your clit and your body jolts as you cry out, tears running down your face. You whine as you try and push him away but he grabs your hands and pins them over your head, his hips somehow moving even faster. You feel another orgasm approaching and you feel absolutely spent “M’gonna cum again.” Your fingernails dig into this arms as the pleasure takes over “Oh my god” You throw your head back as another orgasm rushes over you "That's it baby cum all over my cock. Lookin so pretty. So fucked dumb" His cock slides in faster due to the extra lubrication. His arms hook under your knees, pressing your thighs to your chest and the new position has your eyes rolling back.

His forehead rests against yours as he fucks you deep. "Did he ever make you cum like this hm?" You barely comprehend his question as his hips move faster. You shake your head "Wow Min, you can't even make your girlfriend cum and yet you think you're good enough to cheat tsk tsk tsk" If there was ever a time Mingi wished the ground would swallow him whole it would be now and to make things worse his dick was painfully hard, the scene in front of him hotter than he'd like to admit. He knew he should be furious watching his best friend fuck his girlfriend but after his actions, he had no right. So he stayed in the chair, gripping the armrest so tight his knuckles turned white. He's never heard you moan like this before and he hates it. He watches as Yunho pulls another orgasm out of you. He watches the way your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a beautiful chorus of noises escape "That's it Angel, doing so good for me" Yunho praises.

The overstimulation washes over and a high-pitched whine escapes you “S’too much YuYu please” you push on his stomach in an attempt to get him to slow down ‘YuYu!?’ Mingi’s eyes narrowed at the nickname. Hot burning jealousy bubbled deep within him but again who is he to sit there and feel some type of way when he, just mere moments ago, hurt you in ways he couldn’t even imagine. But what better karma than to sit and watch your best friend fuck your girlfriend way better than you ever could.

“Yunho wait. Slow down” you gasp for air as you feel pressure building up again. “Just a little bit longer. Almost there” he gritted out. His paces started to get sloppy as he felt himself getting closer. His thumb rubs small circles on your clit trying to draw out another orgasm "Yunho wait, fuck stop" Your eyes widen in panic but before you can push him away your eyes roll back and you gush all over his lower half, soaking the sheets below you. You thighs shake and you let out a small scream. Both men stare in shock as you lay there, chest heaving. They watch as your body twitches from the new sensation.

“You want me to cum in you? Fill your sweet little pussy full of me?” You nod dumbly, your brain turned to mush as his hips continue their brutal pace. He lets out low groan as he spills into you. He pulls out and watches his cum pool out of you. He looks over at Mingi with a small smile “What’s the matter Min? You look like you’ve seen a ghost” Mingi doesn’t say anything, he really doesn’t know what to say honestly. But the look on his face is very satisfying “Maybe you should call that girl to uh fix your problem there” Yunho gestures to Mingi’s hard on and the little wet patch on his jeans.

Taglist: @e3ellie @yoonshiiu @yunlazia @jonghoslilstar @sugakooie

@lemonkait00 @ginevrsstuff @atztrsr @honsans-atiny-24 @zaynsfl4m3s

@life-is-a-game-of-thrones @atzlordz @certifiedmoa @melanated-writersblock @hwasbabygirl

@yuyu-s @morethingsfandom @sanriogyu

If you would like to be a part of the taglist please fill out this form

[minniebbang]

Photograph | L.Minho

pairing: idol!Minho x fem!reader summary: Just a date with Minho on his free days. word counts: 3k words genre/s: fluff & angst warning/s: a slight mention of illness and death. a/n: I presented to you, a story that have been sitting in my draft since the beginning of 2024. As always, please tell me what you think about it.

Oh, you can fit me

Inside the necklace, you got when you were sixteen

Next to your heartbeat where I should be

Keep it deep within your soul

A loud sneeze echoed throughout the dusty attic as the black-haired male pushed the boxes to the side of the crampy place, creating a path for him to descend deeper. The spider(which had been the permanent resident of the place) scurried away at the sound. He shook his head, arm covering his nose as he gazed around. The attic had been abandoned since they moved in, no wonder it had begun gathering dust. His dumb self forgot to wear a facemask before cleaning this place up, resulting in a never-ending saga of him sneezing like a cat. 

His face scrunched up and he stacked another box together. Pushing another box with his feet, he halted when he saw the title tape on the lid – a title that pulled his heartstrings and gave him a gust of memories he had considered nightmares. He sat on the floor, legs crossing each other as he removed the lid,  a wave of dust greeted him. He coughed as he threw the lid away. Printed pictures were scattered inside the box and he immediately recognized it was his pictures.  A tender smile made its way to his lips. He took out the camera, wiped the lens with his sleeve and positioned the camera toward a space. 

A flash blinded the area.

3 years ago

“Hey babe, look here”

Minho shut his eyes as a blinding light flashed toward him. He blinked before walking up to the culprit sitting on the couch. She smiled as she looked at the outcome.

“I swear you look perfect in every angle, min” She grumbled. Minho grinned cheekily and wrapped his arm around her waist. She took the opportunity to snap another picture of Minho and continued to grumble. Before she could remark another reply, Minho’s lips landed on hers. His hand found its way to her back, pulling her body closer to him. Her hands tangled themselves in his soft black hair as she held herself from letting the sound escape from the back of her throat but failed. His lip was hard to resist. He retreated and giggled as he saw her face flushed in a bright shade of red. 

“Stop grumbling or I will kiss you again” 

“If that’s my punishment, I won’t stop grumbling.” She pushed him off the couch and headed to the shared bedroom, ignoring Minho, who was wincing in pain on the floor. His hand reached for the camera and a chuckle stifled from his mouth as he pressed the button. The majority of the pictures were of him doing his daily routine. He admitted he wasn’t ready for any of the photos. Suddenly, something soft landed on his face, covering his view of the picture on display. He tore the material away from his vision, tilting his head as he glanced at the item on his lap. It was his hoodie.

“Can you take me to the photograph shop, please? I want to print this picture.” She spoke as she stuffed a cookie from the kitchen counter into her mouth and headed to the main door. Minho quickly put on the hoodie and rushed after her, not forgetting the camera. He turned off the camera but stopped; his ears turned red at the realisation of the picture. He quickly shook his head and closed the door. 

Minho unchained his bicycle and without any invitation, she settled on the back seat. 

“Come on! It's always me who rides this bicycle for you”

“Well, I did it last time and it didn’t go as you planned.”

He stared at the ground momentarily, gathering pieces of his memory of the said days. He looked back at her with an expression of agreement.

“Right, I don’t want to come back home with bruises. Let’s go then!” With a firm grip on the handlebar, he hoisted himself onto the bicycle seat.  His right foot stayed on the ground as he pulled her loosened hands together. The camera had exchanged hands.

“Hold on tight. I’m fine with returning home bruised but refuse to see you with any injury.”

She let out a light chuckle. Balancing the bicycle delicately, he swung his other leg over and set off from their house. The gentle breeze of the evening washed over them, hairs blew everywhere on their faces. The rustling from the leaves accompanies the ride. The crisp air filled her lungs as Minho picked up his speed; occasionally, she greeted the neighbour strolling around the small neighbourhood. He let go of one of his hands to hold her hand.

“We should do this often. It’s fun.” she rested her head on his broad back, eyes folding.

“Anything that makes you happy, baby.” 

He pulled over next to the photography shop. He placed both feet down and let her enter before parking the bicycle in front of the store. When he set foot inside, his eyes immediately trailed around the four-corner shop. The wall was plain white, and some black-and-white framed pictures of the same couple and similar children hung on one side of the shop. There was a blue door on the other side—it stood out due to its out-of-place colour in his eyes.

“Y/N, it’s nice to see you again!” The owner beamed at her with a small smile. The man was in his late years, with silver hair and rounded-shaped glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He always wore an attire that reminded her of those kindergarten kids. Minho stood by her side and bowed his head politely to the man. So, the pictures were of the owner and his wife.

“Oh, uncle, this is my boyfriend, Lee Minho.” 

“It’s good to see you, young man. You’re more handsome than in the pictures”

“Huh?” It came involuntarily from Minho’s lips, and she instantly threw her gaze to the side, cheeks feeling warmer, unlike the cold wind inside the store. 

“Uncle I want to print out a new set of pictures today if you don’t mind” She cleared her throat, blocking any questions from tumbling out of his lips. He glanced at her, cocking his brows as she handed the camera to the old man. Her eyes flickered momentarily toward him, lips pressing jointly as she ran her eyes over his face to look at his confused state. 

“Of course, darling. I’ll call you if they are ready” The man slowly shuffled to the wooden door beside him, the door softly thudding behind him as he disappeared from her vision. 

“What is that all about, Y/N?” 

She hummed, lazily shrugging her shoulders. Taking his hand into hers, she pulled him to the blue door. Behind that striking coloured door was the small cafe next door, the smell of fresh pastry and coffee wafted in the air. Contrasting from the shop they were in, beige dominated the wall and the cafe was bathed in the evening glow from the sun sipping through the large window beside the entrance. A couple of feet away from the window, a glass shelf displaying a variety of pastries was placed and connected to the cashier's table. 

Behind the shelves stood a familiar woman. Her lips turned into a wide smile that reached her eyes as she waved at them. Without Minho realising it, he had already met the woman eye-to-eye.

Ah, it was the man’s wife.

“Ah, Minho, right?” Was the first thing that escaped her lips once she saw his face. He nodded shyly and tucked her hand closer to his side, her head unconsciously was on his chest. A light giggle bubbled out of her noticing his rapid heartbeat.

 Why did the couple know him and he didn’t? 

“She always complains to me how perfect you are whenever she gets pictures from Mr Kim.” 

“Why is everybody trying to expose me today?” She whispered, her voice falling into an incoherent sound, regretting her decision to bring him along. The woman chuckled and left the counter, swiftly filling up the tray with the usual pastries she would order. She also sneaked a pudding for Minho, remembering the girl mentioning it was his favourite in one of her rambling sessions with the woman.

Minho glanced at her as she raised her chin, his black boba eyes staring back at her. 

“You have a lot to explain, baby” His voice carried a hint of teasing as the corner of his lips raised. Although he was smirking, the tenderness underneath his eyes betrayed his playfulness.

“I believe I don’t need to. You’ll find out about it later anyway” She undetached herself from him and handed the woman the money but he immediately grabbed her hand. Surprised, she turned her head around, finding him shaking his head as he snatched the money from her grip.

“Let me spoil you today”

“Does this have anything to do with my secret?” 

“Do I never spoil my baby?”  How typical of him to answer her question with another question. After a quick thank you, he dragged her to a vacant seat while his other hand carefully carried the tray with his other hand.

They sat across each other, plates of different pastries laid between them, its sweet aroma lingering around them. His eyes doubled in size as soon as he noticed the pudding cup along with the cream puff and cake, eliciting a fit of chuckle from his lover. 

“Why with that face?” 

“N-nothing! Just surprised they have pudding here”  He reached for the plate and took the spoon, scoping the jingling substance. He positioned the spoon toward her, gesturing for her to take the first bite but she held his hand and fed him instead. His delightful hum and small dance caused her heart to overflow with adoration. She watched him go for another bite before digging into the cake. 

They exchanged bites, hands intertwining as they shared stories from their previous days. It felt like their usual dates but Minho’s reassuring grip on her interpreted something else – something that neither of them dared to voice it. Later, their drink arrived along with a medium-sized envelope, her camera and a picture frame. She thanked the waitress and glanced at Minho with a tender smile.

She unsealed the envelope, placing its contents on the table and almost immediately her cheeks coloured red when Minho saw the printed film pictures. Sure, it was nothing to be embarrassed about since it was their pictures but the latter didn’t know this little hobby of hers.

“This is your secret?” 

She nodded meekly and a soft smile painted his features – the smile she always doted on. He pushed the desserts away and browsed through the other pictures.

“It’s cute! Why do you never tell me?”

“Because you might tease the hell out of me about it.” Her lips formed a pout and seconds later, she felt his lips collide softly with hers briefly. He pulled away and sat beside her, taking the frame out of her lap as she snapped out of her daze.

She punched his shoulder, mumbling something under her breath before snatching a roll small of tape from her bag.

“Anyway…what’s with this frame?”

“I’m making a memory frame so I can look at it when you’re far away from me.”

Tearing a bit of the tape, she stuck one of the pictures onto the canvas – a picture of them in the backstages after his concert, his hand playfully grabbing her head while she had her tongue stuck out. His mouth shaped an O and she placed the tape in front of him, silently directing him to take care of the tape.

Minutes passed and the frame slowly filled with their pictures, constant teasing and recounting of memories became their companion. The blossomed flowers – that was their love – flourished in the garden. Moments like these were what Minho cherished, away from the hectic idol life and closer to his lover.

“Why did you start taking an interest in photography, anyway?” He asked mindlessly as he passed the last tape to her. Her action halted momentarily, her heart hammered slightly louder against the wall of her ribcage.

“I realised I don’t have anything to keep my precious memories. Knowing how long I was going to live, life suddenly turned precious. Maybe I’m taking my health for granted that I think keeping the memories in my phone is enough.” 

Oh, he almost forgot about her illness. The very thing was consuming her alive while they spent time together. It stood as a barrier to their future.

Was it his fault to let that fact embedded in his mind and never resurface back?

“Minho?” She turned her head around and was met with his head burying into her chest, his arm hugging her waist loosely. 

“I’m sorry” was barely heard from him as his voice was muffled by her shirt. 

“It’s alright, baby” She rested her chin on top of his head, leaving kisses on his hair to comfort him. She knew how he hated hearing those truths, it pained him further when she said that without any sign of breaking down as if she had accepted that death would welcome her soon.

His arm vibrated, indicating an incoming call from her phone yet he didn’t move. With a hand wrapped around his head, she took the phone from her pocket and hastily answered it. All while Minho was fighting with the sting in his eyes. 

The call ended quickly.

“Hey, my parents are at our home. Let’s go back” She whispered and reluctantly he distanced himself, bottom lips chewed as he picked up the completed picture frame and her hand. She followed him and bid goodbye to the old woman.

“Please hold it for me, I can’t ride while holding this” He spoke, trying to hide his true emotions in his forced tone. The frame ended up squished between them as Minho paddled his way back home, the heavy atmosphere was crashing into their shoulder. It felt nothing like the ambience they were in while going to the shop. He paddled faster when he couldn’t bear the bleeding in his heart any longer.

Soon, a familiar silver car greeted Minho’s vision. He pressed the brake behind the car and the car’s door creaked open. Her dad emerged from it, and later her mother would too. Minho rested his bicycle on the roadside, offering a smile that he could force toward her dad.

She had gone into the house to fetch her things and returned to stuff them into the passenger's seat. Her dad observed Minho and watched how his eyes turned red and his chest rumbled as his daughter filled her last things into the car. She returned to Minho’s side afterwards, arm looping with his.

“Will I be able to follow her, sir?” He asked, a dry lump forming in his throat. Swallowing it would take his whole breath away.

“Don’t, Minho. You can’t risk your career because of her”

“I’ll risk my life for her if I need to, sir” 

“Minho, think about your future, please. I’ll take care of her.”

Y/N let go of his arm and hugged him. That was it, his final string.

He wrapped his arm around her figure, choked sobs escaping him as salty tears flowed down into her hair. He buried his face in her head, inhaling her scent, which reminded him of autumn days—crushed dry leaves and flowers—that would slowly fade from his home. He clenched her shirt tightly, afraid that if he loosened his grip, he would forget how she felt in his arms.

“Don’t worry, min. My dad will update you about the treatment. It’ll go well,” She had said to comfort him, but it seemed like she was soothing herself, too. The possibility of recovering from the sickness was almost impossible, but a thin hope remained underneath them.

He lifted her chin and pressed his lips into hers, probably for the last time. Cradling her cheeks, he poured the unspoken words through the kiss. His tears stained her cheeks but she didn’t bother.

“Take care of yourself for me, mhm?” He said after the kiss, staring deeply into her eyes, which seemed to reflect the light. 

“I will. Take care of yourself while I’m not here. Don’t you dare cheat on me!” She pointed an accusing finger toward him which succeeded in bringing out a short chuckle from him. She headed to the car, waving goodbye with a smile before disappearing into the car.

“Until we meet again, Y/N”

Current day

“It's still work?!” He exclaimed as he took a look at the picture. He hummed as he closed back the lid, the camera stayed in his hand.

“Min? Where are you? Dinner’s ready!” A woman’s voice broke through the quiet air of the attic, followed by footsteps approaching him. The footsteps stopped beside him, a hand rested on his shoulder as the figure kneeled.  

He averted his view toward the silhouette — the love of his life.

“The camera still works, baby. Why did you keep it?”

Her eyes widened, those eyes he will never get tired of staring at or complimented on. A pendant he had gifted her after she returned was resting on her collarbone.

“I thought I lost it! Minjun will love this!” 

“She would” He adjusted his body to face her, bending a bit far from her and snapped a picture — like how she would when they were younger.

“Thank you for coming back. I think I didn't get the chance to tell you that yet” His gentle gaze met hers as he reached for her hand to squeeze it. Although years had passed, his gaze still held the love she knew — it bloomed even more after Minju birth. The pictures scattered in the box were evidence of their eternal love.

“Thank you for waiting for me, min"

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Coalescence part 2/3

Part One

Summary:

She’s so nervous that her breath catches in her lungs and doesn’t come back out, from her side she can hear Viktor’s foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the tiles. Without even thinking it through, her hand finds his and grabs it tight. He doesn’t pull back, if anything he holds hers even tighter. The question rises once again, unbidden. What are we? AKA: She works with Viktor for seven years, she is in love with him for five of them.

Contains: she/her pronouns, supremely slow burn, sharing a bed, canon typical illness stuff.

Word Count: 12,181

Read on AO3

The next year feels a lot slower than the last few had, without the relentless push from the council to get the Hexgates finished, work stagnates as the three of them try to figure out what to make next. A few months in she gets sick of sitting on the other side of the room and goes through the arduous process of rearranging the furniture. She has to move Jayce’s desk first and then the blackboard and then she finally has enough room to squeeze herself in, the fact that the only available spot is next to Viktor’s desk is only serendipitous, at least that’s what she tells herself. Jayce seems pretty excited about the change when he comes in, that maybe the rearrangement might be enough to finally get all their synapses firing. 

Viktor, by comparison, sits quietly next to her and doesn't even acknowledge the change for the first few hours, just scoffs when she asks to borrow his ink for her pen, “If you’ve only moved your desk next to mine for access to my stationary then I’ll be very upset.” despite his words, he slides it over to her desk, “You’re lucky I’m so accommodating.” 

She wants to say something about how his stationary is the last thing on her mind, but instead, she just laughs and replies, “Very lucky, thank you.”

A few weeks after her impromptu rearrangement, she comes into the lab to find a new desk sitting where hers once was and more surprisingly, a person sitting at the desk. Shocked, she lurks in the doorway while trying to figure out what to say, only for the visitor to notice her and immediately jump up from her chair and rush over to greet her. 

“Hi! I’m Sky! It’s so great to meet you!” She says, grabbing one of her hands between two of her own, “I’m the new lab assistant! Viktor hired me!” She blinks for a moment, trying to find a way to reply that doesn't make her seem utterly repellant, “I thought I was the lab assistant…” is what came out, and it wasn't the energy she had been aiming for. 

Sky laughs, “You’re funny. It’s nice to know you three have a sense of humour.” she finally releases her hand before readjusting her glasses, “If you ever need anything, I’ll either be here or in the botany lab down the hall. I’m going to study as much as I can while I have the chance, but I’ll always be nearby.”

When Viktor eventually arrives and sits at his desk, she scoots her chair a little closer to his and whispers, “Why’d you hire another assistant?” “Sky’s an old friend and we’re going to need the help-” he pauses a moment and then spins his chair to face her, “Why did you say another assistant?” “Because I’m your assistant.” Viktor lets out a disbelieving laugh, “ You haven’t been our assistant in a very long time.”

Her heart thrums nervously in her chest, and all she can let out is a weak little, “...huh?”

“You’re a partner.” Viktor clarifies as he rests his hand on her forearm, “A friend .” a beat, his thumb lightly rubbing against her bare skin, “and you always made terrible coffee, it was time to let you off the hook”

She laughs and playfully slaps his hand away.

It’s only a month after that when Jayce has the idea that changes the trajectory of their research for the foreseeable future. They had all been sitting at their desks, doing barely any work. It was still just under a year before the next progress day and without an active request from the council, there wasn’t all that much pressure for them to create something. She had been entertaining herself with a paper ball that she was tossing up into the air, Jayce was flicking paperclips into an empty crate on the other side of the room, and even Viktor had been absently spinning around in his chair for the past hour, which was definitely out of the ordinary for him. 

“Maybe we need a change of scenery?” Jayce suggests, hanging his head low when he finishes his last box of paperclips. 

She scoffs, tossing the paper ball in the air once again, “It’s not like we can take the research outside with us.”

“Even if we could, it would be far too dangerous to take any of the crystals out of the lab.” Viktor supplies, completing another rotation on his chair, “They are too volatile.”

Jayce sighs, “I didn’t literally mean moving the lab equipment outside, guys. I just thought we could take a walk and-” 

When the paper ball finishes its most recent arc into the air, she doesn’t bother catching it again, instead pointing a finger in Jayce’s direction, “That’s your idea face! You have an idea!”

Viktor freezes mid-spin, quickly rotating himself to face Jayce whose eyebrows are drawn tight. After another moment just sitting there and staring straight forward, Jayce leaps up from his chair and starts frantically pacing back and forth. 

“Oh yes!” Viktor says enthusiastically, turning to look at her over his shoulder, “He definitely has an idea.”

Jayce laughs breathlessly and then stalls in the middle of the room, erupting into a passionate and wildly gesticulated speech about finally being able to bring Hextech to the people instead of just serving the whims of the council, about working on smaller devices that could be mass-produced and (importantly) would have a far shorter development time than something as large scale as the Hexgates. As he spoke, she couldn’t resist shifting her gaze to Viktor, leaning forward on her desk to get a better angle on his face and nearly melting at the impassioned warmth in his eyes, the delectably sweet tug of his lips. 

“Before we get ahead of ourselves,” Viktor begins, trying not to seem as exhilarated as he clearly is, “We need to figure out a way to stabilise the crystals, then we can focus on utility.” “God, I’ve missed this,” She says with a warm smile dancing around her mouth, “When can we start?”

***

It’s full steam ahead in the lab for the next few months, literally, to some degree. Before fully joining the Hextech team she had spent a brief portion of time studying glass-blowing and shaping and while she was only half joking when she suggested that they should try tempering the crystals, it ended up being the first step to the final solution. While a collision with physical objects causes a volatile reaction in the crystals, standing about twenty feet back in the Talis family forge, they learned that heat did not cause the same problem. Tempering Hextech crystals turned out to be a much more exhaustive process than tempering glass though, and every step of the way they were worried about causing some sort of disaster in the forge. 

Sky became an invaluable resource and her contagious energy meant that she also very quickly became a friend. While she wasn’t able to commit her full time to the lab because she had her own studies to worry about, she was always around to help copy down notes when everyone else had full hands or to provide encouragement whenever it started to feel like the next hurdle was impossible. Viktor was also right, Sky made a much better coffee than she ever could. 

“Damn.” She mutters, sipping gingerly on the very hot coffee, “How do you stop it from tasting so watery?” Sky laughed, expertly working the coffee machine in the small tearoom in the sciences wing of the academy, “I worked at a coffee shop in the undercity for a few years, all muscle memory.” she explained, popping a lid on Jayce’s coffee and then scooping one spoonful of sugar into the final vacant cup. 

“Viktor takes two sugars.” She says quickly, probably too quickly. 

Sky gives her an odd look, and then chuckles, “I was about to add another one, but thanks for the help.” She suddenly finds her own reflection in the cup of coffee very interesting.

While the work on finding a way to stabilise the crystals took almost all of their time, it was impossible to stop herself from peering in Viktor’s direction whenever she had a spare moment. He had lied about the leg brace just being for the gala, he didn't wear it every day and on the days that he did he claimed to have plans to take a walk out in the city when they wrapped up in the lab, but she usually caught him walking straight back to his dorm as always. She and Jayce would often share a worried look on days that he showed up wearing it but both could sense he didn't want any attention being drawn to it. There were other changes too, smaller ones, that might have gone unnoticed by anyone from outside the lab. His breath quickened and the hours he used to spend working out calculations and formulas on the blackboard were now spent at his desk instead, his angles sharpened and his face slowly began to lose its softness. 

“Just tired.” He responds, whenever she asks how he is feeling. 

Her eyebrows pinch, an insidious fear taking up residence behind her ribs, “You're tired a lot.” 

He sighs, and she is standing close enough that he can rest his head on the swell of her hip, “I am”

She wraps her arm around his shoulders to hold him against her, aching with the weight of a familiar question.

While he moves slower, he doesn't stop moving. When she and Jayce try to untangle just how to temper the crystals, Viktor sits on a chair nearby taking furious notes and offering suggestions. He sits at his desk with Sky as the two of them start sketching potential designs for smaller-scale Hextech projects. Viktor is, of course, there on the day that they manage to create their first successful gemstone. The crystals temper a lot stronger than glass does and were (so far as they could tell) completely resistant to shattering. The final test happens back in the forge where this process all began, with her and Viktor waiting impatiently on the other side of a wrought iron metal door with only a small glass window to watch through as Jayce bravely performs the final test of the gemstone’s durability. 

Jayce waves at them both, though they can barely see his face under the full set of protective armour he is wearing just in case they were off with their calculations. Despite all the preliminary testing and Viktor’s absolute belief in the gemstone’s structural integrity, she still nervously chews on her thumbnail as she watches Jayce set it down on the anvil. Though she doesn’t express her nervousness, Viktor still notices, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Jayce will be fine.” He says confidently, “We’re ready.” She lets out a shaky sigh, the orange firelight from inside the forge washes gently across Viktor’s face at sets his eyes ablaze. His posture is more lopsided than it used to be, his left shoulder kicked up where he is putting almost all of his standing weight on his cane. Her feelings are discombobulating, a dizzying mixture of fear and denial with an overlarge dash of something aching and desperate that she is still too afraid to give a name despite so many years of feeling it.

“Knowing you think so makes me feel a lot better.” She replies, turning her gaze back to the tiny window, “I envy your optimism.” 

“I wouldn’t call it optimism .” He says, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders and resting his cheek on the top of her head, “Determination, maybe?” 

She softens against him, his touch is familiar by now and while it no longer sends her awash with nerves to feel it, a warmth still settles in her stomach that she is unable to do away with. Her arm slides around his waist and clutches him tight, breath high in her chest as she watches Jayce take a few cautious steps towards the gemstone, clutching an oversised smithing hammer in his hands. Just as he raises it in the air, she’s so panicked that she can’t bear to watch and spins to bury her face in Viktor’s chest. She swears she hears his breath catch, and while he stumbles a little to adjust for the new weight, it only takes him a moment to regain his footing. From behind her closed eyes, she hears the echoing boom of the hammer making impact and then a ringing silence where an explosion would have been, if there was going to be one. 

Viktor lets out a breathless, overjoyed laugh, his hand rubbing enthusiastic circles between her shoulder blades, “We’re going to be able to do some real good now.” He says, “I can feel it.”

The leadup to the next progress day is a stressful one, a great deal of their time was spent tempering enough gemstones for testing purposes and the process was hard enough to replicate that they didn't feel comfortable letting anyone other than her or Jayce near the forge. Even Viktor found it a bit intimidating in there and preferred to sit back while the two of them worked. So while she was spending months and months writing detailed instructions for the tempering methods in preparation for the day that smallscale Hextech devices went public, for now, it was still safer to handle that part themselves. Once they finally have enough gemstones for the prototyping stage, they leave the forge behind for the far more familiar walls of the lab. She continues working to transcribe all the notes they have on the process of refining Hextech gemstones, while Viktor, Jayce and occasionally Sky toss ideas back and forth. 

It takes a lot of late nights glowering at the blackboard and throwing out hundreds of ideas before Viktor finally has the idea to find a way to improve working conditions for miners in the fissures. She can tell that it’s a personal mission for him, the way he talks about what conditions were like when he was still living in the Undercity and she, Jayce and Sky all agree with the idea wholeheartedly. They have far less time before progress day than they would like, but after narrowing the scope of Viktor’s idea to a maximum of two projects for now, it feels doable. Viktor has a bit of his pep back, which also helps to soothe her worries. While he isn't moving around as much as she remembers, his enthusiasm surrounding their new project can be heard in every word, seen in every exaggerated gesticulation. 

One day she is completely lost watching him with wrapt attention as he and Jayce discuss what kind of metal would best be suited for the final version of the devices. Utterly absorbed in each and every minute movement of his lovely hands, in the bright vibrancy of his eyes. 

“He was like this as a kid too,” Sky says, snapping her out of her stupor. 

“What, sorry?”

Sky laughs and inclines her head in his direction, “Viktor. We grew up in the same neighbourhood if you could call it that. He was always tinkering with something instead of playing with the other kids.” She shrugs a shoulder, “He always inspired me, still does, maybe even more so.” 

“Yeah.” She replies wistfully, watching as Viktor excitedly gestures to an equation on the blackboard, causing Jayce to pick up the chalk and start making edits, “He’s certainly inspiring.”

***

With only two months left before progress day, the prototypes still aren’t in any sort of state to show the public even though they are almost complete. Especially since the gauntlet keeps insisting that it wants to remain clenched in a fist no matter how hard they try to convince it otherwise. It’s that terrible part of development, where all the brainstorming and assembly is completed and all that’s left is struggling to figure out the last remaining kinks. Despite not being able to make much progress, the four of them are in the lab from sunrise to sunset almost every day. Sky often wears the gauntlet for hours straight as they all take turns trying to diagnose the issue and Jayce almost loses a finger to the Hexclaw when he gets a little impatient in getting it out of the way and forgets to disengage the gemstone. 

She’s tired. They all are. Sky at some point admits that she can’t keep up these hours when she has her own studies to work on and returns to only dropping by when they need help, but the main Hextech team persists, pulling allnighters and sometimes even falling asleep on the floor of the lab in a big pile. At the very least they endure the stress together. With the initial excitement of development over and the growing sleep deprivation, Viktor starts looking worse again. His already pale skin turns papery ashen and the bags under his eyes are purple like a permanent bruise. One day he shows up with a crutch instead of his cane. He doesn’t even try to create an excuse for it, just sits at his desk and starts working before either she or Jayce can ask questions. That’s when they quickly make the decision to insist that all three of them stop spending so much time in the lab, enforcing a cut-off time where, regardless of progress made, the three of them would all head back to their dorms for the evening. While he seems a little irritated by the idea at first, Viktor does agree. None of them are getting any good work done and a proper sleep schedule might be just the thing to change that.

It’s not a perfect system though. Some nights she sneaks work home with her and knows that Viktor is doing the same, but at the very least he’s more likely to fall asleep in his bed that way. Other nights she is still so anxious about their upcoming deadline that she can’t force herself to sleep, even as the time ticks through until the AM. 

One such night, she dashes her way back to the lab well past 2:00 am. She had been planning to tire herself out by reading the book she had rented from the academy library, but she had left it on her desk in her rush to get home that evening. It’s cold when the sun goes down, so she wraps her arms around herself to avoid the chill as she finally draws closer to the lab. The academy can be a little spooky at night, especially alone. It looks a lot different without the usual warm lighting, and the sound of her feet echoes off the tiles and the whole way down the hall. When the door comes into view, she doubles her pace in the hopes of being back in her bed as soon as possible. 

She wipes her eyes and lets out a yawn as she unlocks the door, only to freeze at the entrance of the lab when the cool blue light of a Hextech gemstone still shines brightly from Viktor’s desk. It’s concerning, because they're usually very careful to lock them away when no one is inside. That's when she notices Viktor slumped on the desk, head resting atop his folded arms, he's still, he's so still that it makes an ice-cold panic start rushing through her veins. She calls his name out, walking towards him, and then again when he doesn't answer, hurrying her pace to reach him as soon as she can, her breath coming hard and fast and desperate as she reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder. 

At her touch, he startles immediately, inhaling a shocked and wheezy breath. 

“Thank god.” She exhales, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in the join between his neck and shoulder. He's still only half awake, one of his large hands coming to rest on her forearm.

“I fell asleep.” He whispers 

“Yeah.” She replies quietly, trying to calm the adrenaline still racing through her, “You did.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He clarifies slowly, trying to take stock of where he is, “And I came back here thinking that maybe I could solve our problems with the gauntlets before tomorrow morning.” He lets out a breathless laugh and runs a shaky hand through his hair, “My exhaustion must have caught up with me, I apologise.” She doesn’t move, her arms still clutch tightly around him when she lets out a shaky little breath against the skin of his neck. He was just tired, overworked just like her and Jayce. It’s not the first time he’s fallen asleep at his desk, not the first time any of them have. Her heart slowly calms at the feeling of him between her arms, the slow brush of his hand against her bare forearm. She almost wants to laugh, what had she even been thinking? That he had- 

No . There’s no point in even thinking it. He’s fine, she was worrying for nothing. 

“C’mon.” She says, unwrapping her arms from around his shoulders and smiling down at him, “You need to get to bed” He smiles weakly, and she watches with pain in her chest as he puts all of his weight on his crutch to pull himself up from the chair, “Don’t you need to get to bed too?” he asks, giving her just a glimpse of that mischievous smile she loves so much.

“I'll walk you back first.” She replies, heart in her throat, “Your room is closer anyway.”

Viktor looks at her curiously for a moment, and then replies, “Yes, I suppose it is.”

It isn't, they both know it, but the lie is comfortable and the fact that Viktor is willing to go along with it sends a dizzying rush down to her fingertips. They walk in comfortable silence, it reminds her of their first walk together on the way to the music wing, though a lot slower. His crutch makes more of a thunk than the click that his cane used to, but the sound is still good at helping her keep pace with him. The last thing she wants is for him to think that he’s slowing her down. He isn’t, he couldn't, a longer walk is akin to a gift for her, there's so little time for them to meet outside the lab these days that even this minuscule moment is enough for a syrupy warmth to spread through her veins. 

“Do you want to come inside?” Viktor asks when they reach his door. His voice is thick and his tone uncertain, she catches the way his free hand clenches nervously at his side. 

She nods, “Just for a second. It’ll be nice to warm up.” His smile is warm and his eyes shine like amber, “Yes.” He begins, quickly unlocking his door and stepping to the side to let her in first,  “It is cold, isn't it?” It isn’t, but the lie is comfortable. 

“Freezing.” She replies, smiling up at him and walking through the doorway.

This is hardly the first time she’s visited his dorm, though it’s usually during the day to pick something up or drop something off, once or twice to deliver lunch when she suspected that he forgot to eat and on one notable occasion, for a cup of coffee while she struggled through translating his notes into something comprehensible for the council. It looks much the same as she remembers it, very cluttered but still neat. He has stacks of books and piles of notes all over the room and a corkboard with so many overlapping sketches, notes and blueprints that its impossible to see the cork underneath. The floor is clear, though, all his frantic scientific mess is left across desks or bookshelves, a hard divide been his work life and home life. 

Viktor shuts the door behind himself and starts making his way across the space to where she can only assume his bedroom is. He looks at her over his shoulder and says, “You’ll have to give me a minute. Make yourself at home, I won’t be long.” “Oh, okay. No worries.” She replies, wondering what he has to do back there. He might just want to change into something more comfortable for the evening, which is completely reasonable, even if it makes her cheeks warm to think about. Now that she’s actually standing alone in the middle of his sitting room does she finally remember that she’s wearing her pyjamas. They aren’t at all scandalous, thankfully, but she does feel underdressed. After a moment, she sits tentatively on his couch, trying to find the perfect balance between comfortable but not too comfortable for when he comes back out. She drums her fingers against her thigh, trying to ignore just how much it smells like Viktor in here when she hears him call her name. 

She leaps up from the couch, “Yes? Are you okay?” There’s a moment of silence, and then he replies, “I’m fine, I just-” he’s muffled on the other side of the door, but she hears what sounds like a foreign expletive, “I’d appreciate your help, if you’re willing.”

She would be willing to do anything for him, so she walks towards the closed door and then says, “I am.” she swallows nervously, “Can I come in?” “Please.” He replies quietly. 

Her heart races as she opens the door, this part of his dorm she has never seen before. He has a few plants that seem to be in various stages of deceased, a completely full bookshelf, a large wooden dresser and a second, smaller desk that is covered in just as many notes as the one out in the sitting room. His crutch leans against the wall and the man himself sits on the edge of his bed, looking like he’d prefer if she didn't even notice him. “How can I help?” She asks. He looks up at her and then sighs, “The clasps at my ankle.” he says, inclining his head towards his brace, “I’m stiff today I-” “It’s okay.” She replies, already lowering to her knees, “I can do it, don’t even worry about it.” It’s clear that he is still worrying about it, even with her insistence not to. The muscles in his jaw are tight and he turns to face the wall, unwilling to meet her eyes. She doesn’t take any offence, she can tell this is humiliating for him, even though she feels nothing but adoration as her fingers meet the metal clasp at the base of his brace. Luckily the mechanism is intuitive and she doesn’t need any help in undoing it, though her trembling hands make it harder. She is not unaware of the suggestive nature of her positioning, on her knees, between his thighs, but she manages to push past the cloyingly thick implication because more than anything she just wants to help him. 

“Thank you.” He says quietly, when his ankle is loose, “I can reach the rest myself if you’d like to return to the couch for now.” Despite his tired expression, he looks very pretty above her like this, his hair is tousled and hanging slightly in his eyes and the dim lighting in the room catches on all his sharp edges in the perfect way. She sucks a shaky breath in through her nose and then suggests, “I might as well do the rest.” her smile is shaky with nerves, and her voice wavers when she adds, “It just makes sense. I’m already down here after all.” The room feels quieter without the sound of Viktor’s wheezing breath, that’s the only way she realises he’s holding it, “I, ah-” he clears his throat, “Yes. I suppose it only makes sense.” Her next smile is stronger, and more confident as she begins to undo the rest of the clasps and buckles. Viktor has to help her with a few of them, the one at his knee is particularly tricky and he’s insistent that she ask if his leg needs to be moved instead of manoeuvring it herself. Not that he needed to tell her, she would never dare do anything that could hurt him. She has to sit up on her knees to undo the final buckle at his thigh, and he rests a hand on the top of her head as she does so. The feeling of his hand has another smile jumping its way across her face and she quietly asks him to straighten his leg a little so she can slide the brace off completely. 

“All done.” She whispers when it hits the floor. 

He looks down at her for a moment, his gaze so soft that she feels herself beginning to melt in it, “Thank you.” “Do you, um, need help with anything else?”

The muscles in his jaw tighten again and he goes back to staring at the wall, “Well, yes, but-” he shakes his head, “I can do it myself, you’ve done plenty.” “No. I want to help.” She replies, “Please, let me.” Viktor sighs, “I have a back brace too, I can undo it myself, but it takes some effort.” Though there was no real way for her to have known until now, a painful churning begins in her stomach at the thought of her never noticing, not paying enough attention. She pushes the fury with herself down, something to deal with later and instead gives Viktor what she hopes is a comforting smile, “You might have to guide me through it, is that okay?” He looks relieved, as if he was half expecting her to get cold feet, “That would be fine. Thank you.” He adjusts himself on the bed so he’s facing away from her and slowly starts undoing the buttons on his shirt. 

She sucks in a nervous breath and watches as the fabric slides down his shoulders. There’s a mole on the back of his neck that she wants to kiss so badly she can barely stand it. It’s alarming how much his shoulder blades arch against the papery confines of his skin, the way his posture slopes up to the left, the result of an overcorrection for his limp. She swallows thickly at the sight of his brace, layers of overlapping leather and metal splints that seem directly affixed to his spine. 

Viktor takes a deep breath, she sees his shoulders move, “There are clasps on either side of my spine.” He says, voice quivering. One of his hands reaches behind himself in an attempt to point out one of the clasps for her, “It’s very tight, it will be easier if you start at the top and bottom and then work your way to the middle.” “Alright.” She whispers, trying to conceal the incessant way her heart patters behind her ribs, “Let me know if do something wrong, okay?”

He nods but otherwise doesn’t say anything. It takes her a moment to figure out how the clasp undoes at first, it’s quite a complex piece of machinery and she’s shocked to find that her first assertion was entirely correct. The central portion of the brace is affixed to his spine with a series of bolts the whole way down. Her hands shake as she moves to the same clasp on the opposite side, “How, um, how long have you had this?” she asks weakly. 

“A few years.” She clenches her teeth. How did she never notice? “Just to correct my posture.” He clarifies, sensing her tensing up behind him, “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“But you didn’t tell me.” 

He shrugs a shoulder, “You didn’t need to know.” “I would have liked to.” “Yes, well you know now,” he replies tersely and she immediately regrets pushing the matter. 

He stays silent as she works her way through the rest of the clasps. There’s a window on the wall opposite the bed and the curtains are open just enough for a beam of moonlight to reach in and wrap around the bony protrusion of his shoulder, all the way down the length of his back. She feels lost, caught and tangled up in the sharp angles of him. Her hands continue slowly undoing the brace, but her mind is tumbling and grasping for him before he slips through her fingers. The back of his neck is very pretty, the bumps of his spine that aren't covered by the splints are delicate and heartbreakingly sharp and his breathing is quiet and even for the moment, though she has grown used to hearing it like a chesty wheeze. When she finally undoes the last two clasps in the centre of the brace, he lets out a sigh of relief and when she presses a palm beside his spine, she can feel his heartbeat. Without speaking, he slips his arm through the strap that wraps up and around his left shoulder and her heart aches at the red welts left behind where the brace was pulled tight against his skin, the one on his shoulder is particularly deep and she finds herself leaning in to press a kiss to it before she can even think. Viktor sucks in a breath at the feeling of her lips against him but otherwise makes no acknowledgement of it happening.

“Would you like me to go?” She asks quietly, “You’ll probably just want to sleep now.” He looks at her over his shoulder, eyes wide and vulnerable, “No.” he says quickly, “No- it’s, it’s dark. You shouldn’t walk back alone.” A smile tugs at her lips, “It is dangerous in the hallways of the academy at night, isn't it?”

It isn’t, but the lie is comfortable. 

“It is.” He replies and his smile is a soft, heart-melting curl. After a lapse of almost excruciating silence, he shuffles himself to the side of the bed and stands shakily, resting most of his weight on a dresser in front of him, “Could you turn around a moment?” He asks

It clicks that the dresser must be where he keeps his clothes, “Oh! Yep!” He chuckles, “You can get in the bed if you’d like, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She does as he suggests, facing the wall away from him and crawling in under the covers. It feels strange, the academy bedsheets are exactly the same as the ones in her own room, yet it’s impossible to shake the significance of them being distinctly not hers, “You know I won’t let you do that, right?” she says quietly. 

A drawer opens behind her, and there’s some rustling of fabric, “I’ve slept places far worse than my couch, you even caught me doing so this evening.”

She sighs and pulls the sheets up to her chin, clutching desperately at the fabric, “C’mon, Viktor.” she almost pleads, “It’s just me, I don’t bite.” He scoffs behind her and the bed sinks when he sits on the edge of it. There’s more rustling and she can only assume it's easier for him to change in and out of his trousers when seated, “That isn’t what I'm concerned about.” “Then what are you concerned about?” Viktor goes completely still, she can only hear the sounds of his breathing and she struggles to keep her own breath even as she worries that she may have overstepped. The moment hangs in the air like a pendulum above her and her fingers dig tightly into the blankets. 

“Alright, you win,” Viktor says, and the weight is lifted. He shifts a little, and she feels the blankets lift on his side of the bed as he climbs in. Then she hears a click, and the only light source in the room goes out. 

What are we? She wonders, body stiff and uncomfortable as she lies in the darkness. She’s so close to the edge of the bed that her bent knee hangs off it, too afraid of accidentally touching him because of just how much she wants to. It’s been years of aching and wishing and she’s starting to get the sense that she’s running out of time, that if she doesn't find the right words for what they are, he will be gone before she can express them. She squeezes her eyes shut tight and tries to push the thoughts away, once again forcing herself to believe that Viktor is fine and to ignore all evidence to the contrary. 

Then, she feels Viktor shift on the other side of the mattress and he whispers, “It’s cold tonight, isn't it?” Her heart stops in her chest and she tentatively rolls over to find he’s already facing her. He looks pretty, the light of the moon is eclipsed by the back of his head, leaving him backlit in a soft white light, “Freezing.” she replies, remembering their lie from earlier in the evening. 

“There must be something we can do about that.” he breathes, shuffling in just a little closer. 

She feels like she is about to burst into tears or laughter or something equally immense as she ignores all pretence and all comfortable lies, instead moving straight towards him and wrapping her arms around his chest, tucking her head under his chin. One of his arms slowly slides around her waist to tug her closer against him and his good leg tucks in between both of hers. Something that feels suspiciously like a kiss presses to the top of her head, and as she listens to the gradual calming of his rapid heartbeat she wonders again, what are we?

___

Progress day doesn't go as planned for a lot of reasons. Sitting at the side of the stage, she and Viktor clutch hands the same way they always do. Though maybe a little tighter than normal as they watch Jayce give his first progress day address. She lets out a shocked gasp when Jayce goes off script, deciding not to unveil their newest projects even though the three of them spent so many sleepless nights working on them, even though they drove themselves to exhaustion trying to reach this deadline. Viktor is especially angry about it, seething almost, but everything is thrown into disarray by the attack from the Undercity before they even have a chance to talk it over.

Jayce is their spokesperson, as always, when the three of them are forced to address the council about the theft of one of their gemstones as if it was somehow their fault. They didn’t even have the decency to scrounge up a third chair for her, so she just stands awkwardly beside Viktor and nervously clutches his shoulder. It sometimes feels like the council would forget that she and Viktor even existed if Jayce didn’t keep reminding them. An argument breaks out among the councillors as Jayce begins suggesting a full suspension of Hextech production until the gemstone is located. Viktor also tenses under her hand at the suggestion and while she can understand his reservations, it’s hard for her to disagree with Jayce on this point at least. The last thing they need is someone doing something illegal with their technology, it would be a terrible look, and who knows how many people could get hurt. 

Then, things change so quickly that she can barely keep track. Councilor Medarda levies an attractive offer and before she can even wrap her head around what is taking place, the council issues a vote and suddenly it has eight members. Viktor’s hand shakes when it reaches up to grab her own where it rests on his shoulder, “This won't end well.” he mutters She swallows, filled with an anxious dread that doesn't leave her for the next three days, “Yeah.” She replies, “I have an awful feeling.”

When the two of them return to the lab, the room is filled with a thick and uncomfortable silence. Viktor sits at his desk and clutches his head in his hands, she on the other hand, can’t even bring herself to sit down, instead standing at the only open window in the room and resting her shaking hands on the windowsill. Her stomach twists itself into knots that will take hours to undo, any exhilaration from the the morning is completely gone, only replaced with a churning anxiety. Neither of them speaks until two hours later when Sky drops by, completely unaware of everything that transpired. Viktor explains it to her, his voice weak and exhausted. Sky is a smart girl, she can tell when there isn’t much she can do to help, she promises to let them know if she hears anything about Jayce’s whereabouts, but otherwise says she’ll be in her lab down the hall if they need her. 

With Sky gone, the room once again turns to heavy silence. She swallows and the feeling is thick in her throat, “He must still be with the council.” she says. 

“Yes.” Viktor replies, “He must.”

***

Jayce doesn’t come back that evening. While she’s certain that there is a lot that he needs to learn and probably some sort of extensive paperwork, when she looks over and sees the anxious curl of Viktor’s spine she wishes that Jayce would just tell the council to get fucked and come back to the lab where he belongs. Neither she nor Viktor manage to get any work done, neither of their prototypes are up for production and while there are improvements to be made, Heimerdinger’s insistence that the modifications would take a decade at minimum makes any attempt at progress feel utterly futile. 

Viktor does occasionally pull his pen out and make a few notes, but then he curses under his breath and lets the pen go after just a few minutes. Once she notices the sun has well set through their window and the moon is hanging high in the sky, she lets out a sigh. 

“We’re not going to get anything done, Viktor.” She says quietly, watching as he runs a desperate hand through his hair, “Do you want to get some sleep? Jayce will probably be back in the morning, then we can at least work out what we’re going to do from here.”

“I still don’t understand why he didn’t show the prototypes.” Viktor mutters, “Nothing today has made any sense.” “Yeah.” She replies, “It hasn't.” After a moment, Viktor sighs and grips tightly to his crutch to pull himself up from the chair, “Let’s just go.” he says, and then quieter, as if he doesn’t want her to hear it, “I’m tired.” They don’t talk at all on the walk over to his dorm, both exhausted emotionally and physically. Viktor is struggling to walk more now, she always finds him falling behind even though she is trying her best to keep in step with him, he must notice, even though she purposely doesn’t draw attention to it and she can only imagine how that makes him feel. He stands back as she unlocks the front door and she fondly remembers the morning when she found the spare key lying on his dresser when she woke up. He hadn’t told her that he was getting a copy made, he’d just left it for her when he headed to the lab for the day. It makes sense though, she spends more nights asleep in his bed than she does her own these days, trapped in a tangle of bony limbs that isn't necessarily comfortable but it is profoundly comforting . 

“Do you want tea?” She asks as she steps in through the doorway, holding the door open for him as he follows her inside. 

“No, thank you.” He says, moving to the bedroom and sitting down on the bed, “Help yourself, though.” She follows him into the bedroom, sitting down on the floor and going through the familiar routine of undoing his brace, “You know I was just being polite, I hate tea.” He laughs weakly, leaning back on his elbows as she moves to undo the clasps at his knee, “Don’t worry, it was very polite, thank you.” Her hands are quick now, familiar with each fastening the whole way up his leg, it only takes her a few seconds to have it undone. when she finishes She rests her head on his left thigh, peering up at him. Viktor sighs softly, brushing her hair away from her face. This isn’t a thing that friends do, she recognises, unable to resist leaning into his touch, but it is what they do. The fabric of his slacks is a little scratchy against her cheek and her legs are starting to go numb where they are curled under her, but the moment is so intimate and delicate that she can’t bear letting it shatter. 

“If Jayce isn’t in the lab tomorrow morning, I’ll see if I can find him in the council room,” Viktor says quietly, rubbing gentle circles over her temple with his thumb. 

“I can go instead, " she suggests, “if you want to get some work done in the lab.” “No.” He replies sternly, “I-” he sighs, hanging his head, “I need to talk to him.” “He’ll listen.”

Viktor lets his hand drop from her head, his face awash in painful uncertainty.

She raises herself up on her knees and reaches out to cup his cheek in her hand, “It’s Jayce.” She whispers, confidence proved only a mimicry by the way her voice shakes. Her thumb traces the sharp line of his cheekbone and her voice is more sincere when she adds, “He always listens.”

***

Whatever conversation Viktor and Jayce have doesn’t seem to help all that much. Jayce does seem apologetic at the very least, but for the next few days, Viktor is decidedly prickly. He sets himself up at one of their workstations and starts wordlessly assembling a new project that neither she nor Jayce has heard anything about until now. While he works, she mostly just sits at her own desk and goes back to trying to fix the issues with the hexclaw with the hopes of getting it to a more finished state before the next investor meeting in a few months. Something has changed in Viktor, she notices. A more pointed determination, something almost dangerously single-minded. He works on his new project all hours of the day and it’s harder than ever for her to pull him away for meals, or to convince him to leave the lab with her in the evenings. 

His cough is getting worse too, worse enough that it’s impossible for her to pretend that everything is fine, no matter how much he tries to convince her that it is just a cold or just allergies or just- 

She catches him once or twice, wiping the blood from his mouth on the back of his hand and she wants to scream or cry or do any number of things to force him to stop acting like everything is still fine. Jayce has noticed too, but he’s so busy with council business now that he only drops into the lab for a few hours a day. 

“I don’t know what to do.” He says, leaning against the wall just outside the lab. 

She leans there with him, not wanting to have this conversation in the same room as Viktor, “Me either.” “He is sleeping, right?” She nods, “Not as much as I’d like, but I'm getting him to bed every night.” “That’s good.” Jayce replies, hanging his head, “I should be in there with the two of you but-” he sighs, “Everyone’s still worried about the attack and that missing gemstone, until that’s sorted I don’t know how much time I’ll be able to spend in the lab.” “I know.” She replies, because she does know, even if the facts make her angry, they are still just the facts. She wrings her hands together and turns to face Jayce, his brows are pulled tight and he’s chewing hard on his bottom lip. 

“Hey, Jayce?” He turns his head to look at her, exhaustion visible under his eyes, “Yeah?” “Do you-” her breath escapes her in a hiccuping sob, “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“Sure he will.” Jayce says, though his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “If anyone can get himself out of a bind, it’s gonna be Viktor, you know?”

***

She visits her father for dinner the night after. They have a long standing arrangement where she stops by within a week of progress day to debrief him. For the first time though, she spends the whole time just itching to get back to the academy, nervously checking the clock with each passing hour and barely managing to eat any of her dinner. 

Her father laughs, “I know I’m not a proper chef or anything, but my food can’t be that bad, can it?” “No, it’s good, I’m sorry.” She says quietly, pushing her food around the plate with her fork, “Still just discombobulated after-” she waves her hand around vaguely, “You know.” “The attack?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah, the attack.” she lies

“Your friends are alright, aren’t they? The Talis boy and uh-” “Viktor.” She supplies. Suddenly even less interested in eating her dinner. 

The new project Viktor is working on consumes him. He’s started calling it the Hexcore and says that he aims to find out whether or not Hextech can learn , if like she discovered so many years ago, they were missing a fundamental and human component. While all of their current creations resonated at a G4, who’s to say that there aren't other effects that could be unlocked by teaching it how to resonate at another, or by giving it an unlimited combination of runes to cast with? He sits at the workstation for hours, constantly manipulating and twisting the rune matrix around. At all moments the room is filled with the rapid click of plates realigning or the humming of the gemstone within them. The only break comes when he takes a moment to update blueprints or write down new notes. She still managed to get him to bed the past few nights, though it only becomes more difficult each time. With Sky’s help, she’s able to keep him eating, even if it’s little more than a sandwich or one bite of an apple. 

She did tell Viktor that she was going to be out tonight and that she’d likely see him in bed. Sky will be staying late at the academy because she has an assignment due tomorrow morning and she promised to keep an eye on him as best she could. Jayce has a meeting with councillor Medarda (though he called her Mel ) and will try and find time to stop by the lab on his way back just in case. It doesn't matter though, there’s a terrible, awful feeling sitting in the pit of her stomach that she can’t do away with. 

“I should get to meet those boys someday, you know?” Her father says, snapping her back to the present, “I know you’re probably embarrassed about our little house on the fringes, but it cleans up nice!” She laughs weakly, remembering that Jayce and Viktor technically already visited years ago, “Sorry, Dad. We’re all really busy right now, and Viktor-” she bites her lower lip to stop the words from coming out, “He’s tired, we’re all tired.”

“Well, maybe I’ll stop by your lab sometime.” He replies, leaning back in his chair with a warm smile on his face, “You can do experiments on me, I’m tough.”

That gets a proper laugh out of her and she’s grateful for it, “I think we’d all like that.” she says, “You could meet our assistant Sky, too. She does work with plants, which is probably a little more up your alley than our stuff.”

“Speaking of plants, did you see the hydrangea on the doorstep? She’s looking a lot better, isn’t she?”

“Doesn’t look one foot in the grave anymore, at least.” She says and then lets out a sigh, “Look, I’m sorry I still haven't been able to get you a seat in the main hall for progress day. Mrs Talis said you could both share a seat next year if they deny my request again.” Her father barks a laugh, “Good sense of humor, that woman. I like her.” he crosses his arms and a frown pulls his grey eyebrows together, “House Talis isn’t even that large, I don’t understand why she gets a seat every year and I don’t.” She shrugs a shoulder, “They’re still a house, Dad.” He huffs, “You’d think having a daughter who helped build that big whosawhatsit in the sky would count for something.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” She replies with a halfhearted smile. 

“When are you going to get your face on one of those mugs?” He grumbles, “I keep telling my clients that my brilliant daughter is doing all this amazing stuff and none of them ever believe me, but if i had a mug- ” Another laugh bubbles up and out of her, she shakes her head, “Hey, Viktor doesnt have a mug either. We just don’t have the faces for it.” She lies, Viktor has a face that should be carved out of marble, “Plus we’re not exactly socialites, I don’t know what Id do if people started recognising me when I went out for lunch.” Her father leans forward, taking one of her hands in two of his own, “You deserve some recognition though, pumpkin.” he waves his hand, “I guess that Viktor guy does too, but I don’t care about him.” Somewhere amidst her laughter it starts feeling like crying, she sniffles and quickly wipes her eyes, “Be nice to Viktor, he isn’t here to defend himself.” “Maybe i’d care about him more if i got to meet him.” “Okay, okay.” She says with a watery smile, “I’ll see how we’re doing next month, maybe we can find time for you to visit the lab. You just won’t be able to touch anything, alright?” He lifts his hands up in the air, “Fully hands off, no worries, kiddo.”

***

It’s well past midnight when she finally leaves. Despite the sense of urgency burrowing into the marrow of her bones, her father still makes great company and it was difficult to leave him, but as she finally makes her way back to the academy dorms the urgency has begun an evolution into terror. Viktor’s dorm is eerily silent when she opens the door, even when he’s sleeping she can usually hear the rasp of his breath. Her heart beats so wildly in her chest that she can feel it down to her fingers as she rounds the corner and finds no crutch leaning against the wall of his bedroom and not a single disturbance in the perfectly made sheets. 

The bad feeling rises in her like bile. Desperation gnaws as she drops her handbag, grabs her keys and kicks off her shoes before sprinting from the dorms all the way to the lab on the other side of the building. Her breath is ragged in her chest and her heart is racing in a panic that only increases in metre as she runs. The tiles are cold under her bare feet and she is aware that anyone still awake must hear her barreling down the halls, but she couldn't care about anything less. When she finally turns the corner to their hallway, it feels like it stretches and stretches, mocking her as she tries to get to the door, faster faster . Her breath comes out in an aching sob when she finally makes it, hoping and praying to be proved wrong as the door unlocks. 

But the feeling had been right. 

Viktor’s Hexcore still pulses on the workstation, pitch shifting from G4 to A4 like it’s laughing at her, spinning quietly as she crosses the room. Watching. Her heart stops completely when she sees him slumped on the floor, there’s a disconnect between her brain and her legs, she can’t make them move, she just stares and inhales gulp after gulp of air that never seems to satisfy. Her feet shuffle slowly, like she isn’t quite awake, like it might all just be a dream. She drops to her knees and reaches out for him.

“Viktor?” she tries, shaking him by the shoulder, and then again, panicked, “ Viktor?”

He doesn't stir. She inhales a breath through her nose, biting back tears, “Okay. Okay. ” she whispers to herself, trying to calm her breathing despite the aching sobs that still lurk in the back of her throat. When the sounds of her own breath are finally quiet enough, she lowers her head to his chest, pressing her ear to his sternum. A heartbeat. Barely there. Her own heart starts racing again and tears of relief start rushing down her cheeks. He’s still alive, but she has to keep him that way. While he certainly can’t weigh all that much he’s still a lot taller than her and completely unconscious so there is no way she can carry him. 

“Okay.” She says, more to Viktor than to herself, “I’m going to get Jayce.” she hiccups another sob and presses a hand to his cheek, nodding to herself, “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

The academy has a capsule pipeline system to send information between wings. She knows (thanks to Jayce’s complaining about it) that there is also a system that connects directly to each individual counciller room. Most folk can’t get a letter through to them directly, but Jayce left her and Viktor with a couple of special capsules that get immediate access without needing to go through verification first. Just in case. Her handwriting is very messy as she scrawls out two letters, barely a sentence on each. She also writes another one for the hospital, but she knows they’re further away than Jayce is. Her shaky hand smudges the ink and the paper must be covered in tears, it’s hard to see what she’s doing with only the ominous light of the Hexcore for illumination, but she never even considers turning a light on. 

Clutching the capsules she avoids taking another look at Viktor, because she might not be able to leave the room if she does, and runs down to the station that sends and receives capsules for the science department. She sends the one for the hospital first because they have a direct line she doesnt need to input an address for. Then she inputs the address for Jayce’s room, sends the capsule and collapses to her knees beside the machine. It’s loud, when a capsule arrives, at least that’s what Jayce says, loud enough to wake him up. She sits on her knees for what must only be five minutes, but even that feels like an hour. There’s a thunk when a capsule arrives in the tube and she opens it with a panicked vigor. 

It’s the hospital, they’re on their way, but it’s going to be an hour. 

She presses her forehead to the cool wall, gritting her teeth. Jayce should have heard it, she has another capsule just in case he didn’t, but he should have, unless he isn’t in his room. Her eyes snap open and she rises up on her knees, hand shaking as she inputs the address for Councillor Medarda’s room instead and sends the second capsule. 

Sitting there on the floor, clutching her knees up to her chest. She can’t stop thinking about Viktor, how she wishes she could do something instead of just sitting here and waiting. She buries her head in her knees and lets out a wail, not even bothering to keep quiet should someone overhear. If she hadn’t gone out tonight, if she just told her father that she needed to postpone, she could have stopped this. It’s all her fault. Just as she feels a scream building in her chest, there’s another thunk . 

This capsule is from Councillor Medarda’s room. The letter inside is Jayce’s handwriting. 

Coming now. 

___

What are we? She wonders, sitting for the fifth hour beside Viktor’s bed in the hospital. She holds his hand tight, tracing the bumps of his knuckles with her thumb and just waiting . It’s been long enough that the orange light of the morning sun is pouring into the room, trying its best to bring some colour to the sterile white hospital room. She’s so tired after an evening spent crying and screaming and running back and forth that her head leans uncomfortably against the unforgiving wall behind her because she can’t manage to hold it up anymore. Jayce is tired too, but he still has enough energy to argue with the doctors, apparently. She can hear them from across the hall.   

It only took him ten minutes to show up after his letter arrived. She was slumped against the wall of the lab with Viktor’s head in her lap when he came scrambling into the room. She’d cried so much that she could barely even move, completely weak with emotional and physical exhaustion and when Jayce finally came in through the door all she could do was start crying all over again. Jayce tried his best to stay calm, though his breath was heaving after running all the way over and his eyes were watery and panicked. She remembers the way he forced a smile. 

“It’s going to be okay.” He’d said, the wavering in his voice betraying his cool exterior, “We’ll get him to the hospital, c’mon.”

He’d pressed his forehead to hers for just a moment and then lifted Viktor from her lap and into his arms. She barely managed to tell him that the hospital already knew they were coming, all her words came in juts and stutters between hiccuping sobs. Jayce tried to convince her to stay behind, but even with her exhausted body and shaking limbs, it was impossible for him to change her mind. The rest of the night is a blur, lots of sprinting, arguing, crying and waiting, so much fucking waiting . 

She sits up straight when Jayce slams the door open. He has his hand clasped over the lower half of his face and his eyes are wild. She just watches as he crosses the room and all but collapses in the chair beside her. She sniffles and tries to smile, “Didn’t change anything, did it?” Jayce buries his face in his hands and she tentatively wraps the arm that isn’t areadly occupied by Viktor’s hand around his shoulder. He isn’t quite crying, but it sounds like he could start at any moment, “No.” he says gravely, “The results for the second round of tests were the same as the first.” a humourless laugh escapes him, “and they said there’s no point doing a third.” She bites her lower lip to hold back a sob, “You didn’t need to yell at them.” She says quietly, “It’s not their fault.” “I know.” Jayce says, his voice breaking, “I just-” he doesnt finish, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes and sucking a desperate breath in through his teeth “Yeah.” she replies, resting her head on his shoulder, “Me too.”

***

Jayce forces her to go home after four more hours. Promising to stay at the hospital until Viktor wakes up. She tries to argue, but unlike her, Jayce had managed a few hours of sleep the night before while she was running completely on empty. For a moment she considers going back to Viktor’s dorm instead of her own and curling up on his empty bed, but logic settles in when she realises Jayce will need to know where to find her if something happens. So she sleeps alone in her own bed and spends the whole time wishing she was somewhere else. 

Even when laying in the bed and clutching her knees to her chest she can still hear the rush of her heartbeat in her ears. Her chest hurts from so many hours of painful sobbing and her eyes sting whenever she blinks them open. Her dreams are restless and disquieting. Unfamiliar images flash behind her eyelids that make little to no sense, Viktor is in all of them, Jayce is there often, Sky too. The only sound she hears is the ominous humming laugh of the Hexcore, as if it has sequestered itself inside her grey matter. The dreams start and end in rapid fire. Nothing good ever happens. 

She doesn’t have any sense of what the time is when a knock at her door has her waking with a panicked gasp. Sun streams in through her open window, so it must still be at least the late afternoon, but other than that she has no idea. She stumbles to her door, still dressed in her nice blouse and skirt from the evening before but terribly rumpled for all her tossing and turning. It takes a moment for her to unlock the door, her hands don’t seem to want to obey her anymore. 

“He’s awake.” Jayce says in a rush, when the door swings open. 

Her heart jumps back into gear, all aching lethargy suddenly replaced with a jittering anxiety, “We have to go back now!” she says, moving to push past him.

“Wait!” He exclaims, grabbing her by the shoulders before she can start running, “I- I wish i could, but Mel doesn’t even know where I am and-” “Oh.” She says quietly, Jayce looks just as tired as she feels. The Councillor Medarda situation notwithstanding, he needs to rest, she can tell. She lifts up onto her toes and pulls him into a hug, breathing shakily, “It’s okay, I understand.” she buries her face in his shoulder, “Did you at least get to talk to him?”

Jayce returns the hug, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her tight, “Yeah, for just under an hour. I know you wanted to see him straight away but,” he laughs a little, “He wanted me to let you sleep.” Her eyes start beading with tears again, at the thought of him asking Jayce to make sure she gets some rest as if he wasn’t the one who almost died the night before. Sucking in a shaky breath, she releases Jayce and gives him a tired smile, “I’ll see you later then, I guess.” 

He nods, “Let me know if you’ll need me. I’ll be in my room all night.”

“Will do.” She replies, stepping past Jayce and closing her door behind her, “We will talk about you and Councillor Medarda later, though. I want details.” Jayce laughs and they both head their separate ways. 

***

Viktor is at least sitting upright when she finally makes it back to his hospital room. His breath is an aching, painful wheeze and despite being open, his eyes seem glassy and inattentive. They do dart to her face when she enters and something like the first inclination of a smile tugs at the very corners of his mouth. She wants to start crying again, to hold him tight and never let go. She doesn't. Instead, she lurks in the doorway, wringing her hands together.

“I hear you saved me.” He says quietly, his accent and the rasp of his voice makes the words difficult to discern. 

She swallows thickly, “I tried to.” Viktor sighs, then. Turning away from her to face the window. The sun's light makes his skin seem less ashen, but the hollows of his cheeks look even deeper, “I take it you were here with Jayce for my diagnosis, then.” “I-” she starts, voice catching on the word, “I’m sorry.”

He laughs bitterly, “Don’t do that to me, don’t apologise.” 

She doesn’t know what to do but apologise. So instead she keeps her mouth shut and forces herself to return to the chair she had been sitting in for all those hours. Wordlessly, she shuffles the chair forward so she can rest her head on the edge of the mattress, peering up at him. She grabs his hand again, holding it tight the same way she had been when he was asleep. 

“I wouldn’t judge you wrongly.” He says quietly, his other hand moving to cup the back of her head, “If you decided to put a stop to-” he closes his eyes and then says the last word like a secret, “-this.” There’s no specification, no clarification. But she knows, she knows what this is, she’s known it for years. This is the only thing she’s ever wanted, this has taken up residence behind her ribs and any removal would have to be surgical. They’d have to rip this from her, out of her and even then she would kick and scream the entire time. This is what they are. 

“I don’t want to.” She breathes.

“Milackú” he whispers achingly. A word she has never heard before, but instantly recognises it as being for her, “I’m dying .”

It hurts to hear him say it, more than when the doctors did. 

“You’ll figure something out.” She says, “I know you will and if- well if you don’t, I-” she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to force back her tears, “I’m still not going anywhere okay? Neither is Jayce, or Sky. Okay? ” she somehow manages to let out a weak little laugh, “and my father wants to meet you, so you have to stick around for a little while.”

Viktor laughs, though it's more of a rasp, “You talked about me?” he asks quietly.

“Always do.” She replies.

It looks like Viktor wants to say something and it looks that way for quite some time. He lets out a shaky breath instead and just keeps looking down at her, whatever words had been dancing on the edge of his tongue are long gone. Usually, she would be curious as to what they were, but at this moment she's just glad to have him, even in silence. It's hard to remember the precise moment when even looking at Viktor became an exercise in restraint, if it was the day they first held hands in the council room, or even before that. She always wants to reach out, to touch, for her skin and his to coalesce into something evangelical.

After some time, she attempts to readjust her head, frowning when she can't manage to find a position that doesn't put a crick in her neck.

“That cannot be comfortable,” Viktor says quietly, rubbing light circles on the back of her head. 

“It isn’t, my neck hurts,” she answers truthfully. He huffs in faux irritation and shuffles himself to the far side of the bed, “Just get in.” he says, “Before you hurt yourself.”

The hospital bed is a lot smaller than the one in his dorm and while the sheets are starchy and uncomfortable, they do smell like him, so she is more than happy to climb in. The single bed leaves them pressed together from collarbone down to knee and the only comfortable place for her head ends up being his chest. He doesn't seem to mind, his arm curls around her and holds her even tighter against him. She wraps an arm around his middle and buries her face in his hospital gown to hide the new tears beading in her eyes. 

“I love this.” She whispers, a close enough approximation, but its utterance feels less dangerous than the truth. 

Viktor kisses the crown of her head, and he breathes, “So do I.”

He falls asleep first, probably less than an hour after she joins him in the bed. First the first time in a long while his breath sounds steady, though it’s probably because he’s still on oxygen. The rhythmic sound of his heart beneath her ear has her biting her lip to keep herself from sobbing, remembering how quiet it had been all those hours ago. How much it hurt to think he had died, how much it hurts still to know that he will . 

She stays awake as the sun begins to set outside the window, once again painting the hospital walls in hues of orange, watching the shafts of light slowly shift with time. This is what they are. It’s not something that can so easily be named, it’s a feeling, a sob building up behind her ribs, his arm around her and the aching dread of something terrible on the horizon. She feels inseparable from him, a very real sense that if he were to die, she would be soon to follow. It takes another hour for her to fall asleep, hand clutched tight to the bedsheets at Viktor’s waist, leg tucked over the top of his own. She isn’t going anywhere, the universe itself couldn’t make her. 

[just-dreaming-marvel]

I'm Not That Girl ~ Bucky's Version

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / MUSICAL INSPIRED FIC MASTERLIST

40's!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,140ish

Request:  hi lovely!! i hope you're doing well! can i request 40s!bucky with i'm not that girl?  i love wicked sm haha i've seen it three times on broadway and am going to see the movie again once finals are over

Warning(s): unrequited love

“Hands touch, eyes meet

Sudden silence, sudden heat

Hearts leap in a giddy whirl

He could be that boy

But I’m not that girl”

Your heart was hammering against your chest as Bucky pulled you onto the dance floor. His smile was as big as ever, causing his eyes to shine and making you feel so lucky to be so close to him. If only you could always be this close to him.

“Come on, doll!” Bucky laughed. “Don’t make me to all the work!”

You smiled and began pulling your weight in the dance. Though the dance hall was crowded, it felt like it was just two of you. Almost anytime you spent with Bucky felt like that. The world around you both was silent and still, allowing you to lean too much into your heart.

“She’s here!” Bucky exclaimed, eyes locked on the entrance of the dance hall. “Y/N, she’s here!”

Your heart fell as he let you go and headed straight for the woman who held his heart. Dot.

“Don’t dream too far

Don’t lose sight of who you are

Don’t remember that rush of joy

He could be that boy

I’m not that girl”

“Hey, doll,” Bucky greeted with that smile heart-stopping smile. 

“Hey, Buck,” you responded. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy stop by to see his best girl?”

Best girl. You always felt joy when he called you that, causing you to push aside the true meaning of that title. You weren’t truly his best girl, but his best friend aside from Steve. 

“Plus, I need to talk to you,” he continued, stepping into your apartment. “I need some advice about Dot.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You took a deep breath as you closed the door, trying to reign in your emotions.

“I think I love her.”

Your hand fell from the handle of the door as your heart shattered. “Oh?” You turned around and headed into the kitchen to fix up a snack. You needed to focus on something else right now or you were going to lose it in front of Bucky.

“Yeah. She’s perfect, doll. Like… the best thing that’s every happened to me.”

“That’s great, Buck. What advice to you need?”

“I need to know how to tell her. How do I tell her that I love her? Do I get flowers? Tell her while dancing? Take her out to a fancy dinner—“

“Just tell her, Buck. No frills. If she loves you back, she just wants to know you love her. That’s all she cares about.”

“You think?”

You sighed. “I know."

“Every so often we long to steal

To the land of what-might-have-been

But that doesn’t soften the ache we feel

When reality sets back in”

Your dreams were the only place that the wishes of your heart came true. Bucky chose you. Bucky loved you. You were truly his best girl.

But then you would wake and remember the truth. Bucky loved Dot and Dot loved him. You were just someone in his life, for now.

It was the early morning and you had just woken up from one of your dreams when a knock sounded at your apartment door. When great caution, you went over and opened it. You were surprised to find Bucky standing on the other side. But even more surprised to find him in military uniform.

“Bucky?” You questioned. “What’s going on? What are you wearing?”

“I know that I should have told you sooner, doll,” Bucky’s voice was laced with guilt. “But I didn’t know how… I’m shipping out to England.”

“What? When?”

“Now.”

There was no point in stopping the tears.

“Hey, hey, please don’t cry,” he pled as he stepped closer, his hands coming up to hold your face. “You know I can’t stand to see my best girl cry.”

“You should’ve told me sooner,” you cried. “I deserved to know.”

“I know, I know… I just… I couldn’t stand the thought of saying goodbye to you.”

“Then don’t.”

He gave you a sad smile. “Can’t do that, doll. But… you can come see me off. I would really love it if my best girl was there.”

“Blithe smile, lithe limb

She who’s winsome, she wins him

Gold hair with a gentle curl

That’s the girl he chose

And Heaven knows

I’m not that girl”

Dot was sobbing as Bucky held her close. You and Steve stood to the side, watching the scene as military personal hurried around the shipyard. Other goodbyes were happening around you, almost allowing the scent of tears to fill the area. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Steve whispered. He was the only one who knew of your feelings. He had figured them out just by watching you.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes on the couple. “I always knew that I wasn’t Bucky’s type.”

“Y/N—“

“Don’t try to make me feel better, Steve. I really don’t want it.”

Your heart clenched as Bucky brushed Dot’s golden hair from her face and gave her a kiss. A stray tear slipped down your face and you quickly wiped it away.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, turning around.

“Y/N!” Steve tried to keep you there, but you weaved through the crowd before he could.

“Don’t wish, don’t start

Wishing only wounds the heart

I wasn’t born for the rose and the pearl

There’s a girl I know

He loves her so”

You hoped that Bucky would write to you, but he never did. You heard that Dot was receiving letters and small gifts. Pressed flowers, poems, drawings, and a small pearl. Every time you got an update from Steve about Bucky it was due to his letters to Dot. It only hurt you further.

One day, Dot showed up at your apartment. You were curious and allowed her to come in.

“Bucky asked me to keep this a secret,” Dot explained as she seated herself on the couch. “But I know he didn’t keep any secrets from you and I just had to tell someone!”

“About what?” You questioned.

“Bucky sent a pearl in his latest letter. With the pearl, he asked me to marry him.” And you thought your life couldn’t get any worse. “Of course, I responded with a yes. We’re going to get married as soon as he returns.”

You pressed out a fake smile. “Congrats, Dot.” Your voice wobbled. “I’m happy for the two of you.”

“I knew you would be. I feel so much better now that someone knows.”

Dot didn’t stay much longer. It was a good thing, because you weren’t in a good place. As soon as she was gone, you had collapsed into a puddle of tears. Your dream was over. Bucky chose Dot over you. He loved her and not you.

“I’m not that girl”

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Reader choking Elvis while making out and fucking

Squeeze me, please me

A/N: This is only a drabble and kind of weirdly romantic? Anyway, hope you enjoy, anon!

Pairing: Elvis x reader

Word count: 475

TWs: Choking, smut.

You sit in the middle of his bed, your hands on the back of his neck as you kiss. You feel him take one and move it to his throat, his big hand over the top of yours, encouraging you to squeeze. As you explore each other's mouths he lets your hand go, and you experiment with the pressure, squeezing and releasing, pressing and relaxing. He pulls you on top of him as he lies down, his hardness pressing into your thigh. 

“What does it feel like?” You ask, between kisses. 

He looks up at you through hooded eyes, drunk on pleasure. As if he's wondering how to explain, how much to tell. Then he pulls you back to him, kissing you deeply. His eyes flick over your face for a second as you come up for air, then he eases your hand back around his throat, going in for another kiss. 

“Mmm. More intense,” he murmurs, eyes barely open. “Can feel yer lips more, taste ya more, everythin’ is just… more.”

You moan softly as you go back to making out, feeling him even harder against you as his hands tangle in your hair, explore your body slowly and carefully. You take your time undressing, getting distracted by kissing and gentle choking.

He puts his lips to your ear. “Wan’ ya ta do it now too,” he murmurs. “When we’re lovin’.”

You make a little noise of assent and he peppers your cheek with kisses. Shifting your hips, your breath hitches as he helps you get it inside, soft moans filling the air while you start to move slowly, lying back down and kissing him again. His mind drifts aimlessly as your thumb presses on his windpipe, gently at first and then more firmly. You roll your hips and sigh your pleasure into his mouth, your hand tightening on his throat again. The pressure heightens the sensations, the way you feel around him, your tongue, your skin. His thoughts slow as his mind goes foggy, pleasure exploding inside him, and as your lips leave his you feel his back arch and hear a strangled moan. You let go and his eyes open slowly. Kissing him hungrily, your hips keep moving on him, blood rushing where he's too sensitive now. He barely breaks the kiss as he moves you to your back, his fingers between your legs, playing you like a virtuoso until you're coming undone for him. Gasping, he pulls back to watch your face contort in ecstasy. You grab a fistful of his hair, toes curling, body sighing. He kisses your neck as you come down, his lips soft and gentle.

“Mmm. Thanks darlin’,” he mumbles, nuzzling your neck. “Felt good.”

You slide your leg between his, fingers dancing over his skin. “Mmm. Me too.”

“Stay an’ do it again tomorrow?”

“Yes please.”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy

[marvelousels]

THROUGH THE STATIC | PART 2

(part 1 here) n small tags to whoever wanted pt2! @just-levyy @meluksis @zhivaxo

authors note — i guess we're doing a part two? since ppl like my first part and i hope u like this part, part three?? lmkkk xx

pairings: jinx x fem!reader (js freinds for now ig)

ON MY OWN — DARCI playing!

The days had started to blend together after Jinx had appeared in your living room. At first, you were startled, confused, and unsure of what was happening. But soon, you came to realize that chaos was her constant companion, and in some strange way, you had come to expect it. One moment, she’d be curled up on your couch, staring at the TV like she was trying to make sense of the world through someone else’s eyes. The next, she’d be tearing through the house like a storm, her energy manic and unpredictable, her laughter often laced with something darker.

And through it all, you found yourself drawn to her. Her wild, unpredictable nature. Her sorrow and rage buried beneath layers of manic joy. Jinx was never still, never quiet. The hurt was always there, just beneath the surface, like a ticking time bomb.

This evening, you found yourself trying to focus on something—anything—to distract yourself from the madness. But the telltale sounds of destruction started. You didn’t flinch anymore.

You walked into the living room, and there she was, kicking over the bookshelf. Books flew across the room, and her manic laugh echoed through the space. You didn’t even need to ask. You could already feel it—the tension, the darkness.

“Jinx, stop,” you said, voice steady, but there was an edge to it now. She didn’t listen.

“Why?” she snapped, her eyes flicking to you for a split second, wild and frantic. “Books are boring,” she growled. “All these words pretending they mean something. But not me. I’m the real deal. Explosive.” She threw another book across the room, her smile sharp and dangerous.

Something was different tonight. This wasn’t the same chaotic Jinx you’d been getting to know. This Jinx was colder. Angrier. More unstable.

You stepped closer, trying to keep your voice calm. “You don’t have to destroy everything. I’m just trying to help.”

“Help?” Her laugh came again, but it was darker, more deranged. “Help me? You think you can help me?” She turned to face you, her eyes narrowing, her fists clenched at her sides. “None of them could. Not Vi. Not Caitlyn. They never understood. They never wanted to. Vi—Vi was supposed to be there for me.” Her voice cracked, anger and hurt mixing together in a volatile mix. “But she left me. She picked Piltover. She picked that bitch Caitlyn. And I—” Her words came out in a rush, tinged with grief and fury. “I’m just the freak, right?”

Her eyes flashed, her face contorted in disgust. She was pacing now, the tension in the room growing thicker with every word.

“Caitlyn,” she spat, the name like acid on her tongue. “She wants me dead. She’s never going to stop trying to kill me, you know? After everything—I caused that explosion. Killed her mother. And now, Caitlyn wants to make me pay. She wants me in a cage. Or worse...” Jinx’s voice dropped to a low growl. “But I’m not going back to that hell. I’m not going back to their stupid rules.”

You stood there, trying to process what she’d said, her words hitting you like blows. Caitlyn had always been after Jinx, but you’d never heard her express just how deep that hatred ran. She was a target, hunted, cornered by everyone who thought they could fix her. And Vi... Jinx’s sister, the one person who should have stood by her, was now part of that world. Caitlyn’s world. Jinx’s eyes flashed with bitterness at the thought of Vi.

"Vi was supposed to protect me!" she shouted, fists clenched so tight her knuckles went white. "But no. She left me. She chose them. And now she's in Caitlyn's bed. Pretending everything's fine. Pretending I'm just some monster."

You felt a pang in your chest, seeing the hurt in her eyes. She wasn’t just angry. She was broken. She was lost.

Her breathing grew faster, more erratic. "And Caitlyn," she hissed. "Caitlyn... she’s just waiting for me to slip up. She’s just waiting for me to fuck up again. I’m a danger to everyone. I know that. But they don't get it. They never did. Vi never did. They think I’m the monster... But they—" She cut herself off, shaking her head as if the thought alone hurt too much.

You tried to get closer, trying to make sense of the chaos swirling around her. “Jinx...”

“No!” She spun to face you, her eyes wide and frenzied. “Don’t even! Don’t you dare try to fix me. I’m not broken! You hear me? I’m just... different. And they didn’t like that.” She was shaking, her entire body tight with repressed emotion. "You think I’m some fragile little thing, don’t you? That you can ‘help’ me? That you can fix this?” She let out a bitter laugh. “No one can fix me. Not Vi. Not Caitlyn. Not you.”

She was right there—just a breath away, her raw pain nearly suffocating. But instead of the usual chaos, there was something more desperate in her voice now. Her face was twisted, like she couldn’t decide whether to cry or scream. She pulled herself together quickly, though, masking it with that dangerous grin. But it was hollow, jagged, like a broken mirror.

"I don't need them. I don't need anyone," she muttered, falling back onto the couch with a huff. "I'm free, right? Free to do whatever I want. Fuck them." She looked back at the TV, her gaze lingering on the reflection of her own wild face on the screen. “At least I get to choose my own way now.”

You watched her for a moment, torn between wanting to reach out and give her the comfort she so clearly needed... and knowing that doing so might push her away completely. But you couldn’t ignore it. You couldn’t ignore her suffering.

“You don’t have to be alone in this, Jinx,” you said softly. “You don’t have to push everyone away.”

Jinx looked at you, her eyes narrowing for a moment, like she was trying to decide whether or not to let you in. But all she said was, “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, huh?”

Her grin returned, but it was colder. “There’s no fixing me, remember? If you try, bang goes your nice little life.”

Her words hung in the air like a bomb, the tension thick enough to slice through. But for a brief moment, her wild eyes softened. Just a little. “But maybe...” she trailed off, flicking a glance at you. “Maybe you’re not the worst person I’ve met.”

She looked away again, as if she’d just said something she shouldn’t have. You could feel the weight of her words, knowing that, deep down, she still wanted someone. Anyone. But she didn’t know how to ask for it.

She kicked her feet up on the coffee table and grabbed a bag of chips, shoving them into her mouth like she was trying to drown out the thoughts she couldn’t face.

“Whatever,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the chips. “It’s not like I want your help, but... you’re here. So, i'll deal with you ugh,”

You nodded quietly, though you knew better than to expect anything from her. For Jinx, trust was a slow burn, and you were just a stranger in her chaotic mind.

But maybe—just maybe—you were starting to understand the storm inside her.

[mugglebornmarvelite]

A Love Like This

Paring: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: A week of what it's like being loved by Peter Parker, based on this request.

Word Count: Approximately 3.1k 

Warnings: Fluff, comfort, mild suggestive content, playful teasing, soft smut (implied), mentions of superhero violence (non-graphic/comical)

Author’s Note: This was so much fun writing. There is one section where a drive shaft is mentioned, which was inspired by a video where an older sister chased her younger sister’s boyfriend, threatening him with a drive shaft after he hit the younger sister.

Once again, soft smut is implied and mentions violence, but it is not gory. However, please be responsible for the media you consume!

I love you <3

Navigation

Divider by @strangergraphics

Peter Parker showed you a love that was every bit chaotic as it was playful and tender. His antics made you roll your eyes. And, on occasion, you even wanted to take a bat to his head. Repeatedly. 

Yet, he always had a way of making you feel something warm in your chest that lingered long after the laughter faded. It refused to dim, no matter how much time has passed.

Learning to navigate the rhythm of push and pull in your relationship was anything but predictable. 

Sometimes, you still couldn’t comprehend how he’d come into your life and flipped it upside down, before you had a moment to blink.

You were stuck. Caught in his webs, his love woven so tightly around you, unwillingly to let go.

Being loved by Peter Parker wasn’t just a palpable force you felt; it was something you experienced every single day.

Sunday

It was Sunday morning, your favorite day of the week. No work, no stress, and a day where Peter is hardly called away for his Spiderman duties. It meant stocking backup for the week, which meant going shopping with Peter Parker. And you’d get everything you needed to try that new pasta recipe you’d been obsessing over.

You smiled over at your boyfriend. He was lightly snoring, and his hair was a perfect mess. Peter Parker was your perfect mess.

You tried to quietly scoot out from under the duvet, but before you could even put a foot on the floor, an arm wrapped around your waist and yanked you back into bed.

"Pete," you whined softly as you tried to start the day. "It’s Sunday. Grocery shopping day. We have to go before it gets too crowded!"  

Peter groaned, his grip tightening as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, the scruff of his jaw sending shivers down your spine. "Don’t care," he mumbled, his voice muffled. "Stay. Need you here with me. More important."  

"We need food," you pointed out, though your resolve weakened as his lips ghosted lazily against your skin. "You promised we were going to make that recipe tonight, remember?"  

“Don’t recall, pretty girl.” His lips trail along the curve of your neck.

“Pete!”

"I’d rather eat you," he quipped, his voice low and teasing that made your cheeks burn. He tilted his head to catch your expression and smirked. "What? You don’t like it when I’m honest?"  

"Peter Benjamin Parker," you gasped, playfully smacking his shoulder.  

He caught your wrist and he turned you on your back and pinned you beneath him, his brown eyes boring into yours. "You’re not going anywhere," he whispered. "Not until I’ve had my fill of you."  

"But you-"  

"No buts, baby," he interrupted, cutting you off with a lingering kiss that left you breathless. His hands skimmed your sides, making you squirm beneath him. "You’re always rushing off, running around, doing a million things. Let me have this, huh? Just you and me. No lists, no errands."  

"But the groceries," you frowned, but your fingers found their way into his morning hair.

"Groceries can wait," he said simply, his lips quirking into a cocky grin. "You’re my priority. You’re always my priority."  

He dipped his head again, capturing your lips in a kiss that seemed to erase the thoughts from your head, leaving no room for argument. His lips were soft and warm against yours. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he angled his head to kiss you deeper. The warmth of his body, the comfort of your bed, and his scent weakened your resistance.

Time itself seemed to slow as Peter lulled you into a dreamlike state.

You could feel the corners of his mouth curve upward, and when he pulled back, his eyes flickered open, looking down at you with an intensity you had grown accustomed to. 

"See?" he murmured as he started to nip lightly at your jaw. "Don’t need a grocery list when I already have everything I want right here."  

You couldn’t help but laugh, melting into his possessive warmth. "Fine," you relented, wrapping your arms around his neck. "But if we don’t go soon, you’re eating toast for dinner."  

"Deal," he said, settling against you with a smug grin. "As long as you’re the one I get to share it with." 

As promised, a few hours later, you both were shopping for groceries for the week.

However, you stood face-to-face with Peter in the snack aisle. A boyish grin graced his lips as he held a bag of chips high above his head. You stood there, arms crossed, seething with playful frustration.

"Put it in the cart, Parker," you demanded.

Peter tilted his head as a confused puppy might, contemplating your request. But you knew he wouldn’t give in so easily when his grin widened. Asshole. 

"Say please," he teased, jiggling the bag for emphasis.

You glared at him. "If you don’t put that down, I’ll-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Peter swooped in, his lips brushing yours in a deep kiss that scrambled your brain. 

“There,” he said, as if kissing you was the simplest thing in the world, as simple as breathing. He tossed the chips into the cart, radiating that goofy golden retriever energy you have become familiar with. "That's payment."

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words caught in your throat. 

"You're insufferable." You whispered.

"What was that, baby?" he asked as he grinned.

You crossed your arms over your chest. "Don't call me baby."

"Sure thing, baby," he replied, his grin widening as he turned his attention back to the aisle. The nerve of that fucker.

“Go suck an egg,” you grumbled.

Without missing a beat, Peter stopped the cart and turned to face you, his expression as innocent as ever. 

Oh, no. That was never a good thing.

“I’d rather suck on you,” he shot back, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

“You can’t say things like that in public!” you hissed, swatting his arm, looking around to make sure no one heard.

“Fine, I’ll say it when we get home and have you on the counter as a snack too,” he said, his tone completely unapologetic.

Then, as if to seal his victory, he reached out to kiss your temple, the gesture sweet and grounding in a way that made your heart betray you all over again.

“You’re the worst.” You grumbled as you shoved at his shoulder weakly. 

“And you’re the best,” he countered, taking the cart handle again and pushing it forward, like he hadn’t just left you in flustered disbelief.

Monday

While Peter was tinkering with a gadget in the living room, you were in the bedroom, folding laundry. You hummed quietly to yourself, tucking away one of Peter’s sweaters for yourself. It’s not like he would miss it anyway; he owned like 100.

As you sat back down on the bed, Peter tackled you, pinning you beneath him. His laughter echoed in your ears as he buried his face in your stomach, his voice muffled by your shirt.

"Pete! Get off me!" you snapped, though your own laughter betrayed your complaint.

"Nope," he said, his voice muffled and muffled, "This is my spot now. You're soft and comfy, and I’m never moving. Ever."

You squirmed beneath him, pushing weakly at his chest. "Do I look like a mattress to you?" you huffed.

Peter lifted his head just enough to look at you with those big, doe eyes, his grin widening. "No, you look like my everything."

"Fine," you muttered, threading your fingers through his hair, resigning yourself to the fact that you'd never get out of this. "But you're heavy, Parker."

Peter rested his head back on your stomach, content. "Good," he teased, sounding so smug. "I want you to feel how much I love you."

Tuesday

Tonight’s date night was supposed to be perfect. Just the two of you, a candlelit dinner at your favorite restaurant. But, as always, the city had other plans. When the crime alarms blared, Peter’s mood shifted from boyfriend to hero in an instant.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Peter murmured as you both slipped into the alleyway behind the restaurant. 

He sounded genuinely apologetic, but you weren’t mad. Not even close. You’d never be mad. Not when you were so damn proud of him for his selflessness.

“Don’t be,” you smiled. “They need you, and I’m never gonna hold that against you.”

Peter gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before tossing aside his civilian clothes. In one smooth motion, his Spider-Man suit was on. You tucked his discarded shirt and pants into your purse with a practiced motion.

“And I need you,” he corrected, his eyes soft but serious as he slid his mask over his face. “You’re always my first priority. Never doubt that, okay?”

You nodded.

He scooped you up effortlessly, swinging you both back toward the apartment.

“Order takeout and use my card,” he said, not giving a chance to ask for what you thought.

“You don’t have to,” you protested.

“Our date night got interrupted,” he said firmly. “I’ll be damned if I don’t pay for your food tonight.

You laughed, rolling your eyes affectionately.

“Be safe, okay?” you called as he set you down.

“Always,” he promised, lifting his mask just enough to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t wait up, bug. It’s gonna be a long night.”

He wrapped you in a tight hug, his arms warm and comforting, before swinging back into the night.

Sighing, you open the door to the apartment, kick off your heels and change into one of Peter’s oversized sweaters, the soft fabric and his scent easing your anxiety.

Wednesday

The next morning, you stirred at the smell of pancakes drifting into your bedroom from the kitchen. You padded down the hallway to find Peter humming as he flipped pancakes.

“Morning, Pete,” you called out cheerfully, running up to hug him from behind.

“Morning, bug,” he said, turning to kiss the top of your head. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you rubbed your eyes and stretched. “How was last night?”

He shrugged, still flipping pancakes. “Same old, same old. Minimal damage in the city. Except for taxi driver’s. He’s gonna need a new drive shaft.”

You blinked, looking over at him in confusion. “What?”

“I, uh, ripped it off his cab,” Peter said nonchalantly.

You snorted in laughter, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself some coffee. “How do you even rip off a taxi’s drive shaft?”

Peter’s only response was a sheepish grin, and you shook your head, still chuckling to yourself.

But when you turned back around, you were greeted by Peter, who was now holding out a bouquet of daisies. His grin was wide, infectious, and so completely Peter.

“What’s this for?” You whispered.

“Flowers for my favorite flower,” he said, his voice warm and genuine.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard, Parker.”

He leaned in slightly, smiling down at you. “And yet, you’re not throwing them away.”

You crossed your arms, trying your best to resist the pull of that grin. “Only because you look like a kicked puppy when I don’t accept your gifts.”

Peter placed the flowers gently in your hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in that quiet, tender way that always seemed to make your heart skip a beat. “You deserve flowers every day, you know.”

For a moment, the sarcasm you had lined up died on your lips, replaced by a genuine, soft smile. “Thanks, Pete.”

Thursday

The next day, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, practically vibrating with excitement as you presented your latest home decor find to Peter. It was a pink lamp, a little unconventional in shape, but so you. You were all eager, holding it up like it was the greatest discovery in the world.

Peter, however, was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“A pink lamp, huh?” he deadpanned, his voice dripping with mock. “Really setting the mood for mood lighting, aren’t we?”

You didn’t mind the sarcasm. If anything, it made you more determined to win him over.

You beamed at him, practically glowing. “Isn’t it cute?” you asked, like he was the one missing out on something amazing. 

Peter sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “If it makes you happy, bug, then fine.”

You tilted your head, pouting dramatically and rested your head on his thigh like a puppy asking for attention. You gave him your best pair of puppy-dog eyes, the kind that always made him melt a little inside.

“You don’t like it?” you asked, voice sweet and soft.

Peter crouched down to meet your gaze, his large, warm hands instinctively cupping your face. 

“I like you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Pink lamps are just collateral damage.”

“You’re so dramatic, Pete,” you teased as your pout dissolved and you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“And you’re so exhausting,” he muttered under his breath.

Peter rolled his eyes, but his gentle smile was unmistakable. 

Friday

You were sitting on the bed, reading a book after a shower, when he walked in with his arms crossed and wearing an unreadable expression.

"Where were you?" he asked, his voice soft but firm, as though he were interrogating a suspect.

You put down your book. "I stopped by the store on my way home," you said, unsure why he was being so intense. “We needed eggs.”

"Alone? At night?" His eyes narrowed slightly, though his tone didn't change.

You rolled your eyes, frustration creeping into your voice. "I’m fine, Peter. I can take care of myself. I have done it a million times before you."

"That’s not the point," he said, sitting down next to you and grabbing your hands, his eyes softening. "You’re my world, and I need to know you’re safe at all times."

His words were genuine, and you frowned. The last thing you want is for him to be more stressed.

You sighed, squeezing his hands. "Okay. Next time, I’ll call you. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Peter replied as he pulled you into his lap. "Now, can you promise me you won’t scare me like that again?"

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. His familiar soft curls feel like home. "I promise, Pete."

Saturday

That evening, Peter was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting his suit before you both headed out for the night.

As promised, he was attending your brother's dinner party to celebrate the marriage of your brother's best friend, someone who felt more like family to you than just a friend. 

It was one of those occasions where attendance wasn’t mandatory but wasn’t exactly optional. Naturally, Peter was by your side, even though he wasn’t one to embrace dressing up. But for you? He’d always make the exception.

You walked out of the bathroom, and your hair and make-up were finally done. You were wearing one of his oversized shirts, and the dress you were supposed to wear was laid out on a loveseat.

Ten minutes max and you both were out of here. But not this time.

As soon as Peter saw you, his gaze darkened with that familiar glint. His voice was low and teasing, but the edge to it was unmistakable. "You wear my stuff too much," he muttered, although it wasn’t much of a complaint. "Makes me want to lock you up, just for me."

You couldn’t help but laugh, but Peter wasn’t smiling. 

He yanked off his tie, slipping it around your neck and pulling you toward him. “Pete!” you laughed, trying to wiggle out of his grip.

His hands found your waist, lifting you effortlessly and pressing you up against the wall. His lips crashed into yours in an intense, desperate kiss. “Stop wearing my clothes unless you’re ready for me to keep you in bed all night,” he growled against your lips. 

You giggled despite the tension in the air. “That’s not exactly what I had planned for the night, Pete,” you teased, though your voice faltered at the hunger in his eyes. 

Peter smirked, his hands roaming over your body, possessive and slow. “You think I care?” he said with a shrug. His mouth trailed down your neck, leaving a hot trail that made your breath catch. “I’m going to worship you, bug. Take you apart piece by piece. Till you forget your own name. And you’re going to love every second of it.”

He effortlessly tossed you onto the bed, also tossing aside your plans without a second thought. You squirmed beneath him, your protests weak as you tried to hold onto your composure. 

“We have plans!” you squeaked, but the way his hands moved over you made it hard to think clearly.

Peter stepped back to slip off his jacket and discard it on the floor.

“Plans change, pretty girl,” he murmured, his lips finding yours again as he hovered over you, his body pressing against yours. “We’re skipping dinner and going straight to dessert.”

“But-” The words caught in your throat, and a small, needy whine escaped as his lips trailed down your neck. 

Peter chuckled, the sound dark and full of mischief. “Oh, baby, you’re the only dessert I need tonight,” he said, lips curling into a smirk as his hands continued to explore. “Get comfortable. You’ll be here for a while.”

Needless to say, you didn’t show up to that dinner.

You were too consumed with each other, lost in a world where whispers and warm touch were all that mattered. 

Then, Sunday came around once again, signaling the end of one week and the start of another. 

A cycle that was anything but mundane with Peter Parker.

You lay wrapped around each other like two spiders tangled in a web, each thread pulling tighter with every breath, binding you together in the beautiful mess of it all.

Peter Parker, your Peter, raidated golden retriever energy. He was constantly goofy, affectionate, and ready to love on you any chance he got. His boyish grin and constant warmth had a way of disarming you. 

But there were moments he allowed that black cat side of him to slip past the surface; possessive, protective, intense, capable of a love that left you breathless. And unable to walk the following day.

What he felt for you was both soft and fierce, a contradiction that only Peter Parker could embody so effortlessly. 

You weren’t sure if you could call it balance, but it only made being loved by him the greatest thing you’ve ever experienced.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

I read this over like three times before posting, but a spelling error or two might have slipped through the cracks. I apologize.

I hope I did my job; to leave you all giggling and kicking your feet :)

Much love x

- Maeve